#can i have autumn already please | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pearlymel · 9 months ago

Text

A baby ?!

Summery: his departure always bugs you, and surprise, it was just your lil hormones messing with you.

Wc: 3.4k

Warnings: Fem!reader, sfw because we decided to be sweet, pregnancy, reader is pregnant, there are some suggestive comments but that's all. Happy ending because i love yall.

Part one and two if you missed it my loves.

Notes: welcome to part 3 which i believe is the last part. I am kindly asking not to ask for a part 4 because i have run out of ideas. If i ever decided to write for capitano again, it wouldn't be part of this series, it would be like headcanons instead, you could imagine the reader being the same, apologies for spelling errors and thank you. :)

Credits: the art of the left panel is by @/reaperpie

Fall was slowly approaching in Snezhnaya, and you had already expected it to be colder than the normal autumn. Which to your bad luck, it was not a suitable place for your picnic’s.

Your husband has continuesly rejected your date ideas, but you expected that anyway, you knew he couldn’t. He had duties to attend to, responsibilities to the Fatui, to the Tsaritsa, to the world. He couldn’t stay, as much as you—he wanted to.

It's not fair, You think while pouting as you stare outside the window with your chin resting on the palm of your hand, looking like a princess in need to be rescued from the tower. Your thumb toying with the diamond ring resting around your ring finger.

“Ugh, it's unfair baby.” You slump back on the bed, while your little fur baby only meowed at you in return, the orange cat jumping on the bed to make itself warm on your lap. “meow back if he doesn't love me.”

You're met with silence, only happy purrs reach your ears, and you grin, “obviously he loves me, obsessed even.” Your hand reaches to slowly pat the kitty.

“I miss him.” You sigh dreamily, deciding to stand up while carrying kitty with you so it doesn't feel left out. You make your way towards the desk in the corner, pulling the seat to take your place before pushing yourself closer to the desk.

You rest the kitten on your lap again—who quickly adjusts like nothing happened, looking as sleepy as ever.

You open the drawers to take an envelope, some wax, a stamp, a paper, and a quill.

Yeah, you're going to write him a letter, he said he didn't mind recieving even hundreds of letters from you.

How romantic.

“Dear, husband.” You start, dipping the quill in ink to brush it along the neat surface of the paper.

“i miss you.” you narrow your eyes at the empty page, saying that you miss him felt too boring.

“i utterly miss being next to you.” Hm, it lacks excitement.

“Please come back soon or i will run away.” Huh, you could already imagine the army's he would send to search for you.

“i want you inside—” okay, now you're being desperate.

You rest your arms on the desk, leaning your head on them while sighing.

—

“Do you know when will he return?” You politely ask one of the guards in front of the estate’s gate. Your hands together behind your back.

A leaf flew by in front of the guards with still no answer from them, and you narrow your eyes, wondering if they even heard you in the first place.

Finally, one of them shook their head and you only sigh in resignation, “thank you.” You mumble before heading your way back inside the estate.

It has been more than two weeks since he left, and he would sometimes send you neat letters to inform you about his well being, but the last letter you received was about a week ago, it was worrying you.

“My lady, are you okay?” Your personal maid, Marina, asked out of concern, watching you put an apron with a frown plastered on your face.

“Just hungry.” You take the glassy bowl, eggs, flour, butter, and sugar. Then you set them on the table. “I can help you.” Marina stands next to you, taking the butter to melt it.

“you want to make cookies, correct?” She asks, and you nod with a small smile. With the butter fully melted, you begin mixing in the sugar, beating the mixture until it becomes light and fluffy. The repetitive motion of stirring is almost meditative, and for a brief moment. “Baking is rather calming, i should've tried it before.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, a knowing smile on her face. "Yes, baking can be quite therapeutic," she stated, watching as you mixed the sugar and butter together. "I've found that working with your hands, especially when it involves creating something good to eat, is a great way to clear your mind," she continued, adding chocolate to the bowl.

You had both finished combining the ingredients, and the room was now filled with the warm, comforting fragrance of cookie dough. Marina stood beside you, watching as you shaped the dough into small balls and placed them on a baking tray. As you finished placing the last cookie onto the tray, you and Marina stood together, admiring the array of small, round cookies waiting to be baked in the oven.

The sounds of the gates opening is what catches your attention next, making you stand up from your chair to immediately abandon the kitchen and rush towards the entrance, your eyes searches him when you reach the front door, and surely enough, your husband has arrived.

He looked almost disheveled, tired, yet he still held a straight posture.

Capitano's weary eyes widened behind his helmet as you rushed into his arms, his body stiffening as if caught off guard by your sudden affection. But the tension in his form swiftly melted away as he wrapped his strong arms around you. His grip was tight, as he pulled you against his body. He was silent for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he held you.

“I…” you want to break the silence, you want to tell him how much you missed him. “I missed you.”

Capitano's grip intensified as your voice reached his ears, he was more than relieved to hear those words. To know that somone dear is waiting for him, someone as precious as you that he's willing to risk his life for.

He exhaled deeply, "I missed you too," he whispered, making sure the words only reached your ears. He pulled back slightly to look down at you, his gaze raking over you as if to confirm you were real and not a trick of his tired mind.

Capitano allowed you to lead him inside afterwards, his hand careful to be gentle when holding yours. The weariness in his body was evident as he stumbled a bit as you pulled him along. However, he matched your pace as best he could, following obediently as you guided him to your chambers.

Being greeted by the familiar room before him made his shoulders relax, the only place where he can be himself.

"How was is it? Being away from your wife for more than two weeks?" You ask while your hands started working on helping him out of the thick layers of his heavy, dirty clothing. Each layer you removed revealed more of his muscular, battle-worn physique, the scars and marks on his body a testament to the dangers he had faced.

He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he noticed your pout. He reached out a calloused hand and gently tugged at your lip, "It was a long two weeks," he admitted gruffly. "I have missed you sorely.”

“I'm sure you did,” you hummed, walking towards the closest to grab a sweater for him. "Don't pout like that," he chided gently, "You're making me feel guilty.”

You try hiding your smile when you hand him his new warm clothes, your arms crossing next, “as you should.”

"I've missed that pout," his lowers his voice, "but I don't miss your little attitude.”

You shrug, “i don't know what you're talking about.” Capitano's gaze held yours unflinchingly, his eyes studying your expression. He knew you were baiting him, daring him to guess your reason for being upset.

"Let me see.." he started, his voice taking on a tone of mock contemplation. "Perhaps it's the fact that I was gone for more than two weeks and left you here all alone. That's a start, is it not?”

“maybe.”

"Or perhaps it's the fact that I didn't send you a letter everyday and left you wondering about whether I was alright or not. Hmm, that could be it, couldn't it?”

“Go on.” your raise your eyebrow while tapping your feet impatiently.

"Or maybe," he stepped closer, taking a few strands of your hair in between his fingers, "It's because I didn't come home and ravish you as soon as I returned, instead letting you pout and sulk and complain like a spoiled little thing.”

He could see right through you; the way you suddenly straightened your stance and tried to act nonchalant only confirmed his suspicions.

You gasp, ”whaaaat? Nonsense.”

"Is that so?" he drawled, his hands now taking your upper arms, his thumb thumbs rubbing circles around your skin "i will make it up to you, my wife.”

Despite his promise that you could do later, you wanted him to rest more than anything, so you make him sit down on the bed while you leave to get the cookies you baked together with Marina.

“You have to tell me your opinion.” you hand him one of the chocolate chip cookies. Capitano let the taste of the chocolate chips and the buttery cookie dough settle on his tongue for a moment. He swallowed, his gaze still fixed on you, before giving his verdict.

"They're good," he admitted, "Better than good, actually. Well done.”

Praise kink goes crazy huh? Your smile widens, and it makes you feel all giddy, as you took a bite of the cookies as well.

He leaned back against the plush bedding of the bed, his strong arms resting on his lap as he observed you. "You've been busy while I was away, hm?"

“Not really, more bored than busy.”

“… i am sorry. I do not mean to leave you alone.”

You scoot closer to him once you see how guilty he looks, you sit next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Capitano's silence spoke volumes, pausing before answering, "My duties are unpredictable, and there's no telling when the Tsaritsa will call for me again. I cannot give you an exact timeline, and that is the reality of what I do. I am a warrior first, a husband second.”

Ouch, that's fine. Totally fine.

You knew what you were getting into when you married him, after all. Still, a part of you couldn't help but wish for more. The thought kind of makes you sick… quite literally.

“I think the cookies had too much sugar.” You put the dessert back on the plate before standing up from the bed. “Shall i go get you wate—”

“no, thank you. I can do it.”

—

You were rotting in bed. From the morning, and now it's afternoon. It makes you feel useless since you barely did anything.

Capitano left before you woke up, even though he promised to return later today.

You felt miserable, your body weak and your spirits low. It was a mixture of loneliness, hormones, and the unease bubbling in your stomach. Capitano's absence only made it worse, adding to the feeling of helplessness that had settled upon you.

You tossed and turned in the bed, the plush sheets tangling up around you as you tried to find a comfortable position. But no matter how much you shifted, the discomfort in your stomach remained, persistent and nagging.

“Make the pain go please, I'll take any disgusting medicine,” you tell Marina weakly as you look up at her while she sat on the wooden stool next to you.

"I can give you some ginger root. It might help soothe your stomach.” she offered gently, handing you the ginger root she prepared just for you.

“… i lied i can't take anything disgusting.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, "I thought so," she said, setting aside the ginger root. “Have you considered telling Lord Capitano?”

You shake your head, “not that he's here. It's not that important.” you cover half of your face with the blanket, “why though? Isn't it just a normal cold from the change of weather?”

It was clear that you were trying to downplay the severity of your symptoms, perhaps not wanting to worry anyone or admit that something might be seriously wrong.

"Dearest, it's not just a cold," she chided gently, "the symptoms you're describing are not typical of a mere cold.”

You frown, “is it not?”

She shook her head, her voice soft but serious. "No, it's not. The nausea, the fatigue, the changes in appetite...these are all common symptoms of something else." Shee paused for a moment, "my lady, have you considered the possibility that you might be... Pregnant?”

You immediately rise from the bed, sitting down with eyes wide to stare at her, "what? Pregnant?” you ask in shock.

"I shall ask for a healer right away, my lady.”

—

You stare outside the window at the dark skies, although your eyes fixated on the gates opening, indicating his arrival.

You almost flinch when he dashes inside your shared chambers, taking his helmet off but not bothering to take the rest off before he's gently grabbing you by your arms.

“where?” He asks urgently, “where are you injured? Who did it? Do not hesitate to tell me.” He says in a dangerously sharp tone, his eyes searching for even a single scratch on your body.

“what… are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow, and your unbothered state made him confused. “the healers were here, yet you're not injured?” he blinked before sighing, his hands caressing your arms instead, “then why? Are you sick?”

“Sick… no not sick.” You tell him, your hands ever so gentle taking a hold of his face, “… but pregnant. I'm pregnant.”

You both stare at eachother, both of you holding your breaths. You have never seen him so distracted, like he didn't hear you the first time.

Does he hate it? You never thought of the possibility.

“Capit—” before you could continue, he's down in one knee and you're bewildered, unsure of what to do.

“you're carrying our child.” he utters out so softly that you think you might tear up—and you really are in the verge of tears. He takes your hand, he's held your hand many times, but this time it feels different, he holds you like you're glass, he's so careful with it.

“I swear to protect you both, and put you both first. Should anyone hurt you, i will not hesitate to draw my sword, if i ever hurt you… then you should not hesitate to draw your sword on me.” his words hung in the air like a sacred vow.

You tried to speak, to respond, but only a soft gasp escaped your lips. Tears welled in your eyes, and you could only stare at him, utterly overwhelmed.

Capitano's gaze softened even more as he saw the tears falling down your face. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his hand still holding yours in a gentle but firm grip, he reached out with the other hand, his large palm cupping your cheek to brush your tears away. “Don't cry, I'm here.”

His embrace, so warm, so protective around you that it eases every single thought in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. With him, it will.

—

Months passed in a blur of morning sickness, cravings, and blossoming excitement for the new life growing inside you. Capitano, as promised, was by your side through it all and he went away for more than a week.

He attended to your every need, from getting up in the middle of the night to find the most ridiculous late-night snack, to comforting you on days when you felt overwhelmed by the changes happening to your body.

You rest back against the bed’s headboard while tracing random shapes on the skin of your swollen belly, a hum of some sort of song followed after. You stop once you hear the sound of slow footsteps, catching your husband freeze.

“I'm sorry, i didn't mean to stalk you like that—”

“you're so silly. Come here, honey.” You pat on your empty side with a smile, inviting him to share this moment you.

Capitano took his place next to you then continued watching as you gently caressed your belly, tracing over the stretch marks with your fingers.

“They're beautiful, you know.” he speaks first, as if sensing what you were about to say. “Beautiful?” You repeat. He lifted your hand to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on your knuckles before he replied, his voice a soft murmur. "Yes, beautiful. They're a sign of life growing within you. A sign of strength. Of creation. That's beautiful.” he continues his trail of kisses to your arm up to your shoulder, “I want to kiss every inch of you, stretch mark or not.”

You've come so far with him that it feels surreal, it feels right, “i love you.” You whisper to him, turning your attention to him again. “I love you.” he doesn't hesitate to say it back, the declaration coming out of his tongue smoothly like it was meant to be.

His hand then moved to your growing bump, "and I love this," he added. “This?” You giggle.

"Mhm," Capitano confirmed, his hand now rubbing your belly in slow, soothing circles. "This. Our baby." His eyes flickered up to yours, "We created this," he continued, his voice with pride and awe. "Our love made this.”

Love.

—

Were toddlers always this fast? Because one second he keeps an eye on her then the next he looks around before she's gone right from infront of him.

He was supposed to play tea party, but a little butterfly flying creature must've caught her attention.

Capitano, despite his size and strength, found himself struggling to keep up with your energetic three-year-old daughter.

He chuckled as he chased her around the garden, his large frame a stark contrast to her small, fleeting form. As she ran past you, you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of your husband's face, "almost got her," he panted out, his hand on his knee as he attempted to catch his breath.

“You got this old man!” You decide to tease him from behind, laughing endlessly from the sight. Though he shot you a mock glare through his labored breaths, “old man, huh?" he grumbled, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I'm old now, do you?" he continued, raising an eyebrow playfully. "I'll show you 'old,' darling." With that, he took a step further to sweep you off your feet, carrying you effortlessly in his arms, and your smile only widens.

“Me!” Your little girl raises both of her arms at her father, and he kneels down to carry her in his other arm. Now carrying you both in each arm.

“Oh, how strong.” You tease, poking at his bicep and he shakes his head almost shyly, “papa, butterfly.” Your daughter proceeds to show you both the butterfly she caught, the little creature doesn't seem scared of her as it rests on her tiny fingers.

“Looks pretty,” Capitano smiled, his expression amused as your daughter leaned toward the butterfly, attempting to kiss it. "Careful now," he warned gently. "Don't scare it away." He watched as the butterfly fluttered its delicate wings at her attempt and she giggles.

"You have to be gentle," he told her, his voice soft. "Just like how you handle the kittens.”

She gasps, suddenly remembering the cat that's half asleep on the grass with the three of you. “Kitty!” She shouts at the cat, jumping off Capitano’s arm so suddenly that it makes him gasp, worried that she might’ve injured herself.

“she's fine.” You pat your husband's chest and just like that, he's relaxed again. “i think our cat is tired of her sometimes.” You get down as well, watching how your daughter carried the lazy cat in her arms to run in circles with her. The cat that grew within these years, from a mere kitten to a big cat now.

"I think we should just be glad the cat hasn't hissed at her or swatted her yet," he sighed, and you hum in reply, “i don't think it ever will. That cat has been clinging to my belly ever since i was pregnant. Kept me warm i must admit.”

You grin when your daughter runs back to both of you, carrying the cat in the air, it's eyes almost closed, unbothered, "meow."

Tags: @duchessofherself @itsjustnikkixoxo @erasme143 @yvesswoo @mooshbb @bigboygoose

#il capitano x reader #capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano #genshin impact #genshin impact capitano #genshin impact x reader #genshin #capitano x you #il capitano x you #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #genshin impact fatui #genshin impact fluff #capitano genshin impact

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surielstea · 2 months ago

Note

Can I get HCs for the Bat Boyz & the autumn boyz (Eris & Lucien, my favourites) with this dialogue:

“There’s nowhere to sit” “My lap is right here.”

Bonus points: if it’s not always the boyz’ lap that’s being referenced here. Personally I think Lucien, Rhys and Cass would find it hilarious.

Thank you! 💀

“My lap is right here.”

Pairing: ACoTaR men x Fem!Reader (separately)

Summary: requested above.

Warnings: All fluff with some suggestiveness!

A. Note: this is just a little something for you guys while I finish my Azris x Reader story (it’s already 10k words…) it’s gonna take me a minute to edit that so enjoy this while you wait! :)

Rhysand

Rita's was packed, the music thrumming through the air, a bass-heavy pulse that vibrated through the floor. Laughter and conversation wove together, filling the space with an electric kind of energy. You should have expected this—should have known that a night out with the Inner Circle would be anything but quiet.

The lot of you had managed to snag one of the larger rounded booths, a semicircle of plush velvet meant for maybe six or seven people. But there were ten of you, and despite the shuffling, adjusting, and outright shoving that had taken place, only nine had managed to squeeze in.

Which left you standing there, arms crossed, staring at the filled seats.

"Well, where am I supposed to sit?" you asked, arching a brow as your so-called friends barely spared you a second glance. Even Amren—tiny, ruthless Amren—had somehow managed to claim a spot.

Before anyone could answer, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with a familiar, effortless strength. A gasp left your lips as you tumbled into a broad, solid chest, your mate's scent of sea salt and citrus washing over you as he caught you with ease.

"My lap is right here, darling," Rhys purred into your ear, his voice a velvety caress. His arms caged you against him as he leaned back into the booth, utterly at ease with you in his lap. "This seat is always reserved for you."

A flush crept up your neck, heat coiling low in your stomach as his lips ghosted over the sensitive spot just below your ear. You swatted at his arm half-heartedly, though you didn't move away.

"Get a room," Cassian groaned, shaking his head. "Or at least wait until we've had a few drinks before you start eye-fucking each other."

"Oh, please," Mor cut in, already sliding out of the booth. "Tell me about it, Cass. I'm getting a round."

"Get us doubles!" Amren called after her. "We're going to need them." She sighed beneath her breath.

The table erupted in laughter, but Rhys barely paid them any mind. His fingers traced idle patterns along your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your ear.

"You don't mind sitting here, do you?" he murmured, the hint of amusement in his voice making it clear he already knew the answer.

You tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze, violet eyes dark with mischief. "I think you planned this," you accused, narrowing your eyes.

His smile was all wickedness and charm. "And if I did?"

You huffed, shaking your head—but you didn't move from his lap. And judging by the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, you doubted he had any intention of letting you go.

Let Mor bring the drinks. You had everything you needed right here.

Azriel

"Hi, handsome," you greet, a smile curling at your lips as you swing open the door to your apartment. The crisp scent of rain drifts in with the night air, mingling with the warmth of your cozy home. Azriel stands in the doorway, shadows curling subtly around him as if hesitant to cross the threshold.

His hazel eyes soften as he takes you in, lingering on the comfortable sweater you've thrown on, the glow of candlelight flickering in the background. He steps inside, shaking a few stray raindrops from his hair, and you close the door behind him, shutting out the storm.

"You're soaked," you remark, reaching out to help him shrug off his damp jacket. His fingers brush against yours as he hands it over, and even with the chill clinging to the fabric, his touch is warm.

"It's cold out there," he murmurs, eyes scanning the space around him. He's never been to your apartment before, and you watch with amusement as his gaze sweeps over the small but welcoming interior—books stacked in uneven piles, a few blankets draped over the couch, a candle flickering on the coffee table. A place lived in. A place entirely yours.

"But it's nice in here," he adds, his voice dipping lower as he turns back to you.

You barely have time to process his words before his lips are on yours—slow, deliberate, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw as he deepens the kiss. You melt into him for a moment, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest before you pull away with a playful smile.

"Come on," you say, tugging him toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable."

Azriel hesitates. It's subtle—the slight shift of his weight, the way his wings twitch behind him as he glances at the couch. It's not exactly built to accommodate a six-foot-something Illyrian warrior with a wingspan that could cast an eclipse over your entire living room.

"Uh... where should I sit?" he asks, the uncertainty in his voice so rare it almost makes you laugh.

You smirk, patting your lap in invitation. "Right here's an option."

His lips twitch in amusement, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before he makes his decision—easing down onto the couch beside you instead. His wing unfurls slightly, shifting behind you before settling around your shoulders like a warm, protective cloak.

You hum contentedly, pulling a blanket over both of you and nestling into his side. The steady beat of his heart thrums against your ear as you relax into the comfort of his presence.

"Thought you'd take me up on my offer," you tease, tilting your head to glance up at him.

His lips brush against your temple, voice low and amused. "Maybe next time."

For now, you're more than happy with this—wrapped in the warmth of him, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to his skin, and the quiet, unspoken promise that he is exactly where he wants to be.

Cassian

"Babe, you in here?"

Cassian's voice carries through the library just before his head peeks around the doorway. You don't bother looking up, too engrossed in the book cradled in your hands—a detailed account of art created during the war. Nestled beneath a thick pile of blankets in a massive leather chair that practically swallows you whole, you simply lift one hand from the cocoon of warmth and wave lazily.

"Here."

He steps inside, brows knitting together. "I called you through the bond. You didn't answer."

"I'm reading," you murmur distractedly, flipping a page without sparing him a glance.

"Reading or not, answer next time. I was worried, okay?" His voice dips into something softer, more serious as he strides deeper into the room.

You hum in vague acknowledgment but don't respond, eyes locked on the words before you.

“Baby," he tries again, tapping a finger against the edge of your book.

You snap your gaze up at him, blinking as if just now remembering his presence. "Huh?"

Cassian exhales through his nose, clearly unimpressed. "Okay?" he repeats, waiting for some kind of confirmation.

Not entirely sure what you're agreeing to but wanting to return to your book, you nod absently. "Yeah, okay."

He watches you for a long moment, his broad shoulders deflating when you go right back to reading. The silence stretches between you, filled only with the soft crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustle of pages.

"Aren't you going to ask why I was looking for you?" His voice carries the weight of expectation.

"...No." You shrug, completely unrepentant.

Cassian lets out a dramatic sigh, his hope for your attention swiftly diminishing. "If you look at me right now, I'll leave you alone with your book," he mutters.

Your head snaps up instantly, locking onto his warm caramel gaze.

"Cauldron, you're determined," he grumbles. Then, in one swift motion, he swipes your book from your hands and snaps it shut.

You gasp, eyes widening as you reach for it. "Cassian!"

"You can read later. Give me attention now," he hums, looking far too pleased with himself.

You narrow your eyes at him, lips parting to protest, but then an idea strikes. You soften your expression, tilt your head slightly, and give him the biggest, most pitiful puppy-dog eyes you can manage.

His smirk falters. Then crumbles entirely.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he blurts, scrambling to return your book. He flips it open and, somehow, miraculously lands on the exact page you were on.

You blink in surprise before shooting him a suspicious look.

"What?" he says innocently, though the glint in his eye suggests he knew exactly what he was doing.

Still, you smile in triumph, sinking deeper into the chair and pulling the book back into place.

Cassian frowns at you, clearly still unsatisfied, and before you can react, he swoops in, effortlessly lifting you from your seat.

A startled yelp escapes you as he sets you on your feet, stealing your chair for himself. You huff but refuse to be deterred, standing directly in front of him, reading as if nothing had happened. Every so often, you flick a page, ignoring the weight of his amused stare.

A sudden shiver wracks through you, the realization settling in—you had been so warm under that blanket. You glance up to find Cassian comfortably wrapped in it now, looking entirely too smug.

"Give me my spot back," you grumble, crossing your arms.

"My lap is right here," he counters smoothly, patting his thigh.

You roll your eyes but don't hesitate long before crawling into his lap. His arms immediately come around you, securing you against his chest as he reclines the chair back. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your back, melts away any lingering annoyance.

Without another word, you resume reading, far more comfortable now than you had been before. Cassian presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair in a way that is both distracting and soothing.

You silently thank him for keeping your hair out of your face, appreciating, despite everything, that he always finds a way to take care of you—even when he's being insufferable.

Eris

The golden throne is a masterpiece—intricate carvings of twisting flames and autumn leaves adorning the armrests, the deep red cushions a striking contrast against the polished gold. But the true vision of perfection is the male seated upon it.

Eris, legs spread carelessly, his head resting against his palm, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. His auburn hair catches the flickering candlelight, a halo of fire framing his sharp, impossibly beautiful features. His amber eyes—always so sharp, always so calculating—soften slightly as they land on you.

You shift your weight, feeling oddly out of place as you stand before him. "So... do I get a throne too?" you ask, tilting your head.

Eris raises a single brow, amusement flickering across his face. "Why?"

You blink at him. "Because this is the throne for the ruler of Autumn," he explains, as if the answer is obvious.

"Right," you say, crossing your arms. "But I just mean... I'm High Lady. Shouldn't I have a throne too?"

It feels strange, asking for something like this, but before you were even married, Eris made it abundantly clear—you are his equal in all things. He's never once treated you as anything less.

He exhales softly, watching you as if he's trying to puzzle something out. Then, finally, he shrugs. "We share a bed. Shouldn't we share a throne?"

Your lips part in protest. "It's not exactly large enough—"

But before you can finish, Eris moves. With a fluidity that makes your breath hitch, he reaches forward, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward him. A startled gasp escapes you as you stumble, catching yourself on the arm of the throne just as you land in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.

The position leaves your faces mere inches apart—your wide eyes meeting his entirely relaxed, smirking expression.

His hands settle on your waist, fingers drumming idly against the fabric of your dress. "We can get you your own throne if you really want, pretty," he murmurs, his voice a silken promise. "But what's mine is yours. So share this with me—for now, okay?"

You stare at him, still slightly stunned by the sudden shift, the warmth of him seeping into you, the firm press of muscle beneath you. His scent—smoke and crisp autumn air—wraps around you, grounding you in the moment.

Slowly, you nod.

"Good," he whispers, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to adoration before he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

A kiss that lingers, that tastes of fire and devotion.

And as you melt into him, you think—perhaps his lap as a throne was a perfectly good alternative.

Lucien

The gathering was already in full swing by the time you and Lucien arrived. The grand hall, adorned in golden candlelight and autumnal tapestries, was packed with High Fae from various courts. A long banquet table stretched through the center of the room, lined with platters of rich food and goblets of deep red wine.

You had expected a formal meeting—discussions of trade agreements, court relations, maybe a bit of posturing. What you hadn't expected was an entire buffet spread out on the table, and for every seat to be taken.

Lucien, of course, had found one easily, already seated comfortably among the dignitaries. His russet-red hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow, and he looked completely at ease, one arm draped over the back of his chair, a goblet in his other hand. He was already speaking with someone from the Winter Court, his voice warm and smooth—an effortless diplomat.

You stood at the edge of the table, scanning for an open seat. Nothing.

Lucien's keen gaze flicked to you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips. "Problem, darling?"

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips. "There's nowhere to sit."

Lucien took a languid sip of his wine, clearly reveling in your predicament. Then, with all the smugness in the world, he patted his thigh. "My lap is right here."

You shot him a sharp look, but he only raised a brow, entirely unbothered. His amber eye gleamed with mischief, the gold in it catching the candlelight. "Unless you'd rather sit in one of my brother’s advisor’s lap?" he mused, tilting his head toward the older men at the end of the table, who were giving you disgusting looks but thankfully too far away to catch wind of Lucien's ridiculous suggestion.

Your glare hardened. "Absolutely not."

Lucien grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Then by all means, make yourself comfortable."

You let out a long, suffering sigh before lowering yourself onto his lap, doing your best to maintain your dignity. His arms came around you without hesitation, one resting lightly at your waist while the other adjusted to make space.

“You know,” He started, lips brushing your ear. "You could have at least pretended to resist a little longer," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you.

"If this makes a scene, you suffer the consequences."

Lucien hummed in amusement, fingers absently tracing patterns against your hip. "I think I rather like these consequences."

You were about to retort when a voice from across the table chimed in. "Comfortable?"

You looked up to find Helion watching the two of you with raised brows, his expression far too entertained.

Lucien didn't miss a beat. "Very," he replied smoothly, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

Helion chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing more. Like father like son.

You, on the other hand, were going to murder Lucien the second you were out of sight of the High Lords.

But for now, as the night carried on, his warmth steady beneath you, his presence grounding in a way you weren't entirely ready to admit—you allowed yourself to relax, just a little.

And if Lucien pressed an occasional kiss to your shoulder throughout the evening, well... you supposed you could let that slide.

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velaris-fic-repository · 29 days ago

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Lovestruck

Azriel x Reader, Eris being nice, Also Eris being a little shit

Summary: You pose as Eris’s date for a reconnaissance mission into the Autumn Court’s markets. Things take a surprise turn for the worst at an apothecary stand

This mission was already a disaster before it even happened.

A reconnaissance mission between Azriel, Eris, and you - Azriel’s trusted second - to assess early options for dispatching the Autumn heir’s father.

Part of that mission was feeling out Autumn’s very seedy underbelly without tipping off the High Lord or those loyal to him.

You were perfect for this, often doing the jobs Azriel couldn’t thanks to his notoriety. That and being a master of illusory disguises, it was a no brainer to bring you along. Even if your spymaster was not a fan of the strategy the three of you had elected to use.

You, glamoured into an Autumn Court native, were playing date to the High Lord’s son. None of you were particularly pleased with the notion, but it was a good idea for keeping intentions secret. Eris would play at showing you around, falling into proper courtship rules - no touching - and if any gossip got out it would be easily squashed and of a different nature entirely to what was actually happening. Bonus, no one would know who you really were or where you were from. Perfect.

Azriel was grinding his teeth about it though. He was not walking behind you both as you flitted about the market squares of Autumn as the day slowly came to a close. But, something about the shadows around the golden hour autumnal market felt agitated, irritable. Like someone you knew was nearby and clearly not happy.

“How can you stand working with him?” Eris said with a chuckle in your ear, playing at being the slightly irreverent courting male.

You smiled and giggled, an act, as you whispered under your breath, “Now hardly seems the place to discuss what I actually do for a living. And you’re no prize, Eris.”

“You wound me, my lady,” Eris teased.

A million comments were poised on the tip of your tongue, but you held them all, focusing on the topic at hand.

You tugged Eris’s hand to stop him as you paused at an apothecary type vendor, expecting the wares. You pointed to a few bottles then whispered to Eris, “Poisons are always a viable option. They seem like this court’s style.”

Eris smiled and wrapped an arm around you, whispering back, “The Night Court doesn’t regularly check what’s in their food?”

Bastard.

Your smile fell just slightly portraying the ghost of the glare you wanted to give him. Only Eris noticed.

“I’ve already thought of that, if it would have worked, all of my brothers and I would have tried it.”

The sun had all but set by now, dim faelights filling iron lampposts around the grounds, creating only small pools of light every few feet. Not the most illuminating, but perfect for the rest of your evening’s purposes.

“We should move on,” you whispered, painting on your smile, looking away to feign embarrassment at whatever you hoped the onlookers thought Eris had said to you.

You began to walk away when the vendor called out, “sample for the lady?”

You smiled, shaking your head politely as the apothecary held up a perfume bottle. “No thank you-“

The vendor’s smile turned oily and wicked, “no, really, I insist… Such a lovely couple you two will make…”

A sweet smelling mist pelted you in the face, overwhelming your senses. Eris sidestepped the plume of perfume, eyes wide as you had no choice but to inhale whatever had been sprayed in your face.

Even worse, your disguise was fading.

Eris moved quickly, grabbing you and pulling you out and away from that vendor into one of the shadowy alcoves of the market.

You were lightheaded, you didn’t know what had happened to you but there was a disorienting want within you. You wanted… You wanted something… someone…

Eris shook you a little, calling your name and pulling your chin up to face him. Your eyes locked on his and that want did not dissipate. You wanted someone, but that someone was not Eris and you were terrified.

You struggled and pushed against him, trying to get up, get out, get away. Flee to wherever that someone you wanted was.

Eris swore and held you down as best he could without scaring you further. You called out to the shadows around him. Moving you, as much as he wanted to, was not an option right now.

Azriel materialized from the shadows almost immediately. He surveyed the situation quickly. He detested Eris holding you like this but saw no other option to keep you from clawing at the both of them.

He stalked forward and cupped his hand around your cheek - the only part of your body he could reach on Eris’s other side. He called your name and hushed you until you looked at him.

You were terrified, a prey animal clawing for its life. That is… until you looked up and saw Azriel’s face.

Everything in the world focused in on one point. Him.

You couldn’t see anything else but the hazel of his eyes, the swoop of his hair. Couldn’t hear anything else besides his night chilled voice.

The male you were wholly and completely in love with.

Your boss, sure. Not really professional, but, for whatever reason, the thought process you usually ran down to keep yourself from pursuing him just… didn’t occur to you.

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked you, voice velvet soft.

Unthinking, you blurted, “I am now.”

Azriel’s eyes widened as Eris swore again, looking back in the direction you’d come.

Azriel watched you closely, unmoving. Whatever Eris did you either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Don’t worry,” he told you in that soft, comforting voice you loved so much.

“Not worried,” you whispered, leaning into his touch, practically purring as you closed your eyes.

“Love potion?” Azriel whispered in Eris’s direction.

“Looks like it,” Eris responded.

“I’m the first she saw?” Azriel asked for confirmation.

Despite the situation, Eris finally seemed amused. He smirked as he said, “No. She saw me first.”

Azriel’s brain, for once, was having a hard time putting the pieces together. He looked between Eris’s ever growing smirk and your lovesick behavior. You had practically melted into his hand where it still grasped your cheek.

But if… But if you saw Eris first… And had still reacted the way you had… Dazed, confused and disoriented… Until he crossed your field of vision…

“Shadowsinger,” Eris said, still smug, “now may be a good time to get her someplace safe. We can continue later. You seem to be-“ Eris feigned waffling for the right phrase- “indisposed.”

Azriel growled at him, coaxing your eyes open and up to him. You looked worried as you asked him, “What’s wrong?”

Eris had the audacity to laugh, but he didn’t leave. He watched the area around you all, Azriel realizing he was watching out specifically for the two of you. Until the two of you were out.

“Go,” he said, “I’ll clean up whatever mess is left.”

Azriel nodded to him before dropping fully into your vision. He sent you a comforting look, immediately calming you back into your dreamy state.

“We’ve got to go home now, okay? I’m going to winnow us, is that okay?”

You nodded.

“Words, please.”

“That’s fine,” you responded softly, “I trust you.”

Azriel didn’t doubt it, but he did doubt that even if you didn’t you would have much choice.

“Okay,” he said, a small shake coming into his voice as he held you.

The way you grasped onto him, nothing but unadulterated love in your eyes, had him winnowing you both without even a glance at Eris.

Once the two of you were back in Velaris, Azriel had been determined to drop you off and let you ride out the effects. He’d talk to you about in the morning, hopefully when whatever potion this was wore off.

You were not having that. Every time he attempted to separate from you, you either just followed after him like a dog or got such a sad look on your face that you practically cracked his heart in half. He had little options left.

You woke up with a far clearer head than you remembered going to bed with. Not that you remembered much of the previous night in the first place.

You shook your head to clear it and glanced around. You were in a large bed, held close by… strong arms and draped in familiar membranous wings…

Panic overwhelmed you as you pushed away from Azriel in an attempt to flee whatever this situation had been.

But, Azriel’s hand shot out and gently grasped your wrist. “Wait.”

You stopped.

Azriel, fully clothed sat up in bed and looked at you. He waited for you to wake up more fully, to realize you were still fully clothed as well.

When you seemed a bit more calm, he asked you, “what do you know about love potions?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh Mother save you.

Memories of the mission, and exactly when and why it went wrong ripped through your mind. You remembered every thing you did, everything you thankfully didn’t do, and every little lovesick thought you’d had In Azriel’s presence.

Unfortunately, they weren’t too different from the things you already thought. Amplified maybe, but certainly nothing new.

“Azriel, I am so sorry. I didn’t… I couldn’t… It absolutely will not happen again I-“

Azriel squeezed your hand, halting your motor mouth speech.

“You saw Eris first,” he said, a bland statement of fact.

“Yes,” you responded.

“That means what I think it means, right?”

You couldn’t discern the emotion leaking into his face.

False. You could. You just couldn’t accept it.

“I’m so sorry,” you said again, “it was unprofessional of me. Had I not been under the influence of something I never would have-“

Azriel’s cool mask fully dropped and shifted into something dangerously close to desperation until he finally surged forward and kissed you, slow, passionate and full of at least a centuries worth of longing.

It was everything you had ever hoped it would be in that secret place of your heart.

When you finally, regrettably, separated for air, Azriel rested his forehead against yours. As if he needed to be as close to you as possible or he would cease to be.

“How…” he said through his panting, “How’s that… for professional?”

You laughed weakly. “Does that mean what I think it means?” you echoed.

“Yes,” he breathed, not waiting too long before kissing you again.

Your morning devolved into nothing but the two of you kissing and reveling in the other’s presence.

You finally went to the kitchen and it was there that you finally engaged in a debrief of sorts from yesterday. It was stranger than any you had ever done with him before. In the kitchen of his private residence, him still holding onto you, kissing the crown of your head, drinking a coffee he made you out of one of his mugs.

Strange, but most assuredly welcome.

“Eris took care of that vendor after we left. He was trying to ensure the heir and his date stayed together, trying to then sell that information to Beron. Eris sent a message not long after I coaxed you to sleep.”

You laughed a little at the soft tone he used and at him anticipating your question before you asked it.

“Maybe,” you said into the rim of your mug, “we should have thanked him instead.”

Azriel smiled but said, “not funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny.”

You’d always kept as many personal details out of your discussions as you could. You two had been friendly before, but there was always this unspoken barrier between you. At your mention of finding something funny, Azriel’s eyes lit up.

“I can’t wait to find out everything about you,” Azriel said, “starting with that sense of humor.”

You hummed and met him when his lips came down to kiss you again. Perfectly content.

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #eris vanserra

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joelmillers-wife · 2 months ago

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take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter one

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags | 🎵series playlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: the people in charge of Jackson help you settle into your new place, right across the street from a stranger who already seems displeased by your appearance in town wc: 3.5k rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters chapter warnings and tags: no warnings right now besides cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn, enemies to friends to lovers type-beat ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

next chapter

I. A HORSE WITH NO NAME

On the first part of the journey I was lookin' at all the life There were plants and birds and rocks and things There was sand and hills and rings

All you can focus on are your surroundings.

The fire crackling to your right provides the warmth you so desperately need along with the blanket they had draped over your shoulders. The room resembles some kind of office lobby area, you think, with you sitting in a large armchair. Your eyes drift over to the windows to see snow falling gently outside and the streets lit up from warm lamp posts as you hear the faint sounds of the town existing outside. Children laughing and playing—people working and chatting. You assume this is what normalcy is, yet everything about this moment feels abnormal.

A voice catches your attention, and you look over to the man sitting in front of you speaking, the man who found you. He acts as though he’s dealing with a wounded animal, looking between you and the woman sitting beside him—his wife, you remember now… Maria, right?

They look expectantly at you, the man glancing over to his wife for some sort of help. You realize they asked you something.

The shrill ringing in your ears subsides as you blink yourself back into focus. “What?”

The man, Tommy, softly laughs. “Sorry, I’m sure this is a lot to take in. We try choosin’ the most private area in town when we have new folk come in. I’m sure the noises outside don’t do much to settle your nerves.”

He’s right. The noise is… so loud? Can they be this loud outside? Are they not worried?

Maria speaks up. “What we were saying is that we want to make sure you’re warm now, and that you have a better sense of what we have built here. I know the body checking was intense, but we have to be cautious when we find people out there. Make sure you haven’t been bit.”

You feel slightly more comfortable with her presence. There’s a sternness about her that shows authority, yet her tone is still gentle.

You’d been wandering around for a few days now, having heard about a month back of a settlement out in Jackson, Wyoming—not a QZ, but a real town. The journey there made you wish that you had found out about this settlement much sooner–before the coldest season you have ever experienced had begun to make its way through the state.

The only issue is you heard of this place ahead of one of the coldest seasons you’ve ever experienced. You had left mid autumn, and it took weeks to get remotely close to the community. You assumed autumn was ending quicker than anticipated considering the snowy weather felt more like a harsh and icy winter, forcing your food sources to become scarce over the weeks.

Last night… or was it early morning? You can’t tell—all you know is you collapsed in the snow from exhaustion and cold, spending a few moments coming to terms with your impending death. Would you freeze? Or would the infected find you first and not grant you have the mercy of dying at all?

Amidst your existential dread, you felt your body drifting and heard the sounds of muffled shouting followed by snow crunching. Suddenly a man’s face had entered your field of vision, his face etched with concern—a man you now recognize as Tommy—before you felt your body get pulled onto a horse. From the moment you were brought to the gates, you heard more shouting—how is everyone so comfortable being so damn loud? You saw a woman hurry towards you—Maria. She and Tommy led you into a room filled with metal bars spaced a few inches from one another, lined from the ground to the ceiling. You faintly recall being demanded about the infected, and you respond that you were not bitten.

… Right?

Maria and another woman in a long white coat checked your body before validating that you were not bit. Thank god.

It wasn’t too long after that Maria, the one in command of the town, and Tommy had wrapped you in a warm blanket and led you into the room that you three occupy now. Sat by the fireplace, you were given a hot mug of what appeared to be tea and bread as they began to discuss the workings of the town and how it came to be.

That brings you to the present, where you sit trying to listen and remember everything they had been telling you.

“We can get you set up in your house first, or we can give you a tour of the area and what can be expected,” Maria explains.

“House?” You question. You get a house?

She offers you a soft smile. “Yes, we have many homes in town. All residents are allowed to have their own property—helps them get a better sense of normalcy and routine while still having some privacy.”

A house. “I’d like to just be by myself for a bit, if that’s alright.”

Tommy speaks up. “Of course. We can lead you to where you’ll be stayin’. ‘Round dinner time, Maria or I will come by and walk you over to the mess hall. Get you settled in first and then show you a bit of the area. Does that sound alright with you?”

You silently nod and stand with them, following them outside.

It’s so. Fucking. Loud.

As you walk behind the couple you begin to notice stores, produce stands, gardens, children playing outside of… Is that a school? They have a school here? You notice Maria pointing at different places and speaking to you, but you don’t pay her much mind–the tour will be later, you remind yourself. For now you want to be alone.

Eventually the couple walk you through a residential block and stop a few houses down the street before Tommy gestures to a small home to your right. Except it’s bigger than anything else you’ve ever stayed in for the last couple of decades. Standing before you is a two-story home made of red brick and lined with windows across the top and bottom.

“Here we are! You can find some spare clothes, towels, hot water and—”

“Tommy!” A voice calls out. Your head snaps to look behind you, quick enough to give you whiplash.

Is infected invading the settlement? Is this a warning?

You watch as a man steps out of the house directly in front of yours, marching down his walkway with his brows furrowed and face scrunched with annoyance. He comes charging over to you–no, he’s only looking directly at Tommy. You glance over at Tommy for any signs of fear, only to find a matching but slightly softer expression.

The man walking over calls out once more, making you hear a… southern accent? Tommy has a southern accent as well, doesn’t he? “God dammit, Tommy, you told me you’d meet me at the stables at 8 a.m. this morn—”

You look from Tommy back to the stranger when you hear his words cut off, only to find his eyes have settled on you. You take the moment to look over him, noticing he wears something similar to what Tommy and the rest of the town had been wearing in this weather—a tan brown jacket with fur lining the collar, dark jeans, combat boots, a dark scarf covering his neck and tucked into his jacket. And… is that a scar on his right temple?

He’s… big. Broad. Soft brown curls—or grey you suppose. Yeah, you see more grey than brown there, the colors matching his trimmed beard. Your nerves calm slightly—no longer thinking he’s a threat based on Tommy and Maria’s reactions, but he doesn’t look kind.

His face shows signs of age. That, or you think that the lines have possibly developed over time from the permanent scowl that has been on his face ever since he walked out. His brows are still furrowed as he continues to stare at you. Did you do something?

Tommy sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Yeah, Joel, m’sure you can tell why I couldn’t meet with you on time. Found this one with Eugene and the others way early this mornin’ on the way back from midnight patrol. Tryin’ to get her all settled in—set her up here real quick and then I can meet ya out front, alright?”

Tommy might as well have not been speaking considering the man, Joel, is still staring at you with the same displeased expression. Finally, his eyes pass over to Tommy before he just grunts and turns around, walking back up to the door of the house across from yours and slamming it shut in the process.

Tommy timidly looks over at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. “Know that ain’t the best introduction I could’ve given ya to my brother.”

What?

Maria scoffs lightly. “I don’t think there’s any good introduction to Joel,” she says under her breath.

“Your brother?” You ask. That man is Tommy’s brother?

He chuckles shortly with a nervous smile on his face. “Hard to believe, right? Who would’ve guessed someone as handsome and charmin’ as me could be related to an old grump,” he jokes.

Maria doesn’t seem to hold the same lighthearted tone her husband has, but she merely shakes her head and says, “This happens to be the only vacant home we have that is fully furnished and done being built. Neighbors aren’t ideal, we know.”

You shake your head. “I don’t mind. I’m grateful for anything, really.”

Tommy begins to walk you towards your door, leading the way. “Alright, let’s get you inside and settled.”

The front porch has a hanging, swinging bench that faces out to the street. You step in to find the place to be warm, not just in temperature, but also in comfortability. Maria was right, the home is fully furnished. It feels simple, yet with character—paintings of wildlife and countryside adorn the walls, the space being much larger than you were anticipating. The entryway holds a small coat rack area directly to the right beside the front door, a staircase going along the wall, leading to an upstairs area.

You look to your left to see what must be the living room. A soft couch faces opposite you, turned to face the wall with–holy shit… is that a T.V.? It’s an old T.V., very old, and small, but it’s real. The couch looks to hold space for three with pillows scattered across it, a recliner to the left of the couch that sits right near the window. A window that you realize gives a clear view of the house across from yours—Joel’s house.

The living room follows into a decent sized kitchen with basics set up, a small square table with four chairs sat around each respective side, a rectangle kitchen island in the center, a sink, some spice containers across the countertops. You open the cabinets lined against the wall to be filled with bowls, plates, cups, pans, pots. The drawers are full of forks, knives, spoons, and other equipment you’ve never seen before.

You walk out the other doorway to the kitchen, landing back into the hallway that leads to the front door. Maria leads you to walk around and up the staircase to find a small area that branches off into two doors. You open one to find what seems to be a sort of office space—a simple desk and chair along one of the walls with various bookcase and storage boxes organized along the perimeter.

Leaving that space, you walk to the other door that opens to a bedroom—your bedroom, you realize. Again, simple, yet luxurious to you with a large bed, clean sheets, two dressers, a mirror, and a chair in the corner that faces a window. A door on the wall to the right of you leads to a bathroom with a large tub and shower head attached to the tile, a bathroom vanity with another large mirror hanging on the wall above the sink.

You silently walk around, trying to take everything in without making a scene. What if you react badly and they take it away? What if you don’t seem grateful enough and they decide to kick you out?

Maria looks at you with a warm smile on her face. “It’s a lot, I know. Hard to believe things like this can be real in this life.”

You slowly turn to face her, eyes going over the details in your room as you stumble over your words. “I-it’s, um…”

Her smile grows. “It’s all yours. Don’t worry.”

You clear your throat as you try to find the will to speak. “Thank you, I—” you pause to take a deep sigh and let your eyes close for a moment. Opening them a second later to face her directly. Having collected yourself a bit more, you say, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, honey. Tommy and I will head out and let you get settled. I can quickly show you how to use the shower, and where to find some towels and clothes for you. The sizes might not be exact, but you’ll find clean, warm clothes for you here.”

You nod your head as you follow and try to memorize her instructions—mentioning how the shower knob sometimes needs to be jiggled a bit to turn on—and walk back downstairs with Maria to meet Tommy waiting at the door.

“It’s ‘round noon now.” He points to a clock that hangs on the wall of the staircase. “Town has a mess hall where dinner is served everyday at 6 p.m. if people don’t want to cook for themselves. We serve fresh meals three times a day, and anyone and everyone is welcome to come by for food. Tonight, a little before that time we’ll come back to walk you over there, get a proper meal in ya. ‘Til then, please feel free to make yourself at home.”

You give a small smile and nod of thanks. Maria opens your door and walks out and down the walkway, but you find Joel leaning on his fence outside his house with his arms crossed. Has he even unfurrowed his brows from the moment you met him?

He looks over when he hears the door open, eyes landing on yours and staring.

Tommy notices and turns to see what must look like uneasiness on your face. Giving you a reassuring smile, he says, “I know he’s not the most welcomin’ face to see, let alone the best person to meet as your first introduction to the people in the community, but I promise he’s not a threat. My brother’s good people, he just struggles with newcomers.” Tommy seems to think to himself a second. “Alright… it’s probably a bit more that he struggles with people in general,” he laughs. “But he’s safe. I promise,” he adds with a more serious tone.

You pull your gaze away from Tommy to glance at his brother once more. You believe Tommy, you realize, as you begin to recognize the feeling you get from Joel isn’t that he is a threat, but rather it’s that you and everything around him are the threat he needs to watch out for—a feeling you find yourself understanding.

Facing Tommy once more, you respond, “I understand. I promise he didn’t completely scare me off.”

He laughs. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll see ya in a few hours, alright?”

Nodding in agreement, you shut the door behind him and walk over to the window behind the recliner, finding Joel still looking at your house. His lips move as you assume he’s talking to his brother, before the two walk away in the snow.

Later that evening, Tommy had showed up as promised and brought you to eat dinner in the mess hall. Maria didn’t come with him, though—Tommy informing you she had to watch over their infant son, Benjamin, who was sick.

A son… Of course you knew people had kids here. Hell, you saw them and heard them yourself—a fact that you couldn’t find yourself getting used to anytime soon. How comfortable and almost… safe people seem to be here in the volume of the noises they make. How can they be so sure infected are far away enough to not hear and come running in?

You got your answer later in the evening after dinner while Tommy gave you a more in depth tour of the community. He explained the tall, sturdy fences that surrounded the area, the 24/7 guards at said fences who monitored who and what came in and out at all times. How the community is set up in a way that allows people at the top of the fence posts to see anything that would come through the open land outside the walls. Then, beyond the few acres of empty land was a thick forest that gradually gets thicker as you go further from town, and higher up the hill.

“We have trusted members of the community take turns on patrol—both at the fences and also at different outposts we have scattered around Wyoming. When people go out on the patrols, they check for any hordes or stragglers of infected and clear ‘em before they can get any closer. God forbid any of ‘em get too close to the walls, we have plenty of safety precautions. All patrol members are armed, as well as extra weapons held on the fences such as bombs to attack any large hordes that get too close at one time,” Tommy explains as you walk around town together.

He stops a moment to turn and look at you with a soft expression. “I promise, Maria and I put in a lot of work to make this place safe for everyone. Everyone in the community has a job that’s equally as important across town. We got teachers, gardeners, butchers, cooks, stable help, construction workers, shopkeepers—not just patrol members. Now everyone must have a job to contribute to the community. You could choose anythin’ you want—”

“I want to be on patrol,” you cut him off.

He gives you a small smile. “Of course,” he says. “We try to start everyone off with smaller tasks that take place in the community. Gives the new folk a chance to figure out the workin’s of everythin’, and gives you the opportunity to know everyone and have everyone get to know you. We’ll get you set up with whatever you decide, have you trainin’ with weapons and members of the patrol crew to supervise you so we get a sense of where your talents lie—see if you can be someone the town depends on to keep ‘em safe.”

Having your own doubts about people you don’t know being entrusted to keep you safe, you get why you need to take some time to gain trust, and give Tommy a nod in agreement.

“Sounds great,” he says. “I’ll walk you back home, then tomorrow mornin’ at 8 a.m. Maria or I will come by your place and figure out what it is you want to do around here.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”

When you reach your home, you say your goodbyes to Tommy as he turns to walk back down the street the way you two came. Reaching your door, you turn to close and lock it behind you to find the house across from yours has their porch lights on. Joel’s house.

You notice a shadowed figure inside looking through the windows, it seems. When you turn your body to face his house straight on, you see the figure scrambling as if they’ve been caught, quickly shutting the curtains and turning off the porch light.

That’s… not Joel? You saw Joel. He’s tall, and broad. The figure seemed smaller, almost like a child.

Does Joel have his own family?

You shake your head and finally close your door as you make your way upstairs to get ready for bed. This man is none of your business, you tell yourself, and you can’t be bothered to spend time thinking of someone you don’t know.

Reaching your room, you enter your bathroom to splash water on your face—the cold splash shocking you out of the disoriented state you’ve had all day. You walk to one of the dressers that sits in the corner of your bedroom, going through the drawers to find the few clothes Maria had given you to start off with before you find clothes fit for you—putting them on and sighing deeply as you relish in the feeling of warm, clean clothes.

You make your way to your bed, lying there staring at the ceiling as you try to calm down from how abnormally normal everything feels—taking in everything that has occurred and where exactly you are.

You’re safe… Right?

a/n: special thank you to v, b, and a for their help and support towards me through this story. i love you three more than words can convey

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tmh series

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pillow-coded · 2 months ago

Text

To Have and to Hold — Chapter 1

Summary: finding a lost toddler's mother in the library wasn’t how Spencer expected to spend his afternoon. Later, when her mother arrives—panicked, breathless, and beautiful—Spencer starts to forget how to breathe. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Brief depiction of a lost child, mild panic from a parent, emotional vulnerability word count: 5.3k

A/N: This is the first work I had the guts to post (genuinely scared lol), slow updates! (so sorry, but uni is killing me), and lastly, English isn't my native language, so please do let me know if i got any grammar mistakes! (also not proofread cause i'm too embarrassed to show any of my friends)

Series Masterlist

Libraries have always been a great comfort for me. It’s a place full of knowledge, warmth, peace. Maybe it’s the smell of old books and how I can easily link that smell to the amiable parts of my childhood.

Those Autumn nights when everything was fine, where my wires were still intact. Mom was doing well back then. She’d read to me those old books she collected from all her years of teaching. That’s how I saw them back then... Old, decrepit books that contained the most fun stories... At least, I found them fun. Like Shakespeare’s Tales Retold – child-friendly versions of Shakespeare’s works.

Nowadays, they’re more than just fond stories or old books. Those books are relics and a memory of when my mother was... well, more lucid.

What I loved most about libraries was the quietness of it all. I spent a couple of hours of my day when I could, basking in the quiet. It was nice not to have to hear the gruesome details of some innocent woman murdered in cold blood.

Days like these only made the quietness feel even better. Soft Autumn day, nearing Winter already. We had just come back from a tough case, children were involved. Thankfully, we managed to get on time.

I had watched that boy while JJ tried to talk to him, trying to understand what had happened to him. He was barefoot, his hair disheveled, and he looked achingly thin. We later found that the boy’s parents held a “discipline ring.” According to his parents, it was a “behavior modification” experiment—one they claimed was “research-backed,” designed to “train” their child into being the perfect prodigy. The boy was denied food, affection, and even basic care when he disobeyed. But worse? The parents live-streamed it all on private forums for a group of like-minded “disciplinarians.”

It didn’t matter that we caught his parents. That the live-stream was shut down. That the others in that so-called “discipline ring” were going to prison. None of it mattered when he looked up at me with those eyes—hollow but obedient. Like love was something he still thought he had to earn.

I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hated those people.

I’ve done a lot of pretending in my life. Pretended I wasn’t scared. Pretended I wasn’t lonely. Pretended I didn’t want a family of my own. But that boy—he didn’t know how to pretend. He didn’t know how to fake normal. He just waited patiently in that hospital bed for someone to love him back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is why I had decided to come to the library instead of resting after the case like a normal person. I needed a moment of peace, a moment of quiet.

That moment of quietness was rudely interrupted—torn apart by high-pitched, desperate sobbing. I turn to my left, and there's a girl at the end of the long corridor full of bookcases. A tiny one at that, since the whole corridor looked gigantic compared to her.

She couldn’t have been more than five, barely tall enough to brush the second shelf. A statistical outlier in this ocean of silence, suddenly very, very loud. There was something unsettling about how her tiny fists rubbed at her eyes. Children cried in a language everyone understood.

“Are you lost?” I ask hesitantly, not moving from my spot in the corridor. The little girl stops crying for a brief moment. Well, not stop, but slowed down. Her big eyes are still so full of fear and tears, but they open wide to look at me as if she hadn’t been expecting someone to help.

She doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at me—eyes still shimmering, lips trembling, chest stuttering around hiccuped sobs. She’s scared. That much is obvious. But it’s the way she clutches the fabric of her little coat that really gets me. Like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth right now.

I walk towards her. I'm not close—just close enough to show I’m not a threat. A non-threatening stranger in a cardigan and tie, kneeling among the books like I’m part of the furniture.

She stares, still trembling, still silent.

“It’s okay,” I murmur gently. “I’m not going to come closer unless you want me to. I just want to help.”

Her little hand scrubs clumsily at her cheek. She sniffles, her shoulders curling inward. Still holding it in. Still trying to be brave.

Then, finally—after a moment that feels like something unspooling—she shakes her head. And her voice, when it comes, is a soft, crumpled thing:

“I can’t find my mommy.”

I nod, matching her quietness. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

A pause.

“I’ll help you find her, alright? No rush. We can check the kiddie section together. That’s probably where she’ll look first.”

I didn’t offer my hand. It felt like too much for both of us. Instead, I walked beside her, slow and steady, letting the silence settle between us like soft dust. She kept sniffling quietly the whole walk down.

I desperately needed a way to make the little cries stop.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

She tilted her head back to look up at me—really look this time. She was so small she had to crane her neck to find my eyes. Her expression still carried that flicker of uncertainty, her trust not quite earned yet.

“I’m Spencer.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares for a second, like she’s still deciding whether I’m safe. Then, in the tiniest voice—barely above a whisper—she says:

“...Maddie.”

Maddie.

I nod, repeating it once under my breath to make it real.

“That’s a beautiful name, Maddie.”

She says nothing, but her fingers curl tighter around the hem of her coat. She’s still scared, but she’s not looking away anymore.

Progress.

I scan the rows of shelves ahead. The kiddie section’s not far now—colorful bean bags, tiny chairs, picture books splayed on wide tables.

“Do you like magic tricks, Maddie?”

She nods her tiny head, her eyes warming up to me at the thought.

I felt something in my stomach… I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe yearning?

She nods—just once—and I see it. That flicker of trust, like a light turning on behind her eyes. Not quite safety, but something near it.

And something stirs in my stomach.

I don’t know what to call it. It’s not adrenaline, and it’s not fear. Maybe it’s yearning. Not for her, necessarily—but for what she has. What she’s lost. What she’s looking for.

For someone to come back for her.

For someone to call her name.

“Okay… how about I show you some magic tricks while we wait for your mommy to get here? that sound fun, Maddie?”

This time she nods enthusiastically. Her big eyes excited to see what sorcery I had planned to show her.

I dig the pocket of my pants, my movements slow and deliberate. I pull out a simple quarter. It’s nothing special. Just a plain, shiny quarter that for some reason, I’ve held on to for way longer than I should’ve.

“Behold,” I announce, holding it up between two fingers like it’s enchanted. “A perfectly ordinary quarter.”

She leans in, captivated—eyes locked on the coin like it’s something rare. A small smile starts to tug at her cheeks.

“It’s your everyday quarter,” I say, twirling the tiny thing between my fingers, doing my best to keep this unfamiliar girl comforted—as if her calm is the only thing keeping me steady.

“Watch closely.”

I place the coin on my open palm and slowly close my fingers around it. Then, with my free hand, I give the air above my fist a little wave—like I’m stirring something invisible.

“And now… it’s gone.”

I open my hand. Empty.

She gasps.

I see it—the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes light up like I’ve just rewritten the rules of the universe.

I lean in, just a little. Not too close.

“Huh. That’s strange…” I murmur, pretending to look around her, behind her, above her. “Where could it have gone…?”

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I reach behind her ear, and pull the coin free like I just plucked a star from the sky.

Her breath catches. She stares at the quarter in my fingers like it’s a miracle.

“It was behind your ear this whole time,” I whisper, grinning.

She beams at me, her fear momentarily forgotten. Her laughter is soft but real, bright and bubbly and innocent in a way that makes something sharp tug behind my ribs.

“Are you a sorcerer?” She asks, her big, curious eyes staring into my soul, trying to get answers out of me.

I blink, “A sorcerer?”

She nods, completely serious, “like the ones in Harry Potter.”

I chuckle fondly at her question, “Well… I don’t have a broom. Or a wand. Or an Owl.”

“But you made the coin vanish…” She pouts slightly, and although the sight of her minor pout was adorable, I would’ve given anything to see her smile again.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the case that had me feeling so fond of a child I just met. Maybe it got all the loose wires within me, all frayed and sparking from things I still hadn’t worked through. But there was something about this moment—this tiny human with tear-streaked cheeks and a Harry Potter reference—that made something ache deep in my chest.

I felt it so sharply it almost hurt.

This... this mattered.

And I hated how much I wanted it—interactions like this. Not just the comfort or the connection but the permanence. The possibility of something that was mine.

Kids of my own.

I glance down at her, still wide-eyed, still waiting for more magic. Her little hands twitch with excitement like she’s ready to believe anything I say.

“Yeah, but it’s only a magic trick, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to offer the truth gently, without breaking the illusion. Without hurting her feelings.

But maybe I shouldn’t.

Maybe I should let her believe in it a little longer. Let her live in the dream. Give her what I wish someone had given me at that age—a reason to believe in wonder.

So I sigh, dramatically, like I’m about to confess something world-altering.

“Okay… you got me. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

She leans in, eyes shining.

“I’m actually a wizard.”

She gasps, delighted. A smile blooms across her face so fast it nearly knocks the air out of me.

“I knew it!” she squeals.

“Yeah, you did,” I grin back. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”

She looks like she’s about to burst with thousands of questions. Eyes wide and shining with a special curiosity. I just hope her parent doesn’t murder me for fueling these wizard dreams that she has.

“Are you friends with Harry?”

I try my best to suppress a warm chuckle, but I can’t help the smile that shines through.

“Harry Potter?” She nodded so hard at my response that I worried her head might pop off. “Well… I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s mostly busy these days. But yes, we’ve met.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and this time, I couldn’t subdue the fond chuckles that her reactions got out of me.

“Can you show me more magic?”

I smile, helpless to deny her. “Alright. One more, but you gotta sit down for this one.” I say, holding up a finger like I’m laying down a rule neither of us will actually follow.

She hurries to a small chair in the kid tables. Wiggles in place, hands clasped in front of her like she’s bracing for something incredible.

I reach into my pocket again, fingers brushing against the familiar coolness of the coin.

“But you have to pay very close attention, okay? This one’s advanced wizardry.”

She nods like she’s preparing for a test at Hogwarts.

“We have, the very same coin from earlier,” I move the coin to the center of my palm, “But if I place it right here… and you keep your eyes on it…”

I curl my fingers over it, give them a little dramatic wiggle.

“This simple quarter will just…”

Disappear. Or—it’s supposed to.

Everything was going fine. The coin’s in my palm. My fingers close around it. I make the usual gesture—slight misdirection, a practiced flick of the wrist, the classic illusion.

Except this time… something goes wrong. There’s a soft metallic clink followed by—

“Ow!”

Not me. Behind me.

The little girl’s eyes go wide, delighted at first by the trick. But then her head snaps toward the voice—the one behind me, the one that just yelped in surprise.

And just like that… the magic disappears.

“Mommy!” She takes off running.

I stand and turn instinctively, ready to reassure the parent—let her know her daughter’s safe, that I was only trying to help. Maybe even apologize for the quarter that, somehow, made impact.

But then I see her.

And for a moment… I forget what I was about to say.

She’s standing there, breathless, eyes wide with relief, and the softest kind of panic still clinging to her expression. The kind that says she’s been searching—not just through the aisles, but through every possible worst-case scenario in her head.

And yet, despite the tension in her posture, despite the flurry of emotion on her face...

She’s—God, she’s beautiful.

Like something from another lifetime. Light catching in her hair. Autumn caught in her breath.

An angel.

I’ve always thrived on routine. Wake up, brush teeth, get dressed, go fulfill today’s duties… It wasn’t anything exciting, but it was dependable. Familiar.

That all changed when I had her.

My Madelyn.

Now, my mornings depend on a dozen unpredictable factors. Maybe Maddie wakes up before I do and cuts my desperately needed seven hours of sleep short. Maybe she had a nightmare. Maybe she wet the bed. Or—more often than not—she’s just too excited for the day and bursts out of sleep like it’s a celebration.

It’s exhausting.

But she’s my entire world. My sun. My moon. And I’d sacrifice every ounce of sleep or peace of mind a thousand times over if it meant making her life feel safe and full of joy.

Still, we do have one day of the week that rarely breaks pattern.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday, for as long as I can remember, I wake up early, make pancakes, get dressed, and head to the library—the one place where time slows down, where stories open like doorways and the world feels just a little quieter.

Bringing Maddie into that routine was surprisingly easy. I started taking her when she was just a month old. I would’ve done it sooner, but I was still figuring things out—how to be a single mother to a newborn. Just surviving those first few days was its own kind of story.

She loves our Saturdays.

Every Saturday morning, once the pancakes are ready, I head to her room—and without fail, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

She always knows it’s Saturday because of the smell. Like clockwork, the scent of warm batter reaches her tiny nose, and her whole body just springs to life. She throws off her covers, races into the kitchen barefoot and beaming, already asking for her syrup before I can even plate the first stack.

This Saturday morning was different.

I should’ve known things would go wrong the moment I decided to step even slightly out of routine.

“Good morning, princess,” I sing, beaming as I step into her bedroom—blueberry pancakes in hand. “Brought you breakfast in bed. Aren’t you a spoiled little princess today?”

Her face lights up like it always does. “Good morning, Mommy!”

She spots the pancakes, and her eyes sparkle. She bounces a little beneath her blankets, already reaching for the plate. “Blueberry?”

I nod, smiling. “Well, I know how much you like them, so I decided to change things up,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Alright, eat up. The library’s waiting for us.”

She hummed as she ate, little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, syrup smeared near the corner of her mouth. It was such a small thing, but I remember thinking—this is what happiness feels like. A plate of blueberry pancakes and a five-year-old who thinks I hung the stars.

We left a little later than usual.

Just ten minutes. That’s all.

She insisted on picking out her own outfit—a striped shirt and a pink coat—and I let her. Another tiny detour from routine. Nothing dramatic. Nothing dangerous.

The nearest library, which we were used to visiting, was a three-story building. It was old, but they kept it clean. The library had a huge variety of books, from Children’s books to cookbooks.

It was just as it always was. Quiet. Warm. A kind of sacred.

We walked in together. I remember holding the door open while she skipped inside.

I remember telling her—“Stay close, baby.”

she nodding.

And then…Then I blinked. I looked up from the shelves. And she was gone.

I’ve never lost my Maddie before. She’s a curious child, and she loves to wander off on adventures. She probably inherited that from me. This need to find whatever’s glowing. I understand it. We’re moths, both of us. Fragile, flitting things, always blinded by the glow, unaware that it might hurt us.

But I’ve gotten better at spotting the danger.

At least… when it comes to her.

I watch everything. Every step she takes. Every handrail she climbs. Every crack in the sidewalk I gently guide her around. Not even the tiniest fruit fly gets near her without me noticing. I make sure of it. I always make sure.

So how did I miss this?

how did I lose her?

“Maddie?” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maddie, where are you, sweetheart?”

No reply.

Just silence. Just shelves. Just the sound of someone flipping a page somewhere far away.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t hear her.

Panic bloomed in my chest, sharp and fast. I started moving—too quickly to think, too slowly to matter. I scanned every row, every corner of the first floor, spinning in half-circles, eyes darting, throat dry.

Think. You have to think. Breathe.

I forced myself to stop. Just for a second. Inhaled. Shaky. Exhaled. Useless.

That’s when I saw it.

A sign hanging above the staircase in soft, colorful letters:

Children’s Section – Second Floor.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken stairs that fast in my life.

I practically leapt two steps at a time, nearly tripping—twice—but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. My heart was pounding too hard, my breath caught somewhere between a prayer and a scream.

As soon as I reached the top, I heard it. Laughter. Soft, bubbling giggles echoing from the back corner of the floor.

Maddie. My sun.

I followed the sound like it was oxygen, rounding the shelves toward the children’s section—and there she was. She was fine. Smiling. Whole. Lit up with joy I hadn’t seen since breakfast.

I was so blinded by the sight of her—so completely caught in the gravity of that relief—that I didn’t see the small, shiny object flying straight at my face.

Thunk.

“Ow!” I yelped, instinctively pressing a hand to my forehead where the coin made impact.

“Mommy!” I blinked, still holding my forehead, and finally looked up to see my daughter running full speed to me.

I dropped my hand and opened my arms just in time, catching her as she flung herself into me.

The force of her little body nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs—and I didn’t care. I clutched her to my chest, my hands smoothing over her hair, her back, her arms—like I needed to physically confirm every part of her was still here.

Still mine.

“I was looking for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know. I’m here.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and only then—only then—did I let myself breathe. Let myself relax and look around with a clear mind.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man—tall, gangly, cardigan-ed, and completely mortified. His wide brown eyes darted from the coin in the floor, to my face and back again like he wasn’t sure which deserved more immediate attention.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t—I mean, the coin wasn’t… is your forehead okay?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He reached down and took the quarter in his hands.

He was nervous. The poor thing couldn’t even get a full thought out without stuttering or switching pitch. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—in the most endearing way possible.

I adjusted Maddie in my arms and slowly rose to my feet, brushing a hand over the spot where the coin had hit.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Mommy, that’s Spencer. He’s a wizard, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” Maddie’s little voice cut in, muffled by my shoulder. Her tiny hands clung to my shirt like this secret was sacred. Like this moment mattered.

“Is he now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The poor man looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and he kept shifting like he wanted to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. He was clearly mortified for making my daughter believe he was an actual wizard.

Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she might explode from sheer joy.

“He did magic, Mommy!” she beamed. “He made the coin disappear! And he’s friends with Harry Potter!”

I looked at him again—this tall, blushing stranger in a cardigan, holding a rogue quarter like it was evidence from a crime scene—and for the first time since the panic hit…

I smiled. No, not just that. I giggled.

“He’s friends with Harry Potter, sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Maddie chirped, her little head nodding furiously against my shoulder. “He told me so!”

I glanced down at Maddie, still glowing with excitement in my arms, then back at him—this stranger with a guilty expression and a coin pinched nervously between his fingers.

“So you’ve met the famous Harry Potter?” I asked softly, more amused than anything else.

His mouth opened… then closed again. He looked completely out of his depth, like he wasn’t sure whether to defend himself or disappear behind the nearest bookcase.

“I… may have implied we’d met,” he said, almost apologetically. “In a—fictional sense.”

“Fictional,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes flicking anywhere but at me. “She asked if I knew him, and I just couldn’t say no. Plus, it calmed her down.”

My heart twisted, gently. Of course it did.

I crouched to set Maddie down, brushing a hand over her curls. “Don’t wander off, sweetheart.”

She nodded seriously—too seriously for someone who just believed she’d befriended a wizard—but she stayed put, her wide eyes still bouncing between me and the man standing awkwardly by the bookshelves.

When I stood, he was watching me. Not in a weird way. Just… watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say something, or leave before he embarrassed himself further.

I finally broke the silence.

“Thank you,” I said. “For keeping her calm. And for the magic tricks. Even if one of them involved hitting a complete stranger in the face.”

His eyes widened. “Oh my god—yes. I’m really sorry about that. That was not part of the trick. I swear it usually disappears. Like, away from people.”

I smiled again, gentler this time. “I believe you.”

A beat passed.

“You’ve got a very brave little girl.”

My chest squeezed.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking over at Maddie, who was now spinning slowly in place, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

“She really is.”

I looked back again, and of course—despite being told not to wander—she had already drifted toward the toy shelf, her tiny fingers trailing along the edge of a plastic castle.

Moth. Always drawn to whatever glows.

He hadn’t stopped staring.

He kept looking at me like he wanted to tear me open—not in a violent way, but in that quiet, curious way. Like he needed to understand what made me me. Like he was trying to read my soul the way other people read books.

I hadn’t even noticed—Not until I turned my gaze back to him, and when I did, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

There was something behind his eyes—something searching. Gentle, but sharp. Not the kind of stare meant to intimidate. No, it was worse. It was the kind that saw. Saw too much.

The kind of look that made you feel like maybe you weren’t a collection of masks and moments. Like maybe you were a story he’d just opened to the first page.

It made my skin warm.

I looked away first. Not because it was uncomfortable—But because it wasn’t.

Because I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like that. Like I was worth reading.

“So… she read the Harry Potter series?” he asked, breaking the silence.

His voice jolted me back to reality. I blinked a couple times, trying to shake myself free from whatever trance those hazel eyes had pulled me into.

“Has she read—? No, no. She still struggles a bit with reading. The only books she’s managed on her own so far are Frog and Toad Are Friends and The Tales of Oliver Pig.”

His lips twitched at that, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

“Do you mind me asking… how old is she?”

“She’s turning five in a couple weeks.”

He blinked. “And she’s reading at a first-grade level? That’s impressive.”

I smiled, soft and proud. “She’s always been a quick learner. Loves stories. I think it’s how she makes sense of the world.”

He nodded, like he understood that. Like maybe he did the same.

“So I take it she’s only seen the Harry Potter movies then?” he asked, circling back to his original question.

“Oh—no. I read to her a lot. We actually went through the entire Harry Potter series last summer.”

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. “All seven?”

“All seven,” I nodded. “It took us a few months, but she was completely obsessed. She didn’t want me to put the books down, not even to sleep. Had a million questions. Wanted to know why Harry had to live in the cupboard, how the time-turner worked, what butterbeer tastes like.”

He chuckled softly. “She sounds like someone I would’ve been friends with at her age.”

“You read a lot as a kid?”

He hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he seemed to be sorting through too many memories at once.

“Pretty much all I did,” he said eventually. “Books were easier. Made more sense than people did.”

There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just a fun fact, but a truth he’d learned the hard way.

I didn’t push. I just nodded, quietly understanding.

“Maddie’s the same,” I offered. “She talks to books like they talk back.”

He smiled at that. “That’s the best kind of kid.”

I was about to reply—to agree with the praise of my daughter, to maybe say something more—but then she came barreling back toward us, beaming.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look!” She held up a Rapunzel doll.

“Can I have her? Please? She has real brushable hair!” Maddie clutched the box to her chest like she’d just been entrusted with state secrets.

I chuckle, “That’s yarn, sweetie. You can’t brush it.”

“Can I have her? Please, Mommy?”

I looked at him, then at my daughter’s wide, pleading eyes. The panic from earlier was still fading in my bones, but the joy on her face grounded me again.

“Fine,” I said with a knowing smile. “Let’s check her out and ask if she’s ready for a new home.”

Maddie squealed and ran ahead toward the counter.

He straightened, glancing at me with the softest grin.

“She’s something else,” he said.

I met his eyes, the warmth still lingering between us.

“She really is.”

He smiled—soft, sheepish. A little unsure.

There was a pause.

My eyes flicked between him, the floor, and Maddie standing at the counter, rocking on her heels with the raggedy doll held up against her chest.

I didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to her, so tender.

Maybe it was the way he panicked when I first approached them—all flustered and apologetic, tripping over his words like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days.

Maybe it was his eyes—big, toffee-colored, and far too curious. The way he kept looking at me like I was a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve.

Despite everything in me that usually resisted introducing new people into our lives, I felt it—that pull.

I wanted to know him.

“I should get going,” he said, his voice low, like he didn’t really want to.

I nodded, even though something in me quietly hoped he’d stay just a little longer.

“Of course. Thank you again. For everything.”

He looked down, then back at me, like he was still trying to memorize something.

“It was… nice meeting you. Both of you.”

“It was nice meeting you too.”

He took a step back, then paused.

“I hope she keeps believing in magic,” he said, glancing toward Maddie with something almost wistful in his eyes.

“She will,” I said, smiling. “She has a good reason to.”

He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled once more—brighter this time—before turning and walking away.

And even though I knew I’d just met him… I wanted to call out after him. Maybe invite him to eat with us, I had the pretense of him keeping my daughter safe. It would be so easy, just go, “hey wait!”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Because despite having every reason to call out to him, to try and integrate him into my life, the fear in me always ended up eating my intentions up.

Still. I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last time I saw him..

I stayed still for a moment, just watching him leave.

It wasn’t until he disappeared from view that I finally moved—walking to the counter where my daughter was waiting, still cradling her new doll like a prize.

“Where did Spencer go?” she asked, as soon as I appeared beside her.

Spencer. So that's his name.

It fit him, somehow. A little old-fashioned, a little too soft around the edges for someone who carried so much weight in his eyes. But now that she’d said it out loud, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else.

“He had to leave, sweetheart.”

Her little face fell just slightly. “Will we see him again? I want to see more magic.”

I crouched beside her, brushing her hair back behind one ear as I pulled her into my arms. The weight of the day finally caught up to me—settling in my chest like something too big to name.

“Who knows, Maddie,” I murmured, holding her tight. “Maybe someday.”

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I need you to promise me something, okay?”

She blinked up at me, her Rapunzel doll dangling loosely from one arm.

“Don’t ever wander off like that again. Spencer was kind, and he kept you safe. But not everyone is like him. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

She nodded, serious now. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“I know, baby,” I whispered, holding her again. “I just need you safe.”

“I promise, Mommy.” She murmured.

“Thank you, honey.” I kissed her temple. “Now… let’s buy you this doll and go get something to eat.”

She grinned, her earlier worry forgotten, clutching Rapunzel to her chest like she’d just made a new friend.

We walked out hand-in-hand, the late morning sun spilling through the library doors as they shut behind us.

And even though I told myself it was just another Saturday…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had quietly begun.

Next Chapter

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #post prison spencer #post prison reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert

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jezebelblues · 8 months ago

Text

slowpoke | h.s

summary: harry passes the lime torch to his son. or in which you teach your son how to ride a bike.

cw: fem!reader, literally sickeningly sweet dadrry. (also unedited)

word count: approx 3.1k

| dadrry never fails to cheer me up fr. i hope everyone’s doing alright in light of today, please take it easy.

— as a dv victim myself, i understand how the news of liam’s passing can be a really conflicting feeling to struggle with if you’ve experienced dv. please know i can be an outlet, and ur not alone. <3 ash

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

october, 2023 | london

The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp leaves and earth, as the soft sounds of autumn filled the neighborhood streets. Fallen leaves crunched beneath shoes, and the occasional gust of wind sent orange and gold spiraling through the air. In the distance, the hum of city life could be heard faintly, but here, in the quiet of their neighborhood, it felt like a peaceful little bubble in the midst of the bustling world.

YN stepped outside, adjusting her scarf that Anne knitted herself for her birthday last year. Harry followed close behind, his eyes shining with excitement, a grin lighting up his face. His curls tussled in the wind, his hand held tight on his son’s hand. His fourth birthday had just passed in May, and Atlas, their boy, was finally ready to take off the training wheels. Harry, ever the doting father, was already emotional prior to this evening—realizing his baby was ready for a big-boy bike already. His dimples crater his cheeks, the other hand gripping the handle of the small lime green bike, just the right size for Atlas’ small frame.

“This is going to be fun, bub.” He grinned, bending down to look into his son’s wide eyes. “Jus’ like Daddy’s bike, yeah?”

Atlas looked up at Harry, a glimmer of excitement mixed with nerves evident in his expression. “It’s the same color!” He mused, his voice tinged with wonder as he examined the bike again. His little fingers ran along the frame, tracing the lime green paint.

YN smiled at the two of them, her heart swelling. Harry had always loved his bike, the one he had ridden around Italy so many times, and now, here he was, passing that same joy to their son. “Do you remember how much daddy rides his bike around?” She asked, squatting down to his level and gently brushing a stray curl away from his face.

The boy nodded, his eyes lighting up. “He goes really fast! Will I go fast too?”

“We’ll take it slow first, mate.” Harry chuckled, a pang in his chest from the boy’s eagerness to grow up so fast. First was the bike, next was his eighteenth birthday. “You’ll be zooming around in no time.” He tossed his wife a wink, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

She looked down the street, a perfect place to practice—quiet and lined with trees, the leaves creating a soft, colorful carpet on either side. It was the kind of autumn day that felt timeless, like something out of a painting. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting golden streaks onto the pavement.

Harry gave the bike a little jostle in his hands and then looked back at Atlas. “Alright, bubba. Let’s get you started—y’ready?”

He hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lip. He glanced up at his mom, seeking reassurance, to which she knelt beside him, her hand on his small shoulder. “You’ve got it, love. One pedal at a time, hm?”

“I don’t want to fall.” he whispered, his little hands gripping the handlebars of the bike as though they were his lifeline.

Harry crouched down beside him, his hand resting over his on the handlebar. “S’alright if you do. I’ve fallen loads of times, but guess what? Every time, I got back up. That’s what makes it fun. Falling down, getting back up, ‘nd trying again.”

She nodded, running small circles into her son’s back. “Daddy won’t let you fall, okay?”

Their boy looked between them, a flicker of courage dancing in his eyes, and nodded. “Okay, m’ready mama.”

Harry helped him position the bike in the middle of the street. He held it straight up for him, looking at him expectantly, but he hesitated.

His dark curls, so much like Harry’s, peeked out from underneath the spider-man helmet that seemed slightly too big for him. The helmet had been Harry’s doing, of course—safety was always the first priority. He tried to talk YN into letting him scour ebay for an old one direction helmet, but she shook her head with a laugh, insisting on either spider-man or luigi, his all time favorite characters.

Eyes that resembled his mother’s stared at Harry wide, his lips parted.

His eyebrows furrowed, lips pulling into a slight frown. “S’wrong Attie?”

He shrugged, casting a nervous glance toward YN who only smiled and sent him a thumbs up. With a deep breath, his fingers traced the handlebars, gazing up at his father. “Will y’show me again, dad?”

Harry grinned, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips as he nodded. He threw his leg over the bike that sat far too low beneath him. Atlas smiled widely as his dad unstrapped the helmet from his mess of curls, placing it on his own. He couldn’t get it to buckle, and it sat loosely upon him, if he were to tip his head it would surely fall off.

The boy giggled, running off to stand against his mother’s legs as she combed her fingers through his locks. Harry lowered into the seat, his knees nearly scraping the ground as he pedaled. He kicked off into a circle, wobbling purposely. “See, even y’old man has to practice a bit!” He smiled, making a loop around the ones he loved most in this world. He mocked a clumsiness that he had hoped would ease his son, and it did, as he fell into a fit of giggles. As Harry pedaled back to the start point, YN brushed some of Atlas’s curls from his ear, whispering, “You’re gonna go so much faster than him.”

He nodded enthusiastically, giddily running toward the bike his dad now sat off of. “Such a slowpoke, dad.” He grinned as Harry placed the helmet back onto his head, feigning offense as he buckled it under his chin. “Cheeky boy.” He murmured, gently pinching his cheek and wiggling his hand lightly, which cause his son to smile wider. Harry tugged on the helmet, making sure it was tight before he sat onto the bike. He held it steady as he climbed on, the boy’s legs wobbling as he tried to find balance.

Harry leaned down slightly, peering out toward the empty road in front of them. “Okay, high speed, m’gonna hold on while y’start pedaling. Don’t worry about steering jus yet, okay? I’ve got you.”

He made sure his feet were firmly on the pedals, his small frame looking both tiny and determined on the lime green bike as he nodded. Harry’s hands held the back of the seat steady while Atlas gripped the handlebars, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Atlas took a deep breath and began to push on the pedals, slowly at first, wobbly as he adjusted to the motion. Harry jogged alongside him, his large hands keeping the bike steady as he moved forward.

“Good job, Attie!” YN called from behind, watching as her son started to pick up the rhythm.

The boy smiled, and she could see the edges of his uncertainty melting away, replaced by the sheer joy of it. “M’doing it!” he squealed, the surprise in his voice making Harry chuckle.

“You are, baby!” His mother called back, walking quickly to keep up, her scarf fluttering in the breeze. “Look at you go!”

Harry let out an encouraging laugh as he continued running beside his boy, keeping the bike upright. “That’s it, Atlas! Keep going!”

He was pedaling faster now, but his hands were still shaky on the handlebars. His little body swayed as he tried to balance, but Harry was always right there, keeping him steady, making sure he felt safe.

After a few more feet, Harry spoke again, his tone calm and reassuring. “Alright, bub. M’gonna let go now, just for a second. I’ll be right here if y’need me.”

Atlas’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Okay, daddy.”

Harry’s hands hovered over the seat for a moment, his steps slowing just slightly as he prepared to release his grip. Then, in a brief but powerful moment, Harry let go.

For a few glorious seconds, Atlas rode on his own. The bike wobbled a bit, but he was moving forward, his little feet pushing the pedals, his body balanced, and his face was lit up with pure delight.

“Faster than you, dad!” He yelled, his voice full of joy, and he could see the pride shining in his eyes.

But before YN could take another step, the inevitable happened. The bike tilted too far to one side, and despite Harry’s quick reflexes to grab it, Atlas tumbled to the ground in a flurry of leaves and laughter.

He was on him in an instant, kneeling beside him and lifting the bike off his small legs. “Y’alright, mate?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Atlas sat up, his cheeks flushed from the excitement and the fall, and for a split second, YN thought he might cry. But instead, he let out a breathless laugh, shaking the leaves from his jacket. “That was fun!”

She breathed out a sigh of relief and walked over to him, kneeling beside Harry. “You did amazing, sweetheart. That was so good!”

Atlas beamed up at his parents, his face full of pride despite the tiny scrape on his knee. “Can I do it again, mama?”

Harry grinned, ruffling his hair. “Of course, you can, buddy. Let’s get you back up.”

With Harry’s help, Atlas was back on the bike in no time, this time with even more determination in his eyes. His little body seemed more confident as he positioned himself, ready to try again. Harry stood beside him, keeping a steady hand on the seat for a few moments before slowly letting go, and this time, Atlas stayed up longer before wobbling.

His mom cheered him on from the side, her heart swelling with pride as she watched their son push past his initial nerves and embrace the thrill of riding. His laughter filled the street, echoing off the nearby houses, blending with the rustling of leaves overhead. It was the kind of sound they wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Time passed in a blur of laughter, gentle falls, and moments of success. Harry’s patience never wavered, and YN couldn’t help but smile as she watched him guide their son with such care, the two of them bonding over each small victory.

At one point, Harry ran a few steps beside Atlas again, his eyes locked on his baby, a look of pure love and pride on his face. “You’re flying now, Atlas! Look at you!”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Just like you, Daddy! Look, m’fast like you!”

YN laughed, catching Harry’s gaze as he beamed back at you, his heart clearly bursting with pride. “He’s got your speed.”She teased. “Maybe more.”

“He’s got more than that,” Harry replied softly, his eyes lingering on Atlas before he fell to a brief stop, waiting on his wife to meet up with his strides. “Maybe a little of you too. I guess.”

And so, they continued—struggles of balance, wobbly starts, and triumphant rides that grew longer with each try. YN watched as Harry guided their son, his patience unwavering, their laughter filling the air, blending with the soft rustling of autumn leaves.

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Atlas rode one last lap, his helmet askew, his grin wide, leaves swirling in the air behind him. YN stood beside Harry, her heart swelling with love for the life they'd built, for the man beside her and the boy in front of her.

"Givin’ his old man a run for his money," Harry mused, slipping his arm around her waist as Atlas played in a pile of leaves, tossing them into the air with a squeal.

YN smiled, leaning into him, her fingers curling around his. "Got a kink in my back already."

Harry's arms tightened around her as his wife smiles, pulling her closer as they watched Atlas giggle, his small hands sending a flurry of golden leaves into the air. The sound of his laughter danced through the air, mixing with the rustle of the trees and the soft evening breeze.

"Y'know," Harry whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice low and filled with warmth, "I've been thinking–.." He paused, glancing down at her with a soft, adoring smile before his gaze drifted back to their son. "It's hard to believe our little boy's getting so big."

YN's heart swelled at the tenderness in his voice.

"He's growing up too fast," she murmured, resting her head on his chest as they watched Atlas dart through the leaves, his laughter filling the air.

Harry's hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, a subtle but meaningful gesture. "Maybe it's time we gave him a sibling. What d'ya think?"

Her breath hitched slightly, her heart skipping a beat as she turned her head to look up at him. His green eyes were soft, filled with love and hope, the idea of another little one filling the space between them.

"You want another?" She asked gently, her own smile starting to bloom.

Harry's arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her against him. "I do. I'd love nothing more than to see him running around with a little brother or sister. Just imagine–..”He trailed off for a moment, his voice taking on that playful tone she loved so much. “‘Nother little Styles running amuck.”

YN let out a soft laugh, butterflies in her belly at the thought. She imagined it—another tiny hand holding onto theirs, another set of wide eyes learning to ride a bike, another burst of giggles filling their home.

Atlas, still playing in the leaves, looked up at them, his cheeks flushed, his energy endless. Harry pressed a kiss to her temple as her lips parted. “Dunno if the world could handle three of you.”

He laughed, nibbling her earlobe as she shook in his grasp from a small giggle. YN felt her heart flutter as she leaned back into him, the thought of growing their little family filling her with joy. She turned in his arms, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, before they both turned their gazes back to Atlas, who was still gleefully tossing leaves into the air. "I think you might be right," she whispered against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace as they both imagined the beautiful future ahead-one filled with more laughter, more love, and the promise of another little soul to share it all with.

Harry only drew a sharp inhale as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, wiggling her into a hug with her feet a few inches off the ground.

Just as they shared a soft, lingering kiss, lost in the tenderness of the moment, they heard the unmistakable sound of their son’s giggles. Harry eased her back onto the ground, as they both turned their heads in the direction of their son, just in time to see Atlas bounding toward them, his small arms full of crisp orange and reddened leaves. His cheeks were flushed pink from the chilly air and his recent excitement, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His curls bounced with every run forward, his laughter bubbling up as he raced over, his tiny legs moving as fast as they could.

Before they could react, Atlas flung the pile of leaves up into the air with an exaggerated grunt, his tongue between his lips in focus, wanting to toss the leaves up high enough to reach them. A flurry of vibrant colors cascaded down over their heads, the leaves scattered across their shoulders, tangling in Harry’s curls and catching on YN’s scarf, all while Atlas’s laughter rang out loud and clear.

Harry feigned a gasp of shock, dramatically shaking his head to get the leaves out of his hair. “Oi! What’s this then, Attie? Attackin’ us with leaves, are ya?”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart full as she shook off the leaves, her fingers brushing through Harry’s hair to remove a few stubborn ones. “Oh no! We’ve been caught in a leaf storm!” she teased, looking down at Atlas, who was now doubled over with giggles, clearly proud of his ambush.

With a playful growl, Harry lunged toward Atlas, scooping him up into his arms and spinning him around. “Y’think you can get away with that, huh?” he said, his voice filled with laughter as he squealed in delight, wriggling in his arms.

Atlas flailed with laughter, tiny hands grabbing at more leaves as Harry twirled him around. “M’leaves! More!”

YN grinned, quickly gathering a pile of leaves at her feet, and as soon as Harry set Atlas back down, she tossed them gently over both of them. “Got you both this time!”

Harry let out an exaggerated “Oof!” as the leaves fluttered around him and Atlas, catching in their hair and sticking to their coats. The boy’s eyes were wide with delight, and he scrambled to scoop up more leaves in his little hands, tossing them right back at YN. “Mama! Catch!”

Before long, all three of them were knee-deep in leaves, tossing them high into the air and letting them fall down like confetti. Harry knelt down beside Atlas, grabbing fistfuls of leaves and tossing them toward YN with a mischievous grin. “We’ll get her, bub!”

He followed his father’s lead, giggling as they both launched leaves toward YN, who pretended to shield herself, laughing as she stumbled backward, covered in the golden debris.

“Alright, alright! I surrender!” she cried, holding up her hands in mock defeat, but her laughter betrayed her as Harry came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down into the soft pile of leaves they had created together.

With YN now nestled in Harry’s arms, Atlas climbed onto her lap, still giggling, his cheeks rosy from the crisp autumn air. His small hands grabbed at more leaves, sprinkling them over both his parents as they laughed together, completely lost in the moment.

The three of them lay there in the leaves for a few quiet seconds, the sound of their breathing soft, the laughter having died down into contented smiles. The rustle of the trees above, mixed with the occasional burst of wind, made the world around them feel distant and peaceful. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around YN, while Atlas sprawled across them both, eyes twinkling with joy.

Atlas suddenly sat up after a beat, throwing a final handful of leaves into the air. “More leaves tomorrow, Mama?”

YN laughed softly, brushing a stray leaf from his curls. “Definitely more leaves tomorrow, Attie.”

Harry grinned, ruffling his son’s hair as Atlas wiggled between them. “But now we gotta help y’mum make dinner, yeah?”

And as the last bit of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over them, they shook themselves of the grass and leaves, trotting into their home with rumbling stomachs and full hearts.

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lunarxcity · 1 month ago

Text

Why Fight? (Part XI to Why Me?)

Azriel x rhys sister! reader!

angst/eventual comfort (When Azriel's brush with death has him meeting some interesting individuals lol)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, and X if you missed them!

Azriel didn't know where he was. The last thing he remembered was that he was wounded and it was bad and he needed to see you before the injury took him. He remembers you running to him, his body giving out from the pain and then darkness.

This was not the darkness he was accustomed to, the darkness of his shadows and the darkness that usually cloaks him in the night. This darkness was a wave taking him under he had no control to fight against it's current.

His memory was hazy and he couldn't feel his body, but he did feel the faint flicker of your bond in his chest. He woke up and was blinded by a bright light white unlike anything he had ever seen. The ceiling, the floors, everything was pristine white, bathed in a radiating glow.

Azriel was waiting for his shadows to scan the surroundings when he realised he couldn't hear them. He shot up and frantically searched his shoulders when he realised that they were no longer with him.

Where was he, and what is this place? He got up and walked forward. The room seemed like it was a shaped like cube, but moving only a few steps hade made Azriel feel as if he had gone through a tunnel.

The magic here was unlike anything he had ever felt. He zones back in to see two individuals, a man and a woman, sitting at a table in front of a shimmering crystalline chessboard.

There was something about them that seemed almost ethereal. The woman was almost iridescent; she had a magnificent halo of lavender, blues, and a sea green surrounding her. She had the divine beauty of a sunset in a way that suggested that she was much more than human or fae.

If she was the sunset, the man across from her was the equally dazzling sunrise. His halo of pinks, oranges, and gold surrounds his equally beautiful and ethereal self.

From the power emanating from them alone, Azriel knew that they had to be some higher entity. In a voice as calm as a summer's breeze the woman goes, "Come Azriel. Please sit."

The woman waves her hand, and an empty chair appears at the table. Azriel complies feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. He doesn't remember ever seeing this woman before, but there is something about her energy that makes him swear they have encountered each other before.

She gives him a comforting smile, "It's good to see you, even if it's much sooner than I would have liked. You have always been one of my stubbornest you know, which is why I had to match you with someone who could equally match your stubbornness with their own."

She looks at the man, and a look of fondness and reminiscence flashes between them. Azriel was good at piecing these things together, he was the spymaster for a reason, but every logical bone in his body was fighting the conclusion he was coming to.

"You're the Mother?" He asks skeptically.

She gives him a warm smile and a nod. "In the flesh- Well in the whatever manifestation I am taking in order to not freak you out too much."

He looks over to the man, "And you are?"

Fate was a rather prideful being but when you are with the Mother you kind of take a backseat and while he did harbor some resentment at the beginning of their relationship, he now harbors a certain pride with being able to craft mortal fates. While the mother does get most of the credit he enjoys working with her too much to overshadow her.

"Fate at your service." He tips his fat, which had just appeared out of nowhere seemingly for the sole reason that he could tip it.

Azriel was losing his mind. First, the Mother and now Fate, what's next luck?

"Lucky isn't around much, believe it or not, he is not the biggest fan of losing. His 1000 year ban from game night expires next fall."

Azriel is dumbfounded. The deities that are the puppet masters, pulling the strings of the very life he knows, have a game night. Mother above, well Mother in front of him and they can read his thoughts.

"Yes we can. Now, it's time for the important stuff-"

The Mother cuts him off, "Ignore him my child he is much too eager about the fates that fight back the one he has laid out for them. It's like a game to him, pay no mind to him."

Fate looks offended, he immediately starts sputtering and looks around the room to see if anyone saw this terrible crime against his nosiness. It was just him, Azriel, and the Mother and when he realised that neither of them were going to entertain his dramatics he just sat there silently.

"What do you mean fight my fate? Is that because I'm dying is this the end?" Azriel asks fear creeping into his voice. He had never particularly feared death; it was almost a given that it would one day take him either in war or during a mission, but he had a mate. He couldn't leave you behind.

"I know you worry for your mate, she will be fine." The Mother tries to reassure him in that voice as smooth as dripping honey.

Fate decides that now is the perfect time to interject, "Besides you've had so much time together. Shouldn't you be at peace now?"

These are fighting words meant to provoke, Fate and the Mother both know it.

The words leave Azriel stunned because while you did have all that time together and Azriel did cherish every minute of it, he never got to experience it as your mate and if he went on without you even knowing what he was to you, he would take that regret with him wherever the Mother sends him.

"Why didn't you? Did you not love her before she was your mate." Fate is going for the jugular. He always did hate to lose and now it was him and the Mother against a mysterious sinister opponent. Azriel was almost there he just needed a push.

At this Azriel shoots up the Mother beckons him to sit down and with a wave of her hand Fate's mouth is magically glued shut.

"I have loved her for longer than I have ever known, I just never believed myself deserving of that love, so I created self-fulfilling prophecies that would only extenuate my issue because she deserves better than being doomed to love me for the rest of her life."

The Mother's face fell, how sad it was to see one of her favorites fall into such despair for so long.

"She would never think loving you as being a punishment, you know that, Azriel." The Mother looks at him compassion written across her features.

"That's the problem. She deserves someone whose soul isn't as marred as mine. Someone whose heart is whole and isn't plagued by all the horrors they have committed. Someone who's hands aren't stained with blood."

Azriel begins to feel the start of a downward spiral, he has been good at keeping them at bay, but this whole situation has been very stressful for him.

The Mother refuses to let him fall into that dark place, sternlys he tells him, "Who are you to say who she should choose? I made you two mates and I don't even have a final say. Do you think she would appreciate you taking that choice away from her?"

Azriel feels like he is being scolded by his mother. Well she is the Mother. It wasn't fair to you for him to be making this decision, he couldn't deprive you of a mate just because he couldn't handle himself.

The white walls then flickered and then slightly dimmed, their pristine angelic white fading into a duller cream; the magic screamed against the walls in strain.

"We don't have much time Azriel." The Mother looked at Fate, alarmed, and he gave her a calming nod.

Azriel couldn't avoid the terrifying question any longer, the one that had been cowering on his tongue in fear of an answer.

"Am I dead?" The bond is a dim light, slowly dimming out in his chest. It is the the closest thing to feeling that his body is capable of.

Fate and the Mother immediately shake their heads no.

"Not yet, but the in-between is so unstable and neither of the doors have opened yet so…" Fate says, trying to keep the mood cheery even when talking about such grim matters.

Azriel scans the room again, actually being able to take it in now that he is no longer in the state of panic he was when he first arrived to this strange place.

The room had no doors and no windows, but there was magic emanating from every surface. A magic so powerful and ancient that he was no longer sure that this room was actually a room, but rather a physical manifestation of something so complex that it had to be condensed down to this box so his fae-mind could wrap itself around it.

The Mother and Fate probably took these forms to be more approachable because whatever form they usually took would just be too much; he was already in distress that would only tip him over the edge of insanity.

The Mother looked at Azriel and he saw the wisdom in her eyes. She was a deity as old as time itself and right now it showed.

"Azriel I'm going to send you back." Fate whipped his head around at her.

"Are you sane? Do you know what this could cause-" She cut him off with a warning look.

"A price will be paid, but we can't even get to that point if there is no Prythian left.'

The Mother stood, and Azriel swore he could hear time hold her breath in anticipation.

"We are not meant to meddle in the affairs of your kind, but the dark magic that sent you here threatens to destroy everything, even us if left unchecked. You and your mate need to vanquish it Azriel.'

It was not a request; it was an order that Azriel could not deny from the two weavers of his fate.

Azriel had nearly died tracking and fighting he didn't even know what. His memory was hazy, he just remembered a flash of black and then an onslaught of pain greater than anything he had ever known and a darkness so cold it had almost dragged him under it's waves.

"How can I vanquish it when I know nothing about this enemy?" Azriel asked the two exasperatedly. It had already killed him once how was he going to kill this unknown enemy so powerful it even threatens the Mother?

The Mother tried to speak, but it seemed as if she was struggling to get the words out.

The walls flared out, now a lowly dim gray fighting for their lives to stay intact and illuminated.

Azriel had heard about ancient cursed beings, so deplorable that their very names were cursed. If spoken nothing comes out and if you attempt to write anything the letters come out as nothing more than mere scribbles.

"I can't tell you much, I am already not supposed to be involved and I am not sure if this will be a permanent solution Azriel. I may see you hear sooner than we hope."

Azriel's stomach drops. He has had brushes with death before, but to have it looming so close was another thing entirely.

Azriel was nothing if not loyal and valiant, his actions may suggest otherwise at times but he considers himself to be noble. If his life was the price to pay for Prythian's, and most importantly your safety, he would pay it in a heart beat.

He looks to the Mother and nods. "I will do it. It will be my personal mission to make sure this evil is wiped from the lands."

He bows his head, in both respect and as a sign of duty. This is his mission now and he would complete it whatever it took.

Before the Mother could say anything Fate barges into the conversation, like he always does as Fate is not fond of planning.

"For such bravery, we would like to reward you with-"

The Mother rolls her eyes. "Reward him with?"

He continues going, obviously very used to this dynamic. Azriel was slightly amused even if he didn't show it.

"3 questions. You may ask us anything your heart truly desires, but you must choose wisely."

The Mother gives him a look, the one that says I know what you're trying to do, and while it's not exactly evil, it is mischievous in nature.

"You're giving him the gift of life, let me give him the gift of knowledge. I can't let you take all the credit now?" Who knew Fate could be this way.

Azriel began to ponder, he could ask anything. The story of the cosmos were at his beck and call all he needed to do was ask.

Fate immediately started backtracking. "The thing with knowledge is that it's from things we already know so you can't ask me about the future or anything large such as what is the truth of the universe. Stick to what you know and those around you."

Some things were better off not being known anyway. If he was going to die soon all Azriel wanted was to know where your affections lie and he immediately knew what his first question was going to be.

"My mate, we've had uhh a rocky start to say the least..." He could see the laugh that Fate was holding in. It is pretty hard to hide things from all knowing gods.

"Has the mating bond snapped for her?" He needed to know. The question that has been plaguing his mind for weeks now.

The Mother nods yet and Azriel's heart sinks. So you knew he was your mate this entire time and you hadn't said anything.

The Mother said nothing, but Fate was a talker and did he love to do so and stir things up in the process.

"Let's just say that it was a Solstice present gone wrong."

Everything clicks into place. Your sudden departure, the way you had been distant and cold to him only. The way his family had been treating him.

You saw him with Elain.

His mate had watched him almost kiss another and then the bond snapped.

Azriel's progress is hanging by a single thread at this knowledge. You had gone through that and it was Azriel who had put you through that.

If you had left him for Eris at this point, he wouldn't even blame you. Eris was the one who had tried to help you fix what Azriel had destroyed and while he was miserable in your absence he couldn't imagine the pain of seeing your mate with another and having the mating bond loom over you like that.

He had to know you didn't hate him. With that came his next question.

"Does she love me?"

Fate perked up at this question. His provoking and prodding of the shadowsinger had finally got him to the conclusion he wanted.

"She thinks of you dearly. There are many forms of love, and sometimes, you don't even know where a person falls anymore; the lines blur, become marred, and get redrawn over and over again."

The Mother, tired of Fate's carefully cryptic wording, decides now is the time for her to interject. Azriel had been tormented enough for her liking.

"You already know the answer to that question Azriel as you have the same answer."

Leave it to the Mother to be the assurance he needs.

He takes a deep breath. "For how long?"

He had to know, did all this come up with the mating bond, or is this deeper for you? He didn't want you feeling this way only because of this bond that connects you two.

With him, you would be in danger for the rest of your life. You would know no peace and he had to make sure you were sure before he decides to fight to have you with him.

For if the better choice for your safety is him walking away, he would lay his swords down and exile himself to the continent, the depths of the Illyrian mountains, just anywhere the dangers that chased him couldn't find you.

"Same as you, my dear child."

Flashes of memories of the start of the war invade his mind. Your father, the old high lord, and his cruelty. He feared how headstrong you were becoming and had actually allowed some of Devlon's men at camp to steal you in the night and clip your wings.

The way his shadows had screamed in terror and panic, telling him what was to be done to you. He remembered being blinded with an icy rage, flying to you guided by nothing but pure instinct and when he saw one of the men holding your unconscious form down while holding a blade to you all logic had been thrown out the window all he knew was violence and rage and he did not stop until all the men were slaughtered and you were home safe in the cabin.

He left you with your horrified Mother and sister. Rhys was off helping with war planning, but he remembers the way he barged into the door, the pure fear written on his face.

His shadows had whispered something to him about the high lord's involvement and he flew for him at once. He didn't know what he was expecting getting into a fight with a high lord, but it had ended with him being overpowered by the high lord's daemati ability.

He told Azriel that he would have killed him, if he weren't so powerful. He offered Azriel a deal, his undying servitude to him in exchange for your guaranteed safety. You would be able to live out your days as you pleased, no unwanted marriages or wing clippings forced upon you, at the price of Azriel's life.

He would be sentenced to do the high lord's dirty work, essentially bartering away his freedom, his soul. His very soul, why would the Mother take him after he becomes corrupted by death and pain and all that is bad in the world.

But he decided it was worth it. While death would offer him respite from this life, he would rather live in agony for all of eternity than suffer again the way you just had so he took the deal.

You were so upset with him when you found out. You cried, you screamed, you knew what had become of his fate and you didn't want this for your shadowsinger.

The way you had believed in him and fought for him when no one else had.

He should have known it had always been you. The signs have always been there, it seems like you were both too busy hindering yourselves to see it.

The bond might have well as snapped for him that night when he went off to war and you had made him promse to come back.

For the first time, Azriel could see the full picture. The bond was not something sudden that had been forced upon you guys, but something that had been there for centuries, that is only now announcing itself out of desperation.

The vow he had made to you was more precious than any mating bond and he knew that he would fight to be with you in this life and the next if you will have him.

He gives the Mother and Fate a nod. "I'm ready now. Thank you for everything, but I would love to go home now."

Determination fills him and he is eager to get back. Eager to see you and begin the journey to your future however short lived and futile it may be.

"Very well. May the rest of your life provide you with everything you are looking for and more." She gives him a smile that is as warm and comforting as a roaring fireplace in the dead of winter.

Fate even gives him one of his signature grins, "While it was so lovely meeting you I do hope it's a long while until we do see each other again."

Before Azriel says anything the room shatters and everything goes black like the room was a glass box that was suddenly dropped on the ground.

He looks around. The only source of light was the faint golden light of the bond. He tugged on it with all his might and on the other side he had felt you.

Felt your worry and fear and he sent a wave of reassurance down the bond and followed it back to where he knew you would be.

Smoke assaults your senses, eyes watering and throat burning. The darkness was rapidly spreading in Azriel's chest and you guys couldn't let it reach his heart.

His shadows were going haywire, frantically flitting around their Master's unconscious frame.

As far as Azriel's current state, his heartbeat was faint but present and ever so slowly fading. The bond in your chest was pulling against you with a tug stronger than you had ever felt.

It felt as if the bond was a rubber band that had been pulled so tight that it was borderline fraying and if one side is let go the impact on the other would be a pain unlike any other.

You don't know where he was for the bond to feel so taut, but you hoped it wasn't a signal of his soul slipping away wherever the Mother wants it.

You hoped the Mother was being kind to him wherever he was.

Eris continues to burn away the darkness in Azriel's chest, his presence here a last resort. None of the tonics that you had been tinkering with had worked, and even Madja's healing magic yielded no results.

The next best thing you guys could do is burn it out of him to get it out of his vital organs and then you could heal him properly.

It was your idea to call Eris, you believe he is the most powerful fire wielder in all of Prythian and for this you needed utmost precision anything goes slightly wrong and it could be the end of the shadowsinger.

Eris was not Azriel's biggest fan, but even he knows that the shadowsinger did not deserve to die like this.

He identified the darkness by the way it screamed against his magic and targeted it. The darkness was almost sentient, wailing and crying against the flames, pushing back with a blue flame of their own.

You were knelt over Azriel, holding his hand as if it would offer some sort of comfort while his chest was being burned on both sides.

You were getting lightheaded from the amount of smoke you were inhaling, but you didn't care. You just couldn't bring yourself to leave Azriel, terrified that if you looked away for even a moment the shadowsinger would take his last breath.

Madja broke you out of your thoughts by handing you an empty vial. She told you to take a sample of the darkness, so you could study whatever this evil being is.

You got the sample and then almost dropped the vial out of shock. Rhys came down to grab it out of your hand and put a hand on your shoulder.

You felt a yank on the bond. Azriel knew you were his mate and he was fighting. Fighting death to come back to you.

This time tears welled up in your eyes for a completely different reason.

The shadows begin to frantically swirl Azriel and drag Eris back from their Master.

"Wait im not-" Eris is interrupted.

The shadowsingers eyes shoot open.

His shadows frantically swarm around him, some of them seperating to hold back every other person in the room other than you. If anything, his shadows pushed you closer.

His skin was beginning to knit together, his magic slowly coming back to him allowing to heal the wounds left by the black substance and Eris' fire.

His eyes are wide in alarm and they frantically dart around the room until they settle on you.

Azriel's hand grips yours so tightly you could see the strain in his knuckles, and he takes rapid short breaths.

"The Mother. Fate."

He must be out of it, considering his close brush with death since his words don't make any sense.

His free hand moves to your face and the next thing you know he's caressing your cheek.

"My mate."

Oh gods. It was like the air was sucked out the room silence overtaking the room.

His eyes fluttered shut and his hand fell to the ground, but this time his breathing was even and his heartbeat was steady.

He must have passed out from the exhaustion but he would be okay. Relief floods you and is then suddenly disrupted by the realisation that he knows your his mate.

You know you should be worrying about what is going to happen when he wakes up. But for now you can't bring yourself to care only focusing on the fact that he is alive and with you.

You look up at the Mother and thank her for bringing him back to you, and you swear you can feel her giving you a smile in return.

Somewhere in Prythian, that has been long forgotten by the Fae, a shadowed figure curses the Mother for thwarting his plans. He spent weeks trying to get rid of the shadowsinger and had felt him slipping away before he was suddenly pulled back.

Wretched mates.

His kind didn't have mates, they believed that you could only be your strongest when there is nothing in your path. Distractions can be fatal and what is a mate if not a distraction? Why should anything living be able to hinder your abilities or life force?

He shuddered.

Abhorred by such juvenile thoughts and feelings. The Mother and Fate are two domineering entities and they choose to work together side by side for what? Peace?

They could be the rulers of this realm and much more if they only put down the chessboard and focused on what's important.

Power.

Pure power. Everything good came with power - reverence, fear, and acclaim.

For the most talked about battles were always the bloodiest and the more revered warriors were always the most brutal.

He supposed he and Azriel had that much in common—well, until he watched the shadowsinger put his life at risk to save his mate's.

How pathetic.

Azriel may think he's free, but even burning him out doesn't stop the mark that's left there by such dark magic.

A sinister smile spreads across the shadowed face of this being and Prythian shudders. The shadow's recoil and the winds howl in fear.

Something was coming, and Prythian wouldn't know it until it was begging for Mercy.

note: Hello my loves long time no see but this is my longest chapter yet to make up for it. This chapter is pretty self indulgent, my two worlds crossing in to each other is very interesting to say the least! Things are happening so please try to stay with me I may be venturing into other spheres of writing so this story may be slowing down but nothing for certain yet. We love Azriel growing and finally being able to look at himself and realise who he is and what he has done nothing brings out romance more than the looming threat of death but anyways I loved the fate and az interactions and i cant wait for everyone to think az is insane when he tells them who he met. Like always until next time my darlings!

note note: I can feel my crimes against spelling and grammar as always this is unedited bc if i did edit this chapter would never be out!

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eternal-evergreens · 5 months ago

Text

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - VI"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 4.6k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Non/Con, Gore, Physical Abuse, Victim Blaming, Mental Breaks, Bondage, Abduction, Drugging, Murder/Death, Dissociation, Dissociative Amnesia/Lost Time,

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

You’ve been trying to loosen your bonds for a while—the drugs long out of your system—but it’s hard when one of your wrists is injured. You can hardly move it without pain shooting up your entire arm. You can hardly even feel your fingers, and you’re sure that if you could look, they’d be white as a sheet—or, worse, purple. You stop your shuffling when you hear footsteps approaching the door. Kylar walks in, holding a sketchbook. He probably wants to draw you.

“Kylar, can you take a look at my hands? I think the ropes might be cutting off circulation.” Please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene, please don’t be into gangrene. Kylar puts the food down and walks behind you.

He touches your hand. “C-can you feel that?”

“Feel what?” You say, trying to feign ignorance in hopes you’ll be taken more seriously. Kylar doesn’t say anything, but you feel him undo your restraints before retying them more lightly. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, you have to suppress a sigh in relief as you feel pins and needles begin to prick at your skin.

“Better?” Kylar stands in front of you now.

“Could you just undo them instead? I’ll be good, I promise.” You bat your eyes and try to put on your best cutesy voice, but Kylar just shakes his head. You aren’t going to convince him this way. He wants you helpless.

You’re going to have to try something else.

Bile threatens to rise up your throat, but you suppress it as you allow your eyes to droop in a more seductive manner. “Really? That’s a shame…I was going to surprise you with something if you did, but if you don’t want to…” Kylar’s eyes go wide.

“W-wait! I’ll do it!” He rushes behind you, scrambling to get your binds off with such haste that it actually takes longer than if he had taken his time. When you’re finally free, you don’t hesitate to rush to Kylar, pushing him against the wall with your uninjured hand. He doesn’t resist, and you can tell from his flushed face and his erratic breathing that his guard is nonexistent right now. You kiss him, pinning his hands above his head. When he closes his eyes, you knee him in the balls as hard as you can. +Control

Kylar crumples to the floor, but you doubt he’ll stay there long. You rush towards the door and swing it open, following the flickering and entering the room it leads to. You grab the flashlight and run out the door, fumbling to turn it on in the dark as you focus on running.

You don’t make it in time. You run into Kylar, knocking both him and yourself over. You scramble to get up, but Kylar has already grabbed your arm. He’s not very strong, but your panic doesn’t allow you to recognize that, and you freeze. Only for a second, but a second is all it takes. You feel a sharp pain in your arm, and everything fades to black.

—————————

It is Sunday, the 13th of September, 2022. It has been 9 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears well in your eyes Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are strained Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 6 days to escape.

When you wake up this time, you feel much less under the weather than the first time you were hit. Probably due to the fact it had been several hours since you were shot. You feel capable of basic movement, and you’re confident that if you can just fight through the pain, you’ll be able to get out of these bonds.

And you do. You rub against your restraints until you feel something warm and wet trickle down from your wrists onto the floor. Then you keep going. +++Pain +++Willpower

Your ropes are looser than they were. But it could easily take another day or even two until you’re able to get out of them. After your first attempt, Kylar double-wrapped you, and he added ropes to connect your legs to the chair.

You hear footsteps approaching the door, so you stop struggling and wait. The next thing you know, the room is dark, and Kylar is on the floor with his head in your naked lap, seemingly sleeping. You feel slime on your bare skin between your thighs and fresh bruises all over your body. There are bandages on your wrists. He probably noticed your attempt to escape and hit you for it. You don’t know. You have no way of knowing. All you know is that you’re hurt and scared, your ropes are just as tight as they were this morning, and now even your waist is tied to the chair.

You can’t do anything about it without waking up Kylar, so you’ll have to wait until morning before trying anything else.

—————————

It is Monday, the 14th of September, 2022. It has been 10 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: Tears run down your face Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are strained Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 5 days to escape.

“Good morning, my little tease,” Kylar says, smiling and without a hint of embarrassment.

Do you wish to view Kylar’s stats? Y/N

You blink twice at “Yes,” and a blue textbook appears beside him.

Kylar The Loner Kylar is manic Fascination: 100% Love: 10% Devotion: 10% Jealousy: 95% Lust: 55%

Before you have time to process the new changes in his devotion and love stats, Kylar begins to sob.

“W-what are you looking at? I’m right here!” He waves an arm in front of the textbox, effectively blocking your view. +++Jealousy

You turn your gaze back to him, and he visibly relaxes, though he still looks on edge.

“Sorry. I thought I saw a bug.” -Jealousy. Your voice is so dead that if it weren’t for the feeling of your vocal cords moving, you never would have recognized it as your own at all. Kylar tenses and quickly whips around, frantically searching for a bug that doesn’t exist. You use the opportunity to check his stats again, and see that in just the span of a few seconds, you’ve managed to up his jealousy from 96% to 99%.

You should be feeling dread right now, but all that washes over you is ice-cold indifference.

“I don’t see it,” Kylar says, voice low. “Were you lying to me?” You tilt your head but don’t answer. Kylar seems to be spurned on by this, though you know he would have found a way to get upset even with your input. “I don’t understand. Who are you thinking about?! I’m right here!” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you as much as your restraints will allow. You steal a glance towards the status window.

Jealousy: 100%

“Is…is it him? Were you thinking about him?” Kylar’s voice begins to take on a tone of insanity. “Wh-when we were together…were you pretending it was him?” His grip on you tightens, but you feel disconnected from the pain. He pushes your chair over again, leaving you to land painfully on your arms. Again. He starts hitting you, screaming incomprehensibly. You can make out a few words.

“Cheater”

“Love”

“Hate”

“Bailey”

You stop listening.

He’s still hitting you, straddling your waist to get a better angle. You wonder if he even realizes he’s hard right now. You hope not.

Kylar pulls a knife to your neck, pressing it against the skin until you feel something warm and wet start to dribble down and pool onto your collarbone. You stay like that for a few seconds, with Kylar methodically applying pressure at a rate too consistent for him to not be at least partially clear-headed.

You swallow. It was involuntary, and you hadn’t meant anything by it, but the movement seemed to be enough to break Kylar out of his daze as he quickly repulses, dropping the knife and staggering backward. It takes him a moment to realize he should probably set you upright again, too.

He doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to do anything but meet your blank stare. You don’t say anything, either. You have nothing to say. Kylar hangs his head, muttering apologies to himself. You see tears dripping down onto the floor.

An idea strikes you.

“Do you want forgiveness?” You ask, trying (failing) to make your voice sound anything but flat. Kylar whips up, nodding his head vigorously. You see snot and tears running down his face, which is covered in blotches. Of course, he’s an ugly crier. You focus your vision away from his face. “Earn it.”

“H-how?” His voice indicates a clogged or tight throat. You guess he feels terrible. Good.

“Being cooped up at home isn’t good for anyone. Let’s go somewhere. Together.”

It takes a bit of convincing to get him to agree, but as soon as you mention the word “date,” he’s all but putty in your hands. He wanted to tie you to him, but you managed to talk him down to just holding your wrist like a slightly less madman. Your clothes have been irreparably destroyed; you’ll have to borrow from Kylar. —Jealousy (Kylar’s current jealousy: 45%)

After getting changed and cleaning up your cut, Kylar and you leave the manor. As expected, this brief outing doesn’t automatically complete your quest. You’ll have to make it permanent. His grip is tight, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You just need to escape this place. Things will get better.

They have to.

“You’re going to do whatever I want today, right?” Kylar nods with vigor. You try to smile. Your muscles don’t move. “Good.”

You take Kylar to the shopping center. It’s school, so you don’t need to worry about running into anyone. You glance at the hairdressers. He’d probably go bald if you asked him to. You almost feel the urge to giggle. Almost. -Trauma

You take him to the clothing store, picking out everything that looks expensive, ugly, or extremely diffucult to get on and off. Kylar doesn’t say anything as you browse, but a few stolen glances indicate he’s extremely nervous. -Trauma

He let go of your wrist so you could look around, opting to switch his hold to a dart gun instead. You wouldn’t make it very far if you ran now.

You hand him a pair of heeled boots to try on. He seems hesitant, so you offer to help him lace them up. He won’t be used to walking in heels, so running after you will be extremely diffucult. You’ll be sure to triple-knot the laces so he can’t undo them easily. -Stress

Kylar watches you as you kneel by his feet, a slight hunger in his eyes. +Lust +Stress

You suppress the urge to shiver. You finish getting him in the shoes and stand up quickly. Kylar struggles to remain balanced and has to hold onto you for support. His dart gun has been put back in his bag so he can better cling to you.

You help him into a corset next, making sure to lace it much, much, much tighter than it needs to be. Kylar looks back at you pleadingly a couple of times, but you just show him your neck in response, and his gaze returns to the ground. +Lust

Running will be even harder. -Stress

You bring him an open-shoulder lolita dress next, simply because it looks difficult to get on and off.

“I don’t need to help you get this one on,” you say, pushing Kylar into the changing room before he can protest, watching blankly as he lands on his butt. You close the curtain and wait until you hear the rustling of clothes before sneaking away, planning to switch to running as soon as you’re out the door. Unfortunately, Kylar seems to have been watching your feet, as he speaks up as soon as you move away from the curtain.

“M-My love? Where are you going?”

“Just pacing,” you say. +Jealousy

“St-stay where I can see you.”

You run. +++Jealousy

You hear scrambling and falling from the curtain, as well as the sound of the curtain rod crashing to the ground. You don’t look back, but it wouldn’t have mattered if you did.

A sharp pain hits you right in the back of your thigh. —Control

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency —Status It is Tuesday, the 14th of September, 2022. It has been 11 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You feel refreshed Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 4 days to escape.

Kylar is already sitting across from you by the time you wake up, sketching something in his notepad.

…You should try to get on his good side again, though you can barely bring yourself to care. Right now, you’re operating out of sheer will alone.

“Can I see?” Kylar glances up at you but doesn’t say anything. He goes back to sketching. You try to smile. You feel your lips quirk, but you’re not sure if its upwards. “Do you have a favorite color to use while drawing?” You ask, sneaking a glance towards the status floating next to him. (Jealousy: 99%) Kylar glances at you but continues his silence.

“Maybe you can use something with my favorite color sometime. Do they call those monochromatics? When are there different shades of one color? Or does it have to be the same shade?” You thought asking about his interests might make him pipe up and let his guard down, but he seems hellbent on wasting your breath.

“I don’t know if you know my favorite color, actually. I’m not sure if anyone does, actually. It changed a while ago, and I don’t think it’s ever come up since.” Kylar pauses, just for a second. The idea of exclusivity always gets people, especially if it’s about something they like. “Do you want me to tell you?” Kylar nods.

“Promise to make me a picture in that color, and I will.” A look of hesitation flickers across Kylar’s face, probably wondering how you could use a piece of paper to escape him—you’ve really broken his trust, haven’t you? You may need to lay low for a few days, as much as the idea makes your skin crawl.

At last, Kylar nods, and you tell him your favorite shade of the rainbow. He gets to work on your picture right after, tearing off what he was previously working on and leaving it unfinished on the floor. You sneak a peek at it. It’s a picture of you getting strangled. +Trauma

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Wednesday, the 15th of September, 2022. It has been 12 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are fatigued Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 3 days to escape.

Kylar didn’t bring you any food yesterday. You didn’t bring it up either, but now it’s hours past midnight, and your stomach is keeping you from sleep. Not having anything else to do, you use the opportunity to check on things. Primarily, you never did take a look at what Eden, Alex, or the two beastmen’s statuses ended up being. Hopefully you’ll never see them again and it won’t matter, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least curious.

First is Eden.

Eden The Hunter Eden is in town Fascination: 80% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 40% Dominance: 0% Lust: 100%

Fuck. Fuck this. Seriously? This game isn’t going to give you even a moment of rest, is it? You don’t know how his jealousy got so high, but you suppose it doesn’t matter right now. You have to deal with Kylar first, and…as much as the idea makes you feel like vomiting, you’re going to need to contact Bailey.

…You move on. No need to linger.

Black Wolf The Alpha Black Wolf wants to see you again

There's not much to see on this one. You feel relieved.

Great Hawk The Terror Great Hawk wants you as his wife Fascination: 100% Love: 0% Devotion: 50% Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 90%

There isn’t much to this one, either. Honestly, it doesn’t even look that different from his usual status.

Alex The Farmhand Alex wants to start over Fascination: 80% Love: 7% Devotion: 100%* Jealousy: 0% Dominance: 0% Lust: 70% *Alex owes you an apology! You may request one favor to which he can not refuse. Devotion will return to normal after the favor has been spent.

…Huh. That’s weird. Really weird, actually. What’s his goal? Is he actually sorry?

No, if he were sorry, he wouldn’t have done it in the first place. He probably wants to use this as an excuse to get closer to you, now that his first plan has failed. Still, you might be able to leverage something useful out of this, if you play your cards right, that is. At the very least, he’s probably too busy with the farm to come hunt you down in town.

Kylar enters the room, and the textboxes fade from your attention.

You have a lot to think about, but for now, you have to play along.

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status You haven't eaten. Your physique has deteriorated slightly as a result. It is Thursday, the 16th of September, 2022. It has been 13 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are tense Trauma: You are tormented Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You have 2 days to escape.

Kylar finally brings in food today after two days of starvation.

“I-I’m sorry for not feeding you earlier,” he says, but doesn't offer anything in the way of excuses or explanations. You think you prefer it that way, honestly. At least he's not pretending to be anything he isn't.

At least you're the only one who has to pretend.

On second thought, maybe it would be better if he was lying to you. Maybe it'd be easier to play along, if he helped you out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. You have the cards you've been dealt. No use in complaining.

You plaster on the biggest smile you can muster. Your lips barely curl upwards.

“It's okay,” you say. “I was bad.” Kylar seems to light up at your understanding of what he was saying implicitly. But his face then morphs into one of suspicion.

“Y-you’re lying,” he says. “You're manipulating me. You just want me to lower my guard so you can run back to him again.” You barely manage to suppress a flinch.

Kylar grasps you by the shoulders, shaking you. You don't even think, you can't think. You kiss him. ++Lust —Control –Jealousy

Kylar's eyes go wide but quickly flutter closed as his grip on you loosens into something more affectionate than constricting. He straddles you, and you pull away gently, pushing your forehead against his so he knows you aren’t rejecting him.

You feel sick. You almost can’t bring yourself to speak. But you know what you have to say, so you shove those feelings so far down that not even the devil would be able to find them. -Control

“I’m sorry for running away,” you say. “But I realized something.” You try to steady your heartbeat as Kylar seems to salivate in anticipation. -Control

“He can’t fuck me the way you can,” you say, voice shaking and almost a whisper. ”No one can.” -Control

Kylar all but jumps you.

-Control

—————————

You missed 5 lessons yesterday. ++Deliquency –Status It is Friday, the 17th of September, 2022. It has been 14 days since the game started. The game started in autumn. It is autumn. School term finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £1,259 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You are cold Fatigue: You are wide awake Stress: You are calm Trauma: You feel numb Control: You are terrified Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged You must escape by today.

“G-good evening, my love!” Kylar is dressed in a full gothic suit. His makeup is sloppy. You don’t remember how yesterday ended. You don’t want to remember.

You’re tied to a wheelchair this time, and dressed in an elaborate gothic gown lined with cloves of garlic. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t looked down. Your whole body feels numb. You won't be able to escape today. You went through all of that for nothing. Sold your pride for false hope.

“I wanted to introduce you to my parents. You have to be awake for that. You’ll be good for them, right?”

Oh, so this is how you die. You try to nod, but your neck won’t move.

“I gave you a bit of a sedative to calm you down,” Kylar explains. “I know how nervous you can get. I've been working on it for the past few days—that’s why I couldn't see you as often as I'd like.” You have no way of knowing how often he visited you. The idea of him talking to you in your sleep is something you'd rather not think about.

Kylar wheels you out the door. You wonder if it'll hurt when they rip your throat out with their teeth.

You'll find out soon enough.

Kylar’s parents look about how you expected—looming androgynous figures with milk-white skin and sharp teeth. Their baldness and smooth faces make it difficult to tell them apart, but you think one of them has a slightly thinner face. You could be imagining it, though.

“Mom, Dad, this is my fiancee,” Kylar starts. You think he might be skipping a few steps, but it’s hard to expect reason from someone who just sedated you in front of vampires. Kylar is still speaking, going on about how you met and how you fell in love (If you were recording this, it’d be some pretty damning evidence) while Kylar’s parents watch on in silence. They’re still, gaze transfixed upon you. It would be unnerving if you had the energy to care.

Without warning, one of Kylar’s parents is upon you, nearly knocking down the wheelchair but just managing to avoid it. With a claw of silver, they tear through your bonds and lift you up, running through the house to the garden, then out the garden into the forest. They don’t stop until you reach the altar, setting you down and running away.

Well, it was nice of them to let you go, but with the drugs still in your system, you’re kinda stranded. Additionally, you notice that your quest for escaping the manor hasn’t been completed yet, meaning you’re still on their property. You stare up at the sky. It’s nighttime now. You’re running out of time.

Kylar emerges from the bushes sometime later, looking disheveled.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says, approaching you. “I didn't know they would do that. You aren't hurt, are you?” You blink at him, unable to do much else. Kylar seems relieved despite your lack of response. You think you can talk now, but you don’t feel any need to.

“Let's get you back home,” he says, attempting to lift you off the altar. He fails. He tries get you to lean on him, but despite the growing feeling in your legs, you still can't walk. “I-I’ll be right back,” he says. “I'll get your chair.” You watch him go from your place on the altar. As soon as he turns his back to you, you start flexing your fingers and toes.

It’s not over until it’s over.

Your movements seem to help, as within the next few agonizing minutes, you’re able to just barely drag yourself off of the altar, crawling with your arms and legs through the forest underbrush. It’s hard going, but you’re making progress. Still, you hope your legs will regain their strength sooner rather than later.

You shimmy along the path, propelling yourself forward by your elbows and the movements of your hips. You feel sticks and leaves poke through and tear your gothic gown, trying to reach the soft skin underneath. You ignore the pain and press onwards, slowly inching towards freedom, though having no idea what direction it ought to be in.

It occurs to you as you’re crawling that you very well may be making a snail trail in your path, but you have no choice but to press onwards. You won’t find another chance.

So, you keep going. You crawl and crawl until the moon is resting just shy of the center of the sky, and you hear rustling in the distance. You still, hoping it’s just a stray wolf or fox. Hoping that it’s not looking for you. Hoping that even if it is, it’s not Kylar that’s looking.

The rustling stops, and you think you have enough strength in your legs to sit on your knees, so you peek up from behind a bush, just barely above eye level to avoid being seen.

Green eyes meet yours.

In a moment, Kylar is on top of you, screaming unintelligibly. You can make out some of the contents, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of his knife plunging into your stomach, dragging blood and viscera with it as he rips metal from flesh and plunges it down once again.

You think you’re screaming, too, but it’s hard to tell. Hard to even see anything through the blur of blood and tears running down your face, your sides. You think most of the tears aren’t even yours. You think Kylar is crying harder than you are, that his tears are painting your face as yet another sign of ownership.

You think you might be bleeding out. He must have stabbed you at least a dozen times. You can barely feel it anymore. All you feel is your blood pressure dropping into hell, that unique lightheaded sensation you only get when you’re on the verge of death. Your head is light, all earthly sensations feeling so far away, so disconnected to you.

You feel calm. Peaceful, even. It’s not how you wanted to go, but maybe you can find peace in the fact that it’s over.

Kylar has stopped stabbing you, his knife held over his head in both hands, a look of horror on his face. You smile at him softly. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle of his knife—your favorite color.

It’s the last thing you see.

Feat unlocked—The end is never the end.

—————————

#dol #degrees of lewdity #yandere degrees of lewdity #yandere x reader #male yandere #kylar the loner #bailey the caretaker #dol x reader #yandere dol #degrees of lewdity x reader

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kookooluvr · 2 months ago

Text

Teach Me How To Love - Part 7

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

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

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

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 6.3k

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

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

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

find tmhtl masterlist here

find tmhtl playlist here

Three months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You didn't ruin everything."

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

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

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

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

"Mom, you didn't have to-"

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

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

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

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

"I met someone."

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

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

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

You let out a genuine laugh.

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

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

"Mom!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He misses you today more than other days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook blinks. "Please go away."

"Nope."

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

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

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

"Tae, I-"

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

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

"Call HR."

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

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

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

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

Taehyung nods. "Yeah. Heard that part."

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

"Sounds like fear," Taehyung murmurs.

Jungkook scoffs. "Sounds like rejection."

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

He doesn't answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung pauses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dude, shut up."

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

"Seriously, I will throw you out."

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

Jungkook groans, burying his face in a cushion.

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

Jungkook's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A box.

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

Taehyung's curiosity gets the better of him.

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

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

Taehyung picks one up and unfolds it carefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You good?" Jungkook asks, completely oblivious.

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders what you're doing right now.

If you're okay.

If you miss him at all.

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

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

Jungkook blinks. "What?"

"Look who's here."

And then—

"Jungkook?!"

Hana. Of course she's here as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung clears his throat sharply. "Hana."

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

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

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

"To new beginnings," she grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He closes his eyes. "Because she was."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I thought...I don't know. This isn't fair to you."

Hana scoffs, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "Don't patronize me, Jungkook. This is exactly what you wanted. You kissed me back."

"I know," he sighs, shame weighing on his chest. "And I shouldn't have. It was a mistake."

She steps forward, anger flaring in her eyes. "Why? Is it because of ___? Are you really still stuck on her after she left you?"

"Yes," he says simply. "I love her, Hana."

She laughs bitterly, disbelief clear in her voice. "God, you're pathetic, Jungkook. She literally broke your heart. She doesn't care about you!"

His jaw clenches tightly. "You don't know anything about what happened."

Hana rolls her eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please. Are you going to tell me she's a victim? She wasn't good enough for you, Jungkook."

Anger ignites in his chest, his frustration finally boiling over. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Why not? It's the truth," she snaps. "You deserve someone better, someone who'll treat you right. She'll never be able to love you the way you need-"

"Enough!" Jungkook's voice is sharp, cutting through the night air. He creates space between them, his eyes blazing with anger he's never shown her before. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't even know her. You don't get to decide what she deserves, or what I deserve."

Hana's eyes widen, startled by his intensity. "Jungkook-"

"You think I didn't notice?" he continues, voice trembling with suppressed frustration and anger. "The way you treated her in Jeju, the way you purposely tripped her on the beach. And for what? Because you were jealous? I held my tongue because I didn't want to make a scene but-"

Her cheeks flush in annoyance and embarrassment, cutting him off before he can go any further. "Jealous? Of her? She's nothing special!"

"You're wrong," Jungkook mutters, the anger fading into sadness. "She's everything, and I was an idiot for letting you disrespect her for so long."

Hana's eyes fill with tears, her frustration spilling out. "Why can't you see that I'm right in front of you? I've always been here for you. Always. Yet you'd rather chase after someone who doesn't even want you back?"

He takes a steadying breath, his gaze softening slightly, but the resolve doesn't leave his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hana. I never wanted to hurt you...but you were never going to be her."

She flinches as if he's physically struck her. "Fine," she whispers bitterly, voice breaking slightly. "You'll regret this eventually."

"No," Jungkook mutters firmly, though his voice is softer now. "The only thing I regret is letting things get this far tonight. You deserve someone who can really love you, and that person isn't me."

She stares at him, eyes filled with hurt, shaking her head. "Whatever, Jungkook. I hope she breaks your heart again. Maybe then you'll finally wake up."

He watches as she storms off, disappearing around the corner. Jungkook sinks down against the wall, pressing his head back, heart hammering in his chest. He sits in the silence, shame and guilt heavy on his chest. Despite everything, he still feels you, still misses you.

And even now, more than ever, he knows he'd rather have the ache of loving you than feel nothing at all.

Jungkook steps back into the bar, the loud music and chatter immediately washing over him, dizzying and overwhelming. His heart feels heavier than before, regret still bitter on his tongue.

Taehyung immediately straightens when he sees him approach, concern evident in his expression.

"Hey," he murmurs cautiously, eyes searching Jungkook's face. "You okay? Where's Hana?"

Jungkook slumps down onto the stool next to Taehyung, reaching for his drink and downing what remains without responding. The burn in his throat grounds him a little, but it's not enough to clear his head completely.

Taehyung sighs deeply, leaning in. "Kook, talk to me. What happened out there?"

He shakes his head slowly, staring down at the empty glass. "I fucked up, Tae."

"How bad?"

"Pretty bad." Jungkook rubs his eyes tiredly. "We kissed."

Taehyung's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he waits quietly, giving him time to explain.

"It got…heated," Jungkook admits, shame creeping into his voice. "I let it happen because...fuck, I just wanted to stop hurting for five seconds, but it didn't help. It felt wrong. It felt like I was betraying..."

"___," Taehyung nods.

Jungkook sighs miserably. "Yeah."

Taehyung sits back, looking at him thoughtful. "How'd Hana take it?"

"Badly," he mutters bitterly. "She spoke shit about ___ and I...kinda snapped. I finally told her how I feel. I don't think we'll be seeing much of her from now on."

"How do you think Jisoo will feel when Hana tells her you broke her heart?" Taehyung asks, though he knows that's not really a priority right now.

Jungkook grimaces. "I hope she'll understand. Eventually. She always does."

Taehyung gives him a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, she probably will. She's always been more level-headed than her sister."

Jungkook sighs deeply, running his fingers through his hair. "Tonight was a mistake."

"Then let's end it here," Taehyung suggests, calling the bartender over to pay for their drinks. "Come on, let's get you home."

Jungkook nods reluctantly, feeling exhaustion tugging harshly at his bones. "Yeah, let's go."

By the time their Uber pulls up outside Jungkook's place, he's swaying on his feet, eyes heavy with alcohol and sadness. Taehyung keeps a hand firmly on his shoulder, carefully guiding him inside.

"Drink some water," Taehyung instructs firmly as they step inside. "And take an aspirin. Trust me."

Jungkook nods weakly, pointing towards the bathroom. "It's in the cabinet. Medicine. You know where it is."

Taehyung chuckles softly. "Yeah, I know. Go lie down, I'll be right back."

When Taehyung returns, a glass of water and an aspirin in hand, he finds Jungkook already face down on the bed, fully clothed, breathing steady with sleep.

"Of course," Taehyung sighs with amusement, placing the water and aspirin on the nightstand.

He watches his friend for a moment, chest tightening at the sight of him so clearly hurting. The heaviness of Jungkook's pain is tangible, filling the room, almost suffocating him.

"Everything will work out, bud," Taehyung whispers softly, almost too soft to hear.

As he turns to leave, his eyes catch on the box tucked beneath Jungkook's desk.

That damn box. He just can't seem to stop thinking about it.

He knows he shouldn't, knows Jungkook would kill him for snooping, but he has a plan. One he's certain Jungkook's pride and fear would never let him execute himself.

Carefully, Taehyung picks up the box, glancing at Jungkook's sleeping figure one last time with a deep sigh.

"Sorry, buddy," he murmurs, turning towards the door. "You'll thank me later."

You wrap your coat tighter around your body, letting out a cold puff of air. The campus is quiet as you make your way along the paved pathway, a light dusting of the early evening snow sprinkling over you. Your footsteps echo throughout the parking lot, slowing down as you reach into your bag, rummaging around for your car keys as you approach your car.

"Evening, professor."

The baritone voice startles you, your head snapping up to find Taehyung leaning casually against the car parked directly beside yours. He gives you an innocent, slightly amused smile. He looks casual, at ease, but you know him well enough to sense there's something behind that smile.

"Taehyung," you sigh, your hand pressed against your racing heart. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," he chuckles, pushing himself off the side of the car to stand upright. "Didn't mean to. Who would've guessed we parked right next to each other?"

You manage a faint smile, tilting your head knowingly. "Yeah, what a coincidence."

Taehyung chuckles softly, watching you walk over to the driver's side of your car. "You heading home?"

You nod slowly. "Long day. You?"

He shrugs, giving a playful sigh. "About to head off to dinner with Jihyo. She's forcing me to eat some questionable TikTok pasta recipe. I'm probably risking my life."

You can't help the soft laugh that escapes your lips. "The one with the feta?"

He groans dramatically. "Always the feta."

He smiles warmly, his eyes containing something gentle. A brief silence falls between the two of you before he speaks again, this time his voice is softer, more careful.

"Hey, um..." Taehyung hesitates briefly, something unreadable in his expression. "How…how are you doing? Really?"

Your throat tightens slightly, knowing exactly what he's asking. You shift your weight nervously, avoiding his eyes.

"Honestly?" you whisper, voice barely audible. "Been better."

He nods understandingly, pausing again before adding, "He's not doing so great either."

Your breath catches at the mention of him, his face flashing through your brain like a taunting reminder of what you did. Your heartbeat quickens, your stomach twists, and suddenly it feels hard to breathe.

You finally look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and vulnerable. "He…he's not?"

Taehyung’s gaze softens even further, sympathy clear in his eyes. "He's trying to get through it. But he misses you, ___. A lot."

The thought of Jungkook hurting silently, all alone, it makes your chest ache even more painfully. "Will you tell him…" You hesitate, your voice cracking. "No. Never mind."

Taehyung nods, a soft smile settling on his face. "He knows, ___."

You look away, discreetly wiping at your eyes, embarrassed at how emotional you've gotten. "Thanks, Tae. Really. For looking out for him."

"Always. He's my best friend," he murmurs softly. He shifts on his feet, glancing toward his car. It's now or never.

"Actually…I have something for you."

You blink at him, looking a bit confused. "For me?"

"Yeah." Taehyung opens the passenger door of his car and reaches in, pulling out a worn cardboard box, carefully sealed shut. When he hands it to you, his expression is unreadable, guarded.

"What's this?" you ask softly, heart beating unevenly as you cradle the box in your hands.

"It's from Jungkook," he shrugs. "Sort of."

You stare down at the box, fingers trembling slightly. "I don't understand... What's inside?"

"Just…open it when you get home," he mumbles, looking a little nervous about doing this behind his best friend's back.

You nod, heart pounding, breath shallow. You don't know what to say, or even how to feel, only that whatever this box holds, it feels like it could break you wide open.

Taehyung takes a step back, offering you one last soft smile. "You gonna be okay?"

You nod slowly, blinking away the tears that have started forming. "I think so."

He smiles reassuringly. "Good. Drive safe, okay?"

"You too," you whisper, staring down at the box in your hands. "Tell Jihyo I said hi."

"I will," he calls out, heading over to the driver's side of his car. "Night, ___."

You watch as he climbs into his car and drives off. You remain standing in the parking lot, the box pressed tightly to your chest, heart pounding against the cardboard.

You don't open it, but already, your hands are trembling, and it's not because of the winter air. You take a deep, shaky breath and place the box on the passenger seat of your car, staring at it for what feels like an eternity before reluctantly starting the engine and driving off.

Whatever's in that box, you'll face it head on. No more standing still.

< Part 6.5 || Part 8 >

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook series #bts series #bts jungkook #fic: tmhtl #kookooluvr

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 1 year ago

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[Hey, how are you?] Simon Riley*F!Reader

Ten years ago, Simon lost you due to his mistake, and he meets you again after these years of regret.

Hurt and comfort, Happy Ending

“Are you married?”

He always be asked when others see the ring on his finger.

“No.” He answers while taking another sip of his wine, letting the person realize it’s a topic they don’t have the authority to dig in.

He still remembers the vow he chanted as he put the ring on your finger.

The memory is as clear as the day you left the house, and he never saw you again.

It’s his fault, you didn’t shed many tears when he yelled at you, saying that you will never be able to free him from his nightmares, who do you think you are? a fucking philanthropist?

He knew he screwed up everything the moment his taunt escape his mouth.

No, No. I didn’t mean to say that, I need you, I love you, please don’t leave me.

He watched you lower your head, trying in vain to hide your sadness, but your heart was already shattered into pieces, by him, the man who promised to protect you by any means.

I’m sorry.

The words stuck in his throat when he looked at you stepping out the threshold with your belongings.

Please stay.

The greedy wish was buried inside his heart when you stopped for a second. “Bye, Simon. Take care.” you whispered, and disappeared into the aisle.

Ten years, he’s still unable to move on.

He brainwashes himself repeatedly, she will have a better life without you.

Yet he still opens his phone every time he finishes his therapy sessions, looks at your number, and just stares at the screen for minutes.

His thumb lingers on the “call” button but never dares to press it.

Hey, are you doing alright? I’m sorry, I want you back. I went to therapy after that day. I’m not the same person caged in his past anymore.

I miss you so much.

but how selfish he is if he interrupts your life now? Such a nice person like you deserves someone to cherish you nicely, and treasure you with their whole heart.

That’s why he now stands afar from you, watching you behind the veil of autumn’s breeze.

You’re still stunning, time doesn’t deprive your beauty even a bit.

He gazes at you for a long while, and when you turn around and spot him, it’s obvious that you’re in shock and come to a halt.

The world keeps moving, but the time seems frozen between you two, as you both set eyes on each other and never dart.

You head towards him as he starts hesitating to take the first move.

“Hey.” You look at him with a shallow grin on your face.

“Hey.” He mumbles.

The silence fills the air, but no awkwardness, he’s just too indulged in your presence, which he has been dreaming of for years.

Sorry for that day. How are you doing now? Have you married? Have a partner?...

He has too many things he wants to ask, but his thoughts are like matted wool, until his eyes land on the ring on your finger.

“You’re marrie—“ He questions without a second thought, but the words get cut off instantly due to his realization.

because the ring is paired with the one on his finger right now.

It’s not until you chuckle that he’s back to reality.

“Yes, I’m married, about ten years ago? to an idiot man.”

“Why did you marry him? he’s a bloody dork.”

“Good question. or maybe that’s the reason why I married him.” Shrugging, you then meet his gaze with a smile “How about you? Are you married?”

“Yeah, ten years ago, to a woman that’s too precious for me, so I lost her.”

“If you meet her again, what do you want to tell her?”

“I’ve improved. I’ve reached for help and now I’m not the same man anymore.”

“Anything else you want to say?”

“I miss her every single day, and I hope I can have her in my arms again.”

“Well, I don’t know about her.” you step closer to him. “But I’m sure she will love to have some tea with you as her first compensation from you, what do you think?”

He blinks at the hand you reach out at him, and slowly, he takes it into his palms, that’s befitting to drive away the chill.

Your hand fits well in his, like it’s made for him to serve it with all his warmth, and he’s sure that he will never let go of it again.

“My pleasure.”

a/n: lemme give Simon a fucking punch/j

#cod imagine #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader

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srslyblvck · 9 months ago

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a dare too far, james potter [ Part II ]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: james was dared to make you fall in love with him. unknown to him, he was falling for you too. But soon the truth comes out, and you are left heartbroken.

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of y/n, heartbreak

word count: 5.5k [ a/n: what can i say, i lost track lmao ]

part I

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE DAYS FOLLOWING YOUR discovery had been a blur of pain and confusion. You had avoided James like the plague, refusing to even look in his direction. Your heart still ached, but your pride and self-respect kept you from falling apart in front of everyone.

It wasn’t long before your friends—Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence—noticed something was wrong. They knew you too well, and your sudden distance from James didn’t go unnoticed. You hadn’t said a word about what had happened, but one afternoon, while you sat with them at lunch, Florence finally broke the silence.

“Y/N,” she began softly, “what happened with James?”

Your fork stilled in your hand, and for a moment, you debated lying. But the weight of it all was too much to bear alone, and with a deep breath, you told them everything. From the dare to your overheard conversation in the library, every heartbreaking detail spilt out. By the time you finished, your friends were fuming.

“He did what?” Archie’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

Leonard, usually calm and rational, had gone stiff, his face a mask of barely controlled anger. “He was using you… for a stupid dare? Merlin’s beard…”

Autumn reached across the table to grasp your hand, her face a mix of empathy and fury. “That—that is despicable.”

Florence was quieter, but her steely expression said it all. She had always been protective of you, and seeing you hurt had ignited something fierce within her.

Archie was the first to stand, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape. “Where are they?” he asked, his voice like ice. “Where’s Potter and his pack of idiots?”

You shook your head, reaching out to stop him. “Archie, please—don’t do anything. It’s not worth it.”

But Archie’s mind was made up. “Not worth it? He messed with your heart, Y/N. He hurt you. That’s more than worth it.”

Leonard and Autumn exchanged a glance, and Leonard stood as well, his usually calm face clouded with anger. “He’s not getting away with this.”

“I don’t want you to fight—” you tried again, but Archie had already turned to leave, his face set in grim determination.

“You don’t have to come,” he said, his voice softer now, though still filled with anger. “But I’m not letting this slide.”

Before you could say another word, Archie and the others were already storming out of the Great Hall, leaving you behind. A heavy sense of dread settled over you as you watched them go.

Archie didn’t need long to find them. James and his friends were walking through the hallway just outside the Great Hall, laughing about something Sirius had said, completely unaware of the storm heading their way.

Without warning, Archie charged forward, grabbing James by the front of his robes and slamming him into the stone wall with a loud thud. The sound echoed through the hallway, silencing the students nearby who had been watching.

James let out a grunt of surprise, but before he could say anything, Archie’s fist connected with his jaw in a solid punch. James staggered against the wall, his hand flying to his face as he winced in pain.

“You think you can just mess with her like that?” Archie growled, pinning James to the wall again, his face inches from his. “You think you can just play with her feelings and walk away without a scratch?”

James blinked, still reeling from the punch, but when he met Archie’s eyes, there was no deflection or defense in his gaze. There was only guilt. “Archie, wait—”

“No, you don’t get to explain!” Archie spat, shoving him harder against the wall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? You broke her!”

Sirius stepped forward, his eyes flashing angrily. “Oi, get your hands off him—”

But Leonard blocked Sirius’s path, his expression dark and uncharacteristically cold. “Back off, Black. He had this coming.”

“Look, mate, we didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Sirius said, trying to reason with Leonard, though his voice lacked sincerity. “It was just a stupid joke.”

Autumn, standing beside Florence, scoffed. “A joke? You think it’s a joke to toy with someone’s feelings? You think it’s funny to break someone’s heart?”

Remus, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice soft but firm. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Archie. James didn’t mean—”

But Archie wasn’t listening. “I don’t care what he meant! He knew what he was doing. You all did. You think you can just play with people’s lives because you’re the Marauders, huh? Because you’re so damn popular?”

James, his cheek red from the punch, swallowed hard. “Archie… I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” Archie snapped, pushing James harder against the wall. “You knew what you were doing. You used her for a dare—you made her believe she could trust you. That she could actually care about you. And you did it for what? A joke? To get Evans jealous?”

James opened his mouth, but no words came out. Guilt twisted in his gut, more painful than any punch could have been. He had no defense. No excuse.

“I didn’t mean to—” James started, but Archie cut him off, his voice growing colder.

“You did mean to. You knew exactly what you were doing. You toyed with her feelings and now you’re going to pay for it.”

James felt the weight of Archie’s words settle over him like a lead blanket. He hadn’t wanted it to go this far. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you—but that didn’t change the fact that he had.

Before the situation could escalate any further, the sharp, familiar voice of Professor McGonagall sliced through the crowd.

“Mr. Hatcher! Mr. Potter!”

Professor McGonagall strode into the hallway, her eyes blazing with fury as she took in the scene before her. James was pinned against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his lip, Archie’s fist still clenched tightly in his robes.

“Step away from him, Mr. Hatcher,” she ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Archie hesitated for only a moment before letting go of James with a sharp shove, stepping back but not taking his eyes off him.

McGonagall’s stern gaze moved between the two boys. “Would someone care to explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Archie’s jaw was still clenched, his fists balled at his sides, and James simply wiped the blood from his mouth, his eyes cast downward. He didn’t even try to defend himself.

Seeing that no one was going to speak, McGonagall sighed, her lips thinning into a tight line. “Very well,” she said, her voice icy. “Since neither of you seem inclined to explain, you will both serve detention. One week. Starting tomorrow.”

James nodded, knowing he deserved far worse. Archie, however, still seemed on edge, his glare burning into James even as he stepped back.

McGonagall’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Now, all of you—back to class. This nonsense is over.”

The gathered students began to disperse, and McGonagall gave one last stern look at both boys before turning and walking away, her robes billowing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Archie took a step closer to James, his voice low but dripping with contempt. “Stay away from her, Potter. If you ever come near her again, I’ll make sure that punch is the least of your worries.”

Without another word, Archie, Leonard, Autumn, and Florence walked away, leaving James standing in the hallway, bruised and guilty.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter stood in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. But James just stood there, his back still against the wall, staring after Archie as the weight of his actions pressed down on him.

He had ruined everything.

The following days were unbearable. Everywhere James went, he could feel the tension. Students whispered about him as he passed, and the disapproving stares of his classmates burned into his back. But none of that hurt more than seeing you.

You had become a ghost in his world. You still smiled softly at your friends, still went to class like normal, but you never once looked his way. It was as if he no longer existed to you. And James hated himself for it.

It took him a while, but eventually, he gathered the courage to try and make things right. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. But he had to try.

One afternoon, James found you in the library, sitting alone at one of the tables near the back. He approached slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. You were reading, your eyes scanning the page with an intensity that told him you were trying to ignore him even before he said anything.

“Y/N,” James said quietly, standing a few feet away from you.

You didn’t look up. “What do you want, James?”

He swallowed hard. “I just… I need to talk to you.”

You sighed, closing your book but still refusing to meet his eyes. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

James flinched at the coldness in your voice, but he forced himself to continue. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve messed up in a way that I’ll never be able to fix, but… I want to apologize.”

You remained silent, but your fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the book in your lap.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” he continued, his voice sincere. “It started as something stupid—something I regret more than you’ll ever know. I’ve thought about it every day since then. And I hate myself for it.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression filled with sadness and anger. “You didn’t think about how much it would hurt me, did you? You didn’t care that I might actually fall for you. That I might trust you.”

James shook his head. “I did care. I didn’t realize how much until it was too late. I’m sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to break your heart.”

James swallowed, the guilt weighing heavily on him. “I know. I’ll never be able to take back what I did, but… I want to make it right. Somehow.”

You shook your head slightly, your voice soft. “I don’t know if you can.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. James stood there, hoping for a sign, a flicker of something that would let him know he wasn’t too late. But you simply looked back down at your book, your walls firmly back in place.

James left the library that day feeling more hopeless than ever. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Over the next few days, he tried—small acts of kindness that he hoped would show you he was serious about making amends. He held doors open for you, left small notes of apology on your desk, and even helped you with your Potions homework from afar, making sure you had all the right ingredients laid out. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask for anything. He just wanted you to know he cared.

When you walked into class, your desk would be cleared of stray ink stains. A forgotten book would find its way back into your bag, or a note of apology would be slipped into your books. At first, you tried to ignore it all, but eventually, it became impossible to pretend you didn’t notice his efforts.

Despite everything, there was a part of you that still cared for James, a part of you that hated how much you missed the way things had been before the truth came out. It was that small part of you that made it harder to ignore him.

But you tried. You tried not to care. You tried to remind yourself of the hurt, the betrayal. You didn’t want to forgive him… but some days, you found yourself softening, despite everything.

James made sure to keep his distance, always careful to avoid Archie and the rest of your friends. If Archie found out that James was still trying to win back your trust, he’d make sure James regretted it. But James wasn’t doing this for anyone else anymore—not for Sirius, not for Lily. He was doing it for you, hoping that, one day, you might believe in him again.

It was a long process, and you weren’t ready to forgive him completely. But little by little, you began to see glimpses of the James Potter who wasn’t just a reckless boy trying to win a dare. He was something more than that—someone who was genuinely sorry for what he had done.

You still weren’t sure if you could ever fully trust him again. But maybe, just maybe, you could start to forgive him. One small step at a time.

It was a cool, crisp afternoon at Hogwarts, the autumn air biting softly at your skin as you climbed up the empty Quidditch stands. The Gryffindor team had finished their practice a while ago, leaving the pitch quiet, save for the rustling of leaves carried on the wind. You liked coming here after everyone had gone—there was a peace to the open sky and the vastness of the field that made everything else feel distant.

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and settled into one of the seats, letting your eyes wander over the golden leaves scattered across the pitch. For a while, you just sat there, lost in thought, until the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I sit?” James stood at the edge of the row, his broomstick in hand, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. His messy hair was windswept from practice, and there was a tentative smile on his face, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be near you.

Your heart gave a small jolt. You weren’t used to him being this hesitant around you. “Sure,” you replied softly, gesturing to the spot beside you.

He sat down carefully, leaving a bit of space between you, though the air around him still felt warm and familiar. For a few moments, the two of you sat in silence, both staring out at the empty field. The awkwardness between you was palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was more like the calm after a storm, when everything is still fragile, but quiet.

“You used to come to all our games,” James said after a while, his voice low, as though he was afraid of breaking the peace.

“I still do,” you replied, not looking at him. “I just... sit further back now.”

James winced, but nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. Haven’t seen you up close in a while.”

You glanced at him then, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked out at the field. The cocky confidence he’d worn like armor for so long was missing. In its place was something quieter, more genuine.

“I don’t blame you for keeping your distance,” he continued. “I deserve it.”

You hugged your knees closer to your chest, not responding at first. There was still an ache in your heart whenever you thought about what had happened, but the anger was flickering.

“Why do you care so much now?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the wind. “Why are you trying so hard?”

James turned to you, his hazel eyes full of sincerity. “Because I care about you. Really care about you. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt. Not anymore.”

The openness in his voice took you by surprise. You had seen James like this before, but only in fleeting moments. Now, it felt like the bravado had peeled away, leaving someone real beneath the surface.

“You weren’t like this before,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know.” James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I thought I had to be... I don’t know, bigger than life all the time. Like I had to prove something to everyone, especially myself. I’m not proud of that. But you’ve always been real with me, and I wasn’t real with you.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the weight of betrayal as strongly. You felt a little lighter, like maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me all at once,” James added, his voice softer now. “But I want to show you that I can be better, for you."

You looked down at your hands, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “It’s just... hard. Trust doesn’t come back that easily, James.”

“I know,” he said, his voice a little rough. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and you could see how much he meant it. There was no smirk, no playful grin—just James, raw and honest. The boy who had been careless with your heart was trying to make amends, and for the first time, you felt like he truly understood the weight of what he’d done.

The wind ruffled his hair, and for a moment, you found yourself smiling softly at the familiar sight. “You’ve got ink on your face,” you said, pointing to a smudge near his temple.

James blinked, touching his face with a confused frown. “What—oh.” He chuckled lightly, his expression sheepish. “I guess I got a bit too into planning out that Transfiguration essay.”

You shook your head with a small laugh, the sound surprising both of you. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a tiny crack in the walls you’d built up.

James seemed to catch the change in your mood and his smile widened, though he didn’t press you further. He leaned back in the seat, his gaze shifting back to the field. “You ever flown before?”

“Once,” you said, shrugging. “I’m not really a fan of heights.”

James grinned, the old spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Well, if you ever feel like giving it another go, I’m pretty good at keeping people safe on a broom.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence settled between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like an old friendship slowly knitting itself back together. You weren’t sure where things would go from here, but for now, sitting here with James felt... nice.

And maybe that was enough for today.

It had taken weeks to come to a decision. Every day, you had wrestled with the memory of what James had done, how he had played with your heart like it was a game. But, as time went on, you couldn't ignore the fact that James had been trying, truly trying, to make things right. You could see it in the way he no longer sought attention, the way he was quietly helping without expecting anything in return.

Forgiveness was hard, but holding onto anger was harder. And you were tired—tired of the pain, tired of feeling like you were carrying a weight that wouldn’t let go. So, with shaky hands and a racing heart, you left a note on James’s desk:

Meet me by the Black Lake at sunset.

You didn’t write more, unsure how you would feel when the moment came. All you knew was that you had to give him—and yourself—a chance.

When James found the note, his heart nearly stopped. He read it over and over, as if afraid it might disappear before his eyes. You wanted to meet him. His mind raced, a thousand possibilities flickering through his head—was this the moment he had been waiting for? Or was it a final goodbye?

His hands trembled as he pocketed the note, trying to calm himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but for the first time in weeks, a spark of hope flickered in his chest.

As sunset approached, James made his way to the Black Lake, his nerves twisting with every step. And there you were, standing by the water’s edge, your arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the gentle ripples on the surface.

James’s heart skipped a beat. You were beautiful in the fading light, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, gathering the courage to approach.

Finally, he took a breath and stepped forward. “Y/N.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, he could see the conflict in your gaze—the hurt that still lingered, but also the kindness that had always been part of you.

You took a deep breath, glancing out at the lake before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking a lot, James. About everything. About how much I was hurt… but also about how you’ve changed.”

James stayed silent, afraid to interrupt, afraid to break the fragile moment you were sharing.

“I’m might be angry,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But I don’t want to hold onto that forever. I don’t want to carry this weight anymore.”

James looked down, his heart heavy with the guilt of everything he had put you through. “I know I hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but… I swear, Y/N, I would do anything to fix this.”

You turned to face him fully, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if things will ever be the same, James. But I want to try. I want to give you a chance… to prove that this isn’t just another game.”

James’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean… you’re giving me another chance?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes. But it’s not going to be easy, James. Trust takes time to rebuild.”

For a moment, James stood frozen, processing your words. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. His touch was warm, and careful, like he was afraid you might pull away. He gazed into your eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“I swear to you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I will never, ever hurt you like that again. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m worth trusting. I promise.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the warmth of his hands on your cheeks grounding you as your heart fluttered in your chest. You could feel the truth in his words, the genuine regret and longing behind them. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

Slowly, almost instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the tension between you melted away. When you opened your eyes again, James was still watching you, his gaze filled with hope and affection.

For a moment, everything felt right. You were standing by the lake, the world around you peaceful and quiet, and for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to feel that flicker of warmth you had tried so hard to ignore.

But just as you thought things might finally fall into place, a voice cut through the serene air like a blade.

“What the hell is this?”

Your heart dropped as you turned to see Archie storming toward you, his face twisted in anger. He had seen you together. James dropped his hands from your face, stepping back, but Archie was already closing the distance between you.

“Y/N, get out of the way,” Archie growled, his eyes locked on James. “I’m not letting him get away with this again.”

“You’ve got some nerve, Potter,” Archie growled, his fists clenched as he glared at James. “What did I tell you? You think you can just worm your way back into her life after what you did?”

James didn’t fight back, his hands raised in defense. “Archie, I swear, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“Not trying to hurt her?” Archie spat, his voice rising. “You’ve already done enough damage!”

“Archie, stop!” you shouted, stepping between them before Archie could throw a punch. You placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him back. “Please, just listen to me.”

Archie looked down at you, his face still twisted with anger. “Y/N, why are you defending him? After everything he did?”

“I know what he did,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “But he’s changed, Archie. He’s been trying—really trying—to make things right.”

Archie shook his head, his fists still balled. “And you believe him? After all that?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes locked on Archie’s. “Yes. I believe him. I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

Archie’s jaw clenched, his fists still balled at his sides. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he breaks your heart all over again?”

You shook your head, your voice steady. “He won’t. I know he won’t.”

For a long moment, Archie said nothing, his chest rising and falling with deep, angry breaths. He looked between you and James, his jaw tight, clearly torn between wanting to protect you and the growing frustration of watching you forgive James.

Finally, Archie exhaled sharply, stepping back and dropping his fists. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But if he so much as looks at you the wrong way—”

“I know,” you interrupted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll beat him to a pulp.”

Archie gave James one last threatening glare before turning back to you. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will be,” you said, looking back at James, who stood there, relief flooding his features. “I will be.”

Archie sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to walk away, muttering something under his breath about "keeping an eye on Potter." As he disappeared into the distance, you turned back to James, who was still watching you with a mixture of gratitude and awe.

“Thank you,” James said softly, stepping closer to you once more. “I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

You smiled up at him, the warmth of his presence calming the nervous flutter in your chest. “Just don’t make me regret it, Potter.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. And this time, you believed him.

It had been a few days since the Black Lake, since that quiet moment where you'd taken the first step toward forgiving James. You hadn’t fully worked through everything yet, but the weight on your chest had lightened, if only slightly. James, true to his word, had been patient. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding more than you were ready to give.

One evening, after dinner, you found yourself sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the warmth while trying to focus on your Herbology notes. You had just managed to start working through a particularly tricky chapter when a shadow fell over your table.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said softly.

You looked up and saw James standing there, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression almost shy. It was a look you were still getting used to—the quiet James, the one without the cocky grin and the easy swagger. The one who didn’t assume you’d always want to talk to him.

“Hi,” you replied, offering a small smile.

He rocked slightly on his heels, glancing around the common room before returning his gaze to you. “I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go for a walk?”

A walk? It seemed harmless enough. And you had to admit, the idea of stepping out into the cool night air sounded appealing after being cooped up with your books for hours.

You nodded, closing your notes. “Sure.”

James blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But he quickly recovered, grinning in that soft, hopeful way he had started to smile recently. “Great. Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the common room, the portrait of the Fat Lady swinging closed behind you as the castle corridors opened up before you. The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, your footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

The evening was quiet, with most students settling in for the night. When you reached the castle doors, James paused, opening one of them and holding it for you. The cold air rushed in, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of grass and earth. You stepped outside, feeling the refreshing chill against your skin, and James fell into step beside you as you wandered down the path that led toward the Black Lake.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the water. The stars twinkled like distant diamonds, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze made the night feel alive with gentle magic. It was peaceful here, under the sky, with the world around you so calm.

James cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You know… I’ve missed this,” he said quietly, glancing over at you. “Being able to just… be with you.”

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight softened his features. His eyes, normally so full of mischief, were now earnest, searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I’ve missed it too,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed these moments, before everything had fallen apart—when James was just a boy who made you laugh, who listened to you, who made you feel seen.

James smiled, but it wasn’t his usual grin—it was softer, more thoughtful. “I know things aren’t the same,” he said, kicking a pebble with the tip of his shoe as you both walked. “And I know I’ve got a long way to go before… before you can really trust me again. But I’m going to keep trying. Every day, I’m going to keep trying.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart swell—this wasn’t the cocky, arrogant James who once thought he could charm his way through life. This was the James who was willing to work for it, who understood that he had to earn your trust back, one small step at a time.

“I appreciate that,” you said softly, your gaze drifting over the calm surface of the lake. “I really do.”

For a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. It was nice—just walking together, the cool night air wrapping around you both. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about this moment felt right. Maybe you weren’t fully healed yet, but you were beginning to believe that healing was possible.

After a few more minutes of walking, James stopped, turning to face you with a look of hesitant curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends what it is.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not bad, I promise. I just… I was wondering if—if maybe you’d like to come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. He had asked it so simply, without any of his usual flair. It wasn’t a demand or an assumption. It was just a question—a genuine one, filled with hope but no expectation.

“You don’t have to say yes,” James added quickly, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I know things are still… complicated. But I’d love to spend some time with you outside of… all this.”

You thought about it for a moment. You weren’t sure if you were ready for anything that felt like a date—not yet. But Hogsmeade was harmless, wasn’t it? A day out, something simple, something that could help rebuild the trust you were slowly finding again.

After a moment, you nodded. “Sure,”

James’ face lit up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Really?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Really.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your stomach. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, or where this new path with James would lead. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—it was worth finding out.

As you continued walking beside him, the moonlight casting gentle shadows across the path, you realized that this moment, right here, was a beginning. Not a fresh start, but a continuation—something that had been broken but was slowly, carefully, being put back together.

And maybe, just maybe, you could learn to trust James again.

One small step at a time.

#marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfic #marauders fanfiction #james potter #james fleamont potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter x reader #james potter angst #james potter x y/n #angst #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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teenidlegirl · 7 months ago

Text

꣖　 BEAUTY OF THIS MESS 　꣓　 ᤢ♥︎　 CHAPTER　.　O8 　!

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

ᤢ　.　summary　♥︎　੭　miguel returns from the boxing gym tensed and all bruised up. you grow concern and offer to fix him up. while cleaning him up, the tension between you two grows more intense to the point where things become inevitable.

ᤢ　.　content　♥︎　੭　fluff, angst, little hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, tension, 18+ mdni, smut, making out, dry humping, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, creampie, praising, aftercare

꣖　　previous　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　masterlist　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　next　　꣓

the cool breeze flowing by. the autumn leaves beautifully vibrant, decorated over the trees. the atmosphere covered in gray, puffy clouds with no trace of the sun. a perfect day for a walk.

wrapped in a cozy baby pink sweater, the fuzzy interior like a blanket. comfy light gray leggings and a pair of uggs. a comfy yet cute outfit for the day.

your eyes wander around the little park as the cool breeze flows by. one hand holding the leash attached to luna as she wanders around the grass sniffing away and the other hand stuffed comfortably in the pocket of your sweater for warmth.

standing in the chilly air for a while makes you crave for some coffee. after luna had her fair share of wandering around, you start heading back to the complex building. the cool breeze hitting your face.

as you’re walking, you notice a familiar tall figure approaching from the opposite side. recognizable brown fluff of hair and bulging biceps. immediately, your lips curl up into a soft smile.

“hey.” you approach miguel with that same smile.

there is a scowl on his face until he notices you, expression immediately softens. “oh hey.”

those brown eyes briefly scan your outfit. how cozy you look, how cute you look.

“how was boxing?”

“it was alright…”

his tone doesn’t match his answer. sounds rather distant… closed off. not to mention the way his eyes drifted from yours for a moment.

your eyes focus on his expression before wandering around his figure. they widen in shock at the bruised knuckles decorated in dried up blood.

“oh shit, your knuckles!”

miguel discards them with a head shake, as if he doesn’t care. “it’s fine, they’ll heal soon.”

“but they’re covered in blood.” your brows furrowed, looking up at him with concern.

“it’s okay, preciosa. i promise, they don’t hurt.”

you stare up at him in disbelief.

“did you boxed without gloves?”

that was the only reason why his knuckles would be bruised up and bloody. now that makes you wonder why he wouldn’t wear them in the first place.

“preciosa.” miguel softly drags out. “estoy bien.”

he doesn’t want you to worry about him. his knuckles will heal eventually. sure, he did a number on them. but miguel doesn’t want to tell you why they’re bruised up or why he didn’t use his gloves.

“no, you’re not okay. miguel, you’re bleeding.” you gesture at his bloody knuckles. “i’m patching you up, let’s go.” you go to grab his wrist but he moves away.

“hermosa, please don’t.”

miguel doesn’t want to burden you with his troubles. you seem to be having a peaceful day and he doesn’t want to ruin that. but it seems he already has now that you’re worried about his fucked up knuckles. maybe he should’ve walked away sooner.

“miguel, please. i’m not letting you walk in that building with fucked up knuckles and knowing you’re in pain, and don’t say you’re not because you are.”

shit.

you’re being serious, he can definitely tell. seeing that worried look in your eyes makes his heart. you shouldn’t worry about his stupidity. he rather see that pretty smile and eyes filled with happiness.

but it also makes his heart warm to see you care for his well-being. miguel can’t remember the last time someone did, genuinely. his military buddies do but because of partnership. he doesn’t hang out with them often or are close with them like he is with you.

after what happened to… gabriel, his relationship with his mother declined drastically. it was ugly yet heartbreaking. constant yelling and tears. that slap she left on him scarred him, telling miguel that everything changed from that moment. she stopped giving an ounce of care for him and miguel accepted that. he never step foot back into that house again.

george, however, does care for miguel. they would talk once in a while, through phone or text but that’s it. may be small but there is some care.

his biological father, not worth mentioning.

you’re the first to show him genuine care, sympathy. miguel truly believes his knuckles are fine and will heal eventually like usual. but seeing your eyes filled with concern and that small pout on those pretty lips, miguel couldn’t resist you.

he didn’t want to worry you yet you were.

with a sigh, he gives in. “alright…”

“this is gonna sting.”

after luring him back to your apartment, you and miguel find yourselves on your couch. a first aid kit beside you and two now empty coffee mugs on the coffee table. miguel sits beside you, entire weight sinking into the cushions. you find it amusing how big he looks on your couch due to his bulky figure.

you clean up his right hand first then his left, being gentle as possible to not hurt him. miguel stares in awe at your medical skills. how attentive and caring you are. but mainly fascinated by the size difference of your hands. how tiny and soft yours look compared his larger, calloused ones. staring in awe of your acrylics, how pretty they appear. but his eyes mainly remain on your face, deeply captivated.

he also doesn’t ignore that rapid beating of his heart due to the close proximity. your body so close to his, gently glazing one another, feeling the heat radiating from your body. it makes his mind hazy.

because of the close proximity, miguel has a good close up of you. he can finally drink in your features. the lavender scent of your shampoo invading his senses. the serval beauty marks decorated over your skin. the curve of your nose. those pretty lashes of yours. brows furrowed in concentration.

everything about you is just so… mesmerizing.

he always though you were beautiful. just seeing you up so close, miguel is enthralled.

you, on the other hand, are nervous as hell. you can feel his eyes the entire time, observing your every move. not in an uncomfortable way, it’s just that your very handsome neighbor is watching you as you clean up his wounds. feelings his breath on your skin. making your heart beat faster than ever.

“i don’t wanna… pry much but… why did you not use gloves?” you ask softly, a little hesitant.

miguel averts his gaze from you, concealing his embarrassment. “just… didn’t feel like it…” his big, broad shoulders shrug. “needed to use my real hands, at least once in a while.”

your brows furrow a bit more, internally debating if you should push the question further. but ultimately you don’t wish to bother him, it seems to be personal. instead, you answer with a soft hum and continue tending to his wounds.

“all done.” you announce softly, packing away the materials back into the first aid kit.

“gracias, preciosa.” miguel analyzes his bandaged knuckles, mesmerized by your skills. a tiny, soft smile on his lips as he continues staring in fascination.

your heart skips a beat. another pet name.

looking back at him, your eyes caught a tiny scar peeking out from his black wife beater, on his right shoulder. your brows furrowed at the sight.

“what happened here?” you point out the scar.

miguel’s brows furrowed then glances to where you pointed, now realizing what you’re referring to.

“oh it’s just an old scar, from a mission.” he shrugs.

your brows remain furrowed. he acts like it’s nothing but that scar looks huge, even if it’s healed. following the scar, your eyes fetch another one next to it.

how many scars does he have?

“take off your shirt.”

your command catches him off guard, making miguel turn to look at you with a confused look. those thick brows furrowed a little.

“it’s nothing to worry about, hermosa.”

“miguel, how many scars do you have?”

“a lot but they’re healed.”

your heart aches a little at his confession. “please…”

fuck, when you sound like that, so sweet and caring, how can miguel resist that?

he doesn’t want you to worry yet that sweet tone of yours and those pretty eyes, he can’t say no.

with a sigh, miguel slowly takes off his wife beater with one hand. your eyes widen drastically. his muscular back covered in numerous scars and even a little stretch marks near his hips.

the sight makes your heart crack.

scars lathered over his sun-kissed skin. ranges in various length and size. some overlapping each other. most healed but some still look fresh.

this poor, poor man.

each of these scars have their own story. it’s likely that majority of them are from missions. you can’t imagine the types of missions he goes through, life-threatening ones even. the thought creates an unsettling sensation in your chest.

this man has gone through so much.

subconsciously, you raise a hand up. the sudden temptation to reach out, lightly rake your fingers over his scars. to give him some comfort, care.

your fingers hover over them, merely a few centimeters away from his skin, not touching him. the temptation grows stronger but you’re afraid of overstepping his boundaries.

miguel can somewhat feel your fingers, or at least sense them. it makes his heart beat faster than before and breathing grow a bit heavy. the tension is too much, almost unbreathable. as if it’s wrapped around his neck. his hands begin to fidget, as sign of anxiousness. his body temperature skyrocketing.

ever so lightly, you place your fingers on his back and his body immediately tenses. it startled you, causing you to retrieve your hand away from his body.

“sorry, i—” you panic a little.

“don’t.” he says softly, reassuringly. “don’t be.”

your touch sent a jolt through his body. not unpleasantly but rather excitingly. just a light of your skin against his makes his heart jump.

looking at his scared back, you can’t help but feel remorse and guilt. using your fingertips, you trace above the scars without touching him. yet, all miguel wants is your touch. carves it, in fact.

it’s not surprising he’s touch starved. after gabriel’s death and the aftermath of his family dilemma, miguel has been on his own since. closed off anyone who was close to him. went straight into duty whenever he got called back.

there was no time for relationships. miguel believed there was no point. no matter how many women threw themselves at him or one of his military buddies trying to hook him up, he never gave in.

no woman captured his attention like you.

his beautiful, caring neighbor.

the woman who infiltrates his every thought.

ever since he first met you, you captured his attention. when he got to know you more and your bond blossomed into something more, miguel couldn’t stop thinking about you. no matter what he was doing or where he was, his thoughts were constantly about you. never has he felt this way about a woman before. not even that one girl he used to hang out with during his late teen years made his heart beat fast like you do.

you’re special, so alluring.

as your trace your fingers along his scars, right above them, that remorse feeling grows stronger. “i’m so sorry…” your tender voice rings in miguel’s ears like a sweet melody. a sound that makes his heart swoon.

he can hear the remorse in your sweet voice and his heart aches a little. he appreciates your kindness, it’s sweet like candy. miguel might end up with a cavity because he can’t take your sweetness any longer.

“it’s okay…” he whispers, matching your gentle tone.

slowly turning his head, miguel glances down at you, still looking at his back before your eyes meet his. suddenly, the tension is stronger than ever. you hold each other’s gaze that feels like forever. those mesmerizing brown irises boring into your gorgeous ones, as if staring into your soul. myths have told that the eyes are the windows to the soul.

sudden heat develops in both your bodies, heart rate skyrockets due to the close proximity. you catch his eyes glance down at your lips, making your heart skip a beat. miguel couldn’t stop himself, those lips have been taunting him since the beginning. as if they’re begging for his. flashbacks of the night after the coney island trip, how he had the biggest temptation to claim those glossy lips but couldn’t out of fear of rejection. but this time, he can’t resist. not when you’re looking at him with those gorgeous eyes. it’s getting more difficult to resist you.

you’re so pretty close up. you were always pretty but fucking hell - you look so damn angelic and desirable. the warm lighting of your lamp does wonders on your features. you look so soft, you must feel so soft. of course he’s touched you before. the times he drove you home on his back, your arms hugging him as he drove. your fingers brushing against one another when passing things to each other. but miguel never truly felt you before. damn does he have the biggest urge to caress your cheeks, arms. to feel your softness against his roughness.

not once did his eyes look away from your lips. the longer he stares, miguel finds himself slowly moving closer as if there is some magnetic force. your heartbeat increases rapidly as he continues leaning closer. you don’t move, too lost in trance and nervous to move away. yet - you don’t wanna move away. the more he leans, the more your lashes flutter.

your lashes flutter rapidly as his face is right in front of yours. noses gently brushing against one another. hot, anxious breaths fanning each other’s as if it’s the only air you’re breathing. him being right there makes your core starting to throb, heavily with want.

since you’re not rejecting his approach, miguel takes that as a green light and finally does what he’s been waiting for. ever so gently and slowly, he captures your lips with his. fireworks explode in both your bodies. soft, just like he dreamed. you, on the other hand, were dying to feel those plump lips and it’s everything you dreamed of.

miguel doesn’t push further, not wanting to overwhelm you or unsure if you wish to continue. but since you don’t move away and he desire to taste more of you consumes his entire soul, miguel kisses you again but a bit deeper this time. his heart flutters when you kiss him back with the same passion.

the moment you two have been waiting for.

the kiss slowly grows more passionate. your lips dance together, savoring the taste of each other. instinctively, your hands rise up and gently cup his face. his bulky arms slowly wrap around you. gently holding you closer to his body, pressed against his solid, warm chest. shivers go down your spine as his hands roam slowly over your body. groping your curves gently yet a little possessively.

miguel quietly groans as you let out a soft moan when his hands continue grouping you. the sweet sound making his core throb and twitch. hearing him groan triggers something in you, wanting to hear it again. you start applying more pressure into the kiss, catching miguel by surprise. he lets out another heavenly groan as your dig your fingers into his soft, brown locks. gently tugging on them. fuck, the sensation makes his mind hazy.

things grow more heated. a full blown makeout session on your couch. soft moans and groans lingering in the air. hands roam over each other’s bodies. a soft gasp leaves your lips as you feel miguel’s calloused hands slipping under your sweater and touching more of your celestial skin. he’s going fucking crazy at the feeling of your soft skin in his hands, wanting to feel more and more. as of his life depends on you. as if you’re his life source.

while eating each other’s faces off, miguel leans forward causing you to lay back on the couch. he manages to settle in between your legs, his muscular structure hovering your smaller form. much to your dismay, his lips leaves yours but eases your concerns as they find themselves on your neck. a soft moan escapes your lips at the sensation, mind becoming hazy. one hand rested in his hair and the other gripping onto his shoulder. the bulging muscles under your fingertips. his hands continue roaming your body as miguel leaves sweet kisses on your neck, intending on marking you.

“m-miguel…”

that soft moan of his name drives him insane. he wants to hear more, in that exact tone. it causes him to roll his hips into yours, slowly dry humping you. it elicits more of those sweet noises from you. both your cores throbbing with intense want and need.

“i’ve—” one kiss. “been waiting—” another kiss. “for this—” a third. “for you—” a kiss then a suck.

you moan at his words and the sensation, back arched a little. “m-miguel, please…”

fuck, your pleading drives him crazy. making his cock twitch terribly in his gray sweats.

he doesn’t want to take you on the couch. you deserve to be worshiped properly, in bed surrounded by comfort. miguel swiftly picks you up, earning a gasp from you, and carries you in his arms as he hurriedly walks over to your bedroom. you quickly warp your arms around his shoulders, smiling at his eagerness. body overflowing with excitement.

once he makes it to your room, miguel carefully sets you down the bed. the plush mattress against your back. your lips never detach. more moans escape your lips as his returns to your neck, leaving more butterfly kisses. his hands roam over your body until he reaches the hem of your sweater and stops. lifting his head up, he glances down at you.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, giving a light tug at the hem of your sweater as emphasis.

you eagerly nod and miguel doesn’t hesitate. he slowly pulls up your sweater, revealing peeks of your celestial skin to his hungry eyes. as he carefully pulls it over your head and off your body, miguel inhales a sharp breath at the sight of expose torso. eyes dilating at the sight of your covered breasts, adorn in white lace of your cute bra. the cups of it hugging your breasts graciously, making him salivate.

tossing the discarded sweater somewhere in the room, miguel slowly reaches up with a hand and gingerly cups one breast, eliciting a soft gasp from you. your back immediately arches into his touch, sending jolts through your body. he observes your every move, how your body reacts to his touch. his hand is so fucking big, it covers your entire chest. he gives it a few squeezes, earning more of your sweet nosies, before leaning down into your cleavage and begins making out with your covered breasts. cupping them with both hands and kneading them.

your hands instinctively land in his hair, digging in those soft brown curls as soft moans spill from your lips at the incredible sensation miguel is giving you. panties growing damped, flooding inside.

“oh miguel~” you softly moan as his tongue slides over the roundness of your exposed breast.

he lets out a hum as he continues his attack on your delicate breasts. his kisses move down your body. licking and kissing your belly. a pitchier moan falls from your lips as miguel’s tongue slowly slides up your belly from your lower abdomen up to your diaphragm. your reaction makes him smile.

he reaches the hem of your light gray leggings and immediately glances up at you. “puedo?” he was a bit hesitant, hoping to not push your boundaries but your nod eased his worries.

gripping the sides of your leggings, miguel slowly drags them off your body. biting his lip as your matching panties are revealed to his lustful eyes. quietly groaning at the sight of the wet stain on your panties. a sign of your desire for him.

you feel a little embarrassed because you’ve never been this wet before. but the lustful glint in his eyes makes you feel a little better.

“is this okay—”

“miguel, please~” you whine, eagerly wiggling your hips as a desperate sign.

you’re getting inpatient and miguel can’t help but softly chuckle. how cute you are, so inpatient for him. desperate for him to ravish you, and he certainly will.

“relájate, bebé. i promise to take care of you.” he grips the edge of your panties and slowly slides them down your legs. “joder…” he curses at the sight of the fucking fountain between your thighs.

the sight of your glistening cunt is forever imbedded in his fucking mind. all of that because of him. his cock twitches harder, obviously poking through his sweats that are more tighter and uncomfortable.

getting on his knees, miguel grabs your thighs and pulls you closer towards him, making you squeal. his eyes remain on your glistening pussy, licking his lips in anticipation for the greatest meal that awaits him.

“gonna make you feel good, bebita.”

you shudder at that.

after putting your legs over his shoulders, miguel immediately dives into your pussy and attacks your clit. you yelp in surprise and throw your head back on the sheets. instinctively placing a hand in his hair. miguel continuously sucks and licks your precious pearl to earn more of your sweet reactions, overfill you with intense pleasure. he switches from sucking your clit to fucking your pussy with his tongue.

“miguel!” you moan, arching your back.

“dios, you—” one lick. “taste—” one big suck. “fucking—” another suck. “amazing.”

he couldn’t get enough of your sweet pussy. addicted to your sweet nectar. devouring you like a starve man as if you’re his final meal. if you let him, miguel would eat you out for eternity.

he is definitely pussydrunk.

the pleasure was getting too intense. the alternation of his lips sucking on your precious little clit then his thick tongue penetrating you. that familiar warm sensation in your tummy starts bubbling up.

“miguel—”

“lo sé, bebtia. lo sé.” he said in between slurps and licks. “dámelo.” a soft command.

his movement were getting faster, determined to make you come. it seems to be working due to your moans getting louder and pitchier. your back breaking into waves. fingers griping onto his hair, almost too painful but miguel doesn’t care. he’s too busy on making you see stars, or the whole universe.

in a matter of seconds, fireworks exploded. you come with a loud whine of his name. gushing all over his face with your sweetness. miguel drinks up all your sweetness as if he found an oasis, not letting one drop go to waste. he needs every ounce of you.

once he has his full, miguel finally gives your poor pussy a break and lifts up his head. half of his face glistening with your sweet nectar. a few strings of saliva attached to your pussy from his mouth.

“you taste amazing, bebita.” that earns him a soft whine which makes him smile.

standing up at the edge of the bed, miguel licks off the remains of your come around his mouth while his hands begin undoing his sweatpants. you remain laying on the bed, heavily fucked out by the amazing orgasm this man gave you. you feel the mattress dip and open your eyes to see this hunk of a man above you. his muscular frame hovering over you, making you feel so small in comparison to him. thick, muscular arms caging you in. yours eyes wonder around his body. the scrumptious body chair that makes you wanna run your fingers in. those toned abs decorated with that delicious happy trail that leads down to the thing you’ve been anticipating for.

holy fuck, he’s fucking huge.

at least eight inches. his girthy cock erected and throbbing for you. there is no way that will fit inside yet your throbbing pussy says otherwise.

he sensed your apprehension, his expression softens. “i’ll go gentle, bebé, lo prometo. if you need me to stop, dime. don’t be afraid to, vale?” miguel brings up a hand and caresses your cheek with such tenderness as a way to ease your worries.

his words bring you comfort, making you nod. that soft smile he gives you makes your heart flutter.

“lift up your hips for me.”

you obliged, lifting them when he slides a pillow underneath for support.

just as he grips his erected cock in one hand and aligns himself with your entrance, miguel quickly realizes you aren’t using protection.

“wait.” he quickly looks up at you, a little concern. “do you want me to get a—”

“i’m on the pill.” you quickly reassure him.

a sense of relief washes over him. miguel gives a small nod then proceeds to line himself with your dripping cunt. a shared moan mingles in the air as he slowly slides through your tight, warm walls.

“chinga…” miguel groans at the tightness of your walls, clenching onto him. “you’re fucking tight, bebtia. gotta breathe for me, okay?”

you could only answer in a small mewl, trying to follow his advice but he’s so damn big. you swear this man is gonna rip you in half.

miguel senses your discomfort, making his heart ache. “i’m gonna pull out.”

“don’t, please!” you grip onto his shoulder to prevent him from doing so, tugging him closer which makes miguel’s heart skip a beat. “i- i just need a second.”

“of course, bebita.” he coos, caressing your cheek.

once you’re comfortable enough and give him the green light, miguel continues sliding through at a slow pace until he finally bottoms out. you softly gasp as you feel so utterly full of him.

“tell me when, preciosa.”

“now, please~”

he softly chuckled at your eagerness. very slowly, he drags out his cock for a second before plunging it back inside you. a slow deep thrust, making you moan and arch your back.

his thrusts start off slow but deep, making sweet love to you. the bulbous tip of his cock kissing your sweet spot over and over, making you go crazy. he feels so good, so deep and thick. your tight walls squeezing the life out of his cock.

“fuck, bebé— you’re so— tight.” miguel groans in between phrases as you clench around him.

one of his hands reach towards your face and cups your cheek as he leans down and capture your lips in a passionate kiss. you reciprocate, your moans and whimpers muffled by his lips as his cock continues pumping in and out of your slick cunt. miguel sallowing those pretty sounds of yours.

“preciosa.” he coos, parting from your lips to gaze down at you with utter adoration. “mírame.”

opening your eyes, you look up at your handsome lover with fluttering lashes, softly whimpering. the corner of his plump lips curl up into a smile.

“mi niña preciosa.” miguel coos, earning a soft whimper from you. “making you feel good, hm?”

“y-yes.” you moan as he does a deep thrust.

he was making you feel good, so fucking good.

one of your hands falls flat on the bed. miguel delicately takes it with his larger, calloused hand and interlocks fingers. making the connection more intimate as you continue making love.

miguel eventually picks up his pace, his hips repeatedly snapping into yours. moans and groans mingle in the steamy air of delicious sex. obscure noises echoing around the four walls of your bedroom. the gentle pit-pat against the window due to the rain occurring in the outside world. it feels like you and miguel are in your own world. two souls connected as your bodies move in harmony. nothing else matters, only each other in this moment.

your lips connect, sallowing each other’s noises of pleasure as your love-making progresses intensely. his grip on your hip tightens as you clench around his cock for the millionth time.

“fuck, hermosa—” a groan escapes him, brows furrowed in pleasure. “you’re gonna make me come if you keep clenching me like that.”

your mind goes fucking haywire at the thought of miguel cumming inside you.

miguel is so lost in your sweet, little cunt. sucking him in and squeezing the life out of him. your nails digging into his muscular back. hissing a little at the sensation but oh so loves it so much.

“d-don’t stop.” you whimper, gripping onto his back as if your life depended on it.

“not gonna stop, preciosa. too fucking good to stop.”

the burning sensation in your core increases rapidly. an endless chorus of ecstasy falling from your mouth, moaning and panting as miguel’s cock plunges in and out of your tight cunt.

“miguel!~” you moan and arch your back as he hits that sweet spot with a deep thrust.

“i know, bebé. i know, i fuck—” a groan falls from his lips as he feels you clench around him so fucking tightly. sensing his forthcoming orgasm.

reaching down with a hand, he flicks your clit to give you more pleasure. each flick in unison of his thrusts. the sudden sensation makes you squeal loudly, digging your nails further into his back which causes miguel to groan. you both are about to burst.

“cum, mi amor. let go.” he purrs.

a couple more flicks and thrusts, you do with a loud moan of his name. singing so beautifully, his mind going haywire at the sight of you reaching the pinnacle of pleasure. so goddamn beautiful. gushing all over his cock with your sweetness.

miguel soon follows as his hips stutter before spilling himself inside of you with a moan. pumping you full of his cum, painting your walls white. you softly moan at the sensation, feeling so utterly filled.

you share one final passionate kiss before miguel carefully collapses on top of you. making sure not to put his full weight on you. arms wrapped around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, gently combing the soft curls through your fingers. miguel lets out a low hum at the calming sensation, burying his face in the pillow right beside your head as you both recover. your synchronized breathing echoing in the room.

after a few minutes of recovery, miguel lifts himself up by the elbows and looks down at you. “you okay?” he caresses your cheek with a hand so lovingly.

“yeah…” you answer, still a bit breathless.

“do you need anything?”

“water would be nice.” you weakly smile.

miguel mirrors your smile then plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before carefully pulling out. eliciting a soft whine from you. getting off the bed, miguel slips back into his boxers and quickly heads over to the bathroom to retrieve a wash cloth. returning with one in his hand, he kneels at the edge and carefully cleans in between your thighs. being so gentle as possible to not overwhelm you. giving your thighs gentle rubs as comfort as he cleans you up.

after discarding the now dirty wash cloth and put on fresh panties for you, miguel returns from the kitchen with your requested water bottle.

you start to sit up but miguel swiftly steps in and helps you, placing a hand on your back for support as he guides you. he brings up the water bottle that’s already opened to your lips and you take big sips. hugging the bed sheets up to your chest.

“thank you.” you softly smile at him as you finish.

“siempre.” he takes it back and places the plastic bottle on the nightstand then plants another kiss on your forehead. crouching beside you with his hand rubbing the small of your back in small circles. “estas hermosa…” he whispers, admiring your afterglow.

your cheeks warm up at his sweet compliment, leaning your face against his shoulder to conceal your bashful expression. “estas loco…”

“si, para ti.”

both of you chuckle, you rolling your eyes.

“alright, acuéstate, preciosa. you need rest.”

“and you don’t?” you arch a brow playfully.

“oh no i do, gonna knock out.”

you laugh more as he guides you to lay back down on the bed before he makes his way over to the other side of the bed and joins you. his arms scoop you up and you snuggle against his chest. letting out a soft sigh as you feel his body warmth. so smoothing and comforting, his heartbeat against your ear. causing you to start drifting away into sleep.

“rest well, bebita.” miguel whispers before slumber calls to his name as well. arms wrapped around you protectively as you both succumb to slumber.

꣖　𝓣ags. ♡ྀིྀི　꣓⠀⠀@reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff

#⠀⠀૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა⠀˚⠀.⠀ℬ𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝒪𝑓 𝒯ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℳ𝑒𝑠𝑠⠀ ྀ⠀.⠀♡⠀#miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #military!miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse

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v6quewrlds · 7 months ago

Text

❝ guilt trip, t. alexander-arnold. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: every year, trent and his mates bet on no nut november. and every year trent fails to hold out. it's really not your fault you can't hold off.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: so sorry this is up so late <3 day ten of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, brief fingering, begging.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: trent alexander-arnold x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.7k.

"I can't believe it's November already," you said, your eyes fixed on the calendar. The page, a warm palette complementary to the warm autumnal hues of the season, glared back at you with a single, scribbled note: "No Nut November begins today". You sighed, knowing what this meant for you and Trent's love life for the next thirty days.

Trent sailed into the room, his broad frame casting a shadow over your thoughts. "I think this is my year, babe," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I swear I'm gonna win that bet."

You could only roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the bet. "You've never made it past the first week," you reminded him, your voice laden with skepticism.

Every November 1st, you had come to expect the same conversation with Trent. You knew the drill: he'd announce the start of the "No Nut November" challenge with the excitement of a kid on Christmas Eve, and you would play along, feigning shock and annoyance. But this year, you felt a twinge of genuine annoyance. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you had hoped that by this point, the juvenile betting pool with his football mates would've grown old. But here you were, staring down the barrel of another month-long abstinence challenge.

Trent, ever the competitor, was undeterred by your eye roll. "This year's different," he assured you, crossing the room to give your arm a playful squeeze. "Me and the boys have upped the stakes. The winner gets bragging rights and a sweet little prize."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what's the prize this time?" you asked, already bracing yourself for the inevitable.

Trent's eyes lit up. "It's a weekend getaway to a posh spa resort. Imagine it, babe," he said, his voice full with enthusiasm. "Just you and me, no interruptions, no training, no matches."

You couldn't help but feel a spark of interest. A weekend at a spa was something you hadn't indulged in for quite some time. "And who's doing the challenge this year?" you inquired, knowing full well that you would be the one keeping Trent honest.

"Just me, Dom, Ryan, and Harvey," Trent listed off his competitors with a grin. "But it's mainly between Dom and me, to be honest."

You sighed, knowing that Dominik was going to be the toughest competition for Trent. "Alright, you know the rules," you said, trying to hide your amusement. "No funny business for the next thirty days."

Trent nodded solemnly. "I know, I know," he said, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. "But just think of the prize, love. A whole weekend of pampering and no distractions. We can finally relax."

You couldn't argue with that. "Fine, I'll hold you to it," you said with a smirk. "But if you even think about cheating..."

"Would I ever?" Trent protested, his eyes wide and innocent. You just raised an eyebrow at him, and he chuckled, admitting defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll behave."

The first week was surprisingly easy, with Trent's focus on the bet keeping him in check. The two of you spent your evenings watching movies and playing board games, your hands brushing against each other in innocent gestures that somehow seemed more intimate than your usual passionate encounters.

But as November marched on, the tension grew. You could feel it in the way Trent's eyes lingered on you, the way his touch slightly lingered. The air in the apartment thickened with unspoken desire, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from teasing him too much. You knew how much this ridiculous challenge meant to him, and you didn't want to be the one to make him stumble.

One evening, with about four days left to go, Trent came home from training with a new haircut, the fresh scent of aftershave wafting through the door before he did. You were in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for your dinner, but you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him. His hair was buzzed closer to his scalp than it had been that morning, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the intensity in his brown eyes. Though you would deny it, you nearly dropped the knife at the sight of him.

"What do you think?" Trent asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice as he spun around to show you the full picture.

You couldn't help but stare. The clean-shaven edges of his head and the short, textured hair on top were always a favorite look of yours, but the excitement in his eyes was purely childlike. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. "Looks good," you said, your voice a little too flat. "Very clean, babe."

Trent stepped closer, leaning against the kitchen counter, his gaze trained on your reaction. "Thanks," he said, his voice a little too casual. "Thought I'd go for a change."

You could see the challenge in his eyes, the silent dare to push the boundaries of the bet. You scoffed, trying to play it cool. "Don't get too cocky," you warned him. "You've still got a few days to go."

Trent chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "Cocky?" he repeated, his smirk growing wider at the double entendre. "Now why would you say that?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your expression neutral as you continued to prep dinner. "Because you know it's going to be hard to resist," you said, your voice low. "Especially looking like that."

Trent pushed himself off the counter and sauntered over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. "Is that so?" he murmured, his breath warm on your neck as he peered over your shoulder. His fingers danced across your waist, making your heart flutter despite your resolve to keep things PG for the next few days.

"Trent, don't," you chided, swatting his hand away, but not before you felt the electricity of his touch zipping through your body. You turned to face him, your desire shimmering in your eyes despite your stern expression. "You're making this impossible."

"Impossible?" he said with a cheeky smile, his thumb brushing the side of your face. "You know you want to." His voice was a low murmured tease that sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the smell of his fresh shower gel and the sight of his toned arms flexing as he leaned against the counter was making it increasingly difficult. "I've been helping you remember?" you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

"Ah, but what's the fun in that?" Trent whispered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, it can stay our secret?"

You knew you should be the voice of reason, but his touch was making your knees weak, and the way he looked at you with that cocky grin had your mind racing. You stepped back, trying to create some distance, but the kitchen was small, and he followed you, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

"Trent," you protested, even as she felt yourself melting into his embrace. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch, your body craving his warmth.

He kissed your neck, his lips lingering on your sensitive skin. "Come on, love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "One little slip won't hurt."

Your resolve was wavering. The smell of him, the heat of his body, and the promise in his eyes were too tempting. "Trent," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't. You'll lose the bet."

Trent leaned in closer, his mouth finding yours in a gentle but urgent kiss. "It's okay. I don't care anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I just need you."

You felt the last of your resolve crumbling. You pushed away the guilt that tried to surface. After all, it was just one time. And you had missed him, more than you would like to admit. "Fine," you whispered, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. "But you better make it worth it."

With a growl of victory, Trent swept you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom, leaving the chopped vegetables forgotten on the kitchen counter. He laid you gently on the bed, his hands tracing the curves of your body with a hunger that had been building for weeks. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Your kisses grew more urgent, your hands more explorative. Trent peeled off your sweater, revealing your bare chest, a silent invitation that hadn't gone unnoticed. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching in his throat. Your pulse quickened, the anticipation of his touch making your skin prickle with excitement. He kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as he untied your sweats and slid them off your legs.

Trent's strong hands roamed your body, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. You reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head with an eagerness that surprised you. His skin was warm and smooth, the muscles of his chest tightening under your palms.

You rolled over the bed, a tangle of limbs and passion, the intensity of your kisses matching the urgency in your movements. You felt the heat of his erection pressing against your center, and you moaned softly, your arousal growing. Trent kissed a trail down your body, his teeth grazing your skin, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer as he nibbled at your skin, teasing and suckling until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers finding your wetness, and you arched your back, your breath hitching in response. He chuckled darkly against your skin, knowing just how much it drove you crazy.

Trent took his time, savoring every inch of your body as if it were his first time. His touch was both gentle and demanding, leaving you gasping for more. You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips when he slipped a finger inside you, stroking you in a rhythm that had your hips moving in sync. Your legs fell open wider, giving him full access as he kissed and licked his way down your body.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the occasional sound of skin against skin. Your thoughts swirled in a haze of desire, your body responding to Trent's every touch with an urgency that had been building for weeks. You could feel the tension coiling within you, tightening with every stroke and kiss.

Trent paused, his eyes locking with yours as he reached for his shorts. Your chest heaved with anticipation, your heart racing at the thought of what was to come. He hovered over you, his gaze filled with a mix of need and love.

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his erection nudging at your entrance. Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed in, the sensation of being filled by him almost too much to bear. He groaned, his muscles tensing as he buried himself deep inside you. The two of you moved together, your rhythm a dance you had perfected over the years you had been together. Each thrust brought a wave of pleasure that crashed over you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the bed sheets.

Trent moaned into your ear, his voice a mix of passion and affection that sent shivers down your spine. "You feel so good," he murmured, his breath hot and ragged. You responded with moans of pleasure, your body arching to meet his as the tension grew tauter. The room was a cocoon of passion, the rest of the world outside your window forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Baby," you whispered, your voice a soft plea as the tension coiled tighter within you. Trent's rhythm grew more urgent, his breaths shallow and ragged against your skin. The heady scent of your combined arousal filled the room, a silent testament to your shared need.

"Yeah? Tell me what you need, pretty girl," Trent's voice was strained as he moved above you, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort to hold himself up.

Your nails raked down his back as he brought your legs up around his waist, changing the angle and driving even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt the orgasm building, the heat pooling in your core. "Please," you begged, your voice barely audible.

Trent kissed you again, his movements growing more frantic as he felt you tighten around him. He knew you were close, and the knowledge spurred him on. "Come on, baby," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "What do you need, love?"

"Harder," you gasped, your eyes wide with desire. "Please, T. Harder."

Trent complied, his strokes becoming more forceful, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. Your breathing grew ragged, and your eyes squeezed shut as the wave of pleasure built, threatening to consume you. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, and you knew that with one more push, you would be over.

"Now, baby," Trent whispered, his voice a mix of command and desperation. And with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through your body like a storm. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you clenched around him. The intensity of your climax took you by surprise, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Trent followed closely behind, his own release crashing over him like a wave. He buried his face in your neck, his breaths coming in heavy pants against your skin. You felt him pulse inside you, the sensation sending aftershocks of pleasure through your core. Your hand gently fluttered over the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck, your touch soothing his panting breaths.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the distant murmur of the city below. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, knowing that Trent had just failed to win the bet. But as Trent rolled off you, pulling you close, you pushed the thought aside. For now, you would revel in the warmth of his embrace, the feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath.

Trent leaned in and kissed your forehead gently. "Worth it?" he whispered, a smug smile playing on his lips.

Your head shook but you couldn't help but laugh. "You're such a tease," you huffed, your voice still shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm.

"Couldn't resist," Trent said with a grin, his chest still heaving. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. "Besides, it's not a big deal anyway. Dom gave up this morning."

Your eyes widened in shock. "What?" you exclaimed, pushing yourself up to look at him. "You mean you could've..."

Trent nodded, his cheeky grin growing wider. "Could've," he confirmed, "but I had to make it good. For the prize, obviously."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. "Trent," you said, shoving weakly at his chest. "I felt so guilty."

Trent chuckled, kissing your forehead again. "It's alright, love," he assured you. "I think we've been good for long enough."

You sighed, a mix of relief and annoyance crossing your face. "I guess. But you could've told me sooner," you pouted, snuggling closer to his warmth.

Trent shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?" He leaned in, kissing your cheek. "Besides, we both know I was going to win anyway." His voice was full of good-natured arrogance, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes, even as you felt a warmth spread through your chest at his confidence.

The tension of the past few weeks dissipated into the comfortable silence that had become a familiar blanket between you. Your mind raced with what you could say to scold him, but the feeling of his strong arms around you, his heart beating steady and strong against your chest, was too comforting to let go.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x reader #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander x you #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold imagine #taa x reader #football imagine #liverpool fc #footballer imagine #taa imagine #taa66

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