#because I don't want to just be a sink on others and I no longer believe bitterness can be a foundation for connection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

singmyaubade · 7 months ago

Text

Good Luck Babe

poly!marauders x nerd!female!reader

summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy

a/n: oh hey... this is kinda based on those cliche 2000's movies where the girl is ugly but not really and she has that glow up or whatever. this was written so quick and not proofread, don't kill me. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

STARTING off your sixth year at Hogwarts being an entirely new person wasn't something that you had planned or expected.

On the inside, you felt exactly the same, the same girl who was bold and could ferociously win a fight when it came to her character.

The same girl who was witty and sarcastic, surprising half of the people around you when you made a joke once in a lifetime.

But on the outside, you didn't have an awkward mis-shaped bob and you no longer wore baggy jackets that didn't do a thing for your figure.

And you didn't hide your face anymore, trying your best to be invisible.

It wasn't that you were shy or that you felt like a loser but you thought social hierarchy was bullshit and the only thing you wanted to focus on was your studies.

You may have been a brave Gryffindor on the inside but on the outside, you had to play the part of a shy mouse as corny as that sounds.

Unfortunately for you, invisibility only tends to last for so long until one moment, you are a nobody and then all eyes are upon you.

And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't heard the Marauders discussing you the previous year, you would have stayed the same.

You had passed by the boys dormitory to give Remus his textbooks back as you always did when you let you borrow when you heard them speaking of the very person behind the door,

"I still have yet to understand why Lily and the rest of them act like she's some charity case," James huffed, "I mean, she's not some sick patient, they only feel the need to pity her because of how she looks."

You always knew that James had a foul mouth but to be speaking about someone like this, it was cruel.

Remus hissed, "That's not nice Prongs,"

"I'm not even saying it to be a dick!" James groaned, "I just mean, I pity her more for the fact that they don't even invite her to anything outside of breakfast and dinner," He explained, causing Remus to go silent.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absolutely horrid."

James reclined on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m just saying, if I were Y/N, I’d be mortified."

Your eyes widened as they began to water, they were speaking about you.

Remus leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe she just doesn’t want to hang out with Lily and the others."

"Moony, seriously," James shot back, sitting up. "Where is Y/N right now, and where are the other girls?" His eyebrow cocked, trying to make his point as Remus silenced.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Why don’t we investigate for ourselves?" He unfolded the Marauder's Map with a flourish. "Alright, we’ve got Lily, Dorcas, Mary, and Marlene all at Hogsmeade, but Y/N is..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.

James leaned closer, annoyance creeping into his tone as he grabbed the map, "She's-" He stopped, the color fading from his face.

"Fucking spit it out!" Remus said next as he snatched the map finally and saw that the map had shown that you were right outside their door.

"Shit!" You heard Remus say as he started making his way to the door.

Hearing his footsteps approaching, you quickly moved away from the door, bolting for your room.

Once you made it back to your dorm, you had sinked the floor. You put your hand on your mouth, muffling yourself as you cried silently.

You honestly hated to even say it but you did consider Lily and the rest of them your friends. You had never really thought about how they didn't invite you to places.

And if you were being truthful, they had never asked you to have breakfast or dinner with them.

You had always just assumed that you could join but they never told you to leave or swooshed you off. Another part of you hated how stupid you were, trying to intrude on their private time.

You didn't want to let it get to you what a bunch of seventeen year old boys were saying but it did sting horribly.

But in a way, it also motivated you to be who you were on the inside. You already had the top marks in your entire year and your plan to work in the Ministry after Hogwarts had already been set.

And now your chance to be something at Hogwarts was right in front of you, an opportunity that you couldn't miss.

You had to do it for yourself.

The Marauders had no idea who you truly were or even cared to know. And although Remus was kind to you, you could always see that he never made any effort to be your friend.

Not that you expected him to but it only taught you that they truly thought you were some hopeless case.

And an assignment to make the Marauders bite their tongues was one that you couldn't bare to fail.

After hearing that, you decided to avoid the Marauders for the next month, especially with summer break approaching. To your surprise, you barely saw them outside of classes, never giving them a chance to reach out—even Remus.

And then that summer, everything changed. You let your hair grow past your shoulders, embracing your natural curls instead of straightening them. You started wearing clothes that were trendy and form-fitting, a huge contrast to your old style.

You discovered a newfound love for self-care, enjoying the process far more than you expected. Each day felt like a transformation, and by the end of summer, your mother couldn’t help but notice. “Finally listening to me about your style, huh?” she teased.

You only laughed as you embraced her,

If only she knew what had caused it in the first place.

As you said goodbye to your family, anticipation mingled with dread. You knew the train ride would be the least of your worries, but the welcome dinner and the ceremony ahead felt like they might just be hell reincarnate.

As you entered Hogwarts, you admired it as much as you did when you were a first year. The castle was something you considered a second home and everything about it was magical, there was no doubting that.

A crowd of students, including yourself, moved toward the Great Hall, and you settled into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

You spotted the Marauders and the usual group of girls approaching, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They took their usual spots in front of you, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. James sat beside you, and Lily was directly in front of him.

You never quite understood why they arranged themselves like that, but it hardly mattered in the moment.

They were busy in conversation before James had noticed someone next to him, his eyes widening. You couldn't quite read his face but it seemed like a mix of confusion and flustered.

You stared at him back but he still had yet to mutter a word. You cleared your throat, "Uh hello," You practically whispered.

He snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry, hi," He muttered back.

Silence took over you both as James couldn't find the words of what to say to you.

On one hand, he wanted to call you beautiful, to tell you that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. On the other, he just wanted to stare at you for a few more minutes like a creep.

Lily noticed his gaze and leaned in, smirking. "Excuse my friend; we’re still trying to figure out if he has a brain."

"I thought we solved that decades ago," Marlene chimed in, stifling a laugh.

Lily turned to you with a curious smile. "I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?"

Are you actually fucking kidding me?

You scoffed, "I'm Y/N,"

The entire group looked at you in awe, even the ones who weren't chimed in on the conversation.

"Y/N L/N?" Sirius asked, mouth gaping.

"Yep, that one," You snorted.

They all looked like they had seen a ghost, "You look different," Marlene said as Mary shoved her.

"She means in a good way!" Mary added.

"Uh thanks," You said, awkwardly.

They all continued to stare at you like you were an exhibit in a museum, their eyes scanning you up and down.

"Do you all mind not staring at me?" you asked, trying to break the tension. They all looked away, feigning innocence as they muttered apologies.

"How have you been?" Lily asked, clearly trying to ease the awkwardness.

"Fine," you replied, your tone clipped.

You caught the pained expressions on the Marauders' faces, realizing they were the reason for your dismissive attitude.

"That's great," Lily said, forcing a smile.

You felt a wave of frustration at the awkwardness surrouding you and decided it was time to escape. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you announced, heading toward the exit before they could respond.

As you walked away, you could already here the mutters and whispers emerging from the table, the fascinating topic being you.

You paced as you heard footsteps trailing behind you, but you ignored them, letting your gaze wander around the castle.

"Y/N!" someone called out, startling you.

You turned to see Sirius, James, and Remus hurrying after you. You only let out a snort before continuing your same way.

A hand suddenly reached around your forearm as you turned to see Remus. You quickly snatched your hand away, finally stopping to look at the group of boys who you despised.

Crossing your arms, you shot them a hostile look. "What?"

"We just wanna—"

"We're so—"

"Listen, we just—"

They all spoke at once, but you scoffed and turned back toward the bathroom, starting to walk away.

You were hoping that they would realize you wanted nothing to do with them but instead, it only made them want to chase you more.

They quickened their pace, and you spun around sharply. "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" you snapped.

James took a breath, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry for what I said. I've been thinking about it since you left. I was an awful twat, and you didn't deserve a thing of what I said."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Are you serious?" You asked as your expression changed to furious, "You basically called me a loser and said that Lily and the rest of them were only hanging out with me out of pity,"

James hissed as your statement, feeling the razor in your voice.

"-And now you all want to act as if I should just forgive you since I don't look the same anymore," You got closer to James's face, "Fuck off."

You turned your heel again and this time, the boys didn't follow you.

You finally entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you struggled to read the expression on your face. You were furious at the Marauders, and the idea of forgiving them felt impossible.

Yet, there was a flicker of gratitude that you felt for the change you’d undergone. You’d gained a new confidence that felt good, but the sting of their cruel words still lingered in your mind.

And you knew that you couldn't let it get to you but knowing they thought that of you, even Remus. It still did things to you that you would never admit out loud.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized it was almost time to head to the dormitory.

The rest of the night had flown by, with first years being introduced to their new home for the next six years while everyone else relaxed in the common room. Despite curfews, fifth years and above knew they could hang out longer—the curfew was mostly for the first years anyway.

"Caput Draconis," you muttered, and the Fat Lady nodded, granting you entrance.

Stepping into the common room, your heart sank as you spotted the last group you wanted to see. They noticed you just as quickly, encouraging you to pick up your pace toward the dorm.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dorcas called out, making you wince as you turned to see her waving.

The Marauders looked down, shame etched on their faces, avoiding your gaze as if you were Medusa.

You approached them slowly, dread settling in your stomach as they eyed you like a science project.

"We were just about to play a fun little game," Dorcas said enticingly, while Marlene snorted beside her.

"I don’t know if Spin the Bottle is a great idea for the first night back," Marlene added, taking a sip of her beer.

"A little peck never hurt anyone," Lily chimed in, clapping her hands together.

Of all people, you’d never expect Lily Evans to approve such a thing. This was the same girl who nearly fainted when she heard about Marlene and Dorcas kissing the previous year.

"I don’t know if this is the game for me," you replied, eyeing the group warily.

"Of course it is!" Lily insisted, but you raised an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh! Not like that, I just mean it's a fun game for us all to play," she quickly added, looking flustered.

Part of you wanted to say no and retreat to your bed, but that was the old you, and you knew it wouldn’t help. This was a new year, and you were determined to embrace new experiences.

Besides, you’d never participated in any scandalous games for all of the years you've been at Hogwarts—it felt like a crime in itself.

So, after a moment’s hesitation, you said, "Okay, sure." The girls erupted in cheers, while the Marauders exchanged worried glances.

What if you had to kiss one of them? Would you refuse and create a scene? Would you want to strangle them for even suggesting it?

The possibilities raced through their mind, but there was no turning back as everyone began to form a circle.

As you sat in the circle, a shiver of nervousness enveloped you. You had never kissed anyone before and the whole thought made you nervous within itself.

Don't get it wrong, you've had chances but they never seemed right and you certainly weren't kissing Matthew Trunchbull underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

So when you got offered a shot of firewhiskey to cool your nerves by Marlene, you took it happily as it burned down your throat.

You brushed off all the negative thoughts entering your mind,

What really is the worst thing that could happen?

5K notes · View notes

whos-the-seme · 3 months ago

Text

okay but I kinda need read a fic where Shen Yuan is wife plotted (AGAIN) by some random papapa plant (dammit Airplane--) and he basically falls into a floating coma or something. on a hunt for some rare herbs with liu qingge, he's lured by the sound of his Binghe's (his lost little lamb) voice and ends up ensnared.

okay, imagine that he's being held high in the air by these vines, just asleep, and nothing can wake him, even after liu qingge cuts the monster plant down to get him. he's just sleeping, rosy-cheeked, unwakeable.

peak lords panic, and start trying to figure it out what this rare plant is. sqh wracks his brain somewhat and somewhat remembers this plot line.

they come to the conclusion that its the everlasting dreams flower or some shit. basically traps the victim in their dreams while it sucks out their qi until the person dies of dehydration/starvation or qi loss, whichever kills them first (sometimes, its not the latter, and if the person is a cultivator, they can last a while before their qi is fully drained enough that they can no longer practice inedia but also haven't died yet). meanwhile, the person won't even care because their dreams are so sweet, that they don't want to leave.

the only way to cure it? true love's song. someone who truly knows and loves the sleeper needs to sing something from the heart, and if it's pure enough or something, it can pierce through the pleasant dreams of the person and wake them up. yqy and lqg instantly become flustered, but both of them can't help but secretly wonder how it would feel to have Xiao jiu/shen-shixiong wake up at their song.

they confer with the rest of the peak lords a little outside of shen yuan's resting rooms on the Qian Cao peak, and yqy decides to sing a little lullaby he used to sing to Xiao jiu when they were still on the streets. he goes in, his voice is a steady but a bit nervous, but he croons that shit out. airplane can't believe his fucking ears. yqy could honestly be an idol its not fair wtf-- only, sqh knows he can't dance to save his fucking life, so.

when yqy finishes, he waits, but his heart sinks when Xiao jiu doesn't so much as stir. he hurries out of the room but sqh notices how the tips of his ears are red in embarrassment. of course, even when he still had his memory, Xiao jiu wanted nothing to do with him, why did he think it would change now, he just--

lqj goes in next. he murmurs a song that he constantly hears sqq sometimes strumming on his guqin, thinking that means sqq must love the song. he's not sure what else he can do, he doesn't know how to sing from the heart, but the feelings he has for his shixiong... he has to at least try to wake him.

he doesn't wake. lqj walks out in defeat.

airplane who has been wracking his brain all this time because he was trying to think of requirements for awakening so he wasn't paying attention suddenly jumps up. he doesn't mind the startled glances that the other peak lords give him.

he just remembered!

the song didn't have to be a romantic song or anything. the love for the sleeper didn't have to be romantic love, at all! he remembered this plot line that he added about binghe trying to wake one of his wives, but it was one of the wives' sisters that woke her, because she truly loved her sister deeply. causing binghe to realize that his love was becoming shallow, in that it wasn't enough anymore or blah blah blah. he scrapped that plot line and that plant after he got a ton of bad reviews for even suggestion that lbh's love (pillar) wasn't big enough and so he had lbh fix it with papapa, but whatever!

he shivered.

anyway, the story has been so warped over time that its only told that it has to be a romantic lover. but it didn't have to be.

he had an idea. he loved Shen Yuan! despite the rocky start, their shared transmigration and experiences led them to form a closer relationship, and Shen Yuan was his best friend. he knew him wholly, both in his bitchiness of Cucumber-bro of their old lives, and in the snarky-masquerading-as-pretentious SQQ he was in their new lives. He knew him as a whole of Shen Yuan, not as Xiao Jiu, or as the original goods.

and also, both he and Shen Yuan had discovered they both liked some similar songs during one of their weekly private meetings a few weeks ago, while Shen Yuan was there under the guise of planning their eventual escapes, but was actually just drinking up all his wine and ransacking his snacks.

he's got this! (he hopes.) (he would quite not like his bro to die from an unwakeable coma.)

confidently, with incredulous stares following him, he walks into the room and sits at shen yuan's bedside. and proceeded to sing, as smoothly as he could, a vocaloid love song. if nothing else, it might shock Shen Yuan awake to hear a random ass vocaloid song in his dreams. the lyrics are actually pretty sweet and soft, but he can't stop imagining the music behind it, making it funnier than it should be to sing it.

[Shen Yuan, whose dreamscape has become completely synchronized to his current living conditions and so he dreams of the serene bamboo hut: *sitting at his table with binghe pouring him more tea* *sudden hatsune fucking miku disturbing the atmosphere*

Shen Yuan: 👁️👄👁️]

while he tries not to giggle as the song comes to an end, the stares of the other peak lords boring into his back from the doorway (he can just hear them thinking, "yqy and lqg couldn't wake him up but you think you can?" but maybe that's just his imagination. or maybe they think the song is shitty, what does he know--), shen yuan's eyes flutter open.

airplane, who didn't think this would actually actually work (though he hoped), gapes at him. Shen Yuan, eyes half lidded from sleep, gazes back.

"uh..."

"The everlasting dreams flower, really? That was a really good plot line, can't believe you, ah," Shen Yuan yawns, "dropped it in favor of more papapa as always, you shitty author." He can't catch a break. Why did he wake this guy up again?

"he's awake!?" multiple voices cry out.

THUMP. yqy has fainted.

they both have forgotten their audience. liu qingge has goes outside to punch a tree. the other peak lords are in various states of disarray, disbelief, and discomfort. liu minyan has appeared out of nowhere to take notes. mu qingfāng rolls his eyes and comes in to check shen-shenanigans's meridians.

"Can't believed that shit worked, honestly," Shen Yuan says, eyeing one of the older disciples try to drag YQY to a cot. he is starting to rouse. "hatsune miku, really?"

"aw! well now you know how deeply and purely I love you, shixiong!"

THUMP. YQY has fainted again.

more sounds of breaking trees from outside. mu qingfāng warily calls out a warning to avoid his good medicinal trees, thanks.

after a while of conversation, with eyes closing a bit once more, from exhaustion, rather than the plant poison, Shen Yuan gives Shang Qinghua a small smile. As his eyes flutter shut again, he says, "I love you too, bro."

1K notes · View notes

subrosasteath · 2 months ago

Text

Some Trans-coded moment I could find in Kai's episode because Pixar really did not let Disney stop them:

When Kai sees the softball team for the first time we get a close zoomed in shot on Taylor and Yuwen. This emphasizes two things: that the team is co-ed, and that there is a black girl on the team, someone Kai can relate to and maybe look up to in that I wish I looked like you kind of way

No one in Kai's family refers to to her by pronouns or descriptors like "my son" or "my daughter" until later, once she's already on the team.

The close up shot of the photo of Kai with a trophy has 3 other kids in frame, all of them looking like stereotypical boys. It's hinted at that the team Kai was playing on before was not co-ed, and so this would be an all boys team. This and a photo of Kai up to bat with short hair in a blue shirt are the photos she hides.

From the scene of them all cheering Kai's name at the beginning, I almost thought that was the first time it was said in the episode - it's not. The first time her dad says it in the car. Interesting!

Rest under the cut cause this is a fairly big post and also spoilers for the rest of Kai's episode!

The whole "but you were so good at baseball!" scene - just, you actually can't take the trans coding out of that scene if you tried. "Nothing can change the fact that I love you" . To break it down specifically, the line but you were so good at baseball feels similar to the idea of like "but you were fine as a boy!". It's the kind of statement that sounds like the question "why do you need to change?". This is continued in the next scene with the you liked baseball!, which can be read as a continuation of a worried parent "why do you need to change, i thought you liked yourself before?" they don't even pitch the same - "there are some serious changes here" I feel like read from a different angle it could also be about voices, and how sometimes how your voice sounds can be a source of dysphoria.

Kai wears pink socks for almost every scene she's in around her teammates i think? Blue crocs in the beginning, white socks in the "so you want to switch to uh softball?" scene, and then in the next scene she's in pink socks with a white stripe. The only scene in the episode with blue socks is after she hurts her ankle, when she's tell her dad "it's not a big deal" about the cheating.

Her hair getting longer, obviously <3 She's got a rainbow hairband she wears for the rest of the episode

The vaguely trans-flag looking lighting whenever Kai's floating

"We look so good! We look so good!!" "Hey girls, say pickles!" That scene just makes me happy. Kai has a place she feels right in, with friends and girls who age her accept her and want her around, she get's to be included in the "girls"!!! Like how sweet is this?

And the girl sleepover with all the team girls!!! It's so cute!

Her sinking into the ground powers are so cool. Like - nothing specifically "trans" about this, it just plays into what's already there, that Kai feels like she's either floating so high off the ground or totally stuck in it and how everything in her life feeds into that.

There's definitly more, like so many more, like maybe I'll add onto this post later kind of more, but I am so sleepy now, that I'm just going to post this for now!! Congrats to the writers at Pixar for pushing through even when Disney tried to shut them down. I know I really appreciate it.

#win or lose #kai win or lose #trans #trans pride #pixar did amazing with what they could in this episode and i love it <3

1K notes · View notes

julymusings · 5 months ago

Text

PORTRAIT

jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges?

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

#more of my jason todd domesticity agenda #nightwing #batman #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #dc universe #dc comics #dcu #dc robin #robin #batboys #batfamily #red hood x reader

1K notes · View notes

cerisereids · 14 days ago

Text

𝗖𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗜 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗔𝘁 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁?- 𝗦.𝗥. [𝗽𝘁.𝟮]

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Bombshell!Reader

WC- 5.6k somebody sedate me

Summary- The BAU receives an invitation to the annual FBI gala. Spencer can't seem to handle the amount of attention you get.

Contains- the fallout from part 1, brief Spencer POV, reader gets sad and tipsy, a little proofread but not fully, Spencer is hot and insecure, Penelope is the best always

A/N- part one here! Thank you to everyone who is enjoying this <3

Spencer's eyes never leave the sparkle and shine of that godforsaken gold dress. The dress that'll give him an aneurysm eventually, a fate he's already accepted. He can't help but take in her beauty, but the longer he looks at her, the stronger the guilt creeping up his spine. He rubs the back of his neck with his palm, his heart constricting even tighter at the sight of her. She's all the way across the room, resting against the bar while he resides in the corner. Her back arches as she adjusts her weight to the other foot. It's just as she had done earlier in the night with him right next to her. This time, she's solo. It won't be for long.

He knows that's not fair, but he can't help it. The way nearly every man has sized her up like a piece of prime beef is enough to make him sick and self conscious all at once. He glances briefly at his stomach, poking out slightly from his suit jacket. He's still not used to the way his body changed in prison. It's a despicable combination wrapped up neatly in a bowtie. He studies her, the way her brows furrow, the small downward tilt of her lips as she waits for her drink. There's that guilt again. He wants to kiss off the pout. Knowing he's the cause of it, though, he stays put.

It takes nearly everything in him to stay that way, especially when yet another Ken doll in a professionally tailored suit finds his way to her. Heat burrows deep in his belly as he watches her swing her hair over one shoulder, plastering her best smile. He's the only one who should be on the receiving end of such a flirtatious smile. But, once again, he's the one who put himself in this situation- ruminating alone in the corner. He knows he can't complain, though seeing the man fiddle with her dress strap renders that point moot. Fire burns within him anyway.

He's white knuckling his glass so tightly, he's surprised it hasn't shattered. His free hand is curled into a ball at his side, his fingernails leaving crescent moons in his palm. He leans his head back, hitting, the floral wallpaper behind him, sinking into self pity like quicksand. His eyes aim toward the ceiling, studying the intricate pattern adorning it. All night, he hadn't realized there was an entire mural up there. Probably because he had his own work of art, up until 20 minutes and 17 seconds ago.

He smells Rossi before he sees him, his expensive, smokey cologne announcing his presence. Spencer tilts his head down, meeting Rossi's eyes. His brow is quirked, a knowing look lacing his gaze. It's pitying, a stare that indicates just how badly he's fucked up tonight.

"I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know," he begins, and it takes everything within Spencer not to roll his eyes. He knows it's petulant, sue him. "What I will say, is if you are not going to make things right with a sweet, intelligent, beautiful woman that looks at you as if you've hung the moon and stars..." he trails off, shaking his head and chuckling in disbelief. "Then you're not that much of a genius, after all." He claps a hand on Spencer's shoulder before walking off, as if he'd never been there at all.

Spencer's standing straight now, his own brows nearly at his hairline. His face is white, as if he'd just seen a ghost. He hadn't realized how much of the team had picked up on his relationship with her. Now, as he watches Rossi walk back to the team's table, he realizes all of them know. He's right, Spencer isn't that much of a genius.

You're approached by a man at the bar. Again. Each time is like a crack to your chest. You smile anyway. If nothing else, out of pure politeness. You know none of these men deserve it, though it turns out the one man you thought did, doesn't either. Who are you to judge who's worthy of your time?

You face the newest man who's decided to take on the challenge of flirting with you. He's not bad, when you look at him. He's tall and lean, muscular, but not too buff. You almost forget about Spencer. Almost. You turn to face him, leaning your elbow against the bar.

"Hi," you bat your lashes at him, a movement so perfected, it's near robotic. Not that any of these men would care regardless.

"Hello," he croons, eyes scanning your frame in a way that twists your stomach. "How's tonight been treatin' ya so far?" He takes a sip of his beer, his lips ghost over the bottle in a desperate act of nonchalance.

You chuckle, imagining giving him a truthful answer. "I'm awful. My workplace situationship basically called me a slut and told me he doesn't want me even though I'm practically in love with him. You?"

"Fine," you say instead.

"Just fine?" he responds, and his sinister smile makes you regret giving him the time of day. "With a dress like that, I thought you'd be doing more than fine." He inches closer to you, the sleeve of his suit jacket now brushing up against your arm.

In a moment of divine intervention, the bartender cuts through the two of you with your drink. You accept gleefully, chugging the contents of the glass in record time. The man's eyes widen the more you drink, your neck flexing as you gulp down the remains. The empty glass hits the bar with a delicate clink. Your gaze meets the stranger's, his one of horror. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, eyebrows raising in an expression that says 'try me'.

"I'm just fine. Have a nice night!" You chirp, patting his shoulder with your hand before walking off.

You're lightheaded now, each step like you're walking on cotton candy clouds. You whisk a champagne flute from a server's tray on your way back to the table, dramatically falling in the seat. You throw your head back, finishing your drink in time to snag another. Each sip rids any thought of professionalism. If the bureau wants to provide an open bar, they should expect such results.

A profound sadness washes over you once you finish the drinks. A pout laces your lips as your eyes find the floor, your matching pumps sparkling in the light. You wiggle your foot back and forth, happy to concentrate on something, anything other than Spencer. A pink stiletto comes into view, opposite your shoe. You whip your head up to find Penelope, the movement causing your vision to blur.

"Ooh!" You softly squeal, bringing two fingers to your temple in order to steady the spinning room.

"You're okay, my dear," Penelope says, her own hand resting on the back of yours. It steadies you in a way you didn't expect. Leave it to Penelope to know. "Want to take a stroll with me, sweetheart?" You swoon at the pet name, instantly full of adoration for your friend. So much, adoration, that you don't even care that she wants to talk about Spencer. You can tell from the pitying look in her eye. You suppose a change of scenery can't hurt.

You hold your hand out for her to take, and she pulls you to stand. It takes a moment for you to find your bearings, swaying slightly as you rise. Penelope's hands clutch your elbows, once again steadying you.

"My hero," you coo, batting your eyelashes at the most deserving person in the whole room.

"You're drunk," she assesses. "Let's go."

"Wow! Look at those analytical skills! It's like you're in the FBI or something!" Your comment is playful, not a bit of malice as you let Penelope lead you outside.

Fresh air hits your lungs, clearing them of the ailments of tonight. You take as many deep breaths as you can, savoring the floral smell of the gardens you walk past. Roses, lilies, and tulips align the shrubbery. It provides a beautiful view as you walk through the complex pathway. You walk in silence for the first few minutes. The only sound accompanying you are the splashes of water coming from the large fountain in the middle of the garden.

It’s large, so much so that you have to crane your neck up to see its entirety. It’s a stone carving of a woman, catching a falling man in her arms. Their faces are those of despair, though they’re united. Your heart squeezes at the sight, your eyes glossing over until the view is blurry. Your focus pulls back to Penelope, thanks to the soft tug she gave your bicep. You continue walking.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, sweet girl?” She asks, and it’s so gentle that you just break.

Tears flow over your lash line, your pouting lip wobbling as the droplets fall. Penelope immediately pulls you into a hug, shuffling the two of you towards a stone bench tucked away in the garden. You never leave her arms, blubbery words spilling from your lips

“I’m in love with him,” you wail. Penelope rests her head atop yours.

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” She inquires. Another sob wracks your chest.

“He called it off,” it’s meek as it leaves your lips, a direct contradiction of the sob that came before.

“He did what?” She holds you out in front of her, taking a good, long look at you.

“He called it off. Said there’s a part of him that thinks we won’t work, I said I thought the same, because it is true…you remember what I told you earlier tonight, right?” Penelope nods her head, and you can only be thankful for her understanding as you blabber. “The second things get hard, he calls it. I mean, is that a sign?” Your elbows rest on your thighs as you look toward Penelope, eyes glistened with tears.

She takes in the crushed look on your face before pulling out her phone and sending a text. “I’m calling in reinforcement. This is a job for all the ladies.”

You rest your head on her shoulder as you shake with more sobs. You’re so grateful for Penelope Garcia.

You haven’t been this anxious to step into the BAU since your first day on the job. Your spine tingles in anticipation, clammy palms rolled together in little fists as you make your way to the bullpen. Spencer’s already here. You spotted the mop of brown curls the moment you walked through the door. You keep your head down, praying he doesn’t see you, hear you.

The ruffly sleeves bunch around your bicep as you juggle your coffee and purse. You set them down at your desk, dread pooling in your stomach at the stack of case files on your desk. You thank whatever deity above convinced you to get a cold coffee this morning, given the air conditioning had blown out the night before. It was great news to wake up to- a mass text sent by Emily in warning. A paperwork day, on one of the hottest days of the year, with no AC. Perfect.

You fan yourself with a manila folder as you settle in at your desk, kitty-corner from Spencer’s. You used to celebrate the fact that you had a direct view of him from your seat. You never imagined you’d one day resent it the way you do now, every sight of him a flash of lightning in your heart.

You see his head pick up ever so slightly as you set your items down on your desk. It’s a subtle lift, unnoticeable to an untrained eye. Unfortunately for you, your eyes are trained specialists in all things Spencer Reid. You see his head swivel ever so slightly, his chin resting on his shoulder. He stops it before his gaze meets yours. The air is stolen from your lungs. If you could zoom in, you would. He has dark circles under his eye, his pink lips pouty and droopy. You shake the thought of kissing them from your head.

You hear footsteps approaching and you dart your gaze back to your desk, an infinitely less attractive view awaiting you. You open a manila folder, grabbing your coffee and favorite pen- a light pink one with a fuzzy top, like Cher’s. You begin to sift through your first file, seemingly needing a sip of coffee every time you read a new sentence. By the time you’re on your third case, you’re already standing to go make a new cup. Hot or cold, you need some more caffeine.

You’re not the only one needing more coffee, it seems. You stop, cold in your tracks seeing Spencer in the kitchen, resting against the counter by the percolating coffee pot. The way he leans on his elbows mirror Saturday night, and a chill unzips your spine at the deja vu. You take slow steps into the kitchen, realizing it’d look worse to turn around and leave than to just stay. Plus, you really needed more coffee. Your stomach sinks when you realize Spencer is immediately below the cupboard residing your favorite mug.

You straighten your spine, puffing your chest in a show of faux-confidence before walking over there. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon your approach, an unintentional flinch reverberating between the two of you. You briefly pause, momentarily shocked at his reaction to seeing you for the first time since Saturday. Since he called things off. You don’t say anything, can’t say anything. Not now. If you say something now, you’re sure you’ll get fired for workplace misconduct. Though, the fact that Spencer Reid kissed you like he’s starved and you’re his only life source, and now is treating you like a complete stranger should be considered workplace misconduct in and of itself.

“Excuse me, I need my mug,” your voice is soft, raspy, almost a whisper. As if too much noise would shatter the glass wall built between you two. It takes him a minute to react, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him. He nods, almost dumbly, before moving away.

Your dress swishes past him, the chiffon lightly grazing his forearm as you wiggle your way in the space. You reach up for on your tip toes for your pink, sparkly mug that reads ‘Being Kind Is Free, Unless I Don’t Like You.’ A gag gift from Penelope that makes the whole office laugh every time. You stick it under the Keurig machine, popping in a French vanilla pod before clicking start.

The rumble of the coffee makers is the only noise taking up the dense air. Your eyes flit everywhere but to Spencer. His do the same.

His coffee is done before yours, and he’s speedy with his cream and sugar, frantically stirring them in before leaving the room. You didn’t even notice Emily was in there until he squeezed past her to get out the door. Your cheeks heat up, your heart racing not knowing what she saw, what she heard. Though it was virtually nothing, to you, any moment with him was everything. After this weekend, that couldn’t feel more pathetic.

“Jesus, it’s like the Treaty of Versailles is happening in here,” her sarcasm rings through the room like a bell.

Your cheeks heat at the comment, now fully aware of how awkward this interaction might look to outsiders. You turn from her, grabbing your mug in a weak attempt to get out of the conversation. You even consider foregoing cream and sugar just to get out of there. That’s how you know something is really wrong. It would only look worse to Emily.

“You don’t think everyone sees the way he looks at you?” Emily’s voice is quiet, gentle but firm. You close your eyes, a shuddering breath raking through your lungs. You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep exhale.

“He didn’t look at me at all. I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you mutter, preparing your coffee the way you like it- cream and sugar in abundance.

Your voice is clipped, and you feel bad for speaking to her this way. You know she’s only trying to help, but you can’t have this conversation at work. You simply can’t. This conversation needs to happen where tears and bottles of wine can flow freely. Mostly, it needs to happen somewhere that Spencer Reid isn’t. When you’re done making your coffee, you turn to face Emily, plastering a smile on your lips that doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl, ‘m tough. I can handle it. Promise,” the last word is breathy as it escapes your lips. Your heart sinks, knowing that Emily will likely call you on that.

Mercifully, she spares you, probably noticing how badly you want to talk about any other possible topic. She nods, it’s curt and disbelieving, almost like she doesn’t want to do it at all. You nod back in the same manner before your kitten heels click back to your desk. You stop once again when you find Spencer standing at your desk. His brow is furrowed, annoyance lacing his gaze. He taps a case file on your desk, as if waiting for you is the most tedious task he’s ever been put through. You roll your eyes before approaching.

“Can I help you?” You don’t mean for it to sound so snarky, but it seems you simply can’t help yourself when it comes to him. What right does he have to look so irritated? Especially when he knows where you were, and why you’re not talking.

“Yeah.” His answer is short, gruff. He avoids eye contact with you again. You roll your eyes, since he can’t see them anyways. You pop a hand on your hip, a brow raised in question.

He looks over at you then, your silence prompting the movement. It’s electric, the way your stomach sparks when he looks at you. It’s like being electrocuted, now, nothing akin to the fireworks you felt before. You stand there for a minute, a silent standoff while you fully take each other in for the first time since Saturday night. His eyes eventually find your collarbone, moving down slightly towards your chest. He takes in your dress, the airy fabric flowing around your hips in a way that has him ticking his jaw. Your heart can’t help but pick up speed as you clock the movement, a clear tell that he’s still thinking about you the same way you’re still thinking about him.

“What do you want?” You snap, and he flinches back to reality. He clears his throat before talking.

“You have a case file I need.”

You wave your hand around in a gesture that says ‘...and?’ He continues without further prompting.

“The 2013 Carrigan family case,” he mutters. You brush past him to get to the other side of your desk, and you’re not prepared for the proximity. Twice now, you’ve felt the soft linen of his button down shirt, the tickle of his tie against your arm. Twice now, Spencer’s felt the light graze of your dress, caught the scent of your perfume as you passed. You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to search.

Your fingers clutch onto the file named ‘2013 C. Family’, desperate to give it to him so he can finally go. You hand it out to him, and when he reaches to take it, your fingers brush. It’s another electrocution, the hair on your arms standing, goosebumps rising to the skin. His hand lingers there for a moment, long, deft fingers briefly squeezing tighter around yours before he pulls away. Once he does, the case file finds his other hand, the one that was touching yours flexing ever so slightly. It makes your heart boil.

“Thanks,” he nods. You nod back. Then, he’s gone.

You’re taking a much needed break for lunch, holed up in Penelope’s cave while you eat Chinese takeout. You grasp a noodle with your chopsticks, lifting it to your mouth in a way you’d only do in front of your closest friend. You watch her momentarily as she finishes filling out a document on one of her many screens. She punctuates her last letter with a perfunctory click, then promptly turns to you.

“So. What is going on with The Good Doctor?” Penelope asks, picking up her own container of noodles. You adjust in your seat. Alright, getting right to the point. You see how it is. You avoid looking at her while you think of how to respond. You purse your lips, which quickly turns into a wobble as tears well in your eyes. She sets her food down, moving to hug you in record speed.

“Oh, honey, c’mere,” she coos, stroking your hair.

“I-it’s been awful!” You confess, small little cries racking your body. “It’s like he’s a stranger, like I’ve never met him before in my entire life. It sucks.”

“I know, I know,” she rocks you back and forth slightly, the gesture bringing a smile to your face. “Have you thought about maybe talking to him? You both seem out of sorts today.”

You pull your head from her arms almost immediately, a bewildered look on your face. Penelope holds her hands up in surrender, plopping back on her chair and resuming her meal.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, around a mouth full of noodles. “You both seem kind of miserable, and have since Saturday night. Think of the common denominator here.” She raises her brow, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to him. He called things off. If anything, he should be the one talking to me!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. Not at Penelope, but the mere thought of groveling to Spencer. It’s enough to make your skin crawl.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that…” she trails off, a knowing tone in her voice.

You sit up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire, albeit a bit defensively. Penelope just shrugs.

“I’m just saying, I love you both very much, but you’re both very stubborn. I just don’t want either of you to walk away from something out of stubbornness, especially before giving it a real shot. That’s all.”

It’s so profound, you want to scream. You look at Penelope, really look at her. She really looks back. It momentarily shifts your world on its axis, until you remember the way he spoke to you out in the bullpen. Your walls dart back up, and your eyes find occupancy on her desk.

“Fine,” she shrugs, all too nonchalantly for your liking. “If you want to be stubborn, I do have one more answer for you.”

Your eyes dart back to hers, your lips swirling around your last noodle. “What is it?” At this point, you’re desperate for anything that will get you away from him.

“Maybe work in the conference room for a little bit?” She suggests. You tilt your head to the side, thinking, almost like a curious dog. “A change of scenery might be helpful, y’know, so you’re not forced to stare at that gorgeous mop of curls all day.”

You roll your eyes at that, but ultimately agree. Once you wrap up your lunch, you make your way to the conference room with a box of files. As you walk through the bullpen, you notice an alarming lack of Spencer. His bag is gone, the files from his desk absent as well. You stop for a moment, eyes flitting to the conference room window. The table is empty, so you continue your journey there.

Once you’re in, you spot Spencer, working on the couch, finishing up a conversation with Emily, who’s standing in the doorway. Her eyes immediately find you, and she makes quick work of shutting the door, the click of the lock following soon after.

“Emily!” Spencer exclaims, frustration lacing his tone.

You whip around, attempting to exit from the other way, but Penelope comes out from the other side of it, repeating Emily’s actions.

“Penelope!” You squeal, utter betrayal in every syllable.

“I know! I’m sorry I tricked you! But you two are so stubborn it’s actually ridiculous! You’re not allowed out until you’re made up!” She punctuates her sentence by shoving a chair under the door.

You roll your eyes, a huff of frustration falling from your lips. You turn to see Spencer not far behind you, staring at you as if you were the last woman on earth. You set the case files on the table, ignoring him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, annoyance in his tone as he watches you get started on the file you’d been working on before this abhorrent interruption.

“I’m working, what does it look like?” Your tone is cold, short. It’s especially hot in the conference room, the lack of airflow on either side nearly suffocating. You tug at the neckline of your dress in a weak attempt of cooling yourself off.

“That’s not going to do anything,” Spencer huffs, rolling up his shirt sleeves to the forearm.

“It’s better than just sitting here,” you nearly bark back.

“Yeah, well maybe if you dressed appropriately for work you wouldn’t be so uncomfortable,” he quips. His words are like a powder keg, shooting you out of your seat in record speed.

You face him, so close you can smell the musk of his cologne, and it makes you dizzy. It doesn’t drown out the anger, the frustration, the hurt.

“Spencer, you have so much nerve making a comment on the way I’m dressed. If I recall correctly, you don’t want me anymore. So what’s the problem?” You exclaim, finally at your limit. Your heart burns as you watch the emotion shift on his face, frustration, heartbreak, longing.

He flinches at your words, and it only aggravates the flame to your heart.

“Spencer, you-” you stop yourself, looking away from him before you spill everything.

“What? I’m what?” He asks. “An asshole? A coward? Believe me, I know.”

The pitying tone in his voice sends heat rushing to your face, anger pulsing through your veins.

“You were the one who called it, Spencer! You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself!” You’re shouting now. You can’t seem to care. Rage and adrenaline seeps through your every pore, drowning you until there’s nothing left but red, hot lava.

He plows ten fingers through his hair, pacing before you. “You think I don’t know that?” His hushed volume doesn’t match yours, but his tone carries the same amount of venom. You’re both aiming for the kill.

“Do you really think I haven’t spent every waking moment since Saturday night wishing I could redo it all?” He blurts. Your eyes go wide.

“Then why did you do it?” You space out each word like he’s a toddler. You’re beginning to think he might be.

“Dammit,” he breathes, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He runs his fingers through his hair again, before looking up. You study his blank stare out of the conference room window. His gaze is aimless, soulless.

“I don’t measure up,” he utters. It’s like a whisper, barely audible as he says it.

You move closer ever so slightly. “You don’t m- what?” You’re bewildered, unsure what he even means. He turns to face you then, a look in his eye one you’ve never seen before. One of insecurity, doubt.

“I don’t measure up,” he repeats, more audibly this time. You throw up your arms in exasperation.

“Spencer, am I supposed to know what that means?” You still have an attitude, and you can tell it’s pushing him further and further.

“How do you think I’m supposed to feel when all I see, all night, is men gawking at you, speaking to you like I’m not even there?” He says, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re not sure whether you’re angry, sad, or confused. You decide on some sort of fucked up venn diagram of all three.

“Spencer, if that was the problem, then why are you punishing me for it? Men flirt with me. They have my entire life. You’re one of them!” He flinches at your accusation. You keep going, sweat forming on your brow. “If you can’t handle that, if it makes you this upset with me, then maybe we made the right choice.”

A silence falls between you at that, tension so thick it’s as suffocating as the heat swamping the room. He stares at you. It’s long, loaded- full of everything he wants to say. After long, gruesome minutes, Spencer breaks the silence.

“It’s not that I’m upset with you,” is all that comes from him. It’s hushed, frustrated as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Then what?” Your voice is venomous, dripping from your tongue.

“It was just too much. Too much for me to see these men with you, men who skate through life without a care in the world. Men who aren’t carrying the baggage of a wrongful prison sentence. Men who aren’t a completely different person now because of it,” Spencer confesses, and it’s like a wrecking ball swung through the room.

You battle the intensity of your emotions- the pity, the anger, the longing. They swirl within you like a tornado, your insides a flurry of emotion. You sympathize with him, you really do, but why couldn’t he have just spoken with you about it? You tell him such.

“Spencer, do you really think I want to be with any of the bottle blondes that were approaching me Saturday night?” You inquire, a hand on your hip. “I turned them all down. You saw it, in fact.”

“I know I did,” Spencer grits out, frustration lacing his tone.

“Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it? Why was your first instinct to run? I guess that’s just what scares me the most, that whenever something serious happens, you’ll call it,” your words start to become choked in your throat, tears springing to your eyes.

“I didn’t want to call it,” he breathes, fists tugging at his hairline.

“So then why did you?” Your voice rises in frustration. You feel like you’re on a carousel with him, dizzy and nauseous, unable to get off.

“Because I’m-” he stops, as if he’s not sure he wants to continue. You raise a brow, and he does. “Because I’m so pathetically in love with you. I have been the second I saw you. And I know, deep down, that I’ll never be enough for someone like you. So I ran.”

It rocks you to your core, knocking the wind straight out of you. You gape at him a moment, watching the panic rise in his face. You place a tentative hand on his arm, stopping him from the self conscious thoughts in his head.

“I never wanted to call it either,” you whisper, as if the air around you would shatter if you spoke too loudly. “I love you, too.” He deflates at this, relief washing over him. He pulls you to him, but you stop before his lips can touch yours.

“I want you to know though, if you ever try that again, you won’t get me back,” you raise a pointed brow at him and he nods. You grab onto his collar and continue. “You need to talk to me when you’re feeling this way, m’kay?” He nods again, as if he’s a dog and you’re his owner, wielding a bone.

His forehead rests against yours, his eyes falling shut as he breathes a potent, “I’m sorry.” You relent, touching your lips to his in the sweetest kiss. He grips onto you like you’re his lifeline, deft fingers gripping the chiffon of your dress. He pulls away from the kiss, only slightly. His lips ghost over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, fingers gripping the hair on the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips trailing down your neck.

You tilt your head to give him more access, his hand splaying against the small of your back to pull you closer. “Spencer,” you murmur, half in a daze at the soft touch of his lips.

“Hm?” he murmurs, the vibrations tickling your collar bone as he leaves feather light kisses across them.

“We’re still at work,” you giggle, giving his hair the softest tug. That was a mistake, you realize, as it emanates a moan from him that has your knees buckling.

“Don’t care,” he mutters, lips finding their way to your ear, biting the lobe.

“You probably should,” you giggle, even more so when you hear the door creak open ever so slightly, a pair of bespectacled eyes peering in the small open space. “We have an audience.”

This gets his attention, his head whipping around to find the door now wide open, Penelope filling the space with a cheshire smile.

“You two need to get back to work!” She scolds, and you roll your eyes at the irony.

“We’ll talk more later?” You ask. He nods, walking you out of the room, his hand still resting on your back as he guides you. You grab his tie, just before you part. Giving it a light tug, you say, “Swing by my place around 6. I’ll get us a pizza. You’re buying.” You punctuate it with one last kiss to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes, unbelieving. You could get used to that title.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurbs #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series #spencer reid x self insert

512 notes · View notes

witchywithwhiskey · 9 months ago

Text

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #friends to lovers #steve rogers au #childhood best friend steve rogers #childhood best friend #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

2K notes · View notes

simpjaes · 6 months ago

Note

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

#enhypen smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen hard hours

847 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 7 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 25 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Career Day arrives, and you definitely have the coolest collection of adults visiting your classroom. Bradley orchestrates a surprise, hoping you don't realize it's just a cover for something even bigger.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, 18+

Length: 4200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were up before your alarm, too excited to stay in bed for a minute longer. When you tried to roll away from Bradley, his knee dug into your butt, and you groaned.

"Morning, Gorgeous," he grunted, arm wrapping around you like a boa constrictor until you were snug up against him again.

"Bradley," you whined, trying to squirm away. "I'm sore from being spanked."

You could hear his soft rumble of laughter as he released you, and you dragged yourself out of the other side of the bed. You weren't sure how you were going to make it through the day like this. You didn't even know if you'd be able to sit down. Still, you couldn't stop the smile that bloomed across your face, and soon Bradley was wearing one to match.

"Maybe we should have saved that for tonight," you whispered, gingerly rubbing your butt as you pulled your most capable looking dress from the closet you now shared with Bradley.

"We can revisit that activity tonight if you'd like." Just when you were about to argue there was no way that was going to happen again just yet, he let his hand slip down to the right side of your butt which went untouched last night. He gave you a little squeeze and whispered, "I'll get breakfast ready. I want you one hundred percent ready to go for Career Day, Baby."

The way he strutted around the house naked was highly distracting, but you had so much to do. You wanted to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect, and you wanted to get to your classroom early. So you got started, and at some point when you were in the bathroom, Bradley must have put his flight suit on. He was wearing it when he knocked on the door, and you told him to come in while you rooted around under the sink, trying to find the lotion you wanted to use.

"What are you doing?" he asked, panic lacing his voice as you glanced up at him.

"Looking for my lotion. The stuff in the blue bottle." You turned back to your task, and a second later, Bradley was in front of you, snatching up the exact thing you were looking for.

"This it?" he asked anxiously, nudging the cabinet closed with his knee as he handed it to you.

"Thanks," you muttered, wondering why he was acting strange as you smoothed the lotion all over your hands and arms.

"Let's eat breakfast before you're late for your big day."

You wanted to argue that it was his big day, too. He could do anything for his presentation, and your kids would eat it up. But for you, Career Day was always a chance for the fourth grade teachers to show off who they were able to get in their classroom. Who had the coolest adults. It was ridiculous, but you were still excited about it.

Bradley's idea of breakfast was an enormous bowl of cereal, toast, muffins and a banana. "I don't have time to finish all of this!"

"I'll eat whatever you don't eat," he promised. And he did. You watched him inhale the rest of the food as you double checked that you had everything in your bag, and then the two of you went out to his Bronco with travel mugs of coffee.

------------------------------

Bradley was nervous about today. He couldn't pinpoint one reason why, because there were several. First of all, he'd spent so much time in your classroom already, maybe it wasn't the best idea to have him scheduled for last out of all the Career Day participants. The kids were bound to find him stale at some point, and Marty had just scratched the surface of his many talents. He didn't want it to be his fault if things ended on a low note for you today.

Second, he was already hoping and praying that Natasha was going to be able to distract you the way that he wanted. He needed a little bit of help from your students to make this extra special.

And third, just because he thought his mom's retro ring from the early 1980s was cool didn't mean you would. But that was really the least of his concerns. He wanted you to have it if you agreed to marry him, but he'd buy you something else if you so desired.

"You're so quiet," you mused softly, and Bradley almost forgot he was holding your hand while he drove. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said before clearing his throat. "Just going over what I want to talk to your kids about."

"What are you going to talk about today?"

He smiled and tilted the sun visor a little bit more. "Remember that video I posted on YouTube before I left in December? When I said there would be a quiz? I'm going to quiz them on everything they've learned with me. Stuff from the video and their field trip. Things I talked about in my letters. I'm going to try to stump them."

"I don't think you'll be able to," you said, lacing your fingers with his. "They hang on your every word. Just like I do."

Oh, he wanted you to have an engagement ring on that hand in the worst way. His life had changed so much since your first letter, but he knew pretty early on that he had feelings for you. And he knew as soon as the first date that he would end up here, completely in love with you.

When he pulled into your school parking lot, Bradley drove past all of the empty spots to drop you off at the front doors. "Aren't you coming with me?" you asked him, but he shook his head.

"I don't want to be a distraction for your morning routine. I'll wait out here for Nat and Marty and come inside with everyone else at nine."

"Okay," you replied, but you were looking straight ahead now. "I'm a little nervous."

"Why?" He shifted into park and reached for you.

You sighed against him. "It's ridiculous, but I want my guests to be the coolest ones. The other fourth grade teachers all rolled their eyes at me for even writing to an aviator in the first place."

"Joke's on them. You can't even get rid of me now," Bradley murmured, making you laugh. "You've got Nat and Marty. And one of your kids' parents owns a pizza shop. You're golden, Baby. Coolest fourth grade teacher ever."

You kind of rolled your eyes at him, but you smiled and kissed him before you climbed out. "I'll see you inside."

Bradley had a while to wait for Nat and Marty to arrive, and he considered running to Starbucks for his newest addiction. Instead he grabbed the bag that was tucked underneath his seat and started to sort through all the notes inside. It was a sizable collection now. All of the letters you and your students wrote to him made a stack a few inches thick. Some of the pages were creased and worn, but they would work perfectly for what he had planned.

When Nat tapped on his window, he jolted, sending pages flying.

"Why are you so jumpy?" she asked, opening his door.

"Jesus, Nat. I already told you I was anxious about this!"

She huffed out a breath. "And I already told you that you could put in literally no effort at all, and she would say yes. You could hand her a ring and grunt, 'Marriage?' and she would start planning a wedding."

Bradley laughed as he organized the pages again. "I want it to be special. Butterflies and all that shit. She makes me feel incredible."

His best friend leaned against the door, crossing her arms over her flight suit, and asked, "You still want Marty and I to help with your distraction scheme?"

"I need you to."

"You got it."

--------------------------------

Your students were on their best behavior. The guests were all excited to be there. Bradley kept smiling at you. Your rear end was still sore, but it turns out there was no reason to be nervous at all. Even the music teacher and school librarian decided to hang out in your classroom for part of the day, because your kids talked it up so much.

Nia's mom, a pediatrician, gave a presentation about keeping your body healthy. Oliver's dad talked about designing skyscrapers and then let the kids build with Lego blocks. Now you were listening to Natasha talk about the challenges of landing a fighter jet on an aircraft carrier, and even the parents were enthralled.

"What do you think would happen if I flew in too low?" she asked, pointing at Jackie who had her hand up.

"You could like miss the deck?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied. "And what if I came in from too high?"

Jayden's hand shot up this time. "You could crash!"

"I could indeed," Nat answered seriously. Five more hands shot up in the air as she talked about velocity, and Marty, who was standing next to you at the back of the room, leaned in closer to you.

"Why are you making me go after Lieutenant Trace?" he whispered as she engaged with the kids.

You smiled at the older man in his khaki shirt and dark pants. "You can hold your own, Marty. Trust me." You knew for a fact he arrived with two tool boxes and some engine parts you couldn't even identify. You were already excited for what that meant. He would be just fine.

Suddenly the room erupted in applause as Natasha finished up, and you made your way up to the front of the classroom. "Thank you so much, Lieutenant Trace. Next we will hear from our favorite mechanic whom we met on our field trip to North Island. Marty needs a few minutes to set up, so in the meantime, Nia's mom is going to share some healthy snacks that we can enjoy."

You were going to go stand with Bradley while your classroom dissolved into the soft hum of conversation, but Nat cornered you first. "I just got a text from Maverick about something so exciting, but I need to run it past you first. Can we talk in the hallway?"

"Uh, sure."

You looked around the room before deciding on asking Ms. Masters the librarian to help you out. "Would you mind monitoring things for a couple minutes?"

"I'll take care of it," she promised with a nod, and you knew everyone was in good hands as you slipped out into the hallway with your boyfriend's best friend.

"How would you feel about a flyover today?"

You stared at Natasha, blinking silently at her words. "A flyover?"

"Yeah," she replied casually.

"Like over the school?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, buffing her nails on her flight suit.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

You felt like she was being kind of purposely slow to give details as your mind swirled. "You're talking actual Naval aircrafts?"

"Of course," she said with a grin. "I mean, once again, it would be Hangman and Coyote flying them, but even those two can handle holding a simple formation."

Now you were really excited. "How is this actually happening?" you whispered.

"Bradley and I asked Mav about it the other day," she said with a shrug. "Any chance we can walk out to the parking lot and make sure there's enough room for everyone to stand safely?"

When you tried to peek through the rectangular window in your classroom door, Natasha slid her body in front of it. When you tried to look over her head, she seemed to grow several inches as she went up on her tiptoes.

"Yeah... we can go look at the parking lot."

You were wearing your key card on your lanyard, and Ms. Masters could probably keep your class under control for an entire day if you needed her to.

"Well then, let's go."

----------------------------------

As soon as you walked out of the room with Nat, Bradley jumped to action. It wasn't his intention to steamroll Nia's mom or her packs of apple slices, but he had something important he needed the kids to help him with. Marty was setting up some sort of demonstration with tool boxes on the desks in the front row, but Bradley grabbed the stack of papers he brought with him and cleared his throat.

"Do all of you think you can help your pen pal out with something for a few minutes?" Eyes went wide, backs went straight, and Oliver even saluted him as he started handing out the papers. "I brought all of the letters you kiddos sent me last year when I was deployed. There are a lot of them, and I'm going to use them for something special. A surprise for your teacher."

"What kind of surprise?" Henry asked, crunching through a piece of apple.

"I can't tell you that," Bradley replied with a wink. "It's classified."

"Are you really going to marry our teacher someday?" Violet asked as he handed her three of the handwritten notes.

Bradley froze, unsure how to answer. "If she wants to marry me, then I definitely want to marry her."

"She wants to marry you," Violet said easily. "What are we doing with all of these letters?"

"Paper airplanes," Bradley announced, holding up the last sheet of paper. Even the parents and Marty seemed amused now. "We are folding them up into the best looking paper airplanes we can make within the next six minutes or so. Watch how I fold this one, and then work on as many as you can, okay?"

He folded it up using the top of your desk when he needed to smooth the creases, and then he held it up for everyone to see. "Start folding!"

There was a flurry of activity as he walked around helping, and even the librarian and music teacher were getting involved. Bradley whipped through a few himself before walking around the room with an open trash bag.

"When you're done, drop them in here."

"But what are they for?" Oliver asked, dropping three airplanes into the bag. "Are you going to have airplane races with our teacher?"

"Not exactly. All of you are really doing me a favor here though. I promise."

"Do you love our teacher?" Jayden asked. Bradley thought maybe he should have felt silly admitting it in front of all of the adults, but he did it anyway.

"I absolutely do. I'm going to use the paper planes for a little project to show her just how much, okay?" He got several nods in response as he checked the time. You and Nat left seven minutes ago, and he knew he couldn't hope for much more than that. "Time's up! toss everything into the bag. And you can't tell her about any of this!"

You were smiling when you walked back in with Nat. He thought that things must have gone well for everyone as he tied up the bag. Marty was ready to give his presentation, and the kids all scuttled back to their seats.

Now he had everything he needed to make this the best weekend of his life.

------------------------------

Marty looked a little nervous as he started out by greeting everyone and telling them a bit about himself. He told your class that he had a lot of fun the last time he saw everyone on the naval base. You already knew about his decades-long Naval career, and your students already thought he was extremely cool, but he was about to get even cooler.

"I brought three identical intake manifold pieces from jets exactly like the ones that Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Trace fly. Does anyone know how they work?"

Several of your students raised their hands, and you watched as Marty walked around the room with the engine parts and let them answer his questions to the best of their ability before he took over.

"This is fascinating." You turned to your right where Ms. Masters was watching Marty, completely absorbed. "I can't believe you got military clearance to take your class to visit North Island," she whispered.

You were about to tell her that it was really all thanks to Lieutenant Bradshaw when you realized she was perhaps looking at Marty even more than she was paying attention to the engine parts in his rough hands. You cleared your throat softly and said, "You know, meeting Marty was probably the highlight of that whole day. And that includes touring the air traffic control tower."

"Really?" she murmured.

"Mmhmm. He put on a brilliant workshop for us. And he's just the sweetest man. Really takes the time to connect with the kids."

If you knew one thing about Ruby Masters, you knew she loved it when kids got excited about learning something new. And if you knew one thing about women in general, most of them loved a man in uniform. Right now, Marty was absolutely rocking his ensign khakis and his pins, and Ms. Masters stood up a little straighter when he turned your way with a smile on his face.

"Okay, time for some fun," Marty said as he headed back to the front of the classroom. "One manifold has been put together correctly." He held it up in the air once again. "Two are in pieces on these desks. I'm going to take this one apart and put it back together while you watch. Pay close attention, because after that, we're going to have a race."

Your kids looked absolutely delighted, and you had to ask Oliver not to sit on his desk while he watched the demonstration. Even all of the adults in the room were watching intently as Marty worked with a wrench from one of the toolboxes until he finished reassembling everything.

"Pretty simple, right?" he asked. Your kids all nodded and answered yes. "Who thinks they can race me?" You gasped in delight when a few of your students raised their hands. "What if I made it a little easier? What if I was blindfolded?"

"No way," you whispered, meeting Bradley's eyes across the room where he was holding a garbage bag for some reason. "Is he serious?" you whispered.

"He's so serious," Bradley confirmed, and sure enough, Marty pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

"I'll let your teacher pick my opponent," Marty said as he tied the square of fabric so it was covering his eyes.

You needed to pick a child who would be a gracious winner or loser, but you were almost convinced Marty was going to be able to beat any of them. "How about... Jayden."

You set him up next to Marty, making sure he had all of the tools he needed lined up. Then you gave them a countdown and stepped away again. The room erupted in cheers as Jayden puzzled his way through the task. Marty seemed to be moving smoothly, using muscle memory to do something he'd done hundreds of times before.

"Oh," Ms. Masters said. "It seems like Marty is... really good with his hands."

Your lips parted in surprise. "I'm sure he must be," you replied, trying not to squeal as she smiled and covered her face in embarrassment.

It turns out Jayden didn't stand a chance. "Marty wins!" boomed Bradley's voice, and you watched as the older man peeked out from his blindfold with a hesitant little smile on his face.

You were still applauding his effort as you thanked him for joining your classroom today. You were almost overwhelmed by how wonderfully the day seemed to be going. Bradley was your last guest, and then there was the flyover that Nat promised.

"Our last guest really doesn't need an introduction," you said with a laugh.

"Is it Lieutenant Bradshaw?" Oliver asked, ready to climb on top of his desk again as your boyfriend strolled up to stand next to you.

"Yes, of course it's Lieutenant Bradshaw." You smiled at him and said, "Take it away, Lieutenant."

There was a little smirk on his lips as he turned away from you to address your kids. "I know you all learned a lot about aviation this year, but right now, we're going to see just how much. I hope you all remembered that I said I was going to give you a quiz."

"Not a quiz!" complained Jackie, but Bradley held up his hands in mock surrender.

"If you pass, I can promise with one hundred percent certainty that you'll love the prize."

"There's a prize?" Violet asked, perking up.

"A secret prize," Bradley confirmed.

"Alright," Oliver said, still a little skeptical. "Let's do it."

Bradley started calling out questions, letting your students deliberate as a group to come up with an answer, and you leaned against the back wall near where Marty was packing up his toolboxes.

"That was absolutely fascinating," you heard Ms. Masters tell him softly. "I'm Ruby Masters, the Mira Mesa Elementary librarian."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marty with pink cheeks, wiping his palm on his shirt before shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you," he whispered while Bradley continued to try to stump your kids. "This is the first time I've ever been to a career day."

"Well, you're a natural with the kids," she replied, still holding his hand. "And obviously very smart. I'm kind of new to the topic of aviation, but always interested in learning more."

"Oh. There's an endless amount to learn," he muttered, staring at Ruby like he couldn't look away.

"If you're ever free and feel like it, maybe you could show me how you rebuilt that manifold so quickly?"

Bradley had your kids taking turns writing at the board now, but you couldn't stop eavesdropping as you witnessed Marty go silent. The crash and burn was painful as he just stood there while Ruby finally extracted her hand. You were silently begging Marty to say something. Anything. But the seconds passed, and Ruby took a step away from him toward the door.

"Okay, no worries. It was nice to meet you." She gave you a forced smile as she slipped out into the hallway, and you rounded on Marty who was standing there like someone just stole his favorite toy at recess.

"I don't mean to overstep, so please feel free to tell me to mind my own business," you whispered.

"Uh. Okay?"

"Marty... Ms. Masters is hot and single, and she was flirting with you. She wanted you to ask for her phone number."

His eyes went wide as he gaped at you. "She did? Are you sure?"

You cradled your forehead and groaned softly. "I'm positive. She can't have gone far. The library is out and to the left, and then another left."

He nodded before dashing out of the room, leaving you alone just as Bradley said, "Are you sure you're all still in fourth grade? Or is this a grad school level physics class? You win. I can't even stump you. Come see me or Lieutenant Trace to get ear plugs for the Super Hornet flyover."

Your classroom was probably louder than the jet engine would be.

-------------------------

The whole school was buzzing with excitement as everyone emptied out onto the lawn and the parking lot. Something must have happened earlier, because Marty and the school librarian were standing awfully close together in all the chaos. As far as Bradley could recall, he'd never seen that man smile so much before.

"Ear plugs in! And then hands over your ears!" Natasha shouted, giving a safety demonstration. "Do it just how I do it!"

It was almost time. Bradley tried to keep the hand holding and cheek kisses to a minimum, but it was so hard when you were standing right next to him. You looked tired but happy as you put your orange, industrial ear plugs in place. With a dreamy look on your face, you leaned up and kissed him right on the lips, and that familiar roar of an F/A-18 engine approached.

Bradley put his own earplugs in before the sound of the jet wash hit. You and everyone else stared up at the sky where his colleagues were flying overhead, but he kept his eyes on you. He was in love. He had Carole's ring and the paper planes. He had all of these words that he wanted to say to you, but mostly he wanted to promise that he'd feel the same way about you forever. And he wanted to hear you say the same thing.

As soon as you had your ear plugs out again, you threw your arms around his neck with a huge smile. "Thank you, Bradley."

"For what? I barely did anything."

You laughed and shook your head. "You did everything."

-------------------------------

I love Career Day. Marty is the man. The oblivious man, but the man nonetheless. And our boy Bradley is ready to go! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 26

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

703 notes · View notes

sjyuns · 20 days ago

Text

AFFECTION — NISHIMURA RIKI

boyfriend! niki x fem reader 6OO+ words despite his cold looks, your boyfriend is the clingiest person alive warning making out genre fluff, slightly suggestive mikaela’s note riki i loveeeeee youuuuu can this man get me on a NDA already like god dang | collection

Riki wants to be wrapped in your arms, skin against skin, hands intertwined as he feels your breath sweep softly on the soft strands of his hair.

And it's an awkwardly weird feeling for him because he'd always thought he'd hate affection, hate the touch of others, and he does — but he loves it when it's you.

"You miss me that bad?" you giggle as you hold Riki tight in your arms, his clothes crinkled, hair a mess yet he circles his arms securely around yours with vitality, as if he hadn't been through three hours of extreme dance practice.

He groans at your teasing, sinking deeper into you. And he think that the feeling of you should be a sin, because this feeling is way too heavenly to be legal. Your hands move to cradle his face as if he was the most precious being in existence, and Riki has never known a love so pure as the one you've bestowed on him.

"I love you," he says, and he's worried that you wouldn't be able to comprehend the depth of his sentence, that his words will always fall short. Because you are everything to him and he has run out of ways to say this.

"You know I love you more," you grin and you feel his rough fingers dancing whimsically on the skin of your waist and you can't help but let out a soft laugh. It was times like this that made you realize that you were addicted to the goofy smile that Riki only gave you, his rough hands and sudden love confessions. You're addicted to his strong arms and bad jokes. You're addicted to his stubborn disposition and dark, dark eyes. You were addicted to him.

Your boyfriend presses chaste kisses on your neck and collarbone, the kind that tickles in the best way possible before he leans in to kiss your lips. And suddenly stars and sunlight align in the brightest supernova as this memory embeds itself right above your hearts, It's not fast, it's rather slow — slow, languid, and everything good. Riki feels something in his chest tighten as you makes a sound at the back of your throat, tangling your fingers in his soft, midnight hair. And it's just raw desire: more, more, more. You feel the warmest you've even been, wrapped in blankets, cologne, and your boyfriend.

The kiss reduces to an intimate brushing of lips, chest heaving and silence bearing down on your shoulders. "What are you smiling at?" he asks, voice raspy from the kissing.

"Nothing," and he gives you a disbelieving look. "Really, nothing," you repeat, "I'm just surprised you like kissing me this much."

"That surprises you?"

"Yeah," you whisper out, and you don't think Riki understands how much you like him, how it feels to be in such a comfortable position with someone you'd longed to kiss for so long.

"You're such a dork," he states, as he watches your eyes roll in annoyance. "If you tacked the word 'please' onto any request, I'd always find a way to fulfill it."

Everything inside you moves. Oh, love, Love. Your chest hums his name, and this is what it means to be in love, what it means to be living.

"Then would you please carry me to my room," you answer, a victorious smile plastered across your face as your boyfriend begrudgingly picks you up in one swoop, your legs hanging as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"You're going to use this against me, aren't you baby," he dips his head in hoax regret and you press a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I love you, you big baby," you reply and he scoffs at your answer, you always knew how to turn him soft. But he was fine with it, because it was you. Only because it was you.

He wishes the walk to your room was longer, just so he could hold you closer to him for a second more.

#⪩⪨ mikaela's #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #niki fluff #niki scenarios #niki imagines #niki x reader #enhypen smau #riki imagines #riki x reader #riki headcanons #niki x you

319 notes · View notes

kookooluvr · 27 days ago

Text

Teach Me How To Love - Part 7

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 6.3k

warnings: three month time skip, oc and jk are NOT doing well, she gets some advice from jihyo and her mom, tae drags jungkook to a bar to feel better, hana being pushy, drinking, kissing (not with oc 😤😤) feelings of regret, handwritten love letters, tae is a man with a plan 👀

a/n: i know we all just want this damn reconciliation already LMAO !! don't worry, i don't think they'll suffer for much longer (hopefully). again, thank you all for reading and i hope you share all your thoughts and opinions about these idiots because i always enjoy the yap sessions 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @puppybunnyjkay @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer @annafarrr @in-out-inbetween @123xxx0o @mar-lo-pap @goldenjeonkoo

find tmhtl masterlist here

find tmhtl playlist here

Three months.

It's been three months since Jungkook left your apartment and you haven't heard from him since. Life has gone on, just barely.

The seasons have shifted, autumn slowly melting into winter, but you still feel stuck in the moment he said 'I love you' and you didn't say it back. You barely eat, only when you really have to. All you do is go to work, sleep and occasionally cry, in varying order. At work, you avoid him like the plague. You already know his lecture schedule, so you do everything you can so that you don't cross paths. It's exhausting but it's easier than seeing his face.

You tell yourself it's for the best and sometimes you actually believe that, but some days are harder than others.

Today's one of those days. Your apartment is silent, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator or the muted noise coming from the tv you left on as background noise, anything to distract you from the ache in your chest. Miso lays curled up in her little bed, staring out the window to watch the snowfall, occasionally getting up to snuggle with you. Maybe she can feel you need it.

When Jihyo knocks on your door, you almost don't answer, but she has a key saved for emergencies and of course she lets herself in. You should have known she'd come over after you ignored her texts and calls.

"___?" she calls out, her voice laced with concern.

You're in bed, curled under a blanket, your hair a mess and your eyes puffy. You hear her footsteps pause, then the shuffle of her shoes being kicked off before she walks into your bedroom, her face twisting with sympathy as she sinks down beside you.

"Oh, honey," she sighs, brushing some of your hair out of your face. "You look like shit."

You scoff, sitting up in bed. "Thanks. Just what I needed to hear."

She leans into you, her arm looping around your shoulders. "Talk to me, please."

"I messed everything up," you whisper shakily, burying your face in your hands as your emotions start to bubble up to the surface. "I miss him so much, and I had him and then I just...threw it all away."

Jihyo's quiet for a moment, gently rubbing your arm to comfort you before she inevitably scolds you for getting yourself into this predicament. "Well...I love you...but you're a dumbass."

You chuckle weakly, wiping the moisture from your cheeks. "Thanks."

"I mean it, ___. That man loves you. Jungkook is not Sunghoon, you know he's not. He wouldn't do what Sunghoon did to you, no matter what your brain keeps telling you."

You nod, sniffling softly. "I know, but...I just couldn't stop the thoughts. It was like I went into panic mode. I thought Sunghoon loved me, and he still cheated. And now he's someone's husband, soon he'll be someone's father. He couldn't be that man for me because I-"

Jihyo pulls away just enough to face you, her lips pressed into a straight line. "Hey, no. No. What happened with that jackass is not your fault, okay? I won't allow you to blame yourself."

"But what if it was my fault?" you mutter, your voice cracking. "What if I really just wasn't enough for him? What if I'll just end up not being enough for Jungkook either?"

"You are more than enough; do you hear me?" she says firmly. "You are so much more than you will ever know, and Sunghoon didn't cheat because of anything you lacked. He cheated because he's a selfish, spineless coward who didn't deserve you. And I get that it's hard for you to let go and let yourself be loved, but you can't keep running away from your feelings because you're hurting yourself and I know Jungkook's hurting just as much as you are."

You wipe your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie, looking down like a little kid being lectured. "He told me he loved me," you whisper, feeling the weight of your guilt settle in your chest. She already knows because you've told her about twenty times. It's more so to remind yourself that he loves you.

"I know he did," Jihyo murmurs, gently stroking your hair. "Tae told me he went over to Jungkook's place. He's worried about him too."

You groan, hugging your knees to your chest, your face crumbling. "I ruined everything."

"You didn't ruin everything."

"Well, it's been three months, Ji. It's too late," you groan, feeling a fresh wave of tears coming on.

"Don't say that. It's not too late," she sighs, rubbing your back. "But you might have to fight to make this right."

It's as if everyone around you secretly planned an intervention to get you out of this funk because a few days after Jihyo's visit, there's another knock at your door. The last person you expected to see at your front door is your mom, mostly because she prefers to call around a hundred times before she visits to let you know how excited she is to see you, yet there she is with a bag of groceries in her hand and a scowl on her face. It's her you're-not-eating-enough face.

She walks in like she owns the place, puts the bag on the kitchen counter and starts unpacking the groceries.

"Mom, you didn't have to-"

"I know," she cuts you off. "But Jihyo texted me saying you've barely gotten out of bed, your fridge is empty, and you're pale as a ghost. So, here I am." She raises a brow. "Now sit and tell me what happened."

You blink. "How do you know something happened?"

She pulls out a cutting board and a knife from one of the kitchen drawers. "I know you, ___. I'm your mother. Now spill, I can dice and listen at the same time."

You're an adult. You shouldn't be crying to your mom about a breakup that you caused with a man who was never even your boyfriend to begin with, but you're vulnerable and you can't deny her when she looks at you like that, so you reluctantly sit down at the kitchen island and let out a deep sigh.

"I met someone."

That causes her eyebrows to raise. "A man?"

You nod, looking down at your hands in your lap. "His name is Jungkook. He's...amazing," you sigh. "Sweet. Funny. Gentle...and things were going great...and then I broke things off with him because I thought it would just turn out like how it did with...Sunghoon."

She remains quiet until the mention of his name, her eyes narrowing. "God, that little shit," she mutters, chopping an onion with slightly more force than necessary. "I never liked him, ___. He was too smug for my taste. Always acted like he was doing you a favour by just existing. And he always wore too much gel in his hair. Bastard."

You let out a genuine laugh.

"He's married now. His wife is pregnant."

She keeps her eyes down, focused on chopping a few carrots and leeks for some soup. "Poor girl. I hope she has a good lawyer."

"Mom!"

"What? Once a cheater, always a cheater. That's my firm belief."

You sigh, replaying everything in your head for the millionth time, the way Sunghoon cheated, the way it felt to be with Jungkook, the look in his eyes when you broke his heart.

"He loves me. Jungkook...he loves me," you murmur, your voice growing softer, more vulnerable.

Your mom sets down the knife and turns her full attention to you, letting out a deep sigh. She hates seeing you like this. It's like when you were eight and cried because someone cut your hair in class, except now she can't kick anyone's ass for you. All she can do is give you advice and pray you take it.

"Well then maybe it's time you put on your big-girl underwear and take a risk. You can't keep punishing yourself for what Sunghoon did to you. Sweetheart, I say this because I love you more than life itself and I know you need to hear it...it's time to move on. If this Jungkook boy is the good guy you think he is, then be with him. If it doesn't turn out the way you would like, then you get up and you move on again. Life doesn't stand still, ___. Stop forcing yourself to stand still."

You nod slowly, taking a moment to process her words.

"Do you love him?" She asks as if she doesn't already know the answer just by the look on your face.

"I do."

She nods and goes back to chopping. "Then fix it. But first eat. Nothing good ever happens on an empty stomach."

For Jungkook, it's been three months of what feels quite close to hell. He thought about calling or texting maybe a hundred times, maybe more. Sometimes he finds his thumb hovering over your name in his contacts, aching to type something, anything just to hear from you. Just to make sure you're okay, because he's not.

He stops himself every time. You made your choice, and he can't force himself into your life when you so clearly pushed him out of it. Now, the only thing he has left is the space you used to take up, your absence woven into every part of his routine.

He sees you at work sometimes, briefly, always at a distance. You never look at him. You used to smile at him from across the hallway with a sparkle in your eye, something unspoken dancing between the two of you. It was exhilarating, getting to have that part of you. Now it's like you've erased him, so he tries to erase you too.

He finds that to be harder than he thought it would.

He misses your laugh and your late-night texts. He misses receiving photos of Miso at random times throughout the day. He misses the way you'd tease him for always picking the worst snacks at the vending machine, and how you'd always steal some of it anyway.

He misses you today more than other days.

When he gets home from work, he heads straight for the shower. He stands under the stream of hot water, head bowed, hands braced against the wall.

He hasn't cried since the day he walked out of your apartment. He's been strong for three months, but he can't be strong today. He doesn't cry right away, but it comes eventually. Quiet at first, then harder. The kind of crying that leaves you breathless.

He presses his forehead to the cold tile, the water masking the sound of his heartbreak. He cries until the water turns cold because he knows that he has to be strong again once he steps out of the shower and faces reality.

"Bam," Jungkook sighs as he collapses onto the couch, his hair still damp from the shower. "Why am I so pathetic?"

Bam looks up from his spot on the rug, his tail wagging.

Jungkook rubs his hands over his face before staring up at the ceiling. "I told her I loved her, you know."

Bam sits up straight, blinking at him like he's listening intently.

"She just stood there. Didn't say it back. Made me look like an idiot for loving her," he scoffs humourlessly.

Bam lets out a soft huff of air before getting up and padding over to rest his chin on Jungkook's knee, staring up at him with gigantic brown eyes.

Jungkook gives a weak chuckle. "You get it. At least you don't run away when I tell you how I feel," he sighs, scratching behind Bam's ears, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I don't know what to do, bud. I don't know how to stop missing her."

He wakes up on the couch two hours later after unknowingly dozing off, the sound of his doorbell pulling him from his slumber. He groans and drags himself to the front door, seeing Taehyung's annoying little smile on the other end.

"My beautiful tragic hero!" Taehyung grins, holding up a bag of fast food. "I brought burgers and unsolicited emotional guidance."

Jungkook blinks. "Please go away."

"Nope."

Taehyung walks in through the front door, immediately dropping the bag of food on the coffee table and pulling out greasy takeout containers.

Jungkook sighs, shutting the door. "I'm not hungry."

"Too bad," he shrugs, opening the containers to reveal two sloppy burgers.

"Tae, I-"

"Eat," he mutters firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Or I'll spoon-feed you while making extended eye contact."

Jungkook glares at him. "That's harassment."

"Call HR."

Eventually, he gives in, walking over to sit next to Taehyung, his best friend kicking his feet up with a victorious look on his face.

They eat in silence for a while until Taehyung finally speaks up.

"So..." he starts slowly. "How're you feeling?"

Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh. "I think I broke my own heart. I told her I loved her, Tae."

Taehyung nods. "Yeah. Heard that part."

"She didn't say it back, just stood there."

"Sounds like fear," Taehyung murmurs.

Jungkook scoffs. "Sounds like rejection."

Taehyung glances at him. "You think she doesn't love you?"

He doesn't answer.

"Well, I think she does," Taehyung murmurs, his voice softer now. "I think she's just been carrying so much hurt from her past that she doesn't know how to hold onto anything good without expecting it to slip through her fingers."

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, swallowing hard. "Why didn't she say it back?"

"Because she thought she didn't deserve you."

"She said I don't know her," Jungkook scoffs. "Not the real her...just the parts she lets me see."

Taehyung glances at him, chewing slowly. "Well…do you think that's true?"

Jungkook hesitates, letting out a deep sigh. "I don't know. Maybe? But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have tried."

"Of course it doesn’t," Taehyung murmurs gently. "She's scared. When people are scared, they run or say shitty things they don't mean."

Jungkook leans back, running a hand through his hair. "I just wish I knew how to reach her. How to make her see I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't force someone see that, Kook," Taehyung sighs. "If she's smart and realizes how good you are to her…she'll come back."

Jungkook stares up at the ceiling, his appetite long gone. "What if she doesn't?"

Taehyung pauses.

"Then you cry. I hold your hand. We open a wine bar in Spain and raise sheep."

Jungkook snorts. "You're scared of sheep."

"Exactly," he nods, taking a big bite of his burger. "So let's not get to that point, okay?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes but there's an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Truthfully, he appreciates the company more than he lets on. The ache in his chest hasn't gone away, but it feels a little lighter now. Maybe not healed, just…bandaged.

They sit in silence for a moment, the weight of it all settling between them. Thenー

"You cried in the shower, didn't you?" Taehyung asks, giving him a teasing little grin.

Jungkook glares, setting his half-eaten burger back on the coffee table. "Shut up."

"It's okay. It's romantic. Very K-Drama male lead in episode sixteen."

"Dude, shut up."

"I bet you stared out the window to watch the rain falling."

"Seriously, I will throw you out."

Taehyung grins, unfazed. "Only love can hurt like this, my friend."

Jungkook groans, burying his face in a cushion.

"Alright," Taehyung claps once before setting his empty burger container aside and stretching his arms above his head with a dramatic groan. "We need to get you out of this sad-boy cave."

Jungkook's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Taehyung stands up and puts his hands on his hips, looking determined. "You need to get out. Let's go somewhere, see people, let your liver suffer a little. It's good for character development."

"I'm not really in the mood for a bar crawl," Jungkook scoffs.

"I didn't say bar crawl. Just…come get a drink with me." Taehyung shrugs. "Talk to someone who isn't your dog or a bag of chips. First drink's on me."

"I'm not-" Jungkook starts but stops himself.

The truth is…he's not okay, and maybe pretending to be okay in public with Taehyung beside him is better than pretending to be okay in here, alone.

He sighs before he can talk himself out of it. "Yeah. Okay. Just give me a sec."

"Perfect!" Taehyung grins, looking pleasantly surprised that he didn't have to resort to drastic measures. He pulls his phone out of his jeans' pocket to check the time, when he sees the battery's low.

"Hey, can I borrow your charger? My phone's on 3% and Jihyo might wonder why I'm not replying to her texts all night."

Jungkook gestures vaguely. "It's in the bedroom, plugged in near the desk."

"Cool," Taehyung calls over his shoulder as he disappears down the hall.

The bedroom is dim, only faint light spilling in through the half-drawn curtains. Taehyung finds the charger easily, plugged into the wall by Jungkook's desk, but as he bends down to grab it, something catches his eye.

A box.

It's not large, not hidden exactly, but shoved just far enough under the desk that it looks like it was placed there deliberately.

Taehyung's curiosity gets the better of him.

"Sorry in advance," he mumbles under his breath, crouching down and sliding the box out with a quiet scrape.

He opens it and his breath almost catches in his throat. Inside, there are letters. Dozens of them, folded neatly, some creased at the edges from being opened and read too many times. All in Jungkook's unmistakable handwriting. Every single one addressed to the same name.

Taehyung picks one up and unfolds it carefully.

'You smiled at me today in the hallway. I forgot how to breathe for a second. I know I'm supposed to pretend we're just friends, but God, it's getting harder by the day. Sometimes I look at you and I think, if I don’t tell you what you mean to me, my chest might actually explode.'

He reads another. This one is from four years ago.

'You made fun of my tie today. Said it looked like something a dad would wear to a third-grade parent-teacher meeting. I pretended to be offended, but I haven't stopped smiling since. I think you're my favourite part of the staff lounge. You bring your own tea bags, and you always share them without me even asking. You smell like vanilla, and you have this way of looking at people like you already know their stories but you're letting them tell you anyway. I don't know why I'm writing this. I think maybe it's because I'm starting to like you, which is…inconvenient. But also kind of wonderful.'

And then another. This one Taehyung assumes he wrote a while after their trip to Jeju.

'I keep thinking about that night on the beach in Jeju when you told me about your ex. I wanted to tell you I loved you right then and there, but I couldn't. I didn't know if I was allowed to. If you'd allow me to, I'd love you in every way he never did. I'd give you everything he couldn't. I don't know all the details about what happened between you two, but I'd like to. I'd like to know everything and anything about you, about your past and what you want your future to be. I hope you see me in your future. I see you in mine.'

He exhales slowly, feeling stunned. He knew Jungkook had feelings for you, obviously. But this? This is something else entirely. This is the kind of love poets write about. Quiet, aching love.

He hears footsteps and quickly sets the letters back inside, tucking the lid over the box just as Jungkook appears in the doorway.

"You good?" Jungkook asks, completely oblivious.

Taehyung straightens up, holding up the charger like nothing happened. "Yeah. Got it. Get changed so we can go get that drink," he claps a hand on Jungkook's shoulder and walks back to the living room.

But inside, he's reeling. Now more than ever, he knows that you still have no idea how much this man loves you, and he's determined to get you to understand the weight of the situation.

The bar is buzzing with the low thrum of old rock songs and the clinking of glasses. It's comfortably crowded, full of people who keep to themselves. Jungkook slouches against the bar counter, nursing his second whiskey.

Taehyung is beside him, elbow propped lazily on the counter, animatedly recounting a ridiculous student essay about Romeo and Juliet being a cautionary tale about teenage hormones.

Jungkook tries to laugh. He really does, but even with the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his limbs, all he can think about is you.

He wonders what you're doing right now.

If you're okay.

If you miss him at all.

The door swings open behind them, and he doesn't look, doesn't care, until Taehyung suddenly shifts, his body language growing stiff.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Taehyung mutters.

Jungkook blinks. "What?"

"Look who's here."

And then—

"Jungkook?!"

Hana. Of course she's here as well.

He turns just in time to see her weaving her way through the crowd, with glossy lips and an overly excited smile, eyes lighting up like Christmas when she reaches him. She walked in with a group of women, but she can't be bothered to stay with them when Jungkook of all people is here.

"Wow," she drawls as she reaches their table, arms crossed over her chest. "Didn't expect to see you out. Where's ___?"

Her tone is syrupy and sarcastic, and it grates against him.

Taehyung scoffs. "Nice to see you too, Hana."

Jungkook keeps his eyes downcast, his chest aching. "___'s not here."

Hana raises a perfectly groomed brow, feigning surprise. "Oh? Don't tell me it's over? Did she dump you?"

He doesn't respond. That's enough of an answer.

Hana's eyes widen dramatically, but there's an unmistakable flash of delight in them. She sits down next to him, her hand strategically brushing against his bicep. "Oh, wow. Didn't see that coming." She scoffs. "Well, actually…maybe I did."

Taehyung clears his throat sharply. "Hana."

"What?" She smiles innocently. "Just being honest."

Jungkook sighs, too weary to argue. Hana pushes a shot toward him with a gentle, insistent nudge. "Come on, Jungkook. Drink with me. You could use it."

He eyes the tiny glass hesitantly, but the ache in his chest feels too big, too loud. He picks it up, clinking it against hers.

"To new beginnings," she grins.

He downs the shot, wincing at the burn in his throat.

One shot turns to two, and then three, and before long, the room is slowly spinning around him. Hana leans close, her voice soft against his ear. "You okay?" she whispers, her fingers lightly brushing against his thigh under the bar counter.

He nods slowly, words slurring slightly. "Just…hot in here."

Hana quickly takes the opportunity, getting up from the stool and gently tugging him along. "Come on, let's get some fresh air. It'll make you feel better."

"Jungkook," Taehyung warns, but he's too late. Jungkook's already halfway out the door, following Hana blindly into the cool night air.

The air outside the bar is cold, but Jungkook barely feels it. He leans back against the brick wall, the alcohol buzzing behind his eyes, thoughts swimming in slow circles. Hana stands beside him, watching his side profile, her gaze unreadable.

"You actually loved her, huh?" she asks. Her voice is gentler now, no teasing, no sarcasm.

Jungkook doesn't look at her. He nods once. "Still do."

Hana hums, like that answer doesn't surprise her. "You always looked at her like she was the only one in the room."

He closes his eyes. "Because she was."

There's a long pause, neither one of them saying anything, the sound of the city echoing around them, slightly muffled behind the building.

Hana steps closer to him. "She didn't deserve you."

He finally turns his head to look at her. "You don't even know her."

"I know she left you," Hana says simply. "I don't have to know what she did to know she broke your heart. I can see it in your eyes."

He hesitates, looking away. "That doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," she mutters softly, stepping even closer. "You deserve someone who won't leave you feeling like this. Someone who's been here all along.

Jungkook's chest tightens, your absence throbbing like a fresh wound. Hana moves to stand in front of him, fingertips slowly trailing down the front of his shirt.

"I've always been here, Jungkook," she murmurs, her eyes following her fingers. "Waiting. Hoping you'd finally see me."

He shifts slightly, the wall cold against his back. "Hana, don't-"

"I can make you forget her," she breathes, her eyes intense, searching his face. "Let me."

Before he can register what's happening, her lips are on his. It's not soft or tentative. It's desperate. She presses herself against him, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. And for a moment, for a second too long, he lets her.

He kisses her back. Hard. Needing to feel something. Anything.

Her fingers thread into his hair, tugging him down as she presses her mouth to his with bruising intensity. Her chest pushes against his, warm and insistent, and he lets himself drown in the sensation because it's easier than thinking about what he's lost.

Her mouth trails down his jaw, hot breaths painting his skin. "I've always wanted this," she whispers. "Always wanted you."

He grits his teeth, hands clutching her hips as her lips trail down to his collarbone. "We don't have to talk about it," she breathes out. "Just…let go. Let me make you forget her."

As Hana trails her mouth along his neck, breath hot against his pulse point, Jungkook's mind slowly begins to clear just enough to realize how deeply wrong this all is. The warmth he felt a second ago vanishes, replaced by shame, guilt, and the sting of regret.

He firmly grasps her wrists, pulling her hands away from his body, breathing heavily.

"Hana, stop. I...I can't do this."

She pulls back sharply, eyes narrowing. "What's wrong now?"

He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I thought...I don't know. This isn't fair to you."

Hana scoffs, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "Don't patronize me, Jungkook. This is exactly what you wanted. You kissed me back."

"I know," he sighs, shame weighing on his chest. "And I shouldn't have. It was a mistake."

She steps forward, anger flaring in her eyes. "Why? Is it because of ___? Are you really still stuck on her after she left you?"

"Yes," he says simply. "I love her, Hana."

She laughs bitterly, disbelief clear in her voice. "God, you're pathetic, Jungkook. She literally broke your heart. She doesn't care about you!"

His jaw clenches tightly. "You don't know anything about what happened."

Hana rolls her eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please. Are you going to tell me she's a victim? She wasn't good enough for you, Jungkook."

Anger ignites in his chest, his frustration finally boiling over. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Why not? It's the truth," she snaps. "You deserve someone better, someone who'll treat you right. She'll never be able to love you the way you need-"

"Enough!" Jungkook's voice is sharp, cutting through the night air. He creates space between them, his eyes blazing with anger he's never shown her before. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't even know her. You don't get to decide what she deserves, or what I deserve."

Hana's eyes widen, startled by his intensity. "Jungkook-"

"You think I didn't notice?" he continues, voice trembling with suppressed frustration and anger. "The way you treated her in Jeju, the way you purposely tripped her on the beach. And for what? Because you were jealous? I held my tongue because I didn't want to make a scene but-"

Her cheeks flush in annoyance and embarrassment, cutting him off before he can go any further. "Jealous? Of her? She's nothing special!"

"You're wrong," Jungkook mutters, the anger fading into sadness. "She's everything, and I was an idiot for letting you disrespect her for so long."

Hana's eyes fill with tears, her frustration spilling out. "Why can't you see that I'm right in front of you? I've always been here for you. Always. Yet you'd rather chase after someone who doesn't even want you back?"

He takes a steadying breath, his gaze softening slightly, but the resolve doesn't leave his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hana. I never wanted to hurt you...but you were never going to be her."

She flinches as if he's physically struck her. "Fine," she whispers bitterly, voice breaking slightly. "You'll regret this eventually."

"No," Jungkook mutters firmly, though his voice is softer now. "The only thing I regret is letting things get this far tonight. You deserve someone who can really love you, and that person isn't me."

She stares at him, eyes filled with hurt, shaking her head. "Whatever, Jungkook. I hope she breaks your heart again. Maybe then you'll finally wake up."

He watches as she storms off, disappearing around the corner. Jungkook sinks down against the wall, pressing his head back, heart hammering in his chest. He sits in the silence, shame and guilt heavy on his chest. Despite everything, he still feels you, still misses you.

And even now, more than ever, he knows he'd rather have the ache of loving you than feel nothing at all.

Jungkook steps back into the bar, the loud music and chatter immediately washing over him, dizzying and overwhelming. His heart feels heavier than before, regret still bitter on his tongue.

Taehyung immediately straightens when he sees him approach, concern evident in his expression.

"Hey," he murmurs cautiously, eyes searching Jungkook's face. "You okay? Where's Hana?"

Jungkook slumps down onto the stool next to Taehyung, reaching for his drink and downing what remains without responding. The burn in his throat grounds him a little, but it's not enough to clear his head completely.

Taehyung sighs deeply, leaning in. "Kook, talk to me. What happened out there?"

He shakes his head slowly, staring down at the empty glass. "I fucked up, Tae."

"How bad?"

"Pretty bad." Jungkook rubs his eyes tiredly. "We kissed."

Taehyung's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he waits quietly, giving him time to explain.

"It got…heated," Jungkook admits, shame creeping into his voice. "I let it happen because...fuck, I just wanted to stop hurting for five seconds, but it didn't help. It felt wrong. It felt like I was betraying..."

"___," Taehyung nods.

Jungkook sighs miserably. "Yeah."

Taehyung sits back, looking at him thoughtful. "How'd Hana take it?"

"Badly," he mutters bitterly. "She spoke shit about ___ and I...kinda snapped. I finally told her how I feel. I don't think we'll be seeing much of her from now on."

"How do you think Jisoo will feel when Hana tells her you broke her heart?" Taehyung asks, though he knows that's not really a priority right now.

Jungkook grimaces. "I hope she'll understand. Eventually. She always does."

Taehyung gives him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, she probably will. She's always been more level-headed than her sister."

Jungkook sighs deeply, running his fingers through his hair. "Tonight was a mistake."

"Then let's end it here," Taehyung suggests, calling the bartender over to pay for their drinks. "Come on, let's get you home."

Jungkook nods reluctantly, feeling exhaustion tugging harshly at his bones. "Yeah, let's go."

By the time their Uber pulls up outside Jungkook's place, he's swaying on his feet, eyes heavy with alcohol and sadness. Taehyung keeps a hand firmly on his shoulder, carefully guiding him inside.

"Drink some water," Taehyung instructs firmly as they step inside. "And take an aspirin. Trust me."

Jungkook nods weakly, pointing towards the bathroom. "It's in the cabinet. Medicine. You know where it is."

Taehyung chuckles softly. "Yeah, I know. Go lie down, I'll be right back."

When Taehyung returns, a glass of water and an aspirin in hand, he finds Jungkook already face down on the bed, fully clothed, breathing steady with sleep.

"Of course," Taehyung sighs with amusement, placing the water and aspirin on the nightstand.

He watches his friend for a moment, chest tightening at the sight of him so clearly hurting. The heaviness of Jungkook's pain is tangible, filling the room, almost suffocating him.

"Everything will work out, bud," Taehyung whispers softly, almost too soft to hear.

As he turns to leave, his eyes catch on the box tucked beneath Jungkook's desk.

That damn box. He just can't seem to stop thinking about it.

He knows he shouldn't, knows Jungkook would kill him for snooping, but he has a plan. One he's certain Jungkook's pride and fear would never let him execute himself.

Carefully, Taehyung picks up the box, glancing at Jungkook's sleeping figure one last time with a deep sigh.

"Sorry, buddy," he murmurs, turning towards the door. "You'll thank me later."

You wrap your coat tighter around your body, letting out a cold puff of air. The campus is quiet as you make your way along the paved pathway, a light dusting of the early evening snow sprinkling over you. Your footsteps echo throughout the parking lot, slowing down as you reach into your bag, rummaging around for your car keys as you approach your car.

"Evening, professor."

The baritone voice startles you, your head snapping up to find Taehyung leaning casually against the car parked directly beside yours. He gives you an innocent, slightly amused smile. He looks casual, at ease, but you know him well enough to sense there's something behind that smile.

"Taehyung," you sigh, your hand pressed against your racing heart. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," he chuckles, pushing himself off the side of the car to stand upright. "Didn't mean to. Who would've guessed we parked right next to each other?"

You manage a faint smile, tilting your head knowingly. "Yeah, what a coincidence."

Taehyung chuckles softly, watching you walk over to the driver's side of your car. "You heading home?"

You nod slowly. "Long day. You?"

He shrugs, giving a playful sigh. "About to head off to dinner with Jihyo. She's forcing me to eat some questionable TikTok pasta recipe. I'm probably risking my life."

You can't help the soft laugh that escapes your lips. "The one with the feta?"

He groans dramatically. "Always the feta."

He smiles warmly, his eyes containing something gentle. A brief silence falls between the two of you before he speaks again, this time his voice is softer, more careful.

"Hey, um..." Taehyung hesitates briefly, something unreadable in his expression. "How…how are you doing? Really?"

Your throat tightens slightly, knowing exactly what he's asking. You shift your weight nervously, avoiding his eyes.

"Honestly?" you whisper, voice barely audible. "Been better."

He nods understandingly, pausing again before adding, "He's not doing so great either."

Your breath catches at the mention of him, his face flashing through your brain like a taunting reminder of what you did. Your heartbeat quickens, your stomach twists, and suddenly it feels hard to breathe.

You finally look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and vulnerable. "He…he's not?"

Taehyung’s gaze softens even further, sympathy clear in his eyes. "He's trying to get through it. But he misses you, ___. A lot."

The thought of Jungkook hurting silently, all alone, it makes your chest ache even more painfully. "Will you tell him…" You hesitate, your voice cracking. "No. Never mind."

Taehyung nods, a soft smile settling on his face. "He knows, ___."

You look away, discreetly wiping at your eyes, embarrassed at how emotional you've gotten. "Thanks, Tae. Really. For looking out for him."

"Always. He's my best friend," he murmurs softly. He shifts on his feet, glancing toward his car. It's now or never.

"Actually…I have something for you."

You blink at him, looking a bit confused. "For me?"

"Yeah." Taehyung opens the passenger door of his car and reaches in, pulling out a worn cardboard box, carefully sealed shut. When he hands it to you, his expression is unreadable, guarded.

"What's this?" you ask softly, heart beating unevenly as you cradle the box in your hands.

"It's from Jungkook," he shrugs. "Sort of."

You stare down at the box, fingers trembling slightly. "I don't understand... What's inside?"

"Just…open it when you get home," he mumbles, looking a little nervous about doing this behind his best friend's back.

You nod, heart pounding, breath shallow. You don't know what to say, or even how to feel, only that whatever this box holds, it feels like it could break you wide open.

Taehyung takes a step back, offering you one last soft smile. "You gonna be okay?"

You nod slowly, blinking away the tears that have started forming. "I think so."

He smiles reassuringly. "Good. Drive safe, okay?"

"You too," you whisper, staring down at the box in your hands. "Tell Jihyo I said hi."

"I will," he calls out, heading over to the driver's side of his car. "Night, ___."

You watch as he climbs into his car and drives off. You remain standing in the parking lot, the box pressed tightly to your chest, heart pounding against the cardboard.

You don't open it, but already, your hands are trembling, and it's not because of the winter air. You take a deep, shaky breath and place the box on the passenger seat of your car, staring at it for what feels like an eternity before reluctantly starting the engine and driving off.

Whatever's in that box, you'll face it head on. No more standing still.

< Part 6.5 || Part 8 >

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook series #bts series #bts jungkook #fic: tmhtl #kookooluvr

287 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki-moved · 6 months ago

Text

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮ tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮ a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮ synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #writing tag #a.fc

996 notes · View notes