#am savouring the chapter

[all-too-unwell-13]

"it's just a one off" "i'm not asking you to join us again"

LIAR. anthony lockwood, i can practically see it in your eyes.

tell me that wasn't him trying to ask her to come back!!!! bc it totally was!!!!!

[songmingisthighs]

"i'll be wherever you want" CHAI WHY DO YOU INSIST ON HURTING ME !?!?!?! my toxic trait is thinking i can read tnt and be like "lmao aight" when i'm actually like

babyg0rl how dare. you're going to angst jail. lovingly <3

this night together - chapter twelve (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter twelve: home is always home

chapter summary: you were planning to tell them how you felt on saturday, but when things go sideways at the studio you find yourself running home as fast as you can.

warnings: this is the chapter i've been warning about for a long, long time. please read responsibly if you're easily triggered by any of the following topics - guy who can't take no for an answer, aggressive/sexist language, physical and verbal assault, panic/ptsd, physical injury/blood, hospitals, police interaction (mentioned), nightmares/night terrors, self harm (sort of?)

notes: please note, if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when i'm posting, i've put up three chapters at once. make sure you don't skip chapter ten and eleven! additional notes under the cut~!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 11.6k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

for my readers who aren't that familiar with a/b/o, i'm introducing something in this chapter that you may not have seen before. i wanted to add some context! if you're new to a/b/o, there is something that alphas have often called "alpha tone", "alpha voice", or just "tone". alphas in many depictions have the ability to lower their voice in a particular way that is seen as a strict command to an omega, and it triggers/activates their submission. this is something that can be used negatively or positively, but in this scene will be negative. there's also something called headspace/subspace that you will see referenced, and an omega can be put into headspace/subspace via alpha tone. it is a bit of a dissociative state where the omega can only really hear and understand commands. this can be used negatively or positively as well, but again, definitely not good in this scene. i hope that helps.... and happy/responsible reading!!

You really, really wish today was Saturday and not Thursday. Thursday just means you still have to get through Friday and then all of Saturday morning before your scheduled dinner with Yunho and Mingi and all the things you want to say are practically eating you up inside. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to tell someone you’ve been an idiot and you’re in love with them, and blurting it out in the middle of dance practice isn’t really going to help make this easier. 

God, you hope they still want you. 

On the plus side, this week has been insane. With the full crew back things are moving at a million miles per hour, and you’ve been in more meetings about what’s coming up next in the past week than the entire time you’ve worked for BB Trippin and KQ.

Your schedule for the next six months is frankly intense. Between preparing for year-end stages and working on the choreography for the newly debuting girl group, you’re juggling conversations about New World’s next comeback and the next round of touring. With the money coming in now there’s an opportunity to take more dancers, and that just means more late nights and early mornings getting everything right. 

It’s after your third concept planning meeting of the week that you find two minutes to talk to Wooyoung, his bag already slung over his shoulder as he refills his water bottle. 

“So, you’re going?” You ask him vaguely, trying not to tip off anyone else in the vicinity that he’s got a date. 

“Yeah,” He nods, eyes flicking over your shoulder to see if San and Seonghwa are nearby, “I think I’m going to throw up,” 

“No, you’re not,” You assure him. 

“I might,” He whines, running a hand through his mop of long black hair, “I never know what to say to him,” 

“Woo,” 

“I know what to say to everyone, y/n,” He lowers his voice, panic evident in his eyes, “but every time Sangie smiles I go fucking blank,” 

“Sangie?” Your eyebrow quirks, “Is that what we’re calling him now,” 

“Shut up,” Wooyoung blushes. 

“Wow,” You prod him softly, “you’re down so bad, it’s been like three days,” 

“It’s so bad,” He grimaces, “this is embarrassing,” 

“Now you see how I feel,” You smirk, “it’s kind of fun being on this end of things,” 

“Please,” He rolls his eyes, “are you telling me you’re not panicking?” 

“Oh, no,” You laugh, “I definitely am. It’s just nice to know I’m not alone here,” 

“I was never this mean to you,”

You hold his gaze, just blinking, there’s nothing to say to that he doesn’t already know. 

“Okay, fine,” He sighs, “but still, feeling like this,” 

“Feeling like what?” Seonghwa’s voice shocks you both out of your quiet conversation and you both jump back from each other. 

“Jesus,” You breathe, “you scared me,” 

Seonghwa smiles, “Sorry,” he shrugs, “everything okay?” 

“Perfect,” Wooyoung takes a step back and shakes his head, “totally good,” 

Seonghwa’s brows come together in the middle, “You seem like something’s wrong, can I help?” 

Wooyoung almost blanches, and you know he’s dreading telling San and Seonghwa about Yeosang, so you jump in to help. “Woo was just helping me figure out Saturday,” You cover and draw Seonghwa’s attention back to you, “you know, figuring out what to say to them,”

“Oh,” Seonghwa nods, but you can see that he doesn’t really buy it, “right,” 

“Anyways,” Wooyoung starts walking backwards towards the exterior door, “I have to go, but you know, y/n, call me if you need to talk more later,” 

“I will,” You nod, “I definitely will.” 

Wooyoung knows that what you mean is that you want detailed date updates, and he almost looks mortified at the idea. He disappears fast, leaving you and Seonghwa relatively alone in the hallway. 

“What is up with him this week?” Seonghwa asks, confusion on his face. 

“He has a date,” You tell him quietly, “he’s kind of freaking out about it.” 

“Oh,” Seonghwa glances towards the door where Wooyoung just disappeared, “that’s not that weird for him,” 

“It is if he’s this interested after only a few days,” You say, “but don’t tease him. He’s kind of worked up about the whole thing,” 

“Who’s he seeing?” Seonghwa asks. 

“He should tell you that,” You beg off the gossip immediately, “just do me a favor and give him a little space to talk to you and San about it,” 

“Okay,” He draws out the word, not sure exactly where you’re going. 

“He’s nervous about upsetting the delicate balance,” You gesture towards him, referring to the carefully constructed relationship that is Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa. 

“He’s seeing another alpha?” Seonghwa jumps to that conclusion with ease, and you can see how he would get there. 

You’re shaking your head before you can stop yourself, “It’s not that,” 

That does surprise him, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen a bit, “Oh,” 

“Right,” You nod, leading him to the conclusion as close as you can without spelling it out, “my point is, he’s nervous and he’s got a pretty serious crush, and he hasn’t said so but I think he’s scared you and San won’t approve.” 

“I would never,” He stumbles over his words, “out of anyone, we would never judge him, he has to know that,” 

“Hey,” You reach for Seonghwa, stepping a little closer so your voices stay low in the entryway as you brush your hand down his forearm, “he knows, he’s just panicking a little.” 

“Should I talk to him?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes earnest. 

“Not yet,” You shake your head, “he’ll figure it out, just don’t push him right now. I’ve never seen him this anxious,” 

“I won’t,” He promises, “thank you for telling me,” 

“Mhm,” 

Seonghwa chews over your words a second and then decides to let it drop. With a sigh he refocuses on work, “Are you staying late?” 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I have some things to catch up on. You?” 

“I need to track down San,” He says, “but then after that I’m probably heading out a little early,” 

“Nice,” You nod, “still shaking off the jetlag?” 

He nods, “Unfortunately,” 

Down the hall you watch a few of the dancers gathering up their belongings, and then the door to the back office opens to reveal Yunho and Mingi, sitting close together and studying a computer screen as Jaemin leaves for the day. 

“Well,” Your feet are already moving, “then I’ll see you later,” 

“Sounds good,” He says, and then he gives you a knowing look, seeing exactly where you’re headed. 

Before you know it, you’re moving through the people in the hall and trying desperately to come up with a reason for crashing their tete-a-tete. 

“Hey,” You knock softly on the open door, “am I interrupting?” 

“No, no,” Yunho smiles when he sees you and your stomach bubbles. 

“We’re just watching back practice,” Mingi leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. 

“Oh, nice,” You say, and your empty words do little to fill the empty space. 

“Do you… need something?” Yunho tries. 

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” You scramble internally for something to say, “I’m staying late, but I’m kind of starving, I just didn’t know if you still had stuff stashed?” 

“Sure,” He gestures towards the cabinets on the side wall, “whatever you want, help yourself,” 

“Great,” You dash towards the cabinets, and you can’t even imagine eating right now with how fluttery your insides have been, but you snag a couple of protein bars anyways. 

The silence is brutal. Not like before, not like the tense and uncomfortable angry silences of the past, but it’s still sitting there between you. Part of you wants to shut the door right now and just get it all out there, but again, you know you shouldn’t. 

Mingi’s warm, chocolatey scent is richer in here, evident after a hard practice of working up a sweat and being given a chance to permeate with the door closed. You feel your body naturally relaxing at it, so comforting and familiar, and then you get the first pang of Yunho’s warm, summer rain. 

You can hardly believe how you convinced yourself that this wasn’t scent sympathy when right here and now it’s so obvious they belong to you. You wonder if they feel it too. 

“Are you okay?” Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your sudden daydream staring at the cabinet full of snacks. 

“Yeah, yes,” You shut them and step back, “I’m fine, just a little tired.” 

“Not sleeping well?” Yunho says, concern all over his features. 

“I’m fine,” You wave him off, “just a busy week,” 

“You don’t have to stay late,” Mingi offers, “I’m sure whatever you’re working on will still be fine tomorrow,” 

“I know,” You nod, “but if I don’t get it out of my system I’ll just be thinking about it all night, you know how it is,” 

Mingi nods, “Still, take it easy later,” 

“I will,” You promise, and you start to turn towards the door when the words just bubble up out of your throat, “you’re both still free Saturday, right?” 

“Yeah,” Mingi answers for them both, “are you?” 

“Definitely,” You nod, “I just wanted to make sure, I’m looking forward to it,” 

“We could do tomorrow instead,” Yunho offers, “after practice?” 

“As long as you don’t have other plans,” Mingi cuts in, “for a Friday night,” 

“Tomorrow works,” You jump at the chance, “I’d actually love that, I just didn’t want to crowd you when you’re adjusting to the timezone again,” 

“It’s fine,” Mingi brushes that thought off, “I’d rather see you,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho nods, “it’ll be good to catch up,” 

You smile, “I want to hear all about the trip,” 

“The trip,” Mingi says, just repeating your words like he’s weighing them out on his own tongue. 

Something about his voice sends a sharp zing up the back of your spine. 

Your body feels a little soft, relaxing bit by bit. 

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, “Are you sure you need to stay late?” 

Something your primal little brain cannot handle right now is the thought of your alphas being protective, not when you’re standing in this room encased by their scents that feel a little too right. Your stomach tightens and you pray that you’re not blushing pink at the flickering thought in your mind of them taking you home. 

You need to get out of this room before they realize it. 

“I’m good,” You tell him, stepping backwards towards the door, “but thank you, and dinner tomorrow is perfect,” 

Mingi says something, you think he’s agreeing, but you’re giving another excuse over your shoulder about how you need to get back to it so you can make it out of this room. 

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the office and make it down the hall, heading for the studio room you’ve booked for the afternoon. You nearly run into Dahan and Minseok as you cut around the corner, but you apologize quickly and barely give them a second glance as you hide yourself away in one of the dance studios alone. 

With the door firmly shut you lean back against the closed door and take a deep breath. These feelings are going to work you into a frenzy if you don’t get them under control. Scent sympathy is rare, an almost perfect match between an alpha and omega that makes every part of a relationship heightened, especially once that initial sympathetic bond is fulfilled with a claim. While they were gone you came to that conclusion slowly, the steady ache in your chest so clearly informed by the lack of them, but now that they’re back and here the realization of it collides into you full-force. 

You love them, that’s true. But what’s more is how much you need them, and how much you hope they need you. You can’t let them realize it before you have the chance to say everything you need to say, and if you had stayed in that room a few minutes more they might have felt themselves. With the dinner moved to Friday you just have one more night to get through. One more night, and one more day of work. And then the chips will fall where they may. 

With a deep breath you let the hammering of your heart slow and then you focus back on the work ahead. The more you pour yourself into work the faster these 24 hours will go, so you put your head down and get to it. 

You work for a long time, probably too long, until your muscles are positively aching and any thoughts of Yunho and Mingi are drowned out by lyrics to the chorus of this song that just keeps looping in your mind as you try different patterns of footwork. Here in this bubble you don’t know who’s still at work, who’s left for the day, what time it is, or if the sun has set yet. You just know your own body and every which way that it moves to this one singular song. 

Your hair is hot around your face, sweat clinging to your brow as you finish out the latter half of the choreography that you’re confident with. It’s fast, and includes so much up and down floor work you’re pretty sure you’d be passing out if you weren’t hydrating properly. Focused on your reflection in the mirror you gather your hair up and away and into a knot and then move to find your towel and water bottle. 

The door to the studio opens behind you, and you glance back without really seeing who’s popping in, “Hey,” 

For a split second it occurs to you that it might be Yunho or Mingi and your stomach flips as you start to turn. 

“Hey, y/n,” Minseok’s voice is a bit of a surprise. 

“Oh, hey,” 

He looks like he’s just stopping by to grab something from the far desk in the corner. You’re honestly surprised that he’s still here, he had looked on his way out earlier when you bumped into him in the hall.  

“Are you heading out for the night?” You take a drink of water and catch your breath, leaning against the mirrored wall behind you. 

“Soon,” He nods, running a hand through his dark hair and snagging a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the office chair. 

“Well,” You smile, “have a good night,” 

“You too,” He says as he walks past you, but then his steps slow and you hear him sigh before he turns on his heel, “listen, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” 

“I hope you don’t think this is weird,” He takes a few more steps back towards you, “but I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something for a while now,” 

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise, and suddenly you can see everything in his expression. You know this look. You know the way men get when they finally rip off the bandage and change the equilibrium of a room, the moment they decide they can’t see you as just a friend. What absolutely terrible timing he has.

“I was thinking,” He says, a little pause before the rest and you hope you’re keeping your face nice and neutral, “do you think I could take you out some time?” 

“Out?” The word leaves you. 

He smiles, “Yeah, out, like a date.” 

“I appreciate that,” You shake your head a little, trying to smile and keep things light, “but I don’t think so,” 

His lip quirks and his nose scrunches and you suppose that if you were interested you might find this part of him charming, but you’re not, so it isn’t. “Are you seeing someone?” He asks. 

“No,” You tell him honestly, “not right now.”

“So, I can’t get you to give me one chance?” He takes a step forwards, gesturing between you both and keeping his gaze hopeful. 

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” You shake your head, “we work together.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” He assures you, brushing past the boundary you tried to set with casual indifference, “don’t worry about that.” 

“Still,” You shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

You’re not at all thankful for him asking, but he’s nice enough, and it feels like the polite way to keep the status quo. 

“That’s a shame,” He admits, his smile dropping almost entirely, “are you sure I can’t convince you to give me just one chance? I really do like you, y/n,” 

“I’m sure,” That should be firm enough. 

“I thought we were getting along well,” He cuts off the end of your words, “becoming friends.” 

“I thought so too,” You straighten up off the wall behind you, tossing your towel over your shoulder and setting up to walk right out of the studio room if that’s what it would take to end this interaction, “I thought we were friends,” 

You can’t help but emphasize the word friends, and you watch the moment his expression drops more, annoyance flicking through his jaw. 

“I didn’t think you had such a problem seeing people you worked with,” He says pointedly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s just that,” He shrugs, nodding towards you, “I didn’t think it bothered you. Considering.”

“Listen,” You lock eyes with him, “let it go. I’m trying to be nice about this, but I can be clearer. I am not interested in going out with you.” 

“You don’t have to be rude,” 

“Goodnight, Minseok,” You’re not staying for this. 

“I’m a good guy,” He says as you start towards the door, “don’t, come on just stay a second,” 

You keep walking. 

“y/n,” He says, his voice startlingly close behind you, “stay.” 

It’s like your legs stop working, an echoing strike of nerves down your spine and you stumble slightly as his hand closes around your wrist. 

“Let go of me.” You start to turn towards him, pulling your arm back as you do, but he speaks again. 

“Stop.” His voice is so low suddenly, situated smack in the center of his chest, a tenor you’ve never heard from him before. Your legs stop working all together, suddenly feeling like lead.

“Take your hands off me.” You blink hard, your head feeling a little full suddenly. 

“I just don’t understand,” He bites, “we’ve been flirting for weeks.” 

You can’t find the words to tell him that you being nice isn't flirting, but you’re stunned into silence. You can barely even think of a time when you had a sustained conversation with him where someone else wasn’t present. How could interactions that felt so routine to you feel so significant for him? 

“And you’re just… not interested?” He scoffs, “You’re what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? You’re going to start running out of good offers.” 

So many things about Seo Minseok fall into place with just those words. The way that just a few weeks ago he barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. Always spending his attention on the alphas in the room around you, but never you. How when that tide shifted you thought, maybe naively, that he was just shy. But he’s not shy, not in the least. He’s just another alpha in a long line of alphas who look down their noses at omegas until there’s something they want from them. 

“That’s really none of your concern,” You shake your head, “now get the fuck off me.” 

“Be quiet.” His jaw sets hard. 

So does yours. 

A thousand thoughts run through your brain like a wildfire eating up a hillside of dry bark but nothing can make it past your lips. The tone of his voice has you rooted to the spot, his instructions not suggestions but strict commands. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard an alpha use tone, but it’s certainly the first time it’s been directed at you. You’ve heard stories, the way the primal omega brain surfaces even when you don’t want it to. You thought it was a bit of an overstatement, but now on the receiving end you can’t control your response to him and fear floods you. 

“You talk a lot for an unmated omega,” He looks disappointed. 

Something shrinks inside you. 

His fingers tighten, his body suddenly closer, “But we can fix that.” 

In a breath his hands push you backwards, your back suddenly cold against the mirrored wall of the practice room. Later, much later, you’ll discover that the reason your memory of this moment is patchy is a combination of your omega’s response to alpha tone and full dissociation. You’ll remember little pieces, quick sensations here and there. The same song still looping through the stereo, the sound of his deep inhale with his face pressed against your throat, the sharp pin pricks of his teeth as he seeks out the soft juncture of your neck and shoulder. The way your mind in one heaving breath both screams in rebellion and folds open in acceptance when he successfully locates your gland. 

You suddenly can’t hear right, can’t think right. All you know is his teeth. The hot feeling of breath. He smells like burnt, bitter oranges. He’s talking again, saying something that your conscious mind can’t register, but your omega does, and you stretch your neck long to give him the access he needs. 

And then you’re under. 

You’re dropping before you consciously register your brain entering a new, hazy middle space. It feels like being at the bottom of a deep pool, the sudden, immersive quiet. You understand that someone is talking to you, or around you, but all you can hear is the echoing tenor of an alpha, the words unclear, all cocooned in the water around you. 

There’s a bang somewhere but it feels far away, and you feel pin pricks against your throat. 

Minseok’s overwhelming acrid scent and heavy pressure against you is gone, the sudden loss of his weight leaving you off balance. You think you’re falling, or maybe you’ve already fallen. The world feels tilted, something hard and cold under your back. You smell something sharp and tangy, and there’s something loud in the room but you can’t understand it. Everything is white, bright and intrusive. 

Mingi’s face swims into your vision, and you feel his hands on your cheeks. It takes you a minute to understand anything, but he looks upset, stricken and his cheeks are tinged pink with panicked anger. You want to reach up, soothe his brow and see what’s wrong, but you can’t lift your hand. Don’t move an inch. 

“Jesus,” Mingi glances to his side, “he put her in subspace,” 

Someone responds, but it’s muffled to your ears. 

Mingi’s face darkens entirely, his hands leave you, “I’ll fucking kill him,” 

He’s gone. There’s a scuffle to your side, but you can’t turn your head, you want to, you just can’t. Tears bubble in your eyes, emotion pulsing through you and your breath is tight and thready in your throat. A sharp, whining sob bubbles from your lips. 

Warm rain swims through you, and Yunho’s there, sliding right into the spot Mingi left. His eyes dart over your face and then he looks to his side, his voice firm, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,” 

There’s a long beat, noises to your side again but you can’t understand it. Your stomach flips nervously, the place you’re stuck in your head throbbing a sharp spike through your brain. 

Yunho’s warm, brown eyes settle back on yours, his face calm and easy, “Can you hear me, y/n?” 

You can, but you can’t make your mouth work. Don’t move an inch. 

“Can you hear me? y/n?” He asks again, his thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re safe, he’s not going to touch you again,” 

The hard feeling of Minseok’s hands on your hips pushing you into the practice room mirror snaps inside you and you release a soft sound. 

“You can hear me,” Yunho nods, “come on, wake up,” 

“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is close again, hard and steady, “that’s not going to work,” 

“Why?” Yunho looks up to his friend, “she can hear me, she’s okay,” 

“She’s in subspace,” Mingi pushes his friend to the side, coming into your eye line, “she’s dropped so far under it’s going to take more than that,” 

“W-what do we do?” Yunho’s voice is shaky. 

“Let me try something,” Mingi murmurs, and then his eyes lock squarely on yours. 

Yunho slips his hand into yours, holding you tightly, but you can’t squeeze him back. 

“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and it’s the clearest thing you’ve heard since sinking under the water, “Come up now.” 

Don’t move an inch.

“You need to come up now,” His fingers tighten on your cheek, “listen to me.” 

Don’t move an inch. 

“Why isn’t this working?” Yunho asks, squeezing your fingers. 

“I’m not sure,” Mingi’s voice is low, and then he shifts closer to your face, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,” 

All you can do is manage to make a quiet, tight noise, and even to your muddled brain you can hear the tenor of distress. 

“Come up now,” Mingi repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega.” 

You’re being torn in two, your primal brain fighting you every step of the way. 

He swallows hard, his voice dropping low in his chest, “Don’t disobey your alpha,”

Suddenly nothing but his voice exists. 

Mingi’s expression is cold, tight and ruthless, his rich tone cuts straight to your core, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it. Now,” He locks his hands on either side of your face and his next words are a pointed and perfectly clear command, “Come. Up.”  

The room is so much louder than you thought a moment ago. There’s shouting outside and you vaguely register San’s voice amongst the mix. The music from practice is still on low. Yunho’s leg is bouncing nervously, the athletic fabric making a rhythmic swish with every bob of his knee. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears. 

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, the first feeling that floods back into your body is intense shame.

“Oh my god,” Mingi’s expression crumbles and he pulls your limp body into his arms “you’re here? You’re with us?”

“M-Mingi,” Your vision clouds with tears again and every feeling that tried to course through your body while you were in subdrop crashes into you sideways.

“Shh,” He rocks you in his arms, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

A dull throb radiates through your skull and Yunho takes a sharp inhale, “She’s bleeding,”

“What?” Mingi pulls back, his hand searching your body.

“Here,” Yunho brushes the back of your hair, his fingers coming away with a small line of blood, “it’s not too bad,”

“What happened?” You reach for the cut at the back of your head, nervous tears coming up as you try to understand.

“You don’t remember?” Yunho asks.

“I’m,” You swallow hard, “it was practice? Or I was practicing? I had the room booked.”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods and squeezes your hand, “what else?”

The date. The hard set of Minseok’s jaw when you said no. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, the soft drag of his teeth and the flat of his tongue over your gland. Your shirt tearing when he hauled you up against the mirrors. Hands everywhere. Hands nowhere. The white ceiling. His voice, harsh and direct in your ears, the alpha tone unmistakable. Submit. Heel. Don’t move an inch. 

Your mouth is suddenly hot and watery, and your hands are shaking, “I’m… I’m going to be sick,”

“Shit,” Yunho moves fast, sliding across the floor to grab the wastebasket that sits under the desk, pushing it into your hands. 

You wretch instantly, shaking and heaving, losing the contents of your stomach into the plastic bin. 

“Okay,” Mingi soothes, gathering up your hair into one hand and holding it away from your face, “you’re okay,”

“He touched me,” Your hands won’t stop shaking, his voice flooding back, and you heave again, “the things he said,”

“Shh,” Yunho shifts closer, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “you’re safe. None of that is true,” 

“He talked to me like a dog,” You sob, “and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”

“No.” Mingi’s voice is harsh and you twitch under his hands, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else. You didn’t let him do anything,” 

“I’ve never,” You wretch again, a dry heave with nothing to give and it makes your eyes watery. 

“We’re right here,” Yunho murmurs, “you’re safe.”

When you’re sure your stomach will hold, you push the wastebasket away and drop back to the floor, your head throbbing, “I’ve never been in subspace,”

“You’re not there now,” Mingi soothes.

“I don’t remember,” You manage, looking down at your mussed clothes, “it’s so muddled I can’t remember,”

“What can’t you remember?” Yunho asks softly.

You’re pretty sure you’d register it if his attempt at claiming had been successful, if the word attempt should even be in consideration at all, but the end is so fuzzy you just have to know. “Did he… did we?”

“No.” Yunho’s firm, sliding in front of you so he can make you look into his eyes, “absolutely not,”

Your mouth tastes terrible, but it’s the overwhelming bitter smell of him on you that doubles it and makes you want to throw up again even though your stomach is empty. 

“All I can smell is him,” You scrub your hands under your eyes to wipe away tears, “I can’t even breathe,”

“Take her,” Mingi says, “I’m getting water,”

Yunho pulls you into his arms, sitting back against the mirrored wall for some support and cradling you to his chest, “Come here, is this okay?” 

“Make it go away,” You hold onto his shirt and sigh into his neck, “please, Yunho, please,”

“Just breathe,” He soothes you, “I have you,” 

He smooths his thumbs over the glands in your wrists, easing the initial panic inside you, and then gently draws your head back with his hand, “It’s only me,” He murmurs, “you know I’d never hurt you,” 

Yunho licks a long stripe up your neck, and instantly your body starts to release, tense muscles unlocking and your fingers falling slack. His scent washes over you, enveloping you tenderly. 

“Y-Yunho,” you shudder as he licks another long stripe, moving to suck softly on the fleshy part of your neck that narrowly avoided teeth marks.

“Yes?” He kisses your neck softly, and licks again. 

“Thank you for coming for me,” You exhale slowly.

He stills, sinking closer and resting his closed lips on your shoulder. When he breathes in you hear the catch of emotion, “I thought we were too late,”

“I’m okay,” You murmur, and it’s starting to feel true now that he’s washing away Minseok’s scent.

“God,” He sighs into your skin, “when I heard you scream… I’ve never heard anything that terrifying in my life, I’ve never run so fast,”

“Did I scream?” You don’t remember it.

“Bloody murder,” He nods, pulling back to look at your eyes.

“Yunho,” Your eyes flick up towards the open door of the practice studio, “where is he?”

His hands tighten on you, “Probably nursing his broken ribs. The guys have him,”

Your eyes widen, and the realization that he’s still under the same roof has you trembling in his arms, “He’s still here,”

“Not for long,” He murmurs, “we called the police,”

“But,” Your mind is spinning and you feel the weight of him on your chest once more, “what if he comes back?”

“y/n,” Yunho draws your eyes away from the door, “San and Seonghwa have him, and he’s in rough shape. He’s probably focused on trying to breathe, not thinking about you anymore. And even if none of that were true and he did come back,” he says, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.”

Your muscles start to relax again, “Okay,”

“You are completely safe,”

Mingi reappears a few moments later, bottles of water in hand, and he smiles warmly, “Hey, you,”

“Hey,”

“Feeling a little better?” He asks, settling on the hard practice room floor and passing you an open bottle.

“I don’t know,” You murmur honestly, shifting in Yunho’s arms so that you’re resting on his lap with your back against his chest. You take a long drink of water and sigh. 

“Listen,” Mingi smooths a hand across your thigh, “the police are going to want to talk to you. They’ll be here within the hour and then we’ll go to the hospital.”

“Why?” You tense.

“Your head,” He nods.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Yunho assures you, “but he’s right, you could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,”

“I didn’t realize you had a medical degree,” Mingi says, a little edge to his voice.

Hot tears well in your eyes at his tone, and you shrink back into Yunho’s arms. You know rationally he didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just worried about you, but after the day you’ve had you can’t help but shrink back in fear.  

“Hey,” Yunho presses his lips to your neck, “it’s alright, Mingi didn’t mean it like that”

Mingi’s eyes blow wide, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything,”

“I know,” You tip your head to the side to offer more of your throat to Yunho’s soothing touches, “I’m just not myself,”

“It’s okay,” Yunho says again, returning to your neck and peppering kisses across your gland, and something about this should feel intimate and awkward when you haven’t talked to them yet, but all you can feel is safe.

“Really,” Mingi reaches for you, but doesn’t touch you, “I just want you to let us help, and I’m so angry with Minseok I could kill him, but I didn’t mean to put that on you,”

“Mingi,” You take his outstretched hand, “I’m okay, you just startled me, and you’re right anyways. I’ll come to the hospital,”

He sighs in relief.

“After,” Yunho murmurs, “would you - I mean, will you please come home with us tonight?”

It’s strange how much you feel like it is home, despite only spending your heat there, months ago, so long ago now you shouldn’t still feel this preternatural pull. 

“I don’t know,” You say, even though your body is begging you to agree, to stay with them and only them. 

“I know it’s been different between us,” He murmurs, arms tightening around you, “but you know how I feel. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, someone should be with you,” 

“Someone you feel safe with,” Mingi adds, “if that’s us,” 

“It is,” You lock your hand down on Mingi’s, “I’m sorry, this is… of course you’re safe, of course you are. I’m just,” 

“Let’s talk about this later,” Mingi smiles, shooting a look at Yunho you can’t quite make sense of, but brushing your fears to the side all the same, “for now, let’s just get you taken care of.” 

You shudder out a breath, letting the warmth and safety of their bodies sink into you. You turn into Yunho, resting your cheek on his chest and matching your breath in time to his. Your thoughts spin, bubbling over as threads of the incident come back to your mind and you press your eyes closed before the question slips out, “Why did he do it?” 

Yunho wraps his arms around you a little tighter, dropping his lips to your hair, “I don’t know,” 

Mingi clears his throat, “He’s about to hit his rut,” he says, “that’s what his excuse was. He said he’s… he kept saying how sorry he was, but,” 

Your eyes snap open, “Sorry? He’s sorry?” 

“Sorry someone interrupted him, maybe,” Mingi’s voice is hard, his eyes firm and unrelenting, “a rut doesn’t make you do that. Not like that.” 

Yunho shakes his head in agreement, ���Definitely not,” 

You know that, of course you know it, but after seeing Minseok’s black eyes you’re not so sure. You had never felt completely comfortable with him, but in the past you would have chalked that up to personality differences, and in the past few weeks that had all started to change. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t date, but you wouldn’t worry about bothering you. 

You sigh softly, “He didn’t seem like himself,” 

“Mm,” Mingi hums, non-committal. 

“A rut doesn’t make it impossible to hear the word no,” Yunho says firmly, “you don’t become some mindless animal. What he tried to do… that’s… a rut’s an easy excuse.” 

You tense up in his arms, a brief flicker of what could have been. His teeth in your neck, your mind spinning into submission. 

“Yunho,” Mingi shakes his head at his best friend, glancing down at you to indicate that it’s not something you can hear right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Yunho soothes, holding you closer if it’s at all possible. 

Your chest tightens, “Can I… I need to get up,” 

His arms relax immediately, hands shifting under your elbows to help support you while Mingi jumps up and offers you his hands to pull you up. Back on your own two feet you waver a minute, but you shake off the dizzy spell and try to get your bearings again. They're waiting on a razor’s edge, hands out and ready to intervene, but you’ve made it clear that for the moment you don’t want to be touched. 

A shout from the hall leaves you jumping, but you register Wooyoung’s voice a moment later, “Where is she?” 

“The studio,” San’s voice replies, “slow down,” 

“Is he in the back office? Give me a fucking minute alone with him,” Wooyoung’s voice is murderous and you smile at how ready your best friend sounds to do battle on your behalf, “I’ll show him what an omega can fucking do,” 

“Youngie,” San’s voice is even and warm, keeping things soft, “you need to calm down,” 

“Calm down,” He scoffs, his voice getting closer as he travels down the hall and you know he’s almost at the door. 

“I hardly think y/n needs,” San starts to say, but then they round the corner. 

Wooyoung’s eyes are wild, searching and terrified, and something inside you shatters. San’s words die on his lips when he sees you, and in a startling moment of clarity you rush forwards and into Wooyoung’s arms. 

“Shh, shh,” He wraps you up tight, one hand at the back of your head as he rocks you back and forth, “you’re safe, you’re in one piece,” 

“Woo,” Tears come fast, and you bury your face in his chest. 

“Stupid fucking alphas,” He curses into your shoulder and you can hear his breath hitched and clouded with tears of his own, “acting like they can take whatever they want,” 

You’re sure the rest of the room is bristling at that comment but you couldn’t care less. 

“You want me to break the rest of his ribs?” He kisses your head, “I’ll make it look like a fucking accident, I swear to God,” 

“Woo,” You laugh into his chest, vision blurry with unshed tears, “stop, that’s insane,” 

“I am nothing if not a little insane,” Wooyoung squeezes you, “and you and me? We protect each other, right?” 

“Always,” You grip the back of his shirt like a lifeline. 

The bond between omegas can’t be understood by a single other person in the room, maybe even in the building. You cling to each other in the middle of the studio floor, encased in this moment of shared grief. Of what you are and what that means. He shifts you in his arms so he can look at your face, cupping your tear stained cheeks. 

The sight of his own tears makes yours come faster, “What did I do?” 

His expression hardens and he shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, “Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Do you hear me?” 

“Woo,” You want him to let you go. You want him to tug you close again. 

He shakes your shoulders hard, and in your periphery you see Mingi take a half step forward as Wooyoung pushes back on your words, “You didn’t do anything. You’re existing, and he tried to take advantage of that. This isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could have or should have done.” 

You open your mouth to say something but he plows forward. 

“Alphas take, alright?” He shakes you again, more gently this time, “We’re lucky. You and me, we found good ones, but alphas are programmed to take, and we’re programmed to give. He used it against you. Nothing else.”

Your breath hitches, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him cradle you again. 

“Shh, shh,” He rubs your back, soothing you again. 

“I hate this,” You manage, your face buried in his shoulder. 

“I know,” He eases you, “I fucking hate it too,” 

You hold each other a little longer until both of your tears start to subside. You stay steady in his grip, his fresh salt and cotton scent lulling you into safety. The buzzing of your brain starts to release, and the fear is still there under your skin but at least for now it’s low and letting you breathe. 

Nuzzling into his shoulder you sigh, “What are you doing back here anyways?” 

“San called,” He kisses your hair, “I broke several laws getting here,” 

You laugh against his collarbone where his oversized t-shirt is pulled down, no doubt from the way your hands grip whatever part of him you can. 

He rubs a warm hand up and down your back and when he speaks again it’s not to you, this time he addresses the alphas in the room. He clears his throat softly, head lifting up and away from yours, “So, who busted his nose?” 

“Uh,” Yunho makes a small sound behind you, “that would be me,” 

“Good,” Wooyoung says, “when she stops crying I’m giving you a handshake,” 

You smile against his damp skin and shake your head, “I’m not crying, I’m fine,” 

“Sure,” Wooyoung murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go, just strokes your back more until you settle further into him. 

“The police will be here soon,” San murmurs, his voice staying relaxed and steady to make sure everything stays level in the room. 

“Right,” Wooyoung sighs, “y/n, can I let you go? I don't have to if you’re not ready,” 

You nod immediately though, unwinding your arms from him and taking a ginger step back. He gives you a soft smile, and you scrub the last of the tears from your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. He gives you a minute to stand steady and then turns to Yunho and Mingi who both look frozen and unsure of what to do or what to say. 

“You both got him off her?” He says, matter of fact. 

“Yeah,” Mingi’s voice is tight, like he had been choking back tears of his own, and Yunho simply nods. 

“Thank you,” Wooyoung tugs Mingi into a hug and squeezes him tight before shifting to Yunho to hug him too, “seriously,” 

Once they break apart, you’re left all in a haphazard circle, and you can feel all the eyes on you. It makes you so tired, dizzy, ready to be done and just crawl under a blanket for the rest of the week. In the back of your throat you still taste bitter orange. 

“Um,” Your voice comes out a little more scratchy than you want, and you clear your throat, letting everything fade. 

“What is it?” Yunho asks gently. 

You don’t know how to ask this, how to beg them to keep holding you together so you can just get through existing in this room. You sigh, the deep exhale making you dizzy again, and step towards him, “C-can I,” 

He opens his arms immediately, letting you close the space so he doesn’t assume your needs, but as you collide with him again he responds perfectly, scooping you up into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He supports you with ease, an arm under your thighs and another situated high on your back. 

“Better?” He murmurs, smiling a little as you bury your head in his neck. 

You nod into his neck, and then you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness, listening to your body and what it needs for once over your anxiety. You mumble it into his neck, but he hears you when you say, “Yunho?” 

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is so soft, quiet like he’s afraid of what you might say. 

You don’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high at the endearment, but you ignore him and focus instead on the man holding you up, together, in one solid piece. You lift your head so he hears you clearly, “Will you please take me home?” 

He goes still and turns his head just a little, “Your apartment or,” 

“Take me home with you,” You repeat, “I want to go home,” 

This will surely just make everything more muddled and foggy between the three of you tomorrow in the cold light of day, but you don’t care. Right now you just want to be home, in whatever form that means. 

He exhales low and shaky, “Alright,” he murmurs, kissing your throat softly to help calm your trembling, “I’ve got you, let’s go home,” 

A warm wide palm rests on the center of your back, and Mingi leans in close to catch your eyes, “y/n, can you look at me a second?” 

You pull your head up from the crook of Yunho’s neck where you’ve just been taking deep steady inhales of wet earth and meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” He smiles. 

Your eyes dart between him and Wooyoung, who seems suddenly ancy. “What?” You straighten up a little more in Yunho’s arms. 

“You can go wherever you want,” He starts off, “but do you want us to take you home, or would you feel more comfortable with Wooyoung? Or… Seonghwa, if… if that would be better for how you’re feeling,” 

Yunho tenses a little, his fingers tightening where he holds you, and you can feel him physically holding himself back from saying a single word, from begging you to come with them. 

You’ve made up your mind though, and within a second you’re shaking your head, “No, I want you,” 

Yunho relaxes, his lips returning to your throat and you sigh. 

“Then you have us,” Mingi assures you. 

The sound of the elevators in the hall stop you all cold though, and San holds up his hands, “I’ll go see, it’s probably the police,” 

The idea of talking to them suddenly makes you sick, and you’re sure it shows all over your face. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Wooyoung jumps back in, “don’t worry, we’ll be there the whole time.” 

You need this to be done. You grip down on Yunho’s shoulders, “I want to go home,” 

“I know,” Mingi nods. 

“Y-Yunho,” You’re scrambling a little in his arms, sudden panic swirling in your gut, and you twist to find his eyes, “please, get me out of here, please take me home,” 

You feel it the minute he chooses you over anything else, “Okay, alright,” 

“You need to talk to the cops,” Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to reason with you. 

You’re trembling in Yunho’s arms and he shakes his head, “She needs to go,” 

Mingi senses your heightened emotions too and you feel it when he moves closer, both of them shifting to protect you, “She can do this later,” 

“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” Wooyoung insists. 

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Yunho grips you tighter, “we’re taking our girl home,” 

“Your-” Wooyoung scoffs when he hears the words, “fucking alphas,” 

“Who she wants to take her home,” Mingi points out, a distinct edge to his voice. 

“Stop arguing,” You beg them, hanging onto Yunho’s shoulders, “please, please,” 

“Fuck,” Yunho relaxes, stroking your back, “I’m sorry, of course we won’t, I’m sorry,” 

Mingi brushes his hand over the back of your head and Wooyoung gives you an apologetic face, his defensiveness over you is understandable, but he also knows how you feel about these men and you watch him choose to hold his tongue. 

A knock on the door brings you all back to the present, San handling the situation with more grace than any of you combined, “The police said that they can speak with you at the hospital and make it brief.” 

You exhale heavily and nod against Yunho, “Okay, fine,” 

“Are you sure?” Mingi strokes your cheek. 

“I just want to be done,” 

“Should we stay with you?” Yunho murmurs. 

“Please,” You grip his shoulders. 

“Alright,” He sighs, “Woo, could you… I’m sorry, can you grab her things? Let’s just try to make this quick for her,” 

Wooyoung clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours, “Yeah, I got it,” 

“Uh,” San interrupts as you all try to gather your things, “Yunho, they want to talk to you first, they’re waiting in the back office,” 

“Oh,” 

“They have some questions,” San explains quietly, “but she she doesn’t need to be there for that,” 

“Right,” Yunho nods and then presses a kiss to your hair, “can I put you down, sweetheart?” 

Your chest warms. 

“No, here,” Mingi cuts in, his hand sweeping over your back and you feel them shift you from Yunho’s arms to his, “come here,” 

He settles you against his chest and you wrap around him just the same, soaking in the warm scent of cocoa and cinnamon. You let your eyes drift shut as you rest on his shoulder, “Hey, Mingi,” 

“Hey,” He says softly. 

“Thank you,” You sigh. 

“Mhm,” He rocks you a little as he takes your bags from Wooyoung and slings them over his shoulder, the combined weight of it and you not fazing him at all, “I told you once I’ll always be here, I meant it,” 

“I believe you,” You murmur into his throat. 

You rest here, Mingi’s thumb rubbing a comforting line over the back of your neck. 

“Time to go,” Wooyoung’s voice pipes back in, “there’s a car ready, Yunho will be there in a a few minutes,” 

“Alright,” Mingi presses a soft kiss to your hair, “here we go,” 

He carries you with ease, and you sink into the steady thump of his heart under your palm that’s keeping you grounded. Over his shoulder you watch Wooyoung walking with you and you see police officers down the hall. The door to the back office swings open and Yunho is leaning against the desk as he speaks with an officer. Seonghwa sits in a chair next to him, his head in his hands, blood coating his knuckles and the sleeves of his shirt. Something pulls in your gut, begging you to go to him, but then you’re outside and all you can feel is Mingi holding you as he ferries you into the car. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks as he settles you into the passenger seat 

“I don’t know,” You tell him honestly, letting your head drop back against the seat and taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Wooyoung jumps forward, “keep your eyes open,” 

“I’m fine,” You tell him, but you still do what he asks. 

“Just in case,” Wooyoung presses, “you shouldn’t fuck with head injuries,” 

“He’s right,” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you just outside the car, “and I’m sure you’re fine, but let’s just be sure, okay?” 

“Okay,” 

  A noise just past the two of them makes you jump. 

“It’s just Sannie,” Wooyoung assures you. 

You nod and Mingi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. 

“Yunho’s almost done,” San announces, but he hurries to the car and leans in to check you, “doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Can you do something for me?” He cups your cheek to bring your eyes up to his. 

“Mhm,” You nod again. 

“I need you to just focus on us for a minute,” He moves to crouch next to Mingi, and then Wooyoung steps closer too, blocking out some of your peripheral vision. 

“Why?” You fight the urge to turn around. 

Red and blue lights flash in the car mirrors and you reflexively glance up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of an ambulance, and tension fills your stomach. 

San reaches up and catches your face again, “Hey, look at me,” 

You pull your eyes away, “Are they here for him?” 

“Yes,” San nods.

“Is he badly hurt?” Your mouth feels dry. 

There’s a pause and then Wooyoung sighs, “Don’t lie to her,” 

Mingi clears his throat softly, “He’s pretty busted up,” 

“Good,” You breathe. 

San smiles, taking your other hand in his and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. The sound of the doors catches your attention again, and you resist the urge to turn around once again. San shakes his head a little, “Just keep looking at us,” 

“He really picked the wrong person to fuck with,” Wooyoung says, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder. 

An image of Seonghwa and his bloody knuckles flashes through your mind and your breath quickens, “Is Hwa okay?” 

Mingi’s brows draw together. 

“He’s fine,” San assures you immediately. 

“I saw blood,” You can’t articulate it exactly, the image is just static in your mind. 

“It’s not his blood,” San promises, “we’re all fine, Seonghwa is fine,” 

The sound of the ambulance doors swinging shut makes you jump. 

“Shh,” Mingi squeezes your hand, “you’re safe, you’re with me,” 

Everything in your body feels tense and stretched thin, but Mingi’s hand is solid in yours and you grip down on it, letting it tether you. 

You listen as the ambulance pulls away, your muscles unclenching one by one as the sound of the vehicle fades. 

“Woo,” You manage, “can you check on Hwa for me? And text me?” 

“Yeah,” He assures you, “I got you,” 

“Take a deep breath,” Mingi instructs you, “please, for me,” 

You take a long inhale and meet his eyes and he nods as you let the breath out low and slow through your nose. 

“Again, please,” He nods. 

You breathe again, the same steady pace, “I’m tired,” 

“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Mingi tells you, “but as soon as a doctor says you can sleep, you can rest,” 

“Okay,” You nod. 

San’s hand disconnects from yours and he starts to stand, “Yunho’s done,” 

You twist in your seat to see him, Wooyoung stepping out of the way, and you can see Yunho jogging towards the car, “Everything okay?” 

“Mhm,” Mingi keeps himself calm for you. 

“That took forever,” He says, “I’m sorry,” 

“It didn’t,” You shake your head, “don’t be sorry,” 

“You should go,” Wooyoung interrupts, “get her looked at,” 

You find your best friend’s eyes, “You’ll text me?” 

“Of course I will,” He nods, “but right now just focus on yourself. We’re all okay,” 

You nod, and your eyes feel heavy again already. You know they’ll be trying to keep you awake in the car at this rate. 

“Let’s go,” Mingi nods, “can I have my hand back for a minute?” He smiles at you. 

“Sorry,” You drop his hand, almost embarrassed at the way you’re clinging to him. 

“Go,” San ushers Yunho towards the driver’s side, “if you need anything, we’re here,” 

Before you know it everyone’s moving and your car door is shut. Yunho slides into the driver’s seat to your left and Mingi moves into the backseat behind you. 

You meet Wooyoung’s eyes through the window and he rests a hand over his chest. He mouths a simple message - I love you, okay?

You nod and the car starts to move, but you know he knows you love him too. 

Mingi shifts forwards in his seat as Yunho starts to drive, and his long arm reaches around to find your hand again. He laces your fingers together once and this time he doesn’t let go. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, the warm, rich scent of their apartment almost takes you out at the knees when you finally cross the threshold, so overwhelmingly comforting and enveloping that you want nothing more than to bury yourself inside the feeling for days. Mingi nearly runs into your back when you stop short in the entryway and Yunho’s watching you carefully as he hangs up your jackets. 

“What?” Mingi nudges you gently. 

There’s a million things to say. Things left unsaid after your last conversation, that fight you wish you could forget. The letter. All the things you were planning on confessing Saturday. The way you want so badly to erase today and just be with them. Every ounce of their soothing physicality after Minseok brings all your emotions up tenfold. Their tenderness almost chokes you. All the things you want to say are stuck in your throat. You need to get your head on straight. You need sleep. 

“Hey,” Yunho waves a hand in front of your dazed expression, “are you alright?” 

Not really. The hospital was long and awkward, seeing a glimpse of Minseok’s name on a hospital room door even worse, and the police had so many questions that all sounded fairly judgemental. Not to mention the probing questions from the hospital staff about your cycle and if you’re close to pre-heat. As if that matters at all. You settle for something a little less dire though, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been a while,” 

Yunho’s ears darken to a deep shade of pink and he nods. 

“You can sleep in my room,” Mingi offers, “like before. We can stay or not stay, it’s up to you.” 

“I’d like to be alone,” You tell them, “if that’s alright,” 

“Of course,” Mingi smooths a hand down your arm, “whatever you want.” 

“Um,” You sigh heavily, “honestly I’m exhausted. I think I might just shower and sleep as long as you don’t mind,” 

Yunho shakes his head, gesturing towards the hall, “Not at all, just… call if you need anything,” 

You start back towards the bathroom, your eyes down and away from them, but Mingi calls out, “You remember where everything is?” 

There’s no way you could forget, and you call back that you’re fine. You got it. You just need to be alone, alone is good, alone feels safe. 

In the shower you scrub your skin raw, spending extra time and attention on your glands even though it makes your skin there puffy and red, pinpricks of blood at the surface of your skin and lilac bruises surrounding every edge. It doesn’t matter how comforting their scents are, nothing is taking away the deep intent of Minseok’s mouth on your neck - and the bitter, burnt citrus smell takes ages to wash away. By the time you finish, you’re about ready to collapse. 

Mingi leaves you clothes again, folded neatly on his bed and ready for you. They’re nowhere to be seen, taking your plea for time alone seriously. He’s laid out a clean pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, both fresh from the wash. The hoodie you had stolen during your heat lies next to it, and it’s a kind gesture, but suddenly you don’t want it. You want nothing. 

You toss the hoodie to the side and start to climb into the bed, but that smells so heavily of cinnamon spice that you can’t think straight. You had just gotten used to blissfully smelling nothing after your shower, and so you strip the bed entirely, discarding all of the pillows and blankets and sheets into the farthest corner of the room. 

The mattress is bare now, but once you turn the circulating fan off you fix the issue of the cold and his scent washing over you every time you try to close your eyes. You can still sense him, sense them, somewhere in the background, but here on the stripped bed in sterilized clothes with your skin rubbed raw, you can rest. 

You drift into sleep this way, your head clear. 

It doesn’t stay that way for long. 

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before you wake in abject terror, but it must be at least a couple of hours with the sky outside pitch dark and the apartment completely quiet around you. It’s obvious you’re the only one awake, but your brain can’t quite process it right. All you feel is shaking fear and the echo of hands pressing you into the wall, fingers in your hair yanking your head to the side, teeth grazing against your throat. 

You scramble back, only to find the edge of the bed and you collapse off of it, ending up on the wood floor with your head spinning, Mingi’s bedside table lamp crashing down after you, a harsh flash of light pulsing through the room as the bulb breaks and gives one final dying flicker. 

The pleading whine that’s caught in your throat sounds like a trapped animal to your ears, the pounding of your heart threatening to break your chest, blood rushing through your ears like a train. You can’t grasp reality, everything feels hazy and disconnected. 

The door to your right bangs open, Yunho bleary and confused, but responding to your heightened state of fear within a moment. “Mingi!” He calls over his shoulder, “Mingi, get up right now,” 

There’s a faraway faint noise from the other room. 

Yunho skids to your side, careful not to touch you as he tries to meet your eyes in the dark, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare.” 

Part of you knows that you’re awake, safe and home, and not trapped in subspace with a threatening hand in your hair, but you can’t quite grip back to reality. You stutter out a reply, “I-I can’t breathe,” 

“Mingi,” Yunho calls back over his shoulder again, “right now!”

“Please,” you whimper, part of your brain still lodged in the nightmare, “I can’t breathe,” Your hands cling onto the edge of the rug.

Mingi stumbles into the room now, half asleep but forced into consciousness and he’s shaking himself, catching up quickly, “What’s going on?” 

You hear him, but your body is stuck remembering and you feel like there’s a weight on your chest, pressing you down harder, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” you stutter. 

“Sweetheart,” Yunho comes closer now, his body curling around you carefully with his face directly at your side, “it’s a nightmare, you’re safe.” His arms loop around you gently, but stay open in case you need to move.

“I can’t,” you shake your head, images swimming before you. 

“You’re not there,” he tells you, “we’re home, you’re with us, me and Mingi,” 

You wheeze, trying to regulate your breath. 

“Get a light,” Yunho pleads suddenly to the dark room, and you can hear scrambling, “she can’t see where she is, get a light on.” 

Mingi trips over the discarded lamp on the floor, and fumbles back to the lightswitch on the wall near the door, searching for it with his hands but reluctant to tear his eyes away from you. Suddenly the room floods with the overhead light, a stark fluorescent glow, and the black spots across your vision start to clear.

“I have you, I have you,” Yunho repeats, holding you to him. 

Your hand searches blindly for Mingi on the other side of you and he collapses next to you both, taking your hand and moving in to cradle you from the opposite side, “Baby,” he murmurs, “look around, look where you are,” 

Yunho’s hand on your thigh grounds you, and then Mingi softly touches your jaw to draw your gaze to him, “Look at me,” 

Your eyes flick up. He looks tired, exhausted even, his hair a wayward haystack. You blink hard, “What happened to you?” 

“To me?” Mingi’s brow furrows and he glances up past you to Yunho. 

“You need sleep,” You manage. 

Mingi laughs sharply and cups your cheeks, “I’ll sleep later. Can you tell me where you are?” 

“Your place,” You manage, and you feel the nightmare receding back into your mind inch by precious inch, your breath steadying out. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s right,” 

“I’m home with you,” You repeat, your fingers sinking into the plush rug beneath you. 

Yunho swallows hard, fixated on the way you’ve called their apartment home, not their home, for the third time tonight. You watch the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he lets it pass and so do you. 

Tears well up in your eyes again and you sigh, “I’m sorry about your lamp,” 

“What?” Mingi’s brow furrows, “Who cares about that?” 

“Still,” You manage, “I’m such a mess right now,” 

“If you weren’t a mess I’d be more worried,” Yunho takes your hand in his, squeezing your fingers, “and you can take all the time you need to be a mess, we’re here.” 

You slump forwards onto his shoulder, “I’m… so tired,” 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Yunho soothes, his voice soft. 

You nod, letting them both ease you up to your feet, but when they turn to the bed Mingi makes a soft, confused noise, “Where?” 

“Oh,” You gesture towards the corner where all his bedding is wrapped up in a ball, “I’m sorry I was just… it was too much,” 

Mingi’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck jumping as he swallows hard, and you know he’s holding down so much anger, that someone could have scared you enough that any alpha’s scent became overwhelming, that your fear might extend even to them. 

“Okay,” Yunho cuts in easily, “whatever you want,” 

He eases you back onto the mattress, but the idea that they might be gone again strikes a deep lance of panic through your stomach and you grasp his arm, “Don’t go,” 

“Are you sure?” He murmurs. 

“Please,” You insist, tugging his arm again. 

He eases down beside you, and Mingi crosses to the opposite side of the bed so he can follow suit, sidling up to your back but careful not to touch you until you make it clear that you want him to. You fold your arm underneath your head and rest yourself down, and when your hair shifts off your neck you hear Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of your tender gland. 

“Baby, what,” He reaches for you, fingertips hovering, “sweetheart, what did you do?” 

“I’m fine,” You murmur but when you feel fingers gently coast over the raw skin you hiss sharply in pain and both their hands pull back. 

“y/n,” Mingi’s voice is low, shaky, and he scoops up your arm to check your wrists, finding them as swollen and bruised, “oh my god,” 

“I know,” You murmur, letting your eyes drift shut. 

“This is not okay,” Mingi sounds pained, “you can’t hurt yourself like this,” 

“I’m okay, I promise,” 

“We could have helped,” Yunho insists, “we could have scented you again, both of us, or called Seonghwa, or something, anything,” 

“Seonghwa?” You start, but Mingi cuts you off as he pushes your hair further to the side to see more of your neck. 

He makes a tight noise with his tongue against his teeth, “These look tender, Yunho’s right,” 

“You scented me plenty,” You shake your head, letting your hair fall back into place, “but I promise, I’m okay,” 

Mingi wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking you close to his chest and dropping his head onto yours, “You’re scaring me,” he confesses into your hair. 

“I know,” You murmur, “but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” 

“And now?” Yunho asks softly. 

“I’m a little better,” You pull him closer, “I was overwhelmed earlier and… even you both I didn’t want, but now? I feel safer, clearer,” 

Yunho kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger as you all get your emotions back in check, “Okay,”  

“Can we stay just like this?” You nuzzle into him, pulling Mingi in closer behind you until you’re snuggled up so tight you might overheat . 

“I’ll be wherever you want,” Mingi wraps his hand around yours and tucks them into your chest.

Yunho murmurs his agreement softly and you nod, letting their heat soak into your body and releasing your tense muscles bit by bit. You were supposed to tell them how you felt already, you need to get it out in the open before things get too blurry again, but right now you have to let it go. 

Silence stretches between the three of you, their breathing even and low, and you’re not sure if they’re asleep or awake when you make your quiet plea in the dark but in a whisper you beg them to never, ever let you go again. At least for tonight, they hold you fast.

[chappellrroan]

vio why does he also fit the dark romance theme😭 like😭 do u see the vision😭

i totally see your vision it's the jawline the rbf and that aura PLUS THAT MAKEUP you're absolutely right

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part six) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Bucky and the reader finally give in to their desires. In 2018, after the battle in Wakanda, Steve Rogers decides to be selfish and takes what he deserves (also known as, smut-filled self-indulgent chronicles with our super soldiers) + in the 1950s, Steve is greeted with the most unexpected of visitors

themes/warnings : language, smut ahead! 18+ - minors dni

word count : 4.3k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

It felt strange at first, feeling Bucky's lips against yours.

He's gentle, each kiss punctuated by a pause, like he's savouring each one.

He's worried that you might not kiss him back and that you don't feel the same.

But how could you not feel the same? How could this not feel right?

He pulls back for a second, and he takes you in. Your eyes blinking at him, lips left parted with a wet sheen over it.

He smiles. You mirror his gesture.

It's okay, he tells himself as he presses his forehead to yours, I am not alone in this.

He looks on as his warm-blooded hand grazes down to your collarbones, snakes above your ribs, then halts by the curve of your hips, gripping with a bit more strength, his reservations easing.

He wants more. His deep blue eyes beg the question.

That blue reminds you of someone else's for a split second, ones you would recognize anywhere, ocean eyes that you think you would love for all time.

Or so you thought.

Kissing Bucky feels like waking up from a drawn-out fever dream. All your life, you've been on the run, never quite finding a haven. Save for that cabin, many years ago.

But now, you could have this, and this something - someone - could actually be just yours.

You pull him back in, giving in, shivers running down your spine when his tongue snakes past your lips and dances with your own. His hands cup your backside, then lifts you up to wrap your legs to around his waist.

He slams you back against the wall as a result, and Bucky is quick to appraise you, asking, "Is this okay?"

Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, "Bucky, this is more than fucking okay."

His body slumps in relief against you, and he nuzzles your neck, breaking into a grin, and god help you if he doesn't feel better than the warmth of sunlight after an endless winter.

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He kisses you again, messily sucking at your bottom lip as he deftly carries you over to your kitchen island. You feel flushed when he pulls back to admire you, his pupils dilated, and says, "You taste so good, doll."

"Bucky," you pant, your fingers curling at the back of his neck.

"So good," he repeats. "I bet you taste good all over, too."

You're suddenly grateful to be wearing only teensy pajama shorts, feeling the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against your skin. The ridges of his bionic arm leaving tingles in their wake.

He lowers himself, until his face is level with your regrettably still-clothed crotch. His every breath gusts between your inner thighs, and when he bites his lip and slowly pulls your shorts and underwear down, down, until they slide off your ankles, the hungry look that forms on his face is almost enough to make you explode.

"You don't know how much I've wanted this," he whispers, lips gliding along your upper thigh, until it lands at the crest of your labia, where he places the softest, open-mouthed kisses. Your ass presses against the cold tile on your kitchen counter instinctively, your tight-knuckled hands bracing at your sides.

Maybe this is all a damn good dream. Maybe you imbibed yourself to sweet slumber, white wine bottle rolling empty by your bedside table.

Bucky licks a stripe along your cunt, before eagerly sucking at your throbbing opening. He uses his bionic fingers to stretch you open, sliding in and out, as his tongue plunges just above. After a while, he looks up at you for assurance.

Yes, god yes.

He's real and he's warm and he's here.

"Say you're mine, doll," he says. It's a command, but it comes across almost pleading. You can't exactly fault Bucky for having his fair share of doubts and insecurity. Steve Rogers has a light that is hard to eclipse, even in memory.

But that's all he is now. A memory.

There are voices in the back of Bucky's mind that taunt him, saying, she'll never be yours. Not really. How could she, when you don't hold a candle to her former lover? The hero, the soldier, the Avenger.

But he drowns them all out, even just for tonight. One look at you falling apart from his touch is enough to quell all of his worries. I deserve this, he thinks. Steve left to get what he truly wants. Who's to stop me from doing the same?

"All yours," you say. "I'm all yours."

His heart soars, and his lips stretch out in a smile, glistening from the juices of your cunt.

He stands, his face levelling with yours, and his mouth gravitating towards your own. Your hands find purchase in his hair, holding him ever closer, fingernails massaging his scalp.

He groans in pleasure at the sensation and against your lips, he admits, half-muffled, "I could kiss you forever."

"Good thing you super soldiers live quite long then."

"Hmm," he agrees, then adds breathlessly, his blue eyes burning into you, "I wanna... wanna fuck you, doll. Would you let me have you?"

By his tone, you almost wonder how he held himself back from adding please at the end.

"Bucky," you can't help but smile, "do you even have to ask?"

And it's a goddamn blissful whirlwind from there.

He pulls you from the kitchen island, and you land clumsily on his shoes, tripping into his arms in the process. He laughs, jokily saying, "My girl right here..."

"Yeah," you wag your eyebrows, "I am so smooth."

"It's almost impressive," he responds, both hands framing your face, about to lean in.

"Almost?" you reach up and trace his lips.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were some secret agent or something," he makes a suspicious face, and it's all so silly that you break out into a giggle.

"Oh yeah?" you play along, while you two sway aimlessly, arms wrapped around each other.

"Yeah," he nods, then says, "come here and kiss me already."

"Just a kiss then?"

"A kiss," he nips at your earlobes, "then y'know, maybe we can make love and all that," then he pecks at the corner of your lips, "maybe... I dunno... you'll finally let me fuck you senseless." He shrugs at that, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You come to realise that Bucky Barnes has perhaps always been this charming. Was he like this in the 40s - a smooth talker, perennial ladies magnet? You remind yourself to ask him about it later.

But now... now the two of you stumble into your bedroom, in a flurry of kisses and the rest of your clothes haphazardly thrown on the floor.

Taking him in, you see how Bucky is undeniably well-built, his every muscle defined and trained to perfection. He makes a sound of appreciation when the last article of clothing is stripped from your body, his hands grabbing on the closest patch of skin he can find. "You're so beautiful," he preens, squeezing at the mounds of your breasts. He then guides you down on your bed, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking and gently nipping at the flesh.

"Are you kidding," you can barely speak, eyes shut in pleasure, when he plunges his fingers back into your soaked cunt. "Have you seen you?"

He merely continues, watching as you grip his wrist and beg, "Just like that, Buck... so good... faster...."

Adding a third finger in, he whispers in your ear, "You gonna come for me, doll?"

"Y-yes... keep going..."

"So damn perfect," he purrs, fingers making hook motions inside of you, speeding up the pace.

He alternates between kissing you full on the mouth, and nipping at your neck, letting you take grateful breaths of air. Your chest rises and falls almost in sync with his fingers audibly slopping in and out of your cunt.

Bucky can't seem to take it any longer when straddles you, lining up with your entrance. His sucks your pre-cum from his fingers before giving his taut cock a few strokes for good measure. He tilts his pelvis forward, his tip pressing right against your opening. Keeping it in position, he half-crawls up to you, until his forearms brace by the sides of your face.

His pupils are blown out and his eyes appear entirely darkened when they meet yours. You nod once, biting your lip in anticipation.

His cock enters you, stretching you out wide. It's a familiar kind of pain, one that's most welcome. He watches in awe as your eyes roll to the back of your head as he slides in, inch by inch, until he's fully sheathed.

He lets out a deep exhale, partially in relief. He's here, you've accepted him and you're only his for tonight.

You catch him smiling to himself, and ask, "Amused, Buck?"

"Oh, it's nothing," he replies. He slides out of you just so, before burying himself back in, right to the hilt. A moan bubbles out of you throat.

"Just thinkin' about how lucky I am," he rasps through another quick snap of his pelvis. "Thinkin' about how damn perfect you sound, taking my cock in so well like that."

"Mmmphh," is all you can manage, when he picks up the pace, slamming into you with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass. He sits back, lifting your legs over his shoulders.

The new angle allows him to plunge in deeper, hitting that one sweet aching spot each time.

"Bucky," you moan, hands reaching to steady yourself using the headboard, greedily looking to where his body connects with yours. To where his thick cock disappears inside your pussy, again and again.

It turns sloppy, frantic, your legs freely extending to the sides. Beads of sweat forming by his brows, grunts freely emanating from his lips. He falls forward, and you wrap your arms around him, nails scratching his back.

"Oh yeah, doll," he would say, "...feel so good... so good..." until the words are no longer coherent, his pelvis jackrabbiting with no rhythm.

"Bucky," you moan, feeling your release nearing, getting hotter and hotter.

His forehead connects with yours, and with one wet all-tongue kiss, you feel him convulse inside of you, filling your insides with his cum.

He makes sure to keep moving, to keep kissing you all over, until you follow not long after.

Hands gripping the sheets, you're overwhelmed with bliss. It's all pleasure, all warmth, all Bucky.

He collapses next to you after a moment, breathless. The two of you share the smile of satisfied lovers, and he wants to say more. He wants to say it, but the confession isn't fully formed.

Not yet.

For now, this is enough.

You lean in and press a gentle kiss on his lips.

Oh yeah, he thinks. This is more than enough.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2018, two nights after the battle in Wakanda

Once it started, it was like dominoes cascading right into place.

There was no stopping it - you and Steve definitely had no desire to stop.

He appeared in the doorway of your quarters just after midnight, the Avengers compound somber and silent. Once he spoke your name in that low voice, you knew what he wanted.

You wanted it too. Needed it even.

You both did everything you could, put it all on the line and it was all lost in a single second. With just a mere snap.

You were still trying to process the depth of your loss, still haven't reached out to your friends to check if they still existed. You didn't want to face the possibility of calls unanswered, no one left on the other line.

Steve was the same, but he bore it harder than you. In that moment, he hated himself - the so-called leader of the Avengers, ever the figurehead of guidance and hope. Everyone always looked on him to be perfect and dominant and steadfast.

He knew none of that would ease up anytime soon. And to the rest of the world, he would have to be Captain America. They would look to him for answers, and advice on how to proceed. He would be expected to carry everyone through their pain, and he would.

But who was ever there for him? When will he ever be allowed to just be Steve, and to show that he also feels completely vulnerable, especially in that time?

He whispered your name, just the once, and that was all it took.

America's Golden Boy had been holding everything in ever since they got him out of the ice. That night, you allowed him to release it all, and the two of you collided in a frenzy of lust and longing, frustration and defeat.

And unbridled love.

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Steve kissed you hungrily, much harder than he did right after the battle, if that were even possible.

That kiss had been bruising, but this was uninhibited.

No, there was nothing unsure in his movements. There was no doubt of what he wanted when he picked you up bridal-style, biting at your neck.

He gracelessly plops you down on your bed, and you bite your lip at the sight of him. He'd shaved again, so it was easy for you to spot the fleck of fresh blood on his lips.

He took notice, and he carelessly ran his thumb over it.

"You bit me," he said, "you fucking minx."

Steve Rogers sure had a mouth on him when he wanted to.

Getting on your knees, you pull his hand to your lips and suck the red spot off his thumb.

"Goddamn it, angel," he whispers huskily, eyes glazing over in lust.

Angel. You felt your warmth pooling down below.

He hurriedly stripped off his white shirt and stepped out of his navy sweatpants, then beckoned to you with a tilt of his jaw, "C'mere."

Standing upright by the foot of the bed, he simply watched as you crawled closer to him.

You knelt on the bed, palms pressed against his bare chest. Even at that height, he was still angled at almost a foot taller than you.

"What do you want?" he asked, his fingers tilting your face up at him. "Use your words, angel."

Tell me you want me.

"Steve," you started to say, but your words fumble when he started peppering soft kisses on your neck.

"Mmm," he purred against your skin, "what was that?"

"I... I want you."

His stony mask fell, but it was short-lived. His lips curled right back into that imperious smirk.

He then bunched his fists in the neckline of your shirt, then rips it down the middle, like it was nothing but paper.

Your torso left bare to him, he cast a hungry look over the curve of your breasts, before his eyes met yours again.

"Off," his fingers ran along the waistband of your trousers, drifting against your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. "unless you want me to rip it apart, too."

His commanding voice made you scramble to follow, shakily pulling your trousers off and pushing them off the bed.

"All of it," he impatiently added. So you complied.

Aye, Captain.

Your underwear landed atop your trousers on the floor. You were exposed to him, fully, cold air making your nipples rise on attention. He shamelessly took you in, but he does not make a move just yet.

He made it known that you should follow his orders. "Well?" he said. "What are you waiting for?" His eyes lower to the shape of his cock straining against his boxers, then back to you.

Licking your lips, you lowered the cotton, until his erect manhood was revealed to you in all its glory, glistening at the tip. You'd imagined it, many times before, wondering whether the serum also made this part of him enhanced.

And it did. God, it did.

Or maybe Steve Rogers has always been this blessed.

Your eyes flit to him for permission, and he just looked amused. Gripping at base of his length, you angled your head forward, and let your saliva drip down on it. You use the wetness from your spit and his pre-cum to give his cock several, good strokes, making it twitch in the process.

He hummed, the sound deep in his chest. "Good girl," he praised you, making your whole body feel like fucking jelly, "don't keep me waiting, now."

Your mouth formed an O-shape, sliding down on his cock, and you take him in fully until his tip touched the back of your throat. He fucking moans, the sound so lewd to your ears, disjointed by his little shaky breaths.

"That's my... good... girl," he praised, when you moved your head up and back down, lips gliding smooth on the thick girth of his soaked cock. He pressed his palm on the back of your head, guiding you, making you suck him a faster pace.

It's too much - your own increasing pleasure, and the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting the back of your throat - that errant tears escape the corners of your eyes.

"Shhh, my angel," he purred. "I'm coming... just you wait..."

"Mmm," you could barely make a sound, only glancing up to appreciate him. His eyebrows are ruffled, maroon lips parted and panting, his head tilted to see his good girl at a better angle.

His moaned loudly, almost growled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, fuck," he curses, "I'm so close..."

You slid him in deep one last time, before he pulled out of your mouth suddenly, pushing you to your back. He clambered onto the sheets in a flourish, before releasing streams of hot milky cum on your chest.

His fingers squeezed his cock, as he emptied himself onto you, watching as the rivulets stream from your nipples down to your bedsheets.

"Steve," you watched in amazement, entranced by the sheer pleasure in his expression. "Take me."

"Oh I will," he promised, still stroking himself at the sight of you. He's hard again, and you just laid there, aching to be filled.

He positioned himself, darkened gaze greedily taking you in, pleased by the unabashed desire on your face. He doesn't break eye contact as he mercilessly pushed his cock inside you in one fell swoop. The sheer size of it gave rise to a slightly painful sensation, and you bit your tongue to keep from screaming his name.

He didn't like that, didn't take to the idea that you were holding back.

"Scream my name, angel," he prodded. "You know you want to."

And scream his name you did. You couldn't help it, repeatedly exclaiming, "Fuck yes, Steve," as he pounded into you without abandon. He gave it everything, let go of it all, with each relentless thrust.

Your eyes were closed in sheer pleasure when suddenly he deftly twists your body over, his cock never leaving the slick warmth of your pussy.

The sudden change in position rendered you alert for a moment, your hands out reaching out to brace yourself.

You're left on all fours, hands gripping the sheets, as Steve kept slamming into your dripping cunt. He kept a tight hold on you, squeezing your raised ass, using it to bury himself even deeper.

He made you see stars with every sharp snap of his hips, made you moan his name again and again. Your cunt getting slicker, the warmth in your belly spreading each time he praised you with, "My good girl," or, "You take me so well, angel."

He soon released again inside of you, then pulled out, your pussy dripping with his cum. But he wasn't finished just yet. He effortlessly carried you over to one side of your room, your back pressed against his chest.

You immediately realised what he wanted to do, when he stopped right in front of the full-length mirror, and bid you with a stern, "Hands up."

You braced your palms against the glass, catching his eyes in the reflection which were clouded over in sheer lust. He pressed his palm on your lower belly and takes you in from behind, his cock sliding right back into your cunt. The pleasure of it hit so damn good, that you knees almost gave way.

"Look at how good you take me," he groaned from behind you. "Look at how beautiful you are, angel."

Your moans melded with his, along with the slick constant sound of his cock plunging into your sore pussy.

At some point, you fell forward and the motion made him follow. Your breasts pressed against the mirror, and he tilted your head back to sloppily kiss you, one hand applying pressure on your neck. He left bites on your neck and shoulders, his sharp teeth sinking into the skin to muffle his moans.

He fucked you wildly, drunk on the sight of your blissed-out face in the reflection. When your release came, it fell almost in sync with his, cum spilling down your thighs.

It took a long while to come down from such a high, and you lay in bed, letting everything sink in. You watched as he retrieved a wet towel from your bathroom and cleaned you up promptly.

When he joined you a moment later, he encased you with his entire body, legs entwined with yours, face nuzzled against your neck.

You felt tiredness quickly setting in, as you stroked his face, lovingly whispering, "How about we just go back to our cabin, hmm?"

That was just a dream, and you both knew it. The world just wasn't in the habit of allowing you two to simply be happy.

In that moment, Steve wanted to cry. Because you were perfect, just so perfect, and he wasn't.

He could never be good enough, never be the Steve you thought he was. Your Steve. All he was is a man out of time, a man who can never come home from the war.

He was broken, and all he had left was the last truth he held onto, the one thing he could give you.

"I love you," he whispered as you drifted to sleep.

He wouldn't be there when you woke in the morning. But you would remember everything, and like a resounding echo, his words would never leave you.

I love you.

If only that was enough. If only that made him stay.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2024, seven months after Steve's departure

Bucky stays over for the night, and you wake up in his arms.

It's a lazy day, no routine in place, the two of you falling in and out of sleep, talking nonsense and sharing food. Smiling against kisses. Having to bite your lip at the sensation of his metal fingers pleasuring you over again.

At some point in the early evening, you decide to wash up and get dressed. You settle on the couch in your living room, as he takes it upon himself to make sandwiches in the kitchen.

You switch the TV on and the main news channel appears, the sound lowered as you watch Bucky find his way around your cupboards.

"Need any help?"

He winks at you, funnily waving a piece of toast up, "I got it, doll."

Then something flashes from the corner of your eye, that metallic red, white, and blue.

It's on the screen - that shield - being paraded around by some stranger.

Your heart pounding, you increase the volume to the maximum, and Bucky's attention is immediately piqued.

The sounds of a full marching band erupt in your apartment, theme music being played in what looks like a high school football field.

Bucky is now at your side, his work in the kitchen forgotten.

John Walker is our nation's new Captain America, the screen reads.

"What the fuck?" you exclaim.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The 1950s, seven months after Steve's arrival

The visitors at the door render Steve alert, the sight an immediate wake-up call to his senses.

Nothing ever happens in his life in this time. There is no reason to look out for danger in his calm piece of suburbia.

Steve doesn't understand why it feels like he all but welcomed the presence of a threat, his neurons finally firing back up, all of his senses heightened.

"Loki," he greets coldly.

"Right," Loki says, then turns to his companion, "I told you he wouldn't be too eager to see me."

"Come on now, what do you mean?" the man responds. "This is Steve Rogers, he's possibly the most polite person of his time."

"Okay, but even this dutiful soldier would surely punch me in the face after what I tried to do to his world - "

"Well, you were being plain ridiculous when you made everyone kneel," the man says, without missing a beat, like he was simply talking about something regular that occurred over lunch.

"I know, I know," Loki shakes his head. "Can't we just forget about that?"

"Stop," Steve snaps, and the two visitors fall silent. He addresses Loki, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh," the man smiles, "Language, Cap."

He's met with an impatient glare from Steve who towers over him.

The man balks, "Hmm, isn't that a thing you say to - "

Loki only shakes his head at him.

"Well," the man straightens, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Captain," he offers his hand, "My name is Mobius and I work for the TVA."

Steve reluctantly shakes his hand, while routinely keeping watch on Loki.

Mobius, aware that Steve's sense of suspicion has no chance of easing, goes straight to the point.

"Steve, we're here because... well... you're not supposed to be here."

Read part seven here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @kyoquixote @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @torntaltos @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii @nommingonfood @fortunatelyweepingninja @cyberaestheticals @loki-laufeyson68 @queenofshinigamis @samkickikc @utterlyhopeful-fics @mthealy

I know what you're thinking - how can Steve still leave after ALL THAT???? Well, he's a complicated man, darlings. And he'll battle his fair share of self-loathing and depression in the years prior to Endgame. Love is brutal sometimes, and Steve just won't be able to allow himself to succumb to it when he's not at peace :(

Also - I wanted to reverse the usual theme of Steve being the gentle lover, and Bucky being darker and self-assured. But I wanted it to still make sense - here Steve was rough because he's using it as a form of release, after all the trauma he went through. And sweet Bucky was understandably a bit reluctant because he doesn't trust himself completely yet.

you get the gist ;) I've loved each and every one of your comments/messages etc. Stay tuned for more of our beloved bolters 💙

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[writing-in-the-impala]

Secret Smokes (Part 10)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, drinking, teacher-student relationship, angst, jealousy, fluff, smut.

Word Count: 2960

A/N: A lovely human asked me today if this fic is over and I thought damn I got to update quick before I lose all my readers. Hope 2024 is treating you all well, here's to the first post of the year!

 | SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 10, Next Chapter

You opened your eyes scanning the room you're in, first you saw the curtains shut. Clothes neatly pilled on the side, a messy stack of books and parchment. Then you turned around and saw the back of Remus's head as he slept peacefully. Thoughts of guilt, lust and memories flooded your head. You began to think whether he regrets last night, was it just a drunk mistake, what do you say to him when he wakes up. You felt him move and turn towards you, on his face a gentle smile. "Morning dear, how'd you sleep?" He asked and kissed your forehead.

"Really well, you?" He scooped you closer with his arms to his chest.

"Let's ignore the conversation we have to have now and just savour this moment." He whispered while cuddling close to you.

"I like that idea." You replied breathing in his smell. Your heart felt full and you felt so comfortable like this was the place you were waiting to be your whole life, and he didn't seem to regret it but rather welcome it.

"Now dear would you like some coffee? Breakfast?" He asked softly not letting you go.

"What a gentleman." You joked in return.

"I try my best." He said with a wink before kissing the top of your head and standing up, he put on a T-shirt and his trousers from last night. "I'll start making the coffee, rest as long as you want."

You lay there in naked confusion and bliss, you were happy but you were confused. You had no idea how you will face him in class after waking up in his bed. You got out of bed putting on yesterdays clothes and grabbing one of Remus's sweaters for warmth before making your way down to the kitchen. The room smelt of coffee, Remus looked younger for a moment with messy hair and wearing no socks on the cold floor as he made coffee. He turned around with a smile. "Good morning, nice jumper." He said with a wink. He winked a lot you noted, maybe he was just as nervous as you right now. "Do you like it with milk or black?" He asked.

"Splash of milk please, no sugar." You confirmed and he followed your instructions and handed it to you. "Perfect thank you."

"Care to join me on the roof for a smoke and coffee? Then we can think of breakfast plans." He said walking towards the stair case and you followed. You sat down side by side on two chairs, it was cold but you didn't mind. "You know this has always been my guilty pleasure, coffee and a cig the morning after, I thought it made me cool." He admitted looking out onto London.

"It makes you look cold, I'm not sure if cool is the right word." You said and he laughed lightly to response, shaking his head.

"It used to calm my nerves because I wasn't sure what to do with a girl in the morning after, how guys are meant to act, so I figured out to start my mornings with a smoke and conversation, not that this is a common occurrence."

"What you don't sleep with your students often?" you joked to ease your discomfort about this whole situation.

"I don't sleep with anyone often, especially students."

"Why?"

"Because they're my students and I have somewhat of a professional-" You interrupted him by saying "No I mean why don't you sleep with people often."

"Y/N you know what I am."

"So?"

"So, being around me, close to me is not only dangerous but also a burden to a persons life. Therefore I've found it's better to focus on solitude and not burden anyone else who I may possibly care for. Y/N I am not a man I am-" You once again cut in to stop Remus Lupin from his usual self-loathing pit. "I'm hungry."

He quickly checked his watch "We could go to a bakery about 5 minutes away they should be open, we can grab some pastries if you'd like."

"What time is it?" You asked in fear.

"Half past nine, why do you need to be somewhere?" He asked with a slight painful tang behind his voice.

"The Weasleys, I was meant to be staying there. I need to go before they all wake up." You said leaving your coffee and heading down to Remus's bedroom, Remus followed you down.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, just tell them you fell asleep on the sofa." He tried to calm you as you put on your jacket and gathered your belongings.

"No, I'll never hear the end of this. Molly will kill me." You said in panic.

"Y/N you're an adult they'll understand, just stay finish your coffee, I can write to Molly that you are here." He said placing a hand on your shoulder to calm you.

"I'm sorry Remus I don't want to run like this but I have to, I don't want to try and explain why I'm here in the morning. Happy new year." You simply said to him as his face dropped into a frown.

"Happy New Year." He said quietly and you apparated to the Weasleys house. You didn't know that you left Remus with a feeling of enormous guilt, he felt like he used the opportunity of you drunk to sleep with you and now you regretted it. He was reminded of your age by the way you rushed home, you may be eighteen but you still sometimes behaved like someone's daughter and that made Remus feel uneasy about perusing you, especially when you have to rush home the morning after. Rush home to a friend of his. The guilt ate him alive as he cleaned the coffee that you didn't finished and put out your half-smoked cigarette. In that moment he made a decision, he messed up, he got close to you and kissed you because he couldn't control himself and based on how you ran out the house you obviously regretted everything.

You on the other hand felt guilty for leaving, Remus treated you nicer than anyone else you've ever slept with, he made you coffee, he cared, it filled your heart with warmth, you knew you'll have to apologise for how you left. You slowly walked through the house up to the spare room you were staying in when you bumped into Percy who was going to the bathroom. He gave you a quick look up and down in a judgmental way and didn't even say hi, then as you passed the twins' room they opened the door with big grins. "Nice jumper." They both said at once. You looked down and saw you left in Remus's jumper.

"Shit." You took it off in that very moment in panic. "Don't tell anyone." You warned them.

"Our lips are sealed." They said in unison. "Although we will high five him next time we see him." Fred shrugged.

"Don't you dare Weasley." You warned.

"So how was sleeping with our dear professor?" George asked.

"Was it everything you dreamed of?" Fred added.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Was it at least good?" Fred pushed.

"The best I've ever had. And he made me coffee in the morning and hugged me and kissed me." You felt like you were melting just thinking about it.

"The best?" Fred repeated.

"Who knew prof would be so good." George added.

"Let's not talk about it, I actually have to sit in his class after this." You felt a bit sick at the idea, that was the end of that conversation. You quickly went to take a shower and change. After that you wrote a letter to Remus apologising about leaving so soon and thanking him for the coffee. He didn't reply. You sent him another three letters over the next few days making sure he's okay however he didn't reply. So you got the message, and he did regret it, he was just being nice to you in the morning because he was a good person. You were nervous to go back to Hogwarts but you decided you won't let New Years stop you. You came back a week before term, and you thought it may be good to bump into Remus before term starts to talk. You went to the bridge but he didn't, you knocked on his office but no one answered, you even tried to find him using the map but it was like he was always waking away from you.

You finally saw him on the first day of term, he was sitting eating breakfast in the great hall with all the teachers. You received and owl and it was from him but he didn't look up at you at all.  The letter read:

"Welcome back to the new term miss L/N.

As previously agreed our tutoring continues to prepare you for you exams.

- Professor R.J.Lupin"

You looked up at him but he didn't look at you.

In his lesson that day you sat nervously in your seat, you were sitting next to Sebastian as you and Percy weren't on talking terms after New Years. "Are you okay?" Sebastian whispered watching you move around in your seat nervously waiting for Lupin to arrive to the classroom.

"Just nervous about exams." You explained to him, he put a hand on your leg to steady it. "It's okay you'll do great, I've got some calming fraught if you want it though." He said and you nodded. He slipped  you the potion and you drank it, you didn't realise that around the time Sebastian put his hand on your leg Remus was walking in the classroom and watching the whole interaction. "Better?" Sebastian asked and you nodded in response. "Thank you." You said and he gave you a smile before moving his hand from your leg as you had stopped shaking from stress. Remus cleared his throat as he stood at the front of the classroom. "Welcome back I hope you've all had a good new year," Remus said, looking at you intensely during the last three words. You instantly felt hot however because of the position you didn't feel worried instead slightly turned on as you looked back at him, after a moment of eye contact he ripped his eyes away.

"Now I'm sure you're all nervous, but I will get you as prepared for your exams as possible all I ask is for you to listen and pay attention and that way I can help you." He continued, his eyes kept catching yours as if he couldn't look away and you were now enjoying the attention as all stress had left your body. However the closer to the end of the lesson it got the more the potion started to wear off and you could no longer look Lupin in the eye, he noticed the change in you and was very confused, he simply couldn't read you, he knew you took a potion however he wasn't sure what you took, he suspected it was calming draught but he had to ask you in your tutoring session if you show up. You considered skipping it but you knew you had to speak to Remus sooner or later and you didn't want to fail your exams because of him.

You lightly knocked on his office door filled with a bit of anxiety, he was sitting marking papers when you came in and he smiled gently at you but you could see he was on edge just like you. "Good afternoon Miss L/N. I hope you had a good Christmas." He greeted you and it filled you with anger that he was just pretending nothing happened.

"Can we talk?" You asked quietly sitting down on a chair near the front.

"Is it about your studies?"

"Obviously not." You snarked and he sighed pulling up a chair opposite you.

"We shouldn't, it's my responsibility to prepare you for your exams and" he began before you interrupted with a simple. "Remus." He loosened his tie and sighed.

"I'm really sorry Y/N. I'm really sorry for what I did, I should've been the responsible adult, I'm your teacher for fuck sake." He began and he looked visibly upset.

"Do you regret it?" You asked gently.

"Obviously, I shouldn't have put you in that situation. I pushed myself onto you, I knew my feelings for you I shouldn't have spoken to you at all if I was drinking."

"But I wanted to kiss you."

"Y/N I'm your teacher." He said as a matter of fact.

"So I don't care do you? Answer honestly."

"No." He shook his head and swallowed hard.

"Would you want to kiss me again?" He did say anything he just looked at your lips. "Answer honestly Remus." You added and he shook his head.

"Then do it." His eyes didn't leave your lips for a moment and then he made eye contact with you and he simply said "I can't."

"Why?" You asked him pleading.

"Because I am falling incredibly hard for you, and all I'm going to do is hurt you. Because I am your teacher. Because I can't offer you anything much more than a tea and a great music taste and an awful lot of knowledge on books."

"I don't care, you made me feel special, you make me feel loved."  You continued to beg.

"Don't lie to me I saw how you ran out the house." He said with a angry and annoyed tone.

"I wrote to you three time to apologies, and you ignored every single letter." You said feeling like you're about to cry.

"You did?" His complexion changed suddenly.

"Yes. But I got the message that you rather ignore all this happened."

"Y/N, I wanted to make you coffee, take care of you and then talk to you like an adult about what this means for our lives here, but you ran out and the only letter I received was this from Percy." He said pulling out a letter that was crumbled up in his pocket, the address was Hogwarts, of course, all your letters went to the cottage but he didn't go there he came straight to the castle it all clicked.

"Why did Percy write to you?" You asked softly and he just handed you the letter to read.

"Dear professor Lupin,

As head boy I urge to remind you that you are our professor within and outside school grounds. And I believe you don't need to be reminded of school rules, especially for a man with your condition losing this job may be disastrous.

Happy new year, P. Weasley Head boy of Gryffindor"

"That prick." You said quietly and looked up at Remus. "I promise I didn't tell him anything."

"How would he know?" Remus asked he looked like you betrayed him.

"Your jumper," you began and Remus have you a puzzled look. "I came home in it the morning after and Percy saw me, he gave me a look of hate, we haven't talked since." You answered honestly. "Remus I'm sorry about this, can you ignore it and can we have this conversation based on our own opinions." You said and Remus sighed.

"No matter what I am your teacher and we've crossed a line."

"How do you expect me to focus in your lessons after what you've done to me professor?"

"Fuck you calling me professor like it doesn't turn you on." He said looking away and taking a deep shaky breath. "Can I kiss you one last time dear?" He asked and you nodded. And he leaned over the desk to kiss you slowly, the kiss was desperate and slow, as if he was savouring the moment, he put a hand on your cheek and tucked your hair behind your ear just like he did that first morning.

"Don't make it the last." You said as soon as he pulled away.

"Dear, as soon as you realise I'm just a broke man who's been cursed since childhood the sooner you'll realise you don't want me, so many men will be able to offer you the world, I won't."

"I hate you, I hate that you won't even give yourself a chance to be happy." You said feeling like you're about to cry.

"Y/N I'm trying to protect you." He pleaded.

"Or maybe you're just trying to protect yourself from feeling any good emotion in your life?" You said standing up. "Maybe you don't realise you're hurting me by not even trying, by leading me on."

"I'm sorry Y/N, I truly don't know what I'm doing, I wish I was, let's leave this conversation for another day let's start working on revision."

"Remus how am I meant to sit here and listen to you teach me while all I can think about is wether you like me just for sex, wether it's because you get turned on by fucking your student, wether you're just lonely and I'm convenient or wether an ounce of you actually cares about me."

"Y/N, if you want to have this conversation with me you need to act your age not frantically shout your thoughts at me like a school girl." He said harshly his mood becoming a lot more authoritarian.

"I am a school girl! I hate you Remus Lupin, I hate how you treat me, I hate you for making me feel like I mattered for you to just change your mind when it's convenient. I hate Percy for that letter. But I really hate you." You said pushing the tears away from your eyes.

"I'm not surprised, I hate me too." He said looking down at the desk and then he went silent.

"No Remus. I didn't mean-" You began realising your emotions got the better of you, truly you were scared about how much you liked him, how dependent you were becoming on him, how life wasn't the same without him.

"You've said enough. Goodbye." Remus said turning around and walking upstairs to his office without a single turn back to face you. And that was the last time you saw Remus Lupin that week, the next lesson you had with Lupin was taken over by Snape, and even your tutoring was now with McGonagall. Lupin returned on Friday evening, you saw him in the great hall during dinner, that's when you received and owl from him which was rare during dinner...

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

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[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas Masterlist

Welcome to Kinkmas everyone! This is the list and descriptions of all twelve Christmas fics I have managed to write involving either Wanda, Nat and, in some chapters, even both of them :)

All chapters include smut and most of them a large portion of tooth rotting fluff so I hope you all enjoy.

Happy December everyone and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it <3

12 Days Of Kinkmas

1- Tis The Season For... Love? (NxR)- After stressing out over a gift you were giving to your long term crush, it seems that it really is the season for miracles to happen.

2- Naughty Or Nice? (NxWxR)- Whilst being blindfolded and tied up, your girlfriends ask you whether you think you deserve to be on the naughty list. Naively, you say no, only to fall into their trap...

3- Ugly Sweater (NxR)- Whilst coming out of the bathroom, Natasha immediately notices your new Christmas Sweater and can't hold back on her playful teasing and mentions how ugly it is. In fact, she thinks it's so ugly, you should just take it off.

4- Cookies and Cream (WxR)- Whilst attempting to bake festive cookies with Wanda, the two of you end up getting a little 'distracted.'

5- Silent Night (WxR)- After Pietro tells the boys an innocent Christmas tale, you find it extremely difficult to find any alone time with Wanda. The two of you would just have to find a way to be quiet, even when she was coming all over your tongue.

6- Snowed In (NxR)- When a blizzard hits and traps you and your wife into your new house, you both find the perfect opportunity to christen the whole house.

7- Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree (WxR)- Whilst decorating the tree, Wanda's jumper rises up and you can't stop yourself from staring, easily flustered by the woman you somehow managed to call your girlfriend. What happens when Wanda notices your constant gaze and decides to torment you?

8- Christmas Shopping (NxR)- After an eventful shopping spree with Nat for the rest of the team, you find a way to relieve the stress in the car park

9- Gift Wrapped (WxR)- Coming home from work, you expect to cuddle up with your wife on the couch and savour the warmth of the house. You certainly didn't expect the wrapped up 'gift' that was laying on the bed.

10- Let It Snow (NxR)- When a mission on Christmas Eve goes wrong and leaves you and Natasha stranded in a random cabin in the woods, you can't help but be disappointed at the way you were going to spend your first Christmas together. Natasha, however, shows you that it's not so bad being stuck together with no-one nearby.

11- The Grinch Who Stole Her Heart (WxR)- When a certain witch discovers your hate for Christmas, she can't help but try her best into convincing you to love the festive season.

12- Christmas Morning (WxNxR)- Waking up on Christmas, you can't help but stay in bed with your girlfriends, deciding presents can wait a little longer. 

I hope you're all as excited as I am ;D

Let me know what chapter you're most looking forwards to and, once again, Merry Christmas everyone! 

---

Ao3- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger

Wattpad- LovePersevering2

Tumblr- LoveIsAnImaginaryDagger3000

[jolalibrary]

ix. you’re the bright and golden sun

javier peña x f!reader | chapter nine of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: angst, sadness. goodbyes. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3.2k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Compared to the official first morning the two of you shared a bed, the reason why neither of you have risen today is different—even if, on appearances, it is similar. 

Your legs are tangled with his. Your body is curled, pressed as close as it can be to his side. The two of you are awake, both silent—something Javi is aware is rare for the two of you.  

Unlike the morning when he tried to learn every inch of you, today, he’s all about savouring every other part of you instead.

The way you smile, the way your laugh blooms across your face before it meets his ears. Plus, how you feel against him—from the warmth of your skin to the steady rise of your chest.

He doesn’t rise from the sheets to even wash his face, out of fear of signalling the imminent countdown to begin. The one which has been ticking the entire time, but now clangs louder as it gets nearer to the time he needs to drop you at the airport.

Javi especially doesn't want to move while the air is tinged with sadness—all heavy, pressing down on the two of you under the sheets. His thumbs had already made quick work of some strays tears when you'd first awoken, them sliding around your smile as you battled mixed feelings.

Because he was here now, but tomorrow he wouldn't be. Your words, not his.

You had said other things, like morning baby, and several seconds later, asking if he slept okay. But, once the tears had been wiped, the two of you just lay curled together.

Now he’s just tracing his fingers up and down your soft skin, doing so in the hope he’ll be able to remember the feel of it later when he’s without you.

Words aren’t usually his problem. He’s normally able to fill heavy silences and always knows what to say. It’s the one skill he’s proud to have sharpened in Colombia—when most people had seen him as the enemy. But, he has no words for this. 

You do, though. 

“I… I don’t want to go,” you whisper. 

It wounds him, nips at his skin and plummets something to his feet. He hides it. Turning his head, pressing an intentional kiss to your forehead, lingering there, chin hovering over your head. 

Because he doesn’t want you to either, and he’s unsure if he should say that—could say that. 

Closing his eyes, he chooses not to open them. Just for a minute. Allowing himself the luxury of living in the fantasy playing on the back of his lids. The one where this is just a weekend away, that you’ll be going back with him and that your case will be packed with both his and your things. 

Instead, when he opens his eyes to reality, he just finds the room basked in muffled light. The curtains blocking out the outside world, as he wishes he could take your hands in one of his, cup your cheek and tell you to come back with him.

(Because now I've had you, how am I meant to let you go?)

Swallowing, he smooths out his feelings—disguises them behind nothingness. For your sake.

“I know,” Javi replies. Allowing a thousand other things to die on his tongue.

He knows you have things you need to return to, a job. A life you’ve crafted for yourself and the one you’ve allowed him into. How you have dreams, the same as he once had—that you have responsibilities and an apartment, all things that aren’t easy to get up and leave. 

But you’re looking at him, head-turning, tilting up, and he’s bathed in beauty, affection and sorrow, all at once. 

Briefly, Javi thinks of the women he’s met before you. The ones in Colombia who were either in the same place they were before they met him, or worse. The ones who he made promises to, but barely could keep.

Going tense, he's aware his jaw has tightened—replaying how his actions had put them in harm's way—feeling your hand slide up his chest to his chin. Finger and thumb just circling, confusing swirling in the pools of jumbled feelings.

"You okay?"

And he can't explain, can he? While he knows his selfishness won’t bring a fury of shit to your door, it won’t be kind. Being with him will add weight to your shoulders, when they are already carrying so much. Javi only wants to remove some of it, then add to it.

So he swallows his wishes, and lets the words fall to his stomach. Allows them to swirl in last night's alcohol and pizza. 

"Yeah, baby. Just gonna miss you."

You seem to swallow, eyes filling with water for the second time in the last hour. Something unlodging, churning—

“I want to seeyourranch.” 

It comes out scratchy, like your voice needs clearing as you re-look at him. Now all wide-eyed—as though surprised how you had even sounded. 

“Let me try that again,” you say, clearing your throat and offering a half-smile. “I would love to see your ranch.” 

And, fuck he wants that too. 

He sees it, imagines it. Immediately thinks of you wandering the fields as he points out the animals that cause him the most havoc. You’ll twirl in the tall grass, staring at him—looking every bit a dream come true—and then you’ll whisper to the animals, helping them further undermine him with a smirk. Javi could show you where he hung out as a kid and the places he appreciates now that he’s older, where he talks to you from and where he sat when you first texted—his usual spot for the crossword. 

There would be so much for your eyes to take in, he could drag it out for a week. Another whole week of you, of him—a small amount in the grand scheme of forever, but he’d take it. He’d take whatever he could be allowed. 

Leaning his head on yours, he blinks back the water, trying to build in his own. “You just tell me when, cariño. I’ll roll out the red carpet.” 

Sighing, full of contention, he feels your palm Slide Over his chest, fingers drawing something. “Could meet your dad.” 

“He’ll love you.” 

He watches as you lift up, smile flowering—earlier sadness sunsetting as you begin to grow. Face all illuminating, eyes twinkling like stars. 

“Yeah?” 

Nodding, he runs his fingers over your cheek, loosely holding your chin. “Pretty sure he already does.” 

“He doesn’t know me.” 

“Neither did I, and I’m pretty sure I was already head over heels for you before I got here.” 

Scrunching your nose, eyes glancing down, he feels your fingers lightly stroke his chest. “You don’t have to keep flattering me. You already got me.” 

He waits a beat. 

Lets it thicken—your statement—the confession. 

Because while he knows what was said last night, how the two of you cemented it, he’s not sure he’ll tire of hearing it. 

You want to be his, even miles away.  

Lifting your chin ever so slightly, Javi stares into your eyes and hopes that he can burn the words in as much as he does as he begins to speak them. 

“Never gonna stop telling you how great you are, cariño.” 

“One day, you might.” 

Shaking his head, he lowers his face, nose brushing yours. “Might. Probably won’t.” 

He spots it, the clouded shadow trying to stop your rays from shining—all full of question, and doubt. Caused by scars from previous lovers who didn’t know what a diamond they had. 

“How…” your eyes drop, swallowing. “How can you be so sure, Javi?” 

The answer comes to him immediately: because you’re like no one else I’ve ever met. 

A second appearing barely a second later: you’re like nothing I’ve ever come across. 

The last explodes over the two of them like fireworks: I’ve never felt how I feel for you, for anything else. 

He opts for something in the middle, lifting your eyes back to him. “Because I’ve not stopped thinking about you since that first text. And fuck, baby. Outside my ma and pops, outside of a lead or my old job, I’ve never fuckin’ had that. Not about anything, or anyone, before.” 

For the second time this trip, he’s watching you fight with your case. The seams all threatening to split and spill, your jacket removed, thrown to the side of you as you continue your wrestling.

He doesn't admit that he finds it cute that you're trying to do it alone.

Especially when he knows you've added to the suitcase's load since you've been here. The empty retail bags they were once in, shoved haphazardly in the bin as grey clouds cast shadows across the room.

Lifting your face, he spots that your forehead is peppered with beads of sweat, his arms folding, leaning against the wall—waiting to be invited to help. Again.

“Don’t even fucking say it, Peña.”

Biting back a smirk, he arches his brow. “No, he dicho nada.”

Your eyes shoot him a glare as he smirks, watching you blow out a puff of air before leaning back on your heels, defeatism sketched into your features. 

“Okay. Please help me.” 

Just like some days ago, he kicks off from the wall. Watching you move to push down as he settles on his knees to help, the zip being more forthcoming—oddly—as it slides around. It catches in part, your fingers only occasionally needing to prod things in, and soon enough, it’s shut, closed—all final. 

“There we go.” 

You smile, all infectious, corrosive in how it melts earlier sadness. “What would I do without you?” 

“Probably a lot. I mean, except zip up your case.” 

It’s instant, the way your smile shifts into a smirk. “For someone called charmer, you’ve not been as articulate the last few days.” 

“Think it’s due to the company I’m keeping.” 

Your eyes roll, teeth showing as the edges of your mouth cut into your cheeks—not a smile, nor a smirk, something else entirely. “There he is, the flirt.” 

“Only for you, baby.” 

Standing, you offer him a hand. Both knowing he doesn’t need it, very much capable himself—even if his knees groan, but he slides his palm in any way. Feeling your fingers tighten, gripping him as he stands too. 

“How are you so handsome, Javier Peña?” 

Warmth runs up his spine, liking how you’re looking at him—how you say handsome and his name all in one sentence. 

Licking your lips, you don’t let go of his hand, but you step over the suitcase. “Still can’t believe you want to give this a go.” 

Fingers find your cheek, head leaning forward, closing the gap marginally to you. Taking in the way your eyes remain fixed on him, the scent of your perfume—all of it, as he whispers:

“I’d be an idiot to let you go, baby.” 

Biting your lip, you seem to sigh. Silence thickening, his thumb slowly beginning to stroke, as you reply, “Yeah. I suppose you would.” 

“Now, who’s being a flirt?” 

Slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck, his own hands coming around your waist—letting his palms spread out across your back. It feels like home, a place he doesn’t want to ever be from. 

All of it is stamped with a smile that is more bright and golden than the sun, and fuck does he not suddenly feel like he's illuminating when he kisses it. 

Javi drowning in it, not wanting to come up for air as you pull him close. Just so he can try and keep a piece of it. Just until the next time he gets to bask in it, never mind kiss you.

You don't slide your hand from his the entire drive. Your other hand trying to find a station you approve of, nose scrunching at some of the choices you come across.

Periodically, the corner of his eyes catches how your teeth are making messy work of your bottom lip, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. He wishes, more than anything, he was good with words. 

Ones that would reassure, you remind you that it'll be okay, that he’s yours—that they won’t wait long, they’ll make it work.

Convince you that he means it—because he does.

More than he's wanted something in a long time. Even if in his chest, there’s a little flutter of doubt. Sensibility trying to ruin things, reminding him that there won’t always be hands to help the ranch at the drop of a hat—that his pop needs him. That you have work, a life in a place he doesn’t know the foggiest about. 

Instead, he banishes it. Forces it into the corner of him that welcomes intrusion, and he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss so full of longing and affection, he hopes it runs down your wrist and slams directly into your heart. 

"Departures is that way," you announce, voice soft, brittle.

His mouth presses another kiss to your palm as he signals, hating that the drive has been so short. Despising it even more that he finds a parking spot with ease—that your hand slides from his and your legs jump out of the truck before he’s said a word. 

You barely look at him, staring around the airport until you fall into a step beside him to the doors. Each one he takes, Javi hopes he’ll feel your hand in his—palm to his, fingers looping between his. 

So when you do (your grip tight, intention clear), he loops his arm around you with your hand in his—forcing you close, keeping you there. 

Each step in front of the other forces the building to loom closer, the walk short—too short—another thing added to the tally of what he hates. But he tries not to focus on it, linger, instead letting his feet come to a stop close to the doors with yours. One so you don’t have to walk far, but not enough for a larger audience. 

Giving you the handle of your case, your chest seems to lurch as it rises and falls. Your teeth return to bite down on your lip, rocking forward and back on the skin as you begin to nibble all over again—a forced smile trying to show.

But, it barely reaches your cheek. Never mind your eyes. 

His mouth opens, but you wrap your fingers around his forearm. Silencing him. A look in your eyes that could sound like a well-versed chorus of assurances, a speech of how it won't be long and revelations of how you feel, but they don't fall.

Instead, you whisper, “I know. I do.” 

He swallows, nodding as you step closer, body almost flush with his. 

“So, just kiss me—like you’re gonna see me again, yet in a way that’ll last me until I can hear your voice tomorrow.” 

There was no asking him twice. His mouth latching to yours, lips capturing unsaid words as he embraces the way your body curls into him. All comfortable and right. His palm cupping your cheek, deepening it all, stealing important air from your lungs and using it to help him breathe. 

His mind full of you. An array of memories shoots off like fireworks as you cling to him, and him to you.

And he never wants it to end. 

Even less so when you whimper against him, vibrating it down his throat to his chest, where it mushrooms and grows. Filling a space otherwise empty, but now covered in feelings you've brought out in him: warmth, affection and care.  

Then, the two of you part, mouth first—lips ghosting over the air as your eyes open with his, able to see the reflection of his growing smile in your pupils. 

“Hi..."

Grinning, he presses a kiss to your nose. "Have a safe flight, and text me—“

“I know. I know. As soon as I land,” you say as his forehead presses against yours. “Please, have a safe drive. Don’t flip off anyone just because you miss me so much.” 

Smirking, he laughs—all low and soft. “I’ll try.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Sighing, you unweave your fingers from his neck and hair, placing a shaky one on the handle. Body pausing, waiting—and he doesn’t move, can’t. 

“I… I don’t think I can be the one to walk away.” 

Widening his eyes, his hands find his hips. “You really gonna make me turn my back to you?” 

Scrunching your nose, in that adorable way that you do, you slowly nod. 

Taking a step back, he brushes his hair from his forehead. “Fuck me. Good job I like you, cariño.” 

You smile, biting your lip again as he takes another backwards step, and another, before he slowly—full of pain and knotting in his stomach—he turns.

His footsteps heavy, wanting to turn back to you, run to you and pull you close one last time. Barely ten steps, maybe not even five. He could do it, turn, face you—

Javi doesn’t get the chance. 

You do it instead.

Slamming into his back, arms around his waist, and he’s sure he hears the faintest sob. One he sees for himself when he’s able to turn, mouth finding yours, feeling wet on your cheeks as your lips messily meet his, a thousand things being said, but none discernable as he meets you with the same intensity. 

It’s more than a see you soon. It’s a bunch of other things. A thank you, a goodbye, and… 

“Just needed one more,” you whisper, fingers brushing his side and cheek simultaneously. 

Nodding, he finds himself unable to speak. Instead, feeling you slowly let your fingers leave his cheek. 

“See you soon, baby.” 

Gulping back a lump, “Real soon. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

Your hand raises, offering a little wave as you take steps backwards, before turning. His eyes are unable to leave you, watching with despair as you walk away from him—seeing now why you felt compelled to run. 

Just watching, staring, as you grab your case—the one he just realised you abandoned—and he stuffs down the different words which had threatened to spill. 

you left your jacket hermosa 

I know baby. Means I have to see you soon to get it back, it’s my favourite. 

You’re my favourite, too. 

gonna make my head double and I won’t be able to fit in the ranch

Surprised it does already. 

fuck I miss you 

Fuck I miss you too, baby. So much. 

one day though 

One day. Until then, check my pocket.

Javi wipes his face, placing the phone on the dash as he moves your jacket from the seat next to him. The place it’s been the entire ride home, the soft scent of you blowing around the cabin—allowing him the feeble attempt at pretending you’re there. 

He feels one pocket, finding nothing. 

Moving to the next, his fingers brush paper, hearing it rustle and crinkle. He slowly pulls it out and finds it folded a thousand times over as he smirks and lies your jacket back on the seat. 

He should know—before he begins unfolding it. 

But it doesn’t dawn on him, not even as he does, until he sees it—a lump forming in his throat, a greater sadness landing on him. 

Because there in his hands is the sign you made for the airport, his name scratched out in biro on paper. 

And at the bottom, scribbled in a different pen:

His mouth opens, tongue sliding into his cheek as he struggles to swallow, and breathe, as a tear falls to his cheek. His head goes back against the headrest, mouth pinching the sides of his cheek as he closes his eyes—the other holding the paper open, thumb stroking it, your words. 

Missing you. Desperately. 

Completely. 

Realising as the heavens open, the rain hammering down against his vehicle, blurring the ranch worse than his own water-filled eyes, that he’s in love with you. 

And one day can't come soon enough.

dedicated to @guyfieriii who loves this as much as i. the title is from one of our joint songs, and while it isn't 00s, as soon as i heard it, i told her it gave me airport vibes, and this seemed the perfect one title. plus, she's my little angst queen, and if i can give her anything, i like to give her happy-sadness. rooftops and sharpies x

[thelightsandtheroses]

7. i don't mind falling in love with you

Frankie Morales x female reader | let's get lost chapter 7 [the last one!]

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place.However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, minor mentions of alcohol and food but reader's drink is not specified, weddings, good dad!frankie, truly terrible excel jokes. Word Count: 4.8k Notes - Oh wow, I can't believe we've made it to the end of Frankie and reader's story. Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, shared or engaged with this fic - your support means a lot. I started this fic in the midst of a stressful period of my life, and things have changed a lot since then (in a better way) but this fic has been a constant. While their journey is now over, I am excited to share my next Frankie fic soon which has many of my favourite tropes and perhaps a career move for Frankie that I cannot stop thinking about .... 🔥 For now, though, here's Let Get Lost... the chapter title is from the milk. song of the same name (this band featured a lot in my fic playlist)

Previous | Series |

You wake up in Frankie’s arms; the pillow barrier between fully discarded. After the rehearsal dinner, after sobbing at the beach and everything that happened, you felt so drained. By the time the two of you had got back to the hotel room, you were exhausted in your bones and you needed to focus on Clara so neither of you had a chance to talk about it further.

He asked you not to give up on the two of you though. He told you he wanted to woo you.

He wants to woo you.

Woo you.

The thought sends a thrill down your spine, makes your heart race just a little more. You want that too. You really, really want that.

You can see it too; dinners out together back in Florida, hands entwined as you make your way back to the car, the picture of domesticity. There’s fire in that vision too though; heated kisses in the hallway just because, tangled together in sheets, savouring every touch, every sensation.

It feels like a future.

Sophie’s words have haunted you though. They pulled you out of slumber one too many times, floating in and out of your mind like the nagging anxiety you’ve left an iron on.

You feel more in control now though. Maybe it was a blessing after all, at least you have a plan now. A real plan.

It’s finally light outside, finally an acceptable time to get out of bed and start on with your day. It’s Lia’s wedding, it’s almost the end of your vacation.

You don’t want to go back. You want to stay here, with Frankie and all-inclusive catering and no work emails or worries about trivial things that seem larger than life - like font sizes. You want to wake up in his arms time and time again, live with travel sized bottles of shower gel and fresh white towels every day.

Exploring this though back home, back in Florida, is a little exciting. You can’t deny that you want to bring Frankie back into the mundane moments of your life; your new coffee maker, the diner that opened around the corner from your place where Clara loves the pancakes. Hell, even your bed’s new to him.

You ease Frankie’s arm from you delicately as you carefully and silently get out of bed.

Clara’s still snoring softly as you tiptoe past her, wrapping a robe around you as you open the terrace door carefully.

There’s less than forty hours left of your vacation. Soon you’ll be on a flight home, back to Florida and everything you’ve avoided thinking of since you stepped on this island.

You want this feeling, you want this peace. You want him.

Getting ready for a wedding has always felt stressful. You don’t want to wear the wrong colour, to not match the dress code in some way or to not fit in with everybody else. In a way, Lia’s wedding is easier because you’re part of her party and so as soon as you were dressed and your presentation to Frankie finished, you had made your way over to Lia’s room.

You feel nervous about seeing Sophia. Her words from the night before still sting and have wrapped themselves around your neck like barbed wire, nicking your skin and making your heart race.

You can prove her wrong. You will prove her wrong.

His lips are against your neck, hands skimming down the side of your body, up your back where his fingers lightly meet your skin.

“You’re supposed to be zipping this dress up, Frankie.”

“Mmhmm, but it’d look even prettier on the floor, right?”

You laugh. “That is so cheesy.”

“Made you laugh though.” He kisses you again, hands on your hips and drawing you closer against him before moving his hands higher so they graze against your breasts. Almost involuntarily, you moan as he knowingly distracts you from your task.

“Careful, Clara is in the next room. We’re supposed to be getting ready.”

“Okay, but I can’t do this when we go outside, so I need to make the most of it. Besides, you’ve got to agree, this is kinda fun, right? Like being teenagers again.”

“Is it wrong if I say that I really cannot imagine teenage Frankie?”

“That’s a good thing, baby, he was a menace.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhmm, he would not believe this is his life right now though,” Frankie says, a slight smirk on his face.

He pauses and looks at your reflection in the mirror carefully, clearly picking up on the worried expression, the nerves you cannot hide. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Promise?” you ask, even though you know he can’t assure of that, not really.

He kisses the side of head. “Promise.”

“Oh,” you say, “I’ve just remembered, I want to show you something.”

The two of you walk out of the bathroom where Clara is sitting on her bed and ensconced with her toys. She looks up briefly and waves, a bright smile on her face that mirrors her father’s smile perfectly, before turning attention back to her toys.

“What do you -"

Frankie starts as you root through your bag and pull out your tablet.

“Right,” you say, unlocking the screen and taking a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about how this can work, how we make it work when we get home.”

“Me too.”

“Good,” you say with a smile, “so I started building a plan.”

Frankie raises his eyebrow and looks over at the file you’ve opened as you wave the tablet in his direction. He takes the tablet and scrolls for a moment. “Baby, this is a spreadsheet.”

“I’m aware.”

“You built a spreadsheet?”

“I want us to be prepared. I built it for us.” Perhaps you should have opted for the business case template, or even powerpoint, instead. You were tempted, but you remembered after your break up the spreadsheet that had become your custody arrangements. You wanted a spreadsheet designed to rebuild instead, a response to that time, a demonstration of what’s changed. It felt right.

Now you wonder if perhaps your efforts were misguided, governed by a foolish desire to prove this was well thought through, that it made simple statistical sense.

“We’re on vacation and you built a spreadsheet?” Frankie looks astonished. “On your tablet?”

“I feel more … I think it’s better if we have a clear plan from the start.”

“Why do you have Excel on your tablet?”

“I … I thought it might come in handy. It clearly did.”

“You’ve colour coded each of our friends. Is this why you asked me when my lease ended when I woke up in the middle of the night?”

“Well, yes.” You pause, you’re never usually like this. Organisation is something you aspire to, with shining new diaries and planners each year that are always forgotten by February. You thought being a parent would help, but it turns out that Clara has just ended up fitting into your chaos, simultaneously draining any residual energy you might have had for planning. Your nerves have worked overtime this holiday though and the spreadsheet, well it seemed like a good idea at midnight.

“I - I think it’s great,” Frankie says carefully, “but did you sleep at all?”

“It really didn’t take that long.”

“There are formulas in there. Hey, are those formulas the magic ones that change?”

“Conditional formulas and formatting? Yes?”

“Fuck, if Will saw this …”

“He’d be annoyed there’s no pivot table.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what a pivot table is. Okay, okay, so walk me through the plan.”

“We’ll start with the gantt chart.”

“Right, so purely out of curiosity, how many charts are there in this thing?”

You pause and think for a moment. “Less than five.”

“Fuck me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, listen to my presentation and then we’ll see.”

“At least you agree it’s a presentation.”

Lia wraps her arms around you tightly when you walk into the suite she’s getting ready in. She’s wrapped in a fluffy robe and she looks both radiant and nervous.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

“I’m good, I’m ready. I just - what if my dress suddenly doesn’t fit?”

“It will, and if it doesn’t, we’ll adapt.”

“Right.”

“We’ve got you.”

Lia takes a glug of her drink and smiles. “I’m getting married.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, okay. This is going to be great.”

You can’t help but look over at Sophia before you say, “It is. It’s going to be perfect.”

Minutes turn quickly into hours. There’s all too much preparation, music playing, the smell of perfume and hairspray permeating the room. You focus on Lia, on her day, on helping it be as perfect as possible.

You don’t speak to Sophia, not even when she tries to catch your eye. She overstepped, and you can understand her pain, her own difficult memories coming to the forefront in this setting, but surely you can be petty just a little longer. Surely you can harmlessly sink into the hurt for just a little longer.

It does hurt. Not because of Sophia’s words, not just because of that.

It’s the way it’s made you feel since then. It’s the reason you spent the night formulating a business case of all things to justify Frankie and you reuniting. You want to prove her wrong, you want to show her she’s wrong, but it’s not out of spite. It’s out of that desperate, clawing need for her buy-in, for her approval. It’s fucked up.

It should just be you, Frankie and Clare, you know that. You shouldn’t feel this urge to turn everything up to 110% to prove Sophia wrong. You do though.

You’ll be the best bridesmaid today.

You’ll be the very best friend today.

You’ll bottle it all up, because you need her to know she was wrong, to come to your side instead. You’ll prove to her that you and Frankie can get it right this time

Sophia will eat her words.

It’s shifted slightly into something about her in your head now, not Lia, not even Frankie. You care too much and hate it. You’re furious with yourself for caring what she thinks, for not just being your own person.

Frankie crosses your mind in a welcome distraction from your spiral. A moment with him earlier, in your hotel room, you watched him laugh softly as he helped Clara with her shoes, his eyes full of love and when he met your gaze you noticed the way he shook his head, looking down and his shoulders moving with silent laughter once more. When he looked up, he looked right at you and it wasn’t that it reminded you of how things were before, of those heady days of new love. it was something different. Changed because of how you both have changed, but there was love, there was something real behind his expression. A promise of something in the future. Of a chance.

You’re ready for that chance too.

You take a sip of your drink, smiling at Lia as she delicately eyes her dress.

You’re not thinking about wedding. You’re thinking about what comes next.

The beach looks perfect. The sky is cloudless, radiating a comforting warmth that envelops you as you watch Lia and Benny exchanging vows.

She looks stunning. Her dress is covered in delicate embroidered flowers, in a way that’s not too fussy, that just fits her. It’s her smile though - incandescent with happiness, face glowing with a love that matches Benny’s gaze to her.

You could spend hours ruminating on the tragedy of you and Frankie falling apart. The pain it caused everyone, including yourself. For months, you wrapped yourself in the hurt, wore it like spiked armour, and rued the day you’d fallen for him. Despite all that, Benny and Lia found something, carving some hope and joy out of a time when you and Frankie couldn’t even look at one another.

Last night you were thinking about what it all meant if you fell back together with Frankie and now you realise it. It gave Benny and Lia something. It gave you and Frankie room to remould yourselves separately and know you two still have something.

It’s not about the hate or the pain, or the wedding you wrecked along the way.

It’s about love. Raw and painful but full of hope.

Frankie’s dressed in a crisp shirt, the top few buttons unbuttoned which makes you stifle a giggle when you realise. Is that man allergic to a fully buttoned shirt? He catches your eye for just a second and winks.

You feel your cheeks heat and you fixate on the bouquet you’re holding instead, on being a good bridesmaid.

Clara is next to you, holding her own mini bouquet and looking so excited to be here. She tugs no the edge of your dress, looking up at your expectantly as you shift yourself as subtly as you can so you can pick her up and let her wrap her arms around you.

The vows finish, the bride and groom kiss to cheers and everything just feels hopeful for a moment.

You notice Sophia wiping away a tear when she thinks no one is watching and as her words come back to the forefront of your mind, somehow they feel dampened.

Frankie walks over to you both.

“Hey Clara,” he says cheerfully, arms outstretched to take her.

“Daddy,” she cries happily, eagerly moving from one parent to the other.

Frankie doesn’t say anything to you. He doesn’t need to. His eyes are glowing with mischief, with the secrets between the two of you, with hope.

“It was lovely, wasn’t it?” you say idly.

“Yeah, it was,” he says softly, squeezing Clara for a second. “It really was.”

“Want to get down now,” Clara says.

Frankie laughs as he gently helps her down and the two of you watch her run through the sand toward where Santi and one of Lia’s cousins are talking.

People are starting to move away now, the hum of chatter growing quieter as people walk towards where the lunch will be served and reception held.

You both watch the ocean for just a moment, listening to the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves reaching the shore and retreating.

Frankie slips his fingers into yours, entwining your fingers together. You lean fractionally, enough to feel the heat of his body, drink in the scent of his cologne. It’s different paired with the hotel shower gel, but it’s still Frankie.

“We should head back with the others,” he says softly, squeezing your hand slightly.

“Okay, just - just one more minute like this.”

Clara has been spending the meal running between you and Frankie, even though her chair is next to you. Frankie’s sat on Benny’s side of the table, while you’re closer to Lia and next to her cousin, another bridesmaid, who has been so bubbly and kind to you throughout the day. You can’t help but notice how carefully planned and choreographed this has all been - the consideration, and risk avoidance, of yours and Frankie’s separation is an unspoken theme in the wedding arrangements.

Lia’s cousin is nice though - what is her name? It’s something floral you’re sure. She has an infectious energy and you feel only slightly terrible that you’re glad you’re next to her and not Sofia. From the way she keeps glancing at Santi though , you have a feeling that both of them have specific plans for the evening. Good for both of them, you think.

Clara bounds over, almost tripping on her dress as she makes her way to you. You scoop her onto your lap, letting her hug you.

“Okay, I need to eat now,” she says confidently, letting you place her in her chair and immediately reaching for leftover bread.

“You two seem to really have it sorted,” she says.

“Oh yeah?”

“If I didn’t know, I’d have thought …” she trails off.

“So you and Santi, huh”

“What?” Her voice goes up an entire octave which makes you stifle a laugh.

“Santi’s a good guy.”

“I mean, I’m not looking for anything … that’s sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

You shake your head. “Neither is he, so go for it. For what it’s worth, he’s been looking your way?”

“Really?”

You nod.

“Wow. Well, that’s uh, good to know. So, do you fly back tomorrow?”

“Sadly. I wish I could just stay.”

“Do you have far to fly?”

“Wisconsin.”

“That is um, very different to here.”

“I know, right? It’s been so good to have some sun and all of this around me. I think I’m designed for the warm.”

“You’d love Florida then.”

“I know Lia loves it there, but it’s funny because when she was little, we always talked about moving to New York and for her to have moved to Florida instead, and to be so happy, I guess it’s just funny how things work out.”

“Tell me about it,” you say, thinking for a second of your own journey. Of the job you’re never sure if you love, but you enjoy the freedoms it gives you. You think of the man you thought would be forever and then never, only to fall back together again. You think about the life you’ve built yourself which feels so different to the one you thought you’d have.

You wouldn’t change it though.

Not here. Not right now.

The sky is streaked with pink and yellow hues reflecting the warmth of the day and making everything feel softer. There’s still enough heat for you to kick off your heels and luxuriate in the last rays of the day.

The dancing has started early. Lia and Benny had picked a song that worked for them for their first dance. So often first dances feel too saccharine for you, your least favourite part of a wedding - you joke it’s trauma from a deluge of Ed Sheeran or too practiced harmonies. Instead, this was them to a tee: joyful, fun, alive.

You watch as Clara dances with Santi, her tiny hands reaching up and pure glee on her face. She loves dancing - you won’t be able to get her off the floor until it’s time to drop her off with the sitter.

Sophia sits next to her, placing her glass down and looking at you with a mixture of wariness and worry.

“I want to clear the air,” she says after a moment. “I was - I meant well but I didn’t think, I didn’t think about it might hurt you. I think this wedding has bought up a lot for me.”

“It’s understandable,” you say gently. “And I appreciate the gesture now.”

Sophia sighs. “I really can’t watch you both fall apart again.” She twists her hands together. “It was scary, it was so awful to watch.”

For a moment the presentation you prepared, the spreadsheets of scenario analysis and careful planning come to your mind. You’re ready to defend yourself this time though. To prove to Sophia you and Frankie are right together.

She made you cry, you have to prove her wrong.

Why? A voice in your head asks. Why does her opinion matter so much?

“I don’t think we will,” you say, looking out at the sea, “Not this time. And don’t worry, I wont bother you if we do.”

Sophia whispers your name, taken aback by your matter of fact tone.

“We’re still friends, Sophia, but too much has happened between us, right?” Some wounds take longer to heal, perhaps one day it will feel more like it used to, but after last night it became clear that neither of you have truly healed from her wedding and she seems to have only just realised that herself.

You’re trying though. You have to try.

You can’t choose a life of bitterness, you can only move forward and get lost in hope instead.

“No, I -” There’s abject horror on Sophia’s face as she meets your gaze. “We -”

“I’m right. I understand why you resent what happened at your wedding, but the blame equally lies on Frankie and it was one short moment in a beautiful day. Such a beautiful day. Perhaps - perhaps it hurt everyone so much at the time because you’d couldn’t pretend he hadn’t relapsed anymore, that things weren’t normal. I don’t know. I don’t actually fucking care any more. It’s the past. I realised something watching Benny and Lia.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I don’t want to focus on the hurt anymore.”

“I don’t either,” she admits finally.

“Okay then.” You place your empty glass down. “I’m going to check on Clara. I think she’s tiring out her Tio Santi with her dance moves.”

The evening has set in now. Candles and warm lights illuminate paths and tables. You can hear the band still playing in the distance as you let Frankie guide you against the white washed wall and you melt into his kiss.

His hands cupping your jaw, moving down to your collarbone, your waist. His lips on yours, confident and enrapturing as you pull him tighter against you.

You can taste the sweetness of the soda he’s been drinking on his tongue, smell the hint of cigar smoke on his clothes - a tradition he assured you he decided not to partake in, not this time.

Your heart is racing, the sound of blood pumping in your ears. This is so right. So natural.

Your bodies, your minds, everything about you and Frankie feels right together, feels whole.

You don’t hear the footsteps, don’t hear the sound of anything but the moment.

“Holy fuck."

You hear that, immediately breaking apart. Frankie’s standing a little away from you, worry creasing his brow.

“Hi Benny,” he says casually.

“What are you doing here?”

Frankie looks at Benny and Lia, hand in hand and then at you. “Probably the same thing you wanted to.”

“What about - oh my god, oh wow, it’s - wow!” Lia says, noticing that Frankie is with you, that you’re loitering in the shadows, gaze transfixed to the floor.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your wedding,” you say quickly. Not another one. Not again.

You feel Frankie’s arm around your waist, gentle motions of his hand to calm you, to bring you back and ground you.

“Why do you think you’re ruining my wedding?” Lia asks, her hands on her hip.

You stumble on your words, stuttering out nonsensical syllables and stop, mouth agape and feeling lost. “Why wouldn’t I be ruining your wedding?” you ask in a small voice.

Frankie mutters under his breath, you think you catch a couple of curse words but you’re not show.

“Oh sweetie,” Lia says, moving towards you, disentangling you from Frankie and bringing you into a gentle embrace. “You’re not ruining my wedding. God, I’ve been thinking this’ll happen all week - I just had a sense you two weren’t over yet.”

“You did?”

“Benny and I have a bet on it. I win.”

“A bet?” Frankie asks, raising his eyes at Benny who holds his hands up.

“Yeah, thanks for that one, guys. Seriously, Lia and I just both picked up there was some unresolved - stuff between you two.”

“You don’t think it’s a mistake, that we’re … a storm or in a vacation bubble?” you ask nervously.

You notice how Frankie closes his eyes just for a second at your question, how the worry radiates for just a moment.

“I think we’re all in a vacation bubble, right?” Benny says. “We’re in a wedding bubble too, but it’s all -” ”Bubbles,” Lia interjects.

“it doesn’t mean it’s not real though. Doesn’t mean you two can’t work at home again. I mean, you’re going to take things slow right?”

“Right. We have a plan.”

Frankie laughs. “There’s a spreadsheet, with formulas and a pant chart.”

“Gantt chart,” you correct automatically.

“It’s terrifying actually.”

“That is … something,” Benny says with a low whistle.

“So you have a plan and you’re taking it slow and you’re happy. That’s good, that’s great. Can you just give me today for me to be a little selfish,” she adds lightly. “Please?”

“Absolutely,” you say. “Trust me, I don’t want any more attention at this wedding.”

Lia laughs, pulls you in tighter for a second and whispers, “When we get back from honeymoon, I want to hear everything.”

The airport is crowded. This time, your flight wasn’t the one that was delayed however it’s unfortunately landed at the same time as another delayed flight and the baggage hall is heaving. Throngs of people, desperate to get home or start their own vacation swarm the hall.

Santi, Will and Sophia’s cases have already arrived. You watch as they awkwardly shift, waiting for yours and Frankie’s luggage to arrive so the group of you can start your goodbyes.

The flight was such a different experience to the journey out.

“Do you need to share our uber?” Santi asks Frankie.

“Nope, we travelled together with Clara. Split the car parking.”

“Very practical. Your idea?” Santi asks you.

“Nope, that was all Frankie.”

He shrugs, a fake modest smirk growing on his face. “Do you guys want to head on then?”

“Probably.” Santi smiles at you both. “back to reality, huh?”

It doesn’t feel with you dread though. Not at this moment.

“it had to happen sometime,” you say placidly, noticing that Clara’s now tugging at your leg. You lift her up, let her wrap her arms around Santi for a moment.

“Bye tio Santi,” she says.

“Bye sweetheart.” Santi says with a soft smile. “Good to see you too.”

You grin. “Yeah, it was. Actually, things worked pretty well.”

He looks at Frankie and then you knowingly. “I bet.” He raises his eyebrows, making no comment or judgement but his eyes are alight with mischief, with something close to happiness for you both.

You feel steadier with each moment like this.

Santi waves as he joins Sophia and Will, who you’d already exchanged goodbyes with, and the three of them head out.

You watch the suitcases whir around the conveyor belt. “Our luggage is coming, right?”

“Absolutely. It’s going to be the last bags though, pretty sure of that."

“Just our luck.”

Frankie smirks, gently moving a twisted strap around your handbag before whispering, “If Clara couldn’t see, I’d be kissing you now.”

“Oof, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you tease, before pointing at a familiar case. “Frankie, it’s finally here."

You watch Frankie grab your suitcase as Clara rests her head on your shoulder.

“Home soon?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay."

There are so many conversations for you and Frankie, so many hurdles to overcome. You don’t need to worry about those now though.

You’re noticing the way Frankie’s eyes seem brighter than before, the way his smile is so broad as he joins you again.

His hand is right next to yours and your fingers brush against each other. You take his hand, letting him entwine fingers with you as Clara rests on your other side

Maybe this week wasn’t such a bad idea after all?

“Let me drive you both home,” he says gently.

“Only if you stay tonight,” you say.

“Is that in the spreadsheet?”

“Would you let that go? I just meant, it is late and the roads can be dangerous and as far as Clara knows, you can sleep on the sofa. Or in the bath.”

He shakes his head at the memory of the debate on the first night of the vacation. “Well, that does sounds enticing, doesn’t it? It seems like it would be irresponsible for me not to stay.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, don’t want be setting a bad example for this munchkin, do we? Let’s head home then.”

Home, that sounds like a good idea right now.

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[rentenwins]

silly little excuses (newneighbour!leehan x reader)

ch 1 • ch 2 • ch 3 • ch 4 • ch 5 • ch 6

synopsis: it's mid-semester break and the gang needs a day out to relax. but you nor leehan's feelings can't catch a break... never.

content: banter, they are all very good friends, we love the bnd members, leehan is JEALOUS(?), taesan is a (stereotypical intj), f-bomb is dropped, banter, food depictions, the beach and the sand and the wind and the water

a/n: wooohoooo i finished second-year uni which means i have more time to write and actually finish this HAHHAHAH this is longer than usual, so i hope you all enjoy <3

wc: 3267

taglist: @haechology @jenuinne @saintriots @badaspookie @yveol @yunextdoor @lailols @rawrbamgyu @amarecerasus @pandorahearts19 @luvvhaerin @saritahwang @bee-the-loser

chapter 6: mid-semester break blues

You get a text on your phone. It’s around midday on a Saturday, lounging in your apartment with little to no care of what the next week might hold. The one-week long mid-semester break was one that lasted way too short for your liking, and was meant to be a period to prepare for the last half of the semester. Though as a second-year, it got old pretty quickly. This break just seemed to be one to do absolutely nothing. 

The mid-semester assignment submission dates and exams meant you didn’t see much of your friends, except for running into them on campus, at the elevator or when Jaehyun came over to help you with math. He tries to be subtle, looking at Leehan’s door whenever he comes to your place. You don’t question it much, everyone was usually equally as distant as each other during mid-sems.

That is, until the text you just received. Your jaw drops slightly, brows furrowed as you read the text over and over again. 

Just as you read over the text once again, the doorbell rings and you jump in your seat on the sofa. With a sigh, you raise your voice, “Coming!” as you trudge to the door, still in pyjamas.

The door opens and you see the person who sent the text.

“Sungho? You just texted me, you weren’t serious were you?”

The boy scoffs, “Of course I was! When have I ever bullshitted you?”

“You’re horrible, you know that?” says Leehan besi— wait, Leehan?

You straighten up subconsciously with the sight of Leehan, dressed effortlessly in loose baby blue shorts, a white shirt and a long sleeve button down, not to mention a pair of sunglasses on his head. Bags under his eyes weren’t invisible either. Sungho was dressed similarly, except he was wearing a straw hat that would’ve given Luffy a run for his money. 

“The beach? I didn’t think you were serious.” You look back at your phone to see the text Sungho had texted you moments prior. ‘beach day with the gang, be ready in 30’ it read.

“The others ready?” You ask.

“Pretty much. Jaehyun’s getting stuff from the store, told us to meet him downstairs in 30 minutes.” Sungho replied, checking his phone for the time.

“And who’s driving?”

“We can’t fit in one car,” Leehan speaks up, “Jaehyun’s driving, so am I.”

You gulp a little and Sungho probably caught you doing so. You let out a dry ‘okay’ and told the two you’d meet them downstairs after you get your life together for the beach.

—

You step out the elevator, a big calico-lined bag hanging off your arm filled with a bottle sunscreen, a beach towel, a picnic blanket and a bunch of other amenities. Unsurprisingly, the boys except for two (namely Jaehyun and Woonhak) had their smaller totes carried on each one of their arms. A silver hatchback is parked on the verge, which you know belongs to Leehan as you’ve seen him drive on some occasions on weekends.

It had been two weeks since you saw everyone together. It was refreshing, so you decide to savour it for now.

Leehan seems to be the only one to realise you walked out first, so he beams you a smile and approaches you.

“Nice hat.” He says simply, looking at the bucket hat on your head. You feel your insides do a backflip, but keep your composure.

“Nice sunglasses.” you reply equally as playful. Leehan’s arm somehow makes his way to the handle of your big bag.

“Let me take this.” He murmurs, and you oblige despite the way you slightly pull your bag closer to you. Though, your little crush on Leehan absolutely thrives in every little interaction with him. Who were you to refuse such a kind gesture?

A white sedan pulls behind Leehan’s (cuter) hatchback, driven by Jaehyun in his dorky glasses with Woonhak on the passenger’s side.

“Sit on the passenger’s side will you? I heard you tend to get carsick.” Leehan speaks up, looking at you. Your head whips to him.

“You sure? The others won’t mind?” You ask as you walk towards Leehan’s car, Riwoo and Sungho placing their stuff in the trunk of Jaehyun’s sedan while Taesan has already opened the door to the rear of Leehan’s car.

Taesan catches your eye through the window as he settles on his seat, and you pretend to not see his wink as you walk to the passenger’s side. 

The sun was already blaring and Leehan had cranked the AC on blast to deal with the heat. 

“All ready?” Leehan asks and you hum in agreement and Taesan groans behind his sunglasses, looking ready to sleep for the 30-minute journey ahead. Leehan grins as he sees Taesan lulling to sleep even as the car hadn’t started to move.

“There’s another reason why I wanted you at the front,” Leehan says to you as the vehicle starts to move out of the apartment complex, “when I first drove here from Busan, Sungho practically slept the whole way through. Taesan isn’t any better apparently.”

“Well,” you say as you put on your sunglasses, “don’t have to worry about that with me.” Leehan kept his eyes on the road but his eyes were as if he was facing you directly. He smiles.

“I’m glad.” he says, and a comfortable wave of silence falls between you two, save Taesan’s heavy breathing at the back seat. Leehan lessens the AC’s fan, and increases the volume of his playlist, which judging by the last two songs played, he seems to be a fan of Troye Sivan.

“So,” you say as the car drives at a steady pace on the highway, “any reason it’s Taesan in the backseat and not any of the others?” Leehan looks at you briefly before his eyes look forward again.

“Not Jaehyun for obvious reasons, Woonhak can only really be tamed by Jaehyun, Riwoo’s picky with the music, Sungho… moving on,” He laughs to himself as you laugh lightly with him, “Taesan’s the tamest, he’s like a cat. Take him anywhere and he’ll adjust.”

Though what Leehan doesn’t say is that the person he wants to be stuck in a 30-minute drive with the most was you. If anything, he was really willing to take a ‘wrong’ exit so he could keep the Troye Sivan vibes with you in the front seat. But alas, gas is expensive and Jaehyun’s convoy is right behind him, lane changing and all. Leehan decides that being designated driver isn’t all bad.

————

It’s almost 2pm when you all settle at the beach. You and the others set up near the damper part of the sand. There’s a few people on the beach already, you and the others make the noise levels raise a bit.

Just as you entered his car on the way rhere, Leehan carries your bag and his own tote bag all the way down to the sand, despite your attempt to carry your own bag yourself. Regardless, you find yourself flattered (again) at his gesture.

As soon as the others have set up the two picnic blankets, Woonhak speeds towards the water with an equally as playful Jaehyun in tow to chase him. Sungho feels an overwhelming urge to join them as he bolts for the two boys, leaving you, Leehan, Riwoo and Taesan with all their belongings. Riwoo decides ice cream was a good idea, so Taesan offers to tag along. Leehan makes no intent to move and is way more interested in the bag of convenience store snacks Jaehyun had bought earlier.

Riwoo and Taesan scurry away, leaving you and Leehan. You swear you feel the universe and the stars align, though your insides couldn’t say the same as you stay nervous. Leehan hands you a colourful packet.

“Gummies?” he offers. You smile while you take it from him.

“Thanks,” the plastic crinkles in your hand. 

“Have the rest.” Leehan says as he digs through the bag again. The two of you stay doing nothing more than people watching (see: Jaehyun capturing Woonhak in his arms while Sungho splashes Woonhak with the cold ocean). At one point, Leehan plays his playlist from his phone and places it between where you two sit on the blanket. You decide to break the ice.

“You've been okay, Leehan?” He faces you at your question, another snack in hand. Leehan almost looks guilty as your question, and as if on cue, the clouds make the sun shine a little less.

“Is it obvious?” Leehan sheepishly says, playing with the snack in his hand. You feel your insides drop a little. You have the urge to reassure him.

“Well, I’m tired from all my mid-sems too,” You contemplated from the past week, “can’t believe you wouldn’t feel the same. Or worse actually, a new environment and all. It’s been a month since you moved hasn’t it?”

He smiles, a little sadly.

“Mhm, it’s been a month now. Though, if I didn’t have all of us here, I’d definitely have a harder time.” He fiddles almost nervously with the packet of potato chips in his hands. You hum, honestly you couldn’t imagine it, having to move away from a place you lived your whole life. A part of you starts to ache for Leehan. 

“Well, if you ever need anything, I’m a door away. Literally.” you say with a smile to lighten up the darkened mood, and he diverts his eyes away from where he was staring into the sea to look at you. He smiles and you feel nervous again.

“Actually, that does remind me of something.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans back on the picnic blanket. 

“Hm? What is it?” you ask as you pop another gummy in your mouth.

“I’m going to Busan for three days from Monday, and obviously I can’t take the fishes with me so…” he clears his throat trying to waver off his embarrassment, “I was wondering if you could feed and take care of them while I’m away? I know it might be too much so just let me know if it’s t—

“I’d love to!” you blurt out without thinking. It’s like that part of your brain driven purely by how smitten you are with Leehan worked faster than your own thoughts.

“Oh, it’s okay I’ll ju— wait really?” Leehan whips his head to you again with more fervour this time. You blink trying to stay calm. ‘He’s trusting me with his pets?’ you giddily think, then you remember Sungho’s words from when Leehan first moved in.

“Just between you and me, nothing gets in the way of Leehan and his fishes.”

Right. That. You mentally slap yourself, of course. ‘Leehan’s only asking me for convenience sake, the guy loves his fish. Get a grip, y/n.’

“Well— yeah! I’m happy to! I know how much they mean to you. Plus, I’ve had hamsters before. Shouldn’t be that difficult.” you say to try to convince Leehan that you were more than capable of taking care of his precious Corydoras. Leehan snorts at the comparison, 

“It’s settled then. You free tomorrow?” and you nod again, no hesitation.

“Well, come over tomorrow and I’ll show you how to take care of them.” He smiles again and you jokingly salute before looking out into the water again at a very damp Jaehyun and Woonhak with Sungho looking more like a drowned cat than the other two.

“Sounds good.” you reply simply. There’s a beat of silence between you two. You look out in the distance as the sun makes itself known from the clouds again, realising that today really was good weather for the beach, silently thanking Sungho for dragging you out of your house. 

Meanwhile, you don’t notice but Leehan gulps, stealing glances from you almost every second. He liked you. A lot. So much that he would trust you with his most precious pets. And you’ve been kind and sweet and a helpful friend since he’s moved in. Being around you makes him feel so giddy. But then whenever he feels like this, he slaps himself mentally. Because whoever would ever like him back like that? The pit in his stomach turns.

‘Fuck it’ he says in his head. He clears his throat and it catches your attention. 

“Can I tell you something?” Leehan starts. You look at him expectedly,

“Sure, hit me. You can tell me anything.”

‘I don’t even know if you could handle how I truly feel.’ Leehan decides at this moment to push those thoughts away. He needed to do something now, because even a split-second hesitation would cause him to do otherwise. He releases a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“y/n… Actually, I’ve been thinking. You know, I re—

“ICE CREAM IS HERE.” A loud voice from behind him interrupts him abruptly. He sees you turn your head towards Riwoo and Taesan, carrying trays of ice cream. The pit that was already in his stomach turns again, but the fear creeps up from his abdomen to his chest. It gets a bit harder to breathe. Did he just miss his one and only chance?

Meanwhile, Woonhak probably saw his older friends make their way back where you and Leehan were, so he was by Taesan’s side before you could even register. Riwoo hands you a tray with a thank you as the pit in Leehan’s stomach drops again. He was about to—

Taesan takes a seat on the other side of Leehan and hands him a spoon and the ice cream tray, ice cream slowly melting underneath the sun. Taesan waves the spoon when Leehan doesn’t take it immediately.

“Earth to Leehan? You good?” Taesan asks his friend. Leehan wordlessly takes the ice cream and the spoon from Taesan as the pit in his stomach makes him dizzy. He hadn’t told Taesan about his crush on you directly, but for sure with the way Taesan’s been playing matchmaker with Sungho, he knew one way or another.

‘Yeah… yeah I’m fine. Just a bit warm.” Leehan mumbles before he takes a bite of ice cream. Taesan looks, albeit suspiciously, at his best friend before digging through the convenience store bag for bread.

Leehan looks your way again. He sees Jaehyun sitting in the free spot next to you, yapping away again about who knows what. Leehan still wishes he could easily speak like Jaehyun did with you. But alas, he resorts to pining over you from a distance, and he knows Jaehyun can’t help it. 

What Leehan doesn’t see, under the heat of the sun, is a Taesan and a Sungho looking at him sadly. 

_____

As the sun had begun to set, you and the rest started to think of going home. It seems like Woonhak and Jaehyun ran out of their batteries a while ago and were lying down taking up most of his picnic blanket. Leehan was reading his book, lying on his stomach on the blanket you brought, occasionally taking bites of the rapidly disappearing snacks. You were approaching Taesan and Sungho, who were walking by the shore taking pictures of each other on Taesan’s digicam. 

“y/n, come here!” Taesan beckons to you and you walk a little quicker, holding onto your bucket hat as the wind picks up. Sungho takes your arm and drags you next to him to take some photos. The both of you smile at the camera before Taesan suggests some poses, back to the camera, dramatic and all. You were facing the ocean with Sungho when you felt a presence on your other side.

“Y/n face here! Leehan you too!” Taesan calls out with his digicam in hand. Boldly, Leehan turns his head in your direction to face Taesan, and so do you.

“Oi, we’re all friends, get closer together!” Sungho points out to Leehan jokingly, moving his arm that’s around your shoulder to make a point. Leehan blushes internally and hesitantly moves closer to your side until your shoulders are touching and his hand bumped yours.

Taesan does a thumbs up and takes a few pics after a countdown, and you, Leehan and Sungho change poses every few shots, and yet neither you or Leehan move your hands that were occasionally touching. After the group picture, Taesan kneels on the sand and angles the camera towards himself this time, and the three of you go closer. You kneel one knee down towards Taesan to stay in frame, but Leehan almost loses his footing so he uses your shoulder to steady himself. You feel his hand and instinctively grab the hand on your shoulder as you look back.

“You okay?” You ask as he steadies himself on the sand. He huffs out a ‘yes’ and an embarrassed laugh before he poses for the camera once again. Taesan does a countdown, and Sungho gives Taesan a cat ears pose with his index and middle-fingers. Leehan, too, with a sudden drive of confidence, does the same cat ear pose for you who was kneeling in front of him. After that round of photos, Taesan stands and you start to get up from your spot when Leehan offers his hand to help you up from the sand. You smile as you take his hand, and your hand lingers for a second too long before he lets go and you both start to walk towards where the others were.

Soon enough, you were all back into the same cars as the sun was almost fully set. This time, Taesan wasn’t asleep as evident from the little smile Leehan catches from the rear-view mirror.

“What’re you smilin’ at?” Leehan says in a slight Busan accent, catching you off-guard.

“Nothin’ just the pictures.” Taesan replies in the same fashion, and you turn your head to the backseat.

“Since when could you do that?” You ask confused. Taesan looks up from his digicam with a raised eyebrow.

“Do what? Take these pictures for you? A long time actually.” Taesan replies sarcastically as he hands you the digicam. You scroll through the pictures of your candid photos and the ones with Sungho until you get to the ones where Leehan had magically appeared beside you by the shore earlier. Your eyes widen and almost choke on air when you see the pictures, and hand the digicam back to Taesan before you feel your face burn up.

Leehan doesn’t see this (because he’s a good and safe driver).

“Did they turn out good? The photos?” Leehan asks as he changes lanes and squints when he can’t see Jaehyun’s car in the rear view, internally shrugging and trusts that Jaehyun has his GPS on and knows his way back to the apartment.

“Very good! They turned out great.” Taesan drags out the last word, Leehan eyes him in the rear view mirror and feels his best friend’s smirk from the back seat.

“Send ‘em to me later, yeah?” Leehan decides to say instead of questioning Taesan’s tone, and Taesan lets out a grunt of agreement. You recall back to the photos you just saw. You didn’t realise how close Leehan really was to you in the pictures until you saw the selfie, and only then you realised the hand Leehan used to steady himself on your shoulder never left. It was beyond endearing yet so humiliating that you felt butterflies in your stomach from such a small gesture. You wave it off, and hide your face from Leehan by looking out the window until you get back to your apartment.

[lupinmoonlight]

First Morning Together

Masterlist AO3

Summary - An interlude to Domestic Bliss. After graduating from Hogwarts, you and Remus move into a cozy little cottage in Hogsmeade. Your first morning together results in steamy spoon fucking (879 words).

Warnings - age gap, spooning, smut, impregnation kink if you squint, my grammar, not proof-read.

Notes - I don't know what this is and I kinda hate it. I was longing for something domestic but also smut without plot so there it is. I know I have several requests in my inbox but I have had some serious writer's block. I will get to them as soon as I can! I am also planning out a multi-chapters fic with possibly my first ever OC. Let me know if that is something of interest :)

You still had to remind Remus that you were not his student anymore, that it was ok to touch you, to hold your hand, to have you. You were his now, after all. You had been his for a long time already, only now you didn't have to hide it from the world. 

Yet, he was still so careful around you. There was still this lingering guilt behind every touch, as if he was afraid to corrupt you. The truth was that you were corrupted ever since you laid your eyes on him for the first time 3 years ago. And that corruption had led you to this cozy little cottage nestled on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, sleeping next to the love of your life for the first time. 

That love of your life had been awake for a while already, savouring the intimacy of the moment, of having you all curled up against him, fitting so perfectly into the curve of his waist as if you were made for him alone. 

Your favourite thing was to feign innocence with him, to pretend you were not aware of the effect you had on him. But you knew exactly what you were doing and now, in your first morning together, you could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against your backside as he was spooning you yet you pretended to be asleep, subtly grinding your butt against him. 

He groaned and tried to put some distance between the two of you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but your body instinctively sought out the contact, pressing yourself back against him.

"Y/N...I'm sorry. I should-" he started stuttering. 

"Don't apologize, Professor," you said, turning your head slightly to give him a mischievous smile. 

His body betrayed him at the sound of his title on your lips, his length twitching with arousal against you. One of his hands found its way down to your hip, pulling you more firmly against him, causing you to gasp. You were not used to this type of assertiveness with him; he was always so careful, so gentle. But now, in the intimate confines of your shared cottage, his resolve was crumbling and he was hungry, starved. 

In a swift motion, he slid your panties down just enough so that the cool air of the morning kissed over you bare bottom, making you shiver. His erection was painfully hard now. He freed himself from his boxers and slid between your cheeks as his lips found your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your skin. 

"Fuck..." he let out as he started grinding himself against you in a torturous pace. 

"Remus...Please," you whimpered, arching your back in a desperate plea for him to be inside you. 

You could feel his lips form into a smirk against your skin; he loved having you all needy and begging. Except now there was no time for teasing. He wanted you, needed you. He aligned his length with your entrance and slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed inside of you, his arms keeping you firmly against him. 

The tightness of your body threatened to undo him right then and there and he stilled for a moment in a futile attempt to control himself. 

"God...you feel good," he whispered as he found his rhythm, thrusting slowly but steadily into your welcoming heat. Your soft moans and whimpers did nothing to help him stay in control, his breathing becoming ragged. 

He increased the force of his pace as his hand travelled down to your core, the tip of his finger teasing over your sensitive bud. You arched your back, pushing your hips forward in a silent plea for more contact and you moaned and he gave into what you wanted, that sweet friction bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

It only took a few strokes for your climax to hit you, your entire body tensing up as you gave in to the pleasure. Remus growled as he felt you clench around him, and any ounce of restraint he had was gone. He gripped your waist, anchoring himself to you as his hips drove into you relentlessly. 

"I'm close," he panted. 

"Please...fill me up. I want to feel you inside me," you begged. 

His thrusts became unsteady as he approached his climax, his grip on you almost painful. "Ah...fuck. You're going to make me come," he practically growled.

With one final powerful thrust, he felt the familiar explosion of pleasure erupting from him as he came inside your tight hold. His hips continued to grind against you as he pumped you with his seed before finally coming to a still. 

You could feel his chest heaving against your back, his length still pulsing as he was nestled deep within you. His hand came to rest on your belly as he imagined vividly how beautiful you would look with his child growing inside you. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and whispered "I love you" against your skin, pulling you closer to him, your bodies still intimately connected. 

"This is how I want every morning to be from now on," you said with a hint of a smile in your voice. 

"You know I can never refuse anything to the love of my life." 

[sunnybunnyy2]

Father Knows Best

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, swearing, mentions of Daryl’s abuse, mentions of savours, transpires in season seven, spoilers for season seven of the walking dead, possible typos and bad writing

CHAPTER 3 to the Dark Cell Series

Not much Daryl in this one, sadly, but he will be in it much more next chapter!

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This one came out way quicker than the second and I’m sorry for that, but I am beginning to get into a regular posting times! So here it is!!

Your eyes were forced open when you heard the loud pounding of a fist consistently colliding against your door.  

You let out a groan as your senses began to kick in, the once blackness that you were seeing behind your eyelids was replaced with the bright light that shined through the window that was meant to be covered by your curtain but you had been growing even more tired since your visits with Daryl. 

It had made sense. Normally you would be asleep before the second night shift, so around 11 pm, but now you couldn't fall asleep until around 3 am, sometimes even 4.

That paired with the times that you had to wake up each morning had given you a maximum of four hours a night. Then you had to work all day and repeat the cycle again and again. 

You couldn't risk falling asleep before you met Daryl, knowing that he would starve that night, and that thought alone kept your mind racing all day. 

You constantly wondered how he was doing at the hands of your father. You wondered if he was being beaten, even if the old bruises on his face had started to fade you knew it wasn't long until they would reappear again. 

You wondered what else Dwight was forcing him to do. You couldn't really put anything past him. 

You used to admire how kind he was to others and how kindly he would treat his wife, Sherry, and her sister, Tina. But ever since Tina had been killed when they had escaped the sanctuary over a month ago and he had faced the wrath of her father, he hadn't been the same.

You knew it was because of his wife. Sherry had offered to become your father's wife to spare Dwight's life. 

You didn't agree with your father having multiple wives especially so soon after your mother's death. It had been just over two years and he was pretending she didn't exist. He was coercing women into being his wife, in hopes of filling the dark that was left after your mother had taken her own life. 

You could see how their presence in his life wasn't providing in the way he had hoped it would. You could see it in his eyes. 

He was miserable. So he was bringing pain onto other people to make himself feel better. You didn't agree with his ways of coping but it's not like you could change his mind. He was a grown man and could certainly make his own choices.

He knew where you stood and what he chose to do with that was up to him, you supposed. He knew you weren't a fan of his 'marital' status so he kept it as far away from you as possible. Making sure that he never showed affection to them around you, making sure they stayed out of your way. But that wasn't the issue. You did like his wives, they were kind to you. Always making sure you were okay. Never talking about your father around you. 

You had felt like his wives were a majority of your closest friends. When you pushed back the fact that they were sleeping with your father.

You tugged the sheets off of your body roughly as you jumped to your feet after realizing that the knocking wasn't getting any quieter.

You pulled your shirt down from where it had been yanked up in your sleep from your turning as you walked towards the door before jerking it open, causing the knocker to stumble slightly as they fell forward, making it clear that they were leaning against the door as they waited for a response. 

"Jesus," she spoke your name as she caught herself from falling to the hard ground. "Your dad wants you. Said you had something you wanted to talk to him about." Laura informed you as she looked at you with a blank face but you knew her facial features well enough from the two years you had known her to tell that she was confused about what you had to talk to your father about. You had always confided in her about the way you felt about your father. 

The disappointment and frustration but also about how you missed the old times between your family. About how you missed your old father and how you missed the comfort your mother had brought you before she died.

She had also spoken about how she missed her parents as well and even though her situation wasn't remotely the same, she still understood what it felt like to be a younger girl who just wanted her parent's love and affection. 

"Yeah, yeah...um where is he?" You asked as you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth out some of the tangles. 

"In his room. You better get ready, he ain't got all day." Laura sent a nod your way before sending you a half smile, clearly as tired as you as she was sent to do more work around the sanctuary. She never seemed to have time to rest. She was constantly either at Negan's aid or on watch somewhere around the sanctuary. 

"Sir, yes sir." You saluted.

"You wish I was a sir?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, you're just fine to look at now." You smiled slyly.

"Jesus, you're just like your father." She shook her head with a smirk. 

"Damn, Laura. You wound me. Seriously that was so hurtful." You half-joked as you wiped away imaginary tears as you turned your head away from her. 

"I take that back, you're way better." She shrugged as she spoke the truth that everyone at the sanctuary thought. Though you had always assumed some of the saviours had befriended you because of Negan wasn't entirely true. Sure some did in hopes of earning extra points for themselves and their families, but most just genuinely thought that you were one of the good ones. That you could possibly be able to persuade your father to change his ways. 

"Alright. I forgive you, Laur. Even if you started my day off with a fucking headache." You spoke as you rubbed your temple, your words earning a very 'unladylike' snort from Laura as she started to back away from your room and down the hallway. 

"My pleasure, Miss. Smith." She saluted before she turned around and quickened her pace to her shift which she was surely late from, leaving you to stare at the hallway wall as you mentally prepared yourself for the conversation you were about to have with your father, knowing it could go two ways. Well, which was the unlikely scenario or, Awful which you were leaning towards. 

And that's how you ended up here. Sat at the table with your father as he settled in his seat after having poured himself a small glass of bourbon. 

You watched as Potter, a worker in the sanctuary, placed two plates of eggs, home fries and some ham on top of the table for you two. You sent a smile his way as he nodded at you and your father before turning to make his exit, but your father's voice stopped him. 

"Oh, Mr. Potter..." Your father spoke in a sing-song voice as tapped his fork on the table. 

"Yes, Negan?" He asked as he turned back to the pair of you. A trail of sweat hastily coming down his brow, as his anxious eyes flicked between you and your father in hopes of getting a read on your body language.

"I think you forgot something." He pointed to his empty cup of water before snapping his fingers as if the second after he spoke lasted an hour. "Today." He rolled his eyes as the man rushed over to pick up the pitcher of water and pour it into his cup.

"Would you like some as well, ?" He spoke your name as he turned to look at you. Your father's glass now filled with ice water. 

"Of course, she wants some. What do you think, she wants to eat your dry ass food without having something to wash it down with." Your father let out a laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world all while glaring the poor man down, who was practically shaking in his boots.

"No thank you, Potter." You managed to smile softly at him as if to calm him. Your body lowered down slightly as your body inadvertent shrank into yourself in embarrassment at how your father was treating the kind man.

Your demeanour didn't seem to put the man at ease as he still looked as though he was about to stroke out, which apparently was hilarious to your father as he let out a booming chuckle from deep in his throat, his rough and deep voice spoke from behind his pearly white teeth. 

"Jesus, man. I'm just joking. It's just a jokey, joke. Holy fuck," he spoke your name, "did you see his fucking face? He looked like he was going to piss his pants." He laughed before looking at the floor as though he was looking to see if the older man had done just that. 

"That will be all, Potter. Thank you." You looked away from your father to face the middle-aged man before nodding to the door, not quite able to hide your anger well, causing him to look to Negan for permission.

Your father watched you with amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes, clearly finding your annoyance entertaining, before he nodded, still looking at you as he spoke. "Do you need her to tell you again? Leave. Now." Without wasting a second he scurried out of the room, probably to go cry in the corner somewhere. Your father seemed to always have that effect on people. 

"Did you really have to scare him away? I was gonna get him to cut up my meat." He laughed.

"You're a grown-ass man. I think you can do it yourself just fine." You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as his eyes widened slightly before they were amused again, a small laugh leaving his lips.

"You really are my kid, ain't ya."

You guys sat in silence for a minute. You glaring at him and him trying to hide the merriment in his eyes.

"If you've got something to say, baby, just spit it out." He said as he crossed his arms while leaning back in his seat, eyes studying your face. 

"What is wrong with you?" You asked with anger clear in your voice as you shook your head.

"Well, sweetheart, I have a lot of things wrong with me so you're gonna have to be more specific." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Dad. That. How you treat people." You scoffed at his attempt at humour, normally you would laugh at his stupid attempts at making you laugh but now, when he humiliated people for a good laugh, your blood would quite literally boil in your skin. 

"I was just having a little fun. He doesn't mind." He dismissed as he laughed, shaking his head before he began using the fork he was still gripping to take a substantial bite of his over-easy eggs.

"It's not a 'little fun', Dad. You scared him half to death. Does it not make you feel bad when you treat people like shit?" You shook your head in disbelief.

"No, it doesn't. I'm in charge. Im not treating anyone like shit here. Do you see all that I do for these people? What I provide for them." His face grew annoyed at your words.

"Yeah, Dad. I do. But you can help keep these people safe without treating them like shit. You don't need to make them fear you to keep them sa-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence but you could tell by his tone that you got your point across.

"They need to fear me to stay in line. That's what I do. I keep them in line. How else do you think we're still standing? If I become buddy, buddy with them they'll think they can get away with shit they just can't get away with."

"You can be a decent person and still have loyal followers. I mean, shit, how do you think half the groups still alive are operating?" You tried to mile your tone down as you began cutting up your ham. 

"You mean the groups we're gonna take over? They won't be operating like that for long." He shook his head in dismissal before wiping away the yellow egg yolk that had dropped into his pink lips.

"But why can't you form alliances with other groups? Instead of controlling them?" You tried to reason.

"Look, hunny. I love you, okay? But I don't tell you how to lead your little posey so don't fucking tell me how to lead mine." He said angrily before taking hold of his glass of bourbon and gulping down all of its contents. 

"You do realize you just called you and your people pretentious, right? I do think it fits, though." You snorted as you took a small bite of your scrambled eggs. 

"What did you want to talk to me about? I have things I need to get done." He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance.

"Oh sorry, I didn't know having a conversation with your daughter was such a burden." You shook your head as you began to stand up but we're stopped when your father grabbed your arm.

You looked over expecting to see a look of anger on your father's face but sat back down when all you saw was remorse for his words that were obviously taken out of context but they had hurt you nonetheless, as that was what he hated the most. Hurting you.

"You know what I meant. I love talking to you, you know that, don't act like you don't. Tell me what you want to talk about, baby. Please." He pulled his and away and picked up his fork, signalling for you to speak. 

"What is that community called?" You asked as you picked up the pitcher of water, not missing the look your father sent you that practically said, 'You should have just gotten Potter to do that' but you just brushed it off, knowing you were more than capable of pouring your own cup of water.

"Who am I? Fucking Professor X? You're going to have to be more-"

"That new community. The one you took a prisoner from." You specified, know that was his next word.

"How the hell do you know about that?" He asked with slight anger. He had tried to keep you as far away from his duties as much as he possibly could. 

He had constantly restricted you from leaving the sanctuary in hopes of keeping you alive and blissfully unaware of his actions, knowing that he had shaped his men well enough that they knew they needed to die for you. 

"Everyone knows about it. You don't exactly keep it under wraps. I can hear you boost about it from my room. Your voice travels." You studied him, wanting to make sure he wasn't going to try and keep something from you.

"Huh, so I've been told." He shrugged as he then began to study you, checking to see if he could notice any alternative motives. You could only hope he didn't.

"So?"

"Why do you wanna know anyway?" He questioned.

"I'm just curious. Sick of the gossip and rumours, just want to know what's going on. That's all." You attempted to play it off, hoping he didn't notice the slight quiver in your voice.

"I hate gossipers too. They seem to be everywhere, don't they." He replied as he squirted some ketchup onto his cooling grilled potatoes.

"Yeah, they do... so...?" You pressed, hoping he would stop beating around the bush and just reveal what you were wanting to know.

"Alexandria. It's a nice place but the people make it a fucking shit hole, their leader, Rick, is a joke. A fucking pussy if I've ever known one. Hell, I bet Potter could take him in a fight. Truly it's embarrassing." He ranted as he rolled his eyes, his fork scraping against his plate as if the sheer thought of Daryl's leader, Rick, had brought him so much rage that he had to take it out on the plate.

"So is there a lot of people there?" You asked, trying to sound casual.

"Two-hundred and thirty-four." He revealed causing her to tense.

"So we have more." It was a statement rather than a question.

"By a landslide, baby. We have five hundred and four through all of our outposts. In any way, we outrank them. You know what's hilarious? Their leader is so hellbent on killing me even though he knows my people could wipe his people out in a blink of an eye. Everything with that guy is a dick-measuring contest. But he should know by now that he's not gonna win in that department." He laughed once again forgetting that his daughter was sitting across from him. 

Your eyes rolled as he once again found a way to boost about himself.

"Jesus, your daughter is right here!" You exclaimed as you rolled your eyes. Sometimes he was such a child, you thought. If your mother was here she would beat him with her shoe.

"Sorry, sorry. But hey, I want to show you something." He said as he wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin, before placing it on top of his now empty plate, the streaks of ketchup and yellow remained.

Your food on the other hand was still half full, but you knew your father would have somebody wrap it up for you to eat tomorrow as he knew that it took you at least an hour after waking up to be able to eat. 

As you guys walked you caught sight of a man with long dark hair and a broad frame hunched over a mop. You didn't clue in until you saw Dwight roughly grab the man to make him continue his moping a little way ahead. 

It was Daryl.

You didn't have much time to react before your father was speaking again, drawing their attention.

"Dwighty boy, what do we have here?" Your father said as he stopped beside Dwight, smirking down at Daryl as he watched him silently continue his task, his head angled downward.

"Just Daryl, doing what he's told," Dwight spoke with a slight smile while watching Daryl.

Your father let out a booming laugh and you could see Daryl pause his movements for a moment having to mentally restrain himself from physically pouncing on him. 

You knew if he were to break loose you couldn't really blame him. Your father had put him through hell, but that's what he was. Your father. You couldn't let anything thing happen to him, no matter how much you understood how he was feeling.

"You missed a spot." Your father said as he watched the slightly shorter man conceal his anger with delight, clearly enjoying the inner battle that was going on inside of him. Your father kept his eyes on Daryl as he tipped his bourbon bottle on the floor, the dark liquor mashed with the newly clean floor. The half-drunken bottle now sized down a noticeable amount, he laughed again before he shoved the bottle into Dwight's chest. "Here, buddy. You deserve it." Your father tore his eyes away from Daryl before looking up at you, noticing the beyond-dirty look you were sending his way. 

"Thanks, boss." Dwight nodded as he clutched the bottle.

"Get back to work, you mutt." Your father smiled at Daryl but you could tell it was forced as he roughly patted his shoulder in a condescending way before making his way back over to you, sensing your unease about what he was doing.

He nodded at you to follow him before he began to stroll back down the hallway. You followed but your eyes were still trained on Daryl.

Your heart pounded in your chest when he turned his head slightly, watching Negan go before his eyes found you. 

They narrowed once he caught sight of you. You couldn't quite read the look that took over his emotionless face but you knew he didn't feel joy in seeing you with Negan. 

You saw flashes of rage, confusion and a flash of fear? 

Your eyes were locked on each other before Dwight harshly shoved Daryl back to his task which he complied with but at a slower pace, as if his mind was processing the fact that he had seen you outside of his cell with Negan of all people. 

You waited a moment before you turned back around, and in that moment you saw Dwight studying the two of you in confusion.

You hurriedly turned forward to look at your father's back as you turned the corner finally making your way into the kitchen. The one you had found yourself in more often than ever.

"Ta-da," your father said in an overdramatic voice, a wide smile on his face as he waved a hand towards a big a machine that was shaking as it operated, the small, shiny window was wet with condensation. 

"Holy-shit! Is that what I think it is?" You exclaimed in an excited tone as you practically hopped over to the machine in pure astonishment.

"Well, I sure as shit hope I didn't have seven of my men working themselves into the ground carrying this piece of shit back here all for it not to be the fucking ice cream machine that I've been askin' for, for a fuckin' year?" He spoke as you leaned back slightly as if to amplify his words. 

You let out a yell of excitement as you ran into your father's arms, his arms wrapping around your upper back as you tucked your head into his chest. You could feel his smile as he rested his forehead on top of your scalp.

It was moments like these that you missed. The pure moments of a father and daughter showing care for one another. Sure you were still angry with him for what he did to Daryl just minutes ago and for all the bad he was doing, but you couldn't spoil this moment.

The moment that your inner child craved to have.

The moment you were robbed of one too many times. 

You wondered if the sadness could be shown in your eyes. The longing for the love of your parents. 

You knew that Laura could see it. Just as you could see your sadness as well. It was like an understanding for the two of you. You both didn't get to experience much love from your parents, her from way before the outbreak and you, after.

You knew that your mother wasn't at fault for not being there for you. You knew that if she could be here, she would. That's just who she was. She would never miss any of your important achievements and even your minor ones, she always made sure to show up, no matter how much shit she would get at work. She would take all the yelling from her boss just to see your smile when you noticed she was there. 

Your father tried his hardest to be there but most of the time something else was always more important. You were always left having to deal with his half-ass excuses as to why he couldn't show up; only to find out that he was too busy fucking your godmother aka your mother's best friend.

You weren't sure how your mother could forgive him after all the stress he had caused her in the early stages of her cancer, but you knew it was most likely because of how much she loved him.

You had never quite seen someone treat their significant other as well as your father did when he found out about your mother's diagnosis.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You chanted pulling away from your father to look at the grey and blue machine again causing your father to laugh at you, even though he was feeling elated at the fact that you had enjoyed his little present. 

"So, you want to take it for a spin?" Negan asked with a grin, knowing that he was gonna get a taste of the treat that he had also been craving.

"Do Andie and Ben end up together in 'How to lose a guy in 10 days?' " You asked with a raised eyebrow, a smile on your face. 

"Uh, I don't know, do they?" He asked in confusion, not quite realizing the reference.

"Yes!" You exclaimed before rushing to the ice cream machine, your father hot on your tail.

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Ocean Eyes: Chapter 4 (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Ocean Eyes Masterlink

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You]

The ocean has always fascinated you - the ebb and flow of its water, the marine life in the sea and the wild and untamed beauty it exudes. Your attempts to explain this fascination have always fallen short. But when you meet Orm at the seaside one rainy day you find, that he just understands.  You offer to show him around since he is not from the city. And you are intrigued by his rather strange quirks and his regal demeanour.  After all, how could you not? When his eyes mirror the ocean itself, deep and incredibly blue. OR: You impress Orm with the surface world and he impresses you with his Atlantean cock

Wordcount: 4721

A/N: If there some mistakes, I had a major surgery and am currently high on Oxycodon...

As the day unfolds in a gentle rhythm, you and Orm find solace in the simplicity of lazy kisses and unhurried walks along the shoreline. The connection between you two is palpable, a subtle energy that defies explanation. 

It‘s akin to the unspoken bond you have with the sea – a presence that exists without the need for words or rationale. It just is.

The lazy kisses are a sweet punctuation to moments of shared silence. Each touch, each caress, carries with it absolute bliss. 

The slow walks along the beach with the sand beneath your feet, warmed by the sun, create a soft pathway for the two of you. The play of light on the water, the shifting hues of the sea mirroring the ebb and flow of emotions between you and Orm. The horizon stretches endlessly, a metaphor for the boundless potential of the connection you share. 

The day progresses at its own unhurried pace, mirroring the unhurried nature of your connection. It‘s as if time itself has slowed down, allowing you to savour the simplicity of being in each other‘s company.

As you spend more time with Orm, you find yourself wanting to get to know him better - to unravel the layers of the person beneath the surface. However, you sense that it doesn‘t make sense to push him - he has to approach you,

Sometimes, his eyes betray the storm within him. There‘s a depth to Orm that intrigues you, a narrative etched in the lines of his expressions. 

And so, you tread gently through the storm in his eyes, offering a steady presence without demanding entry into the tempest.

In the ebb and flow of days, you find a quiet rhythm with Orm. 

The days are punctuated with laughter, conversations, and shared silences that speak volumes. You explore the nuances of his likes and dislikes, weaving the tapestry of your understanding of each other. In the simple joys of companionship, you find a happiness that surpasses even your most cherished expectations.

Waking up next to Orm becomes a source of comfort, a tangible warmth that permeates your mornings. His presence beside you is a reassurance, and falling asleep in his arms at night feels like being cradled by a serenade of tranquillity. 

As you navigate the passage of time together, the bond between you and Orm deepens with shared experiences, mutual understanding, and unspoken affections. 

_____

In the gentle embrace of morning, you awaken to the warmth of Orm‘s body pressed against yours. The soft light filtering through the curtains paints a tranquil scene, and as you open your eyes, the first thing you feel is the steady rhythm of his breath, a comforting lullaby in the quietude of the dawn.

Orm‘s arms are securely wrapped around you, creating a sense of safety and intimacy. The rise and fall of his chest against your back form a soothing cadence, a heartbeat that resonates with the peaceful stillness of the early morning. 

With eyes half-open, you take in the contours of the room, the subdued light of dawn casting a gentle glow. Cradled in Orm‘s embrace, you savour the quiet beauty of these morning moments, where time seems to stand still, and the world outside is yet to fully awaken.

But it‘s late enough to get up you think, so you slip out of Orm‘s embrace, careful not to disturb his peaceful slumber. With a gentle touch, you rise from the bed, leaving behind the warmth of the covers.

You steal a final glance at him, a quiet affection swelling within you for his peaceful, sleeping form.

You make your way to the kitchen to brew coffee for yourself and prepare tea for Orm. While he really doesn‘t like coffee, you found out that he has a rather sweet tooth and likes fruity teas. 

As you walk through your living room, your gaze shifts towards the window overlooking the terrace. 

To your surprise, a tall, bulky figure captures your attention - A huge man stands on your lawn.

His long brown hair and beard contribute to a rugged appearance. As he stands there, the rays of the morning sun dance upon intricate tribal tattoos that tell a silent tale on his well-defined arms.

Instead of looking lost, he seems like he belongs - like he is waiting.  

Reacting instinctively, you grab a fire poker, your heart pounding with a mix of caution and adrenaline. The sturdy handle feels reassuring in your grip as you cautiously open the door, the brisk morning air brushing against your skin.

The stranger meets your gaze as the door swings ajar, and you waste no time asking, “What do you want? And who are you?”

“I‘m Arthur,” the towering man responds, his eyes locked onto yours. 

His sheer size renders him an imposing figure, dwarfing even Orm in comparison. In hindsight, you realise you should have called for Orm instead of venturing out on your own.

Thinking logically, you surmise that if he intended to harm you, he would have struck by now, so you inquire, “And what do you want, Arthur?”

“I‘m Orm‘s brother. I need to talk to him, please,” he explains, hands raised in a gesture of non-aggression.

Your scepticism persists as you lower the fire poker and remark, “What? I‘m sorry, but you two don‘t exactly look alike.”

Amused, Arthur lets out a hearty laugh, “I know. He‘s my half-brother.”

“How do you know he‘s here?” you inquire, unable to shake off the scepticism. Orm‘s family is uncharted territory, and Arthur‘s sudden arrival stirs a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Oh, he told me,” Arthur replies with a nonchalant smile. 

The revelation that Orm talks about you to his family brings a pleasant warmth to your cheeks. It‘s a subtle affirmation of the connection you‘ve been building with him. It‘s a vulnerable yet comforting feeling, knowing that you hold a place in his thoughts outside the moments you spend together.

However, Arthur‘s unexpected appearance and claim of urgency cast a shadow of doubt and wariness.

“But if you talk to him regularly, why not just ask him directly?” you press, your tone carrying a note of suspicion.

“It‘s urgent – please,” Arthur implores, his gaze holding a sense of sincerity. The urgency in his voice hints at something pressing, and you furrow your brow - you‘d really like to know what‘s going on.

“Arthur, he never mentioned you – he never said anything about his family,” you assert, your words carrying a mix of confusion and caution. The unexpected nature of the encounter prompts a wave of doubt about Arthur‘s intentions. “For all I know, you‘re gonna murder me because you don‘t know him and just pretend.”

Arthur lets out a hearty laugh, a sound that echoes across the terrace. “If I wanted to hurt you, don‘t you think I‘d already have done that?” he retorts, the humour in his tone attempting to diffuse the tension.

The acknowledgement of your shared perspective brings a momentary alignment of understanding. “But you get why I‘m sceptical, right?” you press, seeking reassurance in the face of the unknown.

Arthur‘s laughter rumbles through the air again, seems inconsistent with the seriousness of the situation. “Sure, alright, listen. I can just prove to you that I know my little brother, alright.”

“Okay, go ahead,” you say, a glimmer of curiosity mingling with your scepticism.

“When he drank coffee at your place, he almost spat it out – he told me it was one of the most vile things he‘s ever drunk, and he really doesn‘t understand how we can drink it - and how you can call your coffee a good roast ,” Arthur reveals, a grin playing on his face.

A surprised chuckle escapes you, realising that Arthur‘s story is an accurate retelling of your and Orm‘s first breakfast together. “I didn‘t know he thought it was that bad,” you admit, laughter bubbling up at the unexpected revelation.

“Oh, he hates it,” Arthur laughs, his deep voice resonating with amusement. “But he really likes that fruit tea you have,” he adds, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He finds it funny that you and his brother are so smitten with each other.

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through you. Clearing your throat, you say, “Well, Arthur, you just earned yourself a cup of coffee in my humble home. Come in.”

You head inside, leaving the door ajar for Arthur to accompany you.

He follows you into the house, his gaze wandering around the living room and open kitchen. As you prepare coffee for both of you and a cup of tea for Orm, Arthur‘s attention is drawn to the aquarium. Colourful fish gracefully move through the water, creating a captivating display. 

Setting the mugs on the table, you join him by the aquarium. “It‘s a passion of mine,” you say, gesturing toward the fish gliding through the water. “Helps bring some life into the place.”

Arthur nods, his eyes still fixed on the mesmerising dance of the aquatic life. “I can see the appeal. Orm never mentioned you had such a lively home.”

You chuckle, “Well, surprises are always good, right?”

Arthur smirks, “Indeed. So, where‘s Orm? Still asleep?”

“He is,” you reply, “I didn‘t want to disturb him. Plus, I wasn‘t sure if waking him abruptly for a family reunion was the best idea.”

Arthur chuckles, “Fair point. I appreciate you being understanding about this.”

As you lead Arthur to the table, both of you take a seat, the morning light streaming through the windows casting a warm glow on the room. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the comforting scent of tea, creating an inviting atmosphere.

The conversation flows smoothly, and you start to feel more at ease with Arthur‘s presence. He talks about his life, sharing snippets of his experiences - you find out that he‘s married with a kid. 

It becomes evident that despite the differences, there‘s a shared thread of love for the sea that ties the siblings together.

After a while, Arthur‘s eyes wander to the sea glass on the table. “Interesting choice of décor,” he remarks, picking it up and examining it.

You smile, recalling the moment when you found it on the beach. “It‘s a little souvenir. Reminded me of Orm.”

Arthur nods, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, he‘s not one to easily let people in. Must‘ve seen something special in you.”

You blush at the compliment, feeling a mix of warmth and appreciation.

As the conversation progresses, you discover more about Arthur, finding him to be not only funny but also kind. He delves into anecdotes about his child‘s antics and shares tales of odd jobs he‘s worked. 

The warm atmosphere changes when Orm enters the kitchen. You eagerly go to greet him, excited to see him, but his expression stops you in your tracks. 

Instead of the usual calm demeanour, Orm is seething with anger. 

His brows are furrowed, and his normally serene eyes now burn with an intense fury akin to a storm raging beneath the surface.

The soft blue eyes that you love looking into have turned into a cold and cloudy hue. It feels as though you are looking into the heart of the storm, waves of fury rising and falling with a savage rhythm, crashing against each other like warring titans engaged in an eternal struggle.

The lines on his forehead deepen as he directs a stern gaze towards Arthur, whose presence has triggered this unexpected reaction.

You have never seen him like that.

Orm‘s anger is palpable, radiating off him like waves of heat. His clenched fists and completely tense posture speak volumes, signalling a storm about to unleash its wrath. His broad shoulders are rigid, every muscle coiled with tension.

You feel your heart beating in your chest, a mix of concern and confusion enveloping you. You‘re not sure how to react.

But before you can even utter a word, Orm curtly nods towards Arthur, his jaw clenched. The silent message is crystal clear – this is not the time for pleasantries. Without further ado, Orm guides him outside, the door closing behind them.

As you stand in the kitchen, you can‘t help but notice the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The air feels tense, and you can‘t help but wonder what transpired to provoke such a reaction from Orm.

You observe them through the glass door, the transparency offering a distorted lens into the unfolding scene.

Orm‘s expression has contorted into a visage of frustration. His brows are furrowed, and the anger etched on his face transforms him, turning him into someone feral. 

On the other side, Arthur appears to be caught off guard by Orm‘s reaction. He stands with a mix of surprise and contrition, facing the verbal onslaught from his brother. 

Through the closed door, you catch fragments of Orm‘s voice. The tone is heated, and you can sense the palpable tension in the air. 

You hear his voice, sharp and reproachful, berating Arthur for showing up unannounced. The words come in bits and pieces, like the distant echoes of a conversation carried by the wind. The door muffles the sound, leaving you with only intermittent snippets of the exchange.

“Arthur, you can‘t just...” Orm‘s voice pierces through the door, each word laden with reproach.

You see Arthur talking back but can‘t understand what he‘s saying.

“...eat a cockroach, Arthur!” Orm‘s voice surges, and you can almost feel the exasperation in his shove when his hands press against Arthur‘s chest, pushing him back a step.

Arthur‘s reaction is a mix of shock and indignation. His eyes widen, and he instinctively recoils from the force of the shove, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before finding his footing again.

Orm‘s voice escalates, slicing through the air with a sharp sense of accusation, punctuating his words with another forceful shove.

“...took my throne, my betrothed, and now my peace of mind!”  Orm‘s voice carries a weight of bitterness and resentment, the gravity of his words hitting you like a sudden tempest. 

Wait what?

The unexpected revelation leaves you stunned, grappling with the realisation that there are layers to Orm‘s turmoil that extend beyond the immediate situation.

As the tension between Orm and Arthur reaches a boiling point, Arthur‘s composure begins to crack. His anger builds, evident in the tightening of his jaw and the fire that sparks in his eyes.

Arthur‘s accusatory words, dripping with frustration, reverberate through the room like an unspoken challenge, “What‘s your problem, Orm?”

He not only responds with words but also looks like he‘s ready to hit back, his fists clenched and posture shifting into a defensive stance when a flicker of realisation seems to cross his face. 

“You never told her, did you?” he accuses Orm, his words laden with disbelief. His tone takes a sharper edge, and the words pierce the air like a dagger.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, caught in the whirlwind of emotions and uncertainty. He spoke about a fiance, and now there‘s something he never told you?

The bits and pieces of the argument you manage to overhear only serve to deepen your confusion. Determined to seek clarity, you take a deep breath, summoning courage, and make the decision to step outside. 

The chilly air nips at your skin, and you‘re met with the intense atmosphere that hangs between Orm and Arthur. 

Determined to understand the roots of this conflict, you inquire, “What‘s going on?”

Orm remains silent, his features etched with reluctance and a hint of frustration. It‘s clear he‘s not eager to divulge the details.

Arthur, seemingly less concerned about the secrecy, interjects with a tone that swings between nonchalance and urgency, “We‘re from Atlantis. He was the Ocean Master, the king of Atlantis. But he lost it all. Too hungry for power, and I had to step in to fix the mess. And now I have to deal with the Council of Houses that want my ass.”

“Sure. And I‘m the Chinese emperor.,” you say in disbelief,  the sarcasm dripping from your words. Your gaze shifts to Orm, who avoids your eyes and still appears visibly angered, with frustration and regret emanating from him.

The growing anger inside you prompts you to confront Orm directly, “You won‘t tell me what‘s really going on, Orm?” You don‘t know what‘s worse: Orm just being silent or Arthur lying to you.

“Shit, I am not lying,” Arthur exclaims, his frustration matching yours. “Orm, this is your woman, fucking tell her the truth.”

Orm finally meets your eyes, and you swallow nervously. His expression shifts to remorseful; the once-angry blue eyes now reflect sadness and uncertainty.

“Orm?” you say quietly, a plea for honesty and transparency.

“I‘m Atlantean - so is he. He didn‘t lie,” he begins, running his hand through his hair. “I have never been to the surface before...and -”

Arthur interjects with a hint of playfulness, “Look, we can breathe underwater, and I can talk to fish. The ones in your living room told me some interesting things about you two a few days ago.”

“Arthur, please,” Orm says, a mix of exasperation and concern in his tone.

At this point, you‘re just confused. You don‘t know what to believe. Surely, they must be lying. There is no way in hell Atlantis is real - it seems preposterous, Yet the sincerity in Orm‘s eyes challenges your scepticism.

Arthur somehow senses that you need some proof, and realising Orm is not in a state to do something, he strides back into the house. The urgency in his movements compels you and Orm to follow, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

Once inside, Arthur doesn‘t waste a moment. His eyes, now with a peculiar yellow gleam, fixate on the aquarium as he approaches.

You watch in amazement as the aquatic inhabitants respond to him. They swim in intricate patterns, almost as if following a choreographed dance. Some even seem to perform playful flips in the water, creating a surreal spectacle. 

Arthur, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, turns to you and grins. “Impressive, huh?”

You find it hard to fathom the reality unfolding before you.

“Atlantis is a fun place,” Arthur continues, undeterred by the incredulous atmosphere. “Full of politics, underwater cities, and, well, talking fish.”

The surreal scene in your living room challenges the very fabric of your understanding, leaving you grappling with the notion that Atlantis, a mythical realm, might be more than just a legend.

As Arthur‘s words linger in the air, you‘re faced with the undeniable truth that the world you thought you knew is just the surface of a much deeper and more complex reality. 

Your attention shifts to Orm standing beside you. As he reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, you turn around, your voice a mix of hurt and confusion. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest - this is not how you envisioned the morning unfolding. Hell, you had placed trust in Orm, and you genuinely like him. However, you‘re uncertain about what this revelation means for you.

The room seems to tighten with tension, and Orm‘s response is palpably strained. “I was going to, in due time.” 

The weight of his words lingers in the air, leaving you standing on shaky ground. Uncertainty creeps in, and you‘re left to grapple with the implications of this newfound knowledge. The man you thought you knew harbours a secret world beneath the surface, a world you were blissfully unaware of until now.

Feeling the need to collect your thoughts, you excuse yourself, stammering out something about needing a moment. Hastily making your way to the bedroom, you close the door behind you, the muffled sounds of conversation still audible from the other room. 

As the weight of the revelation bears down on you, you find yourself overwhelmed by a rising tide of emotions. 

Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and you can feel the telltale signs of an impending attack. Placing your head in your hands, you try to steady your breathing, attempting to navigate the storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling within you as the room feels suffocating.

As the door creaks open, Orm enters the room, his footsteps measured and purposeful, his demeanour carrying a palpable sense of remorse. The soft click of the closing door resonates in the air as he crosses the threshold, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of regret and genuine concern. 

His movements are deliberate, each step echoing the weight of emotions he carries. Without hesitation, he gracefully kneels down, his hand extending to rest on your back, a comforting touch that conveys both warmth and strength.

“Hey, it‘s going to be okay. Just take a breath, honey,” his voice is a soothing cadence, every word chosen with care. 

You observe the furrow in his brow and the slight slump of his shoulders, evidence of the burden he shares with you in this moment. His presence feels like a reassuring anchor amidst the tumult of emotions.

Attempting to steady your breath, panic tightens its grip on you, “I can‘t, I can‘t-” Your words falter, caught in the throes of distress.

His voice assumes a rhythmic flow, guiding you through the storm of emotions. The deliberate pace of his words creates a sense of order within the chaos, each syllable serving as a lifeline. With each uttered phrase, you sense a gradual easing of panic, his words acting as a balm for your distressed mind.

His large hands gently brush over your cheeks and hair, reaching wherever they can. The warmth of his touch is palpable. You find solace in the softness of his fingertips and the sincerity etched in his gaze.

“You‘re doing so well, honey. Just keep breathing. I‘m here with you. You‘re safe. Inhale slowly... and exhale,” Orm‘s voice continues its calming effect, a steady stream of reassurance that envelops you like a protective cocoon. 

He talks you through the panic attack, guiding you with words that carry the warmth of understanding and reassurance.

With each carefully chosen phrase, Orm helps you navigate the tempest within. The room, once suffocating, begins to loosen its grip as Orm‘s presence becomes a source of comfort and support, helping you weather the emotional storm.

You manage a shaky breath and look at Orm, gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you, Orm. I... I didn‘t expect all of this,” you admit, your voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and appreciation.

“I know, and I‘m sorry,” he reassures, cradling your face in his hand. His blue eyes shine with worry and tenderness, a testament to his commitment to being there for you.

You observe him close his eyes, taking in a shaky breath before reopening them. He appears on the verge of tears as he apologises once again.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around Orm. Tears held back for too long stream down your face, a release of the pent-up emotions that have been coursing through you.

Orm responds with a gentle understanding, reciprocating by wrapping one arm around you in a protective hold. With his other hand, he tenderly wipes away the tears that cascade down your cheeks, and you feel the comforting touch of his fingers on your face.

As you remain wrapped in Orm‘s embrace, you become keenly aware of the rhythmic thudding of his heart against your chest. His shaky breaths resonate in the quiet space, a testament to the emotional intensity of the moment.

In response to the palpable tremor in his breath, you softly whisper, your words a gentle reassurance, “Everything will be alright, Orm. We‘ll get through this together.” The words uttered in a hushed tone carry the weight of sincerity, weaving a sense of comfort into the shared space.

Feeling Orm‘s tightening embrace, as if he fears you might slip away, you reciprocate the gesture, bringing your arms to cup his face gently. 

As you lift his gaze to meet yours, you see the aftermath of the emotional storm in his eyes. They swim with unshed tears, and the intensity of the blue is almost overwhelming. His bottom lip trembles with the weight of the shared emotions, and you can sense the vulnerability etched across his features.

Your touch on his face is both a grounding presence and an assurance that you‘re here, steadfast and unwavering. 

It is at that moment that you realise that you‘re falling in love with him. 

Despite lingering anger about the concealment of his Atlantean identity and Atlantis itself,  you know that he didn‘t do it out of bad intentions. He did it because he was afraid, and you know that feeling all too well.

With a gentle yet firm touch, your hand buries itself in Orm‘s blonde hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. The kiss that follows is soft, tender, and brimming with a vulnerability that binds you both.

Orm responds to the kiss, and his vulnerability meets with your own as the unsheared tears in his eyes glisten. 

Breaking the kiss, he tenderly smooths your hair away from your face, apologising, “I‘m so sorry. I didn‘t mean to tell you like that.”

“I know,” you assure him, your voice carrying a soothing tone as you lean in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I know.”

“I‘m glad you know now, for all that‘s worth,” a small smile graces his lips.

“I‘m glad too. It does explain a few things,” you chuckle. “I‘m looking forward to showing you more surface things  -  now you can actually tell me what you haven‘t seen before.”

He laughs at that, a full-blown grin spreading across his face, reaching his eyes.

“I‘m genuinely excited to see more with you,” Orm admits, his eyes reflecting a genuine curiosity and eagerness. “And I promise not to keep any Atlantean secrets this time.”

“I‘ll hold you to that, King Orm,” you share a playful smirk, “Or do you want me to call you Ocean Master?”

His head snaps up at that, and his eyes darken with a feral intensity that makes you swallow dryly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before surging up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

That was not the reaction you wanted, but you‘re not complaining, you think.

You whine into the kiss as Orm‘s hands cradle your face, his touch both gentle and possessive. It‘s as if he‘s imprinting the kiss with a promise, and the raw passion sends a surge of electricity through your veins.

The kiss deepens, the feral intensity transforming into a potent blend of desire and longing. Orm‘s lips move with a rhythmic urgency, leaving little room for doubt or hesitation. 

His fingers thread through your hair, a tactile exploration that sends shivers down your spine. Each touch, each caress, is a language of its own, conveying unspoken promises and a shared hunger for connection.

Breaking away, Orm rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the shared space.

Orm‘s eyes, still darkened with desire, lock onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His thumb traces your lower lip, a lingering touch that ignites a spark of anticipation.

“I didn‘t expect you to call me Ocean Master,” he remarks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You laugh softly, still a bit breathless, “Well, you do seem to enjoy it.”

“Perhaps I do,” a wicked gleam enters Orm‘s eyes, and he bites down on your bottom lip before leaving a warm trail along your jawline.

Orm‘s movements are both tender and possessive, making you gasp beneath him. His touch leaves a trail of heat, a tantalising promise of more to come.

As he continues his journey, his hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The room seems to shrink around you as Orm‘s body presses against yours, the closeness igniting a delicious ache of desire.

Orm‘s breath, warm and steady, fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. The scent of him, a mix of sea and musk, envelops you, adding to the intoxicating atmosphere.

You feel arousal pumping through your veins and driven by pure instinct, you lean up and whisper in his ear, “Or do you prefer to be called my king.”

[redwing4life]

Ashes to Embers Chapter 4 teaser cuz i feel guilty that it’s taking me so long to finish the damn thing

WARNING: Sexual content, MDNI, 18+

(i am not responsible for you media consumption)

series masterlist

“Bucky…” You breathe, the wavering sigh rolling from your tongue like a stray secret.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky smirks with glinting eyes and you bite back a whimper.

Opening your eyes, you keep them trained on where your hands rest on his. “I can’t focus with you looking at me like that.”

Bucky knows exactly what you mean but he can’t help but toy with you. “Like what?” He cocks his head with faux innocence that fools no one.

You turn to look up at the firefighter, eyes meeting his half lidded ones, the blue of his eyes barely visible behind his lust-blown pupils but the blue you can see is so impossible dark that you wonder if they were ever light in the first place.

Taking a breath, you wet your lips so briefly that Bucky nearly misses it. Nearly. “Like you want to kiss me.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs, leaning in closer, “I want to do much more than that.”

Your body is alight with need. Craving his touch, a breach of the barrier between you, you practically whine your reply. “Then why are you just staring?”

“Well, I wanna remember you like this; sweet, angelic, so perfect in your little sundress.“

With the back of his hand, Bucky nudges the hem of your dress higher till his whole hand is spread against your thigh. You quash the aching desire to glance at where your bodies meet and lock your eyes on Bucky’s, whose lips are turned into a knowing smirk.

“Gotta savour it while I can.” He says as he pushes his palm further to your inner thigh, his pinky finger mere inches from your heat.

“Why?” You ask, heart racing.

It dawns on you that you may actually pass out when the firefighter leans in close to you, nose pushing your hair aside to expose the soft skin of your neck which now sits defenceless to his advances. The heat of his breath is electrifying, lips nearing your pulse point eagerly.

Bucky’s lips ghost over your skin as he explains, “Cause once I’ve had my way with you, you’re gonna be a hot fucking mess, sweets.”

A breathy moan tumbles from the depths of you chest at the crude insinuations of his words; your eyes flutter shut, an unintentional reaction that you’re grateful for as it hides the way your pupils roll to the back of your head.

Through the dark span of your eyelids, you picture exactly how Bucky will make you a ‘hot fucking mess’. Spread legs with his tongue delving through your folds, back arched as he pounds into your pussy with vigour, his hands guiding your hips back to meet his as he fucks you from behind. The images bear too much for you yet you can’t stop picturing the salacious scenes, not when your neighbour is pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“James…” You sigh, voice carrying the weight of a thousand pleas.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

Nodding your head desperately, you whine, unable to form any words beneath his sinful tongue.

“Words, doll.” Bucky says, lips hovering over your ear. He’s struggling to hold back but can’t let himself touch you the way he wants to until he hears you spell it out for him.

Turning your head slowly, you peer at Bucky with half-lidded eyes and a slack-jaw. “I want you, James. Please.”

please accept this sort-of-pretty-much-borderline-filth smut scene as my dearest of apologises for taking a silly amount of time writing this chapter. i’ve had a rough couple weeks and writer’s block has been a bitch. let me know what you think, full chapter will (fingers-crossed) be with you in a week maybe hopefully thoughts and prayers.

love, red ❤️

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[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter V

A/N:: GUESS WHO'S BACK!! Missed you guys so much, but here is the next chapter of many to come. I hope you enjoy xxxx

I apologise for the long wait, but I do hope this chapter is worth it. Don't be afraid to comment your thoughts, opinions, and any ideas you might have for future chapters!!

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

The sound of cutlery filled the room, the air was tense and soured with quiet breaths and flitting gazes.

It was sickening, stifling- suffocating.

Had Daemon not been dragged to join the Hightower litter by the grazing touches of the brown-eyed Targaryen and his mind full of unfounded whispers, perhaps he would have up and left without a second glance.

Instead, he found himself confined within Alicent's chambers, sat at a grand table with Alaynha to his left, and Aegon to his right.

When he arrived trailing behind the girl, watching as she fidgeted with her dress and her hands, he had greeted Ser Cole with a vicious grin when he gazed upon his face as he crossed into the room.

The knight stood at the far corner of the room, back straight and eyes trained ahead until his gaze caught Daemon's form. He had to hold back a sneer as he watched the rogue prince saunter in dressed in his leathers, treading at the edges of the princess' skirt with a leering gaze and predatory smile.

They sat now amongst Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, and the Hightower Queen herself. Alicent hadn't been surprised that Daemon had joined them, Aemond's warning had her prepared for the sight.

Still, sitting in front of the man had her hesitate with every shift upon her seat, every breath that escaped her, and every twitch that shuttered through her body in small sparks.

It wasn't uncomfortable, sitting under his heavy stare. It was simply unfamiliar.

So different from that day at the tourney.

She recognised the haunted look in his eye, saw the scars that circled his neck - the embers of a dragon no more.

How alike they were, she thought for a fleeting moment.

How troubled and damaged and chained.

It was Aegon who broke the silence. His words quietly slurred as his tongue was tainted with the taste of bitter ales - "I wish to take up the sword."

Alicent could not help but raise her brows, stunned at the proclamation, shoulders straightening as even Criston shifted in his place in his dark corner with a questioning gaze.

Aemond frowned from his place, these words so unbecoming of Aegon that he held his breath.

"And why would you wish such a thing, after all this time?" Alaynha raised a brow in amusement, her head peering around Daemon's form to watch Aegon with an inquisitive smile.

"Well, if anyone deserves to beat Aemond on the training grounds, I fear it is only fair if it was me," he enunciated his proclamation by chugging another glass of wine, his movements so clumsy the liquid spilt from the edges. But Aegon paid no mind, eyes shut as he savoured the bitter liquid running down his throat in rivulets.

Aemond murmured from his place, eyes narrowed despite the rest of his face remaining passive, "I have been learning the way of the sword since our days as boys, brother, whilst you still remain one. Do not fret, I am sure there are other areas you can excel at - perhaps some more fitting for the drunken princeling."

Aegon couldn't help his pout, huffing and puffing as his mind was clouded with the haze of ale, his stomach rolling and turning as he sat up straight.

"I can take up the sword. Our uncle will teach me."

The claim was daring, especially with Daemon sitting next to him, watching them trade lines as they saw fit. He was amused, but Aegon's words had him pause for a second.

Daemon was ready to refuse, to laugh in the boy's face and claim he would never be ready.

But then, finally - finally, Alicent had spoken.

"Perhaps, Aegon, Ser Cole would be more suited to help you with this interest, yes?"

Aegon bit his lip in thought, eyes flickering to the knight who took a step forward in a show of ascent.

Before Aegon could speak a word, a dark chuckle came from his left, and he turned to meet the sparkling eyes of a violent hue as Daemon ran his gaze over the knight who stepped up with such ease.

"After all," Alicent continued, her gaze hesitantly flitting between Daemon and Aegon, wondering how sore of a spot her next words would hit and what repercussions her Shield should be wary of in the days to come, "Ser Cole is the Commander of the City Watch."

Ah, Daemon thought, his mind reeling with vitriol as something deep within his core sparked to life.

So it was Ser Criston Cole who had taken control of his men. It was Cole who had been passed his title, Cole who commandeered the men he reared into a disfigured version of himself.

It was pathetic, really, to learn a man of such low standing, a man who was not even an ounce of Targaryen, had taken that position from him.

It was pathetic. An insult. To his name, to his title, to his lineage.

"Fear not," Daemon's gaze was passive, his stare blank despite the gears that had begun to wind in the confines of his mind, "the boy would do better under my guide. After all, it is my army that forms the City Watch, isn't that right, Ser Crispin?"

The words were deliberate, of course. An homage to that very day where Daemon had shown just how far his men would go for him, and how quickly they would return to him should he try.

"It is Ser Criston Cole, my prince. And if that is what you wish, I shall not intervene."

He could see how much it pained the knight to step back and allow Daemon to take the opportunity presented to him by the Queen.

Daemon stiffened as a warm hand fell upon his leg, eyes darting down to find the nimble fingers of the source to his curiosity. She squeezed his leg lightly, as though warning him to behave before removing her hand altogether and pretending as though she had not misstepped.

Daemon swallowed harshly, his throat dry despite the copious amounts of wine he had sipped throughout the supper. He cleared his throat, voice dropping down an octave as he re-worded his intentions, remaining unsure of why with every new word spoken.

"I will train the boy. A prince must know how to defend himself, and a dragon should know how to survive upon a battlefield."

Aegon let out a shout of victory, eyes glazed with an inebriated sheen as he settled down in his seat and dug into his food with vigour.

Alicent watched her boy's eyes shine in a light so different to the one which soiled the colour of his eyes for so long, and found herself unable to protest her son's request and Daemon's agreeance.

It seemed Aemond had found his own form of accord in Alicent's silence, watching as Cole bit his tongue and wholly slinked back to his corner.

Alaynha took that as a sign to finally intervene and break the silence once more, "so, uncle," Daemon's eyes sought her own with practiced ease, "Kepa had once told me the story of your time on the Step Stones. But what I would truly like to hear is how you gained the title of the Rogue Prince."

Daemon could see the desire in her eyes to know more, to hear his words and seek his tales and learn of his ventures. It was a rarity, to have someone search for the truths of his adventures.

He could not help how he spoke with such ease, his voice dropping into a sombre cadence as he spoke with reverence of his past with pride colouring his features, and the blood of phantoms covering him limb to limb.

Throughout it all, it did not go unnoticed by Alicent how Alaynha stared at him with glistening eyes and a soft smile, nor how Daemon searched for her gaze after every tale and glanced to her before every answer.

Such a sight brought a sinking feeling in her gut, as though the Seven were upon her, begging her to put a stop to it.

But this was perhaps the closest to normal she had seen her children be near.

Alicent wonders if she would have been better off if she had found a way to wed Daemon instead. If her children would have had a better father and she, a better husband. She cursed her thoughts, blaming no one but herself and, perhaps out of childhood animosity she should have long grown out of, she also blamed Rhaenyra.

***

Ever since that evening he had spent with the Hightower bastards, it did not take long for Daemon to start testing his boundaries.

It had started with the dinners, finding an excuse wherever he could to bump into the young girl just as she was making her way to Alicent and her brothers and sister, knowing she was too kind to let him leave with the knowledge that he would only eat alone in the quiet of his chambers.

He was content in the small routine they had made, ignorant to the setting sun of each day that counted down the days until Rhaenyra's return.

The boys had caught the Sea Sickness, and she was struggling with the guilt of a mother to leave them be. She would stay until they recovered, and he had never felt so free.

Free to roam and stretch and cause mischief.

She had asked for his return home, of course.

And perhaps if it had been his children who coughed and wailed and begged for his return, he would have mounted his dragon in a heartbeat.

But these were Rhaenyra's children. And though he cared for them as he did her, they were another nail pinning him down to the grounds, forced to live a mundane life.

He was a prince. A soldier. A warrior.

He knew no peace not quiet. He knew no tranquillity.

No, Daemon was made from fire, and he would die by it, too. And a life by Rhaenyra's side simply prohibited such a thing.

***

Daemon had come to enjoy his time at the Keep. The green emblems scattered across the walls and the signs of the Seven hung proudly at every corner soon became familiar.

It was an uncomfortable realisation, one that made him wish he could tear them all down and replace the Keep to its former glory. But then he would watch the Green Princess, the youngest of the lot, trail down corridors and race through halls with arms piled heavy in books of history and parchments of intricate designs and maps and secrets, and he found that the Keep was not a symbol of something different, but a reflection of the young woman who had consumed his mind - she was present in his thoughts at every turn, catching his gaze with every glance.

She haunted him the same way the new embellishments of the Keep did, and he found he could not hate one when his mind craved the other.

Yes, his mind.

It was curiosity.

It was simple loneliness that made it grow and fester and become something... tempting. But it truly was curiosity. Or it had started as such.

Perhaps it was why he found himself in such a precarious situation.

He had done something such as this before - it was daring, likely the closest he had ever gotten to scratching that relentless itch of something more.

He wandered the rows of books with quiet disinterest, eyes flickering to the darkening sky outside the windows and then the doors that opened to a quiet hallway. It was well past evening supper, and for once he had not joined the Hightowers. Instead, he roamed the library walls, hoping- praying to catch the girl on her own once more.

He had done so once before by chance, only a mere few days ago. He spoke to her with mischievous eyes, a rasped voice, and a mind made hazy with wine. It had been reckless and stupid, but had she not realised his state of being perhaps he would've succeeded in his mindless plans.

But this time, he was prepared. He didn't want much, no. Simply companionship.

Rhaenyra was still upon Dragonstone, and though she planned to return before the next moon, he grew restless in her absence, as though the dragon in him had awoken from a trance and was coming to life once more.

It was because Rhaenyra was not here, he justified. And he simply wanted companionship. Companionship of the mind, someone to share his thoughts with, someone to pour out endless streams of unspoken whispers and mindless words to. And who better than the gentle-eyed princess who seemed to hold no prejudice against him.

Why the one-eyed prince who would only want to spar and spew hate-filled mocks? Why the drunkard prince who would fill Daemon's time with whores and wine and petulant cries? Why the dazed princess who could never tell her dreams apart from her conscious thoughts?

Why not the girl who was quiet and timid? Who grew a burning fire deep within her soul? Who rode a dragon and drew a sword and laughed and read and spoke his mother-tongue in pretty lilts.

Yes, she would do.

She would do until Rhaenyra returned, and then his infatuation would dwindle. And perhaps he would return to the passive and plain dragon he had become over tireless years, where the days he had at Alaynha's side would be freedom enough.

It was why, when the doors parted with a quiet creek and a quaint figure stepped into the darkness with cautious steps, he slipped into the shadows to follow. Waiting with twitching fingers and trembling breaths for her to turn and jump in fright so he could step into the streams of moonlight to greet her with a proud smirk and bright violet eyes.

"Daemon..."

Her voice trailed off as a whisper, eyes fluttering as they glanced between his own amused ones with confusion as she held a book tight against her chest, trying to calm her hammering heart.

"Princess."

The title slipped off his tongue in a rasped confession, head dipping slightly as though it was secret to be held between them.

She swallowed, her throat dry as her face heated a growing shade of pink under his gaze, and she could only hope it was dark enough to hide the signs of her traitorous body as the blush spread down her neck under his intense stare.

"What are you doing here?"

She couldn't help but narrow her eyes at him, knowing very well the only time Daemon had come to the library before was because he had let his wines and ales get the better of him. Yet it seemed this time was different - his violet eyes clear and his stance steady as he stood straight with his hands behind his back and a stifled, leering smile stretched upon his lips.

Daemon let out a short breath of laughter, head dipping to the side as his smile grew sharper, "if I did not know better, I would say you were trying to get rid of me?"

"And do you know better?"

There was a challenge in her eyes, as though she was remembering that evening she tended to his wounds after his bout of sparring with her brother, where Daemon grabbed her with desperate hands and a weakening resolve that struggled to stop him from begging.

Daemon's fascination was hard to dismiss and impossible to play ignorance to, especially when her own mother had grown so concerned she had outright asked if Alaynha was having an affair with her uncle.

She had grown flustered at the question, heat rushing through her body as shock made her protests stilted and hesitant. But it wasn't true. She had pushed and pled until her mother accepted with a suspicious frown.

Still, she could not hide how she preened under his attention, even from herself. Couldn't help the ghost of a smile that played upon her lips as she reminisced upon her day with Daemon following her like an ever-present shadow as her handmaidens prepared her for bed. Couldn't help but wish to find him hidden in every corner and shadowed space, waiting as though he was preying on her.

Daemon hummed, brows raising as he assessed her form in a manner much too heavy to have been humorous.

"It seems I do not, ñuha perzys ōños."

Alaynha could not help but twist her head at the words, tossing them around in her mind as she wondered why she could feel her heart thudding against her chest and pushing up against her throat as her skin heated once more, now the gentle warmth of a burning fire.

Firelight, he had called her.

His firelight.

What did such a term even mean? Was it the innocent endearment of an estranged uncle and his blossoming niece? Or the wiles of a man so hungry and full of greed, he would feed upon the closest being under the guise of pretty words and false promises.

Or perhaps-

"But I believe the only way we can find the answer to your question with true certainty is if I were to spend more time by your side."

Oh.

She stared at him, unable to help the way her eyes widened at his words and the realisation of the impropriety of their situation grew more apparent.

"What do you think, Princess?"

The title was a challenge and a temptation all in one. A test to see if she would break through the boundary he had been chipping away from the first night he had come to King's Landing and danced with her held in his arms. The night they shared a wound and hid similar scars they refused to acknowledge.

But it was also a temptation- a promise of the wonders she could see at his side. An insight to his mind, to his thoughts and his world.

Did she want it though?

Alaynha stared at the man with a contemplative gaze, the hum of her dragon seeping through the cracks of the wall as it soared across the light of the moon, only for another shadow to cross its path with a chittering roar so familiar she couldn't dismiss the way Daemon's eyes lit up as his gaze flickered to the window to see his dragon chase hers in a playful bout.

Yet, this man was her sister's. He belonged to Rhaenyra, and she already hated Alaynha enough. She knew Rhaenyra planned to return to the Keep soon, with her children in her stead.

What humiliation would the woman face knowing her faithful husband has been preying upon her youngest sister in her absence? What anger would she revolt with when she learned of Daemon's infatuation? What fury would she unleash knowing Alaynha had never tried to stop him?

She wished her mother was present in that moment - her true mother. Her mother who had been a sister-wife and loved a man who was unworthy of such devotion. Her mother who left a mark on her heart and a crack in her soul that could never be mended. And she wondered what her mother would say, wondered how her mother had overcome her own trials and loved a man like Viserys.

Alaynha loved Viserys with all her heart, loved his adoration and his kindness and his loyalty. But she was not blind to his favouritism, and she was sure she would have experienced his dismissal just as her brothers and sister have if it had not been for the love he held for her mother, and the resemblance he was admant she held to his wives.

It had felt like an eon had passed, and when the world came into focus, a violent shade of violet eyes bore patiently into her own. She glanced between the pair, as though seeking the answers to all her worries and all her doubts in the endless void of his gaze.

Grey Ghost danced in the embrace of the moonlight, Caraxes trying to mimic every manoeuvre in an attempt to stay close. Their shadows littered the walls and floor of the library from their place in the sky.

Alaynha huffed, "fine. You can start by helping to carry my books."

Daemon raised his brows, although she was not sure if it was because he was surprised she had agreed or because she had expected him to to help her with such a menial task.

"If the job is too difficult for you," Alaynha rolled her eyes at him in irritation, "or beneath you, you are more than welcome to return to your chambers and never learn of me again."

They stared at each other for a moment, a few breaths passing between them before Daemon gave in so easily and pulled the book from her grasp. Alaynha tried to ignore the way her breath stuttered and her fingers tingled as he placed his hand atop her own.

His fingers slipped between the gaps of her own, wrapping around the edge of the book she held so close to her chest that Daemon could not help but watch as her breaths grew shallow at his touch, hiding his smirk at the sight of her chest rising and falling under the sheer material of her white gown.

His fingers tightened around the book, pulling it into his hands as he ground his teeth at the sensual images that began to burrow in his mind as he wondered how soft the flesh beneath her shift would feel against his palm in contrast to the book he currently held.

Alaynha cleared her throat softly, turning away from the dazed man whilst wrapping her robe over her body tighter - a poor attempt to conceal the guilt that oozed from her pores as she scolded herself for enjoying his attention.

She strolled through the library, her steps losing their grace as she stole glances over her shoulders with every twist and turn down the long and seamlessly organised rows of bookcases.

Daemon followed her like a shadow, taking ten steps forward for every five she would make, in hopes of being stuck upon her like a leech.

The minutes whispered by as Alaynha browsed the shelves with a thoughtful expression, her fingers running gently over the spine of a set of books she took interest in, only to pull out one and add it to the ever-growing pile accumulating in Daemon's arms.

Daemon did not complain, he barely spoke. She could feel his eyes upon her with every breath, as though he was sure she would fade into the darkness that shrouded the corners of the room.

It was not until she had selected the final book she would add to her collection, spinning on her heels to make her way to the door in a blatant show she was finally finished, that Daemon spoke.

"'The Wiles of Taming a Wild Dragon', hm?"

She could hear the amusement in his voice, could sense the way his shoulders shook as he chuckled under his breath. She felt her cheeks in shame, afraid he would no longer see her as a true dragon-rider should she have to rely on books and research in order to learn how best to care for her dragon, or obtain more.

"I thought Viserys had rid his collection of the book many years ago."

Alaynha paused in her ventures to turn and face him, brows furrowed in confusion as she watched Daemon stumble to a stop as his grip tightened around the teetering tower of books.

"Why would Father rid his library of the book?"

Daemon grinned, but something about it was different to all the other times he had allowed a smile to grace his face and tug upon his lips. This was a smile of reminiscence, a childish grin he was unable to stop, try as he might.

Daemon had owned the book when he was younger, reading it cover to cover and memorising every word. He had used it to bond with Caraxes and take a dragon of his own, yet when Viserys had found out he had been mocked and scoffed upon for using words to tame a dragon.

Daemon was never one to accept defeat nor humiliation. The boy would follow his brother's every step on the training grounds, mimic his every move in the sky, reciting the God-awful limericks that riddled the pages of his favourite book.

Looking back now, he could see how the book had made no sense, how it twisted vague words in hopes that its reader was desperate enough to find their own meaning through their tired consciousness.

It had seemed Daemon was.

It did not take long until Viserys grew tired of Daemon's advice when it came to rearing a dragon - garbled words strung together in a semblance of a song that grated at the older boy until he stole the book from Daemon and announced to all he had burned it.

Daemon had decided at that moment he would take sleep from his brother too, reciting all the lyrical intstructions he had memorised in the secret tunnels of the Keep just beside the opening into Viserys chambers, who wondered with incredulity how his brother's spirit had found him when he was still alive.

Daemon hadn't stopped for weeks, not until his mother had sat him down and scolded him for ridding Viserys of a good night's sleep.

That would teach him to steal from me, he had said.

Alaynha snorted at the proud confession, amusement colouring her eyes as she shook her head good-naturedly at Daemon's dramatic re-telling.

He walked beside her now, balancing the stack of books with ease as they stumbled through the dimly-lit corridors whispering of tales and memories they held far from most.

She held the book he spoke of in her hands, holding it tight to her chest as though Daemon's memory of it would sear itself into her skin. Truthfully, she had never heard much stories of her father - in all the time she had known him, he had always been sickly.

A gasp away from death.

She held back her laughter, shoulders trembling with the peels of giggles she knew would wake King's Landing as Daemon continued to reel and spin any tale he could remember of his brother in his youth, when he was healthy and joyous and... coherent.

She hadn't realised they had made it to her chambers until they were about to pass it all together. Her hesitation had Daemon stop in her stead, eyes roving over the chamber doors before spinning around the corridor before them.

Empty.

No knights. No soldiers. No men to be seen.

"Where are your guards? It is not safe for a princess to be alone at night?"

Daemon wasn't sure if he should be furious on her behalf or not. One side of him was grateful there were no pliable eyes nor ears to surely report back to Hightower and Cole. The other was angered at the sight that the princess was left unprotected.

"Oh, it is quite normal, Daemon."

There it was again, his name rolling past her sweet lips.

"I usually stay in the library quite late, since I usually cannot bring all these books back with me myself. It is on my commands the guards take their position much later in the night."

"You choose to stay out without protection? Are you truly that foolish, girl?"

Daemon's eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, incredulity filling his voice. Did she not realise the position she held? The power she had? All of which could be stolen and held against her should she be caught vulnerable by some curious lord or lustful soldier.

Alaynha scoffed, eyes rolling as she finally pushed open the doors to her chambers and entered without peering behind, "if you wish to simply mock me, you may place my books upon the table and take your leave."

Daemon does as he is commanded, lips twitching in irritation as he struggles with what he should say next.

"I believe I will wait here."

Alaynha turns to him sharply, a short laugh escaping her as she watched his determined expression, "and what has you think I would allow such a thing?"

"You have no guards. Although Crispin may be the Commander of the City Watch, it seems the man cannot even protect the princess, so why should I trust either him or his men."

"Oh, and what? You think you will be enough to protect me from the harrowed men and vile humans who walk amongst the Keep?"

Daemon didn't feign a reply, closing the chamber doors before making his way to the chaise and sitting upon it, snatching a book from the table in front of him to hold up in a facade of reading.

"Do not ignore me."

He simply huffed, fingers running down each page slowly in a show of interest before flipping to the next.

"Daemon," she rounded the chaise, leaning down to catch his eyes - her breath caught in her throat as a vibrant shade of violet burned through her own, like something had come to life within him and it rumbled and roared to be free.

"Uncle, you must leave."

Daemon tutted at the word, "come sit with me, niece."

"If anyone was to see you here in my chambers, it would cause an uproar throughout the Keep. My sister's husband. Please."

"You are left unprotected. No guards or knights posted at your door, I would be doing my brother a disservice by leaving you," his voice was monotonous, but she could see the traces of a smirk aching to stretch across his face.

This was a game to Daemon, nothing more.

But a game was something she could handle.

She sighed through her noise, grumbling under her breath and agreed to his motioning.

She moved to the chaise closest to the fire, gritting her teeth as she began to take a seat. It was then Daemon decided to open his damned mouth again, and Alaynha almost swore upon the Seven to find something to keep his mouth shut forever.

But a small part of her, a mangled beast of naivety and curiosity, knew she craved to hear his voice and even death would not stop her from seeking it out.

"Bring me some wine, will you, niece?"

She sat down with a huff, hands upon her lap as she clenched the soft material of her shift in fists - "have your arms fallen off that you find yourself incapable of serving yourself, uncle?"

She enunciated the word, a harsh drawl accompanied by narrowed eyes and a twitching nose as she watched him in irritation.

First he seeks her out in the library, which she allows.

Then he follows her around, which she encouraged.

But to enter her chambers and refuse to leave under his petty guise of protection was foolish, and though her heart may have fluttered at his refusal to her demands to leave her be, her irritation brewed with every command he spoke.

Daemon looks up from his book, brows raised as though he was waiting for her to follow his orders despite the rebuttal. Alaynha simply stares at him, mirroring his gaze in challenge.

Daemon rolls his eyes, tossing the book beside him as he scoffs and throws up his hands, "fine, dear niece, I accept defeat. Oh, how you have wounded your uncle."

He continued his dramatic mutterings as he sauntered his way over to the table as Alaynha eyes the book he had tossed aside. She bit her lip in quiet contemplation, leaving her seat to steal his previous one and snatch up the book to flick through.

"The Toils of a Maiden."

Her cheeks burned at the realisation of exactly which of her books Daemon had taken to entertain himself with - it was a romance novel, narrating the charming love that stirred between a young princess and her knight.

She flicked through the pages, eyes skimming over words she had read a hundred times before. Her concentration was broken when a goblet made its way in front of her, her eyes following the pale hand that held it carelessly above the book she had been feverishly reading to meet the amused expression of Daemon once more.

"A very interesting selection, princess. Both the wine and the book," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes, snatching the spiced wine from his grasp and finishing it in one swift gulp. Hopefully, the wine would make the rogue prince's presence more tolerable, or she would be too out of her mind to give him a second thought.

"Although, I do not understand why you would waste your time on silly novels."

Alaynha frowned, placing her goblet on the table beside her, "I fear what I read is no concern of yours."

Daemon sat beside her, arm brushing against her own with every breath, causing a flutter to brew in the pit of her stomach which was so foreign and new that she almost found it hard to meet his gaze.

"If I did not know better, then I would say you read such horrid tales in hopes of bedding your own knight."

Alaynha scoffed in disbelief, yet the small amount of wine she had consumed worked up her courage quickly as she retorted, "and if I do?"

"Then I would warn you to stay away from Ser Cole."

Alaynha almost laughed in disbelief and if she herself had not heard the stories of Daemon's ventures to gain Rhaenyra's hand in marriage, she would surely jest jealousy tainted his words.

There was a dark glint in his eyes, one that grew with the flames rolling in the fireplace, that had her think perhaps she was right.

Alaynha's lips parted as she went to disclose her incredulity at his words, but they caught in her throat at the sound of knocking upon her door. Her eyes widened as they met Daemon's stare, expecting to see the same dread in his expression that flooded her own - instead, it seemed he was amused, almost on the edge of his seat in anticipation of what would happen were they to enter and see the young princess unchaperoned with the Green's greatest threat.

He pointed his head towards the door, lips twitching into a smirk as he urged her to answer the knocks.

Alaynha did so hesitantly, her voice cracking as she spoke, "who is it?"

"It is your guards, princess. Ser Cole has sent us to take watch for the night."

She swallowed roughly, eyes flickering over Daemon's form as she wondered how he would escape unseen, "of course, thank you."

She could hear the men shift in their heavy armour as they took their position in front of her chambers, her shoulders tensing as Daemon leaned closer and his warm breath brushed across her cheek, the feeling heating her up far quicker than the fireplace ever had.

He tutted, "it seems I cannot escape just yet. We would not want you to be caught in a scandal, now would be princess?"

"You have to leave. If they find you in here, I will be ruined."

She stared at him with pleading eyes and pouted lips, and Daemon had to admit a part of him almost felt guilt for placing her into such a predicament.

The other part raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging down the soft curve of her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed reluctantly, "I think I shall stay."

Her eyes opened to meet his, something quiet and dark bubbling under the surface as though she watched him in a different light altogether. She rolled her eyes, pulling her face away from his grasp and twisting on her seat to face the broiling flames. She pulled her knees towards her chest, ignoring the man as she took to reading the book he had been so amused by, "have it your way, but do not expect me to entertain your mischief, Daemon."

Daemon.

How he wished he could make her say his name again and again, the word slipping off her tongue until he tired of it. Daemon pondered how long it would take for his fascination to dwindle, for him to become bored and content as the slumbered dragon he had become so easily under Laena's and Rhaenyra's thumb.

He wondered if he would ever get bored at all.

Perhaps he would, but a contrite shred of his soul - a spark that had become ignited, a flicker that yearned to turn into the raging flame of dragon's breath - knew he would not.

It seemed Alaynha's obvious show that she had been ignoring Daemon went unnoticed, his mind reeling with ways he could sate his curiosity and knowing it would only be if he could get closer- closer and closer until there was barely enough room left between them to breath, until they melded as one like Valyrian steel forged by dragon fire. An ultimate seal, a sign by the Sevens and whoever else the kingdom swore fealty to.

He whispered across the space between them, his voice hushed and his words buzzing as his head lolled towards her, "you should join us on the training grounds tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Aegon, though enthusiastic, is troublesome to train. You however," his gaze turns towards the fire, his body slouched upon the chaise as his head rested against the edge, his tongue suddenly heavy as he imagined her sparring against him, the sweat upon her brow, her small grunts of effort, the vicious gleam in her eyes, her skill and her anger, "you have promise. I can teach you better than any man upon King's Landing."

She couldn't help the way her mind filled with intrigue, placing her book to the side as she turned and faced him. Her knees knocked against his thigh, and he could feel her warm flesh press into him, burn through him as she watched him with curious eyes - "and what is it you believe you can teach me that both Aemond and Criston have failed to?"

"You forget, ñuha perzys ōños, how it is I became King of the Narrow Sea."

"I remember perfectly fine, but I also know that Criston saw war just as you have and he is Commander of the City Watch."

A flare of anger finds Daemon at those words, he only scoffs in reply, lips stretching out into an imitation of a laugh as his words grow hushed despite him bitterness so as not to alert the guards outside. His hand reached towards Alaynha, his thumb brushing over her thumb before wrapping around her throat and tugging her closer so she hovered over him.

Alaynha gasped sharply, Daemon's hand squeezing her throat lightly in warning so she didn't squeal and whine under his grasp. Her hands reached forward, bracing herself on his shoulders as he tugged her onto his lap, her knees falling on either side of his thighs as she hovered above him.

Daemon's eyes fell shut at the sight of her face above his own, her wide eyes and the shallow breaths that escaped her. Her hair fell in a halo around them, a barrier from the outside world. He tugged her closer, his forehead pressing against her own.

Alaynha couldn't help the way her body relaxed under his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as a shaky breath escaped her, her hands drifting down from his shoulders to his chest and her thighs pressed flush against his own as she sat upon his lap causing her shift to be drawn up and bunched at her waist.

"You forget yourself, Alaynha," his words were gruff, and the sound of her name finally- finally slipping past his lips, like the very word tainted the air between them, had her swallow roughly. Daemon's eyes opening wide as his eyes flashed with something unseemly and violent at the feeling.

"You forget that I am the Rogue Prince. That I was the Commander of the City Watch, and the very Gold Cloaks Cole commands as his own are mine. That unlike Cole, I am a dragon-rider. A prince. I have conquered a dragon. That the Narrow Sea is mine. That y-" Daemon caught his tongue before he could forget himself, his skin burning as he fought for control, a battle he was quickly losing as the sight and feel of the princess against him was a war of its own.

"I can have anything I want, ñuha perzys ōños- do anything I wish."

Every breath she took felt heavy, her chest heaving as something hot washed over her, a foreign sensation that was ready to consume her if she did not control herself.

"Then why don't you?"

She wasn't sure what she meant by such words, or perhaps she was. Perhaps she wanted Daemon to hold her, to run his hands over her body and into her hair, she wanted Daemon to groan her name and call to her, call for her.

In that moment, Alaynha did not think of her sister Rhaenyra, nor the fact that Daemon was a married man. Her body ached in a manner so unfamiliar, she was ready to lose herself to it to sate the revolting beast inside.

Daemon leaned up, lips only inches away from her own as they sighed into each other, tempting fate and their own sanity as the seconds ticked by. His tongue dipped out, laving at her jaw before moving lower the lick stripes against her neck, his hips gently rocking against her own as she whimpered at the feeling of him brushing against her core.

Then he stopped, his hand falling from her neck to hold her waist and press her down against him. A sharp gasp escaped her, a cry that was muffled as she hid her face against his neck.

Daemon drifted a hand into the tangles of her hair, tugging her head back and tried to find her gaze, "I am a better man than that- than this. I should be."

Alaynha did not know what to say, did not know if she should agree with him and stop this now or discourage such silly notions and chase the beast that was growing rampant inside of her to tame it.

Daemon stands, his arms moving to secure her against him as Alaynha wraps her legs around his waist. Her arms move hesitantly around his neck, and Daemon finds that as he nears her bed he is unable to break away from her stare.

There is something hidden within the depths of those brown eyes, something free and unruly, defiant and true that draws him in deeper when he knows he should not.

Curiosity.

Curiosity and nothing more.

Nothing more.

He leaned over her as he placed her softly upon the bed, hands moving lower to run over the soft expanse of her legs, travelling under the shift to explore her flesh and satiate this curiosity.

He blinked furiously as she leaned up to his touch, her breasts pushing against his chest as his forehead leaned against her own once more. He withdrew his hand from her shift, dragging his hands over the material, across her hips and her waist, up her stomach and between her breasts, brushing across her throat and her cheeks to tangle in her hair and pull her up - so tempted, so inclined and aching to press her lips against his own.

Daemon scrunches up his eyes, inhaling deeply as he forced the dragon within him to calm - she was a maiden, and Daemon would not ruin her. Not yet.

He pressed a kiss on her forehead, hand moving to brush across her face as he hushed, "sleep."

Alaynha watched him with a confused gaze, her body burning under his touch as her heart tumbled with hurt at his refusal to continue. Daemon could see it within her eyes, leaning closer to she couldn't escape his gaze, "not like this," he promised.

"I would not dishonour you like this."

Something in Alaynha's heart, the itching part that protested and yearned for his touch once more, settled at that. The rest of her twisted and turned in the face of such turmoil, unsure of her own feelings and the morals of such a matter.

Here was a married man, her sister's husband, in her bed with his hands upon her body and his lips so close to her own, and yet guilt was nowhere in sight. Simply curiosity.

Daemon pressed another soft kiss upon her forehead, his limbs feeling like lead as he pulled himself away and spoke solemnly, "I will sleep upon the chaise and slip out when the guards change shifts. No one will see me and your reputation will remain intact."

Despite all that had happened, and everything they had done, he still had that mischievous look in his eyes as he teased and taunted. But a promise was a promise, and Alaynha could not find it within herself to protest.

Neither of them had gotten much sleep that night, each laying away in their respective places wondering how things had moved so suddenly.

And better yet, how to stop it from happening again.

Or perhaps, what might happen next.

I'm getting back into the flow of writing, so I apologise if this is not great writing. I do hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, and hopefully you should be able to expect some smut in the next chapter.

Thank you all for your patience xxx

Taglist: @kelssssxd @esquivelbianca @chynagirl13 @luanasrta @kemillyfreitas @americanprometheuss @clarap23 @pet1t3 @your-favorite-god @hypocritic-trash-baby @esquivelbianca @serving-targaryen-realness @toji-girl @queenmendes @the-lil-spud

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 2150 words

a/n: hello!! hope you enjoy this chapter! I am curious, how is the pacing so far? while editing, I changed up a lot of scenes and spaced them out in other chapters. I'm curious to know your thoughts on how the story is flowing so far - is it too slow or is it okay? all your feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

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Chapter 5

It had been about a week and a half since Mingi's arrival, and for the most part, things took a turn for the better. Mingi was very thoughtful and patient, he was careful not to push or pressure you into doing anything you were uncomfortable with. It was difficult for him at first however, as he wasn’t sure how to begin to fix things with you.

Thankfully, when you introduced Mingi to Chan, the older wizard was kind enough to offer him advice and assist him.

“Give her space,” he explained, “Allow her the time to make her own decisions and think things through without feeling pressured. Show her that you respect her and her choices even if it might not be in your favour.”

Changbin also offered his own advice since he and Mingi shared the same birthday month and he took pride in that. 

“Do little things now and again for her. Don’t do anything over the top! Just small things like buy her a pastry or cook a meal. Send her a kind text during the day now and again. Maybe even ask to take a stroll in the evening at the park sometime.”

Most of your friends welcomed Mingi kindly even though they were quite apprehensive, given your history with him. The only one bold enough to stand his ground was Jisung. He made it particularly and significantly clear that he will not go easy on Mingi and will not hesitate to make him disappear. At first, Mingi found it humorous, seeing it as a baseless threat but Changbin indicated that Jisung could be a menace when he wanted to. So while Jisung smiled sweetly but intimidatingly in the corner of the apartment twiddling his wand in hand, Mingi blinked three times in concern and looked at you. You assured him everything was fine, but truthfully, you weren’t so sure about Mingi’s safety because you did hear about Jisung’s fearsome alter ego. But you weren’t gonna tell Mingi that. 

As for Mingi, he took a while to comprehend your new found life. Slowly, you both realised Mingi thrived better doing more physically energetic pursuits rather than standing behind the cash register with Jisung nearby watching him like a hawk. Chan offered to recruit Mingi at the apothecary to help with running errands with Hyunjin and organising and moving boxes and shelves with Felix and Jeongin. Mingi enjoyed it and felt that it was a good approach in giving you a chance to have space for yourself.

It surprised you how easy going he became with all of it, because though Mingi is kindhearted, he still was an alpha werewolf who does not necessarily do well with being told what to do. Maybe he was actually scared of Jisung? You were curious about what was going on inside his head and jokingly asked Chan if he could pick his brain.

Chan laughed and said no while Minho and Seungmin unapologetically agreed. Chan deadpanned at the two. 

"But I'm curious too!" they argued.

During the week, Chan suggested everyone should have a night out at the karaoke place. While you and Felix belted your hearts out trying to pass Seungmin and Jeongin’s high score, Mingi sat behind you, mesmerised by your voice. It was one of those moments as of recently, where he savoured your presence. He observed your newly dyed hair with streaks of blonde, your pretty hoop earrings, your beaded and charm bracelets adorning your wrists and your outfit.

He remembered vividly the first time the two of you met. You were with Hongjoong as the latter dragged you into the store for snacks while he complained that you ate all of his. Mingi was working at the store during that time and the moment all three of you came into contact, you felt the magnetic pull. It was enchanting and captivating. And meeting you introduced Mingi to another way of life. He began to feel more comfortable in his skin and who he was, you helped him to become confident and maybe even a little reckless when you appeared at his window in the early morning, recruiting him to go with you and Hongjoong to watch the sunrise. In the times when Hongjoong was unable to go, you and Mingi ventured out and spent the time talking and planning for the future.

And whereas Hongjoong was a stickler for not showing affection outside of your private space, Mingi would back hug you as you strolled down the street. The one time he did it to Hongjoong, they both rolled down the hill with Mingi landing on top of him while you watched in panic.

But at least, that's how you met Seonghwa and Yunho. 

In reminiscing, Mingi realised that you met all of them, excluding him, in smaller groups. He discovered that none of you really took the time to get to know each other personally or one on one. 

Mingi was snapped out of his daydreaming by Jisung who poked him with one of the mics. 

"Yes?"

"You weren't moving, so I was wondering if you became a statue.”

"I’m fine."

"Mhmm," he said, "Come on, let’s step outside for a minute."

Mingi was kind of concerned but still he followed him out the door cautiously.

"So are you okay?" Jisung asked.

"Why do you care?” Mingi questioned.

“I don’t really, but you are Y/N’s soulmate and I care about her. So I gotta make sure you’re not going to do something stupid and hurt her.”

“Wow.” Mingi drawled.

“So I shall ask again, are you okay?”

Mingi sighed.

Yeah I just...I realised all of us never really got to know each other personally. All of a sudden we just got together, a big group of nine, and we never took the time to spend with one another. Maybe only Hongjoong and Y/N have.”

Jisung eyed Mingi carefully before responding, "Yeah I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

Jisung rolled his eyes, “That was me when I met Minho, we clicked almost immediately and everything came so naturally, we never really took the time to just be friends and get to one another personally. You know, like really getting to each other for who we are, not just our likes and dislikes but how we operate and think."

"I feel like something happened."

"Something did…” Jisung contemplated for a moment before continuing, “We started to just expect that we would understand each other and meeting the others amplified that. So as we started to split our time, we expected certain things from each other and when it wasn't being met we would argue a lot. We expected that the other person would do things for the other and it became a whole mess."

"What did you guys do to fix it?"

"Chan intervened and we basically did what you and Y/N are doing now, and we also sought therapy from one of Chan's friends and it helped us better understand each other."

"Do you think Y/N and I should try therapy?"

"Do whatever works best for you. Therapy might be a good idea and I think you are doing well with taking your time for now. Maybe bring it up after a few weeks if you still feel like it would help. I've seen the way you’re trying.”

“Oh my gosh, did you just say something nice to me!?” Mingi gasped.

Jisung smirked, “I don’t dislike you Mingi. I’m just wary of you. I saw how broken Y/N was when she got here and she has told me little bits here and there. As her friend who also sees her as a sister, I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

Mingi felt a sense of appreciation at the way Jisung cared about you. 

"I feel bad about hurting Y/N like that,” Mingi confessed, “I’m a terrible person.”

"You’re not. You’re not a bad person, it was a terrible, terrible lapse in judgement if you ask me or whatever, but you’re learning and that’s the most important thing you can do right now, learn and not be ignorant.”

"Thanks Jisung, I feel a little better now."

"You’re welcome and I still will not hesitate to deal with you or any of the others if you hurt her. "

When it was time to leave, you walked side to side with Mingi hands in your jacket pockets as the two of you commented on the day’s events. The night was chilly but it provided the perfect opportunity in Mingi’s mind to stay in a little close proximity to you to give you more warmth. He was mindful not to overstep any boundaries but you didn’t mind this time, and allowed him to cosy up a little next to you. He had to leave to go back home tomorrow, Chan offering to open a portal and giving him a way back to you. 

Mingi didn't want to leave but the others were waiting for him. With Chan’s help, he got into contact with Yunho who he told that he needed to be away for a while after the previous dinner events. Now, he was going back to explain the matter, ask to be temporarily put on leave from his duties and express his decision to stay with you for however long he wanted. 

This time it was necessary for it to be one-on-one as Jisung educated him. He had to make it right.

He wasn't sure how the others would react but he hoped that they might come back with him at the very least maybe.

While the two of you waited for the others to catch up, you told Mingi that you were going to dispose of some wrappers in your pocket. As you rounded a corner that was a little far off where a trash can was located, your thoughts were interrupted by a strange voice.

"Well well well, if it isn't one of us." a sickly voice sang.

You turned around at the voice. You had no clue who they were exactly but judging by the tattoo on their arm, they were rogues. How were they here?

"What the heck do you want?” You questioned.

“Now, that’s no way to talk to an alpha."

“You’re not my alpha and I do not care to talk to you.”

“Aww but you’re hurting my feelings.”

"Bleh." You gagged.

They were not amused by your response and it didn't take long for them to swing at you. You dodged and tried to find a way out but after some scuffling you did end up with a bruised lip and your arm being pinned behind your back. You weren't scared at first but you needed backup and fast.

With every fibre of your being, you drowned out the taunts of the rogues and focused on your connection to Mingi. You called Mingi's name hoping he would hear.

"That's a nice necklace you have there." the sickly voice commented.

Your half moon necklace was given to you by your mates, representing your clan. You never took it off and it was your most prized possession. As the sticky finger rogue attempted to reach for it, a hand grabbed him with force and pressure. Every single one of his bones cracked gruesomely and his skin began to turn a grisly black and blue.

"Do not ever touch my mate." Mingi snarled ferociously. 

His eyes turned into his gold werewolf colour and he threw the rogue back effortlessly. You could feel the change in Mingi’s aura as he glowered dangerously at the other one that was pinning your arm and swung at him, hitting him right in the nose, a sickening crack ringing through. He scowled at the other two who stepped back seeing the infuriated alpha. They ran off leaving behind their members. 

“Pathetic.” he seethed.

As he composed himself on seeing you, Mingi rushed to help you and escort you back. He began to fuss all over you, his sentences rushing through like a waterfall.

"I got your pull, it freaked me out because I should've known better to let you go alone! I'm so glad you're okay! I'm not leaving again, I'll tell Chan to send a letter or something, are you okay!? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Mingi…” you began, “You're going to have to go back."

"What!? No! Why!?"

You noticed something. Besides Mingi’s connection, you began to feel the pull and call of your other seven mates. Though you called for Mingi specifically when you focused your mind on him, being in danger and initiating your soul bond after so long, activated the connection for your other mates which meant that your connection to all of them that was once dormant, was now ignited.

They felt it too. You could hear their calls.

"They know."

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@eastleighsblog @sehun096rainbow @greensnakeglobep @satsuri3su @idfkeddieishot @zonked-times @sugarrush-blush

a/n: hi again! unfortunately, I was unable to tag you @greensnakeglobep :( I'm really sorry about this, I'm not sure why I'm not able to. if anyone could clarify how to fix this, please let me know, thank you!!