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thehaemanthus · 2 years ago

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Haves and Have-nots

SURPRISE turns out when I have deadlines I’m really good about writing quickly

Wrote this for @azrielshadowssing ‘s ACOTAR Writing Circle. This is part one of a Modern AU Feysand fic, to be continued by different writers for part two and part three. Can’t wait to see what others do with this!

Enjoy!

Feyre hissed a sharp note as her elbow knocked into a cup of paintbrushes. Firing off curses under her breath, she quickly straightened the cup and dumped the paintbrushes back in before shoving it on the nearest unoccupied space on her shelf.

Scrambling across the room— and tripping on the drop cloth she’d laid out— Feyre slammed her hand on her phone to check the time.

They were going to start arriving any minute.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she continued to mumble obscenities. It didn’t help her cleaning speed, but it did make her feel better.

Frantic hands hastily capped paints and shoved brushes out of sight. Feyre carefully toted her easel and half-finished creation to a corner, making sure it faced away from the one room studio. The drop cloth was a crumpled mess, missing the crisp corners and lines it usually received when Feyre folded it up. She had time to take her brushes to the sink before the irritating scream of the buzzer signaled her time was up. She hustled to the front door of her apartment, buzzing the anticipated guest up and unlocking her front door before sprinting back to the sink. Then she sprinted to the window and shoved it open a grand total of five inches, each of which was a hard fought battle that the window screeched through.

It would be fine. This was fine. Finish cleaning, get out the snacks, act like she was tastefully and intentionally unprepared to host this movie night that she had been obsessing over for a week now.

“Feyre, love!”

The tension that squeezed Feyre’s heart released. That was the power of Mor’s voice, that was how warm and welcoming it sounded.

“Hey!” she tossed over her shoulder, rushing to finish cleaning her brushes. “How was your week?”

“Dreadful,” Mor slid next to Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “So many meetings. Why didn’t you save me, Feyre?”

“I like this extra affection,” she joked through the burning blush on her face. Mor was a very attractive woman and Feyre was not immune. “What did I do to deserve it?”

“It’s a down payment,” Mor said. “So that next time, you’ll come up with some reason to need me and I can skip my meetings.”

“I think you secretly like sitting at the head of a table and being in charge,” Ferye said. “No matter how much you complain.”

“Please, Feyre, I don’t sit at the head of the table unless I’m dealing with the male investors and I need to stake my claim.” Mor tossed her hair over her shoulder. On anyone else it would look overdone and cliche, but no gesture or look on Mor was ever anything but perfect.

“You’re done with those stuffy quarterly meetings though, right?” Feyre dried her brushes on a rag. “Back to the real work next week.”

“Hm, we have that meeting on the new product branding,” Mor leaned back out of Feyre’s space. “Are you getting to sit in on that?”

“I am.” Feyre couldn’t help the proud grin. She was just a team member, just another graphic designer for Mor’s growing empire, but she got to sit in on this big meeting. A year ago, Feyre never would have seen where she ended up. Even more shocking— that Mor would some day end up in her dinky little studio apartment.

She hadn’t expected to strike up a friendship with Mor, but somehow it had happened. Two months after graduating, she ended up at Mor’s tiny start up. A year later, and things were no longer so tiny. But their humble beginnings had made everyone close, and for some reason, Mor had been especially taken with Feyre.

“Can I help with anything?” Mor asked as Feyre finished drying her hands.

“Um…let me get out some bowls and snacks, and you can help put it all out.” Feyre darted around the small kitchen, bringing out the grocery bags of cookies, chips, and candy she had purchased for movie night. Certainly a dent in her budget, but a worthwhile one.

Mor tore open a bag of chips and poured them into a bowl. “You got a lot.”

Feyre busied herself with setting out the snacks, avoiding Mor’s gaze. “I like to…know I did a good job.”

“I know,” Mor said. “There’s enough here to make everyone happy. Now come on, I know Cassian said he’d bring the projector and screen, but we can move some stuff around before then.”

The only reason Feyre scored on hosting this movie night was because of the studio apartment. Just big enough to prop up a big screen, lay out some rugs, and lounge in a pile like they were at a sleepover. Cassian was bringing the projector and screen, and everyone had said they would bring blankets and pillows, so all Feyre was really providing was the space and the snacks.

She only hoped it all went right. She liked these people that Mor had introduced her to. The youngest, Tarquin, was still three years older than her. At 22, almost 23, Feyre often felt naive and clueless.

And it wasn’t just her age. It was who she was and who they were.

Mor had her own company, started with money and the connections she had from her family. Others owned their own businesses or held high-power jobs, sat on boards of directors or managed massive inheritances.

And then there was Feyre and her studio apartment on the edge of the city. Fresh out of college and vowing never to get another roommate unless the alternative was being unhoused, it could take upwards of an hour to reach her new friends at their apartments, townhomes, the fancy restaurants they didn’t need reservations for, and the exotic coffee shops they always wanted to meet at.

Sometimes it felt like Feyre had fallen into a dream and couldn’t wake up. Sometimes it felt like a nightmare.

Slowly, guests trickled in and her studio was transformed into a giant slumber party. Feyre scrambled to make sure everyone was comfortable. She handed Azriel a pack of Cadbury chocolate buttons she got just for him because he didn’t like sharing his chocolate, then monitored the microwave as several bags of popcorn rotated through. When Amren arrived, she made sure the older woman had a wine glass in her hand, and she kept Cressida’s gluten-free cookies set aside until she showed up.

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” Cressida beamed. “How nice! I brought my own snacks but…”

“Oh,” Feyre deflated. What, Cressida didn’t think she could be a good host?

“No, no, this looks so much better!” Cressida grabbed the box of cookies and sauntered to the growing pile of pillows on top of Feyre’s rug. At the far end of the room, Cassian and Mor were snapping at each other as they tried to get the projector set up.

She did a quick headcount. Everyone was present and accounted for. Well, those who were able to make it, anyway.

“Ready to start?” Feyre’s voice rose in an attempt to be heard over the din.

“Not yet!” Mor waved a hand, eyes glued to her phone. “Rhys will be here in ten minutes!”

Several emotions competed for space in Feyre’s head. A bit of shock, panic, joy, and dread.

Cressida perked up. “I thought he was out all week?”

“Just got back a few hours ago.” Mor waved a hand. “It was one of those fancy retreats where they talk and eat and drink more than they work.”

“Don’t you know, that’s called networking, Mor,” Cassian snickered.

“The point is,” Mor said. “Rhys will be here soon.”

Rhys would be here soon. Rhys was coming. To Feyre’s small little studio. The ten minutes rushed by much too quickly, and then he was there.

“It’s movie night, not a happy hour—”

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“Sit, sit— no, you idiot, take off your shoes first!”

“Where’s the remote—?”

“Rhys, your shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection.”

Feyre stood on the edge of the mess, watching as everyone greeted Rhysand. He welcomed their affection with an easy smile, obediently removing his shoes like Mor wanted and folding himself to sit down. He was out of place in his gray button up and slacks, made just slightly casual with rolled up sleeves and a few buttons undone.

“I dropped off my bags at home and came straight here,” Rhys explained.

“Mor, what favor did you trade to get him to come?” Azriel asked.

“No favor,” Rhys said. “No convincing needed. I’m happy to be here.”

Sure. Happy to be in Feyre’s small apartment, sitting on the floor, after days in one of the most luxurious resorts in the world, talking to people who made more money in a month than Feyre did in years.

“Ready!” Her voice was a little too loud, but she didn’t let that stop her from starting the movie, getting settled, then handing a bowl of popcorn to Rhys.

“Thank you, Feyre darling,” Rhys grinned. “And thank you for inviting us—”

“Shh!”

Feyre shared a grin with Rhys. She was captivated by him until he broke the staring contest. While Rhys watched the movie and threw a handful of popcorn into his mouth, Feyre watched out of the corner of her eye. God, even the way he chewed was attractive.

She would not be surprised if everyone was clued into her massive crush by now. It started out as annoying attraction— a man too pretty for his own good. Then Feyre actually talked with him, and she could feel that attraction grow into something more dangerous.

But she maintained control of her rational mind. It was fine to have a crush. Healthy and normal. She knew nothing would, could ever come out of it. Rhys was seven years her senior and out of her league.

A harmless crush, one that was embarrassing should anyone ever mention it. But Feyre would get over it one day.

One day, she would be able to sit next to him in the dark, watch a movie, and retain what was on screen. But when the movie was done and the lights flickered on, grumbles and stretches and plans for the next meet-up floating in the air, Feyre found she hadn’t really enjoyed the movie at all. She had just thought about Rhys.

Her friends gathered their things and helped clean up. She pushed them out of her house, insisting that she could handle it herself. It was late, they needed to get home, Rhys had just come back from a flight that day and needed to rest. The offers for help and cajoling flew back and forth for ten minutes as Feyre worked to empty her home.

Soon, Feyre thought she had gotten everyone on their way. But when the door closed and the sink was running in the kitchen, she realized she missed a person.

Rhys washed the dishes silently, without complaint.

“Oh— Rhys, you don’t have to…” Feyre scrambled over. “Really, it’s fine. Leave it.”

He smiled at her. “I’ll wash, you dry and put away.”

“You should get home,” Feyre insisted. “You must have had a long day.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugged. “Slept a bit on the plane. It’s nice to stand and be a little active.”

He wasn’t stopping, and Feyre couldn’t move him. So she dried the dishes and put them away as he washed.

When she was on the last of the bowls, he gently touched her lower back. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.” He brushed past her to her bathroom.

Feyre finished cleaning the kitchen. Tomorrow she’d do her chores, sweeping and mopping, dusting, there was a load of laundry to do…

“What’s this?”

Rhys’s voice blended into the sound of the city at night— sirens and people talking, cars rumbling and music drifting out of windows. She spun around, watching as he turned her easel to see her work in the light.

“Oh, that’s just…” Feyre wrung her hands, stepping closer, not knowing if it was to explain or to gently remove his hands and hide her painting once more. “Um. A small project.”

“Looks great.”

“Yeah, it’s almost done,” she shrugged. “Just uh, something for fun.”

It was more than that. Feyre didn’t know why she concealed the truth.

The painting was based on a family photo, a loose retelling of a depressing story. The photo was crisp and clean, showcasing lifeless smiles and leeched personality. Feyre, Elain, Nesta; three young girls molded into identical shapes for this occasion. Their mother, ice cold and beautiful, and their father, prideful.

Feyre did not remember the day they took that picture, standing in front of their new home before the housewarming party.

“Your family, right?” Rhys murmured. “Mor told me that your mother passed when you were young.”

“That’s the last picture we took all together before she died,” Feyre nodded at the canvas. “Well no— obviously that’s not the picture. I meant, the painting is based on the picture.”

“Based on, but not the same,” Rhys said softly, still staring at the canvas.

“Yeah.” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself, shielding something vital. “How could you tell?”

“I don’t think any parent would accept this as the finished product,” he chuckled. “You don't look very happy.”

“No.” Feyre smiled. “I remember really hating that dress.” But that’s only part of it.

Rhys hummed. “You look like you were a stubborn child.”

Feyre tilted her head back and forth, noncommittal. “I didn’t act the way my mother wanted me to act.”

“And your sisters?”

Elain looked like a doll. If they all looked slightly lifeless in the photograph, Elain was completely dead in the painting. Stripped of her own personhood as a child, she had to grow and come into her own. Nesta, on the other hand, looked mean. An outsider would think her cruel. Feyre knew that her oldest sister was just fierce, and it took time, maturity, and experience to learn how to channel her fire away from the undeserving.

“We were all…different people,” Feyre sighed. “I don’t know. I tried to capture how I felt during that time, who I thought everyone was. It seemed more honest. I look at that photo, and…I used to think I should feel more, you know? That’s the last picture I took with my mom because she didn’t want to take pictures when she was sick. But I couldn’t feel anything about it because it felt fake. So…I thought if I tried to paint it, show a little more honesty…I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Rhys finally took his gaze from the unfinished work, smiling at Feyre. “I think it’s pretty brave.”

She didn’t expect that. “Cool”, maybe, said in a way when someone didn’t quite know what word to use. “Interesting”, to show that it wasn’t his style but he could appreciate it.

But brave?

“Like I said, just a little project.” Feyre uncrossed her arms, walking to the front door. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

“Do you paint often?” Rhys asked, taking his sweet time in joining her.

“When I can,” she shrugged. “I am lucky to have a job where I get to flex creative muscle every day, but my thing was always painting.”

He hummed. “Do you do commissions?”

Feyre laughed. “It’s just a hobby, Rhys.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I’d paint for friends,” she said. “No payment necessary.”

“Good to know.” Rhys finally opened the door, casting one last look at the painting before sliding out of her apartment. “Goodnight, Feyre darling.”

“Good night.” ~*~

It was the “Feyre darling” that started the crush.

Slipped out when Feyre was still new, still an outsider, she had first found it insulting. Infantilizing and rude, since they barely knew each other. Rhys figured out it annoyed her, and that only made him whip out the nickname more.

Then it stuck. Then Feyre paid attention. “Feyre darling” became less mocking and more affectionate.

A nice nickname, an inside joke between friends. Rhys would not be whispering it in her ear or saying it with tenderness.

Rhysand was turning 30 soon, and he had a full time job and promotions under his belt and property he owned. Feyre was 23 and in her first full time position and making spreadsheets to budget every month and hope to tuck away some money into a meager savings account. She had to ask HR how a 401k worked.

A harmless crush that would pass, that’s all it was. In the meantime, Feyre focused on being a good friend.

The next time everyone met was when Mor hosted one of her dinner parties— complete with a nice tablecloth (and a table large enough to fit them all), pretty plates, a separate salad fork and dinner fork, and wine pairings. Mor catered from exclusive restaurants, treating guests to a rotating variety of cuisine.

Feyre arrived early to help set up, rubbing her chilled nose as the elevator brought her up to Mor’s floor. The weather wasn’t cold yet, but it was turning nippy. The elevator ride up was long enough to get her mostly defrosted, and the warmth in Mor’s apartment finished off the job.

Large windows gave a magnificent view of the city. At night, staring out at the thousands of lights was mesmerizing, and during the day Feyre could spend an hour just observing all the life happening down below. Inside, Mor had furnished her apartment with warm colors and clean lines.

They chatted as they expanded Mor’s massive dinner table, adding in a piece in the middle and chairs to the ends.

“So,” Feyre started. “I have a question for you.”

“As long as it’s not about work.”

“It’s not,” Feyre said. “I need a picture of Rhys’s family.”

She hadn’t missed the way Rhys looked at her painting, or the way he asked if she did commissions. Rhys was intrigued by the idea of turning a photo into a nice painting, and his birthday was fast approaching.

While others might get him nice gifts, a new expensive watch or tickets to some high-culture show, Feyre had less to work with. She could spring for some nice oils and a new canvas though.

Mor set down her stack of dishes, giving Feyre her full attention. “Why?”

“When everyone was over for movie night, he saw this piece I was working on,” Feyre said, explaining the concept and Rhys’s interest. At the end, Mor loosened up a bit. “So, yeah, I think it would be a good birthday gift.”

“I think he would like it,” Mor said. “He would appreciate that you put so much time and effort into creating something. But…how much do you know about Rhys’s parents and sister?”

“Nothing,” she freely admitted. “Other than they’ve all passed.”

Mor nodded slowly. “Your personal project is focused on revealing…truths, I guess. Are you going to attempt the same with Rhys?”

“I’ll try,” she shrugged. “But it’s not personal, so it’s not the same.”

“Right,” Mor hummed. “Well. I’ll say this. Rhys’s parents did love each other, very much. But his father was always focused on legacy and security for the family, so much so that I think he missed a lot of what was right in front of him. They went through a lot of passionate ups and downs, but it seemed like things could have been settling when Rhys’s sister was born. I remember going to their house and feeling like something changed. But then…”

“They died,” Feyre completed the thought.

Mor nodded. “Rhys…obviously it still hurts, but he’s in a good place now.”

“Do you think he’d appreciate the portrait?” Feyre worried.

“I think so,” she shrugged. “Try and take his temperature today. If you think you can pull it off, I’ll send you a picture.”

They dropped the conversation to finish preparing. Feyre obediently dished out food into pretty platters, finishing up with putting together the salad when the guests started to arrive.

Around Feyre, conversations about planning exotic holiday vacations, the latest fluctuations of the stock market, gossip about the family everyone else knew, and insider knowledge about the passage of some labor bill shot back and forth.

It would be easier to be jealous of these people if they were anything but kind.

The first time Mor introduced Feyre to some of her friends— just Cassian and Amren— Feyre had almost run away. Amren had complained about her trip to Austria, and Cassian had bemoaned the black-tie event he had to attend and the tuxedo he would have to dust off.

She hadn’t expected a deep conversation to happen right there, middle of the day, lunch at a trendy restaurant. But somehow the topic had come up, and she learned that she and Cassian had more in common than she originally thought.

Obviously, Feyre had been wary about judging a book by its cover ever since then.

Plenty of people in this group were born with silver spoons in their mouth, that was true. But, blessedly, they were aware of it.

“Oh no, you don’t want that,” Helion found Feyre at the wet bar, looking through bottles of wine. “It has an expensive price tag, but it’s not worth it. Try this one.”

“Thanks.” Feyre waited as Helion poured the dark red into a glass, just a bit for her to taste. “Not bad.”

“Amren will tell you it has notes of cherry,” Helion shrugged. “It takes a real snob to detect that, I think.”

Said the man who owned a stable of horses upstate.

Feyre poured herself more wine, letting the warmth flood her senses and fill her with confidence. She had a goal for tonight. If she backed off now, it would be too easy to let it go.

She lingered near the drinks, hoping for the chance to spring her trap. Any moment, Mor would announce the start of dinner and they would have to take their seats.

Rhys wandered over, reaching for the jug of water, and Feyre stepped forward. “Hey, Rhys,”

“Feyre, how are you?” he smiled, pouring himself water and then facing her.

Step one, complete.

“Enjoying the cooler weather,” she said. “But I know that in a couple of months, I’ll be saying the exact opposite.”

“Not a fan of winter?” Rhys asked.

“Not a fan of the cold.” Inescapable, penetrating cold. Memories of little to no heat and numb toes. “My birthday is in the winter, so…it’s not all bad.”

“Right,” Rhys said. “December 21.”

“Yup.” She tried not to smile too broadly when she realized Rhys knew when her birthday was. “And…you’re November…?”

“Sh!” He hissed, but the exaggerated way he looked around told her it was mostly comical. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of my birthday.”

Feyre’s head tilted in confusion. “Mor is your cousin— how can you hide your birthday from her?”

“They all know when my birthday is,” Rhys said. “I just don’t want to remind them.”

“Scared of turning thirty?” Feyre teased.

“No, aging is a gift,” he said with unexpected sincerity. “Just…don’t like inconveniencing people.”

Something shuttered on his face, but Feyre couldn’t probe into it. She didn’t have the time. Later. She might get that chance to ask another time, who knows?

“Well,” she tried to be relaxed, but the way she gripped her wine glass probably was giving away her nerves. “I’d like to make you a gift. And before you say anything, it would not be an inconvenience! It would be something I want to do.”

“Oh, Feyre, you really don't—”

“I insist!” She plowed forward, though was mindful to keep her voice down. Rhys didn’t want people knowing, so she could respect that. “You asked if I do commissions— and when people ask that they are interested. So I’m going to paint you something.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Do I get to know what it is?”

“I’d like it to be a surprise,” Feyre said truthfully. “But I also don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“I really don’t care what it is,” Rhys said without hesitation. “I’m sure I’ll appreciate whatever you make.”

Feyre bit her lip, trying to think of a way to phrase her question without giving it away. “Well…I don’t know. I asked Mor what she thought—”

“Then I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, looking away for a moment when someone called his name.

She panicked just a bit. “Rhys, I should just ask—”

“Feyre,” he interrupted gently. “Really. Don’t worry about it so much.”

“This is a painting for you,” Feyre pointed out. “I could misinterpret horribly…”

“If you need direction, you can ask Mor.” Done with the conversation, Rhys backed away. “But I’m interested in your vision, Feyre darling.”

Well. That was as definite an answer as she was likely to get. The next day, Mor sent over the photograph.

~*~

There was a strange balancing act in creating this kind of art.

The piece had to be revealing and poignant— there was a message there, and it needed to be expressed. But too obviously, to gaudy or in your face, and it could not be appreciated.

The depth needed to be in the detail. Feyre aimed to create something that was pleasant to look at upon a glance and beautiful to meditate on. She did ask Mor about Rhys’s family, just wanting to know enough to not offend.

The hand that Rhys’s father laid on his wife’s shoulder had a tighter grip, just a bit exaggerated from the photo. His little sister got a twinkle in her eye, a tilt in her head that screamed innocence and just a hint of something impish. Rhys’s stance changed, from perfectly upright and still to something more dynamic, feet positioned as if ready to keep moving. And his mother got some imperfections, flyaway hairs and an uneven posture as she leaned just a little bit closer to her daughter. Her smile grew, crinkling her eyes.

Feyre added movement, added some life that didn’t exist when everyone was trying to look their best for a fancy photo. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. There was a story happening.

The next time everyone crammed together, it was at Rhys's townhome for game night. Monopoly and Catan were banned, as they took much too long and created some extreme emotion, but Battleship, Cards Against Humanity, Clue, and Uno (with some crazy house rules) were some of the approved offerings.

Feyre shrieked in laughter and playfully booed, sampling a few of the games with a rotating cast of opponents and participating as a spectator in lulls. When the pizza arrived, everyone broke to grab a slice.

“I can’t believe we won’t be able to do a Halloween party,” Cressida bemoaned. “When’s the next time everyone is going to be in town? What’s the next excuse to get together?”

“Thanksgiving?” Helion offered.

It was probably Rhys’s birthday, but Feyre kept her mouth shut. So did Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.

Cressida didn’t get that memo. “Huh, maybe…wait no! Rhys! Your birthday!”

He accepted the attention with a smile. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” She was close enough to playfully slap his shoulder. “It’s in just a few weeks! What are we doing?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t have any plans.”

“Oh no,” Cressida gasped like it was the worst thing in the world. “But you’re turning thirty!”

Helion laughed. “No need to remind the man, Cress.”

“You’re older than all of us, you shouldn’t be making fun of anyone’s age,” she shot back. “But really, Rhys. No plans?”

“Nah,” he shrugged.

Cressida huffed. “Is no one else bothered by this?”

Silenced greeted her. Feyre was giving her own present, and it was a private thing that she would most likely present to him when they were not in a group setting. She was sure that Rhys would probably do a quiet family thing at home with Mor, Cassian, and Azriel, maybe Amren too.

“Unbelievable,” she rolled her eyes. “I bet you all forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” Azriel said. “I already have a gift in mind.”

“It’s a 30th birthday! You have to do something more fun than just a gift!” Cressida said.

Tarquin shrugged. “It’s a little late to plan now. I’m sure if Rhys had wanted something big, he would have said.”

“Please, it’s Rhys,” Cressida snapped. “And it’s not too late. I already have an idea and I can put it together.”

“Do I get to know?” Rhys asked. “It is my birthday, after all.”

“We’re spending a long weekend at the family beach house,” Cressida announced.

Ferye frowned. “Isn’t it a little cold for a beach vacation?”

“It’ll be fine,” Cressida waved a hand, already scrolling through her phone.

Mor cleared her throat. “The beach house is in Turks and Caicos.”

Oh.

“I’ll get the staff to prepare the house,” Cressida murmured. “We’ll have catering for a party, but for those of us staying at the house I’ll have to make sure the staff does grocery shopping…”

“Free beach vacation? I’m in.” Cassian said.

Cressida pointed at Cassian. “That’s the spirit! It’s Rhys’s birthday! It’s a milestone! Let’s make it fun! I’ll book a DJ and put together a guest list for one night, and that can be the larger party, but the rest of the time it’ll be just us. Mor, you still have that guest list from the summer picnic, right? They’ll all be able to fly out for a weekend.”

“This is too generous, Cress,” Rhys interjected with a polite smile.

“No way,” she put her hand on his arm. “Not for you.”

Something curdled in Feyre’s stomach. She looked away, but the sight that greeted her wasn’t much better. Amren and Varian were looking at his phone, seeming to be searching for flights. All the faces were of mild interest.

“It might be a lot, but it’ll be worth it.” Cressida turned back to her phone. “Right, I need food, I need to contact the staff, we’ll have to coordinate flights and rides…and I’ll need to go shopping. Mor, what was that name of the boutique you were talking about? The appointment-only one, I know it’s late notice but do you think they could fit me in?”

“Cress, it’s winter, they won’t have bikinis…”

Feyre sipped her cider, then rose to throw away her empty plate. The rest of them could talk about their fun plans. She would not be participating.

She didn’t have the money to fly out of the country for a long weekend, especially not with little more than a month's notice. Not to mention the vacation time. The only people who would be able to do such an insane thing were her insanely rich friends.

She knew Cressida wasn’t purposefully excluding her. Feyre was a newer friend, not even that close to her, and Cressida probably never had to make those accommodations.

Hell, Cressida probably didn’t even include Feyre in the invitation. It would be beyond generous to open her home to someone she didn’t really know that well.

Feyre tried to mollify herself as she darted to the bathroom. So she wasn’t participating in this fun. That was fine. She had her own way of celebrating Rhys’s birthday, and that was enough. And if she had to take an extra few minutes in the bathroom to get her emotions under control, well, that was just healthy and mature.

She meandered down the hall, hoping that the conversation had moved on and she could convince Azriel for a rematch at Battleship.

“...it’s really a lot, Cress,”

“You deserve it.”

It was rude to eavesdrop. Feyre should have just keep walking. But she didn’t move out of the hall, keeping to the shadows and out of sight from the bright kitchen.

Rhys’s laugh seemed a little forced.

“I mean it,” Cressida’s voice was so low Feyre almost didn’t catch it. “If you had it your way, you would stay at home for your birthday and return any gifts. This is the compromise.”

“Well, at least you are talking about it with me,” Rhys sighed. “I hate when people push their ideas on me.”

“Who would push themselves on you?”

“Happens more often than you’d think,” his voice was just a bit strained. “It just… reminds me of my dad railroading me, or pretending he was giving me options when he was really just trying to force me into accepting his decision. He didn’t understand that what was important to him wasn’t important to me”

“Well, the vacation is mandatory,” Cressida said. “The itinerary is on the negotiating table.”

“Thanks for the transparency,” Rhys answered. “I really didn’t want any surprises though…”

Feyre heard enough. She slipped into the living room and tried to forget the conversation.

Logically, she knew that Rhys was not talking about her and her gift. But she also realized that she might be doing exactly what Rhys just said he despised. She didn’t take his no for an answer when he said she didn’t have to do anything for his birthday. She took something she cared about— her art— and assumed Rhys would care. She even hedged on telling him what the painting was.

Oh God, the painting included his father. Mor said Rhys had a rocky relationship with him, but that was true disdain Feyre had heard…what had she done?

She was in a trance for the rest of the evening, going through the motions and forcing smiles. Blessedly, everyone was so consumed with party planning that Feyre flew under the radar.

“I’m going to head out,” Feye announced when she had enough. Cressida, in the interest of being transparent, asked who could help cover costs and started rattling off astronomical numbers. No one said it, but being able to cover the cost of the music or food or chip in for a fun excursion suddenly felt like the price of admission.

“I should get going too.” Just her luck, it was Cressida that spoke up.

Feyre kept her attention on her phone, wincing at the price of getting an Uber. Subway it was, then. She tugged on her coat and said her goodbyes, ready to be done with the night. Feyre hustled outside, hands in her pockets to keep them warm as she walked towards the nearest station.

“Feyre!”

She resisted grinding her teeth together and turned around, a pleasant expression plastered on her face. “What’s up?”

Cressida stalked closer. “Where are you going?”

“Um,” she looked around, as if that would provide clarity to the question. “Home?”

Cressida rolled her eyes. “You’re taking the subway.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?” Feyre gaped.

“You’re not taking the subway alone at this time of night,” Cressida said. “I can’t believe Rhys would let you leave his home without offering a ride.”

Rhys knew better than to try and control Feyre. And he probably was busy planning his fancy birthday vacation.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve done it before—”

“Come on,” the other woman turned away, expecting Feyre to follow. “I’ll drop you off.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist!” Cressida unlocked her car, opening the passenger door open like a chauffeur. “Get in.”

“You live in the opposite direction,” Feyre backed away. “It doesn’t make any sense—”

“You live so far, it’ll be faster for me to drop you off than to take the subway,” Cressida pointed out. “Just get into the car, Feyre, don’t be so stubborn.”

She hated taking the offered favor. But it would be faster and more comfortable to go with Cressida.

Feyre got into the car.

If Cressida thought it was awkward, she didn’t say anything. The low volume of her music filled the air, quiet enough to hold a conversation if they desired.

Ferye really didn’t want to talk. Cressida, though, obviously wanted the exact opposite. “Are you getting anything for Rhys?”

“Um,” she hesitated. Her gift suddenly seemed so silly. But the longer she was silent, the more suspicious it would seem. “I was going to paint something for him.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Cressida said one thing, but her tone said something different.

Feyre sat up a little straighter, defensive. “What?”

“I don’t see Rhys as an art guy,” she shrugged, conveniently avoiding Feyre’s gaze and keeping her eyes on the road. “I mean, sure, he might kind of like it. But he’s not like Amren, right? He’s not going to gallery showings and stuff, he’d buy something to hang on his wall from Crate and Barrel.”

“Well…I’m glad I can give him something nice then.” Maybe. Her great idea seemed less and less ingenious by the minute, but Ferye could salvage something. Some sort of pretty, but meaningless piece to hang in a hall. She didn’t have any other ideas.

“Oh no, I don’t mean to discourage you!” Cressida said. “Really! I know you care about your work, and I can tell that you would put so much of yourself in it. And I’ve seen some of your stuff, you’re really good. I’m just one opinion.”

Feyre swallowed roughly. “But you don't think it’s a good idea.”

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I just don’t want to see you hurt when Rhys doesn’t react the way you might want him to. It’s Rhys, he’ll appreciate the gift of course. But it’s…ugh, how do I put this? Helion is arranging a private tour of an observatory because Rhys is a nerd obsessed with space. Mor is probably going to set aside a day for them to spend together and reminisce on childhood memories. And I want to give him a vacation because he always works so hard and literally never takes a moment for himself.”

“And my gift…” Feyre could barely speak. “Doesn’t matter as much.”

“It matters,” Cressida shot a glance at Ferye. “It does, because it matters to you. But don’t project that onto Rhys. Like I said, he’ll appreciate it, but I don’t want to see you get hurt because he doesn’t seem to care or like it as much as you might anticipate.”

Thankfully, they were only five minutes away from her apartment. Enough time for Feyre to fall silent in quiet contemplation, a late night a good excuse for the murmur of thanks and quick retreat when Cressida dropped her off.

As soon as she was out of the car, icy wind pierced her shields. Feyre’s throat tightened as she hustled into her building, pounding up the stairs. By the time she was through the door, she was well and truly humiliated.

Her phone chimed. Feyre automatically glanced at it and then wished she hadn’t.

Good appointment with orthopedic surgeon. Elain’s text read. Identified a problem, Dad will need more physical therapy, but they’re hopeful it’ll lessen the pain.

Nesta’s reply appeared. Send the bill, we’ll split it three ways. How many weeks of therapy?

Idk, at least 8 I think.

Feyre sagged, falling against the closed door. She and her sisters were getting by now, but their dad’s medical bills always put a strain on all three of them.

Definitely no vacations, or even trips to fun cafes, or going to see a new movie in her future. Not for a while. She took a deep breath, already thinking about her spreadsheets, then looked up.

The unfinished portrait taunted her from the corner.

She was such an idiot. Rhys might think her painting was cool, might have shown genuine interest— but that was because he was Rhys. He wouldn’t make her upset or be anything but kind, simply because Feyre was Mor’s friend.

But she wasn’t a part of his life, wasn't in the same circle. She had foolishly projected her own passions onto him, poured her soul into something that could never see the light of day again.

Grabbing a trash bag from under the sink, Feyre stalked towards the easel.

Pack it up. Get rid of it, and this entire night. She had miscalculated what to give Rhys, and quite honestly she had probably been miscalculating about her place here for a while.

She felt like a nice little pet, a charity case to be ogled by the rest of them until it was convenient to leave her behind. But that didn’t worry them, because they had been to her studio and they knew her too well, and what kind of broke 22-year-old would walk away from rich successful friends?

Feyre sniffed back tears, the product of a long week and too many bottles of cider at game night. She needed sleep. Rest, and in the morning she would be feeling less sorry for herself.

But first.

The painting stretched the plastic bag, sharp corners poking out. Feyre almost left it at her door, ready to be thrown out. But it was too obvious there, too in-her-face. She banished it under her bed instead. There, it could keep the monsters from her nightmares company and be forgotten under a layer of dust and regret.

#acotarwritingcircle #acotar #acotar fanfiction #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand

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wonderfilworld · 4 years ago

Text

Kitchen Table - F.W.

Fred Weasley x reader where they have some alone time at the burrow.

a/n: this is for a request: “Can you pleasee write a fic about fred x reader(fem) and they are at the burrow making brownies or something (lots of fluff in this part) but then it gets segsy..?”

word count: 2.4k

warnings/contains: NSFW!! smut: unprotected sex, slight mentions of exhibitionism, yeah he fucks you on his kitchen table lol; kissing; cursing; food. As always, if there’s anything I left out please let me know!

Masterlist

It was a sunny, summer day, and the majority of the Weasleys had decided to make a day trip to Diagon Alley while you and Fred opted to stay in. Staying at The Burrow meant absolutely no privacy, so when Molly asked if you wanted to join them on their outing, Fred wrapped his arms around your shoulders and politely informed his mother, I think we’ll stay here and bake brownies, mum.

Molly thought that was a lovely idea and that you should make plenty for everyone to eat for dessert tonight. So, here you and Fred are, mixing ingredients the muggle way because you insisted it’s so much better this way.

It’s a new recipe you’re trying out, the both of you wanted to do something different so you abandoned his family recipe as you copy another one you found in one of his mother’s cookbooks.

“I wonder if it tastes any good,” he says as he dips a finger in the bowl of batter and brings it to his lips. You watch as his cheeks hollow around the digit, and you raise an eyebrow as he hums, “Pretty good.”

You laugh, “Yeah?”

He nods as he dips the same finger in the batter and you scold him, “Fred, quit putting your germs in the food, everyone will be eating those.”

“I’m related to ninety-nine percent of the people in this house, one of whom has the same DNA as me, I think it’ll be fine,” he says. He gets tired of waiting for you to open your mouth, so he puts his finger on your lips and swipes the batter on them. You roll your eyes as you stick your tongue out, licking all that you can to the best of your ability.

“You missed some,” Fred tells you, but instead of bringing his hand to clean it off as you expected, he leans in and plants a kiss on your open mouth.

It’s sticky but you close your eyes anyway, bringing your hand to his face. You expected just a little peck, but what you don’t expect is to feel Fred’s tongue licking at your lips, cleaning the remnants of the brownie batter.

He pulls away, and you give him an irritated look as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Gross,” you say.

Fred snorts and dips his index and middle finger into the brownie batter once more, brings it up, and smears it across your cheek.

“Fred Weasley!” You shout, slapping his shoulder. He’s laughing now, and you can’t help but join in. “I hate you,” you say, but you both know you don’t really mean it.

He calms his laughter down as he puts a hand to your neck, “Here, let me get it for you.” He leans in, and you put a hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Don’t you dare lick me.”

Fred smirks, “You’ve never seemed to have a problem with my licking before.”

You scoff, and before you can say anything else, Fred’s tongue is licking along the trail of batter he left on your face.

You groan in annoyance before Fred leans back and grabs a towel from the counter. He uses it to clean the rest of the sticky substance off your face before saying, “There, as good as new.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t be like that.”

You shoot him a look of displeasure as you reach for the pan, “Let’s just get these finished already.” You stick them in the oven as Fred sets a timer.

“Well, well, well; how will we ever pass the time?” Fred wiggles his eyebrows at you as he removes his apron and throws it across one of the kitchen chairs. He approaches you and places his hands on your waist. “Any ideas?”

“Nope,” you say. You know what he’s insinuating, but you’d rather play oblivious. You want the same thing he does, but with the brownie batter stunt he pulled earlier, he’ll have to work for it.

“Come on, princess,” he says as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his. You wrap yours around his neck as he speaks again, “We have the whole house to ourselves for the first time in days, and you’re telling me there’s nothing you want to do?”

“I’d like to get a shower that lasts longer than ten minutes.”

“Oh, you think you’re funny?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” you retort, and you cup his face in your hands as you lean up to kiss him.

His kisses are slow and sweet at first - they always are. Fred loves the sensualness of kissing; loves the way you whine into his mouth when you want more of him. You’re already gripping his red hair between your fingers because he had a point - you haven’t really had any alone time. Fred is very physically affectionate, and the lack of physical affection he’s been getting lately has become a problem.

He breaks away from the kiss, and you’re already chasing after his lips again when he stops you, “Where’d all that attitude go, huh?”

You tug his hair and you whine, “Kiss me.”

“Princess, I’ve been waiting to get you alone for ages, ‘m gonna do a lot more than just kiss you,” Fred says as he drags his lips across your jaw. “Gonna make you feel so good, hm?”

“Please,” you whisper. You’re needy now, don’t feel like teasing anymore and you just want to have your boyfriend again - with you, on you, in you.

Fred’s lips are leaving a wet trail of kisses down the side of your neck and you tug his hair again. He leans back, looking at the way your neck glistens with his spit as he speaks, “Stop doing that,” he growls.

He reaches down and slips his hand under the waistband of your pants, fingers finding your clit as he rubs you over your panties. He can feel how wet you are, and he leans down to capture your lips once again. He kisses you for a minute or two longer before he pulls away.

He smiles to himself as he looks at you, your eyes are closed as his fingers toy with your clit. They’ve slipped under your panties now, and the feeling of his rough fingers rubbing the most sensitive part of you has you squirming. “You know, your dripping pussy doesn’t exactly scream ‘I hate you, Fred’.” He says, mimicking your disapproving tone from earlier. “But maybe that’s just me.”

He slips his middle finger into you then, thick finger stretching your cunt. You drop your mouth open and let out a quiet moan. You open your eyes and can see the way Fred watches your face as he fucks you with his finger. He takes in every time your eyes widen when he touches the spongy spot inside of you; every time you gasp when his thumb rubs your clit.

“You want it?” He questions, and you have to close your eyes again as he presses his thumb against your clit, as he pets the sensitive spot inside you. You nod your head before you lean forward to rest it on his shoulder. You watch as his fingers start to move again, can see how his hand moves beneath your pants and the sight makes you moan and your hips start to move in time with his fingers.

“Beg for my cock, baby. You gotta beg for it if you want me to give it to you.” He says, and his fingers speed up, and he can feel the way your cunt tightens around them.

Maybe it’s because his fingers are moving so fast now, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles; or maybe it’s the fact that you’re in his family’s kitchen, three feet away from where you all sit to eat every day that impairs your ability to speak. Either way, you can’t respond to him, so Fred pulls his fingers from your cunt, and out of your pants. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean, the same way he cleaned the brownie batter from them earlier. “Better than the brownies,” he announces with a wink.

Your cheeks heat up, near burning as you speak, “Please, Fred.” You’re desperate, and you’re aware in the back of your mind that his family could show up at any moment. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Guess you better get to begging then.”

You groan, because once Fred sets his mind to something it’s set in stone, so you know he won’t give you what you want until you give him what he wants.

“I need,” you start, bringing a hand down to the front of his pants, fingers grazing his cock that’s straining against the material, “for you to fuck me.” You squeeze him gently then and take in the way it knocks the breath out of him when you do so.

And he realizes that you two are on borrowed time as well, knows that it’s definitely not a smart idea to carry this any further in his fucking kitchen, but Fred’s always been a little wilder than most, and he can’t say that he doesn’t want to lay you down on his kitchen table and pound into you until you’re a crying mess; can’t say he doesn’t want to be reminded of your sweet cunt every time he walks into the kitchen and remembers this moment.

So, he walks you over to the table and before he picks you up to sit on it he pulls your pants and underwear down, helping you remove them completely. You don’t question him - mainly because the desire to have him is just so overwhelming - all you can think about is the way your core pulses in anticipation to finally have your boyfriend fucking into you after so long without him.

He sets you on the table and pushes you to lie down, doesn’t even bother removing your shirt or teasing you any longer, and he pops the button on his own jeans and lowers the zipper. He brings his cock out, giving himself a couple of strokes as he kneads the flesh of your thigh. Fred runs the tip of it through your folds, groaning at how wet you are for him.

He taps his cock against your clit before he speaks, “Say please again.”

You look at him, your hand covering the one of his that’s on your thigh as you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Your voice is quiet; timid, as you reply, “Please.”

He pushes in then, mouth dropping open at how fucking good it feels. It really has been too long, and you moan loudly as he settles all the way in, cunt clenching around him as you get used to his size.

Fred suddenly remembers how loud you can get, and while he may be literally fucking you on his kitchen table, he would at least like to prevent his family from hearing you scream his name if they return home early, so he brings one of his hands to your face and sticks two of his fingers in your mouth. He starts a steady rhythm of his hips into yours, and groans as he feels you suck on his fingers, not even questioning their intrusion. You still moan as his cock fucks into you but it’s muffled around his digits as he presses down on your tongue.

“Gotta stay quiet, baby, you don’t want my family coming home and hearing you getting fucked like a whore, do you?” He asks as he snaps his hips into you.

You try to shake your head no as best as you can, your hips are moving up to meet each of his thrusts and you know there’s no way you’ll last much longer.

Fred knows this too, and he’s also aware of how embarrassingly fast he’s approaching his own orgasm. He takes both your ankles and positions your legs over his shoulder one by one.

You cry out around his fingers as his cock goes deeper, drool is spilling out of your mouth and Fred looks at you then; his hair has fallen onto his forehead, stray pieces sticking to it due to his perspiring form.

“You like that?” Fred asks, pounding into your cunt almost violently, cock hitting your sweet spot over and over and over.

You’re moaning loudly around his thick fingers, eyes shut tightly. You try your best to reply: yes! you say but it’s gargled around his digits, and all Fred can make out is the way you go uh, uh, uh, every time his hips slap into you.

Fred can’t take his eyes off where you’re connected; the way his cock spreads you open and how well you take all of it. “Such a good fucking girl.”

Your body warms with the praise, along with the warmth that floods through you as you get closer and closer to cumming. It’s when Fred brings his hand to your clit, rubbing fast circles with his thumb as he instructs you, “cum for me baby, want you to make a mess all over my cock,” that has you practically screaming around his fingers as your back lifts off the table, and you cunt spasms around his cock.

It’s the way you get impossible tighter around him that has Fred cumming, fingers pressing harder against your tongue as he helps you both ride out your orgasms. You’re still mumbling incoherent sounds around his digits, his cock still hitting your sweet spot over and over. “That’s it,” Fred sighs as he lazily thrusts, letting every last drop of his cum fill your cunt.

Your legs fall from his shoulder as his fingers remove themselves from your mouth. Fred pulls out of you then and you grunt as he drops his body on top of yours.

“Get off,” you say as you try your best to shove him off of you. “You’re heavy.”

He scoffs as he picks his head up to look at you, “Pretty rude thing to say to someone who just fucked your brains out.”

“Oh my god,” you say, throwing an arm over your face. “Leave me alone.”

He gets up then, puts himself back in his pants as he walks to the counter to grab a wet towel. He cleans you off before helping you get dressed, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“I still hate you,” you lie again, and you kiss him on the mouth.

“Uh-huh.”

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theweirdymcweirderson · 4 years ago

Text

Pretty - James B. Barnes & Steve Rogers

Author: theweirdymcweirderson

Characters: Reader, James B. Barnes, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Bucky Barnes×Reader×Steve Rogers

Word count: 2110 (these are getting longer and longer, sorry)

Summary: Sexy times with the Super Soldiers.

Warnings: 18+, Pet names, Daddy!Bucky, Captain!Steve (is this a thing?) explicit words, smut, teasing, Bucky Barnes’ fucking arm, chocking I guess, Dom!Bucky, Dom!Steve, so much dirty talk :), fingering, hints to unprotected intercourse, daddy kink (beware: this is my first time writing it), captain kink, sub!reader, masturbation, threesome. Let me know if you find more.

Notes: You may wonder what this is, the answer to that is, once again, I don’t know :).

The gentle light from the candle flickers on the walls, creating soft shadows in the otherwise dark room. You can feel the silky fabric of the robe you’re wearing tickling your skin, caressing it with every twitch of your muscles. Your nerve endings are on fire, crackling on each movement, each lungful of air; your mouth feels dry and you swallow again for the 5th time in the last couple of seconds.

“Look at that. So fucking wet, darling.”

Teeth sinking in your bottom lip, you nod to Steve even though his words are not meant as a question; eyes begging him for something, anything. The way he’s looking at you, the sound of his voice - almost as wrecked as you feel - the words he normally chastises you for falling from his bitten lips, every single thing has more slick gathering between your thighs.

“You like this, don’t ya? Being watched as you fuck yourself?”

Bucky’s voice is darker, smugness dripping from the words because he already knows, but he loves the way you get flustered; the way you look away from his eyes in embarrassment.

His teasing elicits twin groans from you and the blonde sitting next to him. They’re both at the foot of the bed, shoulder to shoulder as they watch with rapt attention how your fingers press inside of your pussy.

Your legs are spread open, knees bent as you lean back on the pillows Bucky has lovingly set against the headboard. They love your eyes on them, get off on having you watch the way you affect them as you pleasure yourself. Steve’s hand moves to the prominent tent in his slacks, palms it for just a second as another guttural groan escapes his mouth at the wet sound of your lips accommodating your fingers.

“She looks good, doesn’t she, Stevie? Pretty pussy peeking through the lace?”

Steve brings his eyes to yours, watches as you plead with him for more. You can tell that if it was up to him alone, he’d already be balls deep inside you, but Bucky enjoys the teasing.

“Fuck yeah, she does. You know she does.”

His sky-blue eyes darken a little more as he turns to catch his best friend’s gaze. They stare at one another for a moment, and then Steve’s eyes glance to Bucky’s lips as they curve up in that grin that never fails to bring either of you to your knees.

A frustrated whine slips out of you when Bucky’s metal hand wraps around Steve’s throat. You feel the green-eyed monster rear up its head at the sight of the black contrasting so prettily against Steve’s flushed skin.

“Wanna fuck her, Stevie?”

“Taste her. She’s so wet, smells so fucking sweet.”

Yes, please. Another whimper, your hips buck up at the suggestions; either of them would be more than welcome since your fingers are not cutting it anymore. You feel Steve’s fingers caressing up your foot, but you know better than to move. You keep still, breath stuck in your lungs as his fingers wrap around your ankle. Bucky mirrors his actions and they jerk your legs apart a little more. You yelp in surprise at the sudden movement.

“Oh, she smells delicious, a’ight. And your face does look real fucking pretty framed by her legs.”

Steve’s hand goes back to palming his dick and Bucky chuckles allowing his eyes to follow the gesture. You would protest at the loss of contact if your own eyes weren’t greedily soaking up the erotic scene before them.

Bucky tsks, metal hand gliding up his friend’s neck to land on his cheek; fingers softly sinking into Steve’s stubbly skin while his thumb caresses his bottom lip.

“You want it bad, don’t ya?”

Steve barely nods, doesn't even need to because Bucky can read it all on his face. His tongue pokes out of his parted lips, tip grazing Bucky's thumb and it's the brunette's turn to bite back a groan.

“See whatcha did, dollface? Got Cap here all wound up for you.”

Bucky's silvery gaze finds yours, and you swallow again at the dryness in your mouth as all moisture keeps gathering south. He smiles at you, all soft and warm, and the complete opposite of his words and the dark promises in his eyes.

“What do you suggest we do about that, hum?”

Your eyes go back to Steve's form, wander over his body, from his chiselled face down to where his hand is still squeezing his cock. You wish you could undress them with your thoughts alone.

Before you can answer, Steve interrupts you.

“Keep fucking yourself, darling.”

Bucky kinks an eyebrow disapprovingly and you realise that sometime, as you lost yourself watching them interact, you’d stopped moving your fingers. Not that anyone can blame you; your boys are just too fucking pretty.

You resume your teasing, because that is all you can really do with your underwear still on, but Steve likes it. He likes to see your skin adorned by the lace as you touch yourself; that's the reason behind it overflowing your underwear drawer.

Eyes apologetic, you push and pull, turning your attention back to Bucky.

“Whatever you want, just...do something.”

Steve squeezes himself a little harder at your breathy voice, and switches hands so that he can bring his left one back on your leg. This time it rests a little higher, grasping at your calf as he eyes your body hungrily.

“Whatever we want? Oh, dollface, you sure you can take it all? Take us both?”

You nod, fingers quickening slightly when your mind starts conjuring up images of what Bucky's words might entail.

“Yeah? Gon let us have our way with ya?”

Bucky's voice is even deeper than before, getting huskier by the second and Steve moans at his words, unbuttoning his pants. Fucking finally.

“Yeah. Yes, Bucky, please.”

They move at the same time, shifting closer to your body and you can finally feel the heat radiating off of them. Steve's hand is now on your thigh, fingers moving along the inner muscle until it quivers with anticipation. He grins at you, all boyish and carefree with a barely concealed hint of mischief.

The black, hard metal of Bucky's hand makes contact with your tummy, forefinger tracing your navel as you marvel at the light reflecting off the gold decorating the arm. Your quick intake of breath pleases him and he leans closer until he’s face to face with your heating cheeks.

“What d’ya need, dollface, huh?”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you let the hand that was clenching the sheets move to find his, fingers wrapping around his wrist to urge him to speed up in his ascent towards your breasts.

“I want you to fuck me. Need it so bad, please.”

“Always so fucking polite, darling. So fucking pretty for us.”

Steve tugs on your wrist and your fingers easily slip from inside you; the panties’ elastic gently slapping back into place. Both yours and Bucky’s eyes are glued to the blonde as he brings your fingers to his mouth and sucks them in, eyes closing in delight when your juices reach his tastebuds.

Heavy breaths mingle in the otherwise silent room until he releases your fingers with a lewd pop, bringing your hand to his chest before letting go of your wrist. He moves then, settles between your parted thighs and that seems to be Bucky’s cue to focus his attention back on you.

“Want Cap’s cock, dollface? Want him to fuck you?”

‘Cap’, you know what that means and you moan your answer, a broken ‘yeah’ that has Steve hurriedly pushing his zipper down and rising to his knees to shove the pants out of the way. Humour is coating the brunette’s voice when he wraps his hand around your throat and a desperate whine slips past your glistening, bite-swollen lips.

“And what about me, huh?”

“Want you too; want both, please.”

Unable to stop yourself, you glance at Steve as he’s unbuttoning his shirt, gaping at the expanse of muscle being revealed and hoping for him to lose the boxers a little bit quicker. He smiles when he catches your eyes, discarding the material aside and grabbing his cock again.

“Gon let Daddy fuck that pretty, little mouth of yours, darling?”

Oh. Stunned into silence, you keep your eyes glued to him until Bucky’s fingers tighten around your neck, effectively diverting your attention; claiming it back as his own.

“Answer him, dollface, gonna let me fuck your mouth?”

“Yes, Captain. Wanna feel Daddy down my throat.”

Both men moan at your words, Steve shifting until his hips are bracketed by your thighs; his cock now free and resting on your panty-clad pussy. He rocks forwards once, creating such delicious friction on your clit that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Look at you, doll. You just wanna be a good girl for us, don't ya?”

“Uh huh. I'mma be a good girl, Daddy. I'll be your best girl.”

Steve ruts against you again, hands hot on your thighs, using the hold for leverage and pulling your body down as he surges up. Your thoughts scatter all over the place; mouth falling open on panted nonsense and pleas.

“Oh, we know you will. Now c'mon, darling, give me one before I fill this pretty pussy up.”

Groaning your understanding, you clench the sheets in one hand, bringing the other to Bucky's forearm for something sturdier to hold onto as his best friend keeps rocking you back and forth.

“You want that, doll? Want Cap to come inside that tight, little pussy of yours?”

“Oh God, yes! Want it so bad. Fuck, Captain, don't stop, please.”

He quickens his pace, his cock catching in your panties until Bucky reaches over and pulls them to the side, baring your pussy to his friend before bringing his hand back to your throat.

“You hear that, Stevie? Think we spoiled her too much.”

Steve grunts something that you can't quite make out, but Bucky seems to understand him just fine if his chuckle is any indication.

“Bet you want Daddy to fuck your pussy, too. Don’t you, doll? Cause one’s not enough for you anymore, is it?”

You hear rustling and open your eyes to see Bucky stroking himself through his jeans. Without waiting for his say so, you reach over and unsteadily unbutton and unzip them for him. He pulls his cock out and you take over again, thumb collecting the warm precome before you start stroking him as best as you can.

Steve leans over then, his skin hot as it barely grazes your rising chest on each intake of breath. They’re shoulder to shoulder again, Steve’s nuzzling your neck on the right, while Bucky is still upright, leaving room for you to work on his cock.

“Is that true, darling? You gon let Daddy fuck this pussy when I’m done with it? Let him use my come as lube? Is that what you want?”

A fresh wave of slick coats Steve’s cock after he husks the filthy words in your ear; his hand joining Bucky’s around your throat so that they’re both framing your neck.

You groan something intelligible because you’re too far gone; hips thrusting up knowing that you need just one more push and you’ll tumble over the edge. Bucky groans, his fingers twitch against your heated skin before he turns to face Steve.

“Fuck. That’s so fucking nasty, Stevie.”

“Shut up, you love it and, from the way she just flooded by dick, she does too.”

“I do. I do, please Captain. Would be so hot, to have you and Daddy filling me up, fucking my pussy ‘til I’m full and leaking on the sheets.”

You bring your unoccupied hand to the back of Steve’s head, keeping him close to you as his hips rut faster against your swollen clit. Bucky’s free hand wraps over yours and helps guide it as your body begins to turn to mush; all muscles slackening with the fast approach of your orgasm.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, I’m com-”

The words die on a silent scream when you convulse underneath Steve, feeling his left hand clutching your thigh while his body seizes up and a long, drawn out groan leaves his parted lips. Bucky fucks up one last time into your fists, and comes with a soft, almost inaudible moan that sears itself in your brain.

A beat passes, you’ve barely sucked in enough oxygen, before you feel the grips at your neck tightening again.

“Hands and knees, darling, c’mon.”

More notes, cause why the heck not?: Please consider leaving me some feedback? Maybe? You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it. Thank you for reading in any case :)

As requested: Pretty 2

Find more here :)

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shotorozu · 4 years ago

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putting eyeliner on them

— *♡∞:｡.｡ 2k followers special —

character(s) : multiple characters (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used— well,, reader sure does love makeup! strong quirk but the details aren’t specific

headcanon type : fluff, and the mildest of spice

note(s) : again, another followers special! i had this in my brain since january, but i wanted to wait for this exact moment to write it out! i hope it’s worth it. again, thank you all for 2k! 🤍 also i have 2-3 more things to come out later and there’s no proof-read whejdjwdk

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midoriya izuku

↛ he loves the idea, really. you’d assume that midoriya would know how to put on eyeliner, because he’s quite the writer— but no. those hands are wobbly as heck, and his hands move with speed. so as much as he’d want to try eyeliner, he couldn’t. so, when you propose the idea of applying eyeliner on him, while sitting on his lap, he’s quite estatic— but izuku can’t help but blush when he realizes how close you guys are. he can only hold in his breath in anticipation, but he’s also quite worried about messing it up. when you show him the result, izuku’s happy! pressing a quick kiss on your lips, as he admires his eyes in the mirror but he’s probably going to smudge it in a hour

bakugou katsuki

↛ he’d say no at first, because he already knows how to put on eyeliner. why would he need your help? but when you offer to sit on his lap while you do his eyeliner, he’s scoffing— pulling you on his lap, and he’s already asking if you’re done yet but not even a few minutes has passed. and no! it’s not because he gets to be closer with you, and no, it’s not because he could intensely stare at you with that look, hands pressed against your back. he just wants to get it over with— totally. but he sure does love the outcome. we’ve only seen him wearing eyeliner under his mask, but he won’t be afraid of wearing it alone (because his talented s/o did it!) he’s smirking, complimenting you on how well you did, hands still on your thigh— basically asking you to stay. he’d fight anyone that would try to touch the eyeliner, he’ll have it as long as he possibly could.

todoroki shouto

↛ probably the person that knows the least about wearing eyeliner. compared to the others, he’s seen you do your eyeliner— and he’s really fascinated by it, so he just goes ahead and asks you! but when you mentioned sitting on his lap for better accuracy, it was like hitting two birds with one stone. not only could he get eyeliner, but he could also get closer to you so !! he didn’t seem that affected by the experience on the outside anyway, but he loved how his eyes looked with eyeliner— and the fact that you’re just so close to him didn’t really help the blood rushing to his cheeks. either way! he’s glad you were willing to put on eyeliner for him, and he could only repay you back with his affection 🤍 he’d probably learn how to put on eyeliner, so he could return the favor in the future. but the catch is that you still have to sit on his lap. he loves it, okay?

kirishima eijirou

↛ another person that has worn eyeliner in the official art! we love that. anyways, eijirou has probably worn eyeliner once or twice before— but that was pretty much it for him. he’ll watch you do your makeup most of the time, but he’ll especially pay attention to the eyeliner part. he’d ask, sure! but he’s afraid of wasting product, so he holds back from asking you :,) when you tell him you want to do his eyeliner, he’s excited! and he starts immediately preparing himself for the eyeliner. with every single stroke of your hand, he’ll excitingly ask if you’re done— showing off his signature smile, as he tries to keep still. when you finally show him, he’ll be so happy :)) but now you have to do excentric eyeliner styles on him, just do it please, he just loves how it looks! and eijirou’s just so lucky to have a talented s/o. whenever someone would ask who did his eyeliner, he’ll smile, and say your name ever so proudly.

kaminari denki

↛ kirishima 🤝 kaminari ‘ceos of wearing eyeliner in the official art’ kaminari has probably worn eyeliner a few times here and there, but that was really because mina helped him put it on. he’ll sit down beside you and watch you put on eyeliner, commenting out loud about “how the hell did you do that so easily??” it’s sorcery to him. because his hands are also quite wobbly, and his eyeliner never comes out as sisters— but rather distant cousins 💀 anyways, when you mention wanting to try colorful eyeliner on him, he was so excited— and when you sat on his lap, he’ll basically be like :0 my s/o is sitting on my lap omg afterwards, he’ll be really blushy— but he’s happy for sure. he’s pressing kisses all over your face as thanks, and he’s quick to take pictures his eyeliner— just for memory sake. but denki’s probably going to smudge the eyeliner in 30 minutes rip

shinsou hitoshi

↛ it,, never really crossed his mind. no offense to you, really. but he has some intense dark circles under those pretty eyes, and because of that— he always assumed it wouldn’t look the best on him :,) luckily, being with you has made him believe that it wouldn’t look so bad (and that he’d need to stop being so down on himself) hitoshi is never really the one to oppose to the idea of you applying eyeliner on him, it’s not like it does any harm to either of you! but when you offer to sit on your lap— he’s quite accepting, immediately pulling you closer and closer, hands placed on the small of your back, and on your waist. turns out, hitoshi looks superb with eyeliner! it just accentuates those violet irises of his. afterwards, he’ll nibble on your soft skin- and omg the way he looks at you is enough to hypnotize you. for payment, he’ll take as many pictures as he could, (for emergency purposes. if you were sad, he could literally send you one of those selfies, and you’d cheer up.)

amajiki tamaki

↛ it’s sad because he thinks he’d look terrible. it wasn’t like shinsou’s way of thinking— where he was like ‘eh, i’d look bad. but i’m not very opposed to it.’ no, it was like ‘omg i’d look so bad, and i’d waste your ink/product and onwhdnwks’ so, you also have to reassure that it’ll be fine, and that he’s not wasting your product. when you straddle him, his cheeks will go red. like,, really red, to the point that you’re worried if he’d collapse or pass out. anyways, after 5 minutes (which felt like 5 hours to tamaki) he looks in the mirror— and he feels,, happy. he loves it because you did it, and tamaki feels a sense of relief, because it turned out just fine. he’s thanking you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck— rocking you back and forth softly. he’d be really bashful if mirio or nejire complimented him and his eyeliner. the attention is something he’s still not very used to. he’d be really sad, if he smudged the eyeliner by accident, you might have to comfort him :,)

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likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby.

do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or use my works for audio readings without my permission :))

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localgenius · 3 years ago

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The Romance of the Pear

Sorry I’ve been mia for the last couple of months! I’ve just finished high school so that has been taking up most of my focus, but in the meantime I’ve been working on this! I don’t really know what it is tbh, but I’ve enjoyed writing it and I hope that you’ll enjoy reading it!

A story about Spencer being in love with the reader, and the reader being in love with Spencer

tw: mentions of rape, murder, horrific actions towards women, swearing

Spencer Reid x fem!reader (13.2k) (the app might crash, so it can be an idea to read on a browser!)

The sky outside of the windows was painted a gloomy grey, raindrops falling and hitting the glass of the windows, making them the only noise in the otherwise quiet office.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, her hand fiddling idly with one of her pens as she read over one of the cases she was designated to counsel on. The knitted cardigan around her shoulder helped her to not feel the impending chill from the poor weather, and her feet had abandoned the heels and had found purchase under her body on her chair.

“Good morning sunshine,” a voice pulled her eyes away from the details of horrific killings of prostitutes in the case files.

“Morning Emily,” she smiled back, feeling her mood brighten just the slightest.

“Why are you in so early on a Monday?” Emily asked as she dropped her things down by her already cluttered desk, before she made her way over to take a seat on the edge of Y/N’s desk.

“Oh, I had to talk with Knightly down at sex crimes about this case,” she pointed down at the open case file, not protesting when Emily moved to lift it up to have a look. “And he’s going to Texas at nine, so I had to come in earlier.”

“He carves hearts into their chests?” Emily asked with disgust in her voice after she placed the file back down on the desk.

“Yeah,” Y/N dragged out the word, as she leaned forward to rest her face in her hands. “But not before he rapes and sexually mutilates them. Charming fella.”

“Sounds like a real prince charming,” Emily laughed before she moved to the kitchenette.

“Good morning Prentiss, Y/L/N,” a third voice entered the conversation as Hotch made his way through the glass double doors, rain droplets decking his coat, in a way that reminded Y/N of the way flower petals looked after a storm.

“Morning sir,” Y/N smiled at him and watched him close himself into his office for the day.

“Why hearts though,” Emily said as she came back to reclaim her spot on the edge of the desk.

“I really don’t know,” Y/N grumbled while she leaned back in her chair, “there’s the obvious correlation with love, but the way he treats them screams anything but love and affection. So, my guess is that it has something to do with the view of prostitutes and sex. You know, maybe he believes that sex is a sin, and the only right way to have sex is in marriage, and these prostitutes just throw out their love every time they’re with a new john. But I’m honestly as lost as you are.”

“That’s a good theory,” Emily bounced back, “many people do call it ‘making love’, so if the unsub thinks that the prostitutes are just selling their bodies without a care about love, he might do it to symbolize the love that they could never have.”

“Right,” Y/N was quick to scribble it down on the page as a possible motive for the signature, “thanks Em.”

“Did you know that the shape of the symbolic heart as we know it today originated in the bottom corner of a manuscript called ‘The Romance of Alexander’ dated around 1340?” a voice spoke behind them, as it moved across the room.

“Good morning Spencer,” both Y/N and Emily said, Y/N’s eyes still locked on the file she was scribbling in. “And no, I didn’t know that” Y/N said when she was done writing, letting her eyes meet his across the divider between their desks, as Emily scurried back to her own desk to avoid being a part of the incoming info dump.

“Yeah, and the first illustration of the amorous heart was in 1250 in a picture called ‘The Romance of the Pear’, where a pear, eggplant or pinecone, there is some debate, is an allegory for the heart,” he continued as he dropped his satchel by his desk and sat in his chair before turning on his monitor.

“A pear?” Y/N asked softly, letting her fingers start to mess with the pen again.

“Hm,” Spencer continued, his honey eyes meeting hers. “In western culture the pear is also a symbol of female erotic.”

“Ooh,” Derek’s voice interrupted the quiet moment, breaking the sweet gaze between the two profilers. “Female erotic, my field of expertise.”

“Jesus,” Y/N laughed and turned away from Spencer to face Derek as he draped his jacket over the back of his swirly chair. “Have you just dropped chivalry all together now, or what?”

“What?” Derek asked, as Emily joined in Y/N’s laughter, “I’m just being honest. What are you and pretty boy doing speaking about female erotic at 8:30 on a Monday morning anyway?”

“I was just telling Y/N the symbolism of pears,” Spencer said, not removing his eyes from the monitor, where he was checking his emails against his will.

A smile tugged on Y/N’s lips when she remembered him coming back from being called to Hotch’s office and telling her that he was being forced to get an email account by the bureau. Both Y/N and Penelope had helped him set it up, and he had countless times sheepishly asked Y/N to help him write out a reply.

“Ah yes,” Derek teased as he took a seat in his chair, “symbolism of pears. Just a regular conversation topic on this gloomy Monday morning.”

“I don’t even want to know how on earth you got around to that topic,” Rossi added when he came walking past the clutter of desks.

“It was just-“ Y/N started to explain the obscure conversation topic as Rossi moved up the short flight of stairs.

“No! Don’t wanna hear it,” Rossi called back as he closed his office door.

The four agents shared a look of amusement as they all started on their designated work for the day, the raindrops still trailing down the planes of glass of the windows.

After an hour of silence, only occasionally being interrupted by an agent coming or going or a phone call, Y/N felt herself becoming more and more disheartened by the case on her desk. After having worked at the BAU for approximately a year now, she would have thought that she would have gotten used to the evil the team faced on a daily basis. But something about this guy, ruthlessly raping and killing innocent women, hit her a bit different than she had anticipated.

Letting her feet down from her chair she put them back in her shoes before walking over to the kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea as a comforting hug.

As she stood idly twirling the spoon around in the hot water while waiting for the sugar to dissolve, she heard the signature sound of heels thumping against the floor.

“Good morning my dear angel,” Penelope greeted cheerfully as she came in with her pink octopus mug. Penelope had seemingly decided to take it upon herself to be the sun on the gloomy day; her bright yellow dress making Y/N smile and momentarily forget the case that was patiently waiting for her back at her desk.

“Good morning Pen,” Y/N said and leaned against one of the cupboards as she watched Penelope make her daily green tea. “How was your weekend?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she exclaimed as she poured hot water into the mug, “I babysat Henry which is always a blast, and then I went shopping and I found the cutest earrings in this small shop. I have to take you at some point!” Penelope said, letting her words come out a mile a minute, only making Y/N’s heart grow lighter.

“I would love that Pen,” Y/N said as they started to make their way back to Y/N’s desk.

“Morning baby girl,” Derek said as he swirled his chair to look at the two girls coming back.

“Morning chocolate thunder,” Penelope said as she perched herself on the edge of his desk. “What did my wonderful Captain America replica do this weekend?”

As the two of them lost themselves in their daily flirtations Y/N made her way back to her desk, only to find the dreaded file missing from its place. She looked around confused, before seeing the familiar pictures over on Spencer’s desk, where he was writing at lightning speed.

“Spence?” Y/N asked softly, but before she could continue, he closed the file and handed it back over to her. He simply gave her a quick, tight-lipped smile before he turned back to his own mountain of paperwork.

Slowly, not taking her eyes from the genius across from her, she opened the file, and saw how he had completed the file for her. His chicken scratches took over where her handwriting had stopped. The time pressure he had been under was clear in the simple short sentences he had scrawled down at the bottom.

Before she could exclaim her gratitude, a bimble came from Penelope’s cell phone and she let out a sad sigh before getting up from her seat on Derek’s desk.

“Duty calls avengers,” she said as she moved to Hotch’s office, while the others started to go to the briefing room.

Before Y/N could get up, Spencer had already bounced up the flight of stairs and was quickly making his way to the briefing room.

“We have an icky case on our hands this time, my dear crime fighters,” Penelope said as she stood by the screen, remote ready in her hand. “Last night, a civilian found a leg wrapped in garbage bags when she took out the trash in central Indianapolis. The leg belonged to Louise Obsen, a 28 year old accountant. The remaining parts of her body were found wrapped in a similar way, dumped in various dumpsters around the block.”

The silence stretched across the briefing room as everyone took in the gruesome details of the murder.

“The dismemberment could be a forensic countermeasure,” Spencer said as he glanced over the file, “it’s easier to hide parts of the body than a whole body.”

“Do we know how the unsub dismembered the bodies?” Emily asked as she flipped through the pictures.

“Yes,” Penelope said as she swallowed harshly as she pressed a button on the remote. “The coroner says the limbs were removed with a standard saw, nothing special. But all of this happened postmortem, the COD was a gunshot to the back of the head.”

“Execution style,” JJ mumbled, “is this the only victim?”

“No,” Hotch said, eyes focused on the case file, “two weeks ago the Indianapolis PD found a young woman, Emma Day, dismembered and discarded in the same way. She was 29”

Penelope clicked on her remote, but she kept her eyes looking straight ahead. Y/N noticed the clear look of discomfort in her eyes, and silently reached down under the conference table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze of comfort.

“They certainly look alike,” Derek chimed in as he looked at the two women on the screen. “Pretty girls with black hair in their late twenties; they’re probably surrogates for the unsubs' real target.”

“What did Emma do for a living Pen?” Y/N asked, her hand still wrapped around Penelope’s.

“She worked as a caretaker at a residential facility, by all accounts she was very well liked there. Both of them were, in fact.”

“Both low-risk victims,” Rossi pondered as he closed his file, “that means that he probably doesn’t appear as a threat.”

“Which makes him all the more dangerous,” Hotch said as he collected his files, “wheels up in 30.”

The plane ride was mostly silent after the team had gone over the case once more.

Y/N was sitting by the window, book laying open in her lap, but her mind was flying with the fluffy clouds outside of the window.

One of her hands was fiddling with the pendant of her necklace as she observed the way the ground was moving underneath the jet.

“Metamorphoses,” a gentle voice pulled her out from her reveries, and her eyes drifted away from the window to see Spencer take the seat across from her, holding a cup of strawberry tea out to her.

“Excuse me?” she asked softly, still a tad too lost in her own head to be able to catch up with him.

“Your book,” he said, gesturing to the book in her lap. “You’re reading Metamorphoses.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed, moving to shut the book and rest it on the table in between them. “I uh,” she started as she straightened up in her seat, “I took a class in classics at university, and I found my notes a few weeks back, and I remembered how much I loved Ovid’s writing and his stories, so I went and bought it this weekend.”

“Which one is your favourite?” Spencer asked softly, taking a sip from his own mug, undoubtedly filled to the brim with a concussion of coffee and sugar.

“Do you promise you’re not going to judge me?” Y/N asked, as she teasingly raised her eyebrows as she also took a sip of her mug.

“I promise,” Spencer laughed incredulously, “I would never judge anyone who voluntarily reads Ovid.”

“Okay fair enough,” she said and let both of her hands wrap around the mug to get some heat into her hands. “It’s probably ‘Apollo and Daphne’, very unoriginal, I know.”

“No, no uh-,” Spencer was quick to sit up straighter and lean on over the table while I cleared his throat, “that one’s really good. I love it too actually.”

“You do?” Y/N asked, unconsciously leaning in closer to Spencer.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly, “I find that there’s something beautiful in loving someone who will never love you back.”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah, you see, it’s kind of like the oldest story known to man. Unrequited love. And I don’t know, I guess I just know the feeling. To love something that’s so far out of my reach,” he explained softly, letting his eyes fall to the coffee in his mug.

“Spencer,” Y/N mumbled softly, letting her hand creep closer to where he was gripping his mug tightly. “Nothing will ever-“

But before she could finish her sentence Emily popped up and interrupted the two of them.

“We’re landing in ten, Y/N you’re with me, we’re going to go to the different dumpsites.”

“Yeah, okay,” Y/N said breathlessly, as she watched Spencer quickly regain his posture and leaned back in his seat as he fastened his seatbelt, pretending that he hadn’t just shared something that would now be permanently engraved into Y/N’s brain.

“What were you and Reid talking about on the jet?”

The question pulled Y/N out of her thoughts as she was reading over the case fil once more before they arrived at the first dumpsite.

“Huh?”

Emily turned her head to quickly glance at the younger agent next to her, her sunglasses covering her mischievous eyes.

“On the jet,” she further went on, “you both looked like you were seconds away from imploding from feelings.”

“Oh,” Y/N laughed awkwardly, straightening up her back, trying to square up a bit unconsciously. “We were just talking about this book I’m reading. He just gave an interesting input on one of my favourite stories.”

“Really,” Emily teased, carefully driving into the parking space next to the alley.

“Yeah, just talking about books,” Y/N said as she jumped out of the SUV, shutting the heavy door behind her.

The gloomy weather had thankfully stayed behind in D.C., leaving the team to soak up the lovely spring sun that shined overhead in them in Indianapolis.

“What was that about unrequited love then?” Emily continued to press on as they walked over to the group of policemen standing by the dumpsters.

“It’s the theme of the story,” Y/N grumbled before swiftly putting on a smile as a young man headed towards them.

“You must be with the BAU,” the man started as he held out his hand for the two of them to shake.

“Yes, agents Prentiss and Y/L/N,” Emily said as she shook his hand, “Are you the lead detective on the case?”

“Yes, detective Michaels,” he said as he lifted the yellow police tape for the three of them to step under.

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N said softly smiling at him, while Emily softly laughed and shook her head to herself at the young agent when she saw Michaels already developing what the team had dubbed ‘Y/N eyes’.

One of the things that the team noticed when Y/N Y/L/N had joined the team was her extreme kindness. It challenged even Penelope’s something that they hadn’t thought was possible. When they all first had been introduced to each other Y/N had made sure to look at each individual team member like they were the sun, her attention focused solely on the profiler in question. On every case the team had worked Emily hadn’t once experienced Y/N kindly greet the detectives working on the case, and often gave them her sweet smile that made everyone melt in their spot – often resulting in them giving her ‘Y/N eyes’ the rest of the case.

Her kindness had especially seemed to do a trick on the resident genius of the BAU; a fact abundantly clear for all of the team members except for the two of them. While the remainder of the team never was rude or unkind to him, they never seemed to engage with him the same way she did. There was a willingness to hear him ramble on about the most obscure things, a gleam in both of their eyes when they would talk about their favourite books in hushed voices on the jet when they thought everyone else was asleep.

“How long had the leg been out here before it was found?” Emily asked, breaking the detective out of his gaze locked on Y/N.

“Uh,” he said as he started to fumble with the notepad as Emily and Y/N shared a quick smile as they survived the dumpsters littering the area. “The coroner says about 24 hours.”

“So he dumped it in the evening the previous day,” Y/N said as she glanced around the alley. “How many buildings have access to the alley?”

“Three, these two facing this street,” the detective said as he pointed to the street Emily and Y/N had come from, “and then the other one facing that one,” he said as he pointed down the alley to the street at the other end.

“There’s a good chance that he owns a van,” Y/N said as she moved her sunglasses to the top of her head as they got deeper into the alley where her vision wasn’t obscured by the sunlight. “He could back in, get out, take the limbs out from the back and discard them quickly before being on the move again. It would just look like a guy throwing out trash for anyone passing by at that hour.”

“You’re right,” Emily said as she walked back over to Michaels and Y/N. “He discards them like trash, no signs of remorse of any kind.”

“What does that mean?” Michaels asked as they walked out of the alley and on their way to the next dumpsite.

“That he hates women,” Emily and Y/N said in unison, as they continued their tread down the silent street.

“It would be a good idea to have your officers make a door to door on the surrounding buildings of the two dumpsites,” Y/N said as she and detective Michaels walked into the precinct.

“Why?” He asked while holding the door open for her.

She shot him a small grateful smile as they made their way to the conference room the team had made their office for the coming time. “There’s a chance that some of the residents saw or heard something without knowing its importance, so just have them ask if they remember seeing or hearing anything on the evening of the 15th.”

“Will do agent,” he smiled back at her, and held the door to the conference room open for her as well.

As they walked into the room, they saw the entire team sitting around it, all with their heads deep buried in their case files, or in Spencer’s case, a map, and a plethora of coffee cups covering the table.

“What did you get from the dump sites?” JJ asked when she lifted her head to take a generous sip of her coffee.

At the sound of JJ speaking the entire team turned their heads to see who had joined them in their small room.

Y/N smiled and moved to take a seat in the chair between Rossi and Spencer. “We think he might own a van; the alleys are big enough for a van to back in there and block the view from the street. Emily stayed back to interview a woman that said she remembered a loud noise that evening.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said without lifting his eyes from the case file. “He might work as a carpenter, if he has a van and that his preferred method of dismemberment is with a saw.”

“But wouldn’t that still be a huge number?” Morgan asked as he sat back in his chair while twirling a pen between his fingers. “In a city like Indianapolis the number of carpenters must be quite significant.”

“You’re right,” Rossi mumbled before pulling his phone out, before pressing the familiar buttons.

“The oracle of Quantico at your service sir,” the chipper voice of Penelope blasted through the speakers of the phone, making everyone around the table break out a small smile.

“Garcia, how many carpenters are there in the hunting zone of the unsub?” Rossi asked.

“Uh, quite a bit sir,” Penelope said as she typed her fingers off on her end. “Do you have any other parameters so I can narrow this down?”

“Based on victimology he would be in his late twenties to early thirties, white and would own a dark van.”

“I will do my best sir,” she said as adieu, before she hung up.

The team went back to looking over the case files after Hotch directed Michaels to start door-to-door, silence taking over the room as they all looked over the clues hidden in the papers.

“Guys,” Emily said when she hurried into the room half an hour later, “I talked to a woman who said that she heard a noise the night the unsub dumped Louise’s leg, and she said she saw a dark van just like Y/N theorized, and she said there was a logo on it. So, I called Garcia and she tracked down the carpenter firm to be ‘Better Builders’.”

“Okay,” Hotch said, going up the board before looking over the collected evidence. “Reid, Y/L/N could you go talk to the owner of the firm? Go see if there are any employees that match the profile.”

“Yes sir,” they both said in unison as they started getting up from their chairs.

Spencer held the door open for Y/N when they walked out of the room, shy smiles exchanged between them as they moved through the precinct. The sun was still shining bright when the two of them exited the station, silence stretching thin between them, leaving them trapped in the space of their own minds.

“Have you gotten something from the geographic profile?” Y/N asked to break the silence between them as Spencer turned on the car and started to drive away from the station.

“Huh?” Spencer asked, seemingly too lost in his own head to having registered that he had been asked a question.

“The geographical profile?” she asked softly, letting her eyes trail over his profile.

“Right,” he exclaimed softly, “and no, not really. Just uh, that he probably lives or works in the area between the two dumpsites, but unfortunately-”

“We won’t be able to be more specific until we have another victim,” Y/N finished for him, letting out a sigh before turning her gaze out of the windshield.

“Yeah,” Spencer said softly, letting them drive in silence for a while.

Y/N sat with her head leaning against the headrest as she saw the city of Indianapolis pass them by, visions of mutilated women flying through her mind. She thought that after a year of working at the BAU she would have developed a thicker skin, just like the rest of the team. But she was still feeling nauseous every time she saw women being brutally mutilated and felt her heart break and tears press on when a child fell victim to the horrible desires of adults.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked softly when he noticed how silent she had become on the drive.

“Yeah,” she mumbled back softly, mind still sifting through the awful images haunting her mind. “Just thinking about what kind of monster could do this to innocent women.”

“That’s the question that keeps us in business,” Spencer joked light-heartedly, trying to get rid of the tension inside of the SUV.

“You’re right,” she joked along, “as always.” She felt the corners of her lips twist upwards when he barked out a laugh. “And I guess,” she continued softly, “I’m just wondering when I will stop being so soft.”

“What do you mean?” he asked genuinely when they stopped at a red light, cars piling behind them.

“It’s just,” she tried to gather her thoughts to the best of her abilities, feeling the pressure of his gaze on the side of her face. “I’ve been with this team for almost a year, and I still feel sick on cases like this. I still sometimes cry in the bathroom,” she laughed, hoping to reduce the melancholy air in the car. “I wonder if I’ll ever develop thicker skin like the rest of you guys.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment too long for her liking, before Spencer cleared his throat.

“Y/N,” he started softly, gently starting to step on the gas again, “you don’t have to develop thicker skin. You don’t have to do anything. Your gentleness and kindness are great virtues, that makes you who you are. Your empathy and love for everyone around you makes you the wonderful person that you are, and I think that they make you such a good profiler,” he explained, never letting his eyes stray away from the road. “I think sometimes the rest of us become immune to the monstrosities that we see, but you, and Penelope,” he interjected quickly, making a burst out a small laugh while her eyes glazed over with tears, “reminds us what it’s like to be human. To just want to make the world beautiful for everyone else.”

She kept her eyes fixed on him as he spoke. His gentle eyes still fixated on the road before them, his hair curling delicately around his ears. His lips had formed a kind smile as he spoke, and his hands were gripping tightly on the steering wheel as he navigated through the foreign city.

“That’s very nice of you Spence,” she whispered softly, “thank you.”

“There’s no shame in being soft,” he continued while he drove around to find a parking spot. “It’s a gentle reminder that you’re human, that we’re all human. And I’m very happy that you are the way you are, and I wouldn’t want you to change yourself for anything.”

He parked the car and the two agents just sat in the car for a moment longer. Each one basking in the softness of the love filled moment, each pair cheeks flushed red and fingers tingling with amorous sparks.

“Can I hug you?” Y/N asked gently, breaking the delicate silence.

“Uh,” Spencer cleared his throat before nodding his head, “yeah, yeah you can.”

She slowly undid her seatbelt before cautiously moving over the centre console and let her arms wrap around his shoulders.

She felt his arms slowly but surely slither their way around her waist, before he let his head fall and rest in the crook of her neck. His hazel curls were tickling her soft cheek, emitting a small giggle from her from the joyous sensation. He started to giggle softly along with her, their laughs dancing together in the vast space of the SUV.

“Thank you for finishing my consultation,” she whispered into the fabric of his cardigan, letting the scratchiness bring her comfort. She felt him scrunch up the fabric of her cardigan, before he nodded against her shoulder.

“Of course,” he mumbled before starting to release her from his grip, “any time.”

“We should go out there,” she said when they had pulled away, dopey smiles painting both of their faces. “And find that monster.”

“Yeah,” he said and opened his side door, “let’s get him.”

“It turned out that there weren’t any carpenters working for ‘Better Builders’ that matched the preliminary profile, yet the owner of the firm could confirm that one of their vans had been stolen about two weeks prior to the first murder,” Spencer said as he and Y/N walked into the room where Hotch and Morgan was sitting.

“Did they report it?” asked Morgan with his hands resting on the back of his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, as she took a seat on one of the swirly chairs, “I asked Michaels if he could pull up the report to see if there are any leads.”

“Good,” Hotch said before the sound of his ringtone cut the conversation short, “what do you have Garcia.”

“Sir,” she started, the sound of her clicking on the keyboard clear through the mic, “I found something funky regarding the two victims. So at first I couldn’t find any connection between Louise and Emma, but then I did some sleuthing and I found out that in the days leading up to their deaths day had both gone on a date. Not so weird you probably say, I say it’s weird when the date is with the same person, and from the looks of it they both met him on a dating app.”

Silence took over the room as the four team members processed the information.

“Can you find out who the prince charming is, baby girl?” Derek asked as he leaned on closer to the phone.

“Oh, I’m already ten steps ahead of you sugar, and the prince charming is Sheldon Green, but here’s the kicker. It’s not Sheldon Green.”

The room was once again silent, the puzzle pieces laying spread all around them, refusing to be put together. The silence was broken when an officer came in and handed Spencer the case file on the stolen van.

“What do you mean Pen,” Y/N asked, confusion clear in her voice.

“I’ll tell you what I mean sweetums,” Penelope continued, the tapping stopping on her end of the call, “I did my thing and pulled up the profile from Louise’s phone and quickly matched the person on the profile to Mr. Green, but the actual Mr. Green has a very legit alibi for both times because the first time he was at his boyfriend’s parent’s house for family dinner and the second time he was at a work conference two towns over.”

“So someone has used Green’s identity to lure the victims onto a date?” Y/N asked, still confused.

“It would appear so. I have successfully hacked into the account, and I have tried to track down the phone the creep has used but have come up blank. He is using some weird firewall, incognito thing that I have trouble working my way around it but trust me I’m trying.”

“Okay,” Hotch mumbled, deep lost within his own head. “Can you see if he’s arranged any upcoming dates on the app?”

“I can’t see any based on the messages he has on this app, but sir he could be on a lot, there’s so many dating apps and websites out there, and I have no way of knowing if he uses Sheldon Green as an identity on those as well, or if he uses another one,” she said already back to tapping away. “And by the way, all the women he has matched with look very similar to both Louise and Emma, so he definitely has a type. They were just the unlucky ones,” she said with sadness seeping clearly through the speaker

“Keep taps on the Sheldon Green profile and let us know if he starts to talk to anyone on there.”

“Aye aye captain,” she said before hanging up, leaving the room in silence once more.

“Fucking creep,” Y/N mumbled before standing up and abruptly leaving the room, an uncomfortable chill running down her back. The precinct was buzzing with phone calls and voices trying to talk over each other. Y/N was quick to move in and out through the clutter of desks and officers milling around, before she finally got outside.

The sun had set, in its place the moon was shining bright over head of her, a few stars visible from the bright lights of the big city. There were cars zooming by; fathers desperate to make it home and kiss their babies goodnight, mothers tired from an evening of soccer matches, husbands buzzing with flowers in the front seat and wives crying searching for refuge at their friends’ houses.

All so blissfully unaware of the monsters hiding out in the night. A blessing she didn’t have anymore.

She let her back rest against the cinderblock wall behind her and let her eyes drift shut for just a moment, letting her pretend she wasn’t in the midst of hunting down a monster. Pretending that she was 19 again, somewhere, still like the rest. Still so wonderfully naïve.

“You okay?” a voice pulled her from her silent reveries, and she quickly opened her eyes to see JJ, Rossi and Emily before her, all three of them with concern in their eyes.

“Oh yeah,” she brushed their concern off with a swift, dismissive wave of her hand. “Just tired.”

“Well,” Rossi started, moving forward to get a good grip on one of her shoulders, “it’s been a long day, hopefully we can all head back to the hotel soon.”

“That would be great,” Emily said as she and Rossi opened the door to the station, leaving Y/N and JJ out in the open air.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” JJ asked, leaning against the wall as well, hands folded together in front of her.

Y/N let out a deep sigh before letting her eyes fall shut again. “Penelope discovered that he uses a guy’s identity to get them to go on dates with him via dating apps,” she started to explain. “And she has no way of knowing if he uses the same identity on other dating sites, so we basically don’t have any way of getting to him.”

“But we will,” JJ encouraged softly, her hand rubbing up and down Y/N’s shoulder softly, “just like we always do.”

“You’re right,” Y/N smiled gratefully, before quickly taking her phone out of her pocket and checking the time. “If you hurry, I bet you have enough time to call Henry and Will and read a bedtime story.”

They profilers shared a small laugh before JJ took her leave and moved inside, already pulling Will’s number up on her phone.

She let herself close her eyes for the third time, feeling how exhaustion was slowly making its home in all of her limbs.

“I brought you some tea,” a voice said gently, as if careful to not startle her too much.

She peeked one of her eyes open to see Spencer standing bashfully by her side, a paper cup filled with tea in one hand, and his worn, wool blazer in the other.

“They don’t have strawberry tea, so it’s just earl grey,” he said carefully as he carefully handed it over to her, making sure she didn’t spill any in the transfer.

“Thank you, Spence,” Y/N smiled sweetly, before giving the beverage a gentle blow before taking a sip.

“And uh,” he continued, looking down at his converse that seemed to try to bury themselves in the cement beneath them, “Emily said it was pretty chilly so I thought you might like a coat, and I know that you’ve said that yours isn’t very practical for chilly nights so I thought you might like mine, but it’s totally fine if you don’t, I just didn’t want you to be cold-“ he said, his mouth running 100 miles a minute, flustered cheeks blazing under the pale moonlight.

“Spencer,” she said, laying a careful hand on his forearm, “that’s very sweet of you. I would love to borrow your jacket if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” he was quick to exchange the jacket in his hand for the cup in hers so that she could put on the coat. He handed her back the cup silently, letting himself loose himself in the vision of her standing under a combination of streetlight and the gentle glow of the moon, all the while wearing his coat.

“Did you get anything from the police report?” she asked gently before moving to sit on the curb, he knees up to her chest and the cup resting on one of her kneecaps.

Spencer followed, looking apprehensively at the curb before joining her by her side, with his knees in the same position but his arms wrapped around his legs and his hands clapped together in front of his shins.

“There was a witness that had said that they saw a man lurking around the street for about an hour or so in the time frame of when the van was stolen,” he explained looking at her as she took sips of the tea while looking at the passing cars. “They gave a description, so we have turned that over to Garcia.”

“That’s good,” Y/N mumbled before taking another swig of her tea.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, scooting an inch closer to her on the dirty curb.

“Yeah,” she sighed, her eyes meeting his gentle ones, “this case is just hitting a bit close to home, I guess. No idea why though.”

“We all get those,” he said, letting his eyes rise up to look at the mighty moon.

“Thank you for bringing me a cup of tea Spence,” she mumbled, scooting an inch closer to him on the dirty curb.

“It helps you calm down,” he mumbled, eyes now no longer on the moon but rather at the shrinking space between their bodies.

“It does?” she asked, breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flickering up to her face, “every time you drink tea you become calmer, and generally when you hold a warm cup, no matter the beverage, you pulse slows down.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, letting her eyes flicker over his face.

Spencer just shrugged with a small smile before letting his eyes fly down to briefly take a glimpse at her lips before they went back to her eyes.

“Is that why you always bring me tea?” she inquired, letting her own eyes fly down to his lips, where his tongue is gently poking out.

“Yeah,” he laughed gently, subconsciously leaning into the heat that was radiating off of her.

She leaned into him as well, their noses barely brushing, their soft breaths mixing together, “that’s incredibly thoughtful.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat before he dared to speak, “it’s what you do for the people you care about.”

They both leaned in closer, their noses now brushing up against one another, lips only a breath away from touching, “it’s what you do for the people you lo-“

His words were caught short from the sound of the door to the station bursting open, resulting in them pulling away from the moment in time they had created together. The team came bustling out, all of them looking mere minutes away from collapsing on the pavement from exhaustion.

“Y/L/N, Reid we’re done for the night, we all need to get some rest,” Hotch said when he noticed the two young agents sitting together on the curb.

“Oh,” they both said, hurrying to stand up and brush away any dirt from their time on the ground.

“I need to go grab my satch-“ Spencer started to say, already moving towards the door, but Derek was quick to lift up the worn satchel that he was carrying in his hand.

“Nope,” he said, turning Reid around and directing him to one of the SUVs as Emily linked her arm through Y/N’s and led her to the other one holding a bit further down.

“Nice coat,” Emily mumbled into Y/N’s ear, laughing quietly when the young agent’s ears started to turn red.

“Shut up,” Y/N said, hiding her smile behind the paper cup of lukewarm tea, as she watched Spencer pile into the black after Derek, a small smile shared between them, only for them to know about.

Her boots were clicking against the floor of the station as she made the first stop of the day at the coffee station. A few officers and detectives were there at the early morning hour, and the team was already setting up in the conference room, bracing themselves for the day to come.

She poured four packs of sugar into a cup, quickly dozing it in the hot coffee stirring it as she started to walk through the room to get to the team.

The weight of a blazer was heavy on her arm and the heat from the coffee cup warmed her entire body in the early morning hour as she discreetly opened the door and moved to take a seat next to Spencer as Hotch was talking.

“We need to go over victimology again,” Hotch started, and the team started to list all of the facts of the two victims.

“Here,” Y/N whispered softly, sliding the paper cup over to Spencer.

He averted his eyes away from where Emily was talking about the unsub having had a relationship with a woman that bore a resemblance to the victims.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his eyes drifting over her still sleepy features.

She nodded down to the paper cup between them, steam flying up and dancing between them. “Don’t worry,” she smiled at him, still keeping her voice low, “I made sure to put loads of sugar in.”

He smiled softly down at the cup, before looking up at her again with his lips pressed tightly together in a smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back, finally letting the conversation between the rest of the team get her attention.

Unlike Y/N, Spencer’s attention was now nowhere near the conversation about who knows what. All he could focus on was the warmth radiating from the cup between his slender fingers and from the person sitting next to him.

He could still perfectly see her face and her sleepy morning smile as he stared down in the coffee. He could feel a smile pull at the corners of his lips as he went over the sweet interaction multiple times in his head.

An elbow to the ribs from his other side was what brought him out of his daydreams, and he lifted his head to see the entire team staring him down.

“What?” he asked, taking a sip of the steaming brew.

“Have you come further with the geo profile?” Hotch asked from where he stood by the bulletin board.

“No,” Spencer said, sitting up straighter in his chair, “I’m waiting for Garcia to look into the night where the van was stolen.”

Hotch made a sound of approval before he started to give out orders for the team. Y/N and Emily were to go join the officers in the door to door rounds along with the local officers, Morgan and Reid would go and take a look at the crime scenes and visit the morgue to see if they had missed anything and JJ, Rossi and Hotch would stay put and look through the details again.

Spencer caught the eyes of Derek over the table as they all started to move around, a teasing glint in the older agent’s eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips.

Spencer furrowed his brows in question, which only deepened when Derek nodded to the coffee in Spencer’s hand. Derek simply shook his head and laughed silently to himself as he shared a quick glance with Emily, who was sitting on the other side of Spencer. She also simply just laughed and waited for Y/N to finish the conversation she was in the midst of with JJ.

Derek was quick to walk around the table, grab Spencer around the shoulders and direct him out of the stuffy conference room and out of the station.

“Now,” Derek said as they had made it halfway through the precinct, “is there a reason why Y/N brought you, and only you, a cup of coffee?”

“Uh,” Spencer fumbled over his words as he stopped in the midst of a step at Derek’s words. “What do you mean?”

Derek simply laughed as he took a stance in front of Spencer, efficiently blocking Spencer’s only escape route. “Now don’t get me wrong, Y/N is a very sweet girl, but in the year that she’s been on the team, she has never brought a coffee for just me, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course not,” Derek just laughed again, and nodded his head to a thing over Spencer’s shoulder. When Spencer turned his head to look, he was met with the sight of Y/N that was still talking to JJ. “Did anything happen between the two of you last night?” Derek tried to reiterate his question when Spencer turned his eyes back to his friends after a moment off blatantly staring at Y/N.

“No,” Spencer said, brows deeply furrowed.

“Are you sure?” Derek continued, “there was nothing going on between the two of you when we went home last night? When you were sitting on the curb?”

“Oh, that,” Spencer said, a red flush covering his cheeks and ears at the fact that the rest of the team had witnessed the intimate moment that he had thought had been strictly between the two of them.

“Yeah,” Derek laughed and clapped his hand down on Spencer’s shoulder as he started to guide the younger agent out of the doors.

“She was just feeling a bit out of it, so I brought her some tea,” Spencer started, his mind running faster than his mouth could compete with, “she calms down significantly when she drinks tea, or just generally has a warm beverage in her hands. Actually a study has shown-“ Spencer started to ramble on as they got out of the precinct, the early morning sun shining down on them.

But before he could distract Derek any further, a voice called out behind them, cutting Spencer short.

“Spence!” she called as she hurried out of the double doors, with Emily tailing behind her with a smirk on her face.

“Yeah?” Spencer said and both he and Derek turned towards the other two agents.

“I uhm,” she started, slightly fumbling over her words, anxiously glancing from Reid to Morgan, who was also standing with a big smirk on his face. “I forgot to give this back to you yesterday.”

She reached her arm out between them, offering him the battered blazer. Spencer looked down at it for a minute before slowly taking it into his hand that wasn’t holding the coffee, images of her wearing it the prior evening flying through his mind.

“Right,” Spencer said, nodding his head.

“And I just wanted to,” she trailed off, quickly looking at Derek before looking back at Spencer.

Derek seemed to get the hint, because he silently made his adieu and joined Emily, who was standing and waiting by the parked SUVs.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” she said, her voice light and feathery in the spring morning. “You were very sweet, and it made me feel a lot better.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” Spencer said, the blush returning to his face.

“Still,” she continues, taking a miniscule step towards him, “it meant a lot to me.”

“You’re my friend,” Spencer said softly, letting his eyes glide over her face, letting himself bask in the way the sun made her eyes gleam. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” she was quick to reply, sparing a quick look over to the two older agents that were watching them like hawks.

“I’m glad,” Spencer smiled down at her, tightening his grip on the blazer in his hands.

The spring wind was ruffling his hair around, making locks fall into his eyes. Before he could let a hand run through his curls, an unfamiliar hand beat him to it.

Her hand ran gently through his hair, making the curls fall back into the righteous place. She let the hand glide down to the side of his face, holding gently onto his soft cheek. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, she was throwing her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. She pressed a quick kiss to the cheek she had previously been caressing, before she pulled away from his body, his arms still hanging rigidly by his sides.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, before hurrying over to Emily.

Spencer watched her walk away, eyes following her retreating form as she dragged Emily into one of the SUVs, flipping Derek the bird when he called out a comment after her that Spencer didn’t hear because of the ringing in his ears.

“Pretty boy,” Derek called out, a know-it-all look painted all over his face, as he watched the young agent standing baffled in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you sure nothing happened?”

Spencer could still feel the ghost of her arms around his neck, could still feel the pressure of her body against his and the softness of her lips against his cheek. His ears, that were a colour of red that challenged roses, were ringing, and his eyes were firmly locked in the place she had previously been.

“Reid!” Derek called out again, a loud laugh on the verge of spilling from his lips.

“Huh?” Spencer was finally pulled out from his reveries, making him acutely aware of the fact that Derek and Emily, and potentially many others, had witnessed the small moment between the two of them.

“Nothing happened between the two of you huh?”

“Shut up,” Spencer mumbled as he quickly walked over to the car, hopelessly hoping for a silent car ride, his mind already drifting back to just a moment before.

The room was cold.

She could feel her colleagues’ eyes on her from behind the one-way mirror behind her as she leaned back in her chair.

Her heels were clicking on the floor as she tapped her foot as she kept a firm gaze on the man in front of her.

Emily was sitting beside her, flipping through a folder as she was repeating the rights to the person in front of the two of them.

“Do you understand?” she finished, and her eyes joined Y/N’s and looked at the man on the other side of the table.

The silence stretched across the room, the only sound being Y/N’s heels and Emily’s ruffling through the file.

“Do you understand your rights?” Y/N repeated, brows furrowing as she stared down the man.

He continued to stay silent, his gaze locked on where his hands were cuffed to the table. His dirty-blonde hair was a mess and the glasses on his face were slightly broken from the run-in he had had with Morgan.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Emily sighed and let the folder drop down onto the table surface.

“So, Elliott, do you know Louise Obsen?” Y/N asked, her hands folding together in her lap.

He continued to stay silent, eyes never drifting away from their safe spot as the two agents continued to stare him down.

His baby blue button-down was wrinkled and the more Y/N continued to observe him the more she thought about how un-special he was. Nothing about him was noteworthy and she wouldn’t give him a second glance if he were to pass her in the street.

A murderer hiding in plain sight.

“What about Emma Day?” Emily took over and leaned across the table to get closer to him. She slid two pictures across the table to him; the faces of the two young, beautiful women staring back at him from where he cowered within himself.

“Nothing?” Y/N asked and stood up to get rid of the restlessness that was starting to sink into her bones and started to walk around the room slowly.

“Never heard of them before,” he finally grumbled but his eyes remained downcast.

Emily and Y/N’s eyes met from across the room, both pairs of eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

“Oh really?” Emily prodded.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, and Y/N moved to stand behind him and glanced over his shoulder at the two pictures.

“That’s a shame huh,” Y/N said with her arms crossed across her chest, “they’re two very beautiful women.”

“Oh yeah,” Emily agreed as she leaned back in her chair.

“Actually,” Y/N said as if the thought had just hit her, “they kind of look like you Em.”

“Yeah,” Emily laughed a bit, “they kind of do.”

They waited for Elliott to react. From where Y/N was standing she could see the tenseness in his shoulders. His leg was bouncing up and down with a rapid pace and she was sure she could see a small bead of sweat trail down his temple.

Y/N glanced up at the one-way mirror that was behind Emily and could almost feel Spencer’s eyes catching her from the other side.

“But it doesn’t really surprise me,” Y/N continued and moved from her place behind him to lean up against the chair that she had previously been sitting on, “that you don’t know them I mean.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, taking the bait just like she had hoped.

“Oh, you know,” she sighed, lifting her head up to glance at the ceiling quickly before letting them fall back to the man in front of her. “Why would two young, beautiful women know you? You’re just an engineer at a random tech company.”

“You’re right Y/N,” Emily continued and looked up at her colleague.

“Like, would you pay him any mind Emily? If he came up to you in a bar or something?”

“No,” Emily laughed loudly and glanced at the man that was slowly starting to simmer in his own anger.

“Not even entertain him for the fun of it?” Y/N continued, knowingly rubbing salt in the newly created wound.

“I have standards Y/N,” she played along, her eyes also locked on the man.

“That’s a shame,” Y/N said as she moved to sit down again, “I think you’re his type.”

From across the table the two agents could see the way he was gritting his teeth together and how his hands were wringing together in anger.

“I bet you would love nothing more than to take agent Prentiss home,” she continued slowly leaning across the table to get into his personal space. “Lure her with the promise of a good time.”

“And, when I would turn him down,” Emily started to participate and mirrored Y/N’s pose, “he would spend the rest of the night watching from afar.”

Elliott finally lifted his gaze and was met with two agents fake smiling at him from the other side of the table.

“He would wait until you were alone,” Y/N continued, making sure to maintain the eye contact that she’d finally established.

“But he wouldn’t have the guts to confront me,” Emily drawled on, fiddling with the many papers in the file.

“So he would attack you from behind,” Y/N took over, “like a coward”

“And he would put me in a car,” Emily said as she pulled out a photo of the ‘Better Builders’ van, “one that wouldn’t be able to be connected to him, because despite being a coward, he isn’t stupid.”

“Then he would take you somewhere isolated,” the other agent mumbled, letting her hands run through her hair. “Like a cabin or something.”

“Something like this?” Emily asked and pulled out another photo, this one of an isolated cabin they had been able to connect with Elliott.

“Yeah, exactly,” Y/N laughed and pushed the picture towards him. “Do you recognize this place, Elliott?”

“No,” he grumbled, eyes refusing to look at the pictures in front of him.

“Are you sure?” Emily asked, “because that cabin belonged to your father, and from what we have been able to find, said cabin now belongs to you.”

He just shook his head as Emily talked, eyes burning holes in the table beneath his hands.

“So he would take you somewhere isolated,” Y/N tried to get the conversation back on the prior path, “somewhere no one would hear you scream.”

“And then he would play around, terrorising me for God knows how long,” any kind of playfulness or teasing had left Emily’s voice and a sadness and anger had taken their place.

“And then, to finish it off,” Y/N said, her voice low and sad, “he would shoot you in the back of the head.”

“But he knows a body is too difficult to get rid of and even though the cabin is isolated the body would be found if he were to just dump it,” Emily continued, hard eyes looking at the suspect.

“So he would have to cut you up,” Y/N mumbled, “and discard the limbs and only hope that they won’t be found.”

Silence stretched across the room again. The two agents staring down the man before them. The man, who was shaking and whose face had become beat red.

“See Elliott,” Emily said, starting to collect the pictures that were laid out on the table before them, “that’s what we think you did to Louise Obsen and Emma Day.”

“And when we get a search warrant for your cabin, which is in the process, we will find something in there that confirms that you did this.” Y/N said moving to lean back in her chair. “A hair, a piece of a nail or a little drop of blood that confirms that you killed two innocent women.”

“And when that happens,” Emily continued, “you will get locked away for a long time. And trust me,” she paused and leaned in closer to him, “you won’t survive long in a federal prison.”

“But,” Y/N drawled out, “if you cooperate we could do something for you.”

He continued to stay quiet, eyes still not looking at them.

“Well,” Emily sighed and moved to stand up, Y/N following suit, “suit yourself.”

The two agents moved to walk out of the interrogation room, before a voice stopped them.

“I’ll tell you,” he said slowly, causing them to turn around and look back at him staring at the two of them. “But only you,” he stared at Emily with intent.

Y/N glanced at her co-worker and was met with a confident nod as she moved to take a seat once again.

Y/N looked back at the pair one final time before leaving the room to watch from behind the glass.

Once she stepped out into the hallway she was met with Rossi and Spencer shifting their gazes from the interrogation room to her as she closed the door behind her.

“Good work kiddo,” Rossi said, walking away from the glass and clapping her gently on the shoulder before moving past her, probably to find Hotch and inform him of Elliot being willing to cooperate.

“Thank you, sir,” Y/N mumbled as she watched him walk back into the hectic precinct.

“You did really well,” Spencer said as she moved to stand beside him and watch Elliott talk with Emily.

“Thanks Spence,” Y/N said, looking up at him as he looked down at her at the same time.

They stood there for a while, just listening to the confession that was pouring out of Elliott. From where she stood beside him Y/N could feel the heat radiating from Spencer. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his dark purple tie matched the light purple shirt perfectly.

Y/N shifted her eyes back to the interrogation but could still feel his eyes on the side of her face. As they stood side by side Y/N could feel a soft motion of a finger slowly moving across the back of her hand.

As she glanced down, she saw Spencer’s pinkie moving slowly across the plain of the back of her hand; she could feel the heat slowly spread across her face.

She slowly manoeuvred her hand around so she could rub her finger against his as well, before a loud voice forced their hands apart.

“Y/L/N,” Derek called from behind them, walking across the precinct and the two other agents turned around to see him approach them. “Rossi said that you got him to cooperate.”

“Yeah,” Y/N coughed as she cleared her throat and moved to fold her arms across her chest to try to delete the prior moment from Derek’s mind.

“How’d you do it?” he said as he moved closer to the pair and stood between Y/N and Spencer as he spied into the room with a knowing grin on his face.

“We just tried to get under his skin,” Y/N explained as she looked back into the interrogation room again and saw Emily scribbling down notes as Elliott spoke. “Showed him how much of a coward he is.”

Derek laughed and laid an arm around her shoulders and gave her arm an affectionate clap.

“Well, at least this one went pretty smoothly.”

Both Spencer and Y/N hummed their agreement, two pairs of cheeks burning from an erased moment in time.

“Garcia said that you were hungry,” Spencer said, making Y/N’s attention divert from the case file in front of her to the genius standing with a paper towel in his hand, “so I thought you would like this.”

He gently placed the paper towel on her desk, making sure that it didn’t land on one of the many files that were scattered on the desk. The paper unfolded and inside was a pear, cut up in four pieces, just waiting to be eaten.

All the while she gathered the pieces of fruit and tugged the paper towel closer to her, Spencer was standing, more like hovering over her, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. His hands were tangled together in front of his body, eyes following her every move as she started to munch on the cut-up fruit.

“Thank you, Spence,” she said, half a piece of pear already in her mouth, “this is just what I needed.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said with a big smile on his face, before he gathered a case file from his desk and bounced up the stairs to Hotch’s office.

“He’s never brought me a pear,” a voice pulled Y/N’s attention away from the now closed door, a smile ever so present on her lips as she slowly chewed on the piece of fruit.

“What?” Y/N asked, confused, turning to see Derek and Emily sitting with shit eating grins on their faces.

“Pretty boy,” Derek elaborated gesturing to Hotch’s office, “in the many years I’ve known him, he has never brought me a sliced-up pear.”

“Me neither,” Emily said as she twirled around in her chair.

“Well,” Y/N started to say, very much confused at where the direction of this conversation was going, “maybe he doesn’t know that you guys like pears.”

“I don’t think that’s why,” Derek laughed, throwing the pen he had been playing with in his hand down on his desk.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked unconsciously, reaching for another piece hidden in the paper towel.

“What are we discussing?” Penelope broke into the conversation, a happy smile on her pink painted lips.

“Nothing,” Y/N was quick to say as she turned her chair back to face her desk, in hopes of ending the conversation before it even began.

“Pretty Ricky had heard from you that dear Y/N was hungry, so he cut up a pear for her,” Derek said, and even with her back to them she could practically hear the smiles on all of their faces.

“I haven’t talked to Reid all day,” Penelope said, happiness practically radiating off of her by the news.

“You haven’t?” At this revelation Y/N was quick to turn her chair around, confusion clear on her face.

“No,” she dragged out the word, letting a giggle slip out at the end.

“Then why would he say that?” Y/N asked as she chewed on another piece, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Because,” Emily dragged out as she got up and moved to sit on Y/N’s desk, “he needs a middleman.”

“A middleman?” Y/N asked, even more confused.

“Someone to make it seem like he wasn’t noticing that you were hungry based on your behaviour,” Derek explained, sliding his chair closer to Y/N’s desk.

“He’s a profiler,” Y/N mumbled to the rest, “if my behaviour was showing that I was hungry, why would he be embarrassed to just give me something to eat. We’re friends.”

“Actually,” Penelope piped up, finally seeing it as her time to make an input into the conversation, “giving snacks to someone is something many consider a love language.”

Y/N choked on the last piece of pear in her throat and turned around to cough down into the paper towel that was still laying on her desk. Emily laughed as she clapped her between the shoulder blades.

“Guys!” she exclaimed once she had gotten everything under control again, “he just gave me a pear. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Emily sighed as she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears as she looked down at the younger, oblivious agent. “I remember a guy saying that once the pear was an allegory for the heart.”

Silence took its place between the four agents. Three of them with giant smiles on their faces as the fourth was simply staring out in space, trying to solve a puzzle that she didn’t even know existed. Her ears were ringing from the realisation, cheeks heating under the scrutiny from the three others as her mind slowly started to fill to the brim of all of her shared moments with Spencer.

“You think he likes me?” she asked quietly, only daring to let her eyes fall on Penelope, whose face was almost splitting in half from the giant smile on her face.

“Oh, I think ‘like’,” Penelope said as she brought her hands up and made citation quotes around the word, “is an understatement.”

“He said,” Y/N started, keeping her eyes locked with Penelope’s as she started to fiddle with her hands that were resting in her lap, “He said that he knows what it’s like to love something that’s out of reach.”

The group fell silent as they took in the revelation, the three of them waiting for Y/N to continue. “Do you think he was talking about me?”

“Duh!” Penelope practically yelled, which gained the attention of the agents dutifully working around the quartet. “That boy has been in love with you since you first joined the team. And I may not be a profiler,” she continued making her way over to stand next to the chair Y/N was sitting on, “but I think that his feelings are reciprocated.”

Before Y/N had the chance to say anything, the sound of a door slamming shut brought them all out of the small moment they had created between themselves. As she looked up to the landing, she saw Spencer walking down the stairs again.

“What’s going on?” he asked curiously, letting his eyes flicker from Derek’s smirk, to Penelope’s sparkling eyes, to Emily’s suppressed grin and finally to Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Oh nothing,” Penelope was quick to say, “just talking about the upcoming weekend.”

“Oh,” Spencer said as he took a seat in his chair, and let the folder he had with him drop to the desk, “do you have any special plans Garcia?”

“Uh,” she sputtered, clearly not ready to talk herself out of her lie, “yes, I’m going to go antique shopping with Emily.”

“We are?” Emily was quick to but in, disdain clear in her voice from the mere thought of going antiquing.

“Yes! Remember we talked about it a while ago,” Penelope mumbled before dramatically gesturing to the watch hanging on the wall, “would you look at that, I have to go back to my office to do,” she dragged out the words, as the four profilers looked at her with amusement on their faces, “to do hacking things. Bye!”

And before they knew she had hurried out of their eyesight, her blonde hair bobbing up and down as she moved as fast as her heels allowed her to.

“Weird,” Spencer said, sharing a quick smile with Y/N before they all went back to their work. Or, three of them went back to their work.

Y/N spend the rest of her afternoon sifting through every interaction she had ever had with the young doctor, from the moment they had met in this very bullpen, to the first time she had made him laugh over a joke, to the time she had successfully dragged him out to celebrate a successful case with the rest of the team. In the small year they had known each other they had created so many small moments together, so many fond memories that lived in her heart.

And at some point, in the small year, Spencer had managed to worm himself into a part of her heart that she herself didn’t even know existed. Sparks flew out of her finger tips every time they gently touched him. Her heart started to beat faster every time he would smile at her or she would hear his joyous laughter. She started to get lost in the depth of his warm eyes every time they made eye contact, drowning in a sea of honey that she refused to get saved from.

And, unknown to her, she had made herself a home in Spencer’s heart. Her gentle touch seemed to light a fire in him, making him burn to the bone every time her delicate fingers grazed his skin. His smile had become more frequent, and his laughter more boisterous ever since she had joined the team; her mere presence lightening up any gloomy day.

So, there they sat the rest of the sunny afternoon; a boy and a girl so oblivious about the love that flowed so effortlessly between them. She could still taste the lingering taste of the fruit, and she swore her heart fluttered in her chest every time. He could still see the joyful look she had given him when he had handed her the folded-up paper towel, and his heart sang every time it flowed through his mind.

And without either of them noticing, the sunny day ticked by minute for minute. The bullpen had started to empty out for the day, leaving them some of the few agents left.

She could still hear Derek and Emily typing away on their monitors and have occasional chit chat, and out of the corner of her eye she could still see Hotch and Rossi in their respective offices.

As she was finishing up one of her last files, she noticed how Spencer slowly started to pack up for the day.

After a year she had learned his routine for when he would start to head home. Firstly, he would turn off his computer, secondly, he would stack all of his files into a neat pile, ready for when he came in tomorrow, thirdly he would start to pack his bag, double checking he had everything, before finally rising from his chair, putting on his coat and saying goodbye to those who stayed longer than him.

He was in the midst of the fourth step, coat being ready to be put on when they made eye contact over the divider between their desks.

He slowed his actions, taking his time to adjust the lapels on his jacket and picking up his satchel. It was as if everything that had been left unsaid by the two exploded in that moment. All of the gentle touches and the burning fires. All of the loud laughter and the timid smiles. A year worth of love combined into just a five second glance.

“Have a good night,” she said softly, eyes firmly locked with his.

“You too,” he said as he slowly walked by her desk, “see you tomorrow.”

She smiled at him, feeling all of the air leave her lungs when he smiled back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow as well genius,” Morgan called after him loudly, making Spencer walk faster out of the bullpen, and even from where Y/N was sitting, she could see the tips of his ears turn red.

“Y/N,” Emily said firmly when Spencer was out of ear shot.

“Emily,” Y/N said back, refusing to give the two cocky agents what they wanted from her.

“Go after that boy,” she said, walking over and hovering over her with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Y/N asked, still looking down at the paperwork in front of her.

“Are you kidding me? I just saw the two of you practically declaring your love for each other with just one look! And for some reason, you refuse to accept the fact that you two are in love with each other,” she said, one of her hands coming down on the younger agent’s shoulder. “Look, okay, I’m no expert at love or anything, but what the two of you have is something special. And I get it, okay. Love is scary, and with our job we see how easily our loved ones can be torn away from us, so I get it more than anyone that it’s scary to succumb to it. But, and this is just my opinion, it would be foolish to let a love like the one the two of you have go to waste.”

After her monologue Emily made her way back over to her own desk, eyes locked with Morgan, desperate to get him to help him. But before he got the chance, Y/N spoke up timidly.

“If I don’t come back will you finish my paperwork?”

“Yes,” both Emily and Derek said without hesitation, smiles spreading wider and wider when they saw the girl hurrying to grab her back and coat before quickly walking out of the office.

“Fucking finally,” Derek mumbled, letting his eyes follow the young agent out of the double glass doors.

Y/N stood by the elevator, repeatedly pressing the button in hopes of making the machine work any faster. When the doors finally opened, she was greeted by an out of breath Spencer, who looked like he had just run across the parking lot.

“Hi,” he mumbled softly, slowly stepping out of the box as she took a few steps back.

“Hi,” she said, “did you forget something?”

A moment of silence hung between them, both unsure of how to approach the inevitable conversation.

“I-“ he cleared his throat into his fist before continuing, “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling the burning stare of two pairs of eyes on her back.

“I,” he started, his hands hidden in his coat pockets and shoes shuffling around nervously on the floor, but she was quick to interrupt him before he could go on.

“Emily just reminded me of something,” she said, her voice small but confident. “Someone once told me that the pear was an allegory for the heart.”

At her words Spencer’s eyes widened the slightest, and a pretty blush started to paint over his cheekbones.

“That someone would be correct,” his voice was low but clear, intending to keep the conversation strictly between them.

“And you gave me a pear,” she continued, her hands wringing together in front of her. “And someone would say that means that you, in some way, gave me your heart.”

They both stared at each other, oblivious to the gathering that was happening in the bullpen behind them. Emily and Derek had now been joined by Penelope and JJ, all eyes set on the two of them, and even from their distance they could feel the tension between the two almost lovers.

“That’s one way to understand it,” he said, taking a miniscule step closer to her.

“Is it the right way?” she asked, mimicking him and tipping a millimetre closer.

“I think,” he started, letting his hands come up from his coat pockets and let them slowly intertwine with hers. “I think that I gave my heart to you a long time ago.”

“Really?” she moved closer towards him, letting her fingertips spark at the feeling of his gentle touch.

“Yeah,” he nodded, curls falling into his gentle eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered, squeezing his hands before removing them from his when he nodded his head nervously.

She let them slide up his arms before they found their place on his jaw, soft skin meeting her cold fingers. His arms found their purpose around her soft waist, giving him the opportunity to pull her in closer. She let her eyes roam his face for a second, before she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. His nose was cold against hers, his lips chapped from the colder weather, but none of it mattered. They stood no comparison to the way his hands were grasping at her waist, or the way she could feel a smile on his lips against hers.

They pulled apart slowly, both of their eyes still closed, both of them just existing in the moment they had created between them.

“I gave you my heart a long time ago too,” she whispered to him, letting her arms wrap around his neck and gave him a tight hug. “But I will be happy to give you a pear as well.”

He laughed at her comment, before he pulled her into another kiss, letting himself taste the sweet taste of pear that lingered on her lips.

“Pears cannot ripen alone. So we ripened together” - Meridel Le Sueur

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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spideyspeaches · 4 years ago

Text

Inconveniences ↬ p.p

AN: This is a reupload from my old account!

An entry for @geminiparkers’s 1k writing challenge!

Pairing- College!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex :)

Wc: 1.7k

Masterlist || Taglist

You didn’t understand what people saw in the Avengers. They were annoying and had no concept of personal space.

Or maybe those were just your thoughts. You’ve been living with them ever since quarantine started, finally able to convince your parents that you were capable of living alone, you were an avenger, after all. Well you weren’t really living alone, as the people in question along with your boyfriend, Spider-Man lived with you.

Never were you ever glad that May Parker, the angel, had allowed you two to stay together (without much embarrassment).

Back to the point where you got no privacy. For example:

“Peterrrr” you whined, elongating his name to get his attention. You had been horny all day long, craving some semblance of touch from your extremely sweet, hot, amazing, beautiful boyfriend.

He hummed, not even looking up from the laptop he was typing on. He was laying on his side, so you tried to shimmy yourself between the little space on the couch and him, only to grunt when he wouldn’t move.

So you tried something else, because fuck the Avengers you wanted a dick now.

“Petey petey pie,” you whispered, tracing his abs from under his t-shirt. You knew your trick would work, because you could feel them clench.

“Y/N, not here sweetheart.” He muttered, holding your hand while he continued to ignore you.

Pouting, you huffed and flopped back as much as you could.

“You promised you would be free tonight! Gah you’re such a nerd!” You whined, rolling your eyes when you saw Nat entered the living room.

At first she ignored you both, sipping at her milkshake and walking towards the kitchen.

“You chose me and not Harry remember? Thought you were into nerds not gonna lie.” He smirked, his voice low, the kind that had you clenching without a thought.

“And? Are you questioning my choices? Come on Petey you can do your homework later.” You said.

You climbed on top of him, your foot purposefully catching his dick. By now you were practically on his chest , tracing circles around his nipples.

Smirking, you continued to pepper his exposed neck with featherlight kisses, making sure to moan every now and then.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” He clenched his jaw, huffing to show that your kisses were not affecting him.

“Well you’re being a party pooper, so I’m having mine.” You muttered, voice muffled as you slid your hands inside his t-shirt, scratching your fingers against his chest.

Grunting, he gently pushed you off, sitting up with his laptop on his legs, “Y/N this is important."

Mouth open now, you puffed your cheeks, folding your hands on your chest.

"Can you believe this dude?!” You shouted, looking at Nat while pointing at your smirking boyfriend, “he chooses homework over sex!”

***

Sipping at your drink, you smiled at the scene in front of you. It was almost half a year under quarantine, and Tony had finally agreed to host a party, albeit an internal one with only the Avengers, and May, now that she was out of duty from the hospital.

“How’re you feeling babe?” Peter appeared, wrapping his hands around your stomach, resting his nose on the crook of your neck.

Sighing, you leaned onto his head, enjoying the way he kissed your neck, caressing your waist with his thumbs.

“I’m good, things are getting normal again, if only the president caught the virus, this country would be a much better place.” You snorted, feeling your back vibrate as he laughed.

“You hate him so much don’t you?” He said.

“He’s hate worthy.” You shrugged, turning around to wrap your hands around his neck, playing with the baby hair on the nape.

Leaning forward, you hummed against his lips, crading your hands through his hair as he pushed you into his chest, fingers playing with the hem of your pants.

“Someone’s gonna walk in on us.” You mutter against his mouth, moaning as his tongue attacks your lips, parting them hungrily.

Swaying with the loud music, you whimpered when he touched your waist, his fingers hot and leaving shocks, your pussy throbbing and gut coiling with anticipation.

Panting desperately, you pulled at his shirt, fingers scrunching in the material as he lifted you up, planting on the counter top as you wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively straddling him. Feeling his muscles rippling under the shirt, gave a throaty moan, huffing due to the lack of oxygen.

Sweat was already coating your foreheads, creating highlights on his cheekbones and reflecting off the lens of his glasses-

“Peter did you see my- Oh! Oh am I disturbing you? Why don’t you use the bedroom though, I don’t think Tony would like if you do it in the kitchen-"

"May! Oh my god-"

”-It’s okay honey, you’re not a teenager anymore-“

Falling off the counter top, you bit your lip, playing with the hem of your shirt, not meeting May’s eyes. You look at your blushing boyfriend, embarrassed at being caught making out in between a party.

"May, just go, please-”

“Um, sorry I was just leaving anyway, you know, I got work to do. Yeah. You both continue.” She smirked, nodding at you and sending a sly wink at you.

Shaking your head, you looked at Peter, twiddling your hands together.

“Sooo, wanna make out?” You ask.

“Yeah. Sure"

***

The dishes clinked together, the noise echoing in the empty kitchen. Peter moved with agility, hands cleaning the dishes as he passed it to you who were putting them on the rack.

You saw him take a deep breath, biting your lips and gulping. You knew what was coming next.

Peter had always been protective of you, as a friend or as a girlfriend. He protected everyone who he loved.

"I’m sorry-"

"Save it. Take your meds and go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He grunted, nearly smashing the plates as you raised your eyebrows.

“Well be careful of the plates, they’re fragile.” You joked, heart beating fast as you contemplate his reaction.

“How are you so chill about all this?! You know you were reckless, and yet you do decide to not acknowledge the fact that you almost died!” He slammed his fist, nearly breaking the plate with his hand, a small piece did break, piercing his skin.

You jumped at his sudden aggression, your own anger building.

“I’m a big girl now Peter, I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to look out for me everytime I go out!” You snarled, curling your fist, “and you’re one to talk you hypocrite! You’re always so reckless during patrols, how is me getting blasted by a bomb in a fireproof suit, reckless when you get hit by bullets on a daily basis?"

"I stopped listening after you said you got blasted by a bomb, you’re not enhanced Y/N, how am I supposed to-”, he said voice cracking, “I love you okay? I can’t - I can’t lose you okay?"

Your chest ached at his hurt voice. Peter had lost a lot in his short life, his parents, his uncle, almost lost Tony. And now you felt bad about making him feel that way.

"I’m sorry Petey.” You said, taking his cheek in one hand, holding his suds filled hand in another, “You’re hurt."

He chuckled, looking at his hand where the broken plate had pierced it. Tony wouldn’t mind one broken plate, he was a billionaire after all.

"Yeah.” He said, sniffing and putting it under the faucet to get off any remaining blood. You watched in fascination as the wound closed up, not even leaving a scar behind as if you were watching a time lapse.

Rolling your eyes, you grinned mischievously, poking his chest with you fingers and snorting as he giggled, pulling you closer-

“Bucky! Give me back my cookie now or I swear to god-"

"Ughhh you guys do this purposely don’t you?” You groaned, glaring at Bucky and Sam as they stop in their tracks, looking at each other and smirking.

“We neither confirm nor deny your accusations.” Bucky said, plopping the cookie in his mouth and walking out of the kitchen as you bang your forehead against the table.

Why can’t people just let you be intimate with your boyfriend for one second?

***

“Are you sure no one’s gonna walk in, Spider-Man?” You hummed against his lips, moving in slow motions as he caresses your bum.

“If they do, I’ll take care of it.” He rasps, squeezing your bottom and fingering the hem of your shirt shorts.

You were sitting in Peter’s bedroom after a full day of teasing him, because you were horny and desperate. Softly kneading your fingers through his hair, you whined at the feel of his bulge against your crotch, a wet feeling already seeping through those shorts.

Rubbing your hips faster against his, you huff, tracing his biceps and squeezing them occasionally as he moved down with his lips, slipping off your tank top.

“Thought you had super speed.” You grunted, urging him to go faster as he unclasped your bra before looking at you with a smirk, his eyes shining with mirth and lust.

“You were a bad girl today, teasing me every opportunity you got, it’s only fair if I get to do the same.” He said before squeezing your one boob and sucking on the other, a wet pop noise leaving his mouth every time he sucked on it.

Spreading your legs further, you shimmy out of your shorts, lifting Peter’s shirt up to get him out of it before he stopped you.

“Oh no, you’re not-” he started before the door opened with a bang.

“Did you guys-” before Tony could see anything, Peter produced his web-shooters and shot at the door, locking it for at least another two hours.

A muffled, “at least use protection!” Was heard from outside the door. Your face was burning with embarrassment, looking at Peter with an innocently terrified look on your face. He could hear your heart racing, and it was making him like, really hard.

“Now, where to begin.” He whispered, chills shooting up your spine, goosebumps appearing on your skin and the wet feeling intensifying between your thighs.

“Let me at least undress you.” You plead, lifting his t-shirt and unbuttoning his jeans simultaneously.

“No, you were a brat today, and brats don’t get a taste without punishment.” He smirked, flipping you so you hit the backrest, holding your arms up and…webbing You up against the headboard, “today I’m doing all the work."

And you didn’t mind it really. Like, at all.

#peter parker x stark!reader #college!peter parker #college!peter parker x stark!reader #college!peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #spideygirl writes

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javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

denial

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Rating: Explicit (and I mean EXPLICIT/18+/strictly no minors thanks)

Summary: This is the longer version of that drabble I wrote a few weeks ago. There is no plot, and I have no excuse for this apart from that I really like vampires.

Notes: I can’t start every fic with “Dani made me do it” but yeah, Dani made me do it. She just knows what to say to me to get me to write stuff like this. Thank you for reading this in advance and for your advice and for screaming at me at one in the morning, this one’s for you, Ms @javierpcna!

***

“Stand up.”

A shudder runs through you when you hear his calm voice; and yet, there is something there, an undercurrent you pick up on almost subconsciously. The nerves in your body begin to tingle as you turn your head to look at him, your mouth suddenly dry. You’re both sitting on the couch watching a movie, his arm is draped around your shoulders casually, his gaze on the TV. It doesn’t appear like he’s interested in you as his eyes follow the action on the screen with tiny flickers of movement. Did he even say it or did you just imagine it?

But then he turns to you, raises his other hand to catch your chin between his thumb and index finger in a firm grip, and repeats, "I said, stand up."

You don't know what has gotten into him; maybe he thinks the movie is boring – you certainly think so –, maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t been this close to each other in over a week – both too busy with your jobs – or maybe it’s because you put on the perfume you know he likes, but he has never talked to you like this. He knows you would do anything he asked you to, couldn't refuse him when his brown eyes cloud over with a darkness that makes them appear black. You couldn’t refuse him when those eyes pin you down more than a firm grip on your wrists or hip ever could. It makes him look like a predator ready to pounce, ready to sink his teeth into his victim's throat to draw blood.

He is looking at you like that now and his unrelenting gaze makes you squirm against the couch. You can feel the evidence of what he does to you between your legs as something down there clenches around thin air and your own gaze is drawn to his left hand casually resting against his thigh.

You're instantly wet.

Without hesitation you jump up to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to make the next move. It isn’t your place to take the lead. As you look down at him lounging on the couch, knees falling open in an inviting motion, his right arm propped up as if still slung around your shoulders, you feel a tense calm, like a taut rope shortly before it snaps. The longer he makes you wait, the tenser you become until you feel you’re the one ready to pounce, ready to jump him. It’s all part of the game, all part of his seduction technique, to make you want him even more. Still, you don’t make a move because it’s what he wants. He wants to see you crack, cave in, so he can exploit that, turn the tide in his favor, use you. And you’re not prepared to let that happen without putting up at least the semblance of a fight.

So you wait patiently, even though your whole body is straining, itching for him. You know what’s about to happen, that there is nothing you can do to prevent it, but you’ve come to accept your fate and this knowledge fills you with tranquility.

And then he moves – finally! – and it takes you every ounce of your willpower not to mirror his movement because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. He leans back until he's almost lying down, his back pressing into the soft cushions of the couch. He watches you, doesn't even blink, as if what he’s seeing isn’t affecting him at all, and then he runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “Take off your shirt,” he finally says in a low tone of voice that makes it impossible to resist him.

You comply, lifting the thin, blue fabric over your head to reveal you’re not wearing anything underneath. Thankfully, the air in the room is quite cold so you can blame your hardened nipples on that and not on your heightened state of arousal. The TV behind you fills the otherwise quiet, dark room with flashing lights and the sounds of explosions. He doesn't seem to hear them, doesn’t seem bothered by the alternating flashes of bright white and almost complete darkness. You have his full attention, and it makes you squirm, your heartbeat picking up speed, your blood rushing in your ears.

Again, he makes you wait, lets his gaze wander over you from the top of your head to the waistband of your jeans, as if he has all the time in the world. You notice how his eyes linger on your breasts for a moment, one of his hands closing around nothing as he imagines squeezing them. And you want him to – you’re so wound up everything irritates you, the noises, the lights, his eyes; an itch is crawling over your skin, one you’re desperate to have scratched. You want his hands on you, doing to you what he’s clearly imagining right now, but you know that being impatient will only make things worse. Max likes to take his time with you and if you act up, he knows how to punish you. You swallow hard in anticipation.

“Now your pants,” he finally orders, raising his eyebrows in what you can only interpret as a challenge.

You let your hand wander down your exposed belly, your touch relieving some of the pressure that’s been building inside of you, the muscles of your throat moving as you try to swallow. You know he notices how they strain, it’s in his nature. His eyes flicker up to your face before following your trembling fingers, watching as you struggle to open the button on your jeans. Your fingers refuse to cooperate when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re a delicious meal he can’t wait to devour.

And then he moves too. He’s almost mirroring your motions – but his hand doesn't stop at his waistband. Instead, it moves lower, lower and lower, and then he’s palming himself through the fabric of his expensive dress pants.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he lowers his to glare at you. He’s never done this before, always relying on the feeling of your body under his. This? This is different. You feel watched, studied, completely exposed, as he uses the sight in front of him – uses you – to chase his own pleasure. And you like it. You're almost ashamed to admit how much you like it.

As you push down your jeans, you let your thumb brush over your clit to relieve some of the pressure building between your legs. It’s dangerous and you shouldn’t do it, you know that, but you can’t help yourself. Your whole body seems to be shaking with the tension and you crave release, even if it’s just for a second. And for that short second, you think you’re getting away with it, you think he doesn’t notice. But he does. He sits up straight with a snarl.

"Don't ever do that again." It's a low growl, almost animalistic. "You don't get to touch yourself."

You still your hand, but it’s unfair; you know that, he knows that. Yet, you don't protest. Being whiny or needy won’t get you anywhere. Instead, you set your mind on trying it again. You step out of your trousers and kick them to the side. He relaxes again, as much as he’s ever going to, his hand resting between his legs, pressing down lightly. You want to feel some of the relief he must be feeling right now, so you let your hands run up your thighs slowly, relishing how his breath hitches. You can feel the heat between your legs as you press your index finger against your clothed clit. A quiet moan tries to tear itself from your chest at the touch and you do your best to keep it down, fight it even, but you fail. You lose that battle.

The next thing you know is that his hand has your wrist in a vise-like grip. "I'm not gonna fuck you tonight," he tells you quietly and this time you can’t help yourself – you groan in frustration. He just tightens his grip on you, his black eyes gleaming dangerously. "Kneel," he growls, forcing you down until your knees hit the carpet. It sends a jolt of pleasure through you, from the base of your spine to the top of your head. Shivering, you watch him free his hard cock, thick and heavy, the tip glistening. You wet your lips in anticipation.

But then he shatters your dreams with three words. "You're gonna watch." His voice is a menacing hiss, nothing more. "You'll take what I give you. And you're gonna be grateful."

You nod your head to show him you’ve understood, hoping that if you behave yourself now, you might at least get to touch him. He seems unimpressed by your submissive display, just watches you with mild interest as he runs his hand lightly over his cock, from base to tip, collecting some of the pre-cum, before repeating the motion. The air is thick with anticipation – you crave his release as much as you crave your own, his slow movements only making you strain, yearn for more. You wish you could hear him lose himself, deep moans and filthy, whispered praises for you, but he’s completely quiet, watching with interest what he is doing to you. It’s almost like he’s not that interested in his own pleasure but rather in your reactions, your desperation, in the power he holds over you. You squirm again, chasing a tiny bit of friction between your legs.

“Am I boring you?” he asks. He’s trying to keep his voice level, but there’s a ragged quality to it that makes you look at him.

Oh.

He’s not as composed as he would like you to believe he is. His brows are furrowed, and his chest is heaving, his breath coming in short, aroused pants. It makes you shudder involuntarily, because with these obvious signs of the effect you have on him comes something else, something dark and demanding and sinister, something he can’t force down. And you don’t want him to force it down; you want him to take what’s rightfully his, want to give him everything he craves, want him to use you until you’ve forgotten everything about your own pleasure, until you’re both just chasing his. You want to see him come undone with the softest of touches, with the whispers of the dirtiest things you can think of.

“No,” you say, and tentatively put a hand on his thigh just above the knee. Your eyes are wide with innocence, a silent plea written all over your face. “Just let me touch you.”

“No,” he repeats your own answer back at you, the hand on his cock stilling for a moment. Then he lets go of himself and holds his hand up in front of you. “But you can have a taste.”

You let your tongue run from the heel of his hand to the tip of his middle finger before sucking two fingers into your mouth. He lets you, helps you by pushing into you even deeper. The taste of him on his skin, on his strong hand, his thick fingers, is almost too much, too overwhelming. He picks up on that quickly and begins to pull out only to shove back inside your mouth with brutal force. Repeating this motion a few times, he watches as you swallow around him, determined to show him what he’s missing. You suck on his fingers, force him to press down onto your tongue until you gag, until his eyes are impossibly dark with lust. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan and he curls his fingers at that, stilling his movements, giving you a short break to taste him, to cherish what he’s giving you. When you open your eyes again, you see a red glimmer in his, which makes you suck and swallow even harder.

When he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, a thread of spit still connecting you to him, you moan at the loss. This time, you don’t have the desired effect on him. Instead, his hand, his fingers that were just in your mouth, grab his cock again and he runs it up and down his length with obscenely wet sounds accompanying his movements. You keen, both hands on his knees now, watching the spectacle in front of you while you can feel yourself clench around nothing over and over again in time with his motions, like you’re missing something inside of you, a vital part, a piece of a puzzle that belongs there. You can feel him like a ghost inside of you, stretching you, and you’re jealous, jealous of his hand wrapped around himself, getting to experience the feeling you so desperately crave. The air is heavy with a scent entirely unfamiliar to you, an intoxicating fragrance that makes your head swim, that makes you feel brave and bold and ready to defy the rules.

You grab his wrist in an attempt to still his hand, to replace it with your own or your mouth or your warm, wet folds – you don’t care, you just need to feel him somewhere, but he growls deep and dark and dangerous and lunges forward, his other hand wrapping tightly around your throat, the ring he’s wearing on his middle finger digging into your skin. You gasp, a new jolt of arousal making your entire body convulse and vibrate and ache for him as he tightens his grip, as he holds you in the palm of his hand. You know he can feel your racing pulse beneath his fingers as he stares at you silently, his slightly parted lips revealing the edges of his teeth, making them look like fangs. It’s a battle of wills, a battle that can only have one victor, and you back down too soon when you let go of his wrist. You can see it in the mocking glint in his eyes, in the way the corners of his mouth move upwards in a contemptuous grin.

“Giving up so easily, doll?” he asks. “Would have figured you were more of a fighter.”

“Well,” you say, swallowing around his tight grip, “give me something to fight against.”

He hardens his grasp to a point your breathing becomes labored, your chest rising and falling in an attempt to suck in enough air to keep going. His ring feels cold against your skin even though his hand is warm, and that difference in temperature helps you stay grounded. You push your chin forward in defiance, showing him you can take it, and he accepts the challenge. The hand he has wrapped around himself begins to move again, slowly but deliberately. You know he’s not some kind of inhuman, supernatural being who can hold out forever. He’s human, just like you. But what he says next makes you question this knowledge.

“Tell me.” His voice is so low and raspy and yet fills the entire room to a point it makes your skin crawl. “Tell me what you would do to me if I’d let you.”

You swallow again and your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you trust your voice enough to speak. Still, what you say comes out pathetically high, your pitch raw with lust. “I would make you feel so good,” you manage before your voice gives in and you have to swallow again. His grip doesn’t weaken. “I would let you come wherever you wanted to. I –”

He interrupts you harshly. “You’re about to let me do that anyway,” he points out, still mocking you.

“I –,” you try again, desperate to come up with something that will make him crumble, will make his façade come down in a mighty explosion. “God … I … I would touch you … I – I would wrap my hand firmly around your … your cock,” your eyes flicker down for a second, “I would stroke you and squeeze you and … my hands are much softer than yours. Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you –”

“No,” he interrupts you again, crudely. “I like it rough.”

You try to nod, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he tilts back your head until you are forced to look at him, at his dark eyes blown wide with desire, and he lets you see the desperation in them, if just for a very brief moment, a split second, for the amount of time it takes a helpless little hummingbird to beat its wings once. And you are just like that bird – fragile and delicate, ready to be crushed by this man.

“I would let you fuck my mouth,” you say. “I want you to make me choke, push me, make me- I want you to come down my throat, make me swallow every last drop of it.” Oh, you have him now. The movement of his hand is becoming frantic, desperate. A wet sound fills the room, increasing in urgency with each pass of his hand. “I want you to make me beg for it,” you continue. “I know you want to take whatever you need. And I would let you. I’d let you do anything you want to me, Max.” A small tremble in his hand makes his grip on you falter briefly. You take this opportunity to lower your voice. “You have no idea how much I need you right now. Don’t you want to find out, Max? Don’t you – don’t you want to flip me over, push into me, fuck me into the … into the carpet, use me until you fill me up, with no regard for me? I want you to do that, Max, I want you to stretch me open and make me scream and –”

His grip tightens so suddenly it cuts off all airflow. His ring cuts into your skin and you’re sure it will leave a mark. You feel your own arousal against your leg at that thought.

“Shut up,” he snarls. “Just shut up.”

“Oh, Max,” you moan. Where his voice is rough, yours is soft. “Do you want that, baby? You can have it. I’m right here.”

You begin to shift, but his hand leaves your throat, his fingers now resting against the nape of your neck, and he pulls until you are on display for him and he can see how your pulse races, a steady throb under your fragile skin. Before you have time to adjust to this new angle he’s coming with a low rumble in his chest, his grip on you tightening to hold you completely still. You feel his release hot against the tender skin of your neck and chest, you can smell him, and you make a sound that rings entirely unfamiliar in your own ears as he marks you like this.

Before you can make any move to clean yourself up, he pulls you up towards him, your neck straining with the effort, and then his tongue is on you and he’s hungrily licking you clean, sharply biting down on your skin once or twice when you squirm. You’re so desperate for this man that you’re prepared to let him do anything as long as it means he’s finally going to touch you. His tongue and teeth only drive you towards the edge even more, but it’s not enough, and you realize too late that you’re rolling your hips in desperation. He pulls back, his lips swollen and glistening, and then he shoves a hand between your legs so suddenly, your hips jerk and a frantic scream tears its way out of your throat. Two of his fingers move upwards, pushing the fabric of your panties into you. Your hands find his thighs again, and you squeeze with all your might.

“You’re dripping,” he observes with a cool smirk. “My fingers are wet, and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Please, Max,” you moan, rolling your hips again.

His free hand grips your side to still you. Then he removes his fingers, and you sob at the loss, tears shooting into your eyes. “Looks like you need to take care of that yourself, doll,” he says with a raised eyebrow, a smirk making his eyes sparkle. “I want to see how the movie ends.”

tagging (a few people who showed interest, mostly by liking the announcement post): @acdeaky @ah-soka, @darksber, @doin-stuff, @kashyyyyk, @leannawithacapitala, @light-yaers, @millenniumsfalcon, @minervadobbs, @pedropascaldice, @odetokeons, @phoenixhalliwell @piscespussybabe

#bloodsucking bastards #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips #pedro pascal #fanfic #yes i am asleep like the coward that i am #i had completely forgotten about the ring until i started editing this fic lmao #if someone has an answer to the question why vampires are so hot please let me know

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wandas-sunshine · 4 years ago

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Good Measure (Kinktober Day 13)

Kinktober Schedule

Prompt: Breeding

Pairing: Thor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,361

Warnings: Unprotected sex, almost oral, fingering, drinking mentions, really tacky dirty talk

A/N: Listen,,,I don’t think this is so good because I don’t write for Thor and I don’t write breeding really but uhhhh I love it and hopefully you do too. Also thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me trying to get these out to you.

You’d never given much thought to having children. You supposed it would happen one day. As the queen of Asgard you were expected to produce at least one heir to the throne, not to mention that your husband was the god of fertility among other things. But it was never anything you’d discussed.

So of course it was a shock to find that longing swirling deep within you. You were in the middle of a party, a huge Asgardian celebration of yet another battle won. You were nursing your drink, listening to a couple of the warriors talk about their first battles. The stories always flowed as the drinks did. With every refill they got louder and louder, more boisterous. It always made you smile, but someone was missing.

You looked up, scanning the room for your love. Through the night you’d seen a few children running around, weaving between the legs of their elders. It reminded you of when you and Thor were children, chasing one another around when you were meant to behave. But mostly you were surprised to see them surrounding Thor.

They all watched the warriors with stars in their eyes. You watched on as your husband scooped a small girl, no older than four or five into his arms. He hoisted her easily over his head, and she giggled brightly. His interactions with the small herd of kids was effortless, and it made you fantasize about a future where you had a few of them running around.

The longer you let yourself watch them, the more you felt that ache deep inside of you. You could see it, you holding a baby while he played with a little boy, one that looked so much like him. You exhaled deeply. You needed it.

You didn’t think that’s where your mind should have been, not in the middle of this crowd. You were flustering at the thought of being full with your King’s baby, of growing heavier, bearing his child for the entire world to see. A swirling heat blossomed in your core.

Thor looked up at you, whispering something in the girl’s ear and pointing in your direction. You bit back a desperate groan. You needed him. The child beamed and waved at you. You waved back. You had never needed anything the way you needed that. How did he have the audacity to play with children that way when he...well, he didn’t really have any idea how badly you wanted one now.

You downed your drink and excused yourself from your friends. You needed some air, needed to clear your mind. You weaved through the crowd until you had made it out into the wide open corridor.

This wasn’t the time to fuss over your desperation. You were like a horny teenager and it was, quite frankly, pathetic. You smoothed your hands over the front of your gown and rested your back against one of the pillars.

“There you are, my love.” Thor’s voice boomed through the quiet hall, and you turned to look at him. He had a brilliant grin on his face as he scooped you into his arms. You relaxed against his chest and snaked your arms around his shoulders. “Is everything alright? You’re thinking.”

He reached up to trace your jawline. You nibbled on your bottom lip before looking up to meet his eye.

“I want to have a baby.” You stated, running your hands down over his broad shoulders to rest against his chest. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

A low growl rumbled through his chest, and the hand he’d left on your waist traveled lower to rest at your hip. His eyes closed, but you were sure they’d gone dark, stormy with lust. You were familiar with the look.

“Say it again,” He requested, voice low and rolling over you. You felt a shiver run through you.

“I want to have a baby.” You tipped forward to kiss his neck. “I want to carry your child. Please, my king.”

The thought of you growing with his heir forming in your belly was hard enough to resist. And with you begging like that?

He scooped you up without any struggle, marching the two of you up the obnoxious amount of stairs until, finally, the two of you made it to your bedchamber.

He settled you back on your feet. Carefully he guided you into the privacy of your room, closing the door behind you. You backed towards the bed, and Thor watched, scanning his heavy gaze over your body. You wondered what was going on in his mind.

Then he was stalking closer, like a hunger with his prey. You giggled as you scrambled back. But he was quicker, wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you into him once again and captured your lips with his.

The kiss was hot and fast, but by no means rough. His hands trailed your sides, firm and heavy while his mouth worked against yours. You were intoxicated, drunk on the taste of his lips and the mead he’d been downing all night. He pushed the draping fabric of your gown off your skin, and you let it fall around your ankles.

He stepped back, hands gliding over bare skin and leaving sparks of electricity in his wake. He hummed, taking in every delicious inch of you. He shed his own clothes, piece by piece until he was just as bared and vulnerable as you were.

You settled onto the oversized, plush bed, opening your legs for your lover to settle in between. He slotted himself against you, his mouth finding yours again like a man starved. His tongue dipped past your lips, meeting your own in a dance of pure admiration.

Your fingers carded into his hair, holding him close to you. You kissed until he had you breathless in his arms. As you chased your breath, he slurred sloppy kisses from your lips, to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck. You closed your eyes, relishing in the heaven of affection he was raining down on you.

He continued his ministrations, praising every inch of skin with his lips. All the while, his hand traveled lower, tracing your ribs and giving your hip a squeeze. Finally, his palm rested against your tummy.

“Gonna put a baby in you,” He half growled, having to close his eyes at the sheer thought of it once again. You felt a shiver run through you, a wave of anticipation that settled in a pool of arousal in your core.

“Yes please, my King. Please,” You whined pathetically. He hadn’t even touched you properly, and you were already a desperate mess beneath him.

His hand dipped lower, fingers brushing your already drenched core. He made a soft, proud noise as two of his thick digits teased between your folds. Your hips bucked towards him, but it did no good.

“Calm down, my love. I have to get you ready.” He dipped his head, catching your nipple between his teeth. You purred when he gave it a tug.

He took his sweet, sweet time on your body. His fingers pulled away from your core, fingertips wet with your desperation for him. He rested his fingers against your lips, and you ever so obediently took them into your mouth.

He pressed his fingertips against your tongue, sliding them deeper into your mouth. You squeezed your eyes shut as they slipped into your throat and back out. You looked up at him, bobbing your head on his fingers and sucked his fingers the same way you would his cock if you were given half a chance.

Once he was satisfied, with the lubrication of his fingers or the show you’d put on you couldn’t be sure, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth. Your spit glistened against his skin as he settled his hand between your thighs.

You squirmed impatiently, finally earning his touch. He slowly circled his spit-slicked fingers around your clit. You mewled beneath him, your head falling back against the pillows. Your reaction only spurred him on. His fingers slipped lower, teasing your entrance.

“Thor, please. Please, I need you.” You whined. A smile lit up his face, and he effortlessly plunged his fingers into you. You gasped, your hand flying to his bicep.

“So wet for me already.” He praised, and you rolled your hips towards him. Of course you were ready for him, he was the only thing your body needed. “So tight.”

His fingers worked you open, pumping into you nice and slow, and scissoring you open for him. His free hand teased over your bare skin. He quirked his fingers up into you, finding the spongy spot on your walls that had you leaking your arousal around his fingers.

“Right there, I’m so close,” You pleaded with him. He didn’t speed up, just watched the way you bucked and writhed at every touch, the way you chased your pleasure.

It was a slow build, waves of tingly warmth spreading through every limb. Your legs were trembling around him, and the coil in your stomach was so tight it was nearly unbearable.

“Thor,” You all but wailed, coming undone to the steady glide of his fingers inside of you, and the quick flick of his thumb on your clit.

The pleasure was still thrumming through you with every beat of your heart as your lover shifted even lower. He pushed your legs wider, settling his upper body between them.

“You smell so sweet for me,” He hummed, nipping at your inner thigh. You huffed. You most certainly didn’t have the patience for that, not when his cock was an option. You tossed your head back and whined from the back of your throat.

“No, please, my king,” You begged, pushing your hands through his hair and giving it a tug. He hummed, almost sound disappointed at the idea of not getting to eat you out for the rest of the night. He ducked his head forward, dragging his tongue through your folds to bump against your clit. You whimpered.

“I guess that can wait.” He smirked and sat back on his heels. You squirmed, propping yourself up and dragging him in to meet your lips.

He kissed you deep. His scent, his weight, his taste; He closed in on you, invaded your senses. You moaned into his mouth, and finally, he pulled away to line his manhood up with your eagerly awaiting core.

When he did sink into you, after what felt like ages, it was agonizing. His hips moved slower than ever, feeding his incredible length into you inch by inch. He was damn near splitting you in half, and you clutched at him like your life depended on it. Once his hips finally were flush against yours, you were convinced he had filled to the brim and then some. You swore you could feel his tip all the way at your cervix.

Your nails dragged down his back, and your legs hooked over his hips, allowing you to grind up against him. A moan caught in your throat at the sheer depth, you never grew accustomed to it.

“Please fuck me,” You whimpered. And with such a desperation in your voice, he had to oblige. He drew out of you almost entirely, staying there until you almost burst into frustrated tears. Then he was sinking back into you.

His thrusts were slow at first, but earth shakingly deep. Every movement he made was pointed, aimed entirely at making you cum around him. Your wet, warm walls clenched around him, sucking him deeper. Skin stuck to skin, and the room echoed with the obscene sound of his hips meeting yours, of your wetness around him.

He pressed his hand down just above your pelvic bone, feeling every movement of his cock inside of you. He groaned, his head lolling forward and his hair falling in a curtain in front of his face.

“Feel that? Gonna plant my seed right in here,” He growled, leaning down to nibble at the sensitive spot on your neck. “Gonna look so beautiful carrying my child.”

You moaned, murmuring needily as he drew you to the edge. The only thing you could comprehend anymore was the way he felt inside you, on top of you, under your fingertips.

“I’m gonna cum,” You squeaked. He slipped his hand down to where you were connected. His fingers slipped through the mess you’d made, dancing over your already sensitive bundle of nerves.

A cry of his name passed your lips like a desperate prayer, and you writhed beneath him. He fucked you through your second orgasm straight into your third. His hips worked expertly into you, your head spinning from the overflowing pleasure. You were grateful when you picked up on the telltale signs of his orgasm. You weren’t sure how much more you could cum.

His thrusts became sloppy, and his grip on your body became bruising in the best way. He hiked one of your thighs up even higher around his waist, and your breath caught. How could he possibly get deeper? You practically purred underneath him, your lips latching onto his neck, nipping at the skin.

“Please, my love. I need you to fill me up.” You begged quietly. That was all it took. He pulled your hips up into his, releasing deep inside you with a harsh grunt.

The both of you stayed where you were, catching your breath and drifting back to reality. His lips met yours again, but this kiss wasn’t fast, it wasn’t hungry. It was just a moment of shared adoration.

He pulled out of you slowly, and a mixture of your release leaking out of you and onto the bed. Neither of you paid it any mind as he settled beside you. You curled up to his chest, your fingers brushing over his bicep. He smiled down at you, and you smiled back up at him.

“This one will take.” He stated with a confidence that only a god could have. “But maybe once more. Just for good measure.”

Tag List: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @vozit // @realgaytrash // @i-love-books-so-fricking-much // @nikkiofasgard // @duvetsandpillows // @creamofweep // @underratedmisfit // @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve // @call-me-baby-gir1 // @littlegasps // @hi-my-name-is-riley // @hinata7346 // @mikariell95

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 4 years ago

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good for you || Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: Jimin can't help the way he drowns himself in you. Why should he anyway?

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: PWP / Porn With Feelings, Fwb!au

Tags & Warnings: smut, (sub!jimin kinda, soft dom!reader, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, praise kink, sub space I think), explicit language.

Also available on Ao3

A/N: I really needed to write that one to get it out of my mind lol. It’s really just smut. It’s also technically a college AU but it’s not mentioned at all so yeah, do with that what you will. I might write some more for this AU after I’ve written more for if I can never give you peace but yeah, in the meantime I hope you’ll enjoy this!

It seems that Jimin just can’t stop drowning himself in you.

He doesn’t mean to, really, nor did he mean for it to happen. He didn't realize the power your eyes could have on him, didn’t think he would end up only able to think about you and your lips, didn’t imagine that after getting a taste he would constantly long to be back in your arms. Even when he waits for you to text, checking his phone more than he’d like to admit, he tries not to think about what you do to him exactly.

And then you do text, and he’s already ready to go and meet you, because he misses your touch so badly. When he gets there, you open the door and you smile at him, and he knows, he just knows. He’s a goner.

You’re quick to pull him in, fists gripping his open jacket, and then your mouth is on his. Your tongue teases his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth, more than happy to let you in. The kiss is slow and languid, wet noises filling the room as you move against him at a torturous pace. That’s not how he usually kisses, much more partial to fast, hard and passionate, but for some reason, you’ve imposed your rhythm since the very first time, and he’s helpless against it.

You wrap your arms around him, tip of your fingers playing on the nape of his neck, and he shivers, which makes you grin. You press yourself tightly against him, breaking the kiss, and he’d like to say that he isn’t aching for you already, but that would be a lie. He’s even panting already. Your trail your hands down his arms, setting his skin on fire, and intertwine your fingers with him. You don’t say a word. You don’t have to, not when you’re looking at him like he’s one of the world’s seven wonders. He feels himself melting under your eyes. He’s not the shy kind, he’s really not, but under your burning gaze, he can’t help but glance away. A soft laugh escapes your lips.

You guide him to your bed and press your hand against his chest to push him down. It shouldn’t be enough, really, but he can’t do anything other than follow your movement. He looks up at you, feels lonely without your touch, and he has to hold back a whine — he’s not going to whine. Fortunately, you’re quick to follow, straddling him and kissing him again. Your hands dip under his shirt and he moans when you trace his abs. He’s sensitive all over, when you touch him.

You pull on his jacket like it’s offended you personally — it hasn’t, and in fact, you really like the way he fills it, like it when he has it on when he comes to see you — and Jimin obeys your unspoken order, discarding it as fast as he can. His black t-shirt soon follows, this time with your help, and you let out a satisfied hum when he’s finally bare chested.

You take a second to contemplate him, and you find your breath catching in your throat as you do. He looks beautiful, insanely so. Your hand rests on his chest, and you can feel it heaving quickly, feel the fast pace of his heart under your palm, but more than anything, you can’t stop looking at his face. His lips are parted and swollen from the kissing, his eyes wide and his hair messy, falling on your mattress.

He shifts under you, glances away. He feels vulnerable under your eyes, even if he can read the adoration in your expression. Maybe because he can feel the adoration. He doesn’t know how you do it. He just can’t see what you see in him.

“Aren’t you going to—”

You kiss him abruptly, silencing him, and your hand comes to cup his face. Your hips grind against his crotch, and he groans in your mouth. He’s getting hard and he knows you can feel it. He also knows you’re going to take your sweet time to get to it.

And you do. For a while, you’re content with just kissing him, and it’s frustrating to no avail to feel your still clothed body pressed against his naked chest. It’s frustrating that you’re not doing anything, and it’s frustrating that even then, he just takes what he’s given and doesn’t dare to ask for more.

Finally, fucking finally, you start making your way down. You press kisses against his jaw, flick your tongue against that sensitive spot on his neck that makes him gasp, and start kissing his chest. He wants nothing more than to lay back and enjoy himself, but he pushes himself on his elbow, because he can’t get enough of that sight, of the way you worship his body like every part of him is worth being adored. It just— gets to him.

His head does roll back when you get to his lower abdomen, possibly even more in anticipation of what’s to come than because of the sensations that you send running through his body. You slow down even more then, dragging your tongue over the sensitive skin. You’re enjoying yourself, and you’re happy to drag it on a little more.

“Please,” he finally breaks, “please—”

He doesn’t have to say more. In a swift movement, you’ve opened his pants and freed his cock from his underwear. He’s painfully hard. With someone else, or the first few times this happened, he might have felt a little embarrassed, but he can’t muster that right now. He’s just buzzing with anticipation for what is to come.

You take the time to look at him one more time before you wrap your lips around his cock, and the sight might just get to him as much as the feeling. The second you’ve taken the tip in, he falls onto his back, a loud moan echoing in the room. He feels your mouth stretch around him, knows you’re smiling. What can you say? You love the sounds he makes.

Even now, you’re keeping things slow and burning hot. It’s not something Jimin thought he would particularly into, before, but he hasn’t tried to take control since the first time you dropped to your knees in front of him, and he doesn’t think he will, not when it feels so painfully good when you do things at your speed.

You use your tongue to tease the head, wrapping your hand around the base of his shaft, and you start bobbing your head. You know just how he likes it, how to stroke him, when to pull away so things won’t end too soon. Soon, Jimin is a moaning and whimpering mess, arching his back to push himself in your mouth without meaning to. He’s pressed a hand against his lips so he won’t be too loud, and you wish you could hear him a little better, but it’s fine that way too.

“God, God, I need— I need—”

You glance up at him. You really wish you could see his face right now, but the sight of his arched chest, as one hand is desperately gripping your sheets, will have to do — and it does really well.

“(Y/N), I need—”

You’ll give him exactly what he needs. You push your head down, taking him in deeper than you had before, and accelerate your pace, just a little.

It doesn’t take long for him to come in your mouth with a loud call of your name, back arched so much you wonder if he’s going to break.

After that, you pull yourself up to press a kiss against his lips. His eyes are half-closed, and he returns the kiss, still lost in pleasure.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He likes that you do that. He can’t explain why, but he likes the way you check on him after intense moments, likes the way you care for him. He shouldn’t, probably. He’s in too deep, considering what this is — what the fuck even is this? —, probably reads too much into your actions, but he just can’t stop himself. It’s like watching a car crash happen, except he’s in the driver’s seat and he’s staring at the wall he’s driving towards, and all he does is step on the accelerator.

Ha. Who’d have thought he’d be the one to catch feelings?

“Fine,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

You hum, resting your head on his shoulder. You fit nicely there, he decides as he lazily wraps an arm around your waist.

You don’t even have to do anything to get him hard again. You’re just there, breathing against his neck and you’re tracing shapes on his chest with your fingers, and it makes him tingle all over. He does feel you pressed against his side, though, and he thinks about how you didn’t get any satisfaction, wonders if you’re wet — knows you probably are — and soon he’s pushing himself up, to kiss you this time.

Even if he takes the initiative, you’re the one who’s in control, you set the slow pace, throwing him off his rhythm, and he just has to follow. You smile brightly when he pulls away, and once more, he finds himself falling apart under the way you look at him. There’s just enough satisfaction in your smile to let him know you know exactly what you’re doing to him, and the thought almost makes him whimper. Almost.

Jimin takes a second to kick off his pants and underwear, trying to compose himself, and when he comes back to you, you’re unclasping your bra. He swallows painfully when it falls down, eyes roaming over your body. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you before, but it does get to him every single time, the confident way you sit there, tilting your head under his eyes as if to silently offer him the view.

He unbuttons your jeans, and there’s a slight shiver when he pulls them down, but your legs part easily, offering no resistance. He traces the shape of your pussy through your panties, feels how wet you are indeed, enjoys your sharp intake of breath. You affect him so much, and he’s happy to see he at least does something to you.

He’s careful, almost deferential when he slides the panties down your legs, and he licks his lips when he finally gets to take you in in all your glory. He’s pretty sure he could just push himself inside you right now, and he’s more than ready to go again, but he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He starts with a finger, which enters you easily, and your lips part for a silent “oh”. Watching your reaction, he inserts another one, slowly fingering you open. You close your eyes, stay mostly quiet. You’re not very loud in bed, you told him with a shrug the first time, and it has nothing to do with how good the sex is.

Still, he feels pride every time he manages to get a noise from you, which is why he slowly scissors you open, and drinks every soft, discreet moans that come from you. He’s vaguely aware that even in that situation, when he could be in control, all he’s thinking about is your pleasure, but it’s distant thought.

He grabs a condom from the night table where he knows you keep them — stops himself from wondering if he's the only one to use them, if there’s anyone else who knows where they are in your room —, and after he’s rolled it on, he finally lines himself up with you, silently asking for your permission and you give it by reaching out for him, setting your hand on his hips to guide him.

He groans once he’s entered you. The feeling is overwhelming, with how warm and tight you are around him, and he relishes the way you roll your hips slowly and carefully, the way you guide him over you as you lay on your back. It takes him a while to adjust, and again, he wishes he could understand why, what is is about you exactly that makes him lose his defenses. Fuck, he’s about as far from a virgin as it gets, he shouldn’t be feeling like that.

But when he opens his eyes, you’re staring at him, and again, he’s so vulnerable under your fascinated gaze. He turns his head away from you until his lips are brushing against his shoulder, and immediately, your hands are cradling his face, gently tracing his cheekbones.

“No, no,” you call, practically cooing, “look at me, please, baby, you’re so beautiful, I just want to look at you.”

And he melts. He just. Fucking melts. You wrap your legs around him, keep rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, and he falls in your hands. It feels like there’s nothing else in the world, certainly nothing that matters outside from you and your warm body and your soft hands and your gentle words as you keep telling him how beautiful he is, how fascinated you are by him until he’s trembling and throbbing just from your words.

“Let me?” you offer, and he does.

He rolls over easily and you climb on top of him, grabbing his cock to put it back into you immediately, and when you do, you close your eyes and let out a moan. You may be doing it for show, he’s not sure, but he doesn’t care, because even then, you’re doing it for him. Just for him.

Your hips start moving up and down, rhythm slightly faster, because you know he’s starting to get exhausted, and also because you don’t think your own thighs will be able to keep up much longer. You support yourself on his chest, and the entire time, you keep eye-contact with him. You meant every word you said. Jimin is absolutely beautiful and you don’t think you will ever get enough of him.

This time, when he lifts his arms in front of his face to shield his face from that look that makes him feel like he could shatter any second, he does it just so you can grab his wrists and pull them away, just so he can hear you tell him again how beautiful he is and how you want to look at his face because you love him so much. When he covers his mouth, it’s to hear you tell him that he has the prettiest voice you’ve ever heard and that you’d like to hear it some more.

After that, he mostly lays there, unable to do anything but take what you give him. His hands find your hips and grip them tightly so he has something to hold, to anchor himself to, because his head is swimming with all the praise you just gave him, and he lets himself moan loudly, whine, for more of you, for everything you’re willing to give. He’s just absolutely and desperately yours, and right now, he doesn’t even try to fight it.

You lean in to kiss him, slow and sloppy, and then you grin, and fuck if he doesn’t come almost immediately because of what he sees in your eyes, that spark of intense satisfaction. It feels possessive, and right now, he wants it — needs it — to be. You reach down to rub your clit. You’ve been desperately wet basically since you got him half-naked on your bed, and it’s about time you do something about it. And Jimin is mesmerized by the sight. So much that when you pick up the rhythm even more — which is still not that fast — he’s not sure if he comes because of how you look when you’re touching yourself on top of him or because of the delicious sensations he gets from how your walls clamp around him.

He feels you getting off him, taking off the condom, but he doesn’t move, spent and slowly coming back to earth.

It helps when you lay down next to him, helps when you gently kiss him back to reality, helps when he can grab your arm and pull you a little closer and you just let him.

“Don’t go,” he begs, and he’s not sure why.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure him. You do that every time, let him know you’re right there, that you care for him and won’t let him alone with whatever it is he’s feeling, and every time he can relax a little faster knowing you’re telling the truth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.”

You giggle lightly, and that helps finish to undo the spell.

“My pleasure, Jimin. My pleasure.”

He likes the way you say his name. Maybe he could ask you to say it, next time, when you’re telling him how beautiful he is. He’ll see if he gets the courage to ask.

“Mine too,” he grins for now, getting back his usual composure and attitude that you strip away so easily it almost makes him question himself.

You laugh again, press a kiss against his temple, and it’s all good, fine, and Jimin can stop thinking about how he feels about you.

Until next time, at least.

#jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #bts #bts imagine #bts x reader #jimin imagine #jimin smut #bts fic #jimin fanfic #sub!jimin #candywrites

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teenyweenynightghost · 3 years ago

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Dream Date

Thomas x fem reader

Thomas had been crushing on Y/n for god knows how long

They sat up all night and talked online about every little thing in the world; passions, dreams, futures, meanings…

After a bit of wine and endless encouragement from the band, he finally decided to ask her out.

“Um, y/n, I had a question…” his voice trembled slightly, watching her wash some dishes before patting her hands dry and turning to face him

“Of course, amore. What is it?”

“I was wondering If you wanted to go on a date with me tonight?” He asked, looking at her with fear and anticipation.

He only grew more worried as the girl remained silent, shock written all over her face.

“Are you kidding? I would love to!” She chuckled, approaching Thomas and hugging him tightly

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and basked in the sensation of being so close to her. Y/n’s soft, luscious hair slightly tickled his cheek and filled his nose with the pleasant scent of flowers and spring

Thomas was standing in front of the mirror, fumbling nervously with his tie. He had picked a light gray suit with a pink shirt.

“Thomas!! Aren’t you gonna come pick up your princess?” Damiano teased from downstairs, earning a frustrated groan from the blond.

He came up in a second and watched Thomas try and knot his tie, laughing to himself before helping him out.

“Are you nervous?”

“Guess, stronzo.”

Damiano snorted before patting him on the back and pushing him downstairs

“You are incredibly handsome Thomas, she’ll be more than enamored”

“Shut up.”

He got in the car and drove all the way to Y/n’s house, where he noticed she was already waiting on the porch.

She was gorgeous, to say the least. Her curly hair was pulled back with a few pins, light peach eyeshadow on her eye lids and a soft pink lipstick.

He hadn’t realizes she was in front if him, until Y/n spoke.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh um, beautiful- I mean, you, you are beautiful.”

They both blushed, Thomas more out of embarrassment, and he opened the door for her to get in the car.

“What made you decide to finally ask me on a date?” Her soft, honey-like voice broke the silence.

“I am always excited when I’m with you, or when I talk to you. It’s something I don’t really feel with other people.”

“I honestly thought you’d say that you would willingly wake up for me.”

They both started laughing, as they passed the illuminated streets of Rome.

“That’s a given.”

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop, and they both got out.

“Where are we?”

“Remember that place I told you about a few nights ago? I used to come to this meadow every day when I was younger. It was like a safe haven for me.” His voice faded out, looking around and taking in the all-too familiar plants and trees he knew so well.

“Why did you bring me here, then?”

“I wanted you to see it. Maybe it could become our haven.”

Y/n sighed, and picked up a flower from the ground, smelling it.

Meanwhile, the boy opened the trunk of the car and pulled out a blanket and a basket, laying them both down and taking a seat.

The soft glow of the moon softly illuminated the patch of grass they were sitting on, creating a surreal and whimsical feeling.

“To be fair, If you wouldn’t have asked me out one of these days, I would have.” Y/n snorted, opening the basket and gasping.

“CHOCOLATE COVERED STRAWBERRIES??” Y/n’s eyes were comically wide, as she looked between the treats and Thomas

“Well, you know, I did plan for this date to be the cheesiest thing possible.”

“They’re over used for a reason. They rock!”

“We rock.” He added smoothly, feeling himself relax more and more.

“We sure do.”

Taking out another plate out of the basket, Thomas grinned as he remembered one of his favorite childhood movies.

A big smile appeared on Y/n’s face as she saw the giant portion of pasta in front of her, and hurried to find some forks in the basket.

“I suppose we’re eating out of the same plate, correct?”

Thomas nodded and didn’t hesitate to start devouring the food.

They mainly listened to the soft tuned of the car radio while eating in silence, the occasional chirp of a bird catching their attention, until Y/n started giggling.

Thomas looked down, and saw that they both have the same noodle in their mouth, one end in her mouth, on in his.

Thomas smiled sheepishly, as he continued advancing towards Y/n, her actions replicating his.

They were mere centimeters away from each other, Y/n’s hot breath sending shivers through Thomas, her eyes lit up, as If a fire glowed with in them.

She made the final step and closed the distance between them, kissing Thomas tenderly, for so long that they both forgot what breathing felt like.

Eventually pulling apart, they kept staring into each other’s eyes, trying to calm down, despite their hearts being aflame with desire and affection.

“We should film a live-action version of Lady and the Tramp.”

Thomas chuckled and shifted so that he was closer to her, nuzzling his head into the crook of Y/n’s neck.

She picked up the box of strawberries and started shoving them down her throat, eating with a speed that got Thomas worried.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down! I want some too!”

“You can’t bring me strawberries covered in chocolate and expect me not to eat them!!”

He snorted and leaned over to the basket, pulling out a book.

“What’s that?”

“Poems”

Y/n gasped and lowered herself so that she would align herself with his face.

“Wow! You’re gonna bring me food, read me poetry and show me your hiding spot? I feel like I’m in a romantic movie.” She joked, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Well, I am trying to romance you.”

“There are literally so many words for it and you choose romance me?”

“I knew you’d say that.” He scoffed, faking a pout and opening the book. He flipped through a few pages until he ended up at a heavily marked one, a coffee stain on the corner.

“I’m guessing this is your favorite?”

“For one specific reason. Can you guess it?”

Y/n hummed, thinking for a few moments before answering him.

“Is it about sleep?”

“Oh come on! No. It reminded me of you.” He grinned, fluttering the book under her nose.

“Oh god, it’s gonna be a prayer to the devil, won’t it?”

The blond squinted his eyes, seemingly freezing, before starting to flip hurriedly through the pages once more.

“Shit, you’re right.”

“THOMAS!” Y/n elbowed him, scoffing, bursting into laughter along with him.

“Fine, fine, alright. Here it is;

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Y/n’s eyes were brimmed with tears, slightly smudging her eye makeup, as she took a deep breath, taking in all that Thomas recited

“What’s it called?”

“When you are old, by William Butler Yeats.”

Y/n let out a silent oh, and looked closer at the sketches around the writing.

There was a small sketch of her, relaxing on the balcony under the stars, and Thomas, looking up at her as if she were his moon.

Her heart was filled with affection for the boy who held it in his hands, who unfortunately didn’t realize how much he meant to her.

“Let’s dance.” She beckoned him, walking towards the car and turning up the volume. A terrible love song erupted from the speakers, making Thomas cringe at the harmonies and lyrics, but he took Y/n’s hand regardless and pulled her closer.

They swung from side to side, looking deeply into each other’s eyes and memorizing every single aspect of the night

“This night is amazing, but this song really fucking sucks.” Thomas eventually spoke, not being able to hold in his commentary any longer.

“Well, not everyone can make music as well as you.”

“Oh you little flirt.” Thomas blushed, brushing a strand of hair out of Y/n’s face and spinning her around, over and over again.

She was giggling as she turned, her flowery dress flowing around, making her look like even more of an angle in Thomas’s eyes.

“I wanna spin you too!”

“I’m taller. You can’t!”

“Bet?”

Y/n pushed Thomas around, but he got stuck while he was with his back to her.

“Ow, Y/n, my arm can’t bend like that!”

He muttered a few curses, instinctively stapling backwards, thus making Y/n fall along with him.

A loud thud was all that he heard before an uncontrollable mess of giggles started wiggling under him.

“YOU’RE CRUSHING ME!”

“No, I’m crushing on you.” He spoke calmly, not getting off of her small body.

“Stronzo!!”

They were both laughing as Thomas got up, pulling Y/n with him, and pressing a passionate kiss to her lips.

They both sat back down on the blanket and nuzzled into each other’s embrace, their breath matching up.

“I never want this night to end.” Y/n whispered against his neck, squeezing his hand.

“It’s the only way it will remain special.”

She smiled contently, before looking up at the stars and letting the faint crickets and rustles of the forrest drive them to sleep.

A/n: I had plenty of inspiration for this🥴 @cantaraiilmionome 😉 for you, amore

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @victoriadeangeliswifey @bidet-and-legolas @makapaka11 @electra-phoebe

#maneskin #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #damiano david #thomas raggi #måneskin #fluffyyyyyy

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curly-bangtan · 5 years ago

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Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.

Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee

Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;

A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~

(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)

You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.

The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.

But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.

Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.

You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.

The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.

You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.

And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.

You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.

The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?

That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.

“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.

You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?

Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.

Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.

No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.

Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.

Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.

And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.

And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...

You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.

So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.

And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.

The realisation haunts you every night.

It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.

Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.

It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.

And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.

To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.

Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.

“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.

“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”

“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion

You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”

“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.

“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”

Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.

Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.

You’ll be okay.

You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.

“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”

“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”

“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.

“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.

“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.

Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.

Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.

Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.

Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”

“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.

“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…

“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.

“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.

An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-

“Lotta…”

“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.

“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.

This can’t be happening.

“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...

At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.

“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.

What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.

Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.

The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.

It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.

Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.

Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.

Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.

And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.

You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.

As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.

“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.

Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.

What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?

He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.

You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.

“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.

Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.

Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.

God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.

Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.

But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.

He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.

“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.

A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.

Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...

Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.

Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend

Strawberry… Love…

“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-

The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?

You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.

Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...

But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.

How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.

Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.

“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.

But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.

But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.

“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.

“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.

“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.” As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”

As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.

“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.

This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.

The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.

“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”

As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.

Reconcile.

Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?

And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.

“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.

“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”

The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.

This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.

Do you want to talk it out?

The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.

The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”

“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.

It’s better this way.

And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.

You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.

The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.

“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.

“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.

“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”

“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”

Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.

“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”

Nothing but heavy breathing.

“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.

Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.

“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”

But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.

“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.

The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.

You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.

As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.

“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.

Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.

You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.

But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.

Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.

It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.

Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.

You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.

When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.

You are sharing a…

Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.

When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”

“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”

And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.

“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.

“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”

You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.

Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.

Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.

You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.

You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.

“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”

“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.

This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.

Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.

Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.

You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.

It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.

“What?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.

He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.

“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.

“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.

Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”

You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.

He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.

God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.

Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.

With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?

What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.

So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.

Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.

You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.

In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.

Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.

A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.

This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.

You glance up, you can’t help it.

And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.

“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.

Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.

You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.

And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.

It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.

“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.

But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.

When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.

Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.

You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.

It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.

You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.

You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.

But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.

You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.

It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.

After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.

It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.

Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.

Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.

The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.

“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.

“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”

“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.

“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.

“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.

The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.

“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.

Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.

Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.

“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.

“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.

‘Things’, meaning you.

When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.

“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.

You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.

“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.

When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.

Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.

This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.

To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.

All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.

Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?

The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.

You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.

And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…

Taehyung regrets everything.

How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?

All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?

Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?

It can, and it did.

Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.

The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.

Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.

Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.

Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.

“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”

Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.

The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.

The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”

Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.

No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?

You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.

Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.

As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.

Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.

And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.

You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.

Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.

“Are we just not going to speak?”

His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.

“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.

Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.

“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.

“I mean-”

“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.

He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”

It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”

It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.

“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.

“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?

“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”

You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?

“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.

“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”

Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.

“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.

But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.

“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.

“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”

Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.

“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.

“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.

A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.

“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”

Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.

“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.

“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.

The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he’s okay with that.

He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.

Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.

Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.

You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.

He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.

And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.

The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”

“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.

“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”

There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.

“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.

Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”

“No! You’ll be cold.”

“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”

You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”

Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.

“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.

It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.

His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.

Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?

Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.

It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.

Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.

Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”

You stop breathing.

Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.

He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.

You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?

Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.

“Yes…?”

“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”

“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.

Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”

You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.

“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.

You could say no, right? Just say no.

But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.

“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.

Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.

When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.

He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.

Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.

Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.

“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.

No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.

Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.

Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.

It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.

What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.

You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?

With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.

But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...

The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.

You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.

You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-

“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.

Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.

Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.

At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.

But God, you fucking miss this.

You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.

But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.

So what now?

“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.

“Hmmmm..?” He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.

“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.

Fuck.

You can’t.

You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.

“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.

“You’re hard.”

Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.

Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?

Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.

How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…

“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.

“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.

“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.

His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.

Another pulse down there.

You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.

When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.

What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.

Fuck.

You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.

Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.

Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.

He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.

You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.

Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-

You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.

You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?

“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?

“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.

“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?

“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.

The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”

“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.

You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?

“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.

Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”

“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.

“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”

It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?

“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.

A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”

From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”

“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.

But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.

Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…

Kiss him.

You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.

“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.

A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.

Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.

It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.

Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.

You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.

It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.

You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”

Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.

“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”

The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.

“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”

Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”

Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”

“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”

“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”

Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.

But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.

You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.

If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.

Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.

End this once and for all with a bang.

“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”

When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”

As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”

He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”

Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.

“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.

“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.

Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.

Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.

You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.

Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.

This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.

Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.

Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.

A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”

You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.

You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.

So you just lean down to kiss him.

People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.

And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.

Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.

But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.

So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.

Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”

Baby.

That is your undoing.

His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.

Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.

You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”

The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.

Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.

The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.

Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.

But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.

You stop.

And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.

You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.

It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.

It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”

When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...

“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.

“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out.

“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.

“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”

“Then don’t.”

Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.

“Then don’t live without me.”

Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.

All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?

“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.

“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”

You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.

“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.

“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.

“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.

Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.

His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.

When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.

“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.

“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.

“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.

“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.

“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.

Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”

“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.

“F-Fine.”

He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.

“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.

You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.

Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.

To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.

You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.

A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.

The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.

When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.

The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.

“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.

“You should be scared.”

Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”

Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.

“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.

You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.

“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.

You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.

“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”

When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.

“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”

“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.

“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.

With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.

“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”

Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.

Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.

An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.

Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”

One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.

His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.

It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.

And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.

“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”

His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.

“No?”

Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.

“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.

“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.

It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.

His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.

His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.

Transcendental.

When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.

“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”

The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.

You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”

Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.

“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.

“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.

“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”

He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.

A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.

Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.

Love you!

- Kristy

27/04/20

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