#but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

[spencerreidenjoyer]

guess | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, alcohol consumption (reader is not drunk during sex), lingerie, munch!spencer, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: heavily inspired by guess by charli xcx ft. billie eilish, specifically billie's verse. yes the song dropped yesterday. yes i listened to the song once and decided to write a fic about it. i'm insane about s7/8 reid rn so :) (also posted on ao3!)

You swear you don’t mean to show off, but the miniskirt you’re in doesn’t help your case in the slightest.

Spencer had told you to join him at the bar for drinks with his coworkers, the bar just a couple blocks down from the club you were at with your friends. Your boyfriend had been away for most of this week and you really wanted to see him, so you don’t think twice about popping by to see Spencer. Besides, you hadn’t seen Penelope, JJ and Emily in a while either, and those girls treat you too kindly.

You realise how skimpily dressed you are when you walk into the bar, though, when you approach the very properly-dressed group of FBI agents at a booth in the corner. Your top is cropped and low-cut, revealing your cleavage, and you were wearing a little black miniskirt, the hem of which barely skirted the tops of your thighs.

Spencer has never commented on your fashion choices, often being the very satisfied recipient of your sometimes revealing outfits. But as you greet the BAU, his eyes are dark and hungry as they roam your figure. You smile at him with a whispered “Hi, baby,” before you kiss him chastely. The look on Spencer’s face is unreadable, other than the fact that you know he appreciates the view.

His gaze darts up at Derek from across the booth when he whistles at you.

“Looking good, mama.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at you, earning him a smack to the chest from Penelope and a hearty chuckle from Emily.

You lean over to hug JJ, Penelope and Emily in that order on the other side of the table, and you feel Spencer’s hand quickly snake across your waist, pulling you back to sit down. You glance over at him briefly, but he only keeps his gaze straight ahead.

“You are one lucky guy, Reid,” Emily laughs, and you feel Spencer’s arm curl around you tighter, pulling you in closer.

The rest of the night is pretty fun, cracking jokes and talking with Spencer’s team, but with the alcohol in your system from earlier, it only takes a few more drinks for you to get drunk. You’re extra giggly, half-sitting in Spencer’s lap, his hand not leaving your side. You feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, saying, “I think we’re going to head home first. This one here seems a little drunk already.”

“I’m not drunk,” you lilt, rolling your eyes. You lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder, blinking hard before you meet Penelope’s gaze. You hear Emily defending you about how you aren’t drunk, but Penelope smiles at you and says, “I think boy genius is right.”

You frown deeply, almost comically so. “Penny! You’re supposed to back me up here!”

Penelope laughs, always so kind to you. “Come on, honey. Let Reid take you home.”

You huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You don’t notice the way Spencer’s gaze darts down to your chest shamelessly. Derek whistles, and you assume Spencer must glare at him because Derek is raising his hands in surrender, telling Spencer he doesn’t mean anything. What were they even talking about? You don’t know, but Spencer is murmuring in your ear about getting a taxi home, and after you say goodbye to all of his friends, you’re letting him guide you out of the bar and into the cool night.

You shiver, the very little fabric you have on not doing you any favours when the temperature drops. Spencer is quick to shrug off his jacket and help you put it on. His jacket is long enough on you, considering Spencer’s height, to cover your skirt.

“I swear alcohol’s supposed to warm you up,” you grumble, holding your arms close to your chest as you try to stay warm. “I’m fucking freezing.”

“You feel warmer for a bit because the alcohol is a vasodilator – it causes the blood vessels under your skin to dilate, increasing blood flow, which makes you feel warmer. If you drink more, the higher levels of alcohol actually work to shrink your blood vessels instead and make you feel cold. Do you have a headache?”

You shake your head, but take the chance to snuggle up to Spencer now. “You feel nice and warm.”

“Good,” Spencer says, holding you close. In no time, he flags down a taxi, and you two pile in and drive towards his apartment.

Spencer’s hand is drawing circles into the side of your thigh, mindless, but the touch is incredibly distracting. You ask him softly, “You’ve been touching me all night, Spence. Something on your mind?”

“You,” he whispers back. “Can’t stop thinking about your underwear.”

You squeak at his brazenness, smacking his chest. “You– Spencer!”

“I got a good look when you were practically bent over the table just now,” Spencer continues, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “Didn’t even give me a chance to guess.”

You gape at him like a fish, but Spencer smiles and murmurs in your ear, “You know how much I love when you wear that lacy black pair.”

You bite down on your lip, trying not to moan like a whore in the back of this taxi. You just look at him, silently wishing he’d do something. Spencer presses a kiss to your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat.

Thankfully, the driver is quick to announce that you’re at your destination, and you and Spencer stumble out of the cab quicker than you’d like to admit. Spencer doesn’t even wait for his change before he slams the car door shut.

Spencer crowds you against the back of the elevator, an old, rickety thing with no camera, so you feel less bad when Spencer slips his hand under your skirt and past your panties, his finger sliding between your wet folds. “Spencer!”

“You’re so wet for me already,” Spencer groans, kissing down your neck desperately. His fingers are so tantalising, rubbing up against your clit, your hole. “You’re so sexy.”

“Spencer,” you whine. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

The elevator doors creak open on Spencer’s floor. “Let’s go, then.”

Spencer barely locks the door behind you before he’s kissing you, eager and sloppy and desperate. It’s so hot, his large hands on your waist pulling you closer to him, and you feel the growing problem in the front of his pants.

“Spencer,” you moan. You feel his hands push up your skirt, feel him wedge his leg between your thighs. You must be soaked through your underwear by now, and you shamelessly rut your hips forward to grind against his leg.

“You know I love your fashion sense, my love, but this is slutty even for you.” Spencer’s voice is dark when he says it, and you whimper. “You’re dressed like you want somebody else’s attention.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “No!”

“Derek was eyeing you like a piece of meat earlier. Emily, too.” Spencer frowns.

“I only want you, baby,” you insist, holding onto Spencer’s arms. “Only want you to notice me.”

“I am the only one who knows the colour of your underwear,” Spencer hums, his fingers skirting the waistband of your panties. “And fuck, you look good in them.”

“Please, Spence,” you whine, your plea lilting off into a gasp as Spencer lifts you, getting you to wrap his legs around him. You’d seen how he looked when he was younger, so scrawny he looked like he’d get swept away if the wind blew too hard, but now, he’s got more meat on his bones. His body is a pleasure to look at, let alone feel under your hands, which you’re happy to do now.

You touch the firm lines of his body through his shirt, as Spencer carries you to his bedroom. You mumble, hands frisky, “You’re so hot.”

“Says you,” Spencer smiles. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”

You grin as he lays you on his bed, gasping when he slides his palm over your wet cunt through your underwear. His thumb flicks over your clit through the lace, the material dulling the electrifying sensation. you whine, “Spencer, please.”

Spencer tsks, looking down at you. “Let me take my time with you, darling. You’ve been teasing me all evening.”

He presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, making you moan loudly. While he tends to tower over you in bed, you also deeply appreciate the view of him getting on his knees so he can make a home between your thighs. His hair is wild, unruly, and you run your hand through it, admiring it. Keeping your gaze, Spencer leans down to kiss your pussy.

You feel his warm breath on you, the scratch of his stubble on your skin, pinned down simply by his gaze as his tongue darts out to lick you over your underwear. You whimper, as Spencer wraps his arms around each of your thighs, using you as an anchor as he presses his face between your legs.

You sob, because what Spencer’s giving you just isn’t enough, not when you need to feel his tongue on your cunt. He thumbs at your hole through the fabric, dipping into your wetness in a cruel approximation of the pleasure he usually gives you.

“Fuck me,” you groan. “Take my panties off already.”

“Not yet,” Spencer hums. Instead, he pushes your panties to the side, lets his fingers slide over your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, his rough, calloused fingers sliding over your wetness, and then you feel the warmth of his tongue.

The sounds his mouth makes as he eats you out are filthy, obscene. His tongue flicks over your cunt with a practised precision, familiar with what makes you tick, the wet, slick sounds too overwhelming. Your toes are curling with how good Spencer makes you feel – legs trembling, breathing heavy. You can’t stop the whimpers that leave your lips, almost helpless in the way you moan for him.

“Please,” your voice is shaky as you cry out for Spencer. “I need you so bad, baby."

Spencer hums against your cunt, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine in your pleasure. “Okay, my darling.”

Finally, finally, he’s sitting up and pulling your panties down, your little skirt still pushed up to expose your cunt. You look up at him, silently wondering why he hasn’t taken it off. He plays with the soft fabric in his hands almost absentmindedly and says, “I think we should keep it on.”

You blink up at him, not coherent enough to say anything about it. Instead, you watch him take his shirt off – you whistle at the sight, while he just rolls his eyes. He unbuckles his belt and push his pants down, his cock bobbing up, hard and red and leaky. You bite your lip, thinking about how he’ll feel inside of you.

“Kiss me,” you whine, and Spencer smiles at you. He tastes of you when his lips press against yours, and he’s quick to deepen it, his tongue in your mouth, like he's close to devouring you whole.

While he kisses you hungrily, you feel his hand between your legs, moving to line himself up with your entrance. You moan as the blunt head of his cock presses up against your hole, the sensation you’ve been craving all evening. Cruelly, he rubs up against you just like that, sliding between your folds but not giving you the satisfaction you need. You’re close to biting his head off.

“Spencer–” you start, but Spencer decides to press his cock into you right at that moment, and you sob with the way his thick length splits you open. Every time he fucks you, you feel like he was made for you, filling you up in all the right ways, feeling so perfect on top of you, inside of you.

You meet his lips and kiss him lazily as he starts to thrust into you, at the perfect pace, just deep enough to hit all the right spots. It’s too good, Spencer knowing you and your pleasure like the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” Spencer groans against your mouth, finally showing some sign of his unravelling. “You’re so tight, darling.”

You gasp, groaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, feeling like you could fuse into one person with how much you’re clinging onto him. You press your forehead to his shoulder, moans punched out of you with every one of Spencer’s thrusts.

“Feels– Feels so good, Spence, love you,” you cry.

“I love you too,” Spencer groans, voice low and rumbly in his chest. “You’re so perfect, my love.”

You sob as your orgasm hits you, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You shake as you come, feeling so positively overwhelmed with the way Spencer fucks you, the way he holds you, the way he kisses you. You can’t feel your legs as you come down from your high, head spinning with all the pleasure. “Spence…”

“I’m– Fuck–” Spencer’s tripping over his own words as he comes right alongside you, your clenched pussy sending him over the edge too. He blows his load deep inside you, sticky and hot and so satisfying. You can feel how hard he’s breathing as your mind clears, his arms trembling as he holds himself up so he doesn’t end up collapsing onto you.

“You’re perfect,” you hum in Spencer’s ear, soft and gentle as you kiss the side of his head. You pull him in close, letting him rest his weight onto you, and your hand goes to stroke his hair softly. “So good. I love you.”

“Thank you. I love you more,” Spencer groans, his voice a little raspy already. “I’m sorry if I was too possessive over you in front of my friends tonight."

“All is forgiven, especially since you were sexy as fuck,” you grin up at him. “You’re always sexy.”

“Says the girl in a miniskirt and black lace panties.” Spencer smiles.

“All the more I know what I’m talking about, then,” you giggle, before kissing him slow.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Mistakes

Jungkook knew from the first look at your eyes, that you'd be the biggest mistake he'll ever make.

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Smut, car sex, protected sex, no strings attached, big dick!Jungkook, implied size kink, very mild Dom!Kook undertones, oral (m. receiving), sugar daddy!Jungkook vibes but only in a joking manner

Length: 7k words (oops)

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook doesn't really attend parties- typically.

But this time, for this occasion, he can't really pull himself out- he's got to at least show up for a moment, be there and present, before he can call it a night and go home. It's not like he hates his coworkers or employees most of all- he's just not that good at socializing, and never really was.

He's learned to be alone, and now he's too good at it.

A lot of the people in the hall, he doesn't know. That's probably because he's allowed people to bring a plus-one, so most of the people here are couples, which makes the whole situation just so much worse. "You could at least try and appear like you're having fun, you know?" Taehyung laughs, standing closer to his coworker now, a drink in hand. "It's not that bad." He tries to lighten the mood, but Jungkook just rolls his eyes.

"It's not even been an hour and I already want to go." He sighs.

"Why not leave then?" Tae wonders, sipping his non-alcoholic drink, since he's gonna have to drive home later, his wife currently conversing with other coworkers. "Oh, right, because Namjoon-"

"God don't remind me." Jungkook mumbles, shaking his head as he sips his whiskey. "I can't believe I lost that bet." He growls to himself, watching how someone seems to struggle with choosing the right food at the buffet, plate still empty even after several minutes. You look young, or maybe you're just short- he's not sure, but what he is sure about is that you do not work for him or his company- at least not in the same building. He would've noticed you, just like he does right now.

"I think she's Yoongi's plus-one? Or at least he drove here with her together.." Taehyung mumbles, having spotted his friend watching you.

"She looks young." Jungkook mumbles. "And I thought Yoongi was seeing the secretary we hired a few months ago?" He wonders, finally letting his eyes leave you alone, form-fitting dress very complimenting to your body, not too revealing, but still somewhat teasing.

Taunting him, almost.

"Oh, he does! Namjoon caught them making out in Yoongi's office last week." Taehyung laughs. "She's probably just a friend." He shrugs.

A friend, huh?

"Maybe something for you though?" Taehyung jokes. "I mean, I think I saw her drinking earlier, so she's at least of legal age." He laughs, making Jungkook cringe at him. He doesn't really find this whole joke funny- not at all, but Taehyung is right when it comes to Jungkook having a.. severe lack of company these past few years. Only occasionally does he have some sex without any strings attached- never brings anybody home however, refuses to cling to someone.

He's divorced anyways. Most women don't really find that very appealing.

Maybe he can have some simple company this time as well, nothing serious at all- it's been a while, after all, and everyone's an adult here, no matter the age difference. As long as he communicates it properly, there's no reason not to at least converse with you.

So he does indeed approach you, finding you still at the buffet, barely anything on your plate at all.

"Too much to choose from?" He wonders next to you, and he realizes the huge mistake he's made when approaching you the second you lift your head to look at him.

The lights reflect in your eyes like mirrors, minimal makeup perfectly enhancing your features, lips shiny with the most sinful shade of lipgloss this world probably has to offer. He's a goner, right away, lost in the sight of you, as if he's been thrown into the deep end of a pool so cold that it freezes his muscles, making him sink down to the bottom like a stone.

"Oh, no.." You answer, looking back at all the foods. "I have a shellfish allergy, so I'm not sure what I can eat.." You mumble, one hand having reached up to play with the sparkling pink gemstone hanging around your neck.

His mouth feels dry for a second, before he catches himself.

"Here." He mentions, pointing at some small numbers near the names of the foods on the small cards. "Those small numbers, the three right there is for shellfish." He offers, pointing towards a different card close by where the numbers are explained.

"Oh! Thank you so much, I hate contact lenses!" You laugh to yourself. "I usually wear glasses, but I wanted to look pretty.." You giggle, putting some food onto your plate now.

"I'm sure nothing can ruin a face like that." He flirts without truly thinking about it- making you visibly blush, trying to contain a smile.

"I appreciate the compliment…?" You wonder, and Jungkook knows, he's probably about to make another, grave mistake.

"Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." He introduces himself, and you tell him your name in return, smiling oh-so devastatingly beautiful.

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His plan was absolutely not to explore what might be beneath that pretty dress of yours- and it seems like that might stay that way despite his length inside you.

You're moving your hips in ways that makes him dizzy, mind clouded with lust as you bounce up and down, hands on your back the only thing helping you avoid accidentally hitting the steering wheel. He's pushed the seat back as far as it goes, but you can never be too sure- he wouldn't want you to honk and draw attention to the surely shaking vehicle in the darkened parking lot.

The condom had been pure luck- he's not a fan of pulling out, so if it hadn't been there in the glove box of his car, he probably would've had to awkwardly call it quits before anything really happened at all. It's not like you both instantly were at each other's throats the moment you left the gathering- he simply offered to drive you home instead of Yoongi, who'd wanted to stay a little longer, while you complained about feeling tired. And in his car, you'd talked- casually so, something clicking, as he's now got you on his lap, bouncing on his dick like he's not experienced in quite some time now.

He feels a bit bad. Despite making sure that you know this is nothing but a casual fuck, it still feels a little odd to him. He doesn't like things like these- it feels like he's using you, and he's not a fan of such situations.

Though he can't deny that you feel absolutely divine.

The rain is heavy outside, pushing against the car's windows from all sides, drowning out the otherwise rather obscene sounds coming from between your bodies. Your hands are on his shoulders, fingers gripping his muscles beneath the fabric of his formal button-up. He refuses to kiss you, can't find it in him to do it, and you accept it, instead treating it as detached as you can, simply chasing your high as you fuck yourself on his twitching length.

He feels good. Thick, able to reach far inside you, but not enough to hurt.

The way he holds you is nice too- not too strong of a grip, only enough to guide you, keep you moving, keep you going. He's not big on dirty talk, isn't over the top with anything, and it almost feels like he's treating you like a woman, and not some chick he's met at a party. There's a certain sense of respect he's offering you that gives you confidence, makes you feel powerful for once even though he's clearly setting the pace.

This is something you don't usually get to have. Someone taking you seriously.

"You close?" He asks out of breath, avoiding your eyes, rather looking at your lips, though never moving into action. A limit he's set, and a limit he follows, he's clearly a man that doesn't wildly change his mind on the fly. Though, considering who he is, and where he is in life, he probably has had enough time to be untamed and wild already. You faintly wonder if he's ever been in a long-term relationship. Yoongi hasn't really talked about him much.

Neither have you asked. You've seen him, once or twice- but a man like that is out of range for you.

You nod when he grips your behind, reminding you quietly of his question, hips stuttering as he takes over, helping you move to chase his own orgasm right after yours. You're a bit overly sensitive, but you push through it just to see him clench his jaw, eyes closing as he groans out in relief, cum spurting into the condom inside you.

It's suddenly over, and not even your evening breaths can mask the slight awkwardness that's filling the car.

One of his hands keeps you close, though you have to lean against him a bit as to not move your hips too much as he reaches for something from the glovebox, plastic wrap of the small pack of tissues making a distinctive sound. "You okay?" He asks you, and you nod, now having switched places apparently as you avoid his face entirely.

You rather move a bit weirdly to accept the tissue offered, lifting your hips to awkwardly wipe yourself down, before pulling up your underwear and climbing back into the passenger seat, where you clean the inside of your thighs while he discards the condom from his length with a slight hiss of sensitivity.

You never really know what to say. You don't actually do this often- this is only the second time you've ever hooked up with anyone like this, and it's just as weird as the first time.

"Thank you, by the way." He offers, taking the challenge away from you as he puts the tied up condom in the tissue to discard it at home later. "Let me drive a bit closer to the building, just so you don't get too wet." He says, pulling his seat back into proper position before he starts the car.

Such a gentleman- You're a little disappointed. But only mildly so. Will you even stay in his mind?

Probably not.

You're way too young for a man like him, who most likely wants a proper woman in his life instead of a.. instead of you. You're not even sure where you are at in life- neither a woman nor a girl, somewhere in between, floating, unsure, neither and both. You know however for a fact that you'll remember him- probably for quite a while, before the memory will fade into nothing but a glimpse.

"There we go." Jungkook says, stopping the car very much in front of your apartment building, sideways so that you can run right into the main hall. "Please remember to text Yoongi, okay?" He reminds you. "He might be worried otherwise." He smiles kindly, and you nod, a bit forced, grabbing your light coat and your handbag. "And.. I enjoyed it. Very much so." He makes sure to tell you, making you nod a bit shy.

"I.. uhm, I'm glad." You nod, awkwardly, causing him to chuckle.

"Now go hurry inside before the rain starts again." He urges, making you nod dumbly once more before you open the car door, running inside the apartment building after closing the door.

And he drives off, back home, where nothing waits for him but the humming fridge and a cold, empty bed.

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Daehyun can be a little spoiled, but other than that, he's a well behaved kid for his age.

He loves staying at your place, though his questions on when you'll be getting another dog after your first passed away a year ago are sometimes a bit stinging to your heart. He's a child, obviously- he doesn't understand the hurt that can settle in your soul after losing such an important piece of your life, so you can't blame him for moving on a lot quicker than you.

He's too young to understand that yet.

"Uncle Yoongi has a cat now!" Daehyun tells you as he builds the lego set with you, his small hands having some difficulty here and there, but he's a quick learner, and a good improviser. "But he said I can't play with her, because she's a girl-cat, and girl-cats don't like playing." He explains, pouting a bit as he uses all his strength to pull two pieces apart again.

"Well, I think she's just be a little nervous still." You reassure the boy. "You know, she just moved into a new home. Things might be a little scary to her." You explain, and Daehyun nods.

"I only pet her a bit." Daehyun tells you. "Appa said we're gonna get a dog soon though!" He says with excitement, making you smile.

"That's nice." You agree, helping him pull some bricks apart. You like having the little boy over at your place- it makes you feel both like a grown person, and also like a child at the same time. Daehyun doesn't judge your vast collections of stuffed animals and lego sets- he only sees you as the nice aunt, a big sister, a friend of his dad where he stays over at often whenever work gets in the way and takes away most of Taehyung's attention. Just like this weekend- Taehyung having needed someone to look after the boy, Dae's mother constantly equally without any time. You're not sure how long that marriage is gonna last with her refusing to step back at least a little to properly take care of her own child, and with Taehyung's growing frustration over the situation.

You hope the poor boy won't get caught up in the crossfire. That would just be awful.

Hours later, all the toys put away, your doorbell rings, giving you the clue that someone must be now here to pick the young boy up. Probably either Jimin or Yoongi- but when you open the door, it's neither of them, but a casually dressed Jungkook, hands in his slacks as your gaze gets caught on the slightly unbuttered shirt that's tucked into the pants, LY-labeled belt buckle accentuating his rather slim waist.

What the fuck.

"Oh- uh, come inside." You offer, stepping aside to let him in, Daehyun quickly running up to Jungkook, who mirrors the excitement of the young boy as he squats down to hug him. You let them both have their moment, instead walking around to collect all of Dae's things, checking twice to make sure he didn't forget anything, as you text Taehyung to make sure the man is really supposed to take the boy with him.

He is, which makes you a bit upset. Taehyung could've told you before.

When you walk back inside the living room area, Dae is currently busy showing Jungkook a stuffed animal- a gift from Jimin a year ago, modeled after your dog as a keepsake. "He was suuuper big, and really nice!" Dae beams up at the man. "He always ate ice cubes, but-" the small boy inspects the stuffed animal a little, lips pouting. "-Noona said he was really old, so he went to sleep." He offers, and Jungkook seems to realize what the stuffed toy might actually be.

"Let's put him back on the table then, yeah?" He offers, a hand with faint ink taking the toy from the smaller hands of the boy to place it back next to the picture frame of your dog and the collar on the tiny table near the door where he used to sleep. "So he can sleep well." He explains, making Dae nod. When you make your presence finally known, Jungkook removes the hand, heavy watch on his wrist faintly hitting the edge of the table for a second, as he watches how you help the small boy into his jacket.

You're a little confusing.

"Alright." You say after successfully getting Daehyun to put on his shoes. "Theres- uhm, there's a, wait, I'll show you.." You say, moving to pull a little folder out of one of the bags packed. "This one, please make sure Taehyung sees this. It's Daehyun's homework, and he really needs to do them this time." You emphasize. "Just make sure he actually looks inside at least once.." You sigh, putting the bright red folder back into the bag.

"I'll make sure." Jungkook accepts, taking the bag from you. "Anything else?" he wonders, and you refuse any eye contact, instead shaking your head to hug Daehyun goodbye as you bring him and Jungkook to your front door.

"Noona, you gotta hug Jungkookie too!" Dae says, surprising you with his lack of formality when addressing his father's friend- but you don't question it.

And admittedly, Jungkook is fairly surprised when you do in fact reach out to hug him goodbye, though very formal. It's still.. oddly nice, you don't seem to wear perfume but rather rely on your scented bodywash, which smells very good to him. This is weird. Why is he getting such feelings of comfort for a simple hug with nothing attached to it?

And why is he kind of disappointed when it ends far too quickly?

But it gets worse in the car, because Daehyun has clearly gotten the wrong message entirely. "Noona doesn't have a boyfriend." He says from the backseat where Jungkook has placed the booster seat he's gotten from Taehyung in cases like these where he has to pick up the young boy. "And appa said you don't have a girlfriend." He says, making Jungkook nod and hum a reply. "Noona is really pretty." He giggles. Jungkook cant help but chuckle along.

"She is." He agrees, because he won't lie about that. You are very pretty in his opinion, though he can only really judge you mostly by looks alone. "Did you have fun? I heard you were there the whole weekend." He tries to steer the conversation away, but the young boy clearly doesn't get the message.

"Noona can cook really well!" He praises. "She always makes me my favorite, and then we watch tv in our 'jamas." He says, and Jungkook has to imagine you both probably bundled up in blankets on the small couch you have, watching kid's shows until the poor boy falls asleep.

Domestic. Do you like children? Want your own in the future, maybe?

"Jungkookie?" Dae asks, and Jungkook hums a reply, telling the kid he's listening. "Do you like Noona?" He wonders.

"I don't know her that much, dae. But she seems nice." He offers instead, trying to evade the interrogation of the small boy.

"Do you like drinking?" Dae wonders. "Like, the stuff appa says I can't have?" He asks, and Jungkook grows a bit weary. Why exactly would the young boy ask something like that?

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?" He asks the boy, who seems to deflate now.

"Then you can't be friends with Noona." He complains.

"Why not?" Jungkook wonders.

"Because, the guy noona liked for a while always got mean when he was drinking that stuff." Dae complains, looking out the window. "I was never allowed to play at noona's house when he was there. He really liked that stuff that smells bad, but it made noona upset." He says.

Jungkook tenses up a bit. "Was he ever-, how was he mean to you?" Jungkook wonders.

"He always told noona to do things for him, and never let her play with me." He huffs. "And Yogi didn't like him too, because he always had to stay in his bed." He complains. Jungkook assumes the boy is probably talking about the dog.

Jungkook doesn't know how to ask what he wants to ask. It doesn't concern him at all- after all, it seems like you're no longer together with that guy, so he shouldn't pry. But something makes him worry- deep down, he's awfully wary, since he now realizes you did indeed not even touch any alcohol at the party at all- the drink Taehyung had seen you hold non-alcoholic. How bad must the relationship have been? You might not have a fear of men, but you're clearly affected by the past, it seems like.

"Did.." no. He shouldn't be asking that. It's none of his business.

"Do you get mean too when you drink?" Dae wants to know. "Appa only gets really sleepy." He giggles. Jungkook laughs along. Taehyung truly does only get horribly tired whenever he drinks- and he knows for a fact that he never gets drunk when he has to take care of the boy alone, so he's not at all alarmed by those words.

"No, I don't get mean." Jungkook answers. "I don't really drink a lot of it, so it only makes me feel a bit silly." He offers as an explanation, and Dae nods.

"Then, maybe Noona won't mind." He says, causing Jungkook to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Why do you want Noona to like me so much?" He wonders, and at that, Taehyung's son becomes excited.

"Because, then my favorite people like each other!" He exclaims. "And that's really cool. Then we can have sleepovers together, and you can help me get a new dog for noona!" He says. "She's really sad that Yogi sleeps now. I think she's lonely." He whines.

"We can have sleepovers anyways, dae." He laughs.

"But, appa told eomma, that you need someone you like." He huffs. Jungkook reminds himself to scold his friend at a later date. "Because you're not happy now, and you're lonely. And noona's lonely too." He offers.

Luckily, Jungkook escapes any further questioning as he finally reaches Taehyung's apartment, ready to drop the young boy off.

The whole conversation not leaving him at all the entire rest of the day, as he realizes he forgot to show Taehyung the folder.

Crap. This is your fault.

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It's been weeks- and apart from rubbing one out to the remaining memories of you in his car, he's not really thought much about you at all.

He's seen you on occasion here and there at the grocery store or a coffee shop, which made him realize that you've always been right under his nose but he just never knew who you were, but you two don't really have had any actual conversations anymore.

There's no reason for it.

He now knows that you're actually the part-time nanny Taehyung used to have a few years back, when you apparently had just been fighting to find a new job to keep your apartment and not get kicked out for not being able to pay rent. Back then, Taehyung and his wife had been living separated for a bit after a pretty bad fight- so the father had needed someone to take some weight off his shoulders, and help with the small child who couldn't even talk yet. You helped raise Daehyun basically, more or less- and, according to Taehyung, it shows.

The young boy has a strong sense of justice, and shares everything he has happily- something that he's learned from you. It makes some odd things make sense now to Jungkook as well- how Dae has some habits that seem very unique, but also too specific to have been developing all on their own. The child holds the front of his shirt a lot- something Jungkook noticed you do in a similar way as well, whenever you think of something.

Today, it's Daehyun's birthday. And Jungkook is sure, that the young boy probably demanded that both jungkook and you had to be there.

And he's right.

The minute he enters Taehyung's penthouse, he spots you sitting on the floor with the child, who's currently trying to read his own birthday card to you, before he spots him in the doorway. You look pretty, yet again. No makeup it seems like, and he can't say that you need it. You obviously don't, eyes still sparkling dangerously, smile still as lethal as ever as you wave a little bit before getting up.

You're dressed comfortably. He likes the sight of it- the casual dress you wear not too short to be scandalous, but short enough to tease him with the skin of your legs, hidden beneath a sheer pantyhose. Or?

No. There's an upper hem of lace- those are just stockings.

"Jungkookie, appa said you'll drive noona home today?" Dae says, now held up on Jungkook's hip, as he looks at Taehyung who laughs.

"Dae, I said I'm gonna ask him if he can drive her home!" He scolds gently. "Hey- sorry, he just runs with whatever he hears." The father tells him, and Jungkook just smiles, shaking his head.

"I can drive her home, no worries." He simply affirms. "It's no problem."

"Taehyung I told you I can go home by myself!" You whine, and Jungkook is intrigued by this seemingly new side of you. He knows you as a little shy, soft spoken, polite. You always greet him when you see him, and you've talked a little bit in his car weeks back- but then again, you only know each other on a very surface level.

He wonders what you're really like.

"And I said you're not driving alone when you're sick." Taehyung threatens, dad-voice coming through as he attempts to push through your clearly stubborn behavior, and Jungkook can't help but watch intently as your eyes roll around, attitude clear as you don't take your friend seriously at all.

"Noona is gonna be a mommy!" Daehyun blurts out to Jungkook, and for a split second, his entire body freezes, blood cooling down to the negatives, bones filling with fear.

He wore a condom- but what if something happened? What if it leaked? Was that even possible? He's not against becoming a father, absolutely not- but he'd like to have a proper relationship for that, a stable one, not something like this.

"Daehyun!" You scold with red cheeks, and Taehyung runs a hand over his face. "Appa just asked me if I was, I'm not!" You whine embarrassed, sighing. "Oh god, guys, please! I'm an adult woman, I'm not sick, I can go home by myself." You complain, walking into the kitchen, presumably to escape the pressuring situation.

"She threw up earlier, that's why I asked her. Dae must've heard me." Taehyung says, after averting his son's attention back to the TV in the living room, where his favorite show plays. "She refuses to see a doctor for it. But you look like you've seen a ghost-" Taehyung teases, before his eyes sharpen. "…could it be that the mention of her becoming a mommy made you worry?" He pokes, and Jungkook furrows his brows, averts eye contact. "Holy shit, you two!?" He hisses, and Jungkook groans.

"Shut up, it was nothing." He simply says, while Taehyung's eyes widen in a scandalized manner.

"Nothing?! Jungkook, where is that nothing?" He argues, surprisingly sternly. "I'll drive her home."

"You're acting like I forced myself onto her-" Jungkook sighs, but Taehyung shakes his head. "Taehyung, you heard her. She's an adult woman, she can decide things herself." Jungkook defends you. "I'll drive her home, and I'll text you once she's dropped off." He says, before he walks into the kitchen where you're filling up a glass with water.

"Oh god that was embarrassing." You whine into your hands, before you shake your head. "He acts as if I'm dying any second whenever something's up." You mumble, drinking from your glass. He can see you're a bit less energetic- hand a bit shaky as you drink.

"He worries." Jungkook offers, leaning against the counter next to the fridge, across from you. "And you should go see a doctor if you don't feel well." He scolds, and yet again, you roll your eyes.

"And you should try and work on your facial expressions, mister." You huff. "I could see the panic a mile away when Dae said I'm pregnant." You bite, making him tilt his head a little "Either way, I'm fine. I can't afford to call in sick right now or my landlord will kick me out the minute my rent is late again." You laugh a little bitterly, finishing your water before you rinse the glass in the sink.

"Do you not get paid a regular salary each month?" He wonders. You shake your head.

"I do, but it's the monthly bonus that keeps me afloat." You explain. "And I only get that one if I'm not sick and bring appropriate numbers to the table." You sigh. "My landlord just searches for a reason to kick me out, I'm sure." You mumble as you dry your hands.

"How come?" Jungkook asks.

"I didn't want to go out with the guy." You shrug, not looking at him. "I like older men, but sixty? No thanks.." You huff, turning around to look at a smug looking Jungkook, his arms crossed.

"Would've never guessed." He tells you in a cocky manner, and you cross your arms to mirror his position in an exagerated manner.

"I would've probably let you screw me if you were younger too." You respond.

"Oh?" He raises his brows. This is oddly fun. "Were you that needy?" He teases, and suddenly, your eyes soften quite a bit, scaring him.

"No." You shake your head. "Guess you were just that charming." You shrug.

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"If your job pays that awful, why not change it?" Jungkook wonders as he maneuvers out the parking lot, leaving Taehyung's home behind after Daehyun had gone to bed.

You shrug.

"I'm lucky I got accepted in this one." You say. You're tired- it's obvious to him. "I dropped out of school too early. Now I'm facing the consequences- and honestly, it's not that bad either. I get by, and it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice." You offer.

"Do you not have any ambitions?" He asks, relaxed now that he knows you're not one to be overly sensitive when it comes to more personal topics like that. You don't try to read between the lines where there's most of the time nothing at all to find.

"Its not like I don't have any ambitions." You respond, neither denying nor confirming. "It's more that I realized some of those ambitions were.. unrealistic. So I instead pursued what was." You shrug. "Nothing too deep. It's.. part of growing up, I guess." You explain.

Growing up. Talking to you, right now, truly does remind him of that. Almost two hands between you both in years, but you're awfully matured in the way you think at its core. You just have a softer shell around it, your opinions can still move, your mind still has some sort of wiggle room.

His doesn't. He makes decisions and sticks by them, most of the time. He doesn't like change, he enjoys his routine, keeps everything in order most of the time- until now.

Because you're definitely a decision he keeps bending around.

"How much is your rent?" Jungkook asks, and you look at him from where you're leaning against the car's window, an amused expression on your face.

"Why? You wanna be my sugar-daddy?" You joke, and he shrugs, much to your surprise.

"I don't care what you call it." He simply says. "But if it get's you to take some time and take care of your health, I can take care of a month's rent." He offers.

"I don't like that." You respond.

"I know." He laughs. "I've come to learn that you don't like accepting help. But it's something you can't avoid at times." He explains to you. "I'm just offering help. Whether or not you take it, is up to you." He shrugs.

"Why would you do that?" You wonder, suspicious.

"Because Taehyung worries about you. And Daehyun would be terribly upset if something was to happen to you." He admits. "I don't know you well enough to say that I'm doing this for you- so I'll be honest. I do this mostly for them." He says.

You nod. You like this- that he's actually telling the truth, instead of trying to woo you into something.

"Alright." You sigh, tired. "I'll.. text you?" You wonder, and he nods.

"I have your number from Taehyung already." He chuckles. "I just didn't have a reason to reach out yet." He admits.

You just nod, eyes falling shut for longer he notices.

You must be working hard if you're this exhausted. He really hopes you'll take care of yourself after he helps you sort everything out.

Hopefully his help is enough.

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He's lost control over the situation. How can this happen a second time?

He's been texting you these past few days, especially after you've finally took some time off of work to sort out your doctor's visits, having received some medication to finally help you resolve your issues.

He's not sure why he keeps coming back to you. And he's especially not sure how the hell he managed to get himself caught up in a situation like this twice, especially after Taehyung had been clearly upset about the first time.

There's something about you he can't really pin-point. It's both scary, and exciting.

You're kneeling on a small heart-shaped pillow from your small couch, hands occupied and slicked up with your own spit as you caress his length, head of it warm inside your mouth as you lick and suck. You've offered, and he assumed it to be a joke- but the moment you got down between his legs, all of his usual control over things went out the window. He might appear to be the one in charge, right in this moment, but he's truly at your mercy.

It makes him anxious. This shouldn't be happening.

But he can't deny the appeal of you taking care of him so well- it feels scarily intimate to have you between his legs like this, eyes closed as you seem to enjoy yourself, mostly due to his own hand reaching out to run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face and taking the chance to offer some form of affection before he collects your hair in his fist for a second, long sigh escaping him as he feels the tip of your tongue push against the head of his cock, dipping into the small point, before you adjust your legs, letting go of him for just a second to lick from the base to the very tip once more.

You're a succubus, hidden behind a pretty face and sinful body.

He's not sure what your motivation is, hasn't really figured it out for the first time either. There's this little devil on his shoulder constantly urging him to accept your advances and let himself go, but the angel is louder, and keeps on feeding him doubts about the whole thing. He's consumed by his work, he doesn't have time for you, he can't offer you what you might want from a relationship. He doesn't even know if he himself is ready for something like that- he knows he should be, considering how long ago his divorce had been finished, but it's still odd to think about it. He's scarred by what went down, and doesn't want to go through this again.

He can handle being hated by one person he used to love. He wouldn't be able to have two doing the same.

It made him wonder if he's even someone worthy of having a relationship. Does he have enough to offer you that's not physical or monetary? No. He doesn't have time, he's awkward as hell, he doesn't like parties and rather enjoys laid back vacations somewhere no one knows him- if he even takes one at all. He wants a quiet life-

A quiet life?

'it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice.'

Maybe it's your hands on his cock, the back of your tongue over his tip, or the way your fingers suddenly move to massage his balls just right- but he's facing this horribly ironic moment of both pleasure and realization at the same time as his cum shoots into your mouth, lips sealed over the head to suck him for all he's got. His hand keeps pushing your head, fingers digging into your hair, and you moan quietly at the faint sting of it.

His head rests back on your couch. His hand loosens, letting you go, while his eyes stay closed, breath deep and uneven as he tries to calm himself. He doesn't even realize how you tuck him back into his underwear as he softens, though you leave the fly and belt untouched, instead moving to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You wait. For what? You're not sure.

"I.." He starts, taking in a deep breath, a hand through his hair trying to sort him out again. "..you.."

"Was it good?" You wonder almost innocently, watching him amused.

He nods. "Very." He simply answers, brain dumb. He hates this.

"Nice." You smile, before you move to put the little pillow back on the couch. "Do you wanna.. leave right now? Or stay for coffee?" You wonder, treating this all way more casual than he is. He's not sure what to do. But he knows you need to talk about this.

"Can you come here for a second?" He asks, and you nod, putting down the mug you got out of the pantry, making your way over to him to sit on the couch next to him. "I hope you know this isn't.. needed. I honestly just wanted to help you out with rent." He urges, and you nod.

"I know." You say, making him feel a bit lighter. "Was that.. not something you wanted?" You worry, but he shakes his head.

"I'm.. I'll have to be honest here." He sighs, having closed his pants and adjusted himself prior already, not leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. He can't look at you- not if he wants to be honest and straight forward. "I'm not sure." He offers. "I think it's clear that there's an attraction going on- but I don't know how far this can go."

"I'm not in love with you or anything." You defend yourself. "Neither do I have a crush. I just like you." You shrug.

"That's good." He nods to himself. "It's good that you know that. That you... can distinguish it."

"I think your problem might have something to do with.. my age?" You wonder, and Jungkook turns his head towards you, eyes staying on your knees however. "Yoongi mentioned something once. That he has a friend who has some sort of mid-life crisis right now and thinks he's too old for everything." You giggle.

"And how do you know that would be me?" He calls you out a little offended.

"Because it just fits." You laugh. "You play around with Dae all the time, but the second someone watches you, you become all awkward. It's kinda sad." You admit.

"How so?" He wants to know.

"Because it's dumb." You say, leaning back against your couch.

"Maybe for you. But when you're my age-" He starts, and you suddenly start to laugh, cutting him off.

"See! That's how I know you're the one with the crisis!" You joke, hand hitting his shoulder playfully, and without any intention to hurt. "I'm not a kid. I can make my decisions just fine." You say.

"And your decision is?" He wonders, now looking at you.

"That I want to get to know you." You tell him. "I want to.. see where it goes." You offer.

"What if it goes nowhere?" He argues. "I can't promise you some fairytale love-story." He denies. "I'm divorced, I want children at some point, I don't like parties, I work long hours-"

"But that's stuff that we can work out, no?" You wonder. "Time is what you're scared of, right? Then how about this-" You say, suddenly sitting on your knees, body facing his. "Every day you're not trying is a day you could be spending in a more productive way. For example, by getting to know me. Trying out if your idea of a relationship aligns with mine, if your work schedule is too packed, all of that." You offer. "Right now, we could already be talking about more interesting things than the 'what-if'. Or, in your big-man-terms:" You joke, leaning closer to him. "You're wasting time."

"Have you ever considered a career in communication-training?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You're awfully great at this." He praises, making you giggle.

"Nah, I like my normal nine-to-five." You say. "Even if it barely pays enough."

"Well I heard someone's taking care of rent at the moment." he offers, reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

"Well, only for a month, so that's a bummer." You shrug, leaning into his hand now holding your cheek.

"..I'm not used to being in a relationship." He sighs.

"We can start just being friends." You respond.

"I think we're a little past the general boundaries of friendship." He chuckles.

"Then friends who occasionally have sex." You roll your eyes.

"That's not very romantic." He argues.

"You can fuck me with music in the background?" You joke, and he shakes his head, laughing.

You're truly far more than he thought you are, and he's not sure if he's worth your time. But he wants to be. Looking at you, right now, he wants to be worth it. He wants to put the effort into it, even if it doesn't work out in the end. He wants to try- so that even if you don't fit, you at least had some good memories together that were worth the time spent.

He wants to try.

Even if it's a mistake.

[robo-writing]

Hello! Love your Logan fics! If I could, could I ask for x-men trilogy Logan finding out what a hurricane shot is?(it’s where the guy takes a shot of alcohol and then a bartender (usually a really pretty woman that’s sitting on top the bar in front of the guy) splashes him with water and slaps him across the face. (really popular in the college towns in Florida) like scott mentions he had a hurricane shot when he was in high school during a senior trip to Florida and Logan asks what the hell that is. And his crush just goes “you don’t know what that is?! You drink booze for a living and you don’t know what that is???!” And precedes to just show him much to Scott laughing his ass off at seeing Logan getting drenched in water and slapped across the face, and Logan just fucking bewildered what the hell just happened and probably a bit horny (he got a pain kink, so getting slapped by his crush is like up his alley)

"The fuck is a hurricane shot?" Both you and scott's ears perk up, him being the first to express his surprise. "You've never heard of a hurricane shot?" "Am I suppose to?" He asks, getting just the slightest bit annoyed at how you two giggle between each other, some kind of secret language between the two of you.

“I’m just surprised is all,” you say, looking at him with mild amusement. “You’re the guy with his name tag on the barstool, so…”

“Real fuckin’ funny,” he huffs. “So what is it?”

You look up at him mischievously. “I think I’d rather just show you.”

Scott’s eyebrows go all the way up, a massive grin on his face. “Yeah, you should let her show you.”

You’re both snickering again and it almost makes him nervous. Almost.

“Sure, date and time?”

“Today, and now,” you say, running to the kitchen sink. You’re filling up a glass of water while Scott suddenly has his phone recording, more and more questions running through his head by the second.

“Okay, here’s your shot,” you say, sliding over a glass of rum. You’re holding a glass of water, looking down at it with barely contained excitement. “Do I have your permission?”

“Permission to what?”

“I can’t say.”

Logan’s feels his eye twitch. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise!” You reply, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. “It’s a yes or no Logan.”

He weights his options for a minute, figures that whatever you two’ve got planned he can kick your asses for it later, and with a shrug says—

“Fuck it, sure.”

You nod in his direction, eyes pointing to the glass, and with no theatrics he downs the entire thing in just one gulp. There’s nothing special about the shot, just the standard burn that accompanies it.

No, what’s special is what comes after.

The same moment the glass leaves his lips, the cup of water you were holding is thrown in his face. Before he can ask what the hell you’re doing, his face is whipped around.

You slapped him—rather hard, in fact. So unexpected he’s forced to stare off into nothing for a while before reality hits him.

He’s stood in shock, Scott laughing in the background while you complain about your sore hand. He’s drenched head to toe, still collecting his thoughts.

“What…was that?” He asks, hand reaching up to rub his cheek.

“That, my good friend, was a hurricane shot,” Scott replies, patting Logan on the back as he goes off to play his captured footage on loop. “Florida’s a wonderful place.”

You follow behind, chasing after Scott with a shout of “Lemme see!” Before the both of you disappear.

Logan’s stood in the kitchen by himself—and of everything that’s just happened to him, he can only conjure up a single thought.

That was really, really, hot.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university���s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[leighsartworks216]

Perfect First Date

Zayne x fem!Reader

Had this idea and literally could not stop thinking about it

Warnings: fluff, blind date, first date, kissing

Word Count: 2,280

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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A steady drizzle paints the world outside in a blur of shadows and diffused lights. Traffic lights are reflected on the wet pavement below, blending with the orange and white headlights of cars. People pass by the window, covering themselves with umbrellas or their jackets. A few didn’t bother trying to do anything to hide from the onslaught of water. You didn’t bring an umbrella. The thought of leaving now and having to walk through the rain like that sours your mood even further.

A waitress politely clears her throat. “Would you like to order now?” She gives you a pitying look, her smile tinged with sympathy.

You force one of your own in return. “Just a few more minutes, please.”

She nods and walks away. You just know she’s in the kitchen talking about you with the chefs and other wait staff. “She’s been waiting for an hour for her date. He’s never gonna show up! Poor thing.”

You sigh, leaning against your arms on the table. How are you gonna tell Tara about this? She was so excited to set you up on this date, gushing about how perfect you two would be together if you just gave it a shot. Knowing he never showed up would break her heart - maybe even more than it broke yours.

A familiar voice says your name. When you look up, you’re surprised.

“Zayne? What are you doing here?”

“My shift just ended. I thought this would be a nice place to get dinner before I head home.” He tilts his head toward the empty seat across from you. You nod immediately, just glad for the company after the time you’ve had. Once he sits, he takes a moment to look you up and down. “You look lovely tonight.”

You nervously pick at the corner of your cloth napkin with a polite half-smile. “Ah, thank you. Tara set me up on a date, but…”

He frowns. Before he can say anything, though, the same waitress from before comes over. She seems more upbeat. She must think this is your date, finally showing up after making you wait for so long. “Welcome! Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”

“Just water, thank you,” Zayne answers.

“Of course! Give me a moment and I’ll be back with a second menu for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” You smile reassuringly at her, having clearly startled her from her usual script. “He can borrow mine.”

She smiles and skips off back to the kitchen. Zayne grins slightly as you push the folding menu toward him. “Already know what you want to order?”

You huff a mirthless laugh, looking out the window again to avoid that look in his eyes as you say, “I’ve practically got the whole thing memorized. There’s a ‘Build Your Own Platter’ special on the second page.”

He turns the page over and, sure enough, the highlighted special greets him. “How long have you been waiting?” His voice is soft, like he’s worried about your answer.

You reach over the table for his hand. He raises an eyebrow, but he lets you take it without fuss. You turn his wrist until you can read his watch. “Uhh, almost an hour.” You let him go.

“Isn’t it common practice to leave after no later than 30 minutes have passed if the date doesn’t show up?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t really do this sort of thing.” You look at him again. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. It hasn’t since he got here. He notices right away. “And it started to rain, so…”

“So you thought he may have gotten caught up in the weather.”

“And I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You didn’t think to look at the weather for tonight? Despite knowing you would be going on a date?”

“Shush. I didn’t think about it.”

The waitress sets down a cup of water in front of Zayne. A lemon wedge is neatly tucked onto the rim. “Are you ready to order?”

Zayne gestures for you to order first. You recite the order you’ve had memorized this whole time, and she writes it down on a little pad of paper. Then he orders (not the Build Your Own Platter special), passing the menu to the waitress once she’s finished writing. She holds it to her chest and looks between the two of you. “Will you be paying separately or together?”

“Together-”

“Separately-”

You blink at Zayne, who smiles placatingly in return. “Together. It’ll be my treat.”

She leaves before you can defend paying separately. You shake your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Please. I see it as my duty to ensure you know how a man should treat you on a date.”

Your cheeks flush. You can’t quite meet his eyes as you tease, “You were also technically an hour late, then.”

“Hm,” he agrees. He picks up a card held in a twisted metal stand and holds it out to you. It contains a brief listing of ice cream sundaes, cheesecakes, molten lava cakes and more. “Would dessert make up for my tardiness?”

You smile. It finally reaches your eyes as you take the card from him. “It just might.”

-

As you talk about everything and nothing, the disappointment begins to ebb from your shoulders. Once the food arrives, it disappears entirely. For as long as you waited, the food was definitely worth it.

You forget about the rain, the guy that stood you up, and having to tell Tara what happened. The world seems to shrink to just this restaurant. Just this table.

Zayne may appear to be emotionless and cold to some, but not to you. You know him better than that. You see every slight smile that he looks away to try to hide. You see the playfulness in his eyes as you tease each other. You see him relax into the atmosphere you’ve created. You see the concern that sharpens his eyes when he scolds you for not taking care of yourself. You see… him.

It’s probably just because you two have been going to restaurants together more frequently in the last couple months, you think. Somehow, you both got into the habit of recommending places to each other - sweets shops, diners, cafes, bakeries, and restaurants like this. At first, you’d just tell each other about the place, saying they should visit. But then it became lunch breaks when he needed to be pulled away from work to take care of himself, and dinner when you needed to be convinced to stop working overtime.

It feels natural, sitting across from him and sharing a good meal. You try not to dwell on that thought for too long.

True to his word, Zayne pays for dinner.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise. “We can get lunch tomorrow. I’ll pay.”

He grins, knowing just how futile it is to argue with you. He has no choice but to agree. Still, he shakes his head slightly. “I never thought I’d be threatened with being treated to lunch.”

He holds the front door open for you, picking up his umbrella from the communal holder. The world seems to grow once more as you look out into the rain. You don’t have anything to protect yourself from it. You didn’t even think to bring a jacket.

Zayne steps halfway out from under the awning, his see-through umbrella open above him as he holds a hand out to you. “Come on.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You said so yourself that you didn’t bring an umbrella. I’ll drive you home.”

“You really don’t have to. You’ve done so much already!”

He gives you a look. “All I did was chat with you and pay for dinner. Besides,” he takes your hand, gently tugging you under the umbrella with him, “I said I would show you how you should be treated on a date. Bringing you home in the rain falls safely under my duties.”

You sigh, but you don’t argue anymore. You don’t really want to walk through the rain anyway. You hold onto his arm as he leads you to the parking lot. “Should I make this up to you, too?” you tease. “Take you for a drive on my motorcycle?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

You laugh. He smiles at the sound.

-

The drive is quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Rain pats down on the roof and windows of the car, swept away by the windshield wipers. It’s heavier now, beating down in cold sheets. If you’d been walking home, you would’ve been soaked through to the bone just one street from the restaurant.

He pulls up to the curb and gets out first with his umbrella. Then, he rounds the car to your side and opens the door, holding the umbrella over you more than he does himself. A few drops of rain on his coat doesn’t make a difference to him.

You stick close by as he walks you to the door. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“Of course. Now, get inside before you catch a cold.”

You smile at him and unlock the door with your thumbprint. “Goodnight, Zayne. I had fun.”

“I’m glad to have been a suitable replacement for your date tonight,” he remarks, a teasing edge to his words. He smiles. “Goodnight… I had fun, too.”

Something foreign and extremely familiar flutters in your chest at the look in his eyes. The way they look at you, the softness in his eyes that seems to take away years of exhausting surgeries and heartaches - it almost takes your breath away. The worst part is that you’ve seen him look at you this way before. Several times.

You can’t find anything else to say as you let yourself inside and gently close the door behind you.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the painted wood like it holds all the answers to your swirling thoughts. Your hand is still on the knob. You fear it may be too late when you’ve made your decision.

You swing open the door. Zayne has already walked down the front steps. He’s almost to his car. Your heart lurches as you rush into the rain after him.

The storm hasn’t let up since you arrived. The cold water that attacked his car on the way here now soaks your hair, your clothes, your skin. A shiver runs through you at first, quickly overshadowed by the fear of letting him go.

“Zayne!”

He turns around. That softness from before is replaced with concern as he hurries to meet you halfway to cover you with the umbrella. “Are you trying to get sick?”

“No, I…” God, you feel a bit stupid. But to back out now would be even worse. Your heart sits like a lump in your throat as you say, “It’s common practice to kiss your date when you say goodbye.”

The furrow in his brow eases up. You see his eyes flicker to your mouth briefly. “Is it?” he almost whispers.

You nod. “And if it’s your job to show me how I should be treated on a date…” You’re worried he can hear your heart. It’s beating so hard, pounding in your ears and blocking out the sound of the rain.

Zayne breathes a quiet laugh, but he nods. “You’re right. I apologize for my negligence. Allow me to make it up to you.”

Holding the umbrella steady, he cups your cheek with his free hand. His thumb brushes away a trail of water that comes from the hair sticking to your face. His eyes linger on your lips as he leans down. Even in this lighting, you can see the way his ears burn with blush. You’re certain you’re not doing much better.

His breath ghosting over your mouth is intoxicating, but the gentle press of his lips to yours is addicting. You grab onto his coat with wet fingers, slowly pulling him in closer as you deepen the kiss. He sighs. You think this is heaven.

He pulls away for air, before turning his head to the other side and kissing you again. And again. And again. You’ve far surpassed what’s appropriate for a first date kiss. But, is this really your first date together?

When he finally does pull away, his breath trembles slightly, like he’s overcome by the emotions shifting around in his chest cavity. You look up at him and he has to fight the urge to kiss you again. He huffs a soft laugh as he brushes the stuck strands of hair from your face. “I’d be a poor date if I let you stay in the rain like this any longer.”

You smile fondly. “You’re always worried about me.”

“Mhm.” He kisses your forehead, as though it could possibly release the weight of the love strangling his heart. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

His hand rests on your lower back as he leads to your home once again. There’s a slight skip in both of your steps, a lovestruck sort of eagerness that guides you to your door. You unlock it again, but you turn to him this time, tugging on his jacket again.

“Stay.”

He turns his face away briefly, cheeks flushing. “That’s hardly appropriate for a first date.”

You laugh. “We don’t have to do anything. I just… want you to stay.”

He considers it for a moment. His eyes flicker across your face, searching for signs of an oncoming cold without even realizing it. When they meet yours again, he nods. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

[dearhargrove]

Reassurance

summary You comfort Evan after he has to deal with his parents over the course of four days.

word count 730

tags fluff, just someone being there for my bb buck, short and sweet

a/n So basically I was watching the Buck Begins episode and died every minute where his parents neglected him and generally every second of that episode :( so expect some more Buck fics to come (Eddie too tho !!)

masterlist

You didn't know but you were probably the sole reason Buck wasn't completely breaking down every day he wakes up and has to deal with the two people that call themselves his parents.

After the first dinner he had felt bad, but he'd felt like he usually does with them. Alone, unwanted and never enough. That day he'd come home to you, quiet and dull.

You hadn't made him talk about it when he didn't start explaining himself, instead you simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close. That's when he'd felt loved. That night he waited until you had fallen asleep before letting himself cry.

What did he expect? For some reason he had hoped they'd changed. Or at least that they would be proud of him. After all, he'd saved a lot of people and does so every day. Instead he is reminded that they hadn't bothered to check on him when he almost died twice - first by being crushed and second because of the blood clots - and then laid in the hospital.

Those were the people supposed to love him no matter what and all he got was constant criticism.

That night you had woken up not long after him because of his missing warmth. With a worried expression you'd found him and once again, held him close. He had melted into your arms, tears starting to fall again as he clutched you close as if scared to lose you.

After reassurance you would gladly give any day you had gone back to bed, your hand on his cheek and caressing his birthmark.

Today you hadn't even known Buck would see them or be confronted by their doings. The last time you'd heard about them was when he explained that he had a brother. That he was only conceived to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.

That night had been harder than the one before. You're quite sure no matter how much you tried to show him that he wasn't just a failed way to save someone you don't think it got completely through to him. And you didn't blame him; you couldn't imagine living with something like that weighing you down.

You're in his kitchen trying one of Bobby's recipes when the door opens and Buck comes in. You could read him like a book; there wasn't a moment you weren't able to tell what he was feeling. But now? You genuinely didn't know.

He was frowning but there's a smile resting on his face and his eyes are red.

“Buck?”

He looks up, seeing you there in his sweater with a knife in your hand as you chop vegetables for a recipe from Bobby he loved, and he breaks. But instead of simply crying he chuckles, too.

“Buck, what's going on?” Your voice is worried and he just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to yours. You put the knife down and reach up to cup his face and your index finger soothes over his birthmark, something you'd made a habit over the year of being with him.

“I think they're finally accepting me for.. me.” He only says and you sigh but nod. He notices your slight apprehension and quickly adds on, “But I don't want them to. I don't need their acceptance. They don't decide how much I'm worth.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise but you laugh breathlessly and nod, “Exactly. You're saving lives on the daily, you don't need anyone to tell you how good you are. Not your parents, not your friends, not me.”

He nods along until the last part where he cocks his head and looks at you with his signature half smirk. “I do need you to tell me how good I am, actually.” That makes you smile as well and you sigh, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

He just shrugs and unlike when he first came in you can see pure happiness and love on his face.

“God, I love you so much, Evan Buckley.”

He grins and surges forward to kiss you passionately, his hands gripping your hips as if you'd slip through his fingers any moment.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | 2.4k | teen | tags: future fic, steddie in their 40s, second chances, mutual pining, happy ending | @steddielovemonth Love is the hope for a future together by@acasualcrossfade | AO3)

"I don't know, Robbie. I mean, it's been years! Even if there ever was a 'spark' between us, it's probably long gone."

He doesn't look over at Robin as he says this, pretending to be engrossed in grading papers. They both know that he hasn't made a single mark on the paper in front of him since Robin burst into his house with her spare key and announced, "Eddie's coming to the wedding."

"Inside voice," he had chided her, even though April was at her friend's house doing a school project. Old habits die hard.

Plopping down next to him at the kitchen table, Robin had happily ignored him as she continued, "Lucas just called me, it's going to be a surprise for Dustin. Eddie's finishing the tour two days early, so he's coming straight from the airport. But he will be there, Steve!"

Trying his best not to show how his heart had started beating faster as soon as Robin had mentioned Eddie's name, Steve had shrugged nonchalantly. "That's nice, Robbie. Dustin will be over the moon."

"That's nice, Robbie." She repeated in a surprisingly good imitation of his tone. They definitely spent too much time together. "You can act indifferent all you want, Steve. I was there when you refused to leave the house for a whole week when Eddie went to LA, remember? I held your hair when you puked your guts out after drowning your sorrows when Eddie brought what's-his-face to Max and Lucas' wedding. You two belong together, Steve! You just had bad timing. You've never both been single at the same time - until now. That must mean something. Maybe he's not just coming for Dustin, that's all I'm saying."

Which had actually led them to discuss whether Steve should put them all out of their misery by finally growing a pair (Robin's words) or decide that whatever had been between them that summer, when Eddie had recovered from almost being eaten alive by demobats, was long gone (Steve's words).

"I beg to differ, Dingus. I saw the way he looked at you at our little 'Fuck Off Upside Down' anniversary party. He spilled his beer when you walked in the room, Steve. No one else did."

"He's clumsy. You know that. I'm surprised he never fell off the stage," Steve jokes. He's not sure who he's trying to convince, Robin or himself.

Robin's expression changes to something more serious as she puts her hand on top of his, still holding his red grading pen in a white-knuckled grip. "Steve, listen. I'm not saying you have to do anything. You and Eddie have been friends for almost twenty years. We've all been. You're not going to lose him no matter what you decide. But," and here she takes a deep breath, "I just want you to be happy, Steve. You deserve to be happy. And I know that you're not unhappy, I know that. You've got April and you've got me and you've got the kids, even though they're scattered all over the country. But I also know that you've never stopped imagining a future with him, have you?"

"He kissed me," Steve blurts out, and to Robin's credit, she doesn't react except for her hand on his to twitch in surprise. She makes a questioning sound in her throat, clearly waiting for more.

"The night before he left. We had this big going-away bash, remember?" She nods. "We all got pretty drunk after the kids left and you and Vicky had gone to sleep in the guest room and I had offered to sleep on the couch so Eddie could have my bed. His back was still bothering him and he had a long drive ahead of him the next day. But he insisted on sharing and I was too drunk and tired to argue. The next morning he got up very early, probably thinking I was still asleep when he got dressed and left. Only he didn't leave. At least not right away. He came over to the bed and kissed me. On the mouth. And he said, 'You'll always be my almost, Stevie.'"

Robin looks at him with wide eyes, and Steve thinks that maybe he should have told her sooner, that maybe he violated some code between them because they tell each other everything. But something about this morning had felt, well, almost sacred in a way. As if putting it into words would make it less so.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Robbie. I just..."

"You had to keep it to yourself so it would always be the one dream you could turn to?" Robin suggests in a soft voice, and Steve wouldn't have said it like that, but she's right. Every date that didn't feel right, every relationship that went down the drain, hell, even when his marriage imploded on him, he thought of that one kiss and dreamed of a life where Eddie would have stayed. Or where Steve had followed him.

"Oh Dingus." Suddenly, Robin's arms wrapped around him in a hug, and it wasn't until he saw the wetness on her shirt that he realized he was crying. "I can't promise you it'll work, but I really think you should talk to him. Your life doesn't end at 40, Steve. You can still have the future you've always dreamed of."

Steve nods against her shoulder, tightening his grip on the best thing that has ever happened to him besides April.

Dustin and El's wedding is a small affair, just family and close friends, which is basically the same in their group.

Steve tries his best not to show his inner turmoil and mostly succeeds. There are handshakes that turn into tight hugs, hellos that turn into stories about kids and grandkids, neighbors, vacations, jobs, life. It's great to see everyone. It also helps distract him from the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in his stomach for over a week now.

It works until everyone is about to take their seats and Eddie still hasn't shown up. He's supposed to be one of Dustin's groomsmen, along with Lucas and Mike and Will, while Steve is actually Dustin's best man. He only cried a little when Dustin asked him to.

Just as the officiant is ready to start without him, the heavy double doors open and Eddie walks in like Aragorn into Helm's Deep (Dustin insisted that Steve watch the movies if he didn't want to read the books, and Steve may have thought of Eddie more than once while watching Aragorn, sue him).

He rushes to his spot next to the other groomsmen, ruffles Dustin's hair as he passes him, and mumbles, "Sorry, shrimp, the airport lost my luggage." Then his eyes fall on Steve and he freezes for a moment before giving him a bright, dimpled smile. "Hey, Stevie," he whispers before stepping to the end of the line of groomsmen.

Steve is glad that Hopper is recording the whole ceremony, because he doesn't hear a thing that's being said.

Later, everyone gathers in the dining room and Hopper and Claudia each give a heartfelt speech before it's Steve's turn. He has everyone toast to Dustin and El's future, because while the past may have brought them together, it's the future that belongs to them and their love. He forces himself not to look at Eddie as he says this, knowing that his face would give away his thoughts.

And then Eddie stands up to say a few words as well, something no one expected him to do.

"I've known Dustin for 20 years now, and the only time I ever doubted that he was a genius was when he let El go without a fight. But you know what? I was wrong. Dustin and El may have taken the scenic route to get here," Eddie tells the guests, "but sometimes that's the best way to get somewhere. If you're willing to take the long and winding road, the road less traveled, as Frost would say, you know that whatever's at the other end is worth it."

Steve desperately wants to believe that Eddie is not just talking about Dustin and El, but he doesn't even look at Steve when he says that. He just sits down again next to Robin at the table right next to the one where Steve is sitting with Dustin and El and their parents, because Steve is part of the family, too, as Claudia had pointed out.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur until everyone gets up to go to the ballroom where the dance floor has been set up. Dustin and El open with their first dance, "You and Me" by Lifehouse, and Steve has never been prouder of his little brother as he watches him lead El across the dance floor with the biggest, toothiest smile on his face.

"They've come a long way, huh?" says a voice next to him and Steve doesn't have to turn around to know it's Eddie.

"Yeah. I'm glad they made it." Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving the dancing couple. More and more people are joining them now, and Steve can feel the fond smile on his face grow.

Eddie's hand rests on his arm as he steps around Steve to face him. He extends his other hand to Steve, palm up, and asks, "May I have the pleasure of this dance with you?"

As if Steve could ever say no to Eddie.

Just as they step onto the dance floor, "You and Me" fades out and the next song begins. It's "Unchained Melody" and Steve suspects that Robin had a hand in it. It's the song Steve listened to a lot after Eddie left and she once complained that he ruined the song for her. Apparently not enough to put it on the playlist when he and Eddie hit the dance floor.

"I always kind of liked that song," Eddie tells him, and Steve snorts. "No, really! It's not really metal, but I don't know. I just feel it, you know? It's real." Eddie explains, veering close to rambling territory.

"Is that so?" Steve has to ask as he slowly sways, his hand in Eddie's and his arm wrapped around Eddie's waist.

Eddie hums quietly in agreement. "Back in '86, when I was trying to settle down in LA, I used to listen to it for hours." Eddie admits quietly and Steve's heart is suddenly in his throat. "I felt every single word and every single word made me think about what I was leaving behind."

"Eddie," Steve begins, only to be gently silenced by Eddie's finger against his lips.

"Please, Stevie, I have to say this now or I never will. So please, just listen, yeah?"

Steve crosses his eyes to look pointedly at Eddie's finger against his lips before looking back up at Eddie, who snorts at the gesture. "Brat," he teases, taking his finger away.

"Okay, I'm listening," Steve tells him, and mimics zipping his lips.

Eddie's eyes sparkle with amusement and affection, and something deeper. Something that makes the seeds of hope in Steve's chest tentatively open and reach for their sun.

"Stevie, sweetheart, you certainly know... I mean, you must know that I..." Eddie rambles and Steve has never seen him so lost for words. He doesn't say anything, but he brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Eddie's in silent reassurance.

Eddie's eyes find his and the expression in them is so unbearably soft that Steve almost has to look away. No one has ever looked at him like that before. "You were always the one who got away, Steve. My almost. Even when I was with other people, you were there. On every stage, in every hotel room, on every stretch of highway, you were there. And I almost told myself it just wasn't meant to be. I had you as a friend and that was a gift I never thought I would have, I shouldn't be greedy and ask for more."

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself, gathering every ounce of that incredible courage Steve has seen time and time again, even as Eddie keeps insisting he's a coward. Steve knows better, and Eddie's next words prove him right once again.

"But the funny thing is, it never stopped me from hoping for a future with you."

They stop dancing, if you can call what they were doing dancing, and look at each other, eyes searching for answers. For reasons to hope.

Steve is the first to break the silence, a soft grin on his face. "May I speak now?"

That makes Eddie laugh softly and he nods.

"Is this what you want? A future with me? Because that means a future with a middle school teacher with a little pet tornado who's currently staying with her mom. You have to mean it for her as much as you mean it for me. This means being all in, Eddie."

Steve hates that he has to say this, that he can't just fall into Eddie's arms and kiss him senseless. But Eddie needs to know what a future with Steve means. If he wasn't sure he wanted that kind of future, then they couldn't have one together. At least not the way they both wanted it.

Eddie cupped Steve's cheek in his hand, his smile growing with every blink of his chocolate eyes. "Steve, I know who you are. I know what it would mean to be with you, and I want it so much that I can barely stand another day without it. I love your little pet Tornado, she's adorable and funny and she has great taste in music. No idea where she got that from, though," Eddie teases before sobering up. "I want to be a family. This tour was our last for at least two years. The guys need a break and so do I. And after that, we don't know yet, but whatever it is, it will be something we agree on together. You and me and April."

Maybe Steve should ask more questions, be more cautious. But he's waited twenty years for this, and he can't wait another second to finally kiss the man he's always been in love with.

He's ready for his future to begin.

[mhahaikyuus]

comfort

a/n: anon requested shoto fic so i pulled out one of the drafts not really edited but i just wanted to post. i usually just do hurt/comfort but wanted to do something different

tags:; just fluff, a lot of pda, shoto showing his feelings, touchy reader, a couple in love

“Hi sweet boy.” You greeted giving him two kisses.

Shoto gave a smile at your cupping his cheeks slightly flushing at the contact.

You flopped on the couch with arms open. He stood closer to the couch with your hand in his.

“Yes my love.”

You tugged on his arm, “Come here.”

“But you’re laying on all the couch cushions.” He pointed out still standing over you.

“I know I want you to lay on me.” Tugging on his sleeve.

“But i’ll crush you.” He was genuinely confused.

“I don’t care. Now come here.” You demanded until he finally leaned over and pressed his weight into you.

He still was stiff until you began to trail your hands up his spine and into his hair making him relax into your neck.

“You can touch me you know? I don’t mind.” You whispered into his hair giving him gentle kisses on his forehead.

He was melting into you and your words. You’ve been dating for almost 2 months now and he still is afraid of initiating any touch towards you. It made him nervous. He had never been touched like this, not since his mom anyway.

He began to become comfortable fully pressing his weight into you and relishing the tiny kisses you gave him. Your attention was all he craved in life. Now that he had it he was never letting you go. Shoto didn’t know how touch starved he was, but if he had no interaction with you for more than 12 hours he got fidgety and nervous. He wanted to spend all his time with you.

Even doing things most boys would rather avoid, like shopping or watching you do makeup.

Sitting on the floor you were sitting criss cross applesauce with your makeup scattered around you. Shoto walked into your room in his pajamas.

“Sho? what are you doing?” You said eyes traveling from your mirror to his reflection standing behind you.

“I’m just watching.” He shrugged

“Sit down.” You said turning toward him and pulling his hand to sit on the floor.

Shoto sat down and moved his legs to be outside your hips. Uncrossing your legs you let them rest against his thighs.

He was peering over your shoulder in interest as you dug through your makeup bag.

“What’s that.” He asked with curious mismatched eyes.

Leaning against him you pulled out what he was gesturing and held it up.

“It’s a beauty blender.”

“What’s that.” He repeated pressing his finger against the spongy texture.

“It’s like a sponge to put on makeup.” You replied.

He hummed in reply and watched intensely as you applied foundation on your face.

Shoto’s hands were wrapped against your stomach with his face pressed into your spine when he wasn’t watching.

“You okay love?” You said reaching for your makeup and he began to lean his weight into you nuzzling into your back. His hair tickling you with your tank top.

“You’re just warm and soft.” He sighed

“Did you have a bad day?”

“No I just missed you.” Shoto grumbled squishing his cheek into your spine.

Shoto not only wanted your touch he needed it. Shoto never thought himself possessive until you. He wanted all your attention and time forever if he could.

When you first started dating Shoto would lock up at the thought of touching, too scared of rejection from you.

You on the other hand would gently ask him if it was alright and getting a yes, you would sit in his lap, play with his hair, hold his arm as you walked, hug him goodbye and give him gentle cheek kisses.

As time went on Shoto became less nervous and started to crave your touch.

You noticed he would invade your space for some attention. Always by your shoulder, holding your hand, and watching you; not that you minded.

In the mornings you would cup his face and smother him in kisses before getting up. One day you had overslept and forgot and Shoto was so distraught until you came home thinking he had done something.

Your house filled with your favorite flowers. You were so confused thinking you had missed an important date but your boyfriend being an over thinker, went above and beyond to get you to forgive him.

“Sho? Baby what’s going on?” You asked placing your work bag in the kitchen chair looking at the array of flowers filling your kitchen.

He peeked out your bedroom with the most worried eyes.

“I’m sorry. I never want to upset you y/n. I hope you can forgive me.” He said scrunching his hands at his sides. A habit you learned he did when he wanted to touch you but was restraining himself.

You grabbed his face you kissed him until his frown lines lessened.

“I’m not upset baby why would you think so?” You asked your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks trying to calm him down.

As stoic as Shoto was you learned many of his behaviors were rooted in anxiety.

“You left without our kiss goodbye.” He said his hands on your waist. Breathing a sigh of relief at your loving nature. Expecting you to be cold or angry with him but you welcomed him with open arms and loving eyes.

“I’m sorry i was rushing I wasn’t thinking.” You explained, “Thank you for the flowers though they are gorgeous.” You said looking around the room

“I’m happy we are not angry with each other.” Shoto said blinking with blue and brown eyes down at you.

You raised yourself up on your toes to kiss the most thoughtful man in your life.

“Me too.” You said with a laugh, “I know you made a florist’s day.”

His hands wrapped around your waist to pull you into a hug before murmuring, “I bought out two shops.”

Your eyes widened and you pulled away. “Shoto! How much did you spend.”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”

You sighed knowing it was a pointless argument with him.

Everytime you told him to not spend his money on you in exorbitant amounts he would shrug with a kiss and hand you a gift always stating, “Money is no object and I love you. If I don’t spend it on you what would I spend it on.”

“I love the flowers thank you this is more than enough.” You kissed his lips as he leaned in to you

“I love you.” He stated

“Oh! yea that too. I love you so much.” You reassured

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | preview

FULL FIC HERE

teaser wc: 783 (angst, suggestive) full fic genre: angst, smut, fluff (10k+) a/n: SURPRISE & let me know what you think for this :) also lmk if you would like to be tagged... i'm so excited to write rockstar hyuck!!! playlists for the fic | next preview

"did anyone follow you up here?" 

haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word.

"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so."

he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out. 

"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?" 

feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop.

he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. and it's only because you're so pressed up against him, his hands roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips. 

"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.

you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit. 

his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?" 

you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-" 

"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his hands. 

"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you. 

he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes. 

"y/n…i can't be your first time." 

"but i want –" 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show." 

you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his. 

"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly. 

"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle. 

"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers move across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen.

he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts it down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.

"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?" 

and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down. 

-> read the next preview here

[sokkigarden]

dancing with our hands tied (part i)

jamie tartt x female reader // nsfw 18+ // enemies to lovers // fwb

masterlist // read on ao3

summary: wearing the jersey of your self-proclaimed enemy wasn't supposed to go like this.

word count: 2.8k

decided to post this fic to tumblr! not sure if i will be doing a taglist, but i will be tagging each part with jamie tartt x reader + jamie tartt smut so if you are following those tags religiously (like me) then you can find it lol. its also on ao3 and will likely get updated there first if you'd like to subscribe that way. big shoutout to @whimsical-roasting for drafting this in our dms in a haze one night LMAO i would not have been able to write this without her<3333

༻✧✧✧༺

“No no no, there is no way I’m wearing that.”

Opposite of you, your best friend, Laney, stood with two Richmond jerseys in her hands. One said ‘Tartt’ across the back, the other, ‘McAdoo,’ but you already knew which one she wanted to wear. She had a raging crush on Isaac, so that left only one option for you.

And there was no way you were wearing Jamie Tartt’s fucking jersey.

You would never hear the end of it. As part of the team’s physio team, you had a good rapport with most of the players. You complimented them when they had a good match and joked around while working with them through their physical therapy treatments. 

You had a decent working relationship with everyone on the team. 

Everyone except for Jamie Tartt.

There was no question that since his return to Richmond, he had become a changed man, but his past words had left a lingering resentment. You didn’t think you were in the wrong to simply avoid interacting with the man. He hadn’t often been seen in the treatment room, and when he had, you typically passed off his treatment to another member of the team, along with some flimsy excuse for why you couldn’t do it.

But recently, as he trained more with Coach Kent outside of the dog track, he’d needed additional treatment. And as the new lead of the physio team, you were in charge of his treatment plan. 

In recent months, especially since working more closely with him, he’d started to notice the difference in behavior from you, leading to all sorts of jests and confrontations. Now, it seemed like he just got a kick out of teasing and inevitably pissing you off. You couldn’t help but fire some scathing shots back. What started out as a simple plan of avoidance had clearly backfired.

Now everytime he needed assistance with muscle cramps or pain medication, you got a conversation full of sarcasm and questions. It almost felt like sometimes he came in just to rile you up.

Just last week, Jamie came in to check on his ankle after a bad landing at training. You examined his leg and he made comments the entire time you had your hands on him.

“You know, I get waxed. Weekly. Everywhere.”

You had stumbled ever so slightly as you’d gone to grab an ice pack. You cringed inwardly, knowing this would only add more fuel to Jamie’s fire. You were tired of him getting the best of you, making you flustered. You wanted to fight back.

Turning back to him with the ice pack, you stared at him directly.

“Show me,” you challenged.

Jamie’s face held an incredulous expression.

“You mentioned it— you clearly want to,” you reasoned, shrugging your shoulders, “So show me.” 

You hoped your confidence in calling his bluff worked in your favor, and his face showed that he was clearly surprised by this turn of events. You couldn’t tell what he would do next. He rolled his eyes with that smug smirk on his face before he raised his eyebrows and lifted his shirt up. 

Sure enough, his chest was bare, showing off his sculpted muscles.

Jamie leisurely lounged across the treatment table, chest exposed, and you would be lying if you said your mouth didn’t water a little bit at the sight. Even after being around athletes on a daily basis, there was something about Jamie that just— hit different. His cockiness was surely annoying, but it was also incredibly arousing, as much as you hated to admit it. You felt a squeeze in your chest but you bit your tongue to keep yourself in line. There was no way that thought would ever bear fruit.

You shoved the ice pack into his lap, making sure some of it landed on the bare skin of his stomach, watching as he flinched a little bit at the abrupt action and cold temperature of the pack.

“Ice your ankle for twenty minutes, then stay off it the rest of the day,” you informed him, acting like the last few moments hadn’t happened. “You’ll be good to train tomorrow.”

Jamie scoffed at your indifference. He grasped the ice pack fully and let his shirt slide back down. 

“Sure, love, I’ll do that.” 

He knew you hated it when he called you by a pet name. That only made him use them more. You glanced back at him, staring into his eyes for a moment before you grabbed your bag. 

The tension in the room was palpable before you’d headed out to check on the rest of the players at training. You hadn’t said anything else as you’d left.

So, yeah. There was no way Jamie Tartt would ever let you hear the end of it if you showed up in his jersey number. 

“Oh, come on!” Laney pleaded. “I don’t want to wear a jersey alone.”

“Plenty of people do!”

“Yeah, but plenty of people don’t get to go behind the scenes and actually speak to the players,” she gushed. “I don’t want to meet them and look stupid all alone.”

“So instead, you want me to look stupid with you,” you gave her a flat look.

She smiled mischievously. “What? I thought it would be funny. You complain about him all the time.”

If only she fully comprehended the validity behind your complaints.

You knew there was no way you were ever going to win this fight, so you slipped on the jersey and braced for impact. You were happy to have Laney come along to a game, especially since you didn’t always attend matches and her being a big Richmond fan gave you an excuse to watch. You wanted today to be good, not just for you, but for her too. It was exciting to be able to take your best friend on a little ‘backstage’ tour during gameday. 

You hoped today would be good, and that you wouldn’t have any run-ins with the man who made your blood boil.

Alas, not even twenty minutes later, as you walked into the back of the Nelson Road stadium through the employee entrance, you promptly ran into none other than Jamie Tartt.

“Well well well, I didn’t realize someone was such a big fan,” the familiar Mancunian accent taunted behind you. 

You tried not to visibly cringe as you turned around to face Jamie. He was not yet in his kit, still wearing his street clothes: a monochrome denim set. It was frankly unfair how well the jeans fit him, but you refused to let your gaze linger for more than a few seconds. 

“Oh my, it's the infamous Jamie Tartt,” Laney greeted him playfully. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your jaw clenched at her words as she reached out to shake his hand. He eagerly accepted.

“Have you?” he asked with a mischievous look in your direction that made you roll your eyes.

Laney nodded emphatically. “She talks about you all the time.”

You nudged her shoulder to get her to stop talking but she just looked at you innocently. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it seemed like Jamie did too.

“Oh, does she?” Jamie questioned. 

He was eating this up. His face was smug and you were sure this would haunt you for weeks to come. 

“Laney, why don’t you go get some snacks? Shouldn’t be a line since we are here a bit early. I’ve got to talk to Jamie before the match,” you said. “I’ll meet you at our seats?”

You smiled sweetly at her, but underneath the nice layer, you knew your eyes held an anger that had her quickly waving goodbye and scurrying off. You were more than happy to have her accompany you to a match, but this entire interaction was reminding you of why you hadn’t invited her sooner.

For a moment, you just stared at him. It was hard to look him directly in the eye sometimes. Despite the headstrong front you kept up, you weren’t used to dealing with such interactions. You weren't stupid, you knew that this dance you two engaged in fell close to flirting (at least that’s what Laney said), and when you looked directly at him, you remembered just how fucking hot he was.

It wasn't just his physical attributes. Sure, he was in excellent physical shape, and his hair looked particularly perfect ever since he started going a bit blond, and his lips were always in a little pout, just begging to be kissed. But it was also a little more than that. Seeing him step up to lead as they began Total Football, working as a team player while also getting in extra workouts to be the best he could be. You weren't blind. You could see his internal changes on the outside, somehow. He didn't seem as cold. He didn't seem as distant and prickish. Jamie’s change in demeanor changed how everyone saw him including himself.

And he seemed to look even hotter than he used to.

Was it possible for someone to just keep getting more and more attractive?

It was part of the reason he drove you up the wall. How did he so perfectly remain just a little bit of a prick while also being a better person? And why did he have to look so pretty while doing it? 

More and more people were making their way through the hallway as the dog track got ready for the match, and Jamie still stood in the middle, with an innocent, questioning look directed towards you.

You huffed before you grabbed his arm and shoved him into the treatment room. Even if he was acting oblivious to spectators, you didn’t want to put on a show when you once again ripped him a new one. 

His face was still prickish as you turned to look at him. He was clearly enjoying this much more than you were. 

“So you talk about me when I ain’t around, love?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t,” you said firmly. “And don’t call me ‘love.’”

He pursed his lips, “Seems like you do… love.”

He smiled cheekily at you and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes at him. Instead, you crossed your arms and put on what you hoped was your most serious face.

“I talk about everybody,” you defended, but he clearly wasn’t listening.

“Hmmm, and what do you say about me?” Jamie scratched his chin to mock being in deep concentration. 

“Mostly, I tell people you’re a pain in my ass.”

The statement seemed to shock Jamie out of his act and he narrowed his eyes at you. You knew it wasn’t the best idea to have a sparring match with a footballer right before a game. They were pent up with nerves and adrenaline as they prepared. 

After a moment of no response, you expected the conversation to be over and began to move toward the door, when he finally spoke up.

“Bend over, I’ll show you a pain in the ass.”

Now you’re the one who’s speechless. You let out a breathless laugh of shock, before rolling your eyes. You continued on your way to the door, moving to leave him in the room alone. Just as you go past him, he playfully smacks your ass. Before you have a chance to even choose your reaction, you let out what can only be described as a whimper mixed with a moan. 

You whirl around to look at him, and you both seem to be shocked by the noise. You can tell your face is burning with embarrassment as you stare at each other in a momentary state of shock. 

He recovers first, letting out a breath of a laugh. A smirk dances across his face.

“Liked that, did you?” he taunted.

You clearly didn’t recover as quickly, your reply coming out weaker than you’d like. “Shut up, Tartt.”

He stepped a little closer to you, and you stepped back instinctively, before you ran into the table set up next to the door. 

“I liked hearin’ it,” he said, his voice coming out like a rough whisper.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were barely processing how close the two of you were. Making direct eye contact, breathing the same air. In the next moment, you had spun around, shoving your own pants down around your knees as you heard him unzipping his jeans. He gripped your waist as he spanked you again, and you didn’t even try to suppress the moan that left your lips. 

He slid his dick in easily, and you were surprised at how wet you’d become from simply arguing with the man. He held you against his chest as he thrust into you, pressing a messy kiss to your neck, sucking slightly. Part of you was worried about him leaving a mark, but the thought was pushed to the back of your mind as he continued his journey along your neck. He raised your knee higher to rest against the table for a better position, and you groaned in unison as he thrust deeper inside you. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, leaning against him.

“You wanted this real bad, huh, angel?” he asked.

You nearly wept at the pet name. You made a noise of protest, but your voice came out near breathless from the intensity of it all. You felt like your knees would buckle from the sensation, so you gripped the table in an attempt to not fall.

“Fuck you— you wanted it more,” you defended, but just as you spoke, he hit deep inside you and left the end of your sentence turning to mush as you moaned.

The table wasn’t enough to grab onto, so you reached back and started to grip the strands of his hair. He groaned directly into your ear, and you felt your knees nearly give out entirely.

“Damn, you look so pretty with my name on your back and my dick inside you,” he mumbled as he ran his hand up to grip at your throat. The action wasn’t gentle, but the pressure was perfect.

You’d almost forgotten you were wearing his name across the back of your jersey. Of course he would think it was hot.

It surprised you when you realized you found it kind of hot too.

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, “This isn’t happening again.”

Your harsh words felt like they had no meaning as you bucked against him. His own hips rose up to meet your own. Truth be told, you were getting your shit rocked and were already wondering when you could fuck him again. You felt your brain short circuiting. Your breaths were shallow as he moved his hand up to your mouth.

You bit his hand out of frustration, making him hiss and thrust his hips faster. He shoved his fingers into your mouth and you sucked instinctively, causing him to whine. 

“Jamie,” you gasped around his fingers, “I-I’m close.”

“Me too, love,” he panted in reply. You didn’t have it in you to correct him over the pet name, overcome with the sensations coursing through your body. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and snaked his hand down your body to find your clit, adding extra pressure. He knows just the right way to move his fingers that has you falling apart in mere moments.

When you come, he turns your head to plant a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips as you both find your release. You find yourself kissing him back intensely, chasing his lips once he finally pulls away.

Your knees are weak at this point, fully leaning against him for support once he finally slips out of you and pulls his jeans back up. Before he has a chance to say anything between breaths, you reach for a towel off the shelves above you and clean yourself off.

You’re still out of breath as you finally look over at him. His face is shiny with sweat and you fear you look the same. You’ll have to stop by the restroom before you meet back up with Laney. 

Laney. 

The thought of your friend has you glancing at the clock on the wall, cursing yourself. Everything starts to come into clear view, and you wonder how you let things go this far. You just fucked Jamie Tartt. How the hell did that just happen?

You press your lips in a firm line. You try to keep your hands from visibly shaking.

“This is never happening again,” you tell him again, as you reach for the door handle to exit. 

As you open the door, Jamie scoffs.

“Sure, love,” he says, sauntering through the door that you opened, “I’ll see you after the match.” 

He leaves you with a wink before heading off to get ready for the match. If you thought he would be unbearable about the jersey, you had just made the entire situation so much worse. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood in the treatment room before you finally left as well.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Intro🔞

Unrequited love can be oh-so painful, especially as a hopeless romantic like Jeon Jungkook. You're supposed to just momentarily soothe his aching heart and take his mind off of things- but something about you just draws him in...

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, strangers to lovers, Stereotypes, description of Unrequited love, romance, accidental flirting, some angst, major fluff, smut

Length: 2k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: this was supposed to be an angsty oneshot. Thanks to @euphoricfilter I decided to make it a softer series instead.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook doesn't really know you. 

He knows that you don't like wearing pants, which is why you wear a simple cotton dress tonight despite the weather outside. You layered a sweater over it, and you wear fluffy overknee socks and boots- everything cute, a little oversized, giving you an overall soft appearance. He also knows that you don't really want to be here, that you accompanied a friend but that she went to make out with some boy she had her eyes on the entire night. And he knows your age, your name, and that you have a very nice voice. 

A voice currently whimpering against his ear, as he holds your thighs to keep you propped up against the wall while he thrusts his hips into you. He didn't really think much of it when you suggested this, and he definitely didn't think much of it when he agreed- after all, looks are just looks, down the line, and just because you don't look the part doesn't mean you can't be a little wild. 

What he did not expect was for you to turn out to taste so sweet- the entire ordeal of just a quick fuck feeling like something much more than he's used to. You're supposed to just take his mind off of his long time crush currently probably getting railed in the car outside- and you're doing much more than that. 

It’s like you’re giving him something entirely new to think about. Like you’re someone capable of filling her place in his head. 

Your hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his leather jacket. The warm skin of your thighs, feeling just so good in his hands. And not to mention that clench of your core around his length, making him feel sensitive even despite the condom he wears. 

"What if you just find someone else, too?" You'd wondered at him at the bar earlier, cheek a little squished as you rested your face on one of your hands, looking at him. "She clearly doesn't want you from what I can tell. So stop pining after someone who doesn't see you." You'd boldly stated, throwing the bucket of cold water over his head- shaking him awake, in a way, because no one's really put it out in the open like that to him up until you. It's tough to hear it, but it's the truth- and you're right. 

He needed a distraction. And you seemed to be the perfect opportunity. 

Lucy had always kept him close- dangling him from a string in front of her heart, never letting him reach it- because it had always been closed off, her interest more in what she could gain from him, and not what she could give him as well. She clearly only really kept him close so he could do things for her- help her move, build up furniture, take care of her cat multiple times a week, even buy her things. Jungkook paid for her rent for half a year- simply because he wanted to show her that he was in it with a full and honest heart. 

He wanted her to see him. But just like you said, she doesn't. Because she doesn't want to see him. She doesn't want him. 

"And where would I find someone else?" Jungkook had asked, eyes finding yours as you'd shrugged. 

"Can't promise you a mind-blowing experience-" You'd told him, one of your legs moving forward to playfully kick his boot. "-but I'm right here." 

And right here you are. 

You smell really nice- he realizes that as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, your skin flushed and hot against his lips. He's not sure why he feels almost guilty taking you like this- you seem more like someone who deserves a romantic date night and then a good long slow-fuck in an actual bedroom, not some underground club storage room. You're currently single, and he knows that from you as well, but he's sure that you won't have any trouble finding someone in the near future. 

Though the thought of it makes him a little.. Upset, almost. Jealous? 

"You close?" He growls into your neck, and you simply nod in response, making him chuckle. You seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, but you're actually kind of cute in this moment. He's, despite his looks, not one to usually do these kinds of things- he's a romantic, even if it's more of an unconventional one. He craves something real and authentic, something that knocks the breath out of his lungs and swallows his heart whole.  

Huh. 

Maybe under different circumstances, you could've been just that for him. He can imagine falling for you if you'd met sooner, or in a different situation- you seem very nice, with a laid back personality added to it. Your pretty face and pretty body is just an added bonus- and he feels a bit disappointed knowing he'll never see you fully nude.

What could you be hiding underneath those clothes? 

For sure something to be worshipped, a body meant to be made love to and not this right now. But you're already at the end, as he bites his lips and pushes you over the edge, your fingers clawing at his leather jacket as you weakly whimper out in pleasure, his own high a lot softer than yours. That doesn't mean it's any less fulfilling- in fact it's a pretty damn good one, drawn out, making the muscles in his thighs stutter a bit as he holds you up for a bit longer, before he slowly sets you back down to your feet.  

You avoid looking at him now. He wonders if you regret it.  

But is that really any of his business? 

"Okay?" He asks, much to his own surprise as he helps you stand, music dull, bass almost the only thing you can both hear as he strips the condom off and finds some tissues to clean himself up- giving some to you as well. You take them silently, and clean yourself up, watching him throw everything into a trash bin nearby. It's only now that you seem to take a look around the small storage room you're both in, before you pull up your underwear, cringing at the odd feeling in your legs. "You good?" Jungkook chuckles- but you still don't look at him, simply nod before you seem to adjust yourself. How do you really feel about this? 

It's none of his business. So why does he feel like it is?  

"Do you.. I don't know, do you want me to drive you home?" He wonders. "If your friend isn't back, I mean." He adds, and you shrug.  

"Yeah." You tell him almost indifferently, before he nods, and leads you back outside, music suddenly loud and clear again. "but.. I think I can see here over there." You mumble, as Jungkook adjusts the back of your clothes for you, something he didn't even notice doing until his hands were already on you. There's something.. odd about you. A strange attraction, almost.  

He's not sure if it's just post-sex-attachment, or if it's genuine interest.  

“She seems awfully... occupied though.” Jungkook chuckles, watching together with you how she pretty much doesn’t seem to care that she’s basically getting undressed by the guy on the dancefloor. “I’ll wait with you at the bar if you’d like.” He suggests, and you shake your head, visibly disappointed.  

“No.” You deny. “Just..” You pull your little bag a little tighter over your shoulder. “..I changed my mind. Take me home, please.” You ask without looking at him, and he nods quietly, a hand on your shoulder leading you outside.  

His car is a little old, but the interior is clean and smells nice. He instantly turns the heat on, making sure you’re comfortable, radio playing quietly in the background while you click your phone into the holder, the navigation app having started to show him the journey to your home. “Oh? We don’t live that far apart.” He notices, as he pulls out of the parking lot in front of the club. “I live near the subway station, where that weird store is. The one where that old lady sells healing crystals and shit like that.” He attempts to smalltalk, and you nod.  

“Yeah, I know that one.” You answer. “My mom used to be friends with the woman that owns the shop..” You shrug.  

“Oh, cool.” He offers. “I don’t really believe in that stuff, but each their own.” He tells you.  

“I don’t believe in it either.” You admit. “But my mom does, so I just.. Pretend I do. I don’t like to fight with her.” You say, looking out the window to see it starting to rain a little.  

“You seem like someone who doesn’t like arguments.” He chuckles. “Which is a compliment, by the way.” He makes sure to underline. “Can I ask why you.. Seem so sad right now?”  

“Sure you can.” You say, before you look back at your hands in your lap. “It’s.. She does it a lot. My friend, I mean.” You admit, before you sigh. “I feel like she’s just.. I don’t know. Like I’m just a placeholder, good enough when there’s no one else around.”  

“Hm, I get what you mean.” He answers. “Some people are shit like that. My mom used to marry and divorce like she was aiming for a world record.” He laughs easily, stopping at a red light. “Some people just can’t be alone. It eats them up- so they take whatever company they can, and love too easily.” Jungkook explains.  

“But where’s the love in that?” You mumble almost too quiet for him to catch, looking out the window again where two children run through the rain after what you believe might be their mother holding a yellow umbrella.  

“For some, that’s love.” He shrugs. “It’s different for anybody. My definition of love probably is different from yours, and that’s fine too.” He offers.  

“I don’t even know.. What it is.” You sigh, defeated in your tone. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”  

“You’ll know when it happens, trust me.” He tries to lift your mood. “Maybe we can.. I don’t know. Stay in touch, hang around together. I promise I might look like it but I’m not involved in any drug-related drama.” He laughs. “But all you need might just be a good friendgroup, a nice social circle. And I promise my friends are all cool, even though they’re all guys. They’re all in relationships- well, apart from me, but you know why that issue exists.” He chuckles.  

“You shouldn’t let her use you anymore, you know?” You say quietly, as the surrounding area outside the car becomes familiar. “You’re.. Too nice for someone like that.” You say, as he parks in front of the apartment building your phone exclaims is your destination of choice. You reach over to take your phone from the plastic holder, when you notice Jungkook watching you intently, before he speaks.  

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and you look at him with wide eyes, interior lights of his car reflecting in them, making him even more eager to find out how it’ll feel like if you gave him the chance. You shrug, before you nod, visibly confused, while his eyes roam around your face, as if they can’t decide what feature of yours to focus on.  

Everything looks too magical right now. Like some cheesy romantic drama.

He’s not sure if he likes it or not.  

But as his hand reaches out to help angle your face right to place his lips against yours, he’s surely enough made his decision, sweet lipbalm of yours fruity on his tongue as he fails to keep his cool, leaning over further, both of your eyes closed as you get lost in the whole action- though he finally has to break free, the moment enough to cut the spell you both have been under.  

“Well fuck me.” He starts to laugh. “Now I’ll definitely need your number.” he jokes, as he takes out his phone to do just that, your fingers typing in the numbers of your phone, your heart still racing in your chest.

All while his words keep repeating in your head.

'You'll know when it happens, trust me.'

[anincompletelist]

[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv ]

happy january friends! :D

there have been a crazy number of wonderful fics that I have had time to catch up on this month, and I've saved a few for next month's rec as well!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

this turned out to be a bit of a long one! I hope everyone has had a wonderful start to the new year so far, and happy reading y'all! <3

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it's a kind of magic | Jaistiel | E | 82k

Henry, the man who had asked if Alex's magic hurt him before asking if he used it for evil things. Henry, the man who seemed terrified of his magic, but also held a level of awe and wonder about it. Henry, the man who was likely scared out of his mind to share a tent with someone capable of the things Alex could do, but was offering anyway. "Alex." He watched as Henry's eyes widened with shock, his jaw dropping open just enough for his full lips to form a small, perfect 'o' shape. "If you're asking me to share your tent and your blankets, I guess you should at least know my name."

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you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

"Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here."

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Dream A Little Dream Of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

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if I do not have (your) love, I am nothing | @read-and-write- | M | 9k

The church says that sin keeps you away from God. Your disobedience is to remain hidden and only admitted during confession. The greater the sin, the greater your penance should be, and God, as the loving God he is, will forgive you. Because God is love, and he’s the greatest expression of it. Love thy neighbor is the greatest mandate of all. Yet, when Alex loves, his love is seen as perverse, impure. The greatest sin he has committed was to fall in love with another man, who has lain by his side during countless nights. But when Alex looks at Henry, he finds nothing reprehensible, nothing unclean. Instead, he finds the truest form of worship held between his arms, trailing fingertips that climb up Henry’s spine as a litany of words spill out from his mouth. A room consecrated by each whisper of God’s name, said so reverently that no one would dare say they have taken His name in vain. [A character study of Alex, religion, divinity and love.]

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sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 65k+

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

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I wake up with your memory over me (and that's a real fucking legacy) | @coffeecatsme | E | 21k

The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis.  [Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.]

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Praise and Supplication | @nocoastposts | E | 3k

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core. [When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.]

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Room for Rent (Sex Dungeon Not Included) | @everwitch-magiks | E | 19k

When Alex comes, he only knows two things: that he’s good, and that he’s Henry’s. And that’s all he needs to know. Alex’s housemate has a sex dungeon. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect; whips and bondage gear and a chair that looks like something a gynecologist would have use for. Alex, being the chill, sex-positive guy he is, is of course extremely cool with this. Totally normal about it. Enthusiastically supportive, even. But as Alex watches Henry invite a steady stream of men into his dungeon, he develops one tiny little issue with the arrangement: he desperately wants to take their place.

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stolen glances with a string attached | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 6k

Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read. The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.” [An AU in which two men fall in love through their office windows]

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two is better than one | @bigassbowlingballhead | E | 8k

“You’ve thought about being with two of me, baby?” Alex teases, “Are you sure you can handle that?” he smirks. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Henry says matter of factly. “Not that it’s even fathomable.” “What if it could be…”

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love left a permanent mark | @hypnostheory | E | 10k

Henry clears his throat and answers again. “I’m a bit nervous. About the needles.” “Thank you for telling me,” Alex says, voice dipping low. Henry wouldn’t move from his spot on the couch if the apartment was on fire. “People aren’t afraid of the needle. They’re afraid of the pain. But you’re not scared of that, right?” [Henry decides to get a tattoo. It comes with more than one kind of aftercare.]

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Grounded In Fact | @england-would-fall | E | 5k

When Georgetown grad student Henry's and Alex's flights home are cancelled for bad weather, they secure the last room at a nearby hotel. Henry Fox, facing the prospect of sharing a bed with his roommate/love of his life/friend he has never confessed his feelings to, enters into an epic state of Gay Panic (tm). Come on in and watch as Henry Who Is Experiencing The Greatest Tragedy Since The Burning Of Alexandria navigates this very real and not at all in-his-head crisis.

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kitchen confidential | @dumbpeachjuice | T+ | 4k

The NDA is approximately a mile long. “Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?” [Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.]

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Newton's Fourth Law | dilfpickles | E | 26k

In which Alex meets his new very attractive roommate through Reddit, downloads Grindr, and discovers some things about himself and his roommate in the process.

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Knowing me, knowing you | phlebotinxm | E | 8k

It wasn’t like the thought crept up on him by surprise. It had come in waves, like white salty water spread upon the shore and leaving little bits of foam and dust for people to see, like an idea Henry couldn’t quite shake that seemed to bleed into every era of their lives. It stayed at the back of his mind as he got up in the morning, and pulsed against his temple when he fell asleep. [In which, upon discovering something he’d never imagined about his father, Henry realizes that he is ready to take the next big step in his and Alex’s relationship.]

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All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers | @kiwiana-writes | E | 5k

“That floor doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable on your knees, is all.” Henry leans forward, scooping out a piece of brownie that got under the counter, somehow. “I wouldn’t worry about that—my knees are quite used to it, I assure you.” A ringing silence follows this pronouncement, during which Henry focuses very hard on opening a trap door directly into hell with the power of his mind. [Or, five times Henry puts his foot in his mouth in front of his customer crush, and one time he puts his dick in his customer crush's mouth instead doesn't.]

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The Consequences (Of Our Actions) series | @anchoredarchangel | E | 78k+

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." [Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.]

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Burnt Offering | justice fortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

He just needs to get through washing his hair. Simple. Except washing his hair has never been simple. It’s the polar opposite, actually. The more he thinks about the task set out in front of him, the more daunting and impossible it feels. His limbs feel like lead and the weight of the hot water pouring over him makes his head buzz. But Alex can do this. He’s done it before. A shower after a long lacrosse game or that one time he had the flu and had to stop three times to sit under the water and collect himself. He can handle a little finals week exhaustion. He has to. [Or, Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service.]

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Ho for the Holidays | @whimsymanaged | E | 6k

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” [Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.]

--

see you all soon! :D

sarah / anincompletelist xx

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

aren’t promises meant to be broken?

at 17 sirius promised to always be there for you whenever you need him. now 3 years after your break up, sirius has yet to break this promise.

tags: sirius black x f!reader,, magical nuisances,, exes to friends to lovers,, hurt and comfort,, fluff,, angst,, slytherins + pandora,, no voldy

a/n: took me an embarrassing amount of time to finish but i’m kinda soft for this fic ngl

people never stay friends with their exes. even with the promises of being one when breaking up. most find it, understandably, too awkward to continue any sort of relationship with them.

you would have been one of those people, at least you think so. but certain circumstances have deemed this preference a futile thought.

“i can’t believe you got me here to clean your bathroom.” sirius glared, peeling off the rubber gloves off his hands and slumping down on the breakfast nook.

“someone had to do it.” you shrugged, “it wouldn’t be the first time,” you smiled, vanishing the gloves and cleaning the table too. before placing a plate in front of him filled with sausages, toast and beans.

“that’s the fucked up part! it isn’t even my first time doing this.” he groans, grabbing a fork that you immediately slapped away.

“wash your hands first, you animal.”

he whines a protest but gets up anyway, rubbing his slapped hands as he does so—pouting because he’s dramatic like that.

“aren’t you going to eat with me?” he asks, his back turned to you as he washes his hands.

you were almost going to say yes, out of habit, having done so numerous times before. but remembered belatedly, the date set up by regulus with one of his work colleagues. a proper fit to you, he said. “no, i’m meeting somebody for dinner later.”

he closes the tap, turning to you again. “dinner? with who?”

you clicked your tongue at the dripping mess he’s making on the floor. grabbing paper towels and tossing it to him to wipe it himself. “some bloke from regulus’ work.”

“regulus? another date then?”

you nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the idea of talking about dates your ex’s brother set you up with.

he frowned. going back to the table and grabbing the fork to start eating the warm food. “i see,”

and that was, thankfully, the end of that.

you didn’t really want to delve into your dating life with anyone, much less your ex-boyfriend of all people—no matter how many times he cleans your bathroom. it was already morbidly pathetic, how your friends seem to think you needed help finding someone new and to move on with.

but in your defence, it is rather difficult finding someone who would be okay with your, er, arrangement with your ex.

it is all sirius’ fault, really, but what isn’t? accidentally making a magically-binding promise to you, seems just like the type of thing he would do. and he has.

ever since he made that promise at 17 when you’ve just started dating, sirius has been showing up in your life, ready to help you with anything you need. you thought of this is in a more figurative sense, but no. that was too simple.

instead, whenever you need something. maybe something as simple as scratching your back, to partaking in a monthly bathroom cleaning, sirius would just appear out of thin air into your house, or wherever you need him, and he would be required to do it else he wouldn’t be able to leave.

when you were dating, this was something you both enjoyed, sometimes even looked forward to. using it as an excuse to latch unto each other the whole day. but now, having been spilt for how many years now (3 but who’s counting?) you can imagine how this magic promise has become a nuisance in your everyday life.

you tried resisting it, of course. though the power of will and mental fortitude can only do so much when you can’t reach the top shelves of your kitchen. forget about avoiding your ex, when he can just pop in whenever, wherever, when you get so much as a paper cut. you can see how the novelty of the situation can run its course. so much so, you sort of just learn how to deal with it instead of fighting it.

you’ve learned to use this to your advantage, of course, making him do chores around the house, makes him a great house elf without the moral issues of owning one.

he was also quite reluctant, when you both broke up, but that was to be expected. he had tried moving away to france, thinking the distance might prevent him from showing up. but that only made it difficult to explain to the travel officers how he can exit the country without violating travel wizarding laws.

regardless of the reluctant acceptance of such peculiar arrangement, you still have that hope you can somehow reverse it.

this particular hope always trampled by your friends’ insistence to utilize your situation to your extreme satisfaction.

“i don’t understand why you would want to remove it, to be honest.” dorcas frowned flipping through the pages of magical vows and contracts, vol.2. “i mean if i had someone doing things for me all day long, i certainly wouldn’t complain.”

“are you joking? why would anyone want to stay bound to their ex?”

she looked over to you, tone playfully mocking, but mocking regardless. “you mean an ex who does everything you need him to?”

“well, how would you feel if lily was always around you doing stuff for you?”

“oh please, if lily was bound to me, cleaning my bathroom wouldn’t be the only thing she would be doing.”

you grimace, “spare me the details, i beg of you.”

“so you wouldn’t like it if you and sirius partook… in certain late night activities?” she hummed.

you sputter out scandalized gasps, face feeling gruesomely warm, “don’t be disgusting! i have no intentions of ever doing anything with him and i assume he share the sentiments, a-and it is appalling that you think so—!” you breathed in deep, willing your face to relax and to settle your wild heart. “i don’t need him to be anything other than a reluctant acquaintance.”

pandora laughs from the floor, “not even considering him as a friend? poor sirius.”

you huff, embarrassed and frankly a bit betrayed.

you friends have convinced themselves of sirius’ intentions to be more than what is required of him. pushing you of all people to act upon seducing him using your gods given womanly assets, as pandora had once labelled.

you abruptly stood up from the table, going over to the stove to reheat the water to make more tea. “besides, i am perfectly capable of handling things by myself, thank you very much.”

it’s dorcas who laughs this time, “what do you mean? just last week, he had to bandage your finger for you because you bit your cuticle to blood. you are entirely dependent on him at this point.”

you huff, “i am not. i am a woman capable of attending to my own needs. that was the bind’s requirements of it all, i have to let him do these things or the bond won’t ever let him leave, you know this already.” you groan, rolling your eyes. “my point still stands. i don’t need him, nor will i ever need him. i just want all of this out of my life and in the past, like it should have been.”

“doesn’t he have his own room in this house by now?”

“it’s not his room, it’s a guest room— that he frequently uses. there’s a difference.”

it was pandora munching on peanuts, wholly amused that responded next, “right,” she drawled, “and that’s why he has his clothes folded and tucked away in the closet.”

“oh piss off, the nuisance sometimes happens in the middle of the night. how could i let him go home so late? what kind of host would i be?”

“couldn’t he just go home straight after?” dorcas asks.

“is it a nuisance, still?” pandora asks.

you cross your arms, petulant, “he can, but he chooses not to. and yes, still.” you scoff, “i know you think something filthy is happening but i particularly don’t enjoy his impromptu trespasses, believe me.”

“i don’t know, you two seem to be getting along quite well.”

“me and that useless oaf? are you joking?”

pandora smiled sweetly, “hardly useless now, i hear.”

“and what did you hear?”

“takes care of you quite well, what with dinner invites with the potters and even travelling?”

you turned around, fiddling with the tea cups, hoping to hide your darkening flush. but you know it did nothing, judging by their giggles.

“travelling?” dorcas inquired, interest piqued.

you don’t see her but you can sense her teasing smile.

you have yet to share that tidbit of embarrassing info to her. mainly because you don’t know how to squeeze it in and you don’t know how to even begin.

you did go to the potters for one random dinner. the invite came after sirius had come and helped you arrange your home library. it was just a simple dinner. filled with other people, hardly anything scandalous.

the travelling together was accidental. you were off to travel with bloke #4, as graciously dubbed by sirius (someone regulus had set you up with at the time) off to a romantic getaway for the weekend to a hot spring up the mountains. only to get thirsty halfway through your trip and have sirius show up in your train compartment only in his boxers and fluffy bunny slippers.

there were no other stops in the train. anti apparition wards set up and the floo connection was severed in the hotel to promote exclusivity, sirius had to join in on the activities through his relentless insistence. he had ate and laughed obnoxiously loud - sitting dangerously close to you the entire trip. he had constantly went on a tangent, reminiscing about your past relationship ranging from random dates to the make out spots you’ve frequented together in hogwarts. safe to say that was the last time you’ve heard from bloke #4.

but you could hardly think to be upset about that. you quite… enjoyed yourself.

but you’ll be damned before you admit that to these two vultures.

taking a deep breath, “there was no dinner invites nor travelling. it was—“

“magical nuisance, yes, yes.” pandora waves off.

you roll your eyes again, grabbing the hot kettle to steep the tea. “stop trying to make things—ah! fuck, ow.” you hiss, holding your painfully warm, stinging fingers. you see the tiny boils already appearing on your skin, the piercing pain shooting through your fingers. you squeezed your hand, hoping to elevate some of the pain.

sirius made a quick move to grab your wrists to pull you to the sink. you didn’t even hear him arrive.

“what happened?” he asks, silver eyes looking at you in intense worry. softly holding your hand under the cold running water gliding down your hand. he was standing so close to you you could smell a tiny hint of his soap. you slowly start to relax.

that is before you catch dorcas’ glinting gaze and pandora’s knowing smile. both of which you vehemently ignore, as you stare at your red fingers and his much larger hand on yours.

“i burned my fingers on the kettle.”

“goodness love, you have to be more careful.”

“sorry.” you mumbled, but having no idea why you would even apologize in the first place. still, you feel the heat of your hand spread to your body.

dorcas, having stood up to help you sat back down again, “hello, sirius. right on time as always.” she called, a cetain lilt in her voice you nervously recognized.

“sirius black, what a coincidence.” pandora sing songs, no subtlety whatsoever.

oh, they are just the worst.

he regarded them both in an overly familiar smile (an ex shouldn’t give to his ex’s friends) and in a light teasing tone as he says “good evening, ladies. why do i get the feeling like you’ve been gossiping about me?”

“you might have been mentioned once or twice.” pandora shrugged.

sirius softly laughs, the sound barely heard over the sink, before he stares at your fingers again, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin. before looking at you with a teasing smirk to which you only roll your eyes at.

you see shuffling in your peripheral, meeting your friend’s eyes, you see them gesture to you and sirius. trying to wordlessly communicate to you with wide smiles. you imagine something akin to, see? what did we tell you? not useless right? nuisance my ass. look at you guys holding hands under the water.

as if just realizing it now, you pull your hand away from his grip in an embarrassed haste, as he slowly lets go with a small frown etched on his face.

drying his hands on the towel, as he leans down to unnecessarily whisper to you. “i’m going to get a burn salve, i’ll be quick.”

“it’s in the—“

“bathroom, yes, angel, i know. just wait for me.” he drawled, giving you a wry smile.

you stare at his retreating figure. you almost want to laugh at his serious reaction to a simple burn from a kettle. hardly calls for any salve. but you kept the comments in, for whatever reason. a fluffy, dangerous feeling erupting in your chest.

you hear dorcas whistle to get your attention, a smirk on her face, “angel?”

when the promise first happened, it was during graduation from hogwarts. absolutely gutted by the fact that your parents didn’t show. they’ve been vocal about their disappointment that you weren’t able to finish at the top of your class. but you had hoped they would still show. you were, after all, still their kid.

but there was noticeably empty seats in an area reserved for your family. so, naturally as any teenager, the next best thing you could do in the situation is cry alone in a bathroom.

though the lack of company didn’t last too long, because then your boyfriend appeared, looking to be in a middle of taking pictures if his big and goofy face is anything to go by.

he heard you, before he saw you. hearing your soft sniffles and the tiny hiccups from your mouth. at the time, you both didn’t question what had happen. why he was inside the girl’s bathroom, why is there a strange pull to follow your every whims. but he was suddenly there to comfort you, and make you smile again—who were you deny his services?

you both only managed to understand what was happening by the third time it happened. sirius suddenly appearing by your bedside, wet and covered in suds. he was in the middle of showering and you promptly freaked out, seeing large bits you weren’t ready to see yet.

but understanding why it was happening didn’t mean both of you would be prepared anytime it actually happened.

the bind didn’t pick and choose when, where, and why he would appear. there was an embarrassing moment when he showed up in the bathroom when you’ve ran out of tissue paper. also at your house during dinner when you needed salt, to which your parents justifiably freaked out at the sight of a boy, claiming to be your boyfriend.

this hasn’t changed years later.

now as you lie in your bed, feeling the scratchy feeling in your throat. you knew by the tingles in your arms. the thrumming static of your magic within you— letting you know of his arrival before you could even sit up.

there he was, your ex-boyfriend, like the days before. it was terribly late, and he was struggling to even stand straight as he yawns in the middle of your room, wearing a set of well-loved teddy bear pajamas.

“somethin’ wrong baby?” his voice deep, hoarse and low. something exciting spiking through your veins, making you more awake.

you knew, if he was more alert he wouldn’t have called you that.

you try not to think why you feel miffed by that fact.

“jus’ some water please.” you call softly from your bed.

he yawns again, rubbing his flat belly, “okay.” he breathes, walking in the darkness of your room with practiced ease.

you hear the small sounds of clanks in the kitchen, and the fridge being pulled open.

he knew you liked you water cold. he knew where your drinking glasses were. he knew where you keep the salves. he knew your apartment in the dark.

in the beginning, especially after your relationship ended, you associated this binding promise as an act of forceful requirement. at best, you see it as a favour you give to a stranger. but lately, especially in the quiet of your house, the pet names that keeps slipping out of his mouth as of late—you start to dangerously think of this as something else. as something more. as something painfully familiar.

he comes back quiet, siting on the bed near your thighs, as he hands you the cool, moist glass. his hair was tousled more than usual. there were sleeping marks on his face. he was probably already asleep before you needed him here.

you feel a little bit guilty, but you see his flushed cheeks through the soft glow of the moon outside your window, and the hooded gaze he desperately tries to keep open. you fight back a smile instead.

“is that all, baby?” his hand softly smoothing your hair at the back of your head. your room felt ridiculously warm.

“thank you.” you murmured before setting the glass on the bedside table.

he gives you one last sleepy smile, eyes closed and his hair toppling over his eyes. “okay, if that’s all—“

“are you going back?” you cut in, holding his wrist, your finger on his pulse. keeping him seated before he could even stand. before his warmth leaves your bed.

“i don’t have to..” he offers. like always, giving you the choice to draw the line.

you hesitate before you answer, letting go of his wrist, “it’s late..” and that’s all you say, and apparently that’s all he needs.

“is it alright then, if i stay the night? then i can leave in the morning?” he whispers back. his warm hand, touching your thigh over the covers. he felt so far away.

you don’t do this, not usually. but in the dark space of your room you feel more confident. more assured. braver.

you move slightly to the side, giving him space, “if you want.” conveniently forgetting the existence of the spare room. choosing to blame it on the lack of sleep.

he smiles, moving the covers. the short moment of exposure making you shiver in the cold. he notices, quickly sliding into bed with you. arms stiffly on his sides and yours crossed across your chest.

still not brave enough.

you feel him shuffle, laying on his side and facing you. his fingers just barely grazing your sides in a soft touch.

you fell asleep faster than any other night, hearing him breath near your ear.

you dream of a teary conversation from a time not so long ago, of desperate pleas not to leave you. and when you feel his arm curl around your waist. you dreaming of nothing for the rest of night.

the next morning, you woke up later than you would have, and see the too empty space next to you. the pang in your chest, grossly familiar.

it had been a month since the night he’s stayed with you. not a breath has been acknowledged about that night. choosing to ignore the lingering tension, the long stares and the awkward dispositions.

you don’t know whether to feel relieved or frustrated.

of course, your friends had noticed this - because hadn’t they been analyzing each of your move when it comes to sirius black?

dorcas eventually had to force it out of you. to which pandora squealed and teased you in delight. insistent of the blooming change in your relationship.

“blooming change?” you repeated.

“what? it’s poetic!” she argues.

“it’s dumb,” regulus calls out. “y/n isn’t the kind to return to an ex, especially not to my dumb brother, right y/n?” he looks so earnestly confident. so much so that you couldn’t even lie to agree with him. truth be told, you have no idea if you were even the type to go back, regardless if it was reggie’s dumb brother or not.

because sirius has been your first boyfriend and if this bind continues on, he might be your last. you don’t know if that’s a good thing, all things considered.

everyone has turned to you now, in varying degrees of smugness, amusement, pride and playful pity.

dorcas laughs, saving you from answering. “i don’t know reggie, seems like y/n’s getting a little swayed.”

reggie reacts for you, as if offended. “she is not! she is actively going on dates and meeting new people.”

“oh?” dorcas smirked.

barty, sitting up straighter, “doesn’t he have a room here or something?”

you say, “no,“ “yes.” pandora quips, at the same time.

you rolled your eyes, “it’s a guest room—“

“one that conveniently went unused in one random night.” evan hummed, smirking, as he blew his smoke out the window.

pandora and dorcas ooh’ed.

“it was late! he was practically dragging himself from the floor, i couldn’t let him hurt himself after i interrupted his sleep, a-and he was already there, it’d be rude not to—i don’t even know why i’m explaining myself to you!— i don’t have to explain myself, because i did nothing wrong.” your met with four amused looks and one gut wrenchingly, disappointed one.

dorcas clicked her tongue, “i don’t know why you’re even fighting it at this point.”

“what do you mean by that?”

“i mean, you clearly want to be with him still.”

you sputter, sitting straighter, indignant as you say, “what gave you that idea?”

“the longing gaze.”

“acting all shy.” barty adds.

“the late night rendezvous,” evan hums.

“giving him his own room.” pandora pointedly looked at you.

“the inability to pursue any other relationship after him.” regulus tutted.

you gasp, betrayed. “even you reggie?”

regulus rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and legs, “i am running out of eligible acquaintances to set you up with, you know.”

you don’t even know how to respond to that.

frankly you can’t. because you know they were right, and dammit if that didn’t hurt your pride just a little.

still, ridiculously hung up on an ex that didn’t even love you. a joke, really.

but you relish in the idea of sirius being near you. it sends a certain tingle down your spine just knowing he’ll arrive anytime, and be there for you. you like how he always stands so close to you even if he doesn’t have to. you like how you don’t have to tell him what he has to do before he does it. you like the pet names naturally slipping past his pretty mouth. how he’s always touching you in some way. how familiar it feels. the habits, the conversations, the feelings—how easy it all seems.

but it isn’t. you know it isn’t.

because you’ve tried and failed.

you fell for him, loved him the way you know how. leaving nothing for yourself as you give everything for him. loving him with no expectations for him to do the same. and so, he doesn’t.

he couldn’t love you back. at least not in the way you entirely feel for him.

he couldn’t look past his life and the experiences he’d endured just to reach that moment in the past. it wrecked you. you didn’t expect anything, but it still hurt when you got nothing for everything you had.

you don’t like the reminder, but you know you need it. you know how destroying it is to forget. you’ve tried being with him already and it didn’t work. you say this to them, whispered, as if ashamed.

you don’t even feel the tears sliding down your check as you say this.

dorcas’ smile dropped and pandora immediately sat down beside you.

“hey, you know it won’t be like that again.” pandora rubbing your shoulders.

“do i?” you rasped. “what’s so different about now than before? what’s to stop us from breaking up again?”

“it’s going to be different because you are different, and so is he.” dorcas said. “you were just teenagers, you barely knew yourselves back then. you weren’t ready for each other yet. he had issues to work out, and you had to grow up a little to understand that.”

you sniffled, “and you think we’re ready.”

“yes,” they all said.

dorcas reaching over and squeezing your hand, “i know you’re both ready.”

you shake your head, you don’t know if that’s true, “our forced proximity lasted longer than our actually relationship. and it’s only lasted this long because it’s just that—forced.”

pandora shook her head, dangling earrings clinking together. “that’s not true. it’s lasted this long because you wanted it to. you both wanted it to.”

evan nodded, smothering his cigarette butt and throwing it outside, “i, personally, wouldn’t want to spend any second with any of my exes, but you both didn’t even try finding any sort of solution to break the promise.”

barty gives you an awkward smile, as evan continues “if you had wanted to call it quits you would’ve found a way to end all of this the moment he had broken up with you. but you didn’t—“

“that’s because i couldn’t—“

“don’t lie,” regulus cut in, pouting, looking a bit like a petulant child. “we all know you could have found something in this ridiculously large library of yours.”

“why are you suddenly advocating for sirius and i to get back together again?”

regulus clicked his tongue, looking away. a slight flush on his cheeks. “i’m not advocating anything.” he huffs. “he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you. but if it’s sirius that ultimately makes you happy. then so be it.”

you swallow a lump, breathing a staggering breath, “i don’t know if he even—“

“he does.” regulus looking at you, eyes clear and sure. “he wouldn’t be so cross with me for setting you up with dates if he doesn’t.”

that same night, sirius, for once, was not summoned by you but of a call from regulus.

he already feels the natural flare of irritation, bracing himself for another round of teasing hums and provoking stories about how you’re on a date in an exclusive restaurant, with a bloke who’s ready to give you everything you need.

standing up from james’ couch, going to the kitchen to block the noise from the muggle telley, as remus called it. then accepting the call,

“i swear if you’re calling just to gloat about another conquest you’ve put her through then—“

“she needs you.” regulus slurred.

feeling an immediate spike in his heartbeat. already grabbing his jacket and hurrying to the front door to leave.

“we’re in a pub, bring your motorbike or something, she can’t apparate right now, too drunk.”

“i’ll be there in 10.” grabbing remus’ keys off a bowl in the entrance.

“oi, where the hell are you taking my car?” remus shrieked from the couch.

without looking back, “she needs me.”

peter whines from the living room, “but the game-!”

and he only slams the door close as a response.

“we’re in the east village, near a fountain.” regulus sluggishly explained before hanging up.

sirius wasn’t the best driver. in hindsight, he probably should have asked remus to drive him to you. but this was about you. he could hardly think about anything else when it comes to you. he would do anything for you, binding promise or not.

he found it particularly odd and extremely worrying, why you’re drinking on a thursday night. he knew you couldn’t handle your alcohol well, always ending up drinking too much and passing out.

considering regulus had to call him to come get you didn’t help his nerves as he drove faster than the limit allowed.

when he arrived expecting the worse, he found himself smiling at the sight of you.

you were laying your head on regulus lap as you both sat on the bench. he can hear barty and pandora trying to lift each other. dorcas and evan cheering them on.

but all he can see is you laying there. eyes closed and cheeks darkly flushed, dress splaying over your thighs. regulus smoothing your hair, lulling you to sleep. when he met his brother’s eyes. the younger black rolled his eyes and beckoned him over.

“took you long enough.” regulus grumbled, now sounding sober than when he called.

“is she okay?” sirius asks, crouching down and staring at your sleeping face for any signs of discomfort or pain.

regulus sighs, “just got a bit carried away, this one. she was… upset tonight so we let her have her fun an—“

“upset?” sirius cuts, couldn’t help the finger tracing your cheek and jaw. your nose twitching at his action. “why was she upset?”

regulus waves his hand, making vague gestures but offering no explanation. sirius frowns.

“i can take her home,” standing up, now as he calls out to the others. “does anybody else need a ride?”

all four heads, shook their heads and offered varying words of thanks. “you reggie?”

“don’t bother, i’m perfectly capable.” he tuts. “be careful of that metal beast.”

with slow movements, sirius slides his arms under your neck and the back of your thighs. making sure your dress stay tucked and you comfortably napping before lifting you up.

once lifted, your head turns to the crevice of his neck, burying your nose and breathing in deep. wrapping your own arms around his neck with practiced ease and familiarity.

his heart thrumming and slowing all the same. he likes you like this, so close to him and looking so content as you do now.

nodding his goodbyes to the others, as he walks to the car again. opening the car door proved to be a challenge what with an armful of you. but he managed to do so without jostling you too much. he didn’t want to wake you, but such actions proved to be futile as the moment you were placed in the passenger seat, you froze awake.

he tries to appease you with a gentle smile, brushing your hair behind your ear. “hi love, i’m getting you home today, is that alright?”

“siri?” you rasp, looking at him like he wasn’t real. his chest pounding as he sees your eyes glossing and shining with unshed tears. he immediately crouch down in front of you, grabbing of your hands, and peppering soft kisses on your knuckles.

“what is it, my love, why are you crying?”

“you’re here?”

he nodded, kissing your knuckles again. “i’m here.”

you said nothing, just staring at him. looking so lost and tearful. he feels a little guilty thinking you to be heart-clenchingly adorable, right now. looking so soft and precious, the urge to stay the night in the parking lot and just stare at you was strong but he knows he has to take you home, else you get sick.

he thought you were to say nothing else. so, he stood to close the door and head to the driver’s seat but you whined. tugging at his hand still in your clasp and pull him to you. tucking his head into your neck and burying your hand in his hair.

this is entering dangerous territories now, he thinks. one he very much like to continue venturing but he knows you weren’t sound of mind right now. so he refrains from touching you anymore than he has. his hands desperately clutching to the cold, hard car, substituting for your soft, pretty skin.

you whine, “don’t go.”

“‘m not going anywhere, baby. i’m just going to the seat next to you.” he mumbled, his lips agonizingly grazing your skin, he ignores the way your body shivers and the filthy thoughts that come with it. his hands gripping the car tighter.

“next to me?”

“yes, next to you.”

you eventually let him go, but not without constant coaxing.

he drives, slow and steady. avoiding potholes and uneven roads. you fell asleep again, from the slow, quiet drive and the soft, mellow music coming from the radio.

then sooner than he had liked, he parks in front of your house. he kills the engine and he whispers his calls to you. not sure whether he wants you awake to be feeling okay enough to walk or asleep so he can touch you again.

he moves when you stay quiet, doing everything he can to keep you from waking up. letting out a soft hiss each time a creak or a thump echoes in your quiet house.

when he finally, finally reaches your bedroom and lays you there, he’s quick to take off your shoes. then the realization of his next move taunts him. although, you looked very pretty with your dress, he doesn’t know if he should change your clothes into something more comfortable for you.

he knew an intense hungover when he sees one. getting up to change clothes isn’t pleasant with a raging headache. he stares at your laying figure. the thin strap of your dress slipped down, and your legs looking longer than he remembers.

he looks away before he sees anymore. it didn’t feel right, looking at you that way. especially whilst unconscious.

he open your dresser, knowing the drawer you keep your pajamas.

he sees a familiar, more faded than he remembers, shirt he always wore. the thought of you wearing his clothes makes him too happy and giddy for an adult man.

he fights his heart from beating too loudly. afraid you’ll hear. bites his lips to stop his giddy grin, and forces his eyes to focus on his search. but eventually did land on his old shirt and some long bottoms so you’d be warm.

he slid the bottoms first. careful not to touch your skin but very much feeling the heat of your thigh. he held his breath as he reached the curve of your bum. stopping and not knowing what to do next. with one arm he lifts you slightly off the bed. and with his eyes clenched tight, fast and frantic hands—holding his breath as he went to pull it up.

next was his your shirt. he had you sit up, head laying heavy on his shoulders. softly pulling back from you to slip the shirt over your head before letting you lean into him again. guiding your arms and pulling the soft tee down.

with a bated breath, he feels for the zipper at the back of your dress.

fingers touching and sliding over your back. the touch leaving a lingering static in his fingers. when he clutched the thin tiny thing, he slide it down. slowly, careful not to pinch your skin.

he hears you sigh from relief, letting himself smile, knowing he did a good job.

he lets you lay back down, properly this time, slip off your dress, cleans your face with a warm wet face towel.

he knows he should go. he knows to let you get your rest and sleep. knows he should return remus’ car. knows the lads are probably waiting for him. but there is no urge to leave. instead he stares at your clean bare face, the soft lines and pretty marks on your face just adds more to your allure.

he didn’t know how long he stared at you. it could’ve been a minute to a full hour, too busy studying your face, seeing all the new marks and the familiar ones, committing them to memory.

he was about to leave, lest he bothers you and wake you up. but you stirred.

stretching as you did so. and blearily stared at him. expectant and quiet.

your voice hoarse but genuine all the same. “it’s late..” he knew what you mean. the unspoken invitation, just like last time.

and he wants to—god he wants to.

“i can’t baby,” you were drunk, he wasn’t. it wouldn’t be fair.

“you’re leaving again?”

that did him in, slumping down on the bed. rubbing your outer thigh through your covers. “i’ll stay then, just rest.”

“but you’ll just leave me like last time.” you mumbled.

he gives you a lopsided smile, apologetic and painfully endeared all the same, “i had to, my love, i had work.”

“no,” you breathed, softly shaking your head, letting out a staggering breath like you were going to cry. “i meant the first time.” you whispered.

it was shameful the way he slowly realized what you had meant. you didn’t sound angry or bitter. or even resentful even if you had all the rights to.

he didn’t respond. letting your words stew in his mind. the quiet in the entire house emphasized by the ringing in his ears. he didn’t know what to say.

what words you were waiting for him to say. what words he can say to make it all better.

he didn’t even know you still think about that. still thinking about your relationship, and what had happened, and why it ended the way it did.

still thinking about it like him, who sometimes find it difficult to sleep thinking about you and the pain he caused you. the regret heavy in his veins like lead.

he should apologize, probably beg or grovel about the way it ended.

he was about to.

but he hears your soft breathing again. the stillness in your body, only sleep can make that he realizes he’s lost his chance.

again.

he rubbed your thighs, still. hoping to lull you into a deeper sleep. he grabbed a glass of cold water and put a statis charm so it would stay cool. he petted your hair, and caressed your cheek. it was painful, and he struggled. but he eventually left. feeling the same amount of fulfilled and disappointment altogether.

it was the next morning where sirius was beckoned again, this time not by a call from his baby brother but by the usual pull of your magic. he had expected as much, even fixed up his hair and wore fresh clean clothes and even put on perfume.

he did it whenever he could. in case you were to need him.

he even has a couple of hungover potion in his pocket just in case.

when he got summoned, popping into your familiar bedroom like the nights and mornings before. he was greeted with you still buried under the covers, eyebrows scrunched and eyes already open. you looked like you’ve been awake for some time now, but still refused to move.

you looked so tired and groggy and so soft and warm and homely and pretty.

someone with a hungover shouldn’t look as good as you did. but you are. he ignores the flutters in his stomach, tightening into a coil and puts on an easy smile.

“good morning dizzy girl.” he sing songs. plopping down on your bed, making sure to bounce you a little as he did.

you groan some more, turning away from him, holding your head.

he softly laughs. reaching over to smooth out your hair, “did you drink water?”

“hn.”

he took that as a no.

“up you go, c’mon. drink, you’ll feel better.” he grabs the glass. still filled full and cool like last night.

sliding his rough hands under your neck and the other to your back. slowly sitting you up so you can drink. you give little to no protest at all at his touch and considers this a win. his lips feeling a little wobbly as he fights a smile.

you took a small sip and then a larger gulp, sighing after finishing the whole glass.

“i also have a hangover potion and a headache one that lily made, so you know it’s good—“

“you left again.” you rasped, a small frown on your pretty face, still turned away from him.

he stops.

it suddenly dawns on him how you’ve yet to look at him, or greet him like you do when he always appears. he chalked it up to you being hungover or the highly probable headache you must have. not sulking, or possible moping over the fact that he hadn’t waited for you until morning.

he feels his heart take up larger room than normal in his chest. the loud thrumming under his veins as his magic comes to life, the burning desire of it all, the ringing in his ears, his pulse loud and the heat coming to his face.

you weren’t playing fair.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, scooting near you. reaching out to wrap his arms around your shoulders, then lightly tugging you to him, to lean on him like you did the night before. it was through his absolute delight that you let him.

giving him the courage to continue his ministrations.

“you said you’d stay.” you softly whined, voice muffled by his neck. your hands gripping his shirt.

so unfair.

he’s fully hugging you now. he tries to fight the sigh that threatens to come out of his mouth from having you in his arms again.

he hadn’t expected for you to remember last night, what with constantly falling asleep. he should’ve prepared for it though.

“i’m sorry.” he repeats. this more graver than the last. this apology carrying more weight and more reason, when he remembers your last question.

“you always leave.” he feels something wet touch his neck. his hearts clench, the image of your tears too clear for him. “always leaving me.”

he tries to lean back to get a good look on you but once you felt him move away, you tightened your grip. now wrapping your own arms around his waist. sirius doesn’t know how to feel. suddenly wrapped in your warmness and the familiar feeling and the guilt that you’re crying over him.

again.

causing you pain, again.

“i know, i’m sorry.” he hates that it’s all he can say. hates he can’t say anything else.

so you ask, “why?”

why?

he knows what you’re asking isn’t about why he’s sorry for leaving. he knows you’re asking something else. one withheld from you from the very beginning.

why do keep calling me nicknames?

why do keep touching me?

why do i feel this way?

why can’t you stay?

why did you leave?

why didn’t you love me back?

there’s a lot of answers he’s withheld from you but he starts from the one heavy on his mind.

he suddenly wonders if you’ve been left wondering too.

if it keeps you up at night, and having no one to answer it. if it eats you up and if you regret being with him, the same way he regrets ever leaving you.

“i didn’t think that— you would want me to stay, after what i did. i didn’t dare myself to even think you could still want me— or even be around my presence at all.” he says this quiet and so close to your ear.

you let him go now, leaning against the bed post instead.

sirius instantly wishing for you to come back into his arms again, but he refrains.

“you thought i didn’t want you?”

“who would?” he laughs, albeit a bit self-deprecating but hoping you’ll take it as a joke. you only frown. “sirius, of course i would still want you. you’re the best thing that happened to me.” your eyes looked so clear then, so sure.

so sure it burns him.

“but i hurt you. i caused you pain, i’ve disappointed you again and again—“

“you didn’t disappoint me.” you grab his hands, your touch still so soft like he remembers it. “i was hurt, yes, but that wasn’t your fault. it was my own fault for giving you more than what you were comfortable with.”

he shook his head, frowning hard. “don’t do that.”

“what?”

“be understanding,” he laughs, incredulous. “taking responsibility for me being a shitty boyfriend to you for being a complete arse to you.”

“you did what you could. what with everything you went through?”

he turns away, but you grab his face with your other hand, and tilts his chin up.

“all the things you’ve had to endure? i know you try to hide your struggles with it all. but i see you. i see all the things, all the extra steps you have to take to become better than what your parents set you out for. and now look at you, making it out on your own. making new friends, no trace of the anger and bitterness they tried so hard to embed in you. i loved you for it all, and i understood why you couldn’t, even if it hurt. because that’s how people love. you love someone even if they have all the capabilities to hurt you more than anything in the world— and i have loved you for so long. and i might’ve not understood this when we were younger, but i do now. i wasn’t asking for apologies because i’ve long forgiven you for everything in the past. but i wanted to know what it is you felt. why you felt the need to hide the reasons from me.”

he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

you let his face go. but he grabs it. incasing your hand in his.

mind sticking to one thing he feared.

loved?

has he lost his chance again?

have you deemed him unnecessary?

“you don’t—?” he sighs, stopping himself, that wasn’t important right now. especially not if you were looking at him, looking so patient.

he started slow, contemplative if he can articulate it well enough for you to understand. “i didn’t think i could ever be capable of love, or be anyone you could ever want and need. because you’re amazing. when you said you loved me for the first time, i thought i was dooming you. my family. my circumstances. i thought i was going to ruin you and i couldn’t live with the thought of doing that to you. so i thought that leaving would be for the best. i tried to leave. tried and convinced myself it was for you. that i had to let you go for you. but i couldn’t do it. selfish as it is, i couldn’t let you go.

“i even found a way to stop the bind, but thinking that my last connection with you would be gone, and you would forget about me—have a life without me there, i couldn’t. because, because i love you. i have loved you from the moment you smiled at me. it terrified me, how much i love you and how much i was willing to do anything for you. i love you more than i could ever understand and i’m sorry if i couldn’t say it that time, i’m sorry if this is a bit late, but i love being needed by you. i love being around you. i-i need you, more than you could ever need me.”

he didn’t notice the tears spilling to his cheeks before you wiped it away for him.

your eyes looking so soft.

“you love me?” you breathed.

as if it was unbelievable.

as if it wasn’t possible.

sirius hates himself a little more at the thought he might have caused some insecurity for you.

because it was ridiculous.

“i love you.” and like a broken record, he repeats it. again and again and again. much firmer than the last.

and you smile, so big and beautiful. and your eyes shining and so pretty. it was like the sun was shining so much brighter that day. like the clouds were opening up in the sky and bathing you in a golden glow.

he repeats it again, because he’s spent so many years holding himself back. and if your reaction is the same every time he says it then he’ll say it everyday. with every sentence, with every greeting, with every meal you cook for him. with every night he picks you up from a pub absolutely sloshed. with every irritating conversation he has with his baby brother. with every teasing quips from the lads. with every secret smile you give him. every time he touches you, every time he looks at you. because gods, don’t you look absolutely magnificent and unbelievable right now.

“i love you,” he repeats.

“i love you too.” you laugh. like your smile was getting too wide and too happy that you had to laugh.

and his heart soars. couldn’t stop himself even if he tried, as he leans in and captures your lips like he’s done so many times before.

thinking himself a proper idiot if he ever thought he could ever live without touching your lips ever again.

he touches your face like he did the night before. he grabs your waist like he always does. and he tilts your heads like a time before. he tastes a salty thing as your tears slides near his lips and he relishes in its taste.

he feels the warmth spreading to his entire face and body. feels the humming of his magic intertwining with yours. your soft mouth moving against him. and the stretch of your lips, smiling into the kiss.

he pulls away even if he didn’t want to.

“i love you,” he says again, and you smile at him so sweetly.

he repeats it because of your pretty smile.

and again. because he can.

[lgbtsana]

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER

— sim jaeyun one-shot

GENRE: strangers to friends to lovers, crack fic kinda, you fell first, he fell harder.

PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob

you and your best friend, huh yunjin, were talking about past relationships. but, you never told her you’ve never been in a relationship. so, you tell her you have 1 past relationship.

the day after you receive a call about a shim hyeri, someone who isn't you.

the chatter between you and yunjin filled the room, “so you’re telling me, that he messed up a pick-up line?” you cackled when she gave you the nod of confirmation. you’d never been hit on, but you sure as hell wanted to be a fly on a wall to see that in real time.

yunjin stared at you, a serious look on her face, “so, let’s talk about you now.”

you froze, realizing she meant talking about your past relationships. you felt yourself gulp, having never been in a relationship before, you couldn’t answer. so, you decided to make one up! what could possibly go wrong?

“so,” your taller friend stared at you in disbelief, “the last time you dated someone was 3 years ago? before you met me?”

you simply nodded, trying to make her believe you, you couldn't let yunjin know you have no dating experience.

when she gave a shrug, you felt your face light up. hopefully this won't come to bite you in the ass, right?

the night went on with drinking, laughter, and just a joyous time altogether. yunjin didn't drink much, but you definitely drank over your limit.

“yunjin, i need to head to the restroom” she gave you a nod of understanding and you wobbily made your way there.

you tripped over your own foot and stumbled into a black-haired man, who was definitely your type, but all you could manage to get out, distracted by this man’s beauty, was a mumble of “sorry...”

what you didn’t realize is that your friend saw this whole ordeal.

“are you okay?” the man asked, helping you up, “now that i met y- i mean, y-yes!” your face flushed, thinking to yourself on why you said that. but then you heard a snicker, knowing all-too-well who it was coming from, yunjin.

when you woke up the next day, you had the worst hangover you’d ever experienced. “why did she let me drink so much...” you whined and fell back onto your pillow.

your phone’s ringtone went off, and you were confused as to who was calling so early. “hello?” your exhaustion showed through the phone's speaker, “excuse me? is this shim hyeri?” a deep voice came from the other end, “who?”

the male laughed a bit, “hyeri, i know you like to play games, but seriously..” the words left you confused. “i think you have the wrong number...?”

“what?” the male's voice was in disbelief, almost sounding sad. “are you okay?” you ask out of concern, “yeah..” his voice cracks, “’m fine.”

you sigh, “listen, i don't know what happened between you and this hyeri, but you definitely don't sound fine.” you emphasize on the word “fine”.

the other end of the line goes silent, as if he hung up, but you know he didn't because the call would've ended. “i thought she was into me, and the feeling was mutual, but i guess she wasn't.”

ah, one-sided love. you smile sadly, “i guess, if you ever need to talk, you can call me?”

he snorts, “i don't even know your name?”

aware he heard you gasp, you quickly answer “it’s seo y/n,”

“ah, pretty..” you heard him try to whisper. “what about you?”

“sim jaeyun, you can also call me jake.” you smile, “alright then, jakey.”

“don’t call me that...” he whines and he receives laughter in response.

“eh.. too bad!~” you tease excitedly. “geez, we get along pretty well, don't you think?” he laughs, and you could sense the smile on the other end of the line.

“yeah, i guess we do.” you smile a bit, “hey, y/n. i gotta go, talk soon?” he asks with a sense of hope.

“sure, i'll save you in my phone!” you shrug to yourself. its not like you’d fall in love over text, right?

as the weeks go by, you both get closer and facetime occasionally. you mostly text each other, which always ends in laughter from both ends.

jake had an idea of asking for you both to meet up, but never actually entertained the idea. he was hoping that fate would come in handy and make you both 'accidentally' bump into each other on the streets one day.

though, as close as you both were, he went radio silent in the following week. confused, you sent him messages almost every hour, considering you both talked a lot.

to get your mind off of jake, you went to a bar and decided to have a drink. as you started to take your first shot, you realized you actually had fallen for sim jaeyun.

sighing to yourself in realization, you took the shot. your love life was never as glamorous as you’d wanted, but it would take a fairytale to make it that way.. or some kind of string of luck.

“y/n?” you heard your name a few meters away from you, the voice sounding vaguely familiar. yet, you didn't care to see who it was, you felt miserable enough already.

“y/n,” the person patted your shoulder making you turn around. soon making your eyes widen, shocked to see jake looking you in the eyes. he also seemed shocked.

“h-how’d you know i was here?” he questioned you, “i should be asking the same thing!” you retorted.

“fate..” he mumbled, making your eyebrow raise. “what?”

pulling you in close, he tightly embraced you. a soft whisper brushes against your ear, “fate.”

“fate?” you whisper back to him as you feel him nod, “the wrong phone number, the random meet up? that’s all fate, my love.”

“my- my love...?” you comment on the sudden pet name, making him chuckle.

a sense of warmth sits on your lips, a soft and tender feeling, jake kissed you. bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek, you returned the same feeling he gave you.

it was all in fate’s hands, all starting with a wrong number.

[acaciusbride]

Pre Game ( DBF / BFD Joel Miller x Reader )

Summary: Joel is your dad’s best friend, and your friend’s dad to boot. Wanting him is a bad idea, but it’s not like he feels the same… right?

CWs: age gap / references to cheating / semi protected sex / threats of spanking / language / dirty talk

Tag List: @joelsgirl @pr0ximamidnight @dreamingofdaddydin @funnygirlthatgab @schizoel @bearsbeetsbeskar @loquaciousferret @pedritosdarling @chaotic-mystery

(I’m sure I’ve missed someone I’m sorry 😂)

Notes: finally, that DBF fic.

Buy Me A Coffee?

You’re really starting to feel bad about how much you’re paying attention to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so guilt inducing if it was a new thing, something you could brush off as fleeting interest, but the fact of the matter is you’ve had your eye on him for literally the better part of two years now.

You’ve always noticed him; how can you not? He’s your dad’s best friend. They work together, then every other week he’s at your house to watch the game. Before, you were aware of him.

But ever since you moved back home after your college relationship went bust? You can’t take your eyes off him. What’s worse is you’re relatively close friends with his own daughter, Sarah.

You’re a couple years older than her, but close enough in age that you get along well. Well enough that you’d hang out together, text each other over the years, trust each other with secrets and girls nights and the bullshit that comes with being a young woman in this day and age. Wanting her dad just feels like a betrayal, but you can’t help it.

Besides, it’s not like he wants you back. Right?

Your dad won’t be home for several hours yet; he got called out to an urgent maintenance job, something about a blown circuit board causing a whole block to have spotty power. Considering there’s some important game on today, it’s not ideal.

You guess he must be too busy to have had time to message Joel to let him know, or more likely, forgot. Not that it matters - there have been a couple times when he’s shown up early.

It’s almost embarrassing that you know the sound of Joel’s truck as it pulls up outside the house. Even more embarrassing the way your heart starts racing as you get up off the couch to let him in. You open the door just as he goes to knock on it, leaving him standing there with his hand half raised, lazy half smile on his face.

“Chief not in?” His nickname for your dad has always amused you, the sarcastic banter born from the year your dad was his boss. It was weird for them to go from equals, two blue collar single dads, to your dad bossing him round.

That worksite didn’t last too long, and they were back to their regular buddy shenanigans before long.

“Nah, some emergency power restoration. He should be back before the game starts.”

You step to the side to let him in; no point leaving him outside, or him driving across town to get home only to come back.

Joel smirks.

“Should’ve done what I did.” He pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans, where the do not disturb sign is showing on his lock screen.

“He works too hard.” You agree, heading back through the living room, trusting Joel to close the front door behind him.

You’ve been alone with him before, just a few times, but not since you moved back home. He looks a little different. Older. He’s got silver streaks mingled in with dark curls, a little softer round the middle. But it doesn’t take away from his looks. If anything, it enhances them.

“Always has. Now what about you, huh? Last I heard you were finishing your fancy degree, had shit all planned out.”

You shrug. Your dad had never gone to college; had busted his ass your entire life so that you could. You’d enjoyed your studies, had had some good friendships and relationships there.

Then your college boyfriend with his stupid law degree had cheated on you with the secretary his new firm had hired. You hadn’t been remotely interested in trying to ‘fix things’, instead throwing your mostly unpacked shit into boxes and hauling ass back home.

You had your degrees, you could find work at home. Never mind your wounded pride and inability to trust men your age ever again.

“Sometimes stuff doesn’t go according to plan.” You say finally. “I’m getting a drink. Want anything?”

Joel doesn’t answer you, just follows you into the kitchen. You’re barely aware he’s there until you feel the heat of his body behind yours as he leans over you into the open refrigerator, snags a beer while you’re still deciding.

A jolt of electricity runs through your body at the slight contact, immediately followed by guilt. Never mind that he’s your dad’s best friend, he’s your own friend’s dad.

How could you ever face Sarah if you acted on your want for him?

You grab a premixed vodka drink, pop the cap off and toss it into the bowl on the bench, taking a sip.

The drinks aren’t your choice; your dad buys them on occasion, because as he likes to remind you, there’s no such thing as a ‘girly drink’. It’s funny, but being raised that way gave you the confidence not to give a shit about ordering a beer in a bar, the same way you’ll never be apologetic about drinking a pastel pink vodka premix that tastes like guava and sugar.

Turning, you find Joel leaning against the other bench. Watching you.

“Make yourself at home.”

It comes out far more sarcastic than you intended; immediately, you feel bad. It’s not his fault you’re trying to cope with a raging crush on him. Not his fault that he’s stupidly handsome even in jeans and a button down shirt.

Honestly you doubt he even knows how attractive he is. Somehow that makes it worse.

“Got a mouth on you today, don’t you?” Joel says almost breezily, clearly unbothered by your attitude. “You always this bratty, or is that something you learned at college?”

You can feel your cheeks heating at the implication.

“No college boy could teach me that.”

The words are out before you can stop them. Your slight blush becomes full fledged heat when you realise what you’ve said, how easily you flirt with him.

“Guess not.” Joel takes a long sip of his beer, watches you for a second, as though trying to assess something in his head.

“Guarantee no boy is gonna give you what you deserve, anyway.”

Even though you’ve just taken a drink, your mouth becomes impossibly dry.

“What I deserve?” You put the bottle down before you drop the damn thing.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change as he drains his beer, sets the empty bottle on the bench behind him.

“See, if you were mine, I’d put you over my knee and slap your ass raw for being such a brat.” He says it so damn casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. Then open it.

“What’s stopping you?”

Now, his expression does change. A smirk crossing his features. You half expect him to say something about his age, about your dad being his buddy, or about you being his daughter’s friend.

It’s none of the above.

“You’d enjoy it too much.” He crosses the small space between you, thumb tracing the outline of your mouth. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking.”

Your lips part, sucking the tip of his thumb into your mouth, eyes wide and staring into his own dark gaze. Something flickers there, maybe what remains of his willpower being snuffed out.

He lets you suck on his thumb for a moment before he pulls it out of your mouth, fingers closing on your chin and forcing you to look at him.

Your tongue darts out and licks your lower lip, unable to take your eyes off him, off the blatant lust in his gaze. You’re almost afraid that if you look away, it’ll break the spell, that he’ll come to his senses, or that you will.

You don’t want to.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?” He sounds so amused, but not in an unkind way.

“I bet the thought of me bending you over and spanking you has you soaked.”

For a moment, you consider denying it. The small part of you that’s still sensible says you should. But you can’t. You just can’t.

“Why don’t you find out?” You suggest, wishing you were wearing something a bit more attractive than shorts and a shirt. At least your underwear matches.

For a moment you think he might refuse; are afraid he will refuse. That fear passes the moment his free hand slides down into your shorts, thumb brushing against your clit almost lazily.

You have to fight not to lean into his touch. Fight and fail miserably as that big, rough hand cups you, fingers caressing across sensitive skin.

“Knew it.”

Joel has no right to be this damn smug, and yet he is anyway, beyond amused at how wet you are, just from his words.

You half glare at him, mostly because you’re irritated by how right he is, but also because it frustrates you just how much you need him.

“Don’t start being a brat again…” he warns you. “Keep being good for me and I’ll reward you…”

You can’t help but melt just a little at those words, wondering what he could possibly mean. Well. You have a few ideas, but still, you think his ideas are probably going to be better.

“How?”

He just stares at you, makes eye contact as he slides two thick fingers inside you, silently answering your question and challenge.

Your knees almost buckle, but you force yourself to keep standing, reaching behind you to hold onto the bench top to steady yourself.

You’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking about this; about his fingers inside you. About more than just his fingers. But hell if this isn’t a good start. If this is all you get, you’ll be satisfied. Needy and wishing for more, yes, but you wouldn’t push it.

Luckily for you, he’s just as needy, pushing those fingers deep into you, curling them, watching the way your eyes drop closed. Like he hasn’t thought about this a great deal, when in reality it’s all he thinks about.

“See? Told you if you were good for me, it’d pay off…”

You smirk at him, wanting to be a smartass and tell him he never said that, but you need him too much to risk it. He’s trained you well, without even trying.

“If I’m even better, will you give me more?”

Your eyes drop to the visible bulge in his jeans, leaving absolutely no room to question what you mean. The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a groan, understanding what you want and more than willing to give it to you.

“‘M not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby.”

The amount of restraint it takes for him to say that is clear in his expression. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to yank those tiny shorts down, hoist you up onto the bench and fuck you senseless, but the kitchen isn’t the right place.

He has enough restraint to want to do this properly, enough respect for you to be hesitant, even though it’s difficult.

Quite frankly you wouldn’t have cared if he’d bent you over the closest surface, but it’s the little want to be a gentleman that gets you. Even if he does still have his fingers buried knuckle deep inside you.

“What about if I ask nicely?” You look at him through half closed eyes, expression innocent.

“Still not gonna happen in the kitchen.”

You smirk; that’s fair enough. Luckily there are far more available rooms you can utilise, and you both know it. Still, it’s with a definite sense of reluctance that he removes his fingers from you, brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, leaving you once again weak in the knees.

“Joel…”

He loves the way his name sounds in your mouth, knows it’ll sound even better when you’re screaming it.

“Cmon, baby, gonna show me somewhere we can go that’s a bit more private?”

You try not to look too eager as you grab his hand, drag him out of the kitchen down the hallway to the guest room that’s now yours. Your old room upstairs was boxed up years ago, and your dad has since turned it into a gaming room for his war game miniatures and old books.

Easier for you to take the guest room, make it your own space. That and it would have felt weird, taking Joel into your childhood room.

Kicking the door shut behind you, you turn, expecting… you’re not sure what, but Joel pushes you up against the door almost right away, leaning down to you, his body hot against yours.

You have plenty of time before you have to worry about being interrupted, but still, there’s a sense of urgency in the way you pull him down to you, crush your mouth to his.

In the moment you don’t care that it’s wrong, that he’s so much older than you. All that matters is him, and getting him as close to you as possible, because god knows you’ve waited long enough for this.

He moves his arms away from you just long enough to yank your shorts down, pull your shirt over your head, toss them both aside carelessly. You let him before you push him back, until the back of his legs hit your bed.

Joel lets you, lets you push him back and straddle his lap, leaning down to kiss him as you shed your lace bra, leaving you bare to his gaze as you grind yourself against the significant bulge in his jeans.

“Fuck, baby, you gonna take charge all the time?”

It’s clear from his tone that he doesn’t care, not in the damn slightest, as your hands find his belt, work the zip of his jeans down.

You don’t answer him, just kiss him again, hard and desperate as your hand wraps around his cock, frees him from his pants and strokes him eagerly.

The sound he makes is goddamn sinful as you drag your soaked core along his length, coating him with your wetness. You want to take your time, but you know your dad could be back any minute, and you’re too needy and desperate to take your time.

Luckily, he seems to feel the same way.

“You gonna ride this cock, baby? Gonna take it like a good girl?”

That’s absolutely your intention; you lift yourself up, position yourself over the tip of him, then slide down onto his length, every inch of him sinking into you slowly.

His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down, keeping you there for a moment, fingers tightening on your waist.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” he breathes it out slowly, watches you toss your hair over your shoulder, smirk down at him as you start to move, drawing another delicious groan from his lips.

You don’t answer, focus entirely on riding him, lifting yourself up and dropping back down, one hand rubbing at your clit as you move.

“Such a pretty girl, so fuckin’ good for me…”

You whimper, and maybe that’s what finally snaps him, because his hands tighten on your waist and he starts to move, no longer letting you do all the work, hips snapping up against yours, hard and fast, precisely how you’ve always imagined he would fuck you.

“Dirty little thing aren’t you? All this time you’ve been wanting me…” he almost growls it, breath hitched as he ruts up into you, pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you.

“Joel…”

You’re so close you can feel it, every nerve in your body alight as you tighten around him.

“Go on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock, I know you want to. Can feel this tight little pussy, so needy for me…”

It’s his filthy words, the feeling of him inside you, your hand on your clit, the combination of all of it, that sends you over, has you shaking on top of him, held up by his big strong hands as you find your release.

He can see the scar on your arm where your implant was put in, sees you looking and the way you bite your lip, and that’s enough for him, bucking up into you until he can’t hold out any longer, cursing and moaning as he fills you, you grinding down against him the entire damn time.

“Fuck…” he groans it as you lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Worth the wait.” You tease as you climb off of him with shaking legs, pick up your clothes and start re dressing yourself.

“Absolutely.” He zips up his jeans, sits up lazily, watches you pull those ridiculously tiny shorts back on.

You grin, feeling his eyes on you.

“Come on. Let’s go have another drink and pretend to be completely innocent before my dad gets back.”

Joel groans. You’re going to be the absolute death of him.