#i had a bag of coffee beans once he insisted he would take to work and grind for me there and it took a MONTH

[beinggayisreallyexpensive]

I love my husband sm but his ADHD is so bad that when he offers certain help, I am going to have to start to decline it because it is... not actually helpful to me. On Sunday I bought a container for the dog food and went to visit him at work. I was carrying that and another large-ish bag, but nothing was heavy, just annoying. He was like "oh, you want me to bring the container home for you?? Let me carry it!" and then he forgot it at work for 2 days and is off today lmao. Cool. So much more helpful than me just carrying it home that day.

[bucksdoll]

to go w ur recent rafe post..top and kelce meeting rafes gf for the first time n she’s so sickly sweet they’re confused on how she’s able to date rafe, has a big mouth too and LOVES to talk them. they’re too scared of rafe to completely hold the convo but they try to mumble things here and there bc if they upset her they upset rafe !!

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

overprotective!rafe x fem!reader imagine

trigger warnings : fem!reader , explicit language , drinking , mentions of drugs & alcohol , kinda ‘girly’ reader , fluff , rafe overthinking? , oblivious reader , over protective rafe , topper and kelce being absolutely AWFUL liars/actors , reader is friends with sarah , ward is mentioned (🤮🤮🤮)

summary : topper and kelce are tired of rafes new girlfriend stealing the spotlight, so they invite her to boys night to see why she’s so special.

authors note : THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST !! i love this idea, i hope i did it justice :). feel free to drop more requests my way ppl, i write for other obx characters too !! also lmk if i missed any warnings please.

english is not my first language, forgive me

BRIEFLY proofread

rafe, kelce, and topper had a planned ‘boys night’. they’d hangout almost everyday, but on these planned nights, probably once or twice a month, they’d have a more ‘extra’ hangout. they’d go to tanneyhill (or one of the other boys houses), and watch sports or movies on huge screens with overloads of snacks and alcohol (and probably drugs too), and just hang out.

when rafe first announced to them he had gotten a girlfriend, they weren’t shocked. rafe had gotten himself many ‘girlfriends’ over the time they’d known him, but most of them lasted no more than a few weeks. they’d put on their usual show of being mad, all the ‘you better not abandon us because you’re pussy whipped’ shit, never expecting it to actually become a problem.

but, it actually did this time. you two had been dating for almost 2 months now, not a super long time but definitely longer than his past relationships. he would easily skimp out on plans with the boys, saying you wanted him to come over or the two of you had plans. and it wasn’t just you orchestrating everything, they noticed how rafe was starting to initiate plans with you too, saying he was leaving to go surprise you after you got off work etc. right in the middle of hanging out with them. they were fine with it at first, but now it was getting a little annoying.

so, they told rafe to invite you to boys night. it was scheduled to be at tanneyhill this time, so they figured when you got bored you’d leave rafe with them and go to hang out with sarah or something. it wasn’t thought out very much beyond that, but they knew you were friends with sarah, and because it was scheduled at rafes house, they didn’t figure he could escape it.

he argued at first, saying you probably weren’t going to want to go, and you might be busy that night, but after they convinced him to ask you, and you said yes, all plans were a go.

you were excited, honestly. you had picked out your outfit the day before (even though it was just a hangout with your boyfriends friends, and your outfit was just a casual dress). rafe barely let you wear that, insisting you were going to be uncomfortable, and that it was just a hangout. but you wanted to make a good first impression (plus you’d take any excuse to play dress up). you got dolled up a little, threw some jewelry on, and the two of you headed over to tanney hill.

you two walked down into the cameron’s tv hangout area. it wasn’t their main living room, it was in the basement and it was more of an ‘indoor movie theater’ vibe. it had a long black leather sectional, a few bean bag chairs, and a large wooden coffee table. it was filled with snacks; chips, nachos, charcuterie board (the kind they sell at the store), popcorn, candy, etc. off to the side of the room you could see a mini fridge, which kelce and topper were standing near, assumingly ‘getting the party started’, as there was most likely not water in that fridge.

when you hit the bottom step and they locked eyes with you, their jaws almost comedically dropped. you waved at them excitedly, your face lighting up, and rafe just smiled at them, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

you practically ran over to them, and their faces remained shocked.

“hi! it’s so nice to finally meet you guys!! rafe has told me sooo much.” you blabbered out, following that by introducing yourself. you were twitchy, not in a nervous way, but in a ‘barely containing your excitement’ way. you shifted your weight from foot to foot and topper genuinely thought you would’ve started jumping up and down if you got any more excited. your loose curls bounced as you moved, and the bottom of your dress swayed.

“hey..” they were still at a loss for words, even more stunned at your energy than your looks. but their minds quickly came back to them when rafe wandered over, practically shoving them out of the way and bending down to grab a drink out of the fridge. they looked at him as he stood back up and rafe just smiled at them again, but it wasn’t a good smile, rafes never were. it was a threatening one.

little did they know how much rafe dreaded this. rafe barely let you come in the first place. you had agreed to it over text, but the second he got to talk to you face to face he pleaded for you to pull out of the plans. rafe was still stunned how he managed to keep a girl like you for this long; you were practically a princess, you were overly sweet, outgoing, girly, you had straight a’s, and you were so sickly innocent too. you were pretty much the exact opposite of rafe. and he tried his best to hide that fact, especially after he realized you were sticking around.

he stopped going to parties (for the most part) unless there was an extremely necessary reason for him to go. he spent as much time with you as he could. he’d pamper you; buying you gifts, surprising you at work, driving you everywhere you wanted to go, taking you out for expensive and romantic dinners, etc. he was committed to making this work. he knew you didn’t care, he knew that you’d love him no matter what, but he felt the need to upkeep a pristine image for you. and that’s where the boys came in. normally he’d flaunt his new girl, bring her to all the parties he went to, show her off, brag about her. but he wanted to keep you all to himself. he thought topper and kelce were ‘too rowdy’, and too much for you in general, so he kept his friends and you separate. he only ever talked about them, never showed you them. till now, of course.

you stood there, biting your lip in anticipation, still waiting for them to say literally anything other than hey. when rafe shot them another look, they did. he wanted them to atleast say something. rafe knew you had been anticipating meeting his friends, and he knew how excited you were to talk to them. he’d entertain it for a minute or so, because the boys blowing you off or being dicks to you would probably piss him off even more than them overly talking to you.

“oh uh, i’m topper and this is kelce.” topper let out, clearly holding his breath a little. they both swallowed thickly, sharing each other glances, not knowing what to do next. thankfully, rafe seemed to have more than enough of you three interacting at that point, and tugged you over to the couch with him.

“sorry, i’ll be right back.” you apologetically laughed before turning and letting rafe tug you the rest of the way back to the couch.

rafe put a protective hand on your ass as you walked, sharing the boys a glance, and they very quickly turned to face the wall, muttering many renditions of ‘what the fuck dude’ and ‘what are we supposed to do’s under their breaths.

rafe tucked you into the corner of the couch, pulling a throw blanket off the back and gently covering you with it along with putting a few pillows around you.

“you comfy?” he mumbled, and you barely heard him with how much he was grimacing.

“yea baby thank you, but i wasn’t done talkin-“

“no, you were done.” he met your eyes, and before a frown could form on your mouth, he quickly added;

“you can talk to ‘em more later. aight?” and that was it.

rafe eventually got comfy beside you, only after getting you any snack or beverage you wanted from the assortment of options. kelce and topper settled too, sitting very far away from you both in the two bean bag chairs. if rafe hadn’t completely blocked your sight of them, you would’ve definitely thought they didn’t like you or something.

the movie they had decided on (some random comedy) came and went. it was only a few minutes before the end when rafes phone started to buzz in his pocket. he ignored it for the first few buzzes, but when he realized they weren’t giving up, he pulled it out. it was ward.

“hey baby, i’m so sorry, i gotta take this, you can stand upstairs and wait for me it really shouldn’t be long i-“

“you’re totally fine rafe, go ahead babe. i’m good here.” you quickly reassured, smiling at him. and he quickly ran up and out of the basement, not before shooting a lethal look towards kelce and topper.

the movie ended soon after, and you were left with the awkward playing of the credits song. after a few uncomfortable minutes, you stood up and decided to take actions into your own hands, seeing they weren’t going to talk to you.

you wandered over to topper and kelce, who quickly looked away from you as soon as you started towards them. kelce struggled to pull his phone out of his shorts pocket, which proved to be more difficult than he had expected, so he quickly switched to awkwardly holding his hands together in his lap. topper on the other hand was making it painfully obvious he was trying to look at you, practically breaking his kneck to look in the opposite direction.

“hey guys!” you smiled at them, sweet as ever, holding you hands behind your back. “so, tell me about yourselves! i mean ive heard soooo much from rafe, but like, tell me from your perspectives ya know? i heard you two like golf, my dad actually-“

“you know.. we actually gotta go.. for a smoke break!” kelce interrupted before you could get too much of a conversation started.

“oh shit yea! we reeeeally gotta go for a smoke break.” topper said as he snapped his head towards kelce, instantly relieved that he came up with an out.

“but i-“

“we are really sooooo sorry.” topper sarcastically reassured, smiling at you as the two of them practically threw themselves out of their seats, walking backwards in the direction of the stairs, tripping over each other a little on the way there.

“yea we are sososososo sorry.” kelce added, hoping to be convincing enough.

“oh, okay! can i come-“

“you should really go check on rafe actually! he’s been gone for a whiiiile now.. i sure hope he’s okay…” topper added, over exaggerating to hopefully get your attention elsewhere. rafe hadn’t even been gone for 10 minutes. you looked down at your feet as you over thought the idea, and when you looked back up to thank them for reminding you, they were long gone.

[galaxyedging]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Based on the prompt by @misspearly1 and @munsonownsmyass

What is Joel Trading for Your Coffee beans?

Warnings: smut. P iv V sex. Trading sex for goods.

I Missed This

Being a woman wasn't all it was cracked up to be before the end of the world. The downfall on society hadn't hit the patriarchy that hard. You still had the same problems. Men thought the knew better. They thought you were weaker. Or a possession to be coverted or taken. A few men had learned that the only thing they were taking from you was the sharp end of your blade.

When you first heard of Jackson, you were amazed to hear that a woman was in control. You were less amazed to hear that the town was thriving under her leadership. When the Cordyceps virus had first started it was the female lead counties that fared the best. They didn't spent time arguing with the science or about profits, they did what needed to be done. 

Meeting with Maria had given you the confidence to move to a small homestead on the outskirts of Jackson. Maria promised you would be left alone, in exchange for your expertise and connections. It was a deal that worked well until Maria started sending her brother-in-law to trade with you. The first day he arrived at your fence, ringing the bell to let you know he was a friendly so you did blow his head off, you looked out of your window to assess the threat. You didn't expect the threat not to come in the form of any malice from him but from your own traitorous body. He stood in the morning sun, warm brown eyes shining. His well built arms folded over his broad chest. A tight waist and thighs caught your eye as well as the full lips of his chiselled profile as he turned to look around as he waited. It had been a very long time since you'd wanted a man so much just from looking at him. Maybe if you spoke to him it might slow the flow of the pool forming between your legs. 

The drawl of "Mornin' ma'am." only added to the depths in your panties. You managed to get through the interaction without making a complete fool out of yourself. Joel was barely off your land before you ran up to your room, peeled off your underwear to ride your pillow while thinking of Joel's muscle thighs flexing below you.

The next time he came by you had the good sense to cum first. The exchange of goods was accompanied by the exchange of more pleasantries this time. Joel was polite and more softer spoken than his gruff appearance may indicate. 

As the visits racked up, you became more comfortable with Joel. You even allow led him into the house to carry things in, once he's had insisted. 

"You know I am capable of carrying these in?" You'd told him.

"I know you are but two people will get it done quicker." His tone was earnest, he didn't doubt your capabilities, he just wanted to help. A torrent invaded your underwear this time.

Then came the terms of endearment. Sugar and honey, sounding as sweet as they were in that accent.

"Sorry, Darlin'. I need a minute. It's hot out today." He leaned against your porch as he dropped a bag of soil by his feet.

"Would you like a drink?" You turned back into the house leaving the door open for him to follow. "Water? Or I have some iced tea left. My own recipe. It's too hot for coffee." You muttered the last part.

Joel still caught it. "Coffee? You have coffee?" 

"Just a little. Enough for one cup maybe. Do you want one?"

The 'Yes' that left him was almost a moan. Your thighs involuntarily clenched as you turned to fill the kettle. 

The coffee mug looked tiny in Joel's hands. You wondered what those large hands could do as Joel happily drank his coffee. You daydreamed about giving him something else to drink down as he drained his cup. "God. I missed coffee."

"I never drank it. I could maybe get you some more on my next trade." It was a stupid thing to offer. The only person that you could guarantee that would have coffee was Darryl. Darryl was an asshole but he was a discreet one. At least if he upper his price, no one would find out what you traded for it. That night you send a message to Darryl by the morning you had your answer. His price for a bag was too high so you settled for enough for a couple of cups. The supply chain was in place. It would take about a week but Joel would have his coffee. 

"How did you…?" Joel marvelled at the same amount of coffee in his hands. 

"I have my ways."

"I bet you do." 

That almost sounded flirty. He must be really grateful for the coffee. 

"What else can you get?"

"That's a conversation for another time I think."

The possibility of Joel flirting was too much to risk with the truth. Joel drank both his cups of coffee that day sitting at your table, talking more openly than he ever had. The tone turn distinctly flirty before made to leave. Once he was up on his horse he asked. "What do I owe you for the coffee?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something." You smiled up at him. 

"Let me know when you do."

You didn't even make it up the stairs before your hand was bringing you relief. It was embarrassing that the man got you so worked up. On the bring side you could definitely Joel some more coffee now.

The next time Joel came over for his caffeine fix, he wouldn't take it until you agreed to let him give you something in return. What you really wanted caught in your throat. Maybe you could ask for something to help get it out. "How about you bring me some beer?" 

"Beer? We make that. You could just got to the bar and get some."

"Maybe I don't want to got to the bar and maybe I want to just drink it with you."

Before Joel could comment, his radio went off. Tommy needed help rounding up some loose horses.

Joel placed the coffee on your table. "I'll be back for this."

The next night he was, with beer for you and whiskey for him. Both of them went down very well. The two of you had moved to your sofa, lazily reclining with your head pressed back into the cushions.

"Now are ever going to tell me how you get coffee?" Joel's head moved closer to yours.

"I could but you might start looking at me differently."

"I doubt that."

"Really? What if it's something really shady?"

"I've survived in this world for twenty years. I doubt anything can shock me."

"I trade him pictures of my feet."

"You…?" The drunkenness softening his eyes disappeared for a second as they widened. "Pictures of your feet?!"

"Among other things. You said your friend Bill was a prepper?"

"He preferred survivalist."

"Well, imagine a whole community of Bills."

"Jesus."

"With a very well paid benefactor. Darryl was a genius with computers. He made millions. A lot of it was working for porn companies. That's where he got his particular tastes."

"So he likes your feet. Doesn't it bother you that he might be using them when he…?" Joel wrinkled his nose. It was so cute, it took all you remaining strength not to kiss the bridge of his perfect nose.

"No. I mean any man could decide to think about me when he…." You missed the way Joel swallowed hard. "This way I get something out of it."

"Isn't he talking advantage of you?"

"He give me stuff I want to get a glimpse of my feet. I'm not the one that's being taken advantage of."

"Fair enough. Wait, you said among other things?"

"There's a scale. Feet get me basic stuff or a small amount of good stuff. Other pictures get me better stuff depending on what they are. Panties gets me pretty much whatever I asked for and in a rush."

"Panties? You mean you give him yours?!"

"And he trades them on." 

"Did you give him your underwear for my coffee?!" 

"It was a good deal I had a ruined pair anyway. And it wasn't just for your coffee. I got some chocolate too. I saved some for Ellie."

"Thank you?"

"It's okay if you don't want her to have it. Knowing how I got it and all."

"I'm sorry. It's fine, thank you. I'm just a little bewildered by it all. I definitely feel like I need to give you more than beer and whiskey now."

The liquid courage and Joel's accepting attitude spurred you on. "Maybe there is something else you can trade."

"What's that?" 

"Well, some of the pictures Darryl wants are a little hard for me to take myself. Maybe you could take them for me?"

"P-pictures of what?"

"Me, naked."

"Sugar, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"It's just a simple trade Joel." You stood walking towards the stairs. Joel seemed to argue with himself for a moment before following. 

"Here you hold this while I…" you set the Polaroid camera in Joel's grasp. Standing in front of him you removed your shirt and bra. "Just take a picture of me from the neck down."

"Okay." Joel did as he was told, his sped up breathing made the camera shake a little but the photos came out well. 

"One more." You told him as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your leggings. Pulling them right down your legs you sat back on your bed letting your legs fall open. "I take it you know what you are taking a picture of here?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am." He groaned. 

"You know. The scale also includes if I had a partner."

"What do you mean?"

"If I had a partner and we took pictures of him inside of me, it would be worth a whole lot of coffee."

"And chocolate."

"And chocolate."

"I guess that would be pretty selfish of me not to oblige you."

The camera was thrown on the bed as he climbed up it. Covering you completely with his body as he kissed you. The camera flash would reflect off of your pussy with how wet you were just from his kiss. 

"Are you sure about this, Honey? I don't just give a fuck about trading or coffee. I just want you. It's been a long time, and you drive me crazy." His tone was as earnest as always.

"You can have me Joel."

With that permission, he stripped off his clothes before climbing back on top of you. Finally, he slid deep inside you. "God. I've missed this."

Even with your soaked cunt being so accommodating Joel was still a stretch. He filled you completely. The heavy drag of his cock every time he pulled out was a muted pleasure compared when he slammed it back with so much force your tits bounced against his chest. It stole the air for your moans, all you could give him was a choked gasp every time. Cumming around him you gave a high pitched whine as you body desperately tried to pull his release from him. Thankfully, Joel resisted long enough to come over your pusy instead. His load glistened on your red hot mount. When he was able to think straight he grabbed the camera to take a picture of his handiwork. "What do you think this will get us?"

"I think I'll keep that one for myself. A reminder that I made a pretty damn good trade. A cup of coffee for a night with the hottest bachelor in Jackson."

"You actually gave me several cups of coffee so I guess I owe you a few more nights."

"On second thoughts I will send that picture to Darryl. I don't want to run out of coffee any time soon."

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass

[eryiss]

[Jet x Freed] Cubicle Capers - Chapter Four

Summary: Jet was meant to do more. He was meant to do something with his degree. He was meant to have a purpose. He'd taken a job at Grimoire Pharmaceuticals to work his way up into a lab position, but found himself stuck in a cubicle. Every day the same. At least he had a new boss coming. Freed Justine. He’d be like the rest, though. Boring, outdated and.. hot as hell?

Notes: Conflict. Forgiveness. Embarrassing pictures. All here right now. Again, this was requested by @jethro-art.

Links: Ao3, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Epilogue

Chapter Four – The Argument

Jet

There were shit days, and there was the day that Jet was having.

Slowly, over the past few weeks, little things had gone wrong and he'd dealt with it. His coffee machine as home had started giving the beans a weird taste. The supermarkets had decided to change the layout and he had no idea where his usual brand of heavy-duty trash bags had ended up. The new neighbour across the street had decided he'd start making his front lawn look presentable, but had to blast out trance music at top volume to do so. Jet's nerves had already been grated on, even before the shit-show of the morning.

Speedster, his vintage sports car and only transportation, had decided to splutter and smoke and cut out. He tended to the car like a child, taking every precaution to make sure she ran like she was showroom fresh. He'd invested a fair portion of his meagre wages on her, and for no understandable reason, that morning she had died.

That would have been bad enough already. To deal with the fact his pride and joy was dead on the street would be difficult, not to mention the fact all the money he'd spent on her had essentially been flushed down the toilet. But then he had to navigate the streets – littered with trash since the refuge union were rightly, if annoyingly, striking again. Then the bus system, which had been underfunded since before Jet was born. Then the tram system, which as a cost cutting measure had decided to half the carriage amounts and force everyone into overly cramped and revoltingly sweaty quarters not fit for humans. They also were running late, and Jet hadn't known he'd had to contend with any of this crap before his normal leaving time, meaning he was late for work. Very fucking late for work.

He stormed into the building, cursed out the stupid turnstile which took three attempts to identify his ID card, and ran up the flights of stairs because it would be faster than taking the elevator. Sweaty and angry, he threw his bag down under his desk and let his expression harden. He would let himself be angry for a little while before he started; best not let that anger touch his scanning or he'd be pissed off all day.

"Jet," Laki said, head poking into his cubicle. "Freed says he wants to see you when you get in."

Jet ground his teeth together a little. "You think I could have a couple minutes before I go?"

She winced. "I don't think so. He seemed pretty insistent," she screwed up her face. "The phrase 'if he deigns to show his face' was used, so I'd probably go now."

He forced himself to unclench. He had wanted to get a mug of non-burned coffee, and maybe a chance to splash some water on his face, before he did anything professional. He wanted to not be pissed off at the stupid busker and his stupid crowd of watchers who had gotten in his way. He wanted a moment to get his heart rate down. He wanted a better goddamn job that might be worth the stress of a crappy morning.

But duty, and managers called, so he had to do as he was told.

This was Freed, though. In the half a year he'd been working there, Freed had never once been unreasonable. Jet was always punctual, and it was obvious this was a random occurrence. Freed would see reason. With two knocks, Jet walked into Freed's office.

"Hey man, I'm really sorry-"

Freed silenced him from behind his desk, not with a word, but with a raised finger. He motioned for Jet to take the seat opposite him, and Jet did so with a scrunched-up face. Freed seemed different.

The room was different, too. Freed's phone was lit up red on all lines, the pinboard beside his desk which previously had been entirely clear now was filled with spreadsheets and random charts, and a small collection of half drunk and discarded mugs of tea and coffee decorated his desk. Freed had always kept his desk clean and his office minimalist. He was a neat freak, Jet had assumed, and yet his office today looked cluttered and messy.

"I don't know what you think is happening," Freed said, and his voice had an edge to it. "But you cannot do this."

"I wasn't-" Jet tried again, but Freed shot him a look that shut him up.

"I am your boss and as such it is my responsibility to make sure you adhere to the company rules of employment. One of which – the most obvious, I would say – is that an employee must be in the office and working for the hours their contract dictates. Your contract states you should be in the office at eight thirty and leave at five. It's ten o'clock, and you've only just gotten here. That cannot happen. There is a small amount of leeway I can give you. An hour and a half goes far beyond that."

Jet knew that, and it kind of pissed him off that Freed felt the need to explain it in that condescending tone. "Yeah. Obviously, but-"

"I understand that perhaps I blurred the lines of proper conduct between us by our trips to the bar," Freed began, and Jet could see where this was going. Oh fuck no. Freed wasn't actually gonna do this, was he? "But, us having a friendly relationship outside of work does not allow you to disregard the rules of your employ."

"You're kidding me," Jet muttered, leg bouncing.

"If us meeting outside of work is going to give you reason to think you can come and go from work without care for the proper-"

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Jet snapped, and it might have been louder than he expected because Freed sat up a little straighter. Jet didn't care. If Freed was implying this, then fuck Freed. "That's what you thought this was huh? Me, cosying up to the boss so I don't have to come to work on time? That's my evil plan, huh? Make friends with ya then half ass this job."

"One and a half hours late-"

"Happens! Shit like that happens! You don't get to-" Freed didn't get to imply their meetings in the pub, which had been a weekly thing for them both since the first, were anything but two guys having fun. Freed didn't get to imply that Jet was going to the pub with him for malicious reasons. Freed didn't get to paint Jet in that light. But he couldn't say any of that. It all sounded too soppy and emotional. Instead, he stood up and walked to the door. "Fuck this."

"I'm not finished speaking with you Jet," Freed said in a voice that might have intimidated Jet if Jet wasn't sure he was in the right.

"Who cares?"

"We are going to have this-"

"HR's been on our asses about taking all our vacation days since that lawsuit. I'm taking mine. Guess I'm not late after all."

"Jet."

"Whatever you're about to say, I don't give a shit. Don't care about the words of a guy who'd assume the words of me," Jet shrugged. "In fact, take your words and shove them up your tightly wound, hypocritical, shitty at Donkey Kong asshole!"

He left the office, slammed the door, picked up his bag from the cubicle, and got the fuck out of there. If Freed wanted to yell at him tomorrow, so be it. That just gave Jet a full day to think of the ways to make Freed feel as shitty as Jet himself felt.

Fuck Freed Justine. Fuck him.

———

Freed

Exactly twenty-two and a half hours later, Freed had been given more than enough time to realise how terribly he'd handled the situation.

He could give himself excuses. He could say that before Jet had arrived, the CFO had come into Freed's office to discuss a matter, and had decided that because Freed wasn't drowning in paperwork and visibly stressed beyond functioning, he wasn't working hard enough. He could say that this had led to his phone being the go-to for all the questions that no department was specifically meant to answer. He could say that the reality of his office job had started to crush him, and for the first time Freed was considering quitting a job purely because he was struggling to handle it.

None of that mattered, though. Yes, he was a person who had flaws and bad days, but so were his employees. If he hadn't allowed Jet to explain his lateness, then Freed had no right to explain his unfair assumptions. He was wrong, he had deserved Jet's yelling, and the onus was on him to fix things.

As such, Freed had spent the morning waiting at the elevators, looking for Jet. He hoped he'd come in. He would come, wouldn't he? Jet hadn't quit, so he'd come back to work eventually. Right?

His question was eventually answered, when Jet trudged out of the stairwell beside the elevators, and Freed saw him from the corner of his eye. Jet saw him at the same time, and they looked at each other. Jet's posture was rigid and anticipatory, the very personification of someone waiting to close either fight or flight.

"Could I speak with you in my office please, Jet," Freed requested. The shift in Jet's jawline and the slight straightening of his back told Freed that Jet was ready for a fight.

The walk from the elevator to Freed's office was long, and Freed had to wonder how long it must have felt for Jet the day before, swirling with anger and annoyance and, if Freed wasn't deluding himself into thinking Jet saw him as a friend, a sense of betrayal. That made the guilt squirm harder in Freed's stomach. But he was going to make this right; or at least he'd do his best to try.

With the door closed firmly behind them, Freed took his seat behind his desk and gestured for Jet to take his own. Jet's leg was bouncing and his fingers twiddling. Jet was a fidgeter. A ball of energy. It must be hell to work in this office.

"Yesterday," Freed began, and suddenly, looking into Jet's eyes, the professional apology he had planned went out the window. "I behaved like a dick to you. I was unfair and presumptuous and put outward stresses onto you. I was rude, and I'm incredibly sorry."

Jet looked at him. His face portrayed nothing. Freed continued.

"For what it's worth, yesterday won't be removed from your designated vacation days, so you haven't lost any Holliday due to what I did."

"So I've got a full day on record without doing any work." Jet had muttered that. Maybe Freed wasn't meant to hear, but he had.

"No, your figures are entirely as they should be," Freed explained, and a look of panic flashed across Jet's face. Freed belatedly realised what that sounded like – like Freed had fudged the figures in a way that could come back to haunt them – and quickly spoke again. "I got your work done. I realised… fairly soon after you left that I was in the wrong, and that your professional reputation shouldn't be affected," his cheeks flushed a little, and he had no idea why. "I made sure all the scanning was done; you don't need to worry."

Jet looked at him. Stared him down. "What time d'you leave last night?"

"That's not important," Freed dismissed. He hadn't actually left at night. It had been a little after one in the morning. Saying that would be like pointing out a sacrifice he'd made, which wasn't fair. Recompense wasn't something that should end in pity.

"So I ain't in trouble, and I ain't behind on work, and I ain't missing a vacation day. That's all you wanted to tell me?"

"And that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did, and I promise it won't happen again."

Jet kept staring at him. Freed could only stare back. Jet was clearly expecting something, but Freed had no idea what that was. If Jet needed something to forgive Freed, then Freed would get it for him no questions asked, but he really had no clue what that thing might be. Maybe Jet sensed that, because he spoke again. "You not gonna explain what was stressing you out? That you had your boss breathing down your neck or whatever, and that's why you were being an asshat."

"I've found that an apology followed by an excuse tends to not be worth saying," Freed met Jet's gaze. "I'm sorry, I was wrong, no amendments needed."

And, rather heartbreakingly, Jet looked like he'd been struck. Like such a thing was so unfamiliar in his life that it was worthy of a shocked response. Like he didn't think he deserved it. Like it was so out of the realms of possibility for Freed to treat him like a human being. Like an equal.

Freed really had fucked up. And Jet really hadn't been treated right. It wasn't appropriate for Freed to quietly think that he could treat Jet right. He could make the man feel worthy of all the apologies in the world. He could make Jet smile that sharp toothed smile.

"Oh, right. Thanks."

Before dangerous thoughts could persist, Freed pushed on. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, laminated card. "This is also a gesture of good will, I hope. It tends to make people laugh and, given you like making fun of me when we're drinking, I thought you'd appreciate it."

He placed the card on his desk and let Jet pick it up. He saw the moment apprehension gave way to amusement.

"You look like a jackass," Jet grinned. "What the hell made you do that to yourself?"

"A drunken mistake, I'm afraid." Freed glanced down at his old ID card from about five years ago, with his green hair buzzed short and looking entirely ridiculous. He had a face that served long hair, and certainly not an army style buzzcut. It was a point of consistent ridicule among his friends that he'd done that, made worse by the fact he'd done it days before a job translating for the king of Lichtenstein, his most publicised job. "It's ridiculous, I know. Feel free to circulate it around the office should you feel the need."

"Nah, I'll keep it to myself."

"Really?"

"Not a fucking chance. Gotta make sure this gets around. You okay with me doin' a scan of this and sending out a company wide email, make sure everyone knows."

"Do as you wish," Freed laughed. "But, might I ask, are we good?"

Jet paused. "I think we're good. I'm gonna stew on it a little longer, I think, but I think we're good."

"I'm glad," Freed smiled. "I've taken too much of your time already, so feel free to leave."

"Yep, got work to do," Jet agreed, holding onto the ID card. "See you later Bossman."

"See you later."

Jet saluted to him, and Freed leant back in his chair with a small sigh. The dampening of his nerves hit him suddenly, and he placed his hands on the desk to stop them shaking. It had been far too long since he'd cared like this about something.

Jet had called him Bossman. That was enough for now. That was a promise that they'd get back to where they'd been, even if Jet was still a little raw and likely to make some negative assumptions about Freed for a while. He could understand that. He could live with that. So long as it ended up okay, that was fine.

A little trill came from his PC, and Freed glanced over to it. An email, sent to the entire company list. The little fucker had actually done it. Brat. Freed had to grin. He really did love being in Jet's aura; the chaos was wonderful.

[interlunium-opus]

Enhypen as your Best Friend: Jake edition

Check out other members’ versions too: Heeseung | Jay | Sunghoon | Sunoo | Jungwon | Ni-Ki

Is so kind, caring and selfless that he makes you feel like the spawn of evil or something.

“Jake, what the hell? You have all these cards, you could have won instead!” You shriek when you flip his cards over and discovered that he had enough +4 UNO card to flip the game over.

“Yeah, but you’d have to pick up like 20 extra cards,” he shrugs, picking up the cards to reorganize them.

“So?”

“Well, I don’t want to do that,” he mumbles before shooting you his signature megawatt smile, “Not to you at least. 10/10 would do it to Ni-Ki though.”

Always keep you at the forefront of his mind.

When he’s at the coffee shop: “Oh, I bet she hasn’t had her coffee yet,” and then he goes on to order you your usual.

When he’s at the bakery: “Oh, I bet she hasn’t had her lunch yet — gotta get her something,” and then he goes on to buy a selection of your favorite pastries.

When he’s shopping, “Oh, she really loves clothes like this — I’ll just get it for her.”

When he passes by a bookstore, “Oh, that’s the kind of book she likes,” then he quickly disappears into the bookstore to get it for you.

“What are you? Her mum?” Sunghoon would often complain as he is always the one being made to wait while Jake is busy getting you stuffs.

Quality time with him would consist of activities like baking nights; picnics; volunteer sessions and so on. Being the selfless lad he is though, he’d always take it upon himself to do the majority of the hard work (though he’ll slot in a chance to brag about himself in between especially if it concerns his strength or skills).

“Oh gosh, this is why restaurants and bakeries exists,” you complain as you rolled the dough for the umpteenth time.

“Let me,” he set down the cream he was mixing, offering to take over.

“Dude, no — you’re more exhausted than I am from your soccer practice, I have absolutely no right to compl-“

“Aww don’t worry about it. You’ve been studying all night too,” he assures, pulling a chair and beckoning you to sit down instead, “besides, I have the strength of like a hundred men so yknow things like these are peanuts for me,” he snickers.

Boi is flirty as heck though. Thank God, you have ice in your veins. Otherwise, you’d be catching feelings quicker than you can spell out his name.

“Do you want anything?” He asks as you guys stand in line at Starbucks.

You shook your head, “Nah, not a fan. I like Coffee Bean better.”

"Oh we can stop by later then," he suggests.

"It's fine Jake, we've already passed it by earlier."

Then suddenly after disappearing for some 15 minutes to allegedly take a call outside, Jake returned, oddly out of breath, with a Coffee Bean paper bag, filled with your usual coffee order.

“Dude! Coffee Bean is like what almost 8 minutes away by walk?! That's like a 16 minute return-trip or something...”

“Less if you run," he winks, “Come on, for you — anything."

Then as per his habits, he’d bite his lips as he grins.

Or that other time, during one of your baking nights:

“You know if you’re tired you can always cancel our baking night right?” You suggest as you unlock the door to your apartment.

“No way — it’s like our weekly ritual. Also it’s like therapeutic for me, a respite from all those rowdy boys at home; rowdy boys at practice and my hectic lifestyle,” he posits, placing the groceries, which he had insisted to carry, up onto your kitchen counter, “unless of course you’re tired? Then of course we can-“

“Never as tired as you’re supposed to be though — if you say so, then sure.”

“Aww,” he coos, “Seriously, if you’re tired, I’ll take over tonight.”

“No way, you’re always taking up my share of work, I feel like a freeloader.”

“Oh come on, freeloading is when it’s one-sided. We aren’t like that.”

“You must really like baking huh?”

“I mean yeah but actually, it’s not the baking per se that I love the most from our baking nights,” Jake murmurs as he help you unpack the groceries, “it’s being with you that I love the most. That’s the therapeutic part, you; making things together with you; making things for you; —“

You stopped unpacking and stare up at him, wondering what have you done so far to even deserve Jake. He stares back at you, beaming widely, “basically you.” ((Yeah he bit his lips after that))

As if there’s gravity, his hands are somewhat always on you whether it is an arm over your shoulders; his hand holding yours whenever you guys cross the road; his hand reaching yours whenever you just put a hand up to wave at him in the hallway; all the tackle hugs he does whenever he sees you; resting his head against your shoulders; and the list goes on (nothing you’re uncomfortable with though). No wonder the girls are always shooting glares at you — he’s always acting as if you guys are dating.

“Gosh, get a room!” Jay would always scream whenever he's around you two and Jake starts to get all clingy and handsy.

A good exemplary student but for you, just for you, he can make some sort of light concession. For instance, if you doze off in class, he’d cover your back.

“Oh crap, I dozed off didnt I?”

“A bit,” Jake whispers back, “Go back to sleep, I’ll wake you up once he starts moving around the hall,” he winks.

“Nah I shouldn’t, I’ve already missed out a whole page of notes,” you sigh when suddenly Jake pushes his book towards you, “Got you covered girl, don’t worry. Just get another 5 minutes of shut-eye alright? I know you pulled up an all-nighter last night.”

“I wish you’re as lenient to me as you to her,” Ni-Ki grumbles beside him.

Jake scoffs, “Nah not you bruh — you deserve being found out when you’re napping when all you do at night is playing games with Heeseung.”

Would excitedly wave at you, or send a flying kiss at you if he feels daring, during his soccer matches whenever he spots you in the crowd.

Playfully competitive in a very annoying way. “Hey, bet you can’t run faster than I can..." / “Hey, bet you can’t finish the homework within an hour..." / "Hey, bet you can’t squat more than I do...” — it’s ok though, you thought, ‘cus no human is perfect, he has to have a flaw especially when his selflessness is inhumanely off the charts.

Your study buddy! You guys are always either in the library, the class or at each other’s places — mostly to study (if you guys aren’t having your non-study-related quality time, that is). Of course, he’d get competitive eventually, “hey, bet you can’t solve question 12! I got it in just what 3 minutes?”

Boi is a coward but he would brave through anything for you (at least *try* to). That's how everyone knows you're his soft spot.

"Jake, you hate horror movies.”

“But you love the Conjuring series”

“Yeah, but I can just watch it alone. You don’t need to accompany me to the theatre for this.”

“Nah, why would I do that to you? Come on have some faith in me — horror movies are nothing.”

and then you found out from a trusted informant (Jungwon) that Jake couldnt sleep without the lights on for 1 week straight after that.

[pleasantanathema]

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk​ 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer! 

           There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

           The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

           You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

           He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

           So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

           And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

           “So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

           “Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

           “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

           “Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

           You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

           “Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

           “Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

           “Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

           Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

           But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

           You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

           Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

           Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

           “Have you guys opened presents yet?”

           You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

           “No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

           Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

           “I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

           “Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

           “I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

           Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

           “Is that…?”

           “Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

           The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

           You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

           “I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

           You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

           You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

           “Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

           “Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

           “Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

           The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

           You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

           “Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

          You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

           “I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

           “No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

           Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

           He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

           “What are you gonna name her?”

           He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

           “I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

           “Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

           “Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

           “She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

           “I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

           You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

           There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

           You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

           But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

           Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

           You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

           And you still felt like you were missing something.

           Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

           But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

           Jean: You awake?

           Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

           You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

           Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

           You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

           Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

           Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

           Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

           Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

           You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

           You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

           You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

           If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

           But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

           You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

           You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

           Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

           You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

           The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

           “Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

           “Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

           His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

           “I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

           “You’re not wearing pants.”

           “I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

           You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

           He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

           His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

           “Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

           You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

           “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

           You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

           “Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

           A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

           You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

           You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

           “You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

           “Y-yes, feels so good.”

           His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

           You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

           Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

           Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

           “Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

           “You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

           Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

           “Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

           You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

          You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

          His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

          “Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

          “Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

          Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

          It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

          “Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could���could you call me daddy when you cum?”

          There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

          Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

          You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

          It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

          “D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

          But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

          Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

          “Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

          “Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

          He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

          “Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

          “I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

          “I’m full of surprises, baby.”

          You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

          With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

          “Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

          “God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

          It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

          All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

          “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

          “I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

          “Oh fuck. Good girl.”

          His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

          He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

          “Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

          “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

          Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

          Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

          “So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

          You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

          Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

          “Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

          You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

          His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

          Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

          “Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

          Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

          The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

          “I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

          God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

          Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

          You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

          When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

          “Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

          His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

          “Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

          “Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

          He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

          “Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

          You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

          You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

          “What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

          “It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

          Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

          “I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

          “You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

          “I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

          You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

          “Yeah, I’d like that.”

          No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

[spiltscribbles]

Miss you and your marvelous writing!!!! Just a prompt if you’re up to it 😊 exes wolfstar staying friends but sirius gets into a new relationship and he brings his new boo to somewhere he took remus and remus gets sad 😭 but they get back together eventually

Notes: OMFG BABEY! this is so SO beyond precious of you! i adore you to bits! thank you for the sweetness and for this scrumptious angst🥺🥺 i really hope you like it😭😘😘💜

.-

SEND ME A PROMPT  |  A Reblog means SO SO much! I ADORE YOU💜💜

.-

“He can just be so… So” James pauses right then, takes off his cap with the hand that’s still clutching his baseball bat, and ruffles his hair with the other.

“Un-opinionated,” Remus offers half heartedly as they turn the block to the small coffee shop nearest school, both of them freshly showered after the required morning workouts for Tuesday and Thursdays. It’s the first semester in which Remus has actually joined in on the seven minute track, considering the fact that even despite their crazy contradictory schedules with all the sports and extra curriculars they each had, Sirius always made it a point to buy their ice coffees and drop it off to Remus, sometimes leaving them a quarter of an hour late for first period, or as just a quick drop and dash if one of them had an exam. 

It was sweet, considerate. It was Sirius showing how much he cared because he’s never been one for words, even if he would frequently print off the little texts Remus would send him about how Sirius made him feel, and hang it up on the wall besides his bed, along with photos of them and Remus by himself and a few of their other friends too.

But yeah… None of that is really a thing anymore, not the coffees or the texts or the promises of being one another’s always. Not after calling it quits in early January because they knew by August they’d be working with thousands of miles between them and a three hour difference on top of that. It just wouldn’t have been feasible in the long run, and sure— Remus was the one to broach the topic and he knows that Sirius was hesitant about the logical side of it, but sometimes Remus wishes Sirius had fought harder, had argued louder, had wanted Remus more. But that’s a ridiculous expectation, and he had only admitted as much to Lily. And at the end of the day, it was the right choice, because it’s only early May now, and Remus can’t imagine how sick he’ll feel once catching his flight to Berkeley, and they’re steadfastly back in the best friends category of things. He can’t fathom how it would’ve been if they spent all these months and the ones after being together in all those intimate ways, knowing that they’ll be so far apart soon enough.

It was the right decision for the both of them and their friendship.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that,” James says, bringing Remus out of his gloomy contemplations while opening the glass door to Three Broomsticks, sporting a thin smile that he always has on when he’s trying to be kind even when he’s irritated as all get out. 

Remus snorts at him, elbow checking his side as he walks past. “Well he’s sharing that dorm with you and Sirius in New Haven, so I guess you’ve got that to look forwards to.”

James’s face pulls into a grimace and their typical barista nods their way, already receiving their orders through the app and sparing them having to wait in the queue. “Maybe Pete’ll grow his own personality in university, yeah?”

“Sure Prongsie,” Remus says, noncommittal as he checks his phone and lies against the windowpane, already exhausted by the morning. “And if he doesn’t, I’m sure Sirius is about to blow his lid any day now.”

“It’s going to be funny as fuck, and you won’t even be there to see the debris,” James counters, sounding pleasant enough even though Remus knows that he’s nearly as pissed off as Sirius is about the decision for him to go back to his home state for undergrad. 

“You’ll send pictures though.”

“Of course Moony my old friend,” James jokes, tossing him a wink as they straighten once spotting their coffees being rung up. But as Remus takes a step forwards, he notices that a familiarly tan pair of hands are reaching for them, and when Remus looks up he feels like an idiot for not noticing him sooner. Because there Sirius is, dashing as ever in their school’s maroon blazer and tan pants, and his hair is windblown and shining as it falls midway of the nape of his neck. But Remus doesn’t really have the chance to appreciate just how damn good looking his ex-boyfriend is, rather, he’s more distracted by how Sirius doesn’t even notice him or James as he pivots around and hands over the second cup to a beaming Gideon Prewett. Their heads incline while they exchange a few words that are absolutely impossible to pick up in the crowded cafe before they bump their shoulders together and walk out the opposite door.

And it feels like nothing else watching that exchange— like their was a hammer and pick chipping away at his stupid, weeping heart.

“I think they’re just doing a project together,” James says lowly in Remus’s ear, clapping him on the back in reassurance, and Remus loves him, but he’s not in the mood for false platitudes, feels like there is a ugly, burning fire festering deep in his stomach and making Remus want to hurl all over the wooden floors.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies instead, mild as he discretely picks up his phone again and opens up to the last conversation he had this morning.

R: need intel 

L: Say more sexy things to me, lover 

R: sirius and Gideon

R: what’s going on there

L: I’ll take a look, dw

Buoyed by Lily’s scary levels of detective skills, Remus returns his phone to his satchel and signals James to follow him to pick up their actual drinks. “C’mon, Flitwick hates it when we’re late.”

.-

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad.” Lily asks Remus later that morning during their shared free period, dropping her bag on the tabletop that they typically commandeer towards the back of Hogwarts’s library, nearest the windows and tucked away by the shelves.

“Is there actually any good news? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better.” Remus asks, single brow cocked as he shuts his history book and tosses it to the side.

“Well your hair looks especially nice today,” she offers with a small smile, sitting besides him and ruffling his curls.

“Thanks, I suppose. But I’d rather just get to it. And don’t sigh at me like that! All long suffering and all.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily gathers her hair into a high pony before turning to Remus fully. “You’re my best friend, I love you more than just about anyone. You know that, right?” Lily asks him, stiff stance relaxing when he nods in turn. “Then understand that I’m saying this from a place of love, but you don’t get to be mad at him, okay. You’re the one who called it off Re, you’re the one who wanted you guys to go back to being friends to avoid that messiness in August. And you know I respect the decision, but also it wasn’t the only one to be had. I mean look at James and I—“

“You’re going to Columbia Lils,” Remus bristles, hates how defensive he’s getting all of a sudden. “That train ride is like two hours and some change at the very most. It’s not the same.”

“You guys could’ve made it work,” she insists, green eyes blazing in the dim light. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re in love with him— Like ass backwards in love. You can’t just cut that off like it’s nothing, damn it, Remus.”

He can feel his own ears reddening and Remus hates it, hates how today had started off so innocuous and now it’s an absolute shit show. Remus hates that Lily is always correct about everything, and hates how Sirius probably is regretting telling Remus he still fully intends to ask him out to prom, and hates how much he loves him— how whenever he looks at Sirius it’s just a deluge of wanting and adoring and regretting and needing to feel his lips against Sirius’s own again like a drug, how he’ll never forget how he tasted like coffee beans and cigarette smoke and the strawberries he ate every morning besides his breakfast. Remus hates it all and he can’t figure out how not to feel like suddenly everything is slipping out of his hands like sand drifting through his fingers.

“He’s probably not that crazy over me anymore considering he’s getting Gideon Prewett coffees now, so maybe it’s the right decision after all.” Is what Remus decides to tell Lily instead of that whirlwind of clashing feelings.

“Oh Christ,” Lily huffs, dropping her head back like she’s asking for strength from the heavens above. “Look, Dorcas tells me that they’ve only been out twice. And Marlene says that it’s nothing intense. Just a movie and then he went to go watch his nephew’s little league game.”

“Oh,” Remus intones, because, no. No he will not start crying like this is some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel, and he’s the wayward lead making all the worst decisions. He’s not going to cry damn it!

He is not a bird, and this is suppose to be happening, and none of this has any real consequence at the end of the day. He and Sirius broke up, and Sirius can go out with whoever he pleases— even if it’s good looking, ginger athletes.

Remus is fine.

“Remus,” Lily gently consoles, lacing her fingers into his own that’s resting on his lap, and squeezing for good measure. “Benjy told Mary, who told me during Calc that Gideon doesn’t expect anything. Sirius told him he’s not looking for anything long term.”

“That’s dumb,” Remus retorts, trying to hold everything in so that Lily doesn’t give him that concerned, doe eyed face of hers, like when he’s spent a week living off of protein bars and double shot espressos preparing for finals. “Gideon’s great, and there on the soccer team together, they would be perfect.”

“Remus, stop.”

“And he’s going to Dartmouth, so he’ll be super close for like weekend excursions and all of that.”

“Remus!”

“The more I think about it, Lils, the more it makes sense. They just fit.”

“Sure, those are all nice attributes,” Lily says, peering up at him disappointedly. “But he’s not you.”

Like a legion of angels singing in the distance, the bell begins to shrill for next period and Remus is spared from giving that statement any mind.

.-

He spends the rest of the week acting as if he hadn’t even seen Sirius that morning whenever around him, and internally analyzing each and every exchange between them, and comparing to them to when he sees Sirius chatting with Gideon. And it’s not fun to say the least. It’s like a flashback to when he was trying to hide his crush on Sirius back in Freshman and most of sophomore year, but somehow worse. It’s worse because Remus had him, had Sirius in all the ways someone could ever want an other. He had Sirius’s languid morning kisses, and Sirius’s bark like laughter. Remus had Sirius being nervous the first time Lyall came for his typical Christmas visit, and Sirius had to try and impress him along with Remus’s mom as more than just the friend he hung around with at school. Remus had Sirius’s gruff voice when they were in bed and getting tangled into one another, and Sirius’s dopey looks in the middle of class when he’d be gazing over at Remus instead of the board. And if Remus is being honest, he knows he still has all those things, but it’s suddenly and searingly clear that some time— sooner rather than later— they’ll all leave, abruptly disappearing and shattering Remus’s world in their wake. Because eventually all of those different facets of Sirius’s won’t be Remus’s anymore— they’ll be Gideon’s or some other boy he meets in New Haven. And Remus can’t even be upset at it, he doesn’t have a claim to any of Sirius anymore, doesn’t get to call any part of him his.

And it’s probably the worst Remus has felt since that first night after their break up, because he’s eating every moment he has with Sirius like he’s famished and Sirius is the last meal he’ll ever know. He wants to memorize every part of him before he can’t have any of it. He wants to unravel every layer of Sirius, and kiss it for the final time, and it’s like saying goodbye a thousand times over, strangling his heart and splintering something desperate deep inside of him.

Like now.

It’s edging on midnight, and they drove up to the lake front near their suburb, with Sirius lying with his head on Remus’s lap and his long, muscled body lying against the tattered blanket beneath them. And his eyes are fluttered shut while the speaker they brought croons out the indie playlist they like most from Spotify.

And Remus can’t help but feel like this is one of their last nights like this, alone and quiet and together without any other specter of some other partner. So he watches him, watches the moonlight pacing over his nose and the high bones of his cheeks and across Sirius’s eyelids too. Remus watches his ink  like lashes kissing his skin, and wants to touch the divot of his cupids bow like so many times before while his other hand cards through Sirius’s hair. 

And Remus lets himself want Sirius and wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting, craving, loving him.

“I can hear you thinking Moons,” Sirius says, fluttering his eyes open and crunching up before Remus can even respond. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m fine.” Remus all but sputters, folding his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, feeling somehow vulnerable in blistering ways. “Nothing is going on.”

“Pff,” Sirius gives him a pointed look, settles down so that they’re side by side and tries to get Remus to look at him head on. “You’ve been strange all week, Moony.” 

“That’s not—“

“And then tonight, you didn’t even tease your ma when she was telling us about that patient who puked all over her shoes.”

“Just tired is all.”

“But had enough energy to smoke half the joint I brought.” Sirius says with a snort, looking frustrated again when Remus didn’t even flinch a smile at the counter. “Remus, talk to me.”

“It’s fine Sirius,” Remus sighs, suddenly remembers how exhausting all their arguments were in the past. How Sirius tries getting him to speak everything in his mind, as if Remus could even put them into words. 

“Okay, then tell me why you rejected my offer to go to that Frank Ocean concert. You’re obsessed with him.”

“’S in July,” Remus reminds him lightly, focusses on the way they can see the North star glimmering against the horizon instead.

“And, so?” Sirius asks, sounding more than a bit scathing. “You’re not leaving for another month after that, you trying to cut me off completely by the summer or something?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“Sirius, just leave well enough alone. Holy shit.”

“I can leave it alone if you can actually tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Sirius snaps, standing up now, probably because he always likes using his height advantage on most people whenever he gets all pissy.

“You can be such a prick sometimes, you know that?” Remus snarls at him, following suit and dipping his head back just slightly so that they’re eye to eye. “Not everything is on your schedule, you know that.”

“My schedule!” Sirius’s brows jump to his hairline, and he breaks into that manic laughter that springs up only when he’s so angry he can’t put his thoughts together. “I’m trying to do as much shit with you as possible before you leave, because for some stupid fucking reason I’m going to miss you when your across the fucking country! But yeah, whatever. If you’re actually just sick of me and my presence or what the fuck else, you can just—“

“I would’ve assumed you wanted to go with Gideon,” Remus blurts out, simply unable to hold it back any more, unable to pretend like he’s not suffering a thousand fresh paper cuts every time he even glances Sirius’s way these days. He can’t do this, can’t pretend to just be friends when they were— when they are— so much more than that. “To the concert I mean. I just assumed—“

“No,” Sirius says, seething as he storms up to Remus— close enough that the tips of their noses brush up against each other. 

“No? Excuse me?”

“No Remus you don’t get to do this!” Sirius repeats, voice going frayed at the edges as their glances level. “You don’t get to pretend as if I want anyone more than I want— than I’ve always wanted you. And you don’t get to float around for the rest of your life pretending as if this’ll ever change for me. As if you can’t hit me up in fifteen years when I’m married with kids, and ask to get back together, and think  that I wouldn’t drop it all for you.”

Remus’s heart begins to thud, loud and painful against his ribcage, and his lungs feel like they might collapse the instant Remus let’s the tears swimming in his eyes sprinkle out. “Sirius, I ca—“

“I’ve been in love with you since before we were suppose to mean what that meant, damn it, Remus! And you’re the one who called it off!”

“It was the right decision.” Remus croaks out, plunging his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, doesn’t want Sirius to see the way they’re shaking.

“”For you. The right decision for you.” Sirius presses, his gray eyes dark underneath the stars. “And you know I’d do anything you wanted of me, but you don’t get to be mad at the ways I cope. And you sure as fuck don’t get to be jealous of fucking Gideon Prewett, as if he can hold a match to you.”

“Oh.” Is all Remus can gather to say, peering back down at his shoes and pressing together his lips, feels the most lost he ever has while around Sirius. “I love you too, you know that. You know I love you so much that it hurts sometimes— That was never the problem.”

Sirius makes a strangled sound deep in his throat, and the next second, Remus can’t feel the warmth of his body besides him because Sirius is darting over to the cusp of the lake and kicking at a rock. “Fuck, Remus. You can’t just say that, all right! You can’t because none of this is fair, or okay. And I fucking hate it and I hate this and—“

“Maybe we can try,” Remus says, quiet but unshaken. And he watches as Sirius slowly turns back around, face scrunched up in utter confusion, but eyes glittering with something like hope. “I love you Sirius, and you love me. And Lily’s right, fucking hell she’s so right. I can’t just turn it off, okay. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t be around you and not want every part of you. But I also can’t let myself stay away from you. So let’s try, and it’s probably a stupid difficult decision, and we’re going to be frustrated and we’re going to miss one another but I know there’s going to be no one I want more and I think you migh— Oof.”

Remus can’t continue rattling off any of the reasons why they should get back together, because Sirius is somehow magically popping up in front of him— his large hands cupping against Remus’s jawline and his thin lips crashing against him, and Remus can only wrap his arms around Sirius’s torso and give him back all he’s pushing forwards.

And it might’ve been a minute or an hour that past, but Sirius is pulling back with a face that looks lighter in ways Remus hasn’t seen on him since the breakup all those months ago. “I’d literally agree to anything if it means we can stay together, Moony. Absolutely anything.”

Remus feels the strain against the apples of his cheeks as he beams at him at the sound of the oath. “Yeah, me too Padfoot. Always and forever, it’s you.”

.-

My Other Wolfstar FIC💜

[nothereforyou]

Long Story Short, I Survived

Did someone order some angsty Steve x reader that turns into Bucky x reader?

The first morning without Steve beside you, after five years of having him next to you, is like being doused with cold water. One moment you’d been blissfully asleep, warm under the duvet that still smelled of him, and the next--well, reality could be colder than any river of ice. He’d chosen her, chosen to go back to where he was really from. Maybe he was never yours to begin with, maybe you were living on borrowed time, safe in his arms.

Life restarts slowly without him. At first, it’s not much more than eating, sleeping, and doing what you need to survive. Surviving is...you don’t have words for what surviving is after. Steve is still around, hovering outside the apartment you’d once inhabited together. He drinks coffee in the café across from the building, lets himself in once or twice a week to make sure you’re alive and the place hasn’t completely gone to seed. You scream at him the first time, scream we were happy!, insist he should’ve stayed. The bastard ignores you.

Steve keeps cleaning, you keep surviving.

Before long, you can get out of bed. You clean your own damn apartment, but Steve still comes. He sits on the couch you picked out together, looking irritatingly good and unfazed. He looks like an old man but you still ache for him. Your Steve, your handsome Steve who had fucked you on every surface in this apartment, looked like a grandpa you should be taking for a walk in the park. He’s still your Steve, deep down. He’s still the only man who’s ever made you cum and who made you laugh over brunch and who slipped a ring onto your finger and promised---

Was he ever yours to began with?

You can’t leave the apartment, the entrance of the building is so packed with reporters there’s barely room to get through the doors. You hadn’t realized the love of your life leaving you would include reporters, vying for the story of why Captain America left his wife. You wish they’d get the story and let you know why.

You’d been married less than six months when it all went down. A quickie wedding in a chapel that was somehow still open. You kept the photos on the coffee table and didn’t think too hard about what that meant.

Sam comes, takes you to get coffee. He talks about everything and anything, just not Steve, not the one thing you desperately want to talk about. It’s good to see Sam, to see someone who really knew Steve. He tells you about spending time with his sister, Sarah and her sons. You make it through the afternoon without crying, which is an improvement. As he leaves, he gives you a look that can only be described as pitiful. It makes you want to scream and rip apart one of the throw pillows, to scream from the roof tops that you’re okay and it’s not even that big of a deal that he just left, you’re fine, and for the love of fucking G-d, stop talking about it.

They don’t stop talking about it. You keep surviving.

Bucky coming to visit is a shock. You’d met him once or twice before he was dusted and you’d heard about him during the five years he was missing, but you weren’t friends. He stands in the doorway and stares at you, looking like he wants to turn and run. You stare right back at him, waiting for him to make the first move. You both stand there, staring at each other. After what feels like forever, Bucky wordlessly takes a seat at your kitchen table and stays.

It’s nice to have another person in that lonely apartment. Bucky sleeps on the floor in the living room, comes and goes as he pleases. But he’s there and it’s a stability you didn’t know you were missing. After a few weeks, you start going for walks through the neighborhood. The reporters have left, something else has caught their attention for long enough that they’ve left you alone. (Nobody seemed to be bothering Steve, then again, they probably didn’t know what he looked like. According to the general public, he’s on the moon.) It’s nice to get some fresh air and it’s nice to come home to someone besides the plants. You don’t talk, more often than not, you come home and Bucky’s sitting at the table, eating cold beans. But he’s there and it’s nice.

Steve stops coming and you both mourn. Bucky mourns for an almost what could have been and you mourn for the husband you spent all of six months with. It’s during this mourning when you two really find each other. It starts small, you bring Bucky a cup of coffee in the morning and he grunts his thanks. Bucky cooks breakfast before you leave for work at the bookstore down the street. It’s nice, reminiscent of when Steve was there.

Then Sam gives away the shield.

You’re having a movie night when the news about John Walker comes out. In the six months that he’d lived with you, you’d never seen him so angry. Bucky is seething with anger. He gets up and paces, muttering unflattering comments about Sam.

“Bucky? Is...this...did he…?”  Your voice stops him. You sound so small and fragile. You’d seemed so solid and okay that he forgets you’re not. He forgot that your husband left you and your world crumpled right in front of you. And suddenly, he’s angry again, but not at Sam--that’s for another day--he’s angry at Steve in a way he hasn’t been before. How could he leave you? Beautiful you, who’s good, and makes coffee in the mornings, and smells like roses, and would probably look so pretty spread out underneath him. (That last thought is also for another day, when he can afford to think about what it means that he wants you spread out under him.)

And shit, you’re crying.

Bucky stands there in a panic when you start crying. It’s fucking stupid you’re crying, it doesn’t matter who has the shield, it’s not going to bring Steve back into your life, not in the way that matters. But it had felt like things were going to be okay when you knew that it was Sam who was going to get the shield and the title. Sam, who’s good and kind and who won’t let it corrupt him. This John Walker motherfucker is an unknown. He’s not Steve and he’s not Sam and he looks like the world has never told him no. What’s he going to do with all the power?

Bucky pulls you into his chest, lets your angry tears soak into his shirt. He awkwardly pats your back and pets your hair. Once the tears have dried, it makes you giggle how uncomfortable he is with comforting someone. Bucky smiles down at you, a heart breaking smile that’s too much like Steve’s but also not enough like Steve’s and makes your stomach flip a little, which makes you start crying all over again. After 20 minutes of crying and awkward patting, Bucky scoops you up and carries you to your bed. He lays with you all night, letting you cry and then holding you while you sleep.

It’s his first night in a bed (his first night with a woman, his brain helpfully adds) in...he doesn’t know how long. The thought makes him flee like the coward he is.

You wake up and Bucky’s gone. There’s a note on the table, says he went to ask Sam what this is all about. A knock interrupts your breakfast preparations. “Buck, you don’t have to--” It’s not Bucky, it’s three men in suits, and one John Walker, bearing flowers. You almost punch him, scream that he’s not Captain America and never will be. John thrusts the flowers at you and marches into the apartment as if he owns it. Before you can toss him out on his ass, one of the suits is explaining they have a plan for you and, unless you want them to recall certain activities you’d been apart of. Activities that would make you a war criminal. Activities that would send you to prison for decades.

So you, Captain America’s (ex?)wife, publicly become John Walker’s strongest supporter and girlfriend. The official story is that you’d met during the interviews (if there were interviews for the new Captain America, they hadn’t included you in them), and fallen in love at first sight. You were taking it slow, out of respect for your husband who was still out there somewhere (the moon, maybe?), but you were very much madly in love. Bucky and Sam come home from...wherever they’d been and find you cuddled up to their enemy. Every time John smiles and calls you kitten, every time you have to kiss him, you want to punch him in that stupid face of his.

The police station is a fucking mess. Bucky’s been arrested, the police are being racist and fucking with Sam, and to top it all off, John’s the one who frees Bucky. You’ve known Bucky long enough to know how much this pisses him off and then he spots you and his jaw clenches even harder. You have to hold yourself back from running over to him and explaining what happened. You desperately want to tell him that it’s not what it looks like, that you’re not wearing a stupid, flimsy sundress that brings out John’s eyes because you want to, someone dressed you and this is so you don’t go to prison. A quiet voice reminds you that maybe going to prison for a long time would be worth it if you never had to see that look on his face again. Words are exchanged, Bucky and Sam walk off, John warns them to “stay the hell out of his way”, which doesn’t sound as cool as he thinks it does.

You go home, home to the apartment where Bucky is. He’s at the kitchen table, eating cold beans again. There’s a bag by his feet (when had he collected enough things to have a bag?) and you realize he’s leaving. He’s so mad about Walker that he’s leaving, like Steve did.

“Don’t leave.” Your voice is small in the quiet, dim apartment. “Just...stay. Even if you don’t talk to me, just don’t leave.” “I’m going to talk to Zemo. You stay here with Walker.” Before you can think, before you really consider what it means if you do this, you surge forward and kiss him.

You stand in the kitchen, kissing for a few moments before Bucky pulls away. He stares down at you, looking wild and scared, before turning and walking out the door.

[after-witch]

Yandere Ransom Imagine

“That's some heavy-duty conjecture.”

Word Count: 2700ish

notes: unhealthy relationships, emotional and physical abuse, financial abuse, yandere

Imagine being a struggling adult working a full time job plus freelancing gigs just to get by in your one-bedroom apartment where the ceiling always leaks when it rains and you have to perform a complicated maneuver to make sure the door doesn’t jam up on you and you’re constantly worried about your landlord raising the rent.

Maybe a well-meaning friend gets you a gift card to an upscale bookstore because they know you haven’t had a new book on your shelves in years, or maybe you find $20 on the street like a veritable Charlie Bucket but instead of buying a Wonka Bar you head into a this fantastic artisan coffee shop on the rich side of town, a place that everyone always raves about on Instagram, just so you can try an expensive latte with hand-ground beans and flavors you’ve never heard of before--because don’t you deserve a treat, for once?

Whatever it is, wherever it is, Hugh Ransom Drysdale is waiting inside and sees you there.

And oh my God is it obvious that you’re out of place right off the bat. I mean, what the hell is someone like you doing in this part of town?

With your worn out clothes that are worn from necessity and not from being fashionably thrifted and your ratty purse stuffed with papers and candy wrappers that spill out when you dig in for your card or cash and your winter boots that you’ve probably worn 5 years in a row, ripped in the hell and patched with black tape that you hope people don’t notice.

It becomes even more obvious that you’re out of your element when something goes wrong. The gift card isn’t activated. The $20? A fake, probably a movie prop that blew in the wind. Whatever goes wrong, it means that you’re suddenly at the register, impatient people with real money tapping their expensive shoes behind you, unable to pay. You’re left standing there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do or say.

Normally he might just roll his eyes and remind himself that people like you ought to stick to your own shops, your own place. But something about the way your eyes go all downcast and you seem to shrink down in embarrassment makes him take pity on you. Like a stray cat in the alley hoping someone will toss it some scraps.

So he strides up and flicks out a card and hands it to the cashier, dropping a friendly greeting to them because he spends like crazy and they probably know him by name at this place, and he’s the one who hands you your coffee or your bag and your hands touch ever so briefly during the exchange.

He leads you away from the register--don’t want to piss off the spoiled debutantes and assistants on lunchtime coffee runs--and you stammer out a thank-you-thank-you and you promise you’ll pay him back as soon as you can and Jesus Christ, isn’t that just adorable? Someone like you, some lost kicked puppy who can’t even afford new boots, promising to pay him back?

He doesn’t care if you pay him back, but he finds that he would like something out of this exchange, so he says that instead of paying him back you can do him the honor of going to lunch with him. His treat. 

He insists. And you can’t really say no, can you? You are hungry and he did just pay for your things and it’s the least you can do to oblige his request.

He’s not stupid. He doesn’t take you to some razzle dazzle fancy restaurant where you’ll feel embarrassed and out of place. Instead he takes you to a quiet diner, classy not greasy, where you can have an easy conversation and tell him all about yourself.

It’s funny. Normally he brings up his family name, his grandfather’s books, to women he picks up, to get them impressed and hooked and pliable. Something about you, though. Something about you is making him want to turn this into more than a lunch date and pressure for a quickie in the car to repay him. 

So he holds back to see what he can do with you on his own. No quickie in the car, but instead before he drops you off--at a bus station, you insisted--he brushes his hand over yours. Can he get your number? He swears he can feel the heat coming off your cheeks as you fumble for your phone and let him put his number in your contacts.

He waits a day, then asks you out again. Dinner, this time. He asks you if you know any good places and you recommend a dive bar that you can go to after work (because 1) schedule and 2) cheap) and shit, he’s all for it. There will be time in the future to impress you with restaurants that have dress codes instead of sticky floors. You sit close on the stools and you buy him a drink (real cute, real real cute) and just for you he keeps the baggie in his pocket there all night instead of heading to the bathroom to liven things up.

Your relationship develops with an almost shocking speed. He knows just how to reel you in. I mean--look at you. Working your ass off at some dead end job, living in an apartment so shitty it takes you almost a month before you reluctantly agree to let him see it.

He can understand, though. Because you’re not that stupid and you know he’s wealthy, even before he casually brings up his family in a “it’s no big deal but I don’t want to keep things from you because we’re getting serious” sort of way. 

You pretend to be casual about it all, but he can tell you’re suddenly wondering: why the hell would someone from this wealthy family want anything to do with me?

It’s a question Ransom asks himself a lot. He asks himself this when he’s snorting coke off another woman’s stomach (hey, you’re dating, but he’s got needs and they aren’t met with hand-holding) or when he’s eating another greasy burger at a shitty bar because you refuse to let him buy you a nice dress to wear so he can take you out somewhere fancy.

You’re not the type of person he normally goes for, not at all. He has strings of girlfriends and flings, but they all tend to fit that same cookie cutter mold: wealthy do-nothings with their parent’s credit card who want someone else to spoil them for a while, without caring who it is or what they’re like. They’re easy pickings that Ransom can burn through and then toss aside when he’s bored of them. Some of them cry but a few days later he’ll see them on someone else’s arm, it’s the circle of life.

With you, though, there’s more. You don’t expect him to pay for dates or anything at all (even when he wants to spoil you a bit) and you have actual conversations and you seem to actually give a shit about what he says and does. You argue with him, too, when he wants you to do something (just let him take you shopping, for Christ’s sake!) or he asks you to move in (again) and you say no (again). I mean, you really fight with him, spitting words and all.

And unlike his previous girlfriends, you don’t come crawling back a few hours later because you want to buy a new purse with his shiny credit card. Instead, you make him apologize first. Fuck, that’s hot. It’s also something he tucks away in the back of his mind to work on later--but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he sometimes has the overwhelming urge to push you against the wall and fuck you for the first time right after a good argument. 

But he knows that would destroy your image of him entirely, so he holds back. He’s good at crafting a version of himself that appeals to others when he has to, and you’re maybe the first person that’s been worth all the effort he’s put into you so far.

But you need a push, a push that makes it so you can’t go running back to your shithole apartment when you fight or when you question whether or no you two have a future. You do, you’re just too naive--too inexperienced with money, to say it charitably--to realize it.

So he tips off the fire marshal about your apartment building’s shoddy fire escapes and well, damn, in the process of the investigation all the little corners that your landlord has cut come crashing down. At least they were discovered before it was the building that came crashing down.

But the evacuation of the building leaves you--and countless others--high and dry. You don’t have any family in the area, and your only half ass-decent friend in the city lives in the same building but her parent’s aren’t going to let a stranger move in.

When you finally realize you have no options and call him, voice tentative and embarrassed, he knows just what to say to get you to pack your meager belongings and wait for him to pick you up. He’s no-nonsense about it. 

He knows how to avoid deflating your pride, how to keep you from deciding you’d rather stay in a shelter than take his charity. You’ll pay him back, he says, you’ll figure out a rental plan or whatever. He even teases--he’s not the best landlord, but he won’t take 2 weeks to change the toilet if you submit a maintenance request. It makes you crack a smile and bam, just like that, he knows he’s gotten in.

That night, after takeout and wine and a Netflix movie neither of you paid attention to, you fuck for the first time on his expensive sheets on his expensive bed and afterwards, when you’re both sweating and cuddling and reveling in the afterglow, he makes a note to buy you some new lingerie. 

It’s all very homey, for a while. He could do without you leaving for work and working your ass off, with your freelance shit, sometimes staying on the computer until two, three in the morning. But it’s nice to have you close all the time, available to him whenever (almost whenever) he wants. He brings home takeout and you snuggle on the couch and he finally even convinces you to go out with him to a nice restaurant wearing something he’s bought and hot damn, do you look good, head-to-toe in the clothing he’s chosen for you. Especially, later that night, in private, in the lingerie. 

Does he love you? The word hasn’t left his lips yet, hasn’t crossed yours either, but he can feel it underneath the surface. No. It’s more than love. He wants you. He wants to have you. And not just for the afternoon or the summer, but forever. 

He spins daydreams about how he’ll clean you up nice and introduce you to the family. Probably to Harlan, first, because everyone knows that’s whose opinion really matters. Harlan will like you--he would probably like you without any primping or fixing, actually, which is more than he could say for his parents or anyone else in the family. Then once you’re in, you’re in--you’ll come to family dinners and vacation retreats where people always end up in ridiculous arguments, and you two can exchange snarky comments about the family on the ride home.

And yeah, sure. You fight sometimes.

He throws out your old clothes and buys you a wardrobe befitting someone he wants to integrate into his family. You fight about that.

He makes comments about you how you should quit your job or at least try to get a degree--he’ll pay, as long as you agree to go to a university within driving distance--to work somewhere more respectable than a chain restaurant. You fight about that.

He gets pissed when you want to meet some “friends” at a bar without him, because why would you need to go anywhere without your loving boyfriend in tow, unless you were trying to flirt with someone else? You definitely fight about that.

And, okay. Maybe he’s hypocritical.

Maybe he goes out late at night when you’re stuck doing your “freelancing work” and he’s in a rotten mood about it, and he ends up on the floor of a swanky club with drugs in his system and lipstick on his neck. He doesn’t come home until the next morning and you’re pissed and red-eyed and arguing with him, accusing him even, but you have no shitty apartment to stomp back to anymore so you’re stuck. 

Until you’re not stuck. Until he casually snoops through your phone and sees that you’re looking up cheap-ass apartments and hey, you’ve already booked a few interviews already. The thought of you slipping through his fingers makes him more sober than he’s been in a while. He’s got to do something. Not to himself, of course. But to you. To keep you with him.

It’s easy enough to get you fired. He’s a ‘Thrombey’ after all, and some nice crisp bills anonymously sent to the right hands is all it takes for you to come home one night, cheap mascara (he notes: buy you some better quality makeup soon) running down your cheeks. Your freelancing isn’t nearly enough to get you into an apartment.

He assumes that you’ll give up on the idea after losing your job, but you’re nothing if not stubborn (one of the reasons why he likes you) so you start the job hunt the next morning, fresh mascara in place. 

Damn, do you keep him busy. Anonymous calls. Cash in nice white envelopes. Rejection after rejection. You get so sad, so depressed. You don’t even want to go out to restaurants, so he orders in and you snuggle in his lap while he feeds you bites of orange chicken and rubs your back. It almost brings you two closer again, starts to mend the rifts that began when you refused to get over his occasional late night out.

But then you break the uneasy mending by snooping and woah, you don’t like what you find on his phone. 

You fight. 

Damn, do you fight. This time there’s no pretense of potential forgiveness as you begin wildly throwing your clothes into your ratty duffel bag from the back of the closet, telling him to fuck off fuck off fuck off, telling him he’s crazy, telling him that what he’s doing is fucking illegal and--

It’s the shock that hurts you the most.

The shock you feel when he grips your wrist hard and pushes back on your shoulder when you try to yank away, pushing you against the wall with a hard thud. It’s like having a rug pulled out from underneath your feet when you feel a slight ache in your back, on your shoulders, when you tell him to Let go, goddamn it and he only pushes back harder to keep you in place. It’s Ransom. It’s Ransom who’s doing this.

His voice feels unrecognizably cold when he leans in and hisses in your ear.

“You think you can just leave me? After all I’ve done for you? Let me tell you something--you won’t get another job within one hundred miles of here, within one thousand miles of here, unless I say you can. So just put your clothes back in the closet, chill the fuck out, and stop being such an ungrateful bitch.”

It’s the shock that makes you numbly hang your clothes back up in the closet, fold them again with shaking hands, and sit on the bed until the dam breaks and you cry.

And oh fuck, he’s sorry. Really. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and then he’s the one who’s crying and confessing that he didn’t want you leave him because yeah, he knows he’s a fuck up, he knows he’s got a drug problem, but he loves you. 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He loves you. “I love you,” he says, again and again, half-laughing.  And he tells you you’re the only person he’s ever dated that made him want to be a better person but he doesn’t know how.

You don’t know what to say because maybe you do love him--but he hurt you and got you fired, but the tears on his face seem so genuine and he tells you he’ll never, ever hurt you like that again and fuck, he says, if you want to go get a job he’ll drive you to the interview right now just-let-him-blow-his-nose-first-please.

You make him sit down and then you’re the one apologizing and the rest of the afternoon is a shaky truce between you two as you drink hot chocolate and order in takeout and watch a movie together.

It’s not until you’re both under the sheets, satisfied and then showered, that you think about what he did to you in a clearer light. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, pulling and tugging. You think you might love him. He hurt you. He took care of you when no one else would. He cheated on you. 

I love you, he tells you, when your mind is starting to tug itself into sleep.

He hit you. He said he was sorry.

He hit you.

[lee--felix]

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” and Hongjoong

One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You"

33. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

wc: 650 warnings: none

The warm summer sun shone through the windows of the dorm, illuminating the kitchen in an orange glow. You had been awake for a while, your eyes fluttering open and reaching for the empty space beside you. No matter how early you woke up, Hongjoong was always up earlier. You recalled falling asleep together, your nagging about his lack of sleep finally getting to him. He could barely pull his arms around you before falling asleep, mumbling something about his work that needed to be finished.

You slowly stirred the coffee you had just crafted, filling it with sugars and spices until it smelled like a bakery throughout the dorm. This coffee wasn't for you though, at least not entirely. Whenever you had the privilege of staying the night at the dorm (a rare treat from KQ), the first interaction between you and your boyfriend was to share a cup of coffee. Not quite remembering how the tradition started, you only had fond memories of Hongjoong always complimenting the way you made the drink, nearly drinking all of it himself before you could take the mug from him.

You knocked quietly on the door of his studio, though he had given you permission to come in unannounced, you never wanted to interrupt his work. Jumping up to open the door for you, a smile spread across his face as you sat the mug down on his desk.

"Good morning, y/n. Sorry I didn't wake you when I got up." Wrapping you up in his arms, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Interrupting my sleep is a death wish, you made a wise choice." You joked, returning his kiss with a gentle peck on his cheek. You sat down on a brightly colored bean bag chair in the corner by his desk, grabbing your book that you had left there last night. You often sat here and read while he worked, spending time being in the warm presence of each other without disturbing the other. As Hongjoong sipped the hot coffee and nearly burned his mouth with his impatience, you giggled into the stiff pages of the new novel you had just bought. Your giggling incited an adorable laugh from him as he pulled his chair a bit closer to you. Fumbling in the drawer of the desk, he seemed to be searching for something specific.

"I have something for you, hold on." After a few more moments of checking different drawers, he shook his head. Of course the box was sitting right on the other side of the desk, right in front of his face. But you didn't know what that box was for, so it wasn't like the gift was going to be obvious. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands." He instructed with excitement in his voice.

Nodding, you did as you were told, putting your book down on the floor as you held out both hands. You could hear him fighting with a cardboard box for a minute or two, cursing the plastic packaging inside until it sounded like whatever he was unboxing had finally come free. He placed a rather large object in your hands, grinning as you opened your eyes once more.

"Oh, these must have cost a fortune. These are the same ones you have, right?" You marveled at the expensive pair of studio headphones, looking them over with awe.

"A newer model than mine, actually. But I know I can get noisy and annoying when you're trying to read so... I figured this would help you tune me out." He chuckled, helping you adjust the headband until it was a perfect fit.

"But I love hearing your voice." You insisted, smiling up at him as he tugged on either side of the headphones to adjust them. "That's why I drown you out by listening to your own music."

[plant-flwrs]

ruined parties // older brother draco (implied fred weasley)

masterlist!

a/n: i didn't know how to label this without it looking like an incest fic and I just want everyone to know it is most definitely not an incest fic and I don't know how to make it look better why is this my life

i just saw this in my inbox unreasonably late and I loved it sm so I wrote this little overprotective big brother draco fic :) I wanted to thank @gaycatlord-stuff for the message and the meme because I loved it sm and it rly got the juices in my sahara desert brain flowing.

summary: Draco is a relentlessly overprotective brother who ruins all romantic opportunities for you.

(2k)

-----

Sometimes, you wondered how different your life would be as a muggle. You wondered if your wealthy parents would have shoved you off to a nanny rather than house-elves; if you would have gone to a muggle boarding school and studied classic literature for an actual class and not just for fun, which Draco loved to remind you was one of the weirder things about you; if you would have learned to do laundry and wash the dishes and comb your hair without the brush levitating with a flick of your wand.

You wondered, most of all, how Draco would manage to beat up all the boys who showed interest in you as you grew up.

Draco went through his phases of the ways in which he would 'protect' you. He had really enjoyed the bat-bogey hex for a while in your first year. In second year and most of third year, he went with the safe option of the jelly-legs jinx. By fourth year he had matured to more advanced methods of transfiguration. He had managed to turn Michael Corner into a raccoon for at least a whole day when Michael had offered to carry your bag for you in the hall.

Fifth year was bad. He had been taken in by Snape, who offered him a number of tips and tricks in the world of dark magic. You insisted Draco didn't need dark magic, and he insisted that you mind your own business.

Draco was irritable and nearly unbearable by sixth year. He hovered over you like a vulture, sending glares to anyone who even looked at you. Your friends started calling him Bloody Mary because he was always haunting over your shoulder. You knew it was because your parents were putting a lot of pressure on him and his crush on Harry Potter was becoming inhumanely large, but still. It was annoying.

It was even more annoying when Draco seemed to have met a suitable match in Fred Weasley.

You had a bit of a liking for muggle things. The school year was your only chance to inhabit this hobby, with your father removing all your muggle posters from your room the second you left for the train. You took Muggle Studies and begged Dumbledore not to tell your parents. You had mostly muggle-born or half-blood friends, which you also told your parents nothing about. Draco found this all the more reason to 'protect' you.

"You ought to dye your hair," you gritted out, sulking over your breakfast and resisting the urge to kick Draco's shin under the table.

Draco didn't respond, shoveling beans into his mouth with an unamused look.

"Seriously," you continued. "Your hair doesn't match your energy. Black would be very striking. You and your boyfriend would be matching."

Draco kicked your shin under the table, making you regret not taking your chance earlier. Harry was a sore spot for Draco, but Draco had just done a wandless spell on Ernest Macmillan before he could ask you to Hogsmeade, and he deserved it.

"What are you reading?" He grunted, offering an unspoken truce he knew you would take.

You shielded the cover, "Killing your brother 101. Enlightening."

"How far into it are you?"

"Almost done. I'd prepare yourself if I were you."

Draco hummed, unfazed by your murderous threats.

"You finish the notes for Charms?" you shut your book, stealing a piece of cantaloupe from Draco's plate.

"Yes," Draco looked at you eating the stolen fruit unapprovingly, pulling some sort of older brother superiority with just one look at you. Infuriating.

"What's the time?" You abandoned the Charms notes, no longer willing to admit you didn't do them.

"Just past 7," Draco pushed his plate away from him, standing and straightening his tie.

"See you at dinner," you began putting your things away and Draco mumbled a goodbye, setting off for his own classes. You were just shoveling the last of the beans he left on his plate into your mouth when a foreign group of bodies were across from you in your peripheral.

You lifted your head, hunched over the beans and still chewing, to see Fred, George, and Lee.

You squinted, chewing slowly and leaning back as to avoid any sort of tripwire for a prank.

"Malfoy," Fred said pleasantly, which was not how people usually said your last name.

"Big brother leave you by your lonesome?" Lee added, also not taking the cruel tone most would when talking about your brother.

This was odd.

"What do you want?" you swallowed your food, eyeing them suspiciously.

"I thought she was meant to be the better of them," George stage-whispered to Lee.

"We are here to formally invite you to a party we are hosting," Fred continued, unperturbed.

Lee and George watched you, waiting for your reaction.

"Alright," you agreed and stood, joining your friends in the hall to walk to class.

"That was easier than I expected," Lee said cheerfully, visibly relieved now that he was not in your presence.

"I told you," Fred puffed his chest out confidently and place his hands on the table as he stood, "Without Draco around, she's perfect."

-

The party was in full swing and Draco was drunk. With one guess, you would have to assume it had something to do with the way Harry kept offering to top off his glass, his hand hovering on the small of Draco's back as they talked into each other's ears.

Drunk Draco was a luxury you were not often afforded. Drunk Draco meant living a life of your own, doing things without his watchful eye.

So you also got drunk. Your friends used the term 'waisted' the next morning, but we will say 'drunk' for maturity purposes. And drunk you got!

Fred was always suspiciously close to you, and suspiciously nice once you thought harder on it. You tried not to leave any drink unguarded while he hovered and stayed with friends as often as possible.

You eventually found yourself on a large leather couch in the center of the room. Ron was next to you, stoned out of his mind, and digging around in the pocket of his flannel for more rolling papers. On the other side of you, Luna's head rolled around her neck, falling onto your shoulder and the couch and finally landing on Ginny's lap when she passed out. You watched Ginny stroke her hair, occasionally tracing a line down her nose. Sighing, you accepted the blunt when Ron finally passed it your way.

You were passing it back, sufficiently stoned out of your gourd, when it was plucked from your hands. You thought you had dropped it, jolting back and looking around frantically until you saw those awful, bony, white fingers dangling the now soggy blunt in front of your face.

"C'mon!" Ron groaned, face twisting through the stages of grief as he saw his ruined creation.

"Pot?" Draco said as if he were 40 and with a mortgage.

"Pot," you replied as if you were 17 and at a party.

One of you had an accurate hold on reality. The other held a soggy blunt.

Ron took the soggy blunt and attempted to salvage it, sinking down to his knees to work on the coffee table in front of you. Draco took his seat and set his drink on the table to his side. He didn't drink from it, presumably because of a blunt that had been swimming in it for a moment.

"I thought you were with Harry," you said slowly, torn between wanting to hurt Draco if something had gone badly with Harry and actually wanting to know why he wasn't still with him.

"Yeah, he went up to bed," Draco answered, not sounding pitiful and mournful like he had a habit of sounding after interacting with Harry.

"He didn't take you with him?" you slurred, leaning into Draco's strong and seemingly sober shoulder.

"Shut up," he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your side and hauling you off the couch. You reached into his pocket, finding some loose bills you knew would be there, and slipped them to Ron as compensation before you left.

You felt accomplished, drunk and high, leaving a party after a fun time. It was also a highlight to have given Ron Weasley Draco's drug money.

-

As per usual, you didn't have a date for Hogsmeade. Your friends were all in Madam Puddifoot's with their dates, gazing over the table at each other like lovesick puppies. Draco currently had you in a headlock while he rubbed his knuckles into the top of your head.

You shoved your heal into his foot, making him release you.

You both returned to your drinks with slightly labored breaths and scowls.

Draco was upset because Harry wasn't at Hogsmeade and you were upset because you were in Hogsmeade with Draco. You would have fallen at his knees and begged him to release you from the chains of this sibling dynamic if he weren't the one buying lunch today.

You ate, still scowling, and walked around scowling, and returned to Hogwarts scowling. You hugged each other, scowling, before bed and went to your respective dorms.

-

It was hot and there was no wind. Really, absolutely no wind. The water on the black lake was eerily reflective and the trees were unmoving.

You were walking with some friends, charmed fans moving around you as they blew cold air in your faces. You were returning from Hogsmeade with ice cream, very happy from the outing without Draco.

Regretfully, Draco did not seem to be as happy.

Stepping into the courtyard, you felt a drop of your ice cream land on your hand, sticky and cold and messy, and at the same time, you saw Draco hurl himself at Fred Weasley.

Fred sprawled across the courtyard, landing on some poorly transfigured pillows that you guessed were the product of George's wandless magic. His head was cushioned from what would have been a nasty hit on the stone. He squirmed under Draco, long arms and legs flailing against the steady weight Draco was putting on him.

You watched Lee and George leaning against a wall, presumably letting Fred fight this battle on his own.

You decided to do something similar.

You watched as Fred wrangled himself free, both boys tripping over the pillows until George vanished them. In the free space, they circled each other with their hands raised. It was funny to see two pure-blood wizards fighting so viciously without a hint of magic.

Draco took a step forward with his left foot, tricking Fred out to lunge at him from the right. He had Fred's leg and then Fred was on the ground again, grunting in pain. Draco flipped him and pinned him, knee resting on Fred's back and hands holding his arms together. Deciding Draco had enough fun, you walked over.

"Fight Club?" you offered, quirking an eyebrow.

"Did you go to Hogsmeade?" Draco ignored you, panting slightly. Up close you saw he had a nasty bruise on his cheekbone and some blood coming from his nose. Fred must have gotten a few hits in.

"Yeah," you licked your ice cream, "bloody scorching out."

"Hm," Draco hummed, adjusting his grip on Fred's arm and causing Fred to yelp in pain.

"How are you?" you asked politely.

"Alright. You?"

"Alright."

Draco nodded.

"So, what's this about?"

"He said he was going to prank you," Draco said, shrugging and adjusting Fred's arm again on purpose.

You gasped in faux shock, crouching down to look at Fred.

"A prank?" you asked him, smirking.

"No!" Fred yelped when he tried to move his arms.

You looked to Draco, whose eyebrows were furrowed. "I heard you! You said you were going to take her out!"

"Draco."

"Draco!" Fred yelped, finally getting his arms loose and crawling from underneath Draco's grasp.

"Oh my fucking god."

"Merlin," Fred mumbled, looking at your face and then Draco's guilty expression.

"Oh," Draco said simply, head tilting as he added up the moment's events in his head.

"Oh my fucking god," you repeated.

Draco got his feet under him.

"Oh my fucking god!" you hurled your ice cream cone at his back, hitting him hard as he ran. You chased him, narrowly avoiding the trail of melted strawberry ice cream he was leaving through the halls.

[parkers-gal]

Reader meet Tom during a Meet and greet for the first time. She’s European (like Belgian perhaps. You can choose that) and she catches his attention. They start as close friends and whenever she gets to London, they meet up. After a while they start a relationship (can be long distance) and they just adore eachother a lot.

a good story

wc | 3k (SORRY i rly went off)

i chose france because i heard they have a bit more diversity...? i hope that makes it a bit more universal :) plsss i didn't proofread — hope u like it ! <3

—

You try to wipe the sweat off your hand for the fifth time in the last two minutes. Your pulse picks up while the line moves up again. You’ve been waiting for about an hour and a half, but you really don’t mind. Not when that mop of curls and pile of muscles is so close. Besides, you get to fangirl with the rest of the fans in line around you.

You’d been in deep conversation with a girl and her girlfriend for a good while until one of them went off to get coffee and the other asked to use the bathroom. The security guard assured them that they’d return to their exact position in line, ensuring they wouldn’t have to wait all over again. You missed them, though, because they weren’t back within seven minutes so you preoccupied yourself with the lanyard around your neck with your VIP Access pass attached to the end.

You play with the strings of the Spider-man hoodie; it’s the midtown hoodie that Peter Parker wears in the first movie. You wore it to be cute — and it is, especially with these jeans — but now you’re afraid you might die of heat exhaustion. As the security guards usher yet another fan through the curtains, your feet move forward a couple of feet until the movement stops and you’re stuck waiting again.

The girl and her girlfriend return not a minute later, one of them offering you a bite of their croissants from Starbucks. You ponder the offer before politely declining; you don’t want your breath to smell, or something to get stuck in your teeth. You know you’re overthinking this entire situation, but you can’t help but be nervous when you’re about to meet the one person you’ve spent so much of your time gawking over — and through a screen, at that. It’s pathetic, you admit, but you can’t help it. There’s just something about him.

Another fan goes through the curtains and suddenly you’re less than five turns away from meeting the beloved Brit. You can’t help but feel a little more connected to him, knowing that you’d flown all the way from Paris, France for this London Meet-and-Greet. It’s a wonder how you got your schedule to work so well.

You move forward another spot, tapping your index and middle fingers on your hip while tracing the lines of the tiled floor. You try to distract yourself — counting every prime number you can think of, naming all the superheroes in the Marvel Franchise — until you’re one spot away from going through the black curtains.

“You’ll be in in less than three minutes,” the girl smiles while informing you of the estimated time frame. You thank her, taking note of the tag attached to her uniform.

You take a deep breath, shaking away all nerves and last jitters before wiping your hands one last fateful time. And then all at once, the curtain opens and allows you to step through and into the room where a young actor awaits your arrival. It’s so surreal that you have to watch your feet to ensure they don’t trip and cause you to stumble.

“Hello, love. How’re you?”

Your breath hitches and when he finally takes a good look at you, his breath does too. Your eyes lock for a beat, the two of you lost in a trance before you finally spit out a response.

“I’m… really good. How’re you?”

He smiles, eyes crinkling and face lifting up. “I’m great, thank you.”

You nod, the tip of your tongue playing with your front tooth. You shake out of it, though, setting your bag and your lanyard down on the provided table before stepping a little closer to him.

“Ah, the Midtown hoodie,” He points out, holding your wrists out so he can examine the sweatshirt himself.

“Yeah,” you smile bashfully. “It’s… stylish.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, something that eats away at your shell and causes you to join his chuckling.

“What’s your name, darling?”

You bite your lip, inhaling sharply at the term of endearment. “Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tom,” he offers a hand, something that makes your face scrunch up with a laugh.

“Can we hug instead?”

“Please?” He insists, realizing how embarrassing his last move was. The two of you embrace strongly, and you inhale the scent of Tom Holland while you can.

When you separate, you grow a little more courage, and pick up the conversation. “I loved you in The Impossibly. Obviously in the Spider-man movies, too, but your other movies are really good, too.”

“Thank you, love. That means a lot,” he scratches his neck with a sheepish smile, a blush rising from his neck and onto his cheeks. He smiles, an action you mirror. “Is this your first Meet-and-Greet?”

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous.”

He nods in understanding. “Are you from England?”

You shake your head, “I’m currently living in Paris.”

“Ah, the country of romance,” He looks as if he’s thinking of what to say next — as if he shouldn’t say it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” You smile again, and the glint in Tom’s eye changes just a shade, as if he’s just unlocked a new level. He looks excited for a different reason now.

“How long are you staying in England?”

“Till the end of the week,” You can’t help but feel giddy because it’s only Monday, which means you have until Saturday night to explore the great country of Britain, home to Tom Holland and Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch and basically every celebrity you’ve ever been a fan of. You can’t anticipate what Tom’s to say next, because you don’t want to turn your experience into a Wattpad story, but you hope he’s about to offer something in relation to sightseeing.

“Would you want to… could I show you around? Show you all the best places?” He looks shyer than you, almost, and you swallow your heart so you can answer calmly.

“You’d do that?’

“Of course,” He smiles softly. “You look like a lot of fun.”

You’re taken aback at the compliment, and you stumble out a reply as best you can. The two of you are reminded to take the picture so the line can move forward again, and you will yourself not to frown at the coming end of your encounter with the famous Brit.

“Could we do this?” You show him a picture from your phone and he nods excitedly.

The two of you link hands, standing close together while you smile into the camera. Your encounter comes to an end, and though you’re disappointed, Tom asks for your number, giving you his phone for the occasion. You’re giddy as you wave goodbye, leaving the tent with your picture and his lingering energy.

A day passes, giving you time to recover from your celebrity-interaction and time to get settled into your comforting hotel room on the seventh floor. You’re a bit wary that Tom won’t ever text you, and seeing as you don’t have his number, you realize you have to wait it out. You don’t want to risk waiting for the entirety of your stay here, though, so you grow worried. But alas, Tom texts late on Tuesday night, apologizing for the radio silence that came when he had to finish up the Meet-and-Greet event. You’re relieved, to say the least.

He exchanges details, telling you to meet him at a corner cafe at ten in the morning tomorrow. You comply, promising to get a good night’s rest before saying your goodnights and sleeping the hours away. You’re promptly awoke but your eight-thirty alarm. With a groan, you get up to shower, and the cold water wakes you right up.

An hour later and you’re ready for some quality, top-notch sightseeing. You grab what you need, locking your hotel room door before going down the elevator with a sweet elderly couple. You follow the map on your phone until you arrive at a small shop on the corner, just as Tom had said. You pull the door open, the smell of coffee beans entering your airways. You exhale the familiarity of it all, smiling to yourself before searching the shop. You spot Tom in a corner booth, and as you make your way over, he sets his phone face-down on the table with a smile, waving at you. You take a seat across from him.

“This place is cute.”

“Right? Best tea in London.”

Your stomach grumbles, loud enough for the both of you to hear and then share a laugh about. “I suppose I should eat breakfast.”

“I suppose I should join you,” he replies in the same tone, the two of you sharing tender smiles before someone comes over to take your order.

The conversation picks up and all tension and awkwardness wafts away in the air, leaving you in Tom’s comfortable aura. You talk until the check is paid, and as you step out on the crisp air of the city’s streets, you turn to Tom for the agenda.

The day goes on like that. The two of you go all around the city, visiting The British Museum, the Tower Bridge, Big Ben the clock tower, the Buckingham Palace, the Portobello Road Market, the National Gallery, and even the London eye. Tom knows everything like the back of his hand, and the ancient city makes you feel so significant. Your last stop is Cambridge University, something you’ve always wanted to see in person.

Tom’s been taking your picture all day. On polaroids, your iPhones, and even some of the tourist-profiting workers who beg for sales. He claims it’s so you can start scrapbooking, a conversation the two of you had covered during your many word exchanges.

The two of you have been all over the city since the end of breakfast at almost eleven o’clock. Now, it’s almost eight o’clock and you’re hungry as fuck. After some debate, the two of you decide to take a big red bus back to your hotel for some room service or hotel-restaurant food.

Tom sits in the seat beside you on the bus, the two of you up top and enjoying the city. You get lost in conversation again, the two of you going through today’s latest pictures and video-memories. You end up goofing off, so much so that you almost miss your stop.

The two of you stumble to the entrance of your hotel. Tom smiles, grabbing the door for you. You reply with a sheepish “thank you,” before waving hello to the front desk women.

“Do you want room service or do you want to dine in the restaurant?”

“Would you mind if I joined you for room service?”

You shake your head with a gentle smile, the two of you racing to the elevators. After hitting your floor number, the elevator goes up and the two of you talk again and again. Tom excuses himself to the bathroom when you get into your room; it gives you the opportunity to change out of your clothes and into a pair of sweats and a loose tank. Tom comes out ready for room service but is grown flustered at the sight of a different outfit on you.

“Getting comfortable?”

“Duh,” you lean back on the queen sized bed, back hitting the headboard. “Stay for a movie?”

He smiles, “Hand me the menu.”

He ends up staying until ten o’clock. You promise to go clubbing with him, for a full London experience, and the two of you schedule to do just that on Friday night. You book the entirety of Thursday to finish your sightseeing with him, and before you know it, you’re spending every day in London with Tom.

On your last day, Saturday, you eat breakfast with him at that first fateful cafe. He tells you he can’t take you to the airport — he’d probably get mobbed by fans — and you understand, promising to call him once you land. He promises to come with you to France one day, so the roles can reverse.

You finish your final cup of coffee just as Tom finishes his tea. He smiles sadly, one you mirror.

“I’ll see you soon, you know. And you can still drop me off at the airport.”

“I know,” he smiles sheepishly, hand reaching across the table for yours. “But I’ll miss sightseeing with you. I forget how amazing my own country is, sometimes.”

“Well,” you smile, “I’ll be back, so don’t worry too much, Tom. It’s not like I’m going across the world.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, “And besides, I can come see you sometime.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s just so weird to have friends in France and shit,” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Like you live there and I can just go and visit you whenever.”

“I’m still a call away.”

“And thank god for that.”

You exhale after a beat of silence. “This is so fucking crazy.”

“What?”

“This. You, us hanging out. Just four days ago I was paying to see you, and now I’m having breakfast with you for the third time?”

“I promise, I’ll refund that Meet-and-Greet money.”

“Why?” You look at him quizzically and he bites his bottom lip.

“Well we’re friends, so you don’t really need to waste that money and I can get it back so-”

“Don’t,” you look up at him. “It makes for a good story.”

He nods, and after the two of you pay the check, you’re standing from the booth of the quaint little shop one final time, making your way to your door and settling in the passenger seat of Tom’s car. With your luggage in the backseat, he drives all the way to the airport, the loud sound of plane engines filling your ears. He drops you off at the terminal with a hug and a watery smile.

“See you soon!” He waves until you’re out of sight and the security guard is threatening to give him a ticket.

Half a year goes by, with quick three-day weekend trips back and forth, to London and to France even. You’ve seen Tom a total of seven times in the past six months, and you’ve grown closer than ever.

About a month goes by after your last trip, until your boss is telling you that you’re getting a week off for the upcoming paid break. You’ve already confirmed your flight and hotel plans to London, wanting to surprise Tom.

You decide to do it the night before you’re due on the airplane to the country of Brits.

You can’t help but grin at your phone, eventually laying down to sleep while you can before your early morning flight. Tom’s on your mind, in your future, and in your dreams. The last month of FaceTimes and text messages have been amazing, but unbearable because you miss his presence. The extreme amounts of flirting, however, have definitely picked up over text. Your week long trip to London marks the eighth time you’ve seen Tom since that first fateful Meet-and-Greet. You can’t help but feel like the dynamic is changing a bit, though. The two of you have upped the levels a bit, and now you’re more cuddly, more flirty, and definitely more interested.

When you land, you text Tom but frown when the usual immediate response doesn’t come. Moving past a crowd of waiting people, you head to baggage claim to get your luggage. After excruciatingly lifting it off of the conveyor belt, it lands with a thud on the ground and you start wheeling it towards the exit.

The building is extremely less crowded thanks to your early flight booking. When you look up, you see that familiar head of precious brown locks, and you squeal. Tom never leaves the car when picking you up or dropping you off at the airport, for fear of paparazzi and fans catching him. But this time, he’s out and in the building to come get you.

Abandoning your luggage, you drop your carry-on on the floor as you run over to him as fast as you can. He can sense you’re about to jump into his embrace, so he prepares for the bone-crushing hug.

Your arms go around his neck while his hands settle on your waist. He smiles, chin settled in the crook of your neck while he inhales the scent of you.

“Tommy, oh my god. I missed you so much.”

When you pull apart, you’re each a jumbled mess of excitement and tears, so much so that when Tom’s hands grip your face to pull you in to a passionate kiss, you’re immediately calmed. Though you’ve never kissed before, it feels so right.

Your lips chase after his, deepening it as your hands go to his hair and his to the small of your back. When you separate, your foreheads lean against each other while you pant.

“That’s new.”

“Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

You chuckle, “I would’ve said yes.”

He interlocks your fingers, smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

Suddenly, he’s reminded of the fact that the two of you are in public, and when he looks up, he sees a group of girls holding their phones up and capturing the moment he’s just shared with you. Quickly, he pulls you into his chest protectively, hiding your face in your neck.

“We need to hide or else they’re gonna know it’s m-”

“Don’t,” you settle him. “It makes for a good story.”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today​ and @jennmurawski13​ as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic. 

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour. 

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies. 

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee. 

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning. 

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs. 

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to. 

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process. 

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.  

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.” 

 When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG. 

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs. 

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit. 

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip. 

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.” 

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face. 

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp. 

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you. 

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.” 

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off. 

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.” 

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds. 

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach. 

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body. 

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth. 

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.” 

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded. 

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”  

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | epilogue

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue

word count: 4.4k

description: it’s been five years since the Miroh Heights murder cases came to a close — and five long, bittersweet years since you’d caught a glimpse of Han Jisung. Things in Miroh Heights have changed drastically since then — but when Felix sets you up on another blind date in an attempt to help you move on from the past, you realise that, once again, you’ve signed up for much more than you bargained for.

masterlist

recommended listening: stray kids - “sunshine”

epilogue.

“See ya, Miss l/n!”

You turned to wave back at the little girl who had called your name, her round eyes visibly bright from the waiting room of your clinic. Seven years old, front teeth just beginning to come in. One of her hands clutched a half-unwrapped lollipop as her mother held onto the other. 

The first time you had seen them, the child had been unwilling to speak — bullied relentlessly at school, her mother had informed you through a veil of desperate tears — but now, her laughter filled the warm air, traumas that had once been etched into a too-young face already beginning to heal and fade.

Evening sunshine warmed your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the building’s doors, a light breeze rustling the papers in your hand as you quickly tucked them into your bag. “Five years of graduate school hasn’t made you more organised,” Felix often teased you, and you would smack his shoulder in retaliation.

Five years hadn’t changed your friendship in the slightest, either—and you had to admit you were beyond grateful for that.

As always, the city around you was humming with life: evening rush hour, with people darting here and there, frantically flagging down taxis and catching their buses. Usually, on days like these, you should have been hopping into the first cab home and collapsing like a corpse as soon as you reached your apartment. But today, you remembered with a sigh, was not going to be one of those days. 

“Hey, Doctor l/n!”

You whipped your head towards the voice, a smile spreading across your tired features as you saw who it belonged to. In a slightly jaded Mini Cooper—second hand, of course, but worked just like new — Yang Jeongin waved at you from the driver’s seat.  

“I’m not a doctor, ‘innie,” you reminded him playfully as he unlocked the passenger door and let you climb in.

“Not a doctor yet,” he corrected you, grinning. “Besides, ‘child therapist’ doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, and waved at another one of your patients as Jeongin started the engine. “You really didn’t have to offer to drive me, you know — the streets are a nightmare during this hour.”

“It’s not that far,” Jeongin protested, “Plus, I barely get to see you now, you’re so busy.” You didn’t have the heart to argue. The kid loved being behind the wheel so much, he made it seem like you were doing him a favour.

You watched Jeongin turn onto the main road, squeezing the car in between a van and a motorcyclist. He really had grown up over the last few years — his hair was darker now, remarkably sharp cheekbones overtaking his once-rounded cherub cheeks — but in some ways, nothing had changed at all. He still had that natural knack of brightening whatever room he stepped in — the Yang Jeongin effect, Hyunjin called it. And his heart was still too big for his own good: you remembered how he had adamantly refused to take the money Jisung kept offering him after the case had finally closed, and when Hyunjin had asked him why, Jeongin had simply replied, “After everything that’s happened, it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who owes me.”

On the other hand, Jeongin had been more than happy to take Prosecutor Kang’s compensation money instead, and had finally visited a car dealership with you and Hyunjin. 

The moment he had seen the Mini-Cooper — a beat-up thing from the 90s that you were amazed was still running — the younger boy’s eyes had lit up. “It’s just...it looks like the one our family used to have, before...the incident,” he had explained sheepishly, making you and Hyunjin exchange a look. And so, after a fiery back-and-forth between you and the salesman—not to mention a few sleepless nights at the mechanic’s — the rest was history.

The light turned green, and you spotted a photograph wobbling on the dashboard — a laughing child you recognised immediately as Jeongin. Behind him, a woman with a familiar wide smile had her arms around a man with eyes resembling a fox’s, with none of the slyness. “How’s your dad these days?”

“Mostly stays at home taking care of my mum, but he swears he wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jeongin turned his head to you excitedly, as if a thought just hit him. “She got out of bed a couple days ago, you know? The first time ever since my dad left.”

Your mouth fell open in a surprised smile, and Jeongin continued, “He’s real excited he got to teach me how to drive, too. I think he feels like he missed out on a lot of things, like...walking me home from school. Teaching me how to ride a bike. Graduation.” He shrugged. His words might have sounded sad at first, but you could see the way the lines of Jeongin’s face were more relaxed now, at peace. 

“Mind if I make a quick stop?” Jeongin asked abruptly, and you checked your watch before shaking your head lightly.

“I’m still about twenty minutes early. We’ve got plenty of time.”

He turned onto a familiar street, and you rolled down the window as Glow Cafe slowly came into view. It was just as busy as it had ever been — even the cars were stalling by the curb — but Hwang Hyunjin spotted you almost immediately, waving through the glass window. Quickly hopping out, Jeongin popped the trunk open, and you watched him haul two crates of coffee beans into the bustling cafe. The once-famed “delivery boy” of Miroh Heights only really did deliveries for Glow Cafe now, after Hyunjin had offered Jeongin a position as a barista until he graduated—and although he wasn’t the best with his hands (or his memory, for that matter), Hyunjin didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Him being here is more than enough for business. You should see the students flock in here every morning just to catch a glimpse of him.” The former barista snorted. “What’d I tell you? They’re eating him right up.”

They waved at Jeongin now as he jogged obliviously out of the cafe, Hyunjin’s laughs muted by the glass as he threw you a knowing wink. He had graduated himself, two years ago, officially inheriting the business after his grandmother had passed away. Glow Cafe had since come a long way, with Hyunjin always at the forefront of new design ideas and enthusiastically telling you about his plans to expand even more in the future.           

“Get this: ‘CEO Hwang, the most eligible bachelor of Miroh Heights,’” Felix held up his hands as if picturing a giant headline, giving his signature wolf whistle as you burst into laughter and Hyunjin kicked the blond man in the shin. “Ow!”

“How did you even get into the press with those cheesy titles?” Hyunjin  groaned.

“Not just ‘get into the press’, ‘jinnie,” you reminded him, giggling, “he’s the head journalist now!”

It was true—with his impeccable wit and seamless way with words, it came to nobody’s surprise when Felix maneuvered his way to the top of the local press in a matter of years. The head of the press still loathed him with a biting passion— “I can feel her glares all the way from her office,” Felix retorted — and rumour had it that the two seemed to fire shots at each other all day long. The image of a powder-faced, middle-aged woman bickering with your notoriously insufferable best friend made you laugh, but you also knew deep down that Felix always took his job more seriously than he let on. His eloquent articles had gotten his name out across the city in no time,  and so you took comfort in knowing that — no matter how hard the head of the press bared her teeth—nobody could touch Lee Felix now. 

Five years, you thought to yourself wistfully, eyes catching a familiar detective’s office as Jeongin drove past. What a trip down memory lane. You’d seldom come by this part of town since then, and seeing the familiar buildings sent a flood of memories and mixed feelings stirring in your chest. 

The well-loved Detective Bang, much to the disappointment of adoring students and professors alike, had moved abroad to a bigger city—whether he had been taken by a new precinct, or a new big case, you couldn’t be sure. “Rumour has it he’s doing undercover work now,” Seungmin had mentioned to you once in passing, “We haven’t heard from him in a while, but he’s making a big name for himself out there, that’s for sure.”

The District Nine police station whizzed by you in a blur, and more of the prosecutor’s words rang through your head.

“Meanwhile, the chief of police keeps insisting he’s glad to be rid of him, but we all know he secretly misses Chan.” Seungmin had shaken his head, and you had smiled at the image of the stoic police captain—chief, now—grudgingly sulking over the loss of his best friend.   

Jeongin made one last turn, and the narrow buildings opened up into the heart of Miroh Heights—the oldest part of town, where the roller rink, record shop, and the diner were. The sight of Mia’s Diner made you sink down instinctively in the passenger seat, and you couldn’t keep the raw dread out of your voice as you let out a long sigh. 

Jeongin gave you sympathetic look. “For someone who’s going on a blind date, you don’t sound too happy.”

“That’s because I’m not, Jeongin. I don’t even know why Felix keeps insisting on these. The last time I agreed to one was—” you broke off before you could finish what you were saying, the unspoken words echoing in your mind. The last time I agreed to one was when I met Jisung.

That’s right—the last official blind date you had been on, you had met Han Jisung — and he had turned your entire world upside down. For years afterwards, you had told yourself that you wouldn’t take that day back for the entire world, but now...now, you weren’t so sure.

After all, how could you be sure of someone you hadn’t heard from in over five years?

The rehabilitation centre didn’t allow letters in or out— you had learned that the hard way after your first letters had been sent directly back to your doorstep. Usually, they had told you, if things went well, patients could start correspondence again after a year or so—but you had gotten absolutely nothing. Not a single word. 

Five years—he should have been out by now. He could have been anywhere, doing anything—but he certainly hadn’t remembered to write or even call you. 

Had he really forgotten about you?

“Five years is a long time, y/n,” Felix told you gently, after you had adamantly refused the blind date he kept insisting on. “People...change, and maybe he’s—moved on.”

Moved on. 

You didn’t know how to tell Felix how much the thought of that hurt more than you were willing to admit, how this was the sole reason why you hadn’t been able to go on a single date for the past five years. You didn’t know how to tell him that Jisung hadn’t left your mind since the moment he had disappeared from your sight, five years ago, in the corridor of that courthouse. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Jisung had said.  And yet he was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Felix wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You’re in your mid-twenties now, y/n. Loosen up a little, yeah? You’re allowed to go on dates, for goodness’ sake.”

“I’m hopeless, ‘lix. I’m pretty sure the stray dog on the street has a more interesting love life than me.”

“Maybe,” Felix mused, “I think I saw it running around with a litter of puppies the other da—ow!”

“You okay? You look kind of sick,” Jeongin remarked, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Got everything you need?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. If only Jeongin knew how you had prepared for this date—by mapping out all the ways you were going to end it as quickly as possible. Faking food poisoning? Check. Arrange a time for a friend to call you and pretend an emergency came up? Check— although Hyunjin had had a strange glint in his eyes when he had agreed to it. Worst comes to worst? Pepper spray, check. You let out a slow exhale. “Sure. All set.”

You thanked Jeongin with a hug and hopped out of the car. Just as you began walking towards the diner, you heard him call out behind you.

“Oh, yeah, Felix told me pass on a message — from him to you.” You turned back, and Jeongin gave a boyish grin that was half apologetic, half laughing. “‘Go get ‘em, tiger!’”

You gave an exasperated cry and yanked open the diner door.

━━━━━━━━

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, and tonight it truly was: booths packed with couples both old and new, laughter and the smell of food wafting through the warm air as friends and families celebrated the start of summer. The jukebox was on and playing an old disco song you liked but didn’t know the name of, the checkered floor tiles clicking with the sounds of brisk waitresses’ heels and dancing feet.

You didn’t know why Felix had insisted on coming here, of all places, what with the mixed emotions and memories you had tied to it, but you had to admit that the jovial atmosphere of Mia’s Diner on a Friday night never really disappointed. You found yourself relaxing slightly—just slightly, bobbing your head lightly to the music.

“Mia’s Diner?” You repeated incredulously. “Seriously, Felix, do you only know one date location? For the so-called ‘Matchmaker of Miroh Heights’, you’re sure lacking in the variety department.”

“Easy, tiger. Just trust me on this one, okay? You’re gonna owe me one.”

“I’m not—” you began indignantly, but Felix continued.

“Plus, the poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either. You both need this.”

“Years? Are you setting me up with a hermit?” 

“Oh, yeah. A big-time loser, seriously— but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”

And so, for the second time, Felix’s schemes and pleading puppy eyes had gotten you here—sitting at an empty booth, waiting for a blind date. He hadn’t even bothered to show you a picture of the man in question. You couldn’t help the smile from slowly slipping from your face as each minute passed, and you nibbled your lip anxiously.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

You peered out the window, at the lights of the town glowing a faint neon  against the clear evening skies. Each time a car filled in a parking space, you sat up, craning your neck to see if it was him—before slumping back down in disappointment. Five years, you thought to yourself glumly. Five years, and you still had no luck with dates. Maybe you just had no luck with love, you thought dryly. You imagined Felix laughing later when you told him about it and sighed, a twinge of worry replacing the dread in your gut.

Had something gone wrong?

After turning the waitress away for the eighth time, you fished out your phone from your pocket, tapping on the foreign number Felix had given you. Zero new messages, zero missed calls. At least I can tell Felix I tried, you thought glumly. Maybe I should just call Jeongin again, and ask him to pick me up. And then you could drop by Glow Cafe for a bit, before trudging back to your apartment like a fallen soldier.

Just as you were punching in Jeongin’s name, feeling a sense of guilty relief wash over you, you vaguely registered the diner door swinging open beneath the lively music, and a pair of footsteps trying to shuffle past the dancing couples.

For a split second, you thought you saw a pair of tattered black Converse—laces untied, soles worn—but the mirage disappeared, and was replaced by a pair of dress shoes that eventually came to a stop at your booth. You sighed, fighting back the tears that had suddenly threatened to well in your eyes. Shit. This is not the time to be thinking about him. Why were you still thinking about him? And why on earth had you agreed to this? 

You lifted your gaze, trying to muster up a smile, hoping your disappointment didn’t show on your face— 

And immediately froze.

“Hello.”

Standing before you, looking almost like an apparition — a golden silhouette against the backdrop of the dim diner — was Han Jisung.

You had to blink several times to realise you weren’t hallucinating again. He looked...different, and yet in some ways, he looked entirely the same: his hair was shorter, but tousled as it had always been, cheeks flushed and breathless as if—as if he’d been running through a storm.

You felt your body moving before any intelligible thoughts could form in your head, pulling you forwards like a magnet until you were standing face-to-face, your shaky eyes darting across his features, not daring to believe what you were seeing.

All of a sudden, the glint in Hyunjin and Jeongin’s eyes made sense, Felix’s words replaying in your head as overwhelmed tears began welling in your eyes without warning.

“The poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either.”

“A big-time loser, seriously — but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”  

“Y-you—are such a dork,” you stammered out, one hand weakly hitting Jisung’s chest as you felt the tears finally spill down your face. “Han Jisung, you are such a d—” 

Your words were cut off when Jisung pulled you into his arms, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. Your shoulders shook with muffled sobs as you buried your face in his chest, memorising everything about this feeling, not wanting to take a single second for granted, memorising everything about him. Jisung no longer carried with him that scent of gasoline and fire — instead, he smelled faintly of lemongrass, and a hint of warm, fresh laundry.

“I missed you,” you finally whispered hoarsely, “I just—missed you, so much.”

He chuckled in your ear, the low, familiar hum stirring faint, faraway memories in your head, and you gripped onto his shirt harder, as if he would disappear completely if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

Jisung had found you in the crowded diner before you had seen him — just like the first time he had met you. And just like the first time, he had felt his breath hitch in his throat, hands hesitating on the door, wondering if he should turn back instead. He had watched you bob your head gently to the music, a small, tentative smile on your face.

You looked good — no, amazing. Different, and yet entirely the same. Kind, worried eyes catching him completely off guard, like the flash of a camera.

Just as bright.

Just as brilliant.

The truth was, there hadn’t been a single day where he hadn’t thought of you — of your voice, your touch, your laugh. Jisung had asked Felix for help the moment he had gotten released, but what he hadn’t forseen was your reaction.

“She won’t go on a blind date, mate,” Felix had informed him exasperatedly, “Took weeks of convincing. Good news, though — she finally caved. You sneaky, hopeless romantic bastard.”

She might have forgotten me, Jisung had thought. And even if you hadn’t, you might not even welcome the sight of him—after all, he hadn’t been in touch since he had left, all those years ago. But in the end, the inexplicable pull in his chest had grown unbearable, and he found himself walking towards you, wading through the crowd, feeling the ache in his heart softening with each step he took. All the way back to you.

You pulled away slowly, vision blurry as Jisung lifted a hand to cup your face, never taking eyes off yours. He had grown in the time you had been apart—he was taller, his once-lean frame stronger—and, most of all, there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, and you laughed in disbelief, “I think you’re my blind date.” 

“How—w-why—”

“I told you I wanted to do this all over again, didn’t I? And I promised that I would try to do it right this time.” Jisung smiled apologetically, wiping your tear stained cheeks with his thumb. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

You shook your head, eyes widening when you saw what he had been carefully clutching in his other hand: a small bouquet of sunflowers, their golden yellow petals as tousled as Jisung’s own blond locks. 

“Apparently they symbolise new beginnings,” Jisung said, pulling a stray petal from your hair and chuckling, “Keeping promises. Eternal happiness. That kind of thing.”

“Why didn’t you write?” You whispered, as Jisung tucked the bouquet into your hands. 

“I wanted to...to heal. In every sense of the word. I didn’t want to show you, until I...knew I was really better. Believe me, I wanted to.” Jisung’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he were fighting back tears. “I wanted to, so, so badly.”

You shook your head, mumbling something about how much of a stubborn idiot he was, and Jisung’s laugh made a hesitant smile tug at your lips. As if sensing the lightening atmosphere, the waitress had promptly appeared behind Jisung and meekly cleared her throat, setting down the menu. Jisung turned back to look at you, his grin growing playful.

“I hope you’re hungry?”

The diner seemed to come back to you all at once in a flood of senses, the music and murmur of restaurant goers sending a pleasant hum through your veins as you and Jisung sat down. The night went by in a warm blur, Jisung telling you about his life at the institute, the unlikely friends he had made, the dreams he hadn’t realised he had. 

“I’m going to go back to school,” he admitted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “I’ll be a bit behind, but...I want to study something I actually like this time.”

You had told him about how you had been working in a child therapy ward ever since you had graduated, about all the children you had met and loved and cared for. As you talked about them, you saw a wistful look in Jisung’s eyes, and a thought crossed your mind. “Have you heard anything from—from Minho?” 

He gave a small smile, but shook his head. “Rarely. It hasn’t been long since he was released, but he said he was planning on going abroad. Doing some travelling. I think...he’ll reach out when he’s ready.” He then added, as an afterthought, “And if he doesn’t, I wouldn’t blame him.”

The sad simplicity of Jisung’s words stirred a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place in your chest, and your mind flashed back to the cold-eyed coroner and his stiff smiles; then, to the raw pain that had cracked through his strained features the last time you had caught a glimpse of him. Maybe you would meet again one day, or maybe that truly would be the last you ever heard of him.

Healing of the mind, you knew, was a strange process—one that always took much longer than you would expect. There were always scars that reopened along the way, old hidden wounds that surfaced right when you least expected them. There would always be answers you might never find, you mused sadly, closure you might never get.

But sometimes, you thought as you listened to Jisung talk, memorizing the feeling of his fingers interlaced with yours, sometimes we can only hope to hold onto what we already have. 

The end of the night drew closer, and when Jisung and you had stepped outside the diner, the city was swimming in the dark ochre of the setting sun. Eventually, the two of you ended up back in the wide garden behind the hospital, your laughs and giddy conversation slowly hushing into softer murmurs. In the distance, the rush of cars on the main road grew sparser, the windows of the buildings around you flickering to life one by one like young stars. Here, though, as you rested your head on Jisung’s shoulder beneath a willow tree, the world seemed to stand still, and all was quiet.

You heard Jisung yelp suddenly and looked down to see a familiar dog pattering around your feet—a stray, with scraggly fur like an overgrown teddy bear that had been through the wash one too many times. It immediately pounced onto Jisung, beginning to lick your boyfriend’s face like no tomorrow.

“Oof! Hey there, old buddy.”

You laughed, scooping the dog off—only after it had gotten a few slobbery licks in—and shivered slightly as a cool night wind swept past you. Noticing, Jisung shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders as you raised a teasing eyebrow at the cliche move.

“It looks good on you,” Jisung insisted, and you laughed incredulously.

“Your jacket?” You asked, ruffling the dog’s ears as it curled up at your feet.

At that, Jisung looked back up at you—seeing the faint outline of your smile in the dark, your eyes sparkling as you looked back at him expectantly, obliviously—and in that moment, Jisung wondered what he had ever done to deserve someone as perfect as you. 

After a beat, he replied, “Happiness. Happy looks good on you, love.”

Your mouth parted in surprise—both at his words, and at the unexpected name—and Jisung took the chance to lean in and kiss you, pressing his soft lips to yours. Gently, at first — carefully, but as you began to kiss him back, you felt Jisung slowly relax. You kissed him the way you had wanted to for so long, feeling the years of distance, of heartache, of endless waiting finally unravel beneath your lips. His hands reached up to gingerly cup your face, pulling you closer into him as if he never intended to let go. 

Happy looks good on you, too, Han Jisung, you wanted to say once you pulled away, forehead still lightly pressed to his. And you deserve it, more than anything. You watched Jisung’s features come back into focus beneath the dim moonlight. His gaze was fixed on yours, filled with nothing but pure adoration, and you felt a sudden surge of warmth coursing through your chest. 

I love you, you wanted to tell him, more than you could ever know — but something in the warm yet playful look in Jisung’s eyes told you that he was already thinking the exact same thing.

So you just smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.

                                                YOUNG GOD | END

ryu says: to you — yes, you, who has reached the end of this series! this epilogue is my way of saying a big thank you to those who stayed along for the entire wild ride that was young god. thank you for loving the characters, the world of miroh heights, and of course, the story! there are easter eggs and full-circle moments all throughout this epilogue, so i hope you enjoy and have fun finding them all ^^

disclaimer: in my opinion, all epilogues are open to interpretation: i’ve left some characters’ stories untold, some loose ends untied for this exact reason. miroh heights’ story has finally come to a close here, but what happens to the characters from this moment on continues in the reader’s mind now. 

all that cheesy, pretentious stuff aside, i hope to see you in the next story!

[amysteriousmessenger]

If you are accepting requests what about first date headcanons with the RFA (if that is too many characters what about just Yoosung? 😊) hope you have a great day xx

I hope this okay anon!! I added Saeran and V into this just for my own serotonin <3 oh to think about Saeran’s first date~ Reminder that I have a giveaway open!

Yoosung Kim First Date Headcanons 

Oh, he is so nervous. He’s never been on a date before, so cutscene to him asking Zen and Seven what he should do: with Zen suggesting that he should be as suave as possible, presenting you with bouquets and chocolates and Seven telling the boy that he should only speak backwards to prove that he was cool. Definitely not trying to just make him look like an idiot.

He’s a poor student, so your first date would be somewhere relatively cheap, most likely the cinema and then go get some food afterwards! Yoosung would believe he had to be chivalrous and let you pick the movie and where you wanted to eat, and would try to pay for your ticket and food since he’s the one who asked you out.

He’ll be internally panicking the entire time in the cinema, wondering whether he was allowed to wrap his arm around you or touch your hand. He really wanted to, but he didn’t want you to think he was moving too fast. So, when you lean your head on his shoulder he swears his heart stops. He won’t move a single muscle for the rest of the movie because he doesn’t want to disturb you. 

He’ll try to work up the courage to hold your hand on the walk home and he’ll actually manage it when you’re about two minutes away from where you live. It’s the thought that counts.

Zen/Hyun Ryu First Date Headcanons

On the outside, Zen’s cool and collected. He knows how to flirt and how to look good whilst doing it. He’s had a girlfriend before but that was a while ago, so he would be ever so slightly worried that perhaps he’ll be a little rusty. He spends extra long looking himself over in the mirror making sure that he looks his absolute best before he comes to meet you.

Your date would be an evening in the bar, sharing a couple of drinks and getting to be more comfortable in one another’s presence. Zen’s usually flirty, but he’s even more so after he’s had a couple of beers. He’ll be throwing compliments and winks at you like there’s no tomorrow: but that’s okay because you’re definitely enjoying the attention. 

You’ll talk about everything under the sun, the RFA, his work, your hobbies, how much he hates Jumin, how weird funny Seven is.

Zen will make sure you’re into it before he touches you, but he’ll be quick to wrap his arm around your waist or lightly touch your hand, using his finger tips to trace around the inside of your wrist. He won’t admit it, but seeing you so happy for his affection and even reciprocating it flusters him a little because it’s so genuine and sweet. 

Zen insists on walking you home, especially because it’s late and he wants to personally make sure you get home safe. He’ll swap between holding your hand and holding you by the waist as you walk, and will kiss your cheek before you go into your house. He doesn’t want to push his luck or overstep any boundaries, he’s a gentleman afterall, but he’s very pleasantly surprise when you pull him in for another kiss on the lips.

Jaehee Kang First Date Headcanons 

Jaehee’s also rather nervous before the first date, but tries her best to keep calm. She figures that you wouldn’t have agreed to the date if you didn’t already like her, but she’ll still doubt herself in that you should be with someone more interesting and less plain.

She’ll invite you to a lunch date at her favourite coffee shop, and will enthusiastically explain all the different types of coffee beans and processes to you. Your heart flutters at the sparkle in her eye and she apologises for getting too excited, please reassure her that you love listening to what she has to say. 

When you both order and sit down, Jaehee gives you the Zen DVDs she offered to lend you, and the two of you talk about the different musicals and extra behind the scenes, and Zen, and you promise to guard these DVDs with your life. 

You listen as she slightly vents about Jumin, which is very understandable and you console her for having to catsit Elizabeth the 3rd once again. Jaehee gets a little bit flustered when you read across the table to hold her hand, but her gentle smile indicates that she’s enjoying the affection.

When it’s time for you to part, after Jaehee got another coffee to go whilst muttering that she just got another two emails from Jumin, Jaehee’s a little hesitant on the appropriate goodbye, she isn’t quite sure what to do since it was only a first date. The two of you hug, and she’’’ be so worried you’ll feel how much her heart is racing.

Jumin Han First Date Headcanons

Pulls out all the stops. You continuously assure him that he doesn’t need to and that you’re on the date to spend time with him, not his money. And whilst he understands that, he wants to treat you to a pleasant first date that you won’t forget and just believes that it should be standard to treat his partner.

He’ll have Driver Kim pick you up and bring you to Jumin’s favourite restaurant, where he’s (Jaehee) made reservations for the two of you. It’ll be an evening meal, shared over a bottle of horrifically expensive wine.

He’ll show you another one of his beautifully captured blurry images of Elizabeth the 3rd. He’ll even offer to show you the livestream he has on his phone, showing you watch Elizabeth was currently curled up asleep on the sofa.

He’s more interested in hearing about you than talking about himself. Jumin doesn’t mean to worry you with his forwardness. He’s very intent on being nothing like his father in terms of dating, and wants you to know that he doesn’t go into anything half-hearted, his lovelife included. 

You offer to pay your share, but Jumin declines. He insists that he was raised to pay for his partner’s meal, but he appreciates the sentiment that you were not depending on him to cover your bill, even though he always intended to do so anyway. 

You’ll share Driver Kim’s car on the way back, with Jumin taking your hand and kissing it as you left the car, telling you that he had a wonderful time and hoped that you did too, a small smile present on his face. 

Saeyoung Choi First Date Headcanons

Seven is very stressed. Firstly, he can’t believe that he even asked you on a date, let alone the fact that you said yes. Who would want to date someone like him? He’s a mess. But regardless, he’s getting himself all worked up and it’s only a slap in the back of the head from Vanderwood that sorts him out. 

Your first date would be to an arcade during the evening. You let Seven pick the date, and you laughed when you heard what he had chosen. It was so him: fun, childish, a bit chaotic. 

He’s very good on the claw machines, and will make a point of winning you any stuffed animal you want. He’ll also just win any particularly cursed plushies that he sees. This means that you’ll end up with an entire bag of cute stuffed animals, a minion, a bootleg Shrek, a fish with no eyes and a random sock that somehow made it’s way in. 

As a joke, you bring the bootleg Shrek up to your lips and kiss it before pressing it against Seven’s lips to also kiss the stuffed toy. His heart is racing and he sends a flustered, very speedy message of ‘ASDFGWESHARED AN INDRECT KIS WITH SHREK!!!’ to Vanderwood, and completely received an ‘I don’t care’ in reply. 

The two of you take a selfie to send to the chatroom, and Seven’s heart is fluttering so fast, you’re so close to him and oh god he can even smell your perfume and it’s so nice and- Snap. You took the picture, and laughed at how Seven wasn’t even looking at the camera in the photograph, he was glancing at at you with the softest expression on his face. He’s so embarrassed.

You get a ride home in one of his babies, and once you collect all of your stuffed toys out of the backseat, you root around in the back and give Seven the bootleg Shrek you both kissed. He wishes you a goodnight and turns to turn the radio on after you get out the car. He wasn’t looking at you, so his heart was not prepared for when you planted a kiss on his cheek before promptly running back into your home. Oh. He’s fallen, hard.

Saeran Choi First Date Headcanons

Saeran had never been on a date before, he’d never even had anyone romantically interested in him or been romantically interested in anyone before he met you. There was no way he was going to ask his idiot brother for advice, even though Seven was quite literally begging him to do so. He’d relented to the extent of briefly looking it up online, but nothing seemed quite right. 

He’d settle on a picnic and a walk around the park, since it was simple and sweet. He was a little nervous, so hoped that the flowers and sky would calm him down and he’d be able to talk to you about any flowers that the two of you found. 

He’d make the picnic food all on his own (letting his brother eat any of the scraps from the preparation) after asking what your favourite foods were. He’s so happy to see you enjoying what he made, it fills him with a warmth he still cannot quite pinpoint, but he knows he wants to feel it again and again. 

He’d take your hand in his as you walked around the park, where he could point out the different flowers and tell you their meaning, and how pretty they would look braided into your hair. When the two of you see an ice-cream van, he immediately suggests going over to buy some, and your heart clenches at the sheer childlike joy at getting to eat it. It’s so sweet and tender to watch. 

He swears he can see a poof of red hair every now and then from behind a tree, or in the reflection of a shop. Surely not. He must be imagining things. He had better just be imagining it. 

V/Jihyun Kim First Date Headcanons

V isn’t particularly picky when it comes to dates, as long as it’s doing something that you would enjoy. If you left it down to him, which you did this time since it was your first date and he was the one that asked you out, it would be spending time together at his house over a bottle of wine. He’s not as formal as Jumin, so he doesn’t mind you coming over straight away. V’s not expecting you to spend the time, so he’s already arranged for one of Jumin’s drivers to come and pick you up afterwards, as a personal favour to Jumin. 

Genuinely, V just wants to know more about you. He’ll ask you about your likes and interests, what you hate, how you love, what your world views are, how you see yourself and what art means to you. He’s not a particularly great cook, but he’ll make dinner for the two of you and pour you a glass to go with it. 

He doesn’t regard himself as an interesting enough person to warrant your attention, but he’ll answer almost any question you ask him about himself. He’s trying to be a more open and honest person, especially to you. Whilst there are some things he’s tentative to talk about, he’ll freely share his world and artistic views with you.

V will show you some of his photographs, and more intimately his paintings, in his studio and let you see his workspace. He’ll show you around his private collections and, if you’re comfortable with it, will ask to take pictures of you since there’s not enough time to paint you- although he definitely mentions wanting to do that at a later date too.

[yourmidnightlover]

comfort blurb request??? maybe Spencer is just taking the absolute most care for you and making sure you’re okay after a hard case

cw: case mentions, mention of abusive and neglectful parents, unsub dies, crying, kind of a breakdown by the reader, spencer being a very nice little bean. *please let me know if ive missed anything*

a/n: so this turned out far longer than i anticipated but i love it nonetheless. thank you for the request, love <3

you were attached.

you couldn’t help it either.

spencer could tell

as you looked at the unsub from around the corner with a sense of sympathy, he recognized a part of himself on similar cases. when an unsub was schizophrenic, or when an unsub had been bullied, or when they had a drug problem that had been forced on them.

but for you, he couldn’t tell why you sympathized with this unsub. they’ve worked cases with unsubs just like this one - while all unsubs are different, their backgrounds tend to meld together on occasion.

in this situation it was abusive parents that would neglect them, no siblings, no grandparents or aunts or uncles to turn to… they were alone and were forced to cope with their own insanity. this unsub… he had nowhere to turn for his own depression and anxiety and he had to cope in some sort of way. he just chose to do that by killing.

now, on the jet ride back home, with 1 hour left, spencer walked over to sit beside you on the couch. for the duration of the ride, you hadn’t been talking. you hadn’t been reading. you were just sitting there in silence, clearly lost in your own thoughts.

the unsub had been shot. he was breaking down. he was going to shoot you. you would’ve let him. hotch took the shot that you couldn’t take. you were angry with him at first. you clutched his shirt in your hands, yet hotch didn’t care. he held onto your shoulders and looked at you with that same look of sympathy you had for the unsub. he hugged your shoulders as you cried into his vest.

“he didn’t deserve that!” you sobbed into his vest. “he just wanted to be okay…”

“i know,” hotch stroked your shoulders, soothing you until spencer walked over.

he took your hands from his shirt and wrapped them around spencer, knowing you’d want your best friend’s shoulder to cry on instead of your boss’s. spencer looked at hotch with a look of confusion, clearly not knowing why she was so upset.

“ask,” he informed spencer, patting his shoulder before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.

he practically carried you to the car. you were barely strong enough to keep yourself from tripping over your feet. spencer was your crutch, and that’s how he liked it. you had spent so long putting up this strong front for everyone, it only took one case for it to finally wear down the last of your walls.

“how about we have a sleepover when we get back?” spencer asked, finally breaking you from your trance as you turned to face him sitting beside you on the couch.

you didn’t say anything. you merely nodded and rested your head on his shoulder, trying to conceal the tears that had continued to flow from his gesture of kindness. he wrapped his arms around you and laid down on the couch, allowing you to rest on his chest for the duration of the ride. he knew you weren’t asleep. but perhaps a little piece of your mind was able to stop racing around because of his presence.

everyone saw it go down. but they didn’t say anything. it was obvious the two of you were closer than friends. the way you would put each other before anything, the way you would both simply look at each other. you always hung out after work when you were able to. you would have sleepovers with one another. you would do each other’s work. you would eat lunch together. you would get coffee together… you get the gist.

so seeing him comfort you so tenderly after the breakdown you had… it felt warm. although, derek didn’t hesitate snapping a picture of the way you cuddled into spencer’s chest, his eyes closed with content so he could send it to his babygirl later.

once you got off the jet, hotch dismissed everyone home for two days, something about getting some well needed rest and rehabilitation.

spencer began to drive your car to your place, thinking you’d want to be in the comfort of your own apartment. once you saw him make the turn towards your place rather than his own, you reached across the console and grasped his arm.

“what?” he asked with a questioning tone.

you shook your head, “i don’t wanna go to my place,” you continued to shake your head rapidly as he pulled the car over.

“hey, hey,” he placed his hand on the sides of your face to ground you. “we’ll go to mine, alright? whatever you need, we’ll get you,” you finally nodded your head before spencer reached over and kissed your forehead.

so, he took you to his apartment. he wanted you to feel safe, and if going to his place would provide that, then he would supply. he insisted on carrying your bags so you could walk on your own, so you did. but the second you were inside, he dropped the bags by the couch and wrapped you in his arms once more.

“go lie down on my bed, alright?” he whispered in your ear. “i’ll order us takeout and get you some tea. you get comfortable.”

you nodded and kissed the side of his neck before he released you, his hand lingering on your waist as you began walking down the hallway. his eyes lingered on your figure as you walked away, your arms wrapped around yourself as you entered his room.

he sighed before turning back to make your tea. perhaps chamomile would help you relax. he picked up the phone while the water was boiling and ordered you your favorite takeout. after the order was placed, he poured the boiling water into a mug with the tea bag and a dash of honey for sweetness.

“hey, bug,” he called as he entered the room. you were sitting on the edge of the bed, arms still wrapped around yourself in a self-soothing manner as he sat beside you. “here’s your tea, and the food should be here in around 20 more minutes.”

“okay,” you sighed as you took the cup from him, taking a sip. “thank you - for everything.”

“you don’t need to thank me,” he told you. “i’m happy to make sure my best friend knows she’s cared for.”

“no, i need to thank you,” you sniffled. “it’s not very often that i actually need to be taken care of, and i’m just not used to it. i’ve spent most of my life caring for myself and others and… and i really needed this - needed you,” you placed your free hand on top of his and gently squeezed it.

“i would take care of you forever,” he whispered, the look in his eyes telling you that he meant every word.

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

you both said in unison.

spencer’s eyes searched yours for the same meaning his portrayed - yours secretly doing the same.

“i’m in love with you,” you sniffled. “i have been for a while,” you shrugged.

“i am too - in love with you,” he smiled. “i’m so in love with you it hurts. when i saw you crying, i… i wanted to take it all on myself. you don’t deserve to hurt. you’re the one person who actually cares about people and takes care of them with no expectations.”

“thank you,” you grinned. “i know you want to know why i was so upset tonight, but…”

“you don’t have to tell me anything if you aren’t ready,” his hand gently squeezed your thigh.

knock. knock. knock

spencer rose from his seat on the bed and retrieved the food. he returned to see you scooted up to one side of the bed - the side you always slept on during your sleepovers. your tea was sat down on the bedside table and your legs in criss-cross applesauce position.

“hey,” he knocked on the door so he wouldn’t startle you.

“hey,” you smiled as he climbed in bed beside you.

he began passing out the food, and you ate in silence. it was a comfortable silence, one that the two of you had become accustomed to. your arms would accidentally touch, causing the both of you to blush and smile like idiots at the other.

once you were finished, spencer cleaned up the food and you went to brush your teeth, him doing the same after you. upon his return, you were already in your night clothes - a large t-shirt and some shorts you’ve had for ages. your makeup was removed and your hair was in a messy bun at the bottom of your head.

“you’re beautiful,” spencer couldn’t help but speak as he went to change his clothes.

“so are you,” you spoke up quietly. “i don’t think people tell you that often enough.”

“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” he chuckled as he grabbed a pair of old sweatpants to change into. he came back in an immediately cuddled up next to you in bed. “how do you wanna cuddle? or do you even want to cuddle?”

“is that even a question? of course i wanna cuddle,” you scoffed as you took his right arm and began snuggling with it, your fingers intertwined with his, your head rested on his chest as his free hand was tracing circles on your waist. “i love you so much, spencer.”

“i love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“say it again, please,” he felt his skin begin to dampen where your eyes were.

“i love you,” he moved his free hand to stroke your hair.

“again, please,” you sniffled.

“i love you, y/n,” he whispered. “i love you so much,” he continued. “i love your kindness. i love your spirit. i love your generosity. i love your humility. i love everything about you. i will always love you,” pressing one more kiss to your forehead, he heard your steady breaths and knew you had finally fallen asleep.

and in that moment, with you clutching his arm as you snored softly, he knew that he’d never let you go.