#i might be a little slow until tuesday because of work but yeah!

[buginateacup]

Roxanne falls in love with Megamind on day ninety seven.

That might not seem like a lot. Most people would tell you "Love at first sight" and "I just knew"'s aside. Three months is not enough time to really know someone. What if they snore? What if you have diametrically opposed views on stacking the dishwasher? What if it turns out you really are as picky as your ex said about what kind of coffee mug is acceptable in the morning?

But ninety seven days happens slowly. Bit by bit, a week at a time, only a day of which is spent in his company. Somewhere between two years and three when he's got her tied to a chair again, rolled up close in his own, elbows on his knees, hands dancing between motes of dust in the air as he explains reverse electromagnetisation and conjoined power components and his eyes are so big and bright and his mouth is stretched wide as he makes another pun about something that only makes sense to someone with an advanced mathematics degree (which neither of them have) and that should make her roll her eyes and shoot back an even worse one about something like meganetic attraction.

But he's there and he's fun and he's silly and he talks to her and while she's still realising what this rising light blooming in her chest means she leans over and closes the distance between them.

She kisses him lightly, teasingly, just a soft brush of lips on the surprised slack sag of his mouth and Roxanne feels an odd urge to giggle that she's managed to catch him off guard for once.

She kisses him because she likes him, because he never makes her feel dumb when he explains how his inventions work, because she wants to know if his mouth is still as expressive when on hers, because his beard looks soft and she's always wondered, because she's wearing her favourite shoes, and because its a Tuesday and she always has better luck on Tuesdays

She kisses him for a hundred different reasons.

But mostly because she wants to. Megamind, for his part, when she sits back again, (kindapping chairs are not comfortable to lean sideways on), still sitting there dazed, a clicking sound coming from his throat like his voicebox has stalled and has to work its way through restarting, almost explodes out of his chair. "I- you- Miss Ritchi, what?"

Megamind falls in love with Roxanne on day five, and day thirteen, and day twenty nine and forty seven etc etc. He falls in love with her every time she asks a question and every time she laughs and every time she makes his brain work that little bit faster to keep their conversations going.

He dreams of kissing her. Wistful daydreams while he waits for her to wake, blurry fantasises as he puts finishing touches on giant robots and flaming death traps. He dreams of kissing her slow, fast, in between. He dreams of stolen kisses, shy kisses, kisses to her hair, her cheeks, her temples, her hands.

And then firmly tells himself he's being ridiculous and decides to chase any thought of love out of his brain again right up until he sees her again.

He never let himself dream of kissing her lips.

Roxanne drags her lower lip through her teeth, savouring the taste of salt and tilts her head at him, "Hi," She says, braver than she feels, "I think I like you."

That seems to throw him even more than the kiss, "You do?"

"Yeah," She wishes he'd sit down again, looking at him from this angle is really doing a number on her neck, "I really do."

"That," Megamind hesitates, "Could be a very bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because I definitely really like you."

"Oh."

[strniohoeee]

Vile

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N is a mean girl who hates a soft boy! She wants her men mean and rough. When Chris doesn’t take this well things start to change….this is for my best friend who literally held me at gun point to write this long ass story😅

Warnings⚠️: This is juicy juicy SMUT. I’m talking hair pulling, smacking, spit, manhandling, knife kink. Chris is mean as fuck and a douchey asshole. So read at your own risk just know she’s juicy

Song for the imagine: One of The Girls- The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily-Rose Depo

⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

Chris was such an annoying little clingy boy. We were friends for some time now, and we were literally the definition of black cat and golden retriever energy. I was always a bitch and cold, I mean I had my soft spots but ehhh. And he was so childish and giddy all the time.

I’m not sure how we became friends, or how we actually liked each other, but we did. I had actually really liked Chris, but something about him acting too childish for me kept me away.

Most of the time we hung out it required me to literally watch him like he was a child. He acted like such a little baby, and one part of me wanted to coddle him, and the other part of me wanted to smack him to reality.

“I can tell you why she ghosted you” I told Chris

“And why is that?” He said rolling his eyes

“Because you’re such a little pussy. You get pussy whipped and you’ve never even met the girl” I told him

“Not fucking true at all” he said sounding offended

“No, it's very true. You’re a munch, and girls don’t like that. Ease off. You’re doing too much” I told him

“Excuse the fuck out of me! Miss perfect. How many guys actually want you around. You’re so meh and dark and MEAN” he said

“Guys like mean girls…..I’ll have you know I get any guy I want” I told him

“Yeah right! I couldn’t be with a girl who’s mean” he said back

“Yeah because you’re too nice, and you’re like a baby. Tighten the fuck up” I responded back to him

“Could you not be mean to me” he said

“Uhhh let me think?? No” I said rolling my eyes at him

“Chris, I'm telling you. Stop being a little softy and you’ll see every girl will fall to their knees for you” I told him

“Would you fall to your knees for me?” He asked with a puppy dog face

“Not until you get mean…..i like my men just as mean, and you doing this puppy dog face is putting you at the bottom of my roster” I said giving him a weird face

“Not a single nice thing out your mouth” he said scoffing and rolling his eyes

“Oh! You see that the scoffing and the eye roll? Yeah, keep doing that. A bad attitude looks good on you” I told him nodding my head

“Ouu are you flirting with me?” He asked smirking

“Most definitely am not” I said laughing in his face

His face drops and he clenched his jaw

“Ohh Chris that was hot as fuck, keep doing it” I told him running my tongue along my teeth

“You think so?” He said getting happy again

“See now I was flirting with you, and that shit went right over your dome” I told him

“Uhhh whatever” he said giving up

I worked at a bar/lounge that Chris and his brothers always frequented. I’m sure it was for me because this is not their scene at all. I found it amusing, but Chris just wasn’t my type

I hadn’t seen the triplets in a good month. Their fame skyrocketed and they were on tour the last I saw on instagram. Man I kind of missed my munch I was getting bored with these guys.

I was working a boring night shift on a Tuesday when nobody would be in. We were so slow I think I washed the shot glasses 25 times….actually might be 26

The front door opened and Chris and his brothers walked in. Immediately my face lit up

“Hey guys” I said

“Y/N heyyyyy” Nick said walking over to sit at the bar

“Yoo” Matt said sitting next to him, and then Chris sat next to Matt

“Hey Chris” I said

He just nodded his head at me….whos this fucking cool guy? I asked myself

“How have you guys been?” I asked them

“We’ve been good, just got back from tour actually” Matt said

“Oh nice how was that? Insufferable I imagine with all the teenage girls screaming” I said

“I missed your negativity! Actually it was really fun” Nick said

“How many tits did you sign Chris? Oh wait your whole fanbase is like 16, and you’re too pussy to do it for the girls that are actually of age” I told him

“Fuck outta here” he said giving me a dirty look

“Oh someone’s a little feisty” I said looking at Matt and Nick

“Yeah he’s been a total dick lately. He’s really fucking pissing us off” Nick said rolling his eyes

“Shut the fuck up” Chris said rolling his eyes

I’m not sure who this new Chris is, but it was really fucking hot.

“Let me take you on a date” Chris randomly blurted out

“Fuck no….have you lost your mind” I told him laughing at him

“Why you gotta do me like that. I’m tryna be nice and ask you out” he said rolling his eyes

“I told you I like my men mean….not posers pretending to be mean” I said back

“Want me to smack you around and call you bitch then? Before you agree to go out with me” he asked scoffing

“Mmm that does sound enticing” I said winking at him

The triplets had left about an hour after hanging around, and I had to finish my boring shift. I was closing solo tonight since it wasn’t busy, and everyone cleaned their area, so I only had a small portion to clean

It was 2AM, and I walked over to the door switching the open sign to closed

I walked back to my area and was wiping down the bar and the tables that were mine. When all of a sudden I heard someone come in….I thought I locked the door??

“I’m sorry we’re closed” I yelled out since my back was turned

“You left the door open….rookie mistake” I heard someone say, I knew that voice

“Chris what the fuck” I said turning around

“Not happy to see me?” He asked frowning

“No…waiting around like some creep” I told him cleaning my last table

“Ohhh you wound me” he said

“Chris you’re so fucking corny please stop” I said shaking my head

“Just give me a chance please I really like you” he said

“You’re acting like a freaky obsessed teenager, NO” I told him

“I can be mean” he said back to me

“Yeah sure you can” I said laughing at him

“I can be mean, and I can fuck you like a dirty slut you annoying bitch” he said walking closer to me

“The fuck did you just say?” I asked shocked, and pleasantly surprised

“You heard me…” he said smugly

“I can make you take back all those things you said about me. When I fuck you like A DIRTY SLUT YOU ANNOYING BITCH” he said raising his voice at the last part

“I doubt you can fuck me good” I said feeding into him

“Oh I’ll have you fucking weeping and limp” he said laughing

“Come on then rude boy, I can take you” I said

Chris stormed over to me and slammed me into the edge of the bar table (fuck that will leave a mark tomorrow). He smashed his lips against mine in a disgusting and sloppy kiss, but it was so fucking hot my knees buckled a bit

“You’re getting nothing but my dick tonight, and I’m going to give it to you how I want, and you’re gonna take it, GOT IT” he said gripping onto my chin harshly

“Yes” I said

We started to make out and he was groping my body harshly with want and need

He pulled away and looked me over while licking his lips

His hand came up to my throat and he started to choke me

“You’re gonna be mine” he spat at me like venom on his tongue

He removed my shirt and my bra. Immediately grabbing my boobs massaging them while looking at my face

“Fuck Chris” I said biting my lip

He grabbed the back of my head and leaned my head down. I was looking at his palm

“Spit” he demanded

“What the fuck no” I told him

He smacked me, “I said spit” and he pushed my head a little harder

So I spat on his palm

“Good fucking girl” he let go of my head kind of pushing me back and brought his palm up to my nipple massaging the spit in

“Ohh fuck” I said throwing my head back

“Yeah what a fucking slut” he said massaging my other breast

“Stop fucking talking and do something” I said which he didn’t like because he spun me around and pushed me against the counter again

“You need to learn to be nice” he said, pulling my hair causing my head to go back. I winced in pain and pleasure

He pulled my skirt down and had me step out of it

“Red lace thong. You’re a mean bitch and a slut” he laughed

“Fuck you” I said

“OH! So vulgar” he said pulling my hair again

“How do you feel about a knife” he asked me massaging my ass with his right hand

“Chris what the fuck are you on” I said trying to look over my shoulder but he didn’t let me

“If I brought a knife up to your pussy would I make you shudder?” He asked in my ear

“You wouldn’t….you're a pussy” I said laughing

The next thing I heard was the sound of a pocket knife opening. This sick fuck, he really had a knife

“I would choose my next words wisely” he said

“Or what” I said rudely

Chris placed the blade on my ass slowly grazing it. This sent a chill down my spine

“I don’t know….you tell me” he said back

“Chris I’m not fucking around don’t be stupid” I told him

Slowly I felt the blade travel further until he slid it under my underwear, and cut the side of it, and then slid it to the other side, and cut the other side letting my now destroyed underwear fall to the floor

He then swiftly turned me around

“Speechless are we?” He said with a smile on his face

He took the knife and slowly ran it up from my stomach to the valley of my breast

“Am I scaring you?” He asked with a fake pout

“No you’re turning me on” I said looking into his eyes

He then pulled my head back allowing my neck to be exposed, and he lightly slid the knife against my neck

“Mmmm how about now” he said taunting me

“Maybe a little bit. The knifes at my fucking throat” I said getting scared

“Good” he said then placed the knife on the counter, and grabbed me harshly throwing me against a table

He flipped me around so my chest was against the table and my ass was up

“Now I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t even know your name” he said smacking my ass

“Fuck” I said wincing in pain

Chris kicked my legs apart, and started to unzip his pants. Taking his hard dick out. He walked around to where my head was

“Be a good girl and spit on my cock” he said smacking me lightly

I opened my mouth and spit on his cock. He then used that to jerk himself off. Slowly walking back behind me

He was teasing my entrance at such an agonizingly slow pace

“CHRIS PLEASE” I said already fucked out

“Shut the fuck up” he warned

And slowly he slid into me bottoming out in one go

“Mmmm this pussy was made for me” he said groaning

Within a few second Chris was pounding into me like a feral fucking animal. His hips connecting to my ass in loud smacks

“Fuck Chris you feel so good” I moaned out gripping the table

He was pounding into me relentlessly like I was some fucking ragdoll. His dick was touching all the right places

“Give me your hands” he said, but I ignored him

He grabbed my hair and pulled me up

“I said. GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING HANDS” he said throwing me forward

“IM SORRY IM SORRY” I said giving him my hands

He grabbed them together and started pounding into me even harder. How was this humanly possible

“Oh my god Chris” I said moaning and drooling everywhere

He lifted my leg up so my knee was on the table as he thrusted into me

“Such a good fucking slut for me” he said laughing as he smacked my ass with his right hand

“You gonna let me take you on a date now?” He asked

“Yes Chris yes! Whatever you want” I said moaning as tears fell from my eyes from the pleasure

“Good! Letting me fuck you like a dumb slut, and then letting me be your man” he said thrusting into me hard

“Fuck I’m gonna cum” I screeched out

“Yeah cum on my cock” he said as he pounded into me

“Fuck fuck fuck” I said and I came all over his cock. I was shaking and moaning out incoherent words as my legs were about to give out

“Let me cum on your tits” he said as he pulled out of me and roughly turned me over

He jerked himself over before moaning out my name as his lower abdomen constricted and he he came all over my tits

He came down from his high, picking his pants up and catching his breath

“Now how’s that for signing tits” he said lightly smacking me in my face

“Touché” I said rolling my eyes at him

“Let me clean you up, so I can take you home” he said

Chris had cleaned me up, and helped me clean the bar up again before I fully closed, and he decided to take me home

“So about that date?” He said when we pulled up to my house

“Yeah?” I asked him getting ready to get out

“Are you down?”he asked

“Of course! Pick me up tomorrow at 6” I said before kissing him on the lips, and walking to my house.

The End

I hope yall like this one! I haven’t done a Chris smut in a minute. Can’t wait to finish these imagines! I love writing 🤭❤️❤️

-J💅🏽

[quietblueriver]

Still Bright to Me (Kate/Yelena, 1/5)

Rewatched Hawkeye and this happened. I love them so much.

Post canon.

Kate's struggling, so Clint sends some backup in the form of a (former?) black widow assassin, who offers Kate a trade: she'll protect Kate from the tracksuits and Kate will show her the best of New York. Their deal ends, but their friendship doesn't, and suddenly Kate's pretty sure it's becoming something else entirely. Something big and scary and really, really good.

Read below or on AO3.

-

Kate could almost pretend this was a normal Tuesday morning. 

She walked into Bishop Security, tossed her bag behind the front desk, and took a right toward her mom’s office. She could see her through the glass walls, legs crossed as she looked over a set of files spread on the coffee table, a Bishop Security coffee mug waiting near her right hand on a cream coaster. Her suit was familiar, a favorite–navy with white pinstripes, wide legs, a white silk blouse. 

And then, of course, visible between the hem of her pants and the black leather of her heel, the shining black box strapped to her ankle, with its two tiny white lights signaling Eleanor Bishop’s location to the federal government at all times. 

It wasn’t a normal Tuesday morning. 

Her mom looked up as she got close, a tight smile working its way onto her face, and Kate felt the warring urges to run, cry, and vomit. Instead of any of that, Eleanor Bishop’s daughter did what she had been taught to do and kept her shit together, her own fake smile glued in place and her hands steady. 

Eleanor stood as Kate pushed open the door, walking around the coffee table and opening her arms. “I’ve missed you.” 

The words rang more than a little hollow in the face of the two sentence email Eleanor sent to set up this meeting and the total radio silence that preceded it. She’d been out on bail within like a day, which Kate knew because she got a Christmas NYT alert with a courthouse shot of her mom looking perfectly put together as she made her way down the steps to the towncar. (Nate won that round of Mario Kart.) 

From her mom? Not a word. Nothing until a week into the new year, when Kate did a double take at the sender on an email notification with the subject line: Meeting Tuesday. 

So yeah, Kate didn’t feel particularly missed. She felt like an hour on Eleanor’s work calendar. 

Still, she wrapped her arms around her mother, a stiff, quiet, awkward hug that she wasn’t sad to break. 

The tension between them hurt in a way Kate couldn’t have prepared herself for, and despite all her Bishop training, it took more than a little effort to hold back the tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she settled in the chair across from Eleanor. Eleanor, who, in addition to being a pretty major player in the organized crime scene in New York and several other major cities, was still her mom. 

It might never have been easy between them the way it had been between her and her dad, but she’d never doubted that her mom loved her. Not really. Not until she looked her in the eye and said, cold and hard and distant enough that Kate wondered if she regretted running that car through the window and into Kingpin, “Is this what heroes do? Arrest their mother on Christmas?” Not until she followed that up with silence loud enough to make Kate wonder if she’d become Hawkeye and lost her second parent on the same day. 

“How are you?” 

The question snapped Kate back to the moment, and she blinked away flashing blue lights and the smell of smoke and the pain of a cracked rib as she sobbed in the shower. 

“Fine,” she said on instinct, twirling the silver ring on her index finger. It was bullshit, but so was the question. Eleanor’s eyes locked on her ring and Kate stopped twisting, stood and got a bottle of water from the fridge under the counter, stared at the marble as she uncapped it and took a slow sip. 

“Kate.” 

Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water before she turned around and met Eleanor’s eyes. 

“Mom.” 

She could see her mom’s jaw grinding, considered very seriously walking out and calling Clint and going back to Iowa for as long as she fucking could. Laura had offered and meant it. Clint had nodded beside her and meant it just as much when he said, “Call anytime.” She’d only been back for like a day anyway; her stuff was still packed and PD would be pumped to be back on the farm. 

She didn’t leave. She sat back down in the chair. She wasn’t even close to sure that was the right decision. 

Her mom grabbed the small remote on the coffee table and hit a button and suddenly the glass behind them was frosted, she and her mother in a more private space. Chest tightening unpleasantly, Kate’s mind ran everything through a new filter. How much of that interaction had been calculated? How much of the hug, of Kate’s presence, of Eleanor’s smile, had been meant for the employees still at Bishop Security? For the attorneys Kate knew were waiting in a conference room just across the hall? For whoever might leak a picture or a quote to one of the reporters hanging around? For whoever her mom might’ve paid to do that? 

She pushed the tears away for another minute, let anger take the lead. It was, after all, much higher on the list of acceptable emotions than hurt. “What am I doing here, mom? What do you need from me?” 

It was hurt, though, that flashed across Eleanor’s face, brief but obvious, and shame bubbled in Kate’s stomach. She didn’t take it back. She didn’t look away either, watched as her mom schooled her features into something neutral and reached for a folder on the table, opening it and turning it toward Kate. 

“This is the information on your trust fund. There are two numbers on the last page, one for my attorney and one for my accountant. I’ve worked with them both for a long time. Call them and they’ll help you get the account handled.”

Kate took the folder and tucked it into the side of the chair. “Thanks.” 

It was a relief. She was, for the first time in her life, worried about money, and it sucked. She’d been working out how long she could make it on what little she had in her own account from her Bishop Security “paychecks” plus an envelope of cash Clint or Laura had snuck into her bag before she left the farm and refused to discuss when Kate found it. 

Her mother nodded. “It’s yours. It has always been yours. Whatever happens with my assets and the company, they can’t touch that. Or the apartment.”

Kate knew, vaguely, that she had a trust fund from her dad’s parents. She was from the kind of money, at least on her dad’s side, that meant her grandparents had set her up from the day she was born. She had never bothered with it before, couldn’t even access it until her last birthday, but she was really fucking glad for it now. 

And for whatever laws stopped her mom (and her dad, maybe, but she really didn’t like thinking about that either) from touching it. 

“Okay.”

Her mom sighed, lips turning down in that way they did when Kate disappointed her. It was a familiar look, and it was how Kate knew the next words from her mouth were the starting point of a negotiation, rather than an end in themselves. 

“I’m sorry, Kate, if what I said that night hurt you. And for taking some time to get in touch. I was angry, which I think is understandable.”

When Kate didn’t immediately respond, Eleanor added, “You obviously weren’t ready to talk either.”

Yeah. There it was. An accusation dressed as an observation. An invitation for Kate to apologize. 

Instead of guilt, Kate felt Laura’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she cried late on Christmas night, the photo from the Times article shining up at them from Kate’s phone screen on the coffee table. Heard the soft, “Oh, honey,” as Kate whispered her fears aloud, rasped and broken questions about whether her mom would ever want to talk to her again, whether she should call, whether it would hurt worse if she didn’t answer. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. You made it pretty clear on Christmas Eve I’d disappointed you, and then I heard from the Times about your bail before I heard from you. Wasn’t really interested in leaving a voicemail.”

Eleanor’s frown deepened, deepened further when Kate didn’t flinch. Or, Hawkeye didn’t flinch. Kate would cry later, but her mom didn’t need to know that. Didn’t deserve to know that. 

Eleanor sighed, and her words had a resigned quality to them on the surface, but Kate knew veiled anger when she heard it. “I understand you probably didn’t know what you were doing when you made that call to the police. I know you can be rash. Impulsive. That’s my fault. Confidence is one thing, but I clearly should’ve reined you in a long time ago.”

Kate bit her tongue and started thinking about trick arrows, reminded herself that she could leave. 

“But now, Kate.” She gestured at her ankle, in the vague direction of her army of lawyers a few rooms over. “Now we’re all paying for your choices. Don’t you see that?”

Yeah. She could leave. Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water and leaned forward. 

“No. I don’t. I see you paying for the choices you made and trying to blame me for it.” Anger slashed ugly across her mother’s face, eyes sharp and chin jutting out in a way that Kate knew her own did in a challenge. “I don’t regret what I did. I wish I hadn’t had to. I wish you hadn’t…” Kate shook her head and stood. Her mom matched her. 

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, you do not walk away from me.” 

Her voice was tight and low and Kate had heard it like this a few times in her life, but it had never scared her before. She fought a sob and squared her shoulders. 

“If you were who I thought you were, and I was alone in a room with someone who had done the things you’ve done, you would tell me to run .” Kate shrugged, bent to take the folder. “Guess I know better now. Thanks for this.” She didn’t have it in her to hold her mom’s eyes but pride and resentment and molten anger at least kept her voice steady as she added, “Merry Christmas, by the way. One for the books.”

She turned to go, made it two steps before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She had broken the hold and turned, hands out and eyes assessing her mom like a threat, before she could stop herself. Her mom understood, if the look in her eyes was real, and she jerked her hand back. Kate wasn’t sure whether Eleanor was ashamed or afraid that Kate might break it, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did they get here.

“Kate. Just…” She stepped back, sat. “I’m sorry. Give me two more minutes. And then,” she swallowed, and Kate saw her mom, just her mom, sad and exhausted, “I promise you can go. It’s important. Please.”

Kate hesitated for a second but walked back to the chair, perched on the edge. 

“Thank you.” 

The relief was genuine, and Kate nodded, gripped at the folder in her hands. Her mom cleared her throat and took another folder but kept it herself, thumbing at the tab. 

“I’m going to go away for a little while.” Kate tensed, eyed the ankle monitor before she could stop herself. Eleanor’s eyes followed hers and she shook her head. “No. No. They’re facilitating it. Fisk…Well, things are complicated right now, but he’s not a forgiving man.”

“I thought he was…out of the picture. For now.” It was one of the only reasons Clint hadn’t pushed harder for her to stay in Iowa. He’d heard through channels that Fisk had been shot. That Maya had shot him. That the whole organization was a mess and Maya was on the run and Fisk might actually be gone, although Clint said not to bank on that. 

Eleanor sighed. “Nobody knows for certain his condition. And it’s true that they appear to be distracted right now, but they won’t forget about me, especially if they think I’m cooperating.” 

Kate sucked in a breath. “Are you? Cooperating?”

Eleanor smiled ruefully. “The case against Fisk is much bigger than me. He…well, I’m honestly surprised there even is one, given the number of people in the city on his payroll or his hit list, but it seems like his influence hasn’t reached certain corners of the federal government.

“In any case, as far as he or anyone else knows, I’m not cooperating, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take chances.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Eleanor shook her head and smiled an almost fond smile, although it had sharper edges than Kate was used to. “No, Hawkeye, I didn’t.” She leaned forward, extended her hand over the table between them. “Kate, these people are dangerous. I’m going away, at least through the trial, and I would ask you to come, but…”

“I won’t.”

“Right.”

Eleanor watched as Kate leaned back, began twirling her ring again. 

“So, I need you to be careful. Call Clint Barton. Call…whoever. I have people from the company who…”

“Mom.”

“Let me finish, Kate. I have people from the company who are and will continue doing minimally invasive work to keep you safe.”

Kate raised her eyebrows and Eleanor ground her teeth but did not snap as Kate said, “I have no interest in anyone from Bishop Security keeping tabs on me. Even minimally invasive ones.”

Unyielding and unapologetic, her mom said, “I didn’t tell you to ask for your permission. I told you so that you wouldn’t shoot Ari or the company SUV he’s driving when you eventually noticed he was keeping track of you.”

At one point, the tone would’ve made her hesitate, but today it just pissed her off. Kate met her mom’s eyes as she responded. “Yeah, okay.” She made a note to look Ari up in the company directory. “I won’t shoot him, but I will lose him, and if he keeps trying, I just made a knockout arrow that works pretty well.”

Her mom rubbed at the spot at the base of her neck that meant she had the beginnings of a tension headache. 

“What do you want me to do here, Kate? This is serious, and whatever you might think of me, I’m still your mother, and I love you. I won’t just leave you.”

What Kate wanted was for her mom to not be facing a list of charges so long and violent that reading it had made Kate dizzy. What Kate wanted was for her mom to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For her dad to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For the people responsible for taking care of her to have been better and more careful. 

She said, instead, “I’ll install new security at the apartment. Non-Bishop Security stuff.” She clarified, and her mom barely suppressed an eye roll. “It’s all being redone anyway.” Thank fuck for insurance, Laura Barton’s ability to make a checklist, and contractors used to SHIELD’s specific need for quick and secure repairs to explosive damage. “And I will check in once a day with someone from the company to confirm that I’m alright.” 

Eleanor’s sigh could’ve been used as the model for disappointed and exasperated mothers. Sadly for her, her only audience was Kate, who was growing less affected by her mom’s opinion by the minute. (Still affected. Probably always affected. But realizing that her decision not to cover up a murder made her mom more disappointed than, y’know, aiding and abetting would have really did wonders in blunting the effects of maternal guilt.) 

“This is the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Kate leaned back into her chair. “Yes. And if you try anything more, and you know I’ll know if you do, then I’ll stop checking in.” She paused, added even though she was sure her mom already knew, “Also, I’ll take whatever or whoever, wrap them up in a bow, and drop them somewhere super embarrassing for the company.” 

“You’re a shit,” she said, with clear fondness below the frustration. 

Part of Kate resented it. The familiarity. It was fucked, that her mom thought she had the right to act like the last month hadn’t happened. Or worse, that she had fixed everything with a non-apology and a little bit of worry and a cream folder full of financial security that was there despite Eleanor’s best efforts and not because of them. 

Another part of Kate clung to the small piece of evidence that her mom still loved her the way she hoped. Hard not to feel pathetic about that. 

She shrugged, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “Maybe. But it’s your fault.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said softly. “It is.” She took a pen and legal pad, wrote something quickly on a sheet which she tore and folded in half before brushing nonexistent lint from her pants and standing. “I’ll walk you out.”

She took Kate to the front desk and hugged her. It was still stiff and quiet and awkward, but it made Kate want to cry less. And then that made her want to cry more.  

“Here’s protocol for contact.” She handed Kate the folded piece of legal paper. “I don’t need to tell you to—“

“Destroy it after I read it. Yeah. I got it.” 

“Shit,” her mom said again, and again, Kate shrugged. 

She bit her lip, conflicted, but in the end forced the words past her pride. “Stay safe, mom.”

She didn’t bother trying to decipher the momentary slip of her mom’s mask, what it meant that it was back in place by the time she responded, “You stay safe. I love you.”

The words landed like a thumb on a bruise, the doubt a dull ache sharpened with pressure. 

“I love you too.” It felt more like an admission of weakness than anything else, and god, she needed to get out of here. 

Eleanor raised her hand a fraction but she didn’t reach out, and Kate didn’t either, and then she was gone, heels clicking and back ramrod straight as she made her way to the sea of lawyers waiting for her. 

-

Clint answered on the second ring, just as Kate was turning into the park with PD. 

“How’s it going, Hawkeye?” 

She grinned, even in the midst of her absolutely shit family crisis, because that was still so fucking cool . 

“Not gonna lie, Hawkeye. Hasn’t been the greatest day.” She gave an emotionally abridged rundown of the encounter with her mother, Clint humming and making concerned noises as she glossed over the warning her mom provided about her safety. He didn’t question her decision to decline Bishop Security’s interventions, but she could practically see the crease in his brow through the phone. “Actually,” she said, tugging PD away from a very suspect paper bag covered in grease and…things, “you might be able to help me out. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could hook me up with a solid security system?”

Clint laughed. It wasn’t quite his Christmas-with-the-family-in-Iowa laugh, but it was close, which made Kate relax a little. Couldn’t be too bad if Clint wasn’t stuck in Avenger mode. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ve got a few people for that. May or may not have already asked some folks. Mind sending me basics on the layout? I’m hoping moldy blown-out hole above a pizza joint doesn’t work anymore.”

“Nah, baby.” Kate kicked at a rock on the path. “I’ve got walls . Windows , even.”

“Livin’ the life,” Clint said seriously. 

“That’s me.” 

-

After a solid but unsuccessful (can’t win ‘em all) attempt to exorcize some trauma with a three hour workout, Kate left messages with the trust fund contacts and then spent the evening in her mostly repaired but also mostly empty apartment watching Wipe Out on the IKEA sofa she and Clint had lugged up before he left. It was fun to viciously critique contestant strategy to PD, who was a good audience and thumped his tail gamely every time Kate looked his way.

At 9:30pm, as promised, she called her designated Bishop Security agent with the safe word. It wasn’t her mom. She hadn’t heard anything more from her mom, and the sting of that was only a little soothed by the fact that she didn’t really want to have to navigate any more awkward and unpleasant conversations with her remaining bio parent. 

In an attempt at productive distraction, she made the mistake of checking her email (she’d turned off notifications after her mom’s request, hadn’t wanted any more surprises in public spaces), where she found a message from the school administration about finding a time to discuss “alternative options” for her final semester. Weirdly, they weren’t falling over themselves to welcome back a property destroying security threat whose well of money, so far as they knew, had dried up. 

Kate wasn’t thrilled at the thought of going back either. There had been plenty of nasty headlines already, and there would only be more. 

When she left campus at the beginning of winter break, she was Kate Bishop: charming archer who won nationals; fun to play beer pong with; a little loud but good on a group project; cocky and sometimes reckless but in the mostly attractive, rugged way. 

Maybe it wasn’t giving her classmates enough credit, but it felt too naive to think that she’d go back and be anything other than Kate Bishop: daughter of a massive criminal; annoyingly vocal in class; unapologetic destroyer of a beloved school landmark and a national seasonal treasure; spoiled rich kid with a massive ego who only got in because of her money. 

Kate was also self-aware enough to know that they wouldn’t be totally wrong on any of those points, including the last one, probably. The Bishop dorm that had been on campus for like a hundred years and an endowed professorship definitely didn’t hurt her application. 

Even though her mom seemed convinced that Kate didn’t realize everything she’d been given, Kate had always tried to be more than a legacy admit and a snotty, old money New Yorker and she thought, hoped, that she had been kind of successful. The last few weeks had definitely undone most of that work. Maybe all of it. 

Anyway, whatever. She’d finish with minimal time on campus her last semester, and that would be fine. Not to sound like a massive dick but Kate had never really had to try that hard to do well so it wasn’t like missing in-person classes would hurt her, and her archery season was basically over anyway. Yeah, it would be a little more lonely, but that was the life of a superhero. She had Clint. Campus was close enough that Franny and Greer could come visit whenever. And she’d make other friends. People made friends after graduation, right? That was a thing? 

She sent an email back confirming a meeting time and slammed her laptop closed a little too forcefully. 

Fighting the temptation to stare at the wall and contemplate her mom’s potential hideout locations while feeling super sorry for herself, she took PD for a last walk around the block before falling asleep to reruns of Community . Not the healthiest of habits but whatever, she needed rest and distractions. She’d worry about sleep hygiene later. (Or never.) 

She made it through three check-ins, seven walks, a depressing call with Clint confirming Fisk was still alive and likely to stay that way, four workouts, a very awkward conversation with the Dean of Students and her academic advisors, three boxes of Junior Mints, zero words from her mother, a sighting of one tracksuit goon, and the delivery and installation of what was 1000% a SHIELD-developed security system before she finally lost it, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive. 

And of course, it was a small thing. That’s how this shit went. She stumbled over one of PD’s rope toys in the kitchen, slammed her hip into the counter, and suddenly she was crying. Like, big crying. The kind of heaving, sobbing crying that hurt . She sank to the floor, where PD came to press against her in a full body lean, and she stayed there, running her fingers through his fluff, until her kitchen timer beeped annoyingly at her seventeen minutes later. 

Thankfully–also a small thing, but one that really, really helped–she had managed to get her pizza into the oven before her breakdown. She pulled it out, contemplated tearing it into pieces (wouldn’t be the first time) but was pretty sure eating hand-ripped frozen pizza over her sink wouldn’t make her feel better , so she grabbed the surprisingly useful pizza cutter gadget thing she got during a freshman year Dirty Santa exchange with the archery team and cut the BBQ chicken into squares on a cutting board, took the whole thing over to her sofa, and turned on Community again.  

She thought she was good, or as good as she could be, but when Clint called, she was back to blubbering within like 30 seconds of his, “Hawkeye,” gross, snotty, embarrassing sobs traveling through the air to Iowa. Nice, Kate. 

“Okay,” he said calmly, in a voice that Kate imagined he might use in a hostage negotiation. “Hold on. I’m getting Laura.” 

Forty-five minutes later, it was just the two of them again, Laura having worked her magic (Kindness. Kate was pretty sure it was kindness, and it was good to know that someone who had definitely been a SHIELD agent could hold on to that.) and gone to handle Nate’s bathtime routine. 

“I really don’t mind coming, Kate. This is big stuff. You don’t need to do it alone, and I don’t like that you saw one of the tracksuits in your neighborhood.” 

“I know. I know. I promise I’ll call you if I need you, but right now I’m okay. I just…it was a rough night. Look, though! I talked about it! Also, like, it definitely could have been a random dude with terrible taste in clothing and a bad haircut, okay?”  

“Mmm.” It was skeptical at best. 

“Trust me, Clint? I’ll feel bad if you come right now. There’s a kickass security system and nobody is throwing molotovs at me or even really paying attention.” This part, at least, was true. The tracksuit she’d seen was at a popular Thai place a few blocks over, seemingly just picking up takeout, and Kate hadn’t noticed any activity closer than that. “I’m a little lonely and sad, yeah, but it’s not, like, a Grey Gardens situation. PD and I are fine and we’re getting out in the world and we’re safe. I’ll SOS if things get dire. Really.” 

He sighed in concession. “Okay. I trust you. But I’m serious, Kate. Even if you’re not in immediate danger. Partners, remember? It means more than just trick arrows and car chases.” 

She’d gotten to know the Bartons over Christmas, which meant she got to know Natasha, too–through photos; Lila’s favorite sleep shirt; a post-it on the fridge saying she’d gone for a run and would be back for lunch; stories, so many stories; a late night of them ended with Nate’s sleepy voice mumbling from Kate’s lap, “I get to have her name.” There was a room upstairs that was the one place Nate didn’t explore during hide and seek, a table in Clint’s workshop that had been painted red, tiny black Barton handprints made to look like little spiders over the top, initials marked in white. Laura took a breath like she’d been punched when a recipe card fell from one of her cookbooks, neat, distinct handwriting with a PS at the bottom: Clint–Add extra cinnamon if you’re making this for Laura. 

More than trick arrows and car chases. 

“Partners. I remember. Thanks, Clint.”

- 

She wouldn’t have been surprised to see Clint on her mopey midday walk, even after their conversation. She hadn’t sounded great last night, and she knew partners also meant sometimes telling the other person to sit down and shut up and take their medicine (or ice their knee with a frozen margarita).   

It wasn’t Clint, though, who was propped casually against a tree on her regular route with PD through the park, familiar black and yellow jacket unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt and high-waisted jeans. It was, instead, the widow who almost killed him, using the combat boot resting against the tree behind her to press forward and toward Kate, grinning big while Kate stared at her like a fucking idiot. 

“Kate Bishop! Look at this coincidence!” 

She bent to greet PD, letting him sniff her hand before going in for pets. He was belly-up within seconds, and Yelena seemed delighted, kneeling to get a better angle and running dark green nails through white fur. 

It gave Kate, who was still feeling sorry for herself and definitely not ready for human interaction, much less human interaction with Yelena Belova , a chance to try to get her shit together. It also gave her a chance to admire Yelena’s hair, which was down and like, glowing, basically. Totally ridiculous, because it was gray as hell and January in New York. 

Kate, who had taken her beanie off like ten minutes ago, was pretty sure she had managed to untangle the worst of the mess before she left the apartment and was suddenly grateful she had bothered to shower, at least. 

Not that Yelena hadn’t seen her looking a lot worse. 

The assassin continued loving on her totally smitten dog, who was going to be fully disgusting from wagging and squirming all over the slushy sidewalk while Yelena praised him in Russian. 

“Yelena.”

The widow grinned up at her, giving PD another scratch before pressing to stand in front of Kate. 

“Coincidence, huh?”

Yelena shrugged, and it was annoyingly charming, her whole deal. Deadly charming. 

She wasn’t afraid, a little bit because yeah, if Yelena wanted Kate dead, she’d be dead already, but mostly because she knew more now. Clint had told her, over beer and gingerbread and conversation about Natasha, some things about his fight with Yelena, who she was to Natasha and what that meant to him. He told her a little less about the Red Room and less than that about what it was to be a widow. He told her nothing about the call he made a few days after Christmas, stepping outside speaking Russian, but Kate didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. So yeah, deadly charming but also no longer trying to murder her or her mentor.

Apparently so much in the not-murdering lane that Clint had sent Yelena to check in on her, which, weird choice, but maybe they were talking in a real way now. Clint seemed pretty hellbent on at least trying with the person who had meant so much to his person. Maybe Yelena felt the same. 

As if she were reading Kate’s mind, Yelena said, cheery as ever, “Don’t worry. Barton and I are okay. We are not best friends,” she snorted at herself, somehow making it attractive, “but we have an understanding, and I am no longer going to kill him.” 

It was nice of Yelena, not to mention why she had been out to kill Clint in the first place. Someone has hired a black widow assassin . Yeah. Someone. Kate sagged a little. God, she was tired. 

Yelena said, tilting her head down the path, “Let’s walk and talk?”

Kate couldn’t take her anger out on her mom, but Yelena was right there, so Kate, who had never been accused of not being a brat, frowned a little and took a step back. Yelena definitely noticed, because she was a fucking super spy and Kate wasn’t subtle, but she acted like she didn’t, patting PD’s head gently where he was pressing into her thigh, smile still firmly in place. 

“I…” 

“Barton sent me, if that helps.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Yelena pointedly eyed the new distance between them with a raised brow but waited, silent and steady, for Kate to make a move. 

She could have argued. She could totally have argued. She had plenty of reasons to say no.  A few good ones, even. But she was tired and she was lonely and she had just enough sense in her to overwhelm the stubbornness and brattiness and consider what pushing away the person her friend had sent to check on her would get her. The answer was a pretty swift nothing. She already had a lot of nothing. She didn’t love it. 

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s walk and talk.” 

Yelena’s smile grew, and Kate offered one in return, a little less than full Bishop charm but more real for it. Yelena clapped her hands in front of her and turned with purpose down the path to their left, PD sticking happily by her side. 

“So what did Clint tell you?”

Yelena eyed her. “Straight to business then. Fair enough.” 

“Did you have…non…business…things you wanted to talk about?”

The quirk of Yelena’s lips made Kate’s cheeks heat. So she wasn’t the most articulate right now. Whatever. 

“Well, last time I was here, you said something about a drink.” Her lips turned down slightly. “But I think maybe you were not serious, which I have to say, is a little disappointing. I thought we had fun.” 

“Fun?” Kate said, tone disbelieving and eyebrows raised. “The part where you broke into my apartment and threatened me over mac and cheese?” Yelena made a noise of protest, which Kate ignored. “Or the part where you kicked my ass on the way to kill my mentor?” 

“Still so defensive.” Yelena tsked at her. “So for you, maybe not so much the girls’ night.” Kate snorted, which Yelena ignored. “Okay. But the sparring was fun. And you said you liked me!”

Kate shook her head but was smiling despite herself. “Sparring. That was sparring for you. God, how fast could you have kicked my ass with a little effort?” Yelena shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay well belated thanks for not breaking me in half, or whatever.”

“Removing an obstacle,” Yelena said. “I was a little annoyed, but I had a good time, in the end. I am learning to be more flexible.”

Kate’s smile widened. “Glad I could help. I meant it, about liking you. Only because you didn’t actually kill Clint, though. We would not be chill if you’d gone through with that.”

“But now we are chill?” She was definitely teasing, but it was soft, friendly, and Kate was grateful for it.

“Yeah. We’re chill. And, uh,” the calculation of her pride to loneliness ratio was depressingly quick, “I’d be down for a drink. Or food. Whatever. If you want.”

“See? Non…business…things,” Yelena drawled, imitating Kate’s accent perfectly. 

“Okay, I take it back. Drink invitation revoked.”

Yelena laughed, low and loud, eyes crinkling as she ruffled PD’s fur when he yelped a half-bark in happy solidarity. 

“So I have lost my drink privilege because I am funny. This seems unfair, but I notice you said nothing about food. That is still on the table?”

“Cute,” Kate blurted before her brain could stop her mouth, and at Yelena’s confused expression she added, a little flustered, “The pun, I mean.”

Yelena winked at her, all signs of confusion gone, and Kate rolled her eyes and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat at Yelena’s smile because not right now, Kate .

“Clint sent you?” Kate shot for exasperated but in, like, a friendly way, and it seemed to be fine, if Yelena’s nod was anything to go by. 

“Yes, yes. Barton said you’re having a bit of a shit time. I told him yes of course she’s having a shit time because her mother hired me to kill you and she also killed that rich white man who shares his name with twenty other people and then did many many other illegal things and now she is arrested.”

It was a tone Kate herself used, often in back and forth with Lila, when Clint was being dense. The hand not occasionally patting PD waved in the air in a series of gestures indicating both that Clint was an idiot and that her point was obvious. 

Kate grimaced. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

One side of Yelena’s face scrunched apologetically. “Sorry. Possibly I was too blunt?”

“Nah, it’s nice, honestly. No use dancing around it.”

“Hmm.” She continued, “Well, Barton was worried and wanted me to come see you. To make sure you are okay, which I told him was stupid for all of those reasons but also, to make sure you are safe from those idiots in bad workout clothes and whoever else, which is less stupid and is something I can actually do.”

“He…hired you?”

Yelena laughed and shook her head. “No. No. He could not afford me. But like I said, we have an understanding, and you are important to him. I was already in New York for work, and I will be here for some time, I think. So. Easy enough to find you.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, “We should probably work on that.”

“We?” Kate breathed to herself. 

“We,” Yelena confirmed. “I have a proposal, if you are interested.” 

PD’s tail thwacked against Kate’s leg, Yelena’s hand scratching behind his ear where he had moved to walk between them. 

“Yes, for you, too, хороший мальчик.” 

“His name’s PD, by the way,” Kate offered absently. “Short for Pizza Dog. Or Lucky.” 

Speaking down to PD, Yelena murmured something in Russian, that, based on vibes alone, was, “ Your mother has given you a series of stupid names ,” and then brought her eyes, a little judgmental, back to Kate’s. “I have been told by an associate that I need to take a vacation.” 

Her lips pulled down into a pout, and Kate tried very hard not to focus on her mouth. She was only halfway successful. 

“She was very rude about it, but also, probably, she was right. So, I finished the job that brought me back to New York and I am not taking another one right now. I want to see the city. And Clint Barton does not want to see you die.” 

“Um,” Kate said lamely. 

Yelena plowed on. “Clearly, you are not very good at self-preservation.” “Hey, that’s not…” 

She might as well not have been talking. “For example, I told you to stay out of my way and you decided to do the opposite of that.” Yelena looked at her the way Lila looked at Clint after he spent a solid minute trying to figure out how to get the Switch on. Idiot , her face said. “In fact, you slapped me in an elevator. Now. You are still alive, but that is because I like you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“You are welcome.” So now Yelena heard her. “But the tracksuit idiots will not be so nice, I don’t think. This brings me to my proposal. I will help you to stay alive, and you will show me New York.” 

Well, that was an easy yes. 

Option A: hang out and eat with Yelena and PD, watch Yelena enjoy tourist shit, and maybe, hopefully, learn some black-widow-y things from her while also not dying embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

Option B: continue to do everything she had been doing for the past five days, plus work super hard not to die embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

As much as Kate loved crying over her frozen dinner for one while her dog tried to comfort her, she was willing to try something new, even if it hurt her pride a little. 

And it did. 

She was Hawkeye. It didn’t feel great, needing protection, but something about the offer coming from an assassin skilled enough to kill a literal Avenger took the sting out of it. Also, the help came from Clint and Yelena, not her mom, which was pretty key right now. Plus it was a trade, even if Yelena was only making it feel that way to preserve a little of Kate’s dignity, a kindness that Kate didn’t know if she deserved but really appreciated. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Excellent!” Yelena stopped and bent to PD, who immediately flopped onto his back again. Kate watched the brown, icy water move under his tail and winced preemptively at the inevitable state of her bathroom post-dog bath. He was gonna look so sad in the tub. She was gonna be so sad trying to get him there. “Do you hear that? We are going to spend lots more time together.” 

When she stood again, her eyes wandered and caught eagerly on an ice cream cart. 

A list started forming in Kate’s mind, food and drinks and cute neighborhood walks, options for a good first Broadway show. The trade wasn’t exactly equal–Yelena protecting Kate in exchange for Kate acting as a glorified tour guide/personal Yelp–but Kate could still hold up her end of the bargain and do it well. She was a New Yorker, and she had opinions about most things in the city and those opinions were, of course, right. 

“There’s an ice cream shop six blocks away. Best waffle cones in the city. And I can recommend like 15 flavors. Good place to start?” 

It had been obvious to Kate, that first time in her apartment, that Yelena was performing–her eagerness about New York, the invitation to share food, her laughter and openness. Kate felt it again in their fight. Stop making me like you . Because she had been, and even though Kate knew who she was dealing with, she couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Yelena was beautiful and magnetic and god, so dangerous. Deadly in her charm. Deadly in her ability to disarm. Kate knew. She knew. 

Still, as Yelena’s face lit up at the prospect of ice cream, eyes defiantly bright against the gloom of the day, she found herself drawn in again, and more, something in her pushed back hard against the idea that being a widow meant Yelena wasn’t also a person. A weird, funny, vibrant person. 

“How many flavors will fit in a waffle cone?” She asked, gesturing for Kate to lead the way. She continued before Kate could answer. “We must try some other places to compare. Not to get us off on the wrong leg. It is not that I do not trust you, Kate Bishop the New Yorker, but I would like to learn what makes a waffle cone good. It is important to understand why the best is the best.” 

There was something about the tilt of her lips that made Kate say with confidence, “You 100% know it’s the wrong foot.” 

Yelena looked down at her feet, brow furrowing and head tilting as she considered. Kate’s momentary panic that she’d been a whole ass already dissipated as Yelena winked at her, and she shoved her with her shoulder on instinct, like she would have done with Franny or Greer or Clint. 

It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but there was real surprise on Yelena’s face as she braced against the contact, obvious enough for Kate to follow up. “Sorry, was that okay?” She waved a hand between them. “The shoulder thing, I mean. I didn’t think about it but I know not everyone likes to be touched casually like that. I know we’ve fought, or whatever, but that’s different. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“It’s okay,” she said. After a beat, she added, “Thank you for asking me.” 

“For sure.” Yelena was holding herself tightly, and Kate was pretty sure she got it, not being a huge fan of vulnerability herself, so she rerouted. “Back to the art of waffle cones. The question is really how many flavors do you want to combine? Because creating a complementary situation is essential to cone enjoyment.

“And yes, you’re totally right. We’ve gotta try at least a few other places so you can form your own opinion.” Yelena’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and Kate would probably spend a lot of time later thinking about how much of their interaction was organic and how much was Yelena carefully crafting, but for now, she took the win. “To be clear, though, I’m right about this. PD agrees.” 

Yelena offered her an incredibly unimpressed look. “I hope you are joking.” As Kate’s lips pressed into a line, Yelena sighed. “Kate Bishop. This is not for dogs. You know this.” 

“Hey! They have a pup cup!” 

“Pup cup,” Yelena mocked in an American accent, rolling her eyes. “Is the waffle cone part of this?” 

“I mean…” 

“Mmm.” Yelena nodded and hummed through pursed lips. “That is what I thought.” 

“Careful, PD,” Kate stage whispered. “Your new best friend is gonna take your treats away.” 

Yelena tsked at her with a shake of her head before ruffling the hair behind PD’s ears. “Do not try to turn him against me. He is too smart for that.” 

Kate watched as PD turned his little eye up at Yelena, tongue lolling and tail going hard. Smart wasn’t the word she’d use, but she wasn’t out here trying to shoot arrows in a glass house. She and PD clearly shared a deficient interest in self-preservation when it came to Yelena, both of them a little desperate and belly-up with trust, weak in the face of a beautiful, lethal weirdo. 

Kate really, really wanted to believe it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake. 

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Ten

January limps by without anything much to show for itself. The days are long in NCAD, and it seems to me as I trudge up the stairs towards my classrooms and studios in the mornings that time is actually slowing down. The windows cast weak morning light as the sun only begins to rise a little before nine and then dips out again before I leave college in the late afternoon. I feel brittle and pale, deprived of the sun on my skin like some creature doomed to exist perpetually at night. 

February brings with it a sliver of the faintest hope and a freshness in the air that I’d forgotten was possible. Gone is the dampness, the dullness and the grey, and now some mornings when I wake up early enough I’ll walk to college rather than cycle just so I can go through the green and look at the little snowdrops that have poked their way up through the soil, the stalks of the daffodils not yet bloomed but fertile with the promise of spring. Life becomes repetitive in these months though, they feel like purgatory, like you’re stuck in some waiting room somewhere just holding on for the next thing to happen, and the weeks slide by like that.

I still hang out with Marnie, of course, who by now has dumped Ulysses for an equally gormless alternative, the only discernible difference between them is his name. Ferdia. Apart from that she could have switched them out and I would have never noticed. I’ve stopped even making an effort now, because not a single one of them has ever looked me directly in the eye when I’m talking to them.  

Sometimes we hang out with Dean too, whenever he isn’t working, which means it’s either not often or incredibly late at night when he emerges from Primo looking vampiric, all pale, wan skin and a shock of blonde hair, those hazel eyes always looking a bit deranged and manic. He prefers to hang out in places outside of the main drag where the drinks are cheap, because he drinks a lot. Not in the way my father drinks, where he slowly gets through a whiskey, and then another, and another over the course of an evening or a night until he’s accidentally drunk. With Dean there’s this deliberate recklessness to it, like he’s interested specifically in getting twisted using the most efficient process available. It still takes him a long time to do it, I’ve noticed, and even after drinking a staggering amount he manages to just sit there at the table and look normal where I know I’d be hospitalised if I attempted the same. 

We’re at a pub near Mountjoy Square some Tuesday night in late February when he turns up, loping in the door in his work trousers and this oversized fleece. I can see he has his apron rolled into a ball and stuffed into one of its giant pockets. 

“You’re late.” Marnie says. 

“I’m worth waiting for.” He replies as he pulls out a chair next to Fiona at our table and plonks himself into it. “Just the three of you tonight?”

“Yes, is that satisfactory?” 

He smirks at her. “Where’s your boyfriend tonight?” She shrugs and fiddles with her hair in a way that she thinks is nonchalantly, because she doesn’t want to tell him that Ferdia’s not coming out with us anymore as long as Dean keeps saying things to him that make him feel insecure. If he notices or cares about her reaction he doesn’t show it, and instead grabs my empty glass off the table and points at me. “Drink?” 

“Yeah.” I say. “White wine.”

“Okay posho.” he says and then asks the others what they want. When he’s not looking at me anymore I’m free to stare at him. His hair is growing out a bit at the roots now and it’s the same dark, black brown as his eyebrows. I try to visualise what it would look like naturally, and think that maybe it’d suit him, it might make him look less severe. My eyes skate down to where the silver chain around his neck just peeks out from the top of his fleece and glints under the lights of the pub… 

“Anything else? Packet of crisps?” My silent observation is interrupted by Dean abruptly turning back to me and locking his eyes on mine again. 

“Oh, um. No, just the wine would be alright.” 

He gets up, the chair scraping behind him and heads to the bar and I watch him go, walking with that broad, wide legged stance that small men do when they want everyone to think that they’re big. 

“Evie Kilbride!” Fiona puts her hand on mine and forces me to look away from him. She’s using her faux-outraged voice on me and for a horrifying moment I assume she’s seen me checking out Dean. “You never told me it’s your birthday next week! I can’t believe I had to hear this from Marnie.”

“Oh.” I say awkwardly. I didn’t think that Fiona and I were in any way close enough to be sharing our birthday dates with each other. The only thing we have in common is that we both hang out with Marnie so I’m surprised she’s even bringing it up. “It’s on the fourth of March.”

“Twenty?”

“No, nineteen.”

“Oh right, well I thought you looked young.” She looks at her reflection in the window and smooths down her hair. “Do you have a plan?”

“My housemate is taking me out to dinner, actually.”

“Oh, nice. And after that?”

“I don’t know, I suppose we might go to a pub for a few drinks. It’s on a Sunday, so it’s kind of an awkward day.”

“Well what about the night before?” Marnie pipes up. “We could organise a thing with the people from college, book out a section of a bar and have a little bit of a celebration.”

“Oh, no, I-”

“Come on, you’re only nineteen once, let’s make a night of it. I’ll bake a cake for it.”

“You cannot bake.” Fiona scoffs. “I know by the cut of you, you’ve never used an oven in your life. You couldn’t even fry an egg or make a slice of toast.”

Marnie snickers. “Well, fine, alright, perhaps that’s true. But I’ll have one made for her then, I’ll go down to the bakery in Blackrock and order one.”

“That all sounds like a lot.” I protest. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, it’s not like it’s a significant birthday or anything.”

Fiona rests her chin in her hand and stares at me. Something about her is very feline. “Well, did you have a big eighteenth birthday bash then? Tell us about it.”

I purse my lips as I think back on last year, and how I insisted I didn’t want to acknowledge my birthday for the whole day, even though Claire made a big deal of bringing eighteen cupcakes into school for me with little stripy candles in each of them. I made her light them on the benches at the far side of the hockey field so that nobody in my class would know. Later on we drove to McDonalds and talked in the car. 

“It one of ye’re birthdays is it?” Dean says with minimal interest as he rejoins our table laden with drinks and I immediately scoop the wine glass towards me and take a drink from it to hide my face as Marnie points at me. 

“Evie’s is next week.” She tells him. “And she was trying to hide it. The only reason I found out is because I saw it on Ida’s class list.”

“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” I say, and it makes her roll her eyes. “If she leaves it down on the table I’m obviously going to look at it, babe.”

“Yours?” Dean swivels in his chair to face me. “The big one-nine?”

“What were you doing at nineteen, Dean?” Fiona says. “All those decades ago.”

“Hilarious.” 

“Crazy, growing up during World War 2 I’d say.”

“Yep.”

“How’re the knees?”

“Right, I get it, I’m old.” He rolls his eyes and looks at me as if to say Can you believe how much of a head-wreck she is? Which makes me laugh furtively with him, because I get it. Fiona really does think she’s being funny even when she isn’t. With his full attention on me then he asks me directly. “What are you doing for it?”

“That’s what we were trying to discuss.” Marnie tells him. “I was thinking we’d hire out the back room in a bar and invite a load of people from college. We were just discussing the cake part when you interrupted.”

“Sorry.” He says, non-apologetically.

She turns to me with hands on the table like we’re having an important business discussion. “Do you prefer Chocolate or Red Velvet?”

“I’m not telling you because I don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, Evie, why not?” She whines. “Can’t you see it’ll be fun? When do we get a genuine excuse to celebrate something anymore?”

“Why not for your birthday?”

“Because I’m going skiing in Switzerland for it.” I catch Dean giving me a sidelong glance from the corner of my eye but I know I can’t look at him in case I start laughing. 

“Well,” I say. “It’s still not happening because I’m not able to afford any of that stuff. The venue alone could cost a few hundred euros, and that’s just not possible for me.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll pay for it.”

“Marnie-” She holds a hand up to silence me. “I literally don’t want to hear about it. It’s whatever. It’s my gift to you.”

I look over at Dean for some support but she’s shrugging. “I mean, if she wants to do it…” He’s saying.

“For God’s sake.” I say, becoming weary from this conversation. “I don’t even have enough friends to fill out a venue, it’d just be empty and embarrassing.”

“You have us, and the twelve others in our class.” Fiona supplies. “Then we have Ferdia’s friends from the poetry nights, and I could ask along some friends from school, your housemate and her boyfriend? Their friends?”

“Yeah, I guess we could ask them.”

Marnie points at Dean. “Are you working that night?”

“Yeah, so I’d be late.”

“Okay so bring your pizza boys.” She leans back in her seat victoriously. “That’s heaps of people. There’s more than a reason to have this party.”

“You’re making it impossible to say no.”

“So say yes.”

“Hmph.”

“Is it a yes?”

“I won’t be able to stop you, will I?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

Prev // Next

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Eight, Part 6

* * * *

The last plate was set in the window. We could turn down. Justin flipped off the fryers and I turned all the grills off. The place wasn't too bad a mess, and we'd have it cleaned up in less than an hour. It wasn't a busy night, but I wouldn't really call it slow either. Quiet and easy. A typical Tuesday night.

"I swear to god, I hate you every time you get to pick the music," I said as I wiped off the counter. Tequila was playing on the grease splattered and burnt little blue tooth speaker pumped out into the line. And I hate that song with a fiery passion.

"You love it." He laughed.

Justin finished up his stuff and then punched out, heading to the bar to miss Amber's every way to gain his attention. I stepped into the office to do my daily paperwork, plus a new check of inventory. It's boring work, and tedious but it has to be done.

Once I finished, I made my way to join Justin at the bar. A small group were sitting on the far side of the bar. Three guys who looked like they were in the wrong joint. When I say they didn't fit in, they didn't. They were dressed like some weird combination of a stoned surfer and a bro frat dude. They looked like the very epitome of what calling someone a douche bag looks like. But they seemed to be quiet and Amber was serving them. Maybe they just like the look of asshole.

"High life?" Amber asked as I took a stole next to Justin. I sat my bag on the floor, and nodded at Amber. The last couple shifts ended with whiskey sours, but I just wasn't feeling that tonight

"Thanks, Nugget,," I said as she put the bottle in front of me. Justin was drinking some tap beer, "how'd you make out tonight?"

"Wasn't awful. One guy tipped me twenty on two drinks."

"Nice. Didn't really seem like all that busy of a night, at least from back there," I motioned towards the swinging door leading into the kitchen.

"Steady," Justin said, finally adding himself into the conversation.

"Yeah, that's it. Steady." I said, echoing Justin's words.

"No complaints." Amber said, feeding both our egos.

"Are there ever?" Justin said, beating me to the punch. I chuckled and took a sip of my beer. Justin and Amber kept talking, and there voices faded away as I slipped into the loving comfort of my head.

"Yes. It does happen sometimes. You two aren't perfect." Amber looked at him with a smile that said so much more than happiness. And for just the smallest of seconds, I saw Justin's mouth twitch into the same thing.

"Blasphemy." I said flatly. And then I ruined the joke by laughing. Sometimes I could pull it off, but not this time. This only caused both Amber and Justin to crack up.

"Nobody's perfect, Chris." Amber said as she wiped her eyes

"True, but I'm as close as one can get," I said, still wearing my false ego on my face. And still laughing at the absurdity of the scene.

"You egotistical fuck," Justin laughed. I shrugged, knowing when a joke has run its course. It's strange what one can find funny, because I don't even know what really was so funny. Justin and Amber went back to a conversation I didn't listen to.

Soon enough, we were the only ones left in the building, and Amber locked us in. This actually wasn't all that rare of an occurrence. Even after close, we'd hang out until Amber had finished her closing list down. Justin and I would have one last beer while she went about her tasks.

Amber put a High Life in front me and wouldn't let me pay for it. She did this everything we stayed later. She finished up the tills and poured herself a drink.

"You can't deny that Tiger Army aren't versatile. The sound like rockabilly, country, and punk. Hell, look at my wrist," I lifted my hand of show him the tattoo. I had the words "Forever Fades Away tattooed on the inside of my wrist. He'd seen it before.

"It's the singers voice. I can't stand it. That weird soft falsetto. It just annoys me. Nails on a chalkboard."

"Your ears suck. You should get that checked. Your musical tastes might get better."

"Oh, get fucked." He replied. A typical conversation.

"Who's getting fucked?" Amber asked, finally coming into the conversation. Everything was done for the night.

"No one, sadly." Justin sighed the words out in soft whistle.

"Justin's awful taste in music is fucked." I pointed a thumb at Justin.

"Says the guy with Veggietales songs saved in his playlist." Amber said with sarcasm. Of course, she'd side with Justin. And he noticed

"Because your his cheeseburger! His tasty Cheeseburger! He'll wait for you-who, he'll wait for you-who yeah!" I sang loudly and off key into the empty dining room and bar.

[the-firebird69]

The sun is exhausted from not sleeping a full night you got about 7 and 1/2 hours which is not bad but that includes 3 hours in the early evening last night so it wasn't the greatest but he did feel better you can probably sleep right now but make him move and yeah much longer all of them don't

--it's a huge day things are going to be starting in a big way all over the world and not just here and yeah this is a gross scene

Thor Freya

You should do what they say behind your back tons of stuff they're horrible

Hera

This does won't last long it's going to be at 2:30 and it could last an hour and he says that's actually quite a bit for anybody and we acknowledge that. It might not be for that long then again I might get here earlier and it says he tasted so I'm looking at saying it's partially here I'm getting bigger and bigger so now it's 0.2 rad in punta Gorda it's going to go up to one about 1.3 rad then it will be coming back down but it's going to go peak at about 3:00 p.m. and he will off gas it pretty quick but he'll probably will go in 3/8 of an inch at least at that high level if he's outside and I might not want to be outside but and a lot of people don't want to be but if he's exposed here we think 50% of the lipoma contents will be destroyed and the fat and the lipoma starts to break down too

This things are not simple to calculate and it takes experience a lot of people don't get it a lot of people are sick from this medicine I'm not going to expose on purpose but to find out if they recover from the exposure that they're doing much better it's going on now it's nothing that's prevalent but it is happening so several people. Brad German is one bja noticed that he's recovering better Trump is not capable of noticing it and he's getting sick his son is noticing it's a little easier and most of these girls cuz they're daughters are realizing that they are looking a little better and they recover that's because the radiation helps them out a little bit at lower doses usually 0.5 rad and lower when it gets above there they're actually going to do worse so today is not the day to be hanging out outside and most of them won't be Sherry might be and Stan and Mack and a few other girls who might be Giants Ken should but he is not doing it.

More shortly

Nuada Arrianna

Please think that prolonged exposure at a low level is not that bad if you are prolonging exposure at a higher level it isn't that great one rad is not very high and our son has experienced it about 10 times in life and he's been fine this would be a little bit over but it's going to go up to about two RADS maximum here the three rings are deteriorating rapidly and they're going to send more up here it'll be later on around 4:00 p.m. this is start going down at 3:00 p.m. to about 7 and when that comes up it will go back up to about 1.2 and at that time it might start raining it looks like it might now

We're hoping it works it seems to it's very slow but it's a small doses which is really a good way to do it it's getting used to it there's some things that have healed not in a major way but they started his ankles are one of them it started to clear up a little other areas on his back people notice some of that stuff falling off and his stomach is getting smaller so it is just a start when the bigger stuff will start possibly this week we're looking for it but the thinking of the tip is big that will start this week it won't start until probably Tuesday or Wednesday and that would be a huge amount of will be a big cloud it won't reach over here from the East it when it's halfway it will start on Wednesday morning so there's more happening

--in the Midwest the Southwest the 10 cities are slowly emptying right now it's a normal process what is the big thing for this to happen right now going from 15% to 14% And the second batch 30% to 28% right now expect by the end of the night tomorrow morning it will be approximately 12% and 25%? We plan on Courtney off those five cities hopefully tonight more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

[loiswolf]

Day 7 June 2 Tok Alaska - Beaver Creek Yukon Canada 97kms + 80kms hitchhiked

It was so tempting to stay in that hostel forever. The only way I could get myself moving this morning was to book somewhere to stay tonight.

I think I mentioned that Tuesday it poured rain all day, Wednesday it snowed!

And yesterday I was just too comfortable and happy where I was to get up and go anywhere. Slack, I know! Part of the problem was the distance I had to cover today because there was no accommodation anywhere in between.

So this morning I left the hostel at about 8:30 while the other guests slept on. Here is a photo of the hostel with Tim ( the guy who climbed in the window to unlock my door) and Pierre a cello player headed for Anchorage to play in an orchestra.

They were both lovely and I missed them when they left on Tuesday morning. The hostel was very quiet but I occupied myself by changing beds, cleaning and doing laundry for my lovely host Chris, who told me I could stay as long as I want, for no charge. I also watched a lot of dvds over the next 3 days in between making myself useful.

So the plan today was to definitely get a lift for part of the distance. The first 20kms to the Tetlin Junction were easy enough. I was wearing more layers than I ever have before to keep warm, and it worked. The road was flat and very quiet at that time of morning.

I was expecting headwinds and big hills as soon as I passed the junction. Nup, it was very pleasant riding with just long slow gentle hills and downhills. I think the wind was behind me if there was any at all.

Slowly the hills became bigger and I decided it might be time to start trying to get that ride. Suitable vehicles didn’t come along very often but finally, when I had done nearly 60kms, Caroline and Martin ( a Swiss couple) pulled over in their campervan to help me out.

They were both cycle tourists so had a lot of sympathy for me. I think the hills increased again and we drove past the halfway point at Northern Junction, continuing on to a little tourist information place for the Tetlin Nation Park.

We unloaded Shirley and stopped for a break. It was a beautiful scenic place, the sun was out and it was time to start removing my layers. I managed to scrounge a cup of coffee from the ranger (boy) in the info centre who was very sweet. Then I had my donut and some tea and grapes Caroline and Martin were kind enough to share with me.

I was happy to cycle from there as I didn’t want the complication of going through customs in the van with a Swiss couple. I didn’t realise that our passports would not be checked until we reached the Canadian border over 30kms on. In between customs offices is some kind of weird no man’s land.

I had only cycled a couple of kms from my break spot when I was stopped by roadworks. The lady declared it was unsafe for me to cycle the next section so I had to unload Shirley again, put everything in the back of the ute, and be driven the next few kms over the “unsafe” roadworks. I’m sure Shirley and I could have negotiated it without any problem but it was no hardship to be driven again.

Back on the bike it was only a couple of kms to the US customs check. About 50m before there was another lady with a stop sign holding up traffic because there was a bear on the road I had just cycled over. 😟 Nup, I didn’t see it.

The scenery nearly all day was breathtakingly beautiful but it doesn’t look anywhere near as good in my photos.

The next 30kms in no man’s land were a bit hilly to start with but flattened out for the last 10kms. The road surface was pretty bad. I guess it’s nobody’s responsibility to fix it so it doesn’t get done.

I was thinking that I would still have another 20-30kms after I reached the Canadian customs office but was very happy to learn that Beaver Creek was only another 2kms. Yeah, but watch for the bear that sometimes is just up the road!!( said the customs boy/man)

He also asked me many, many questions about my trip, finances and everything. I’m not sure if he was just nosy or if they were essential questions. Must be slow going if a lot of traffic was going through and everyone was interrogated for so long.

So it was only 2 bear free kms down the road until I reached my destination. I lost an hour today so I didn’t arrive until 5:30pm. I hate to think how long it would have taken without help.

I’m staying in a little cabin at a place called Buckshot Betty’s. It’s overpriced but ok. I’m very happy to be in Canada where the exchange rate is much better and distances are in kilometres.

Tomorrow is a short day….trying to keep it a bit easier.

[baby-girl-e]

It’s been a long long time

Characters - Iceman x Maverick, Goose x Carol, Hangman x Rooster

Summary - Maverick had acquired three miracles in his life, Three things he doesn’t think he can live without until he loses them, and gets them back. 

Word Count - 3.7k

Warnings - Cannon character death, Grief, funeral, hopelessness, re-imagining of the afterlife

A/N - This is by far the saddest thing I’ve ever written, but also the sappiest if you can believe it. The inspiration for this fic came to me after I watched a TikTok of a sweet old lady that described what she thinks the afterlife might look like. I want to make it clear this is far from religious, just very sweet. Please enjoy and don’t come at me with your pitchforks if I made you cry, because I certainly did.

Maverick was a reckless son of a bitch. He lived a life of adrenaline, a life running from one adventure to another. His first adventure was learning to fly, forcing his way into a Navy that didn’t want him. He knew what he wanted and he went out and got it. Flying brought him his next adventure, Nick Bradshaw. The man that became ‘mother goose’ was a friend you only got once in your life. He was married to a smart as a whip girl that could put you in your place and make you laugh in the same sentence. Together they had a kid that was smart enough to cure cancer and like his parents, brighten up your entire day. The whole family was a ray of sunshine that nobody could resist. That ray of sunshine even melted his next adventure, the iceman. Now this adventure did not start out as such. It started out as more of a thing to be conquered. If he was better than him, he was truly the best there ever was.  In his strife for victory he overlooked one simple thing about the man, he wasn’t in it for fame and glory. No, he wanted to climb to the top to make a difference. He wanted to look out for the little guy, and what better way to do that then from a rank that can make actual change. So yeah he flew ice cold, no mistakes, but it was because he had to. It pissed Maverick off at first, but then he started to see the heart in him and couldn’t help but fall in love.

 These three adventures became like three miracles to Maverick. He felt like if he had these three things then he would be happy. But as human life goes, nothing lasts forever. The first Miracle he lost was Goose. His sunshine. It happened on a regular Tuesday and came out of nowhere. That flat spin he couldn’t recover and the faulty canopy together took away his light. After that he made sure to watch out for Goose’s little family. He made sure Carol always had enough money and that Bradley always had someone to play ball with. It was then when one of his miracles, Ice, stepped in and really started to shine. Their relationship started that day on the carrier when they declared themselves wingmen. Their adrenaline ran high as they got back to their quarters, unable to resist the bubbling feelings between them any longer and sank into a desperate kiss. They decided then that though they had to hide, it would be worth it. It meant the entire world to Maverick that the man who made his reputation and living on following the rules, would break one of the biggest ones just for him. They carried on like that, loving each other, flying, and taking care of the Bradshaws. It worked well, for a while. It seemed like the worst of their lives was over. On yet another regular Tuesday, Carol left them as well. From diagnosis to death bed it was a fast and slow six months. Little ten year old Bradley understanding and bearing the weight of two dead parents. Luckily Uncle Ice and Uncle Mav were there to pick up the pieces the best they can, only to lose him eight years later when they tried to stop him from flying. “Tom, we did the right thing, right? Obeying his mothers wishes?” They were sitting on their backyard porch swing of their shared house, Mav between Ice’s legs, his back pressed against his chest, it rumbled when he spoke. “It was the only choice we had. You know we had to do this. For Carol.” Maverick hummed his agreement, “for Carol.” It was a mantra that carried both of them through the coming years. It was hard on both of them to not have any contact with a kid they considered to be their son. 

Ice climbed the ranks while Maverick made his home at the rank of captain. High enough to gain some respect, but not too high that they chained him to a desk and clipped his wings. It was 2011 when Ice made his first change. He had climbed all the way to the comfy job of Commander of the US pacific fleet, brushing shoulders with all of the powerful people and even the president they both liked so much. Ice had come home one night all smiles, something uncharacteristic for the job he had. When Maverick enquired as to why he was in such a mood all he did was kiss him and tell him he loved him. It wasn’t until early Sunday morning while they were lazing in bed with the TV on when their ‘friend’ the president came on the screen. Both men immediately turned their focus from each other to the TV in time to hear his speech. Mavericks ears were ringing and eyes fuzzy with tears, he heard the words ‘Don’t ask don’t tell’ and ‘repeal’ and he was all but jumping on the man he referred to (In the right audience) as his husband. Ice didn’t seem as shocked as he was, but he was no less happy. Maverick was like an overeager puppy from there on out, touching Ice as much as he could in public, seeming to try and make up for the 20 years they couldn’t. He was always pushing the limits, and now he could do so without feeling guilty for dragging Ice down with him. Ice was happy to indulge, Maverick had rubbed off on him after all. When their favorite president legalized gay marriage in 2015 they, like many other couples, scrambled to get married. They invited Bradley and pretended not to let it get to them when he didn’t show. They were lucky enough to get their TOP GUN class of ‘86 there with Slider as Ice’s best man and Merlin as Maverick’s. The jokes that night were never ending, the entire class deep diving into how they totally knew they were in love even back when neither pilot knew themselves. 

It was the summer of 2016 that Maverick thought he might lose his next miracle. Ice had a nasty sore throat that turned out to be so much worse. Sitting hand in hand in the doctor's office ears once again ringing and eyes fuzzy with tears but this time for all the wrong reasons. Cancer. The same disease that took his friend would now potentially take his soulmate, his husband, his wingman. “It’ll be okay hun, we’ll get through this.” Ice was comforting Maverick even though it was Ice who was going to do all of the suffering. Or so Maverick thought. Ice went through all of the treatments he was told to, soldiering through like he always did. Maverick was another case all together. He was the one breaking down in tears at the sight of his husband, he was struggling so bad that Slider had to come over to watch Ice for a day just to force Maverick to leave the house. The day the doctor told them he was in remission was the second greatest day of his life, his wedding day being the first. They felt invincible again, like nothing could ever bring them down. Maverick felt cocky even, “Hell yeah, My husband beat cancer, no big.” Life started to get back to normal for a while, Ice went back to work, Maverick got a pretty good gig thanks to his husband, test piloting some pretty cool aircrafts. Mav had a hanger in the Mojave desert and split his time between there and their fighter-town house. They still missed Bradley like crazy but were starting to accept that this was probably going to be their lives for a while. 

Ice’s cancer came back the summer of 2019. Ice handled the news better than Maverick, once again, quoting that it wasn’t uncommon for cancer to come back sometimes. He insisted that Maverick continue his work with the ‘Darkstar’ as if nothing was wrong, even he continued working to the best of his abilities. It wasn’t until Maverick came back from crashing the ‘Darkstar’ (an event Ice knew was bound to happen) and accepted his assignment at TOP GUN that Ice’s condition took a turn for the worse. Maverick hadn’t thought such a thing could happen, given how valiantly his husband had fought it off the last time. Ice did best to assure Maverick he was fine, but to no avail. Maverick knew, this could be it. Ice had encouraged him nightly to try and talk to Bradley, to try and reconcile with the boy. Maverick took it to heart, like he always did when Ice was concerned, and tried at every opportunity presented to him. But one night after a particularly hard training day, almost losing three separate kids, he wasn’t in the mood to fight with Bradley. The kid on the other hand had other ideas. “Nobody to mourn you when you burn in.” Those words stung more than the others. Bradley knew that wasn’t true, he was invited to their wedding after all. The argument spurred on from there and got worse and worse until… it got the worst it could ever. Warlock opens the door and after he says, “It’s Ice” his heart stops. Ice had collapsed at work and… things weren’t looking good. Maverick ran out the door and jumped on his Kawasaki speeding the familiar route to the hospital. His heart beating in his ears mind racing he vaguely hears himself say “My- my husband. Tom Kazansky?” Nurses are ushering him into a room with a haste he doesn’t like. He sees his husband then, The Iceman, The Commander of the US pacific fleet, the love of his life, looking small in a hospital bed. Ice’s face lights up when he sees his husband and if Maverick wasn’t so attuned to his husbands movements he would’ve missed the slight hand twitch that meant he wanted to hold his husbands hand. He was on a ventilator looking sleepy but Maverick could tell he was staying awake as long as he could for the sake of his beloved. “Baby,” Was all Maverick could squeeze out of his throat that had tightened. He moved quickly to his side to grip his hand, kissing it and his cheek. Tears were streaming down his face actively now. The doctor came in just then to update Maverick on the situation. It was only a matter of hours that Ice had left. He then told Maverick that Ice would probably not be able to speak at all, but it was up to Tom if he could manage. The doctor left them alone and Maverick sobbed into his husband's chest. Lifting his head up he looked into his soulmates still loving eyes. “Oh Ice, my love. We deserved more time. 36 years with you wasn’t enough. How am I supposed to live without you?” Ice smiled at Maverick, patting his cheek. Mav knew his husband well enough to know that meant, you have to. “I don’t want to. I won’t.” Ice was crying now too, a rare sight as the man was a Pillar of emotional stability. He put his hand at the joint of Mavericks neck and shoulder and squeezed giving him a sincere look. “I- love you.” Was all he could manage and so soft it was a near whisper. “I love you too, so much.” Maverick leaned in and kissed his husband for the final time. He put his soul into it, knowing in his bones that this was it. He pulled away by some force that wasn’t of this realm. He smiled at his husband and he got to see him smile back one last time before he closed his eyes. There went Mavericks’ second miracle. ‘I love you’ being his final words. 

Ice’s funeral was brutal to say the least. He remembers only parts of it, the pinning of his wings, the gun salute, and the flyby. He got so many condolences he couldn’t remember most. He did remember one though, one very important one. Bradley. The young man had approached him after the burial and just hugged his once Uncle. “I’m so sorry uncle Pete. So sorry.” Pete wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, but just hugged him as tightly as he could for the first time in a decade. He just wished Ice was there to see it. “It’ll be okay baby goose. We’re going to be okay.” Pete could tell how much guilt the boy carried with him at never reconciling with his other Uncle. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Bradley scurried off somewhere. It wasn’t until they were on the carrier that they spoke again, promising to really talk after they got back. There was a moment or two, during that mission that he thought he was done for. The first instance being when he saved Bradley. He was at peace with his decision, saving his son and leaving to be with his husband was not something he was too torn up about. But then he woke up in the snow, Bradley stopping him from being shot by an enemy chopper, he cursed the boys 'maverick-like’ instincts. The next time he thought he was dead he wasn’t so at peace with the situation. Bradley was in the back seat and he was going to fight like hell to get him home. He decided at that moment, when they were being saved, to buy Lieutenant Seresin something nice. Hugging Bradley on the carrier healed him just as much as his hug at Ice’s funeral did. 

After that mission he slowed down a bit. Only a little, but enough. He kept his and Ice’s house exactly the same as Ice had left it, cleaning regularly, but the decor never changed. What had changed was the pictures on the walls multiplied. There was the photo of him and Bradley hugging on the carrier, a photo of him and the entire Dagger squad, a group that had stayed in touch even after everything was over. There was a photo of Bradley and Jake when they had started dating, a fact that Maverick wished he could’ve told Ice even if it was more of a I told you so. A photo of the young couples wedding, Maverick being Bradley’s best man, it sat nicely next to Ice and Mavericks. He received many photos of his daggers over the years, them and their families. He found himself keeping 12 frames up and switching them out every year when he was sent new ones. Then there were the kids, like actual kids. Jake and Bradley had adopted a little baby girl and named her Carol Nicole, and then three years later a little boy and surprised Maverick by naming him Thomas Peter Seresin-Bradshaw. Pete cried for a solid hour and hugged his sons close. He cried even harder when they had explained they wanted them to always remember their grandparents. 

Maverick had really come into his own as a grandpa. He not only had Jake and Bradley’s kids, but his daggers brought their kids around too. He watched them grow up still wishing he had Ice with him. The number of pictures grew and grew until there was barely any wall left. Maverick was just so proud of his family. As he aged up, his flying days were numbered. He retired from the navy a few years after baby Thomas was born, his last flight in a fighter jet was an F-14 they had saved. The whole family showed up, daggers and all. Bradley was at his wing and even Slider was in his back seat. “I wish Ice could’ve been here.” Slider sighed into the radio, “Me too man. But you know he never left you. Not even God could keep that man from you, why? I’ll never figure it out.” Maverick chuckled and carried on his flight. He mumbled a ‘Talk to me goose.’ And a silent ‘I love you.’ To his forever wingman. Landing that jet hurt more than it should’ve, it had been his lifeline for so long, just him and his jet. His family all hugged him and took a picture, that photo ending up on his wall. It wasn’t until his 80th birthday that he took his actual last flight. It was in the plane he kept at his hangar in the Mojave with little Tommy. Little was a bit of an exaggeration given that he turned 16 that year. Maverick was happy to fly with his grandson, to share with him something that united the kids entire family, especially his namesake. Even though the kids never met Grandpa Ice, a fact that broke Mavericks heart on multiple occasions, They still made sure to tell them stories about the man. They’d say he was the bravest man alive, and even though they never met, he loved them so much. After that flight with Thomas, Maverick stepped out of an airplane for the last time. He didn’t know it at the time, but this miracle leaving him didn’t hurt like the other ones did. He didn’t feel gut wrenching pain or heartache. He felt joy, spending the day with his grandson only to return him to his sons at the end. He went home that night with a smile on his face, feeling at peace. 

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell died two weeks later peacefully in his sleep. The cause was unknown, but his kids would say it was time for him to return to his soulmate. The two had been apart for too long and Maverick was not meant to be away from him for extended periods of time. They were sad of course, but they knew it was for the best. For Pete on the other hand, it was the best thing to happen to him in a while. It was like he was on a bus, sitting patiently among others waiting to get off. It was peaceful, not quiet, but not loud. When the bus stopped the driver said it was time to get off, that this was the end of the route. Pete stood and walked to the exit, unsure of what would greet him outside. When the doors opened it was sunny outside, and there stood a man, Blonde hair spiked, green flight suit with a patch that read Iceman. He had a cocky but kind look on his face as he took off his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. Maverick felt old compared to the young man, in his old man sweater, but as he stepped off the bus to greet him he himself was wearing his signature white shirt and jeans, cowboy boots and leather jacket. He was young again, just as he was when he met Ice to be exact. Maverick took in the man once again, his husband, he had missed him so much. “Hey stud.” He even sounded just like he remembered, that voice could calm him in a millisecond. The voice that was stolen from him too soon. “Baby.” Maverick whimpered and threw himself at his husband. Tom caught him with no trouble and hugged him tight. He laughed in Pete’s ear and if he wasn't already dead he’s sure that sound would have done him in. “I missed you Pete.” And even though for Ice it had only been a few hours, Pete believed him. “I missed you too. I love you so much.” Pete pulled back to look at his face and couldn't help but kiss him. The kiss was warm, happy, it felt like home. 

They pulled back at the sound of what could only be described as howling. “Great balls of fire, there you are Petey!” Goose. Maverick turned around and there stood his best friend, arm slung around his beloved wife. “Goose!” Pete exclaimed before tackling the man into a hug. He could faintly hear both Ice and Carol laughing, but he was too busy hugging Nick. “Hey Mav, how are you buddy?” Maverick was tearing up at his voice, he forgot how much he had missed this man. “Oh I’m so good Goose. I missed you buddy.” Nick pulled back and gave him a smile. “I missed you too, man! Ice here filled me in on what I missed, you two were definitely busy.” Pete laughed, that was for sure an understatement. “Indeed, hey did you know we’re all grandparents?” The group was all smiles, happy to hear about their family. “Yeah and we’re all pretty pissed that you’re the only grandparent they met. They probably thought we were all crazy!” Carol was still Carol it seems. Mav put his arm around Ice’s waist and cuddled in. Tom kissed the top of his head and leaned against it. “Oh and this whole thing?” Goose gestured between the reunited lovers, “Was quite a surprise. Rivals my ass.” Carol playfully slapped her husband's arm, “Oh you’re just mad you didn’t call it sooner.” As the couple continued their loving bickering, something that was apparently still a thing in the afterlife, Pete turned to his husband. “So, what is there to do around here?” Ice gave him a grin, like he knew something Maverick didn’t. “Why do you think I’m wearing a flight suit?” Pete could’ve cried at that, he could fly again? “Really?” Ice nodded and called over to goose who was still teasing his wife. “Hey mother Goose, up for a flight?” Nick ran over and it was then that Pete noticed he too was in his flight suit. “Flying with Maverick again? Try and stop me.” And just like that, Pete had back his three miracles. His wings, his best friend, and his beloved. It had been so long since he had all three, and never at that same time. He thinks he’s gonna like it here. 

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Closing Time (Johnny Utah x fem!reader)

Summary: You work at a clothing store, you get a last minute customer at closing time and sexy tims happen.

Pairing: Johnny Utah x fem!reader

Author’s Notes: So I’m slowly getting back to writing. I’m not gonna say I’m fully back just yet, but for this week at least, there will be content! Huge thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime and @meetmeinthematinee​ for being cheerleaders and giving me early feedback on this! 

Wordcount: 3125

Warnings: smut. oral sex (F! receiving); dirty talk; unprotected sex with strangers (don’t do this kids!); sex in inappropriate places.

Most days you quite enjoyed it when there was barely any movement at the store. It gave you the opportunity of just being by yourself, reading a book, or enjoying some music or studying for college, things that you didn’t always have the privacy of doing at your dorm because your roommate seemed to always be around. Even during the summer and what was up with that? Didn’t she have better things to do?

She wasn’t like you, who actually had to work to put yourself through college and took some extra jobs during the summer so you could have some savings for the following term when all you managed to get were part-time jobs that you had fit in between classes and paid shit.

Fortunately, at the shop, you had some peace and time for yourself. It was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall sort of place around Venice Beach where tourists could get some shirts and other knickknacks to take back home and locals surfers could find cheap clothing and supplies for a day out on the beach. Most days, you worked from 9-5 and after your shift, you could head to the beach, spread your towel on the sand and enjoy the gorgeous Californian sunset. However, as the summer winded out and the fall winds blew the scalding hot weather into simmering heat, your boss let you close a little early, especially on Tuesdays, when most tourists had already headed home and the new arrivals hadn’t landed yet so there were barely any customers around.

Your plan today had been to finish your reading for class and start the new crime thriller you picked up at the used books store on your way to work. Except, today you were just too restless to focus. You must have reread the same paragraph of your textbook twenty times before you gave up and set it aside, giving the other book a go, but it was just as unsuccessful at holding your attention.

So instead, you moved around the cramped space, adjusting the decoration items, dusting off shelves, and refolding every single shirt in the display until it was perfectly symmetrical while you willed time to move faster so you could end this day. Maybe it was the heatwave that had made an appearance turning the air in the shop stifling and all you had to help you was an old and slow fan that made more noise than blow air. The A/C was busted and your boss still hadn’t called someone to fix it.

Another possibility was the fact that you had to keep the glass doors opened to help circulate a little air and every time any kind of wind blew or someone walked in, it brought with them the crisp smell of salt and sand that always made you ache for the ocean and fight against the temptation of just abandoning everything and heading for the beach so you could cool off taking a dip in the deliciously cold water. Either way, you kept checking the slow ticking of the clock hands, counting the seconds before you could turn the closed sign.

When the minute hand finally hit twelve, you let out a cheer, jumping off your stool and taking a step towards the door. You always locked the doors first to discourage most last-minute walk-ins while you closed the register, put away the money in the back office safe, and slipped out of the store through the back door, taking any garbage with you to throw in the dumpster outside.

Before you could move from behind the counter, a man stepped into the store and you groaned low in your throat. Of-fucking-course! It was like they stood in wait to come in at the precise moment you were about to head out.

“Hey, you’re still open, right?” He asked, pushing the overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and offering you an unsure smile. You felt the urge to lie and say that no, you were closed and he should come back tomorrow.

“Yeah, sure.” You said instead placing your best and most fake seller’s smile. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks!” He replied, flashing a wider smile that showed a small dimple, before moving towards the shirts in the display while you made your way to the main entrance, flipped the sign, and locked the door to bar any other walk-ins.

You hung back while the guy browsed the options, taking a moment to assess him. He didn’t look like a tourist, but also not fully like a local. Most Californian guys that you knew had the most horrifying hair cuts or bleach jobs you had ever seen and that was not the case for the man in front of you.

His hair was dark brown, a little shaggy from too much exposure to sun and salt and it flopped a little over his forehead, just above his eyes. He wore a grey cropped t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and struggled to contain his broad shoulders, showing a peek of toned abs. His jeans were ridiculously tight and hung low on his slender hips, the light-wash of the denim accentuating the perfect bubble butt and for the love of God, you needed to get laid. Badly.

“Excuse me,” he called, startling you and you prayed he hadn’t noticed the way you were checking his ass just now. “Do you have this one in black?”

“Yeah, sure.” You moved towards the drawers. “What’s your usual size? Medium or large?”

“I think large should be good,” he replied and when you turned around with the requested shirt, he was just standing there, barechested, his top hanging from his shoulder and you hoped your gasp wasn’t as loud as it sounded in your head.

“Here you go,” you croaked, offering him the shirt. “We do have a fitting room…” you gestured towards the small cubicle to the rear of the store.

“Oh right!” He glanced over as he pulled the shirt on. “Do you mind if I try them out here, though?”

“Not at all,” you forced your voice to sound somewhat normal.

“Awesome!”

Damn! He wasn’t just fucking hot. He was also cute, the wide grin he just flashed giving him a boyish look that was only enhanced by the almond-shaped chocolate-colored eyes. Biting your lip, you watched as he turned side to side in front of the mirror, checking himself out.

“It think is a little too big,” he said, meeting your gaze. “What do you think?”

“Well…” you cleared your throat and moved closer so you could look at him through the mirror. “If you want it more fitted, then yeah, probably a smaller size would be best. Want me to get it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once again, by the time you turned back to him, he was shirtless, the garment he had just tried neatly folded and resting on the shelf as he took a look at some other shirts, his attention snapping at you when he noticed you coming closer to hand him the new shirt, giving you a glimpse of a pale, sunken scar running down his abs that stopped just above his belly button and that drew attention to the small trail of fine dark hairs that disappeared under the waist of his jeans and holy shit! He was bare beneath those jeans.

“Bike accident,” he commented as he took the shirt that you offered and you met his eyes in confusion.

“What?” You asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“The scar,” he clarified, putting on the shirt and his lips were tilted into a slight smirk. “That was what you were staring at, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, feeling your face burning. “I’ll just head to the register and give you some privacy.”

I don’t mind,” he shrugged, turning to the mirror. “This is better. What do you think?” He turned towards you, giving you a full view of the cotton fabric covering his muscles, looking almost as if painted on him.

“Sure...” you swallowed hard, trying not to stare. “If you prefer it more fitted...”

“I do,” pulling the shirt off and once again giving you the glorious view of his torso. “I’ll take it.”

You took the shirt to the register and he followed, pausing only to pick up his own, which he had discarded on a nearby hanger. You were expecting him to put it back on, but he just threw it over his shoulder, reaching for his wallet as you registered the sale and tried not to stare.

“Is that the only camera you have around here?” He asked, gesturing to a point above your left and you glanced at the object before nodding, exchanging the money he gave you for the paper bag with his purchase.

“Yeah, why?”

“So basically...” he started, taking a step to the side, closer to the fitting room. “I’m completely out of sight over here?”

“Basically, yeah,” you frowned a little, stepping away from the counter. “Why? Are you planning to rob the place? Because let me tell you, there’s not much worth...” You trailed off with a surprised squeak as he tugged on your hand, pulling you over to the blindspot and nearly pressed against his strong chest.

“Because honestly, I never really gave a fuck about the shirt. I just thought you were beautiful and wanted to ask your number when I walked in, but you looked kind pissed so I got cold feet,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

“So you decided to just get mostly naked in front of me?” You snorted, shaking your head and he shrugged.

“Needed to make sure you might be interested and considering the way you were eyeing me earlier, it looked like you saw something you liked.”

“You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at him, not ready to concede just yet. Even if the heat of his body and the smell of sea breeze whiffing off his skin were driving you crazy.

“Only when I’m right,” he flashed you a lopsided smirk and just waited, gazing into your eyes, making it clear that the next step was yours.

Part of you screamed that it was crazy to even consider hooking up with a guy that just walked into your store, no matter how hot he was, but it had been a ridiculously long time since you last had sex and he was so fucking hot, the scent of his golden skin intoxicating and his heat was making you dizzy with want as you looked him up and down, noticing the volume pressing against the denim of his pants.

“We might not have cameras, but the windows are see-through, so get your ass to the fitting room while I finish closing up.”

He flashed a victorious smirk and nodded, heading towards the back while you rushed through the steps of securing the store before joining him.

Your heart was pounding with anticipation as you made your way towards the back, pushing away the curtain that blocked the small space of the fitting room and finding him perched on the low stool that you kept there so customers could put down their things, facing the full-length mirror, legs spread, jeans undone, revealing the bush of dark hairs surrounding his long and thick cock.

You nearly whimpered at the sight, your center pulsing in want as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he run his left hand up and down his shaft, head tilted back, breathing hard, eyes hooded. He was such a beautiful and debauched sight that you felt the urge to photograph him, capture that sensuality.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface.

“You seemed to be doing fine on your own,” you teased stepping into the tight space, fingers itching to touch all that glorious skin.

“I did not just spend most of my afternoon at the corner diner, drinking burned coffee just to jerk off in front of you,” he declared, standing up and turning your way.

“Ohhh, so this was premeditated?” You asked, kicking off your sneakers as he reached for you and you stumbled against his chest.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, large hand hot against your hips and you wanted to feel it against your flesh. “You probably don’t remember, but I was here last week and you had to bend over to get something from one of the lower drawers...” he let out a soft groan, hands moving to your ass and squeezing lightly. “Fuck! I don’t think I ever popped a boner so fast in my life. I had to get out.”

You vaguely remembered that. There was so much coming and going in this place, it was hard to keep track of faces, but customers just taking off after asking to see something usually caused an impression. If you weren’t about to get fucked after six months, you would be more pissed.

“So you decided to come back when I was alone and seduce me?” you asked, running your hands over his chest and abs, scratching it slightly and goosebumps rose in his skin as he hissed.

“Yeah,” he spoke in a low voice as his hands move to the button of your jeans. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he slid your fly down and your breath caught in your throat. “I thought about bending you over that counter and fucking you until you’re screaming.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, just a soft touch, but you gasped and arched your hips forward, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. “I thought about it eating your pussy and your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Those words were whispered right against your ear, before he changed your positions, crowding you against the mirror and pushing your jeans down to your thighs before he once against skimmed his fingers over covered sex, making you ache for him.

“What do you think about that?” He asked, lips brushing your cheek in an almost chaste kiss, completely opposed to the lewdness of his hand exploring your cunt. “Do you want it?”

“If you’re as good with your tongue at eating pussy like you are at talking dirty, then I maybe I do,” you declared, tired of his teasing and you felt his smirk as he gracefully slid to his knees in front of you.

You didn’t manage to get another word out before he shoved your panties down to join your jeans and his lips firmly connected to your clit. He gave it a sharp suck and you groaned, burying your fingers into his hair to keep yourself on your feet as your brain short-circuited and your knees turned to jelly.

He was very good at eating you out, especially because he was very attentive to every sound you made, every tightening of your grip on his hair, and roll of your hips to nudge him into going faster or slower, harder or softer... It wasn’t long before he reached that perfect alternation of fast flickering against your clit and slower and broad strokes of his tongue over your entrance and lips, a combination that drove you crazy.

You were whimpering and moaning, legs quaking with the alternating urge to close them around his face to keep him trapped there pleasuring you forever or spreading them wider so he could have more space to work, but the edges of your jeans were digging into the lower part of your knees, signaling you that that was as far as they could go.

As if reading your thoughts or maybe he just realized he would need more room, he shoved your pants down and helped you to kick them off so you could be completely free of the garment. And didn’t you two looked like a mismatched pair, with you standing there wearing only your top while he knelt in front of you, his jeans still on.

Once your pants were off, he hooked your right thigh over his shoulder, pressing his mouth even harder against your cunt, flickering his tongue over your clit before dipping it in between your lips, gathering the juices soaking your sex like a starved man.

“Fuck! I’m so close...” you hissed, rolling your hips, seeking more because that tight knot deep inside you was about to snap and from the way you ached and shuddered, your muscles tensing, you knew it would be a hard one.

“Yeah?” He mumbled against your core, his breath against your overheated skin making you shiver as he pushed two fingers inside you. “Gonna cum all over my mouth?”

He pistoled his fingers in and out at a fast pace, crooking inwards with every down motion, his tongue matching his rhythm against your clit and it was that made you snap as you bit down on your fist to stop yourself from shouting as your body was flooded with pleasure and all you knew was the unbelievable bliss that surrounded you. Stars bust behind your closed lids, the air came out of your lungs in short gushes as you fought hard not to slide down to the ground because your legs felt like jelly.

“Ok?” he asked, making you finally snap your eyes open to look at him.

He was sitting on his heels, face still glistening with your orgasm, his lips swollen and red from the abuse. His cock was rock hard, red, and leaking and you really wanted to return the favor.

“Way better than ok,” you replied with a gasp. “My turn?” To your surprise, he shook his head and got to his feet.

“Tonight, the only place I’m cumming is in that pussy,” he announced against your ear and shivered with anticipation. “So let’s get out of this fucking store and go to my place?”

“Fuck yes!” you grinned breathlessly at him as you reached for your jeans and he buttoned his over his hard cock and that couldn’t be comfortable.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he said. “Johnny Utah. Just in case you want to know what to shout when I fuck your brains out later.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky smirk and moved closer to him, once fully clothed, the only evidence of your recent climax was the sweat cooling on your skin and the stupid grin that refused to leave your face.

“I think I like you more when your mouth is busy with something other than talking,” you declared and before Johnny could manage a reply, you silenced him with a kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.

xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

[infernalrevenge]

Alright, playing off of the overprotective Heisenberg. What if Reader doesn't come back and when he does go looking they are injured badly?

Damn bro you're really going for hurt, huh? I love it HAHAHAHA let's go!!!! I'm making this a drabble, I think it would be better suited for this.

(TW violence in one paragraph, because I might have gotten a little carried away with how Karl saves Reader.)

----------

Heisenberg looked up at the digital clock above his work station, turning off his equipment and tools for a moment. The rain outside had just stopped, and you weren't back yet -- there were no familiar footsteps, no calling out for him to get work done and over with... nothing but the clanking noises and thrum of machinery.

You wouldn't be out for this long, not without telling him. Something was wrong.

He immediately ventured out into the forest behind his factory, calling for his lycans to send them out as a search party. Covered more ground that way, in case you got too far. Not that he thought you would up and leave him, no. He could think of worst things.

He strained to listen for anyone calling out for help, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears as worst case scenarios crept into his head. If all he could hear were the growls of those damn lycans, the leaves rustling in the wind, and the snap of a twig underneath his feet -- where did you fit in? Surely, you would've called out by now if you needed help. Surely... you wouldn't be...

No, now was not the time -- you were still out there. You had to be...

Almost lifeless, your torso trapped in the jaws of some damn Varcolac. That was how he found you, and he swore his blood had frozen over when he saw the life start to dim in your eyes. He might have imagined how you reached out for him just as he finally got his legs to move, smashing into the beast's side with his hammer and forcing them to drop you onto the muddy forest floor.

The rage boiling in his body burst out of him in that hard swing, grief and frustration driving him to make the animal pay for your suffering. It killed you. It fucking killed you! This thing was not going to escape alive.

If you ever asked, he couldn't tell you how much he enjoyed beating the wolf back and away from you while his lycans bit and chewed off chunks of muscle and flesh, hard pressed to find any that wasn't already smattered in blood. The crack of its bones brought a disgusting fit of satisfaction in him, and every pained growl and whimper from the pathetic thing only spurred him on even more.

He raised his weapon over his head, poised for another punishing blow, until...

"Karl..."

Somehow, your soft voice cut through the emotional whirlwind. "Y/N?"

He wasted no time in getting back to you, sheating his weapon back and kneeling down, completely in disbelief. He always knew you were a fighter -- damn well knew that you wouldn't back down on life this easily.

As the lycans behind him finished the job, he picked you up as gently as he could, words of comfort and assurance uttered with every pained gasp and whimper from your lips. If you were more aware, you might have caught Karl with tears streaking down his face.

Everything passed like a blur, slow like it was creeping up on you -- and yet when you were finally conscious it felt too fast. You could've sworn a second ago that a snarling Varcolac had cornered you on the way back to Heisenberg's. You barely heard how you screamed as a reflex over the overload of dread and panic that filled you all at once. To say it was a lot was an understatement.

But then, here you were -- exactly where you wanted to be. Well, things looked a little different. Your bedside table was occupied with bottles you never kept there, along with bandages and tape you don't remember ever using.

Your gaze shifted to the slumped figure sitting next to your bed, a hand laid over yours. It took more effort than you realized to tighten your hold over his hand, but even that was enough to jolt him awake.

Karl wasn't wearing his glasses. You could've sworn his eyes were shiny when he turned to look at you, seemingly in disbelief. He had been by your side for days, changing your bandages and calling a doctor in every so often to check up on you. He hardly gave a damn that some village commoner was allowed in his factory -- he wasn't going to take a chance when it came to you. Not again. You had to stay alive, you had to wake up eventually. He was prepared to wait weeks for you, months, years, however long it took.

He just needed you back.

Things were quiet between you for a while, Karl still in shock as he helped you sit up and offered you a glass of water for your dry throat. He was the first one to speak up.

"You've been out for a few days, in case you were wondering. It's Friday today."

You remembered going out into the village on Tuesday. You stayed quiet, trying to process all this new information, especially now that you were actually in the right headspace to.

You weren't really sure what to say, if you should say anything at all. He seemed to be at a loss too, you can't even begin to imagine what he must be feeling. Anger? Relief? An overwhelming mix of both?

"I'm... glad you're okay." But at least he managed to say something.

Were you supposed to say sorry, that you weren't more careful (you probably should have been)? Tell him you're glad to see him too (you were)? You knew you wanted to say something though...

"Is this the part where you say 'I told you so'?" you finally said, voice still hoarse, an edge of sarcasm in your soft tone.

Part of you would rather deflect from the trauma you just went through -- you basically just came out of a fucking coma. You ought to take things one step at a time. Right now, you really were just glad to be with Karl again.

Speaking of Karl... he seemed to be at a loss for words. His lover just woke up from what could have been a life-threatening experience -- no, it was a life-threatening experience -- and that's the first thing you say? He started blinking in confusion, mouth hung open, and you were tempted to reach out and close it for him and make some comment about catching flies. Instead, he started...

Chuckling.

"Oh yeah, absolutely, I told you to be fucking careful!" he replied, smug as ever. There's the Karl you knew.

You shoved at his arm weakly, "No, this is the part where you're supposed to say 'All that matters is that you're back and you're safe," you retorted with a small smile, making a poor impression of his voice and accent.

He huffed, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. There's the Y/N he knew. Tears started rolling down his cheeks, barely even noticing it as he looked over you with such fondness and joy. You were alive, and here, and he wasn't sure what god out there made that happen but goddamn, it would have made a believer out of him if he knew.

"You need to rest up, alright, sugar?" He laid a gentle hand on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your eyes.

You gave a small nod and puckered your lips comically -- a silent plea for a kiss. The man only rolled his eyes and gave you a peck on the lips. "You won't leave, right?"

"No. Never."

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 05

��� forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother���s best friend!au ◇ 7.6k [5/6]

notes: second to last installment of a fic that didn’t need to be as long as it is!!! really this entire thing can be summed up with last chapter’s warning, which was “reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty.” i stand by it, okay!!! 🤷🏻‍♀️

warnings: dumb banter, a couple brief smutty bits, oral (f receiving), listen to slow dancing in the dark by joji during the soft smut scene in the middle if u want 

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“No. No. God, no. Has your music taste always been this bad, or is this a recent development?”

“You will excuse yourself,” you retort sharply, wagging a finger at your brother. “Mr. Brightside is a classic and I will not hear this slander. Please feel free to permanently vacate the premises if you disagree.”

Jimin rolls his eyes from where he’s slouched on the couch beside you, one hand submerged in a bag of chips and his bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic? Really? You wanna go there, Chim?” You raise your hand and begin ticking off on your fingers. “I’m not the one who threw a fit over a piece of cilantro in my taco. I’m not the one who refused to bathe when Mom couldn’t find the right bubble bath.”

“Oh my god, I was eight,” Jimin snorts. “Both times. And cilantro tastes like soap.”

You raise a third finger. “What about the time you hid all the Monopoly money because you kept losing? Or when yo—”

A knock on the door cuts you off mid-sentence, and you nudge Jimin’s shin with your big toe. “Go get the door,” you order, and you aren’t sure if he’s just tired of hearing your voice, but he stands up without complaint and wanders into the entryway to receive your unexpected guest.

“Hey,” you hear him say. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” a very familiar voice replies. “I need some help.”

It’s Jungkook. Of course it’s Jungkook. You haven’t seen him since he dropped you off and kissed you senseless in your driveway, but you’d have to be delusional to think that you could avoid him for the next week and a half before you leave to return to Seoul. And yet, you allowed yourself to indulge in your delusions for two full days, before he tears them apart with ten simple, innocent words.

“So, I think I might have done the laundry wrong.”

Jimin laughs out loud, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s all you, Noona,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you, and you don’t even have wherewithal to lecture him about the sexism of his remark because Jungkook is smirking like he’s just won the lottery and you’re his grand prize.

“Noona?” he begins, his voice syrupy sweet and thick with intent. “Can you come help me?”

You glance down at your pajamas—gray sweatpants and a pink Pusheen t-shirt that’s a couple sizes too big. It’s beyond obvious that you have no plans for the day, and therefore no excuse not to help. Heaving a resigned sigh, you clamber to your feet and roll your eyes when Jimin immediately flops down across the newly abandoned couch and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Have fun,” he calls lazily as you walk out, and you do your best to ignore the wicked grin that flashes across Jungkook’s face.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it fun,” he says as he lets you pass by him to exit the house. “See you later, Jimin.”

As soon as the front door slams shut, you round on him with a glare. “Are you serious, Jungkook?” you hiss. “He’s totally going to catch on to… to whatever it is we’re doing.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Jungkook chides, clicking his tongue. He hops over the low bushes that divide your property, and waits patiently as you skirt around them. You follow him into his house—down the hallway and into a little side room that houses the washing machine and dryer—and as soon as the door swings shut, he’s grabbing you by the hips and pulling you close.

“This—this isn’t how you do laundry,” you stammer weakly, winded by his sudden proximity and the dark promise in his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I may have lied a little bit. Would you have come if I hadn’t?”

You don’t answer, because you know he’s right. If you had your way, you would have avoided him until it was time for you to leave again. But Jungkook just doesn’t seem to be willing to let that happen, as he tightens his grip on your hips and tugs until you’re flush against him.

“See, the truth of the matter is, I’m actually good at laundry.” He smirks and tilts his head, dark bangs flopping across his forehead. “I’m good at other things, too. Why don’t you let me show you?”

Attraction blooms in your belly, hot as molten lava, and it takes the last ounce of your wavering restraint to say what you say next. “We can’t take too long,” you whisper, letting him hoist you up onto the dryer and jab the start button. The machine rumbles to life beneath you, and you nearly lose your train of thought when the vibrations go straight to your clit. “Jimin!” you gasp. “Jimin—he’ll kill you if he finds out. He’ll fillet your dick with a dull knife and serve it over rice.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Why are you talking about your brother? Is this your idea of dirty talk, princess? Because I gotta tell you—it’s not doing it for me.”

“Jungkook!” you chide, and he grins and moves to tug off your shirt.

“That’s much better.”

///

In the days that follow your laundry room tryst with Jungkook, sneaking around becomes routine. Both of your parents work—as do his—so avoiding them is easy. Jimin, however, is a different story. The dance classes he teaches are irregular, and the schedule shifts often enough that you’ve come dangerously close to getting caught on more than one occasion.

And it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook has taken to texting you at all hours of the day, even when you’re eating a sandwich on the couch with Jimin half-sprawled across your lap in his effort to invade your personal space as much as possible.

[12:35pm] Jungkook: hey i just thought of something

[12:35pm] Jungkook: you know how i call you princess?

You nearly throw your phone across the room. Cautiously, you glance at your brother, who is glued to the television and doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

[12:36pm] You: yeah…

His response is instantaneous.

[12:36pm] Jungkook: well i’ve got a throne for you to sit on

You almost sigh out loud. Please don’t, you write back, and you practically hear Jungkook’s cackle in your head as the ellipses that indicate he’s typing pop up at the bottom of your screen.

[12:37pm] Jungkook: it’s my dick ;)

[12:37pm] Jungkook: get it?

I fucking hate you, you tell him, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

[12:38pm] Jungkook: and i love fucking you

[12:38pm] Jungkook: princess ;)

///

After nearly a week cooped up at your parents’ house, you’re getting restless. Without a car, you’re confined to the suburban neighborhood you grew up in, and the revelation that you’re bored somehow spills out to Jungkook during one of the many heated makeout sessions you’ve started having in the backseat of his sedan.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he’d asked, tilting his head curiously, mussed hair falling across his eyes. “I can drive you, if you want.”

And that’s how you find yourself wandering around downtown Busan on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon. Jungkook drops you off at the curb after cumming down your throat, and now that he’s dashed off to work the lunch shift at the restaurant, you’re free to explore all of your old haunts. The shopping center that you and your friends used to frequent is right around the corner, so that’s where you decide to start. After all, you’re still in need of some professional attire, and as much as you love your mom, you’d rather avoid the unflattering dresses and itchy pantyhose she would be sure to seek out.

As soon as you step through the glass revolving doors, you find yourself in a familiar air-conditioned paradise of shops and restaurants. Stopping at your favorite coffee spot, you treat yourself to an iced mocha before heading to the first store.

Two hours and three full bags later, you decide to head to the food court for a quick snack. You’d promised Jungkook that you’d meet him at the restaurant once you were finished, but a glance at your phone tells you that you have more than enough time to stop by Kim’s Kitchen. Mrs. Kim makes the best cookies in the entire city, as far as you’re concerned, and you decide to order a dozen to take home and share with your family.

You’re lowering yourself into a seat at one of the many tables scattered around the tree-lined atrium when you spot a familiar head of strawberry blonde hair. The owner spots you a split second later, and you return her smile as she immediately swerves and heads your way. “{Name}, hey!”

“Hey, Chaeyoung,” you greet, gesturing for her to take the chair on the other side of the table. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, from the looks of it.” She grins and hefts her shopping bag. “I swear I’ve been to every shoe store and still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but somehow I’ve bought this much crap anyway. What about you? What are you on the hunt for?”

“Professional attire,” you say with a grimace. “Why are pants so hard to find? I swear, they’re all either too long or too short, and never fit properly in the waist and thighs.”

Chaeyoung pulls a face. “Ew, I know. Pantsuits are a nightmare unless you have a tailor. And who has money for that?”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “So what are you up to now? Mrs. Kim has cookies fresh out of the oven, if you’re interested. Cinnamon rolls too, I think.”

“Ooh, that’s tough,” she says thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Would it be bad if I got both?”

“Not even a little bit,” you assure, reaching into your box and pulling out a cookie. “But here, I’ll make it easier for you. Hope you like chocolate chip.”

Chaeyoung gratefully accepts the cookie you hand over. “Who doesn’t love chocolate chip?” she asks, taking a bite.

“Criminals and heathens,” you reply, snagging a cookie for yourself. “Among others.”

She tilts her head. “Doesn’t Jimin hate chocolate chip?”

“My point exactly.”

Chaeyoung giggles, hiding it behind a manicured hand, and you laugh right along with her. Together, you decide to grab some smoothies, and when you sit back down, the conversation turns to your trip up to the lake house. “Next time, we’ll have to do a girl’s trip,” Chaeyoung says, propping her chin in her palm. “Feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done one. You must’ve been exhausted with all those boys around.”

Unwillingly, your thoughts turn to Jungkook. “It wasn’t that bad,” you say slowly. “It was actually nice, being able to spend some time with them.”

“Who ended up going, anyway? Your brother, obviously. Taehyung? Yugyeom?”

You nod, raising a hand and ticking them off on your fingers. “Jimin, yeah. Taehyung, Yugyeom, Taemin, Minho. And Jungkook.”

If Chaeyoung notices the way you pause before saying the last name, she doesn’t comment on it. Her expression grows pensive, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head as she considers her next sentence. “You must be seeing a lot of him,” she says at last. “Jungkook, I mean.”

You take a massive sip of your smoothie and wonder if you’re imagining the lingering taste of him on your tongue. “Yeah, a bit,” you manage, your voice surprisingly steady. “He games with Jimin a lot.” After a pause, you decide to tell her the truth. “He dropped me off today, actually. Jimin’s working this summer, and I’ve been stuck at home, so he offered to take me downtown on his way to work.”

Chaeyoung hums thoughtfully. “He’s working at a restaurant or something, right?”

“Just a few streets away, yeah.”

Slowly, she nods. “We went out, you know.” Her voice is distant. “Just for a few weeks. He ended it after… well, after we slept together.”

There’s a pause, as Chaeyoung lets you digest this information, and a part of you wants to spill everything to her right then and there. Jisoo told me, you want to say, as acidic guilt begins to bubble up in your belly, every memory of the moments you’ve since shared with Jungkook rising unpleasantly in your throat. I’m sorry. I’m so,so sorry. You say it over and over again in your head, but the apology gets stuck in your throat when you try to voice it aloud.

Chaeyoung takes a sip of her smoothie and leans back in her chair with a sigh, oblivious to your internal struggle. “Maybe I should have seen it coming,” she says, gnawing on the end of the straw. “Everything changed our senior year, you know? It was like a switch had flipped—he started dating around, relationships that never lasted more than a week… I really should have known better when he asked me out. But I guess I thought I was different. We were already friends, after all. But whenever we were together, just the two of us, he was always… distant. Like he was somewhere else, mentally.”

Her words trail off, leaving only silence that you don’t know how to break. Chaeyoung sips at her smoothie again, before huffing out a laugh and waving a manicured hand in your direction. “God, sorry! I can’t believe I just started monologuing, ew. Jungkook this, Jungkook that—god. I’m not even mad at him anymore, you know? I just want him to figure his shit out.” Her eyes flit up to you briefly, before skittering back down to where a cookie crumb has landed on the tabletop. “It’s funny, though. Seeing him at Taehyung’s graduation party was probably the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. He almost seemed like himself again.”

You can’t help it—the singular word bubbles up before you can stop it. “Really?”

Chaeyoung nods, her gaze flickering up to meet yours again. “Really. And honestly? I think it was because of you.”

Your heart does a series of backflips in your chest, thudding against the slats of your ribs. You try to respond, try to find the words, but they stick in your dry throat and your smoothie is practically gone at this point. Chaeyoung shrugs, unfazed by your silence, and you watch as she swirls her straw around in the remainder of her own drink. “I don’t know—maybe I’m imagining things. But it always seemed like he had a bit of a thing for you. Didn’t he used to follow you around the playground?”

The memory draws a startled laugh from your lips. “Sure, yeah. But that was in elementary school.”

Chaeyoung shrugs, smiling around her straw. “Still. We never really forget our first crush, do we?”

///

You head over to the restaurant after bidding Chaeyoung goodbye, her words weighing heavy on your mind and your heart. Through the tall glass windows, you can just barely make out Jungkook—looking sharp in a black collared shirt and matching slacks as he greets a table of diners. His smile is warm and his stance is confident, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s grown from that gangly kid you knew back in grade school when you catch the edge of flirtation lingering in his gaze.

The boy who used to follow you around the playground is gone. There’s no doubt in your mind about that. And so, you take a deep breath and walk into the restaurant, doing your best to smile at the host who greets you and asks whether you’d like to sit at a table or the bar.

“Hey, you made it!”

Jungkook strides over with a grin, taking the menu off the host’s hands and leading you over to an empty seat at the bar. “It’s full service, so you can order food here, too,” he explains. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

You glance down at the menu he places on the counter, scanning the lines of text. “Not really, but it smells really good so I might get something to go. And this carbonara sounds really good, actually.”

“It is,” Jungkook confirms. “I’ll go put the order in. You want some water or anything to drink?”

“Water’s good,” you tell him, and he nods before trotting off to do his job. You watch him disappear to the back of the restaurant before reappearing with a tray of glasses, and follow his meandering path through the tables as he disperses drinks and checks on the guests. Somehow, his shoulders manage to look even broader in his black shirt, and you can’t ignore the way they taper into a narrow waist that’s only emphasized by the belt threaded through the loops of his dark slacks.

He’s stopping at the table you first saw him at now, leaning in close when one of the women seated there asks him a question about something on the menu. His smile oozes easy charm, and you can’t help the feeling that flares in your chest when she reaches for the menu and purposely lets her fingertips graze his hand. Frowning, you tear your gaze away and focus on the wood grain of the bar counter. Your eyes zero in on a smattering of water droplets near your left arm, and you’re just about to run a fingertip through them when a voice sounds to your right.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Surprised, you look up and find yourself face-to-face with a man who appears to be in his early thirties. Dark hair is brushed away from his forehead, a stray lock falling into his eyes, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words when your brain registers just how handsome he is.

“I—uh. I think Jungkook is going to grab me some water,” you finally manage, wanting nothing more than to melt into the ground when you hear the stammer in your voice.

“Ah, you know Jungkook?” The man laughs—a sound that is distinctly reminiscent of a squeaky windshield wiper. “He’s been pretty busy today, so why don’t I grab you that water instead?”

You nod, watching as he fills up a glass from the nozzle below the bar, accepting it when he hands it over. “Thanks.”

“Name’s Seokjin,” the man replies with an easy grin. “What’s yours?”

You return his smile and tell him your name. “Seokjin—Jungkook’s mentioned you a few times, I think. This is your place then, isn’t it?”

Seokjin beams. “Yep! Opened just a few months ago, after we finally sorted out the rat infestation and the asbestos problem in the rafters, and—” He pauses at the dumbfounded look on your face, and several beats pass before another peal of squeaky laughter escapes him. “I’m kidding. One-hundred percent. I promise the whole place is up to snuff.”

“So, I see you’ve met Seokjin.” Jungkook materializes at your side with a glass of water, which he takes a sip out of upon realizing that you already have a drink. “Is he making jokes about the health code again?”

“I would never,” Seokjin sniffs, and you laugh, finding yourself completely at ease for the first time since you entered the restaurant.

Jungkook rolls his eyes good-naturedly and turns his attention back to you. “Your carbonara should be out in a few,” he says, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “I’m full of chocolate chip cookies, anyway. Here, you want one? They’re still a little warm.”

Jungkook eyes the box you pull out of your bag hungrily. “Hell yes. I can smell them from here.” Laughing, you push the box toward him and watch as he pulls a cookie out and takes an enormous bite. “Thanks,” he says in between chews, his cheeks puffy. You can’t help but smile when he takes a sip of water to wash it all down, his eyes growing round.

Turning to Seokjin, you offer him a cookie as well, which he declines with a graceful wave. “I should be feeding you, not the other way around,” he remarks. “You got the carbonara, right? I’ll go see if it’s ready.”

With one last glance at the patrons sitting at the bar, Seokjin departs with a promise to be back in five minutes. Jungkook finishes off his cookie, and you’re considering offering him another when a familiar chirpy voice sounds from your left.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here! What do you think—should we sit at the bar?”

You whirl in the direction of the voice, your eyes immediately landing on a group of three girls standing near the entrance. Two of them you don’t recognize, but the third you’ve seen before. Mina, you’re pretty sure her name was, and you’d recognize her anywhere. The last time you’d seen her was at the restaurant on the night of Jimin’s and Jungkook’s graduation, and your face heats at the memory of everything else that transpired that night.

“Welcome!” Jungkook draws you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see that he’s wearing a bright, welcoming smile. “Were you looking to sit at the bar, or at a table? It looks like there are a few empty spots at the end of the bar, if you ladies would prefer that. Otherwise, I can take you to a table.”

Mina’s face lights up in recognition, and you’re forced to hide your scowl in your water glass. “Hey, we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“You work at that place a few blocks down, right?” Jungkook jabs a thumb in the general direction of the street. “I’ve seen you around.”

She giggles and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “That’s right, yeah! I remember you now. Graduation, right? You were my best table of the night.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I bet you tell everyone that.”

“Not a chance,” Mina answers, looking him up and down before a coy smile curves her lips again. “I only say what I mean.”

“Honesty is the best policy,” Jungkook says agreeably. Then he turns to you, distractedly fiddling with his apron as he speaks. “Jin should probably be back with your food soon. Are you okay to sit here by yourself for a bit?”

You can only nod, still staring down into your water glass. “Yeah, sure. Go on, then.”

He smiles and gestures for Mina and the girls to follow after him, and you’re positive you don’t imagine the triumphant look that flashes across Mina’s face before she departs. Frowning, you grab a cookie from your box and break a piece off, grateful for the distraction. Seokjin drops off your carbonara a minute later, and you find yourself suddenly ravenous as you dig into the steaming bowl of spaghetti.

Jungkook returns to your side about five minutes later, raking a hand through his hair as he replaces his notebook back in his apron pocket. “Man, I’m beat,” he remarks. “Thank god Mina and her friends didn’t order anything complicated. My brain would’ve exploded.”

“Thank god for that,” you echo dully. Unwillingly, your gaze drifts over to where Mina is now sitting, chatting happily with her friends. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Seeing Mina here, of all places. I mean, what is she even doing here?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but most people go out and have fun on their days off,” Jungkook responds dryly, a grin breaking across his face when you roll your eyes at him. “Or wait… could it be that you’re jealous?”

You scowl. “Don’t be stupid.”

Jungkook just laughs, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can look you in the eye. “It’s okay,” he says, his thumb brushing softly along the corner of your lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, princess.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, and thankfully you don’t have to. Seokjin returns with a takeout container for you to put your leftovers in, shrugging off your gratitude when you offer it.

“I’m discounting your food, too,” he says, leaving zero room for argument. “Any friend of Jeon’s is a friend of mine.”

Jungkook’s shift ends half an hour later. He turns on his roadtrip playlist on the drive home, and you are more than happy to let the music wash over you, eliminating any need for conversation and drowning out your thoughts.

“See you later, princess,” he says once he’s pulled into your driveway, following your every move as you climb out of the passenger seat.

It sounds like a promise coming from his lips, and you can only nod. “See you.”

///

You’re in the middle of buttering a piece of toast for breakfast the next morning when there’s a knock on the front door. Perturbed, you walk over to answer it, wondering if perhaps Jimin has forgotten his keys again, but when you peer through the peephole it isn’t Jimin who stares back at you.

“Jungkook—” you begin, swinging open the door, but he cuts you off before you can finish, taking your face in his hands and pressing his mouth to yours.

“Hey,” he whispers once he’s had his fill, pulling back just enough to mumble the greeting against your lips. “They’re all gone for the day, right?”

“Yes,” you confirm, still reeling from the suddenness of his appearance and the subsequent kiss. ���But how did you—?”

“Jimin told me,” Jungkook answers shortly, before pulling you close and kissing you again. This time, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of his mouth against yours, following his lead as he ushers you back upstairs and breaking the kiss only once in the process. He lays you down onto your bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, and you sigh when he moves down to nip at your neck.

“No marks, Jungkook,” you remind him breathily. “You can’t leave marks.”

A low whine escapes him. “Can’t you wear a scarf?”

“It’s the middle of summer!” you huff in amusement, smacking his arm when he whines again and stubbornly sucks at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

Jungkook’s breath is hot against your skin. His fingers find the elastic waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them off your hips and down your legs, and you kick them off as soon as they’ve reached your ankles. Hungrily, his gaze traverses the newly revealed skin, and you shiver when he gently trails his fingertips up your calves and all the way to the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “Jungkook,” you sigh. “I haven’t shaved in days.”

“Ask me if I care,” he replies hoarsely, leaning down to press the flat of his tongue against the growing damp spot seeping through the cotton of your underwear. It’s far from your sexiest pair—you’d categorize them as granny panties, in all honesty—but Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit fazed as he hooks them aside and licks a broad stripe all the way up to your clit. “Want you,” he groans, and the vibrations from his voice send a volt of tingling electricity straight up your spine. “Want you in every way I can have you.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to, because Jungkook is diving in with the enthusiasm of a man starved, tossing your underwear aside carelessly before banding his arms around your legs to hold you open. His face disappears between your thighs until only the top of his hair is visible, the dark strands mussed. Lips parting in a moan, your fingers find their way to his head, tangling at his roots, and Jungkook parts from your cunt briefly to groan his approval. Then he’s eating you out again—alternating between broad licks and teasing flicks to your clit before his tongue delves into your entrance, inhaling deeply as if he just can’t get enough.

The sun rises higher into the sky, beaming through your window and illuminating Jungkook’s head and shoulders in warm, hazy gold. You chant his name as you reach your high, spurred on by his teasing tongue and whispered words of encouragement, and the grin he wears when he straightens back up is near blinding. Slowly, he peels off his shirt and shucks off his jeans until he’s completely bare before you, the sun painting him in warm strokes of color. Deliberately, he crawls up your body, hiking up the hem of your shirt as he does. He plants kisses into your newly bared skin, and when he reaches your lips he settles there as if that’s where he’s meant to be.

Jungkook kisses you slowly. He kisses you deliberately—sensually—and you melt into his gentle touch, relishing in the feel of his bare body pressed so intimately against yours. You don’t miss the way his cock hardens against your thigh, but Jungkook seems to be in no hurry to do anything about it. Instead, he cups your cheeks and licks into your mouth, and you’re all too willing to part beneath him like a flower in bloom.

The rest of the afternoon passes like this—hot kisses and slow fucking, the two of you meshing until you’re no longer sure where you end and he begins. You keep an eye on the time, though, and by the time your parents and Jimin return home, you and Jungkook are showered and dry, sitting on the living room floor embroiled in a Mario Kart tournament.

“No fair! You played without me?” Jimin whines, plopping down between you and trying to wrest the controller away from Jungkook. “C’mon, let me have a turn. You’ve been at it all day!”

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up past Jimin’s shoulder to meet yours, his lips twitching in barely suppressed mirth. “Yeah. We sure were.”

///

“God, I’m going to be sore for the next month.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” your brother snorts, squeezing your cheek between his thumb and index finger like you’re a small child. His three o’clock dance class has just wrapped up, and people are slowly filtering out of the studio. A few of the younger women glance back toward where you’re standing with Jimin, and you have no doubt they’re vying for one last look at your brother in his tight-fitting joggers and loose tank that keeps drooping off one shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you suppress the urge to loudly bring up the time he walked into a sliding glass door and nearly chipped his tooth. Instead, you pinch his cheek back, and laugh when he pouts.

“Ow, hey! What happened to giving me all your love and support?”

“Please, Mom made me come to your class,” you retort, batting his invasive hand away. “I think she just wanted me out of the house.”

Jimin laughs. “Can’t blame her. You’re a goddamn freeloader.”

“Seriously? Because in that case, I’m dying to hear what that makes you.”

Thoroughly nonplussed, Jimin pinches your other cheek before dancing away on light feet. “I’m an angel. Now go away, so I can get ready for my next class!”

Rolling your eyes again, you heft your bag over your shoulder and turn on your heel. “Fine, fine. Good luck, and all that. See you at dinner.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, and when you peer over your shoulder at him, he’s already sprawled on the floor and reaching for his toes in the unmistakable first step of his warm-up routine. He waves when he sees you watching, and you stick your tongue out at him playfully before exiting the studio and heading for the door. You’ve borrowed your dad’s car for the day, and hum cheerily as you climb into the driver’s seat.

You spend the rest of the afternoon running errands—stopping by both the post office and the bank before heading for the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for dinner. By the time you get back home, Jimin has finished teaching at the studio as well, and you fix him with a stare as you plop two full bags of groceries in front of him on the kitchen counter.

“Care to help me carry the rest in?”

“Not really,” he replies, but he stands up and follows you outside to the car nonetheless.

Once all the groceries are inside and unpacked, you begin prepping for dinner. Jimin, to his credit, offers his help without you even having to ask, and with his assistance you finish cooking in record time. Your parents join you in the dining room, and together you enjoy the meal over the evening news.

You retire to your room after dinner, cracking open your laptop to go over the details of your internship for the umpteenth time. You’ve read the emails and the attached documents so many times you practically have them memorized, but the anxiety gnawing at your belly refuses to be quelled. You’re returning to Seoul in less than a week, and your empty suitcase sits in the corner of your childhood bedroom like a taunt. You wonder, briefly, if you should start packing.

“Nah, it can wait,” you decide, muttering the words to your nonexistent audience. Standing up, you stretch lazily before exiting your room and heading down the hall to the bathroom that you and Jimin share, muffling a yawn behind your hand.

You’ve just finished brushing your teeth when your phone vibrates against the bathroom counter, a notification lighting up your screen. Spitting into the sink and rinsing off your toothbrush, you towel off your face before picking up your phone, blinking owlishly at the text.

[11:08pm] Jungkook: can you come over?

By itself, it’s not an unusual request. At this late an hour, though, you can’t help the unease that rises up in your belly. And as if sensing your apprehension, your phone vibrates again.

[11:09pm] Jungkook: my parents are out

[11:09pm] Jungkook: please? i could use some company

There’s an edge of desperation in his last message—something you haven’t seen in him since you returned home. It reminds you a bit of the Jungkook you used to know—the scrawny, gangly one with a nose too big for his face and an all-encompassing fear of the opposite sex. Give me ten minutes, you tell him.

Okay, Jungkook writes back. See you soon.

The next few minutes are a blur. You slather on some moisturizer and consider changing out of your pajamas and putting on a bra, but dismiss the thought immediately. Jungkook has seen you in far less, and you’re staunchly opposed to putting a bra back on after a certain hour of the night. Besides, he’s sure to dispose of your clothes at some point, so there’s little point in changing. With that thought in mind, you tiptoe out into the hall, past your parents’ bedroom and Jimin’s closed door. You carefully edge around the creakiest floorboards and hop over the two steps in the staircase that always groan when subjected to additional weight. Gingerly, you edge open the front door, just enough to slip out into the night.

The trek across the yard doesn’t take long, and Jungkook swings the door open before you even get a chance to knock. “Hey,” he says, and you can’t help but smile at the familiar round glasses perched on his nose. He’s in his pajamas as well—a blue and white checkered set that’s about two sizes too big—and when he ushers you inside, you catch a whiff of his floral laundry detergent.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Long day,” he sighs, raking a hand through his already tousled hair and mussing it further. “Come on in. You want anything to drink?”

You shake your head, stepping into the entryway and watching as he closes and locks the door again. Jungkook nods and shuffles to the kitchen, where he pours himself a glass of water from the faucet and downs half of it in one swig. His throat bobs as he swallows, his head tilted back to expose the long line of his neck, and you step a little closer as he turns to refill the glass.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll have some water too.”

“Mm. Okay.” Jungkook turns and fetches a second glass, filling it to the brim before handing it over. Then he takes your free hand and leads you upstairs, taking a left turn into his bedroom and nudging the door closed with his foot.

“So…” you begin slowly, putting your water down on the nightstand and reaching for the hem of your shirt. “We need to be quick. My mom’s a light sleeper, and I’m pretty sure I heard Jimin playing games in his room when I walked by.”

Jungkook chuckles and lays his hands over yours, stilling your attempt to take off your shirt. “When did you turn into such a horndog, Noona? Maybe I just want to hang out.”

You blink. “Did you just want to hang out?”

Jungkook plops onto his bed and grabs you by the waist, tugging you down and into his lap. “I mean, yeah—I thought that was obvious. Figured we could watch a movie or something.” Grabbing the tv remote, he switches on the television hanging on the opposite wall. “Any suggestions?”

You hesitate. You’ve been in Jungkook’s bedroom just once since you’ve come back, and the memory of the way he’d bent you over the desk in the corner sends a pulse of heat to your cheeks. Tearing your gaze away from the piece of wooden furniture, you instead focus on the television screen, watching as he navigates over to the Netflix menu.

“We can go old school too, if you want,” he remarks as he scrolls through the list of new arrivals. “I have a DVD player.”

That draws a laugh from your lips. “When was the last time you purchased a DVD? Last I checked, you only had Kung Fu Panda, Iron Man, and two copies of Titanic for some reason that you still won’t tell me.”

Jungkook laughs, his chest rumbling against your back. “Call it human error,” he says, looping his arms comfortably around your waist and propping his chin on your shoulder. “How do you feel about going super old school? I can get the VHS player out of the basement and pop in one of the Pokémon movies.”

“I’m sure we won’t have to resort to that,” you assure him, grinning. “Here, why don’t we just watch Iron Man? Three’s your favorite, right?”

“Three is everyone’s favorite,” he says, scrolling over to the appropriate menu and clicking play. “It’s the best one, hands-down.”

“Won’t argue with you there.”

The movie starts, and you shift off Jungkook’s lap to switch off the lights. Darkness overtakes the room as the screen lights up with the opening credits, and when you return to the bed, Jungkook has sprawled comfortably against the pillows lining the headboard. His eyes remain glued to the screen even as he reaches for you, and you hesitate for only a second before joining him, laying down beside him and letting his arm find its way around your shoulders. The scent of floral laundry detergent fills your nostrils, and you subtly nestle a bit closer, resting your head on his chest.

This isn’t the first time Jungkook has seen this movie. You know this for a fact, yet that doesn’t change how raptly he watches the screen, the action sequences reflected perfectly in his glasses. He’s practically vibrating with excitement by the time of the final showdown, mouthing along to the lines, and you hide your smile in the blue-and-white squares of his pajama shirt as the music swells.

It’s well past midnight by the time the credits roll. Jungkook seems perfectly content to lie on his bed with his arm around you, and when you make to get up, his grip slides down to your waist to hold you in place. “You gotta watch the credits all the way through,” he says, blinking at you with bleary eyes now that the adrenaline from the final showdown has worn off. “There’s a post-credits scene, remember?”

You shake your head, but let him pull you back down onto the mattress regardless. “I’m sure you already know what it is. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“What’s the fun in that?” he asks with a grin.

The end credits continue—an endless stream of names scrolling down the screen. Your eyes begin to droop, the words blurring together, and it’s only when the music stops and the final scene begins that you jolt awake. Jungkook is faring no better than you are, suppressing a yawn behind his hand as he watches the last bit of the film through half-lidded eyes. Then the screen goes dark, and silence descends over the room once more. You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand and see that it’s nearly two in the morning. A look back at Jungkook reveals that both his eyes have fallen shut, and you slowly begin wriggling free from his embrace in order to head home.

You’ve barely moved an inch when Jungkook’s arm tightens around your waist. “Stay,” he mumbles sleepily, one eye cracking open.

You should say no. You should head home to the safety of your own bed. But there’s something about Jungkook—something soft and fond in his tired gaze and something vulnerable in the way he’s holding you so tightly against his pajama-clad body with his hair in complete disarray and his round glasses askew. Heaving a sigh, you reach up to take them off his face, placing them neatly on his nightstand.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll stay.”

Jungkook smiles sleepily and shuts his eyes. “G’night, then, Noona.”

“Night, Jungkookie.”

Within seconds, his breathing evens out, and you know he’s off in dreamland. Twisting in his grasp, you tug your phone out of your pocket and set a quick alarm for six o’clock. Neither of your parents wake up until seven at the earliest, and Jimin would sleep until three in the afternoon if he could get away with it, so you’re certain that you’ll have plenty of time to sneak back into the house. Besides, Jungkook’s bed is comfortable, and his chest is practically a furnace against your back. You aren’t sure you could work up the energy to leave even if you tried.

So instead, you settle back into his embrace and let sleep whisk you away.

///

There are birds chirping outside the window when you open your eyes the next morning, blinking blearily against the sun shining through the curtains. The blanket is tangled around your legs and there’s an arm looped around your waist, and you sit bolt upright when realization dawns. Jungkook groans and mumbles something unintelligible, but you don’t pay him any mind as you twist out of his grasp, clutching for your phone on the nightstand.

7:03am.

Shit.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you rise to your feet and shove your phone into the pocket of your pajama pants. Jungkook makes a sound that vaguely resembles your name, and you spare him a glance as you fumble for your shoes. He’s flat on his back, blinking hair out of his eyes as he fights to stay awake. “Hey,” he manages, his voice raspy.

“I gotta go,” you whisper urgently, successfully putting your shoes on the right feet and wrenching the door of his bedroom open. And then you turn and dash out, leaving a very sleepy, very disheveled Jungkook blinking after you.

Your house, when you carefully crack open the front door and poke your head inside, is quiet. Much to your relief, you don’t hear any of the telltale signs that your family is awake and downstairs yet—no drip of the coffee maker and no sizzle of bacon or eggs. From upstairs, however, you can distantly hear the sound of the shower, so you dart inside and toe off your shoes, padding into the kitchen to start the coffee maker. You check the alarm you’d set the night prior as you scoop coffee grounds into the filter, and curse under your breath when you realize you’d somehow managed to select six PM instead of AM.

You’re seated in the living room with a mug of fresh coffee when Jimin shuffles in with damp hair and a sleepy frown. “You’re up early,” you remark.

“I have a morning class to teach,” he replies, yawning widely as he grabs a fresh mug. “What’s your excuse?”

You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

Suppressing another yawn, your brother turns his attention to the refrigerator, rooting around for the milk. And you return yours to the window, where you can see the side of the Jeon’s house, and Jungkook’s bedroom window on the second floor. There are no signs of life from within, and you wonder if he’d gone back to sleep after your departure. Considering how tired he’d looked last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

Chaeyoung’s voice echoes in your mind then, soft and wistful. It always seemed like he had a bit of a thing for you. Happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. And honestly? I think it was because of you. We never really forget our first crush, do we?

And then Jisoo’s words rise up in your brain, just a bit louder. He’s a heartbreaker. He never, ever stays until the morning.

So why, then, did you wake up in his arms today?

[btsqualityy]

Magnolias In Springtime: Part Two

Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage!AU, ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, fluff, and smut

Warnings: Mentions of infertility, mentions of miscarriages, unprotected sex, dirty talk, impregnation sex, impregnation kink, oral (both Namjoon and reader receiving), penetrative sex, squirting, knotting and creampie.

Author’s Note: You guys know that I always post something on my birthday so here it is! This is the second and final part to Magnolias in Springtime! If you haven’t read part 1, you can find it here! Truthfully, this second part was just an excuse for me to write Namjoon impregnation smut lol But I hope you guys enjoy it!

It’s crazy how much things could change and yet stay the same in the span of a year. 

You still loved your home pack, going back to see the Alphas, Betas, and Omegas that helped shaped you into the person you were today at least once a month. You were still spoiled by your parents, who made it their personal mission to shower you with gifts whenever they had the opportunity to see their only child. Most of all, you still used the skills that you had learned in your childhood pack as you prepared to become leader of your new pack with your husband. 

Speaking of your husband, Namjoon was the best and most enjoyable change in your life as you had spent the past year falling in love with him. 

Admittedly, adjusting to being in a marriage and to a man that you did not know or choose beforehand was hard, but you quickly found out that Namjoon was one of the most amazing people that you had ever met in your life. He was strong, dependable, and trustworthy just like a typical Alpha but you were delighted to find that he was also big on communication and making sure that you felt comfortable enough to talk to him, he was caring, and even sensitive in certain situations. He had quickly become your best friend and you found yourself falling for him not long after the wedding was over.

“Y/N?” Eun Kyung called out and you shook your head as you broke out of your thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized sheepishly as you turned to look at your mother in law. “Can you repeat what you said? I wasn’t listening.”

“I see that,” she smiled knowingly. “A lot on your mind?”

“Kind of,” you shrugged as you fiddled with the handle of the tea cup that was in front of you. 

“Well, that’s understandable sweetie,” she assured you. “We’ve all been so busy getting ready for the Coronation, it’s no wonder that your thoughts are all over the place.” 

In the year since you and Namjoon had gotten married, Namjoon’s father Ho-jin had begun to slowly pass over the responsibilities of being Pack Alpha over to Namjoon. Two months ago, he had announced his official retirement and Namjoon would be having a Coronation to celebrate a new era of power. Of course, you would be celebrated as well given the fact that you would be replacing Eun Kyung as Pack Omega. 

“Anything you want to discuss?” Eun Kyung wondered. 

“You don’t mind?”

“Y/N-ah, that’s what we started these weekly tea dates for, remember?” She pointed out with a giggle and you smiled as you thought back on how your mother in law had insisted that you two meet every Tuesday aftermoon in order to talk and spend time together. At first, you were weary of it but it’s quickly become one of the highlights of your week, every week.

“I guess I’m just nervous about becoming Pack Omega,” you confessed. “I mean, I’m not from this pack and even though it seems like everyone likes me well enough, that might change once Namjoon’s officially Pack Alpha.”

“You remember how I told you about how my marriage to Ho-jin was arranged and how I replaced his mother when the time came?” Eun Kyung asked and you nodded your head. “I had the exact same fears as you do now and my mother in law, may she rest with the ancestors, gave me an amazing piece of advice that I have used continuously over the past 30 years. Wanna know what it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Your only duty as Pack Omega is to support your Alpha,” Eun Kyung began. “Whether that means reassuring him that he’s making a right decision, comforting him when he’s stressed and upset or even cussing him out when he’s dead wrong. The job of a Pack Leader is a stressful one and they must know that even if it feels like the world is on their shoulders, they will always have one person in their corner and that’s us.”

“That’s it?” You giggled and Eun Kyung nodded with a smile, pausing to take a sip of her tea before continuing.

“It seems intuitive right, because we’re Omegas ourselves but being the spouse of a Pack Leader means that we always have to shoulder a little bit more, whether it be more pain, more sadness, more hope,” she explained. “But I guarantee you, making sure that Namjoon is taken care will be the greatest thing that you can do for the pack.”

“I believe you,” you said. “I just know that Namjoon isn’t gonna make it easy for me. You know how he is about work and making sure the pack’s taken care of.”

“Don’t worry, Ho-jin already said that he plans to talk to him about finding a healthy balance,” Eun Kyung told you. 

“Good,” you smiled as you brought your tea cup to your mouth, taking a long sip from it. 

“Speaking of that though, there was actually something that I wanted to talk to you about,” she said and you lowered your cup from your lips.

“Go ahead,” you encouraged her before taking another sip.

“Are you and Namjoon....uh....fulfilling your....marital duties?” She wondered and you choked on your tea, immediately setting your cup down as you coughed harshly. Eun Kyung reached over and gave you several strong pats on the back, which helped you regulate your breathing again. 

“Uh, why do you ask?” You chuckled nervously.

“Well, with the coronation coming up, there’s been talk about the fact that you aren’t pregnant yet,” Eun Kyung elaborated and your eyes widened in realization. “Some people are beginning to become concerned.”

“And you’re one of them?” You shot back. 

“Yes, but not in the way that you’re thinking,” she laughed. “I’m worried about you as a person and not about your ability to conceive.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like to have your worth evaluated only in terms of how many kids you can pop out,” she smiled sadly and as her words registered with you, your jaw dropped as you put the pieces together. 

“Eun Kyung, you?”

“I struggled with infertility, yes,” she confirmed. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as you reached out, setting one of your hands on top of hers. She turned her hand around and intertwined your fingers with hers. 

“Oh, I’m ok sweetie,” she swore. “After Ho-jin and I got married, we had miscarriage after miscarriage and it took six years before I got pregnant with Namjoon and he became our miracle baby. I’m telling you all this because I known how isolating that struggle can be and if that’s the case for you, I wanted you to know that you’re not alone.”

“I appreciate it Eun Kyung, but I don’t think that’s the case for Namjoon and I,” you muttered. “We’re just taking things slow and not rushing it. I mean, we’ve only been married for a year and we have years to have babies.”

“Alright sweetheart, alright,” Eun Kyung laughed. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you and if that’s how you and Namjoon feel, then I’ll get everyone else off your back.”

“Thank you,” you smiled gratefully and she tightened the grip that she had on your hand reassuringly. 

“No problem. Now, onto more important business,” she grinned. “Finding you a dress to wear for the coronation.” You nodded your head immediately, grateful that she changed the direction of the conversation because you had no idea how to tell her that you and Namjoon had only had sex a handful of times in the last year. 

.............................................

After finally leaving Ho-jin and Eun Kyung’s house a few hours later, you went home and made dinner. As usual, Namjoon came home around 6 and the two of you sat down in your dining room together, eating and talking about how your days went. 

Everything was going very normally until Namjoon called out to you as you both worked on cleaning up the kitchen.

“Y/N-ah?” He said. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did my mom say something to you today about a baby?” He wondered and you turned to look over at him, watching as he continued to wash the dishes as if he hadn’t just asked you what he did. 

“How did you know?” You asked.

“My father said something about it to me today after our meeting,” Namjoon sighed and you walked over to him, leaning against the counter so that you could look at him. 

“She did too, and she told me about her infertility,” you told him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because it’s super personal to her and I didn’t know if she would be comfortable with me telling you,” he explained. “But why do you think I wanted 5 pups initially?”

“I get it now,” you giggled. “What did your dad say when he brought it up?”

“It was definitely less diplomatic than my mom,” he chuckled as he finished rinsing off the dishes and began drying off his hands. “He went on and on about how our family legacy needs to continue on and if we’re able, we need to have at least a few kids.”

“Hmm,” you murmured and Namjoon looked at you skeptically, raising his eyebrow.

“What’s that mean?” He laughed. 

“Nothing,” you shrugged as you looked down at your feet but he didn’t buy that, throwing the towel that he was holding onto the counter and moving closer to you.

“Hey, talk to me,” he pleaded and you sighed heavily before squaring your shoulders and looking up at him again.

“Why don’t you ever try to have sex with me?” You demanded to know. “I mean, besides our wedding night, we’ve only had sex during my two heats and your rut, and I’m guessing that you didn't tell your father that.”

“No, I didn’t tell him that,” Namjoon huffed with a smile. “And the reason that I haven’t been trying is because I don’t want to push you. Even though we both agreed to this marriage, it still never leaves my mind that you didn’t really choose this. I don’t want to force you into yet another life changing decision, because pups are forever.”

“Hey, I wasn’t forced into anything,” you gently corrected him. “Yeah, I had to make a choice to save my pack but I did that because I wanted to. Plus, you didn’t necessarily choose this either.”

“I know but still,” he muttered. “I just didn’t want you to think that you were obligated to have sex with me, let alone have my pups. And as for the heat and rut thing, it was easier because you asked for me during your heat and during my rut, I could blame it on my hormones.”

“You sure that it’s not because you’re not attracted to me?” You joked lamely and Namjoon smacked his lips together as he set his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. 

“Baby, you’re the most gorgeous woman that I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he told you seriously. “I think the world of you, and you know that.”

“It’s kind of hard to remember,” you admitted. 

“I should have explained to you my reasoning and for that, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “But don’t you ever think for one second that I don’t want you. I think about you all the time, my Alpha gets nervous anytime that I’m away from you for too long and hell, my cock gets hard as soon as you look at me with these eyes.”

“Namjoon,” you whined through giggles, which made him smile as he looked at you fondly. 

“If you’re comfortable with it, I’d have sex with you whenever you wanted,” he said. 

“I’m comfortable with it,” you assured him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“But what about pups?” You whispered, your lips moving against his as you spoke.

“Baby, I’d love to see you pregnant with my pups,” he told you. “If it were up to just me, you’d always be pregnant. All you have to do is say the word.”

“I want your pups Alpha,” you murmured as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Please.” Without another word, Namjoon bent down and scooped you up into his arms, making you squeal and cling onto him as he carried you bridal style out of the kitchen and up the stairs. 

“I could’ve walked!” You exclaimed while giggling. 

“This is more romantic,” he winked at you. After making it up the stairs, he walked down the hallway to your bedroom, using one hand to open the door before stepping inside. He walked over to the bed, laying you down gently before crawling on top of you and kissing you passionately. 

You moaned into his mouth, your legs coming up to wrap themselves around his waist as you pulled him closer to you. He moved away from your lips eventually, his mouth trailing downwards and sucking on the mating mark that he had given you on your wedding night. 

“You’re perfect baby,” he mumbled against your skin and you could barely reply because he had begun to grind against you. The thin layer of your leggings did little to inhibit the feeling, and you felt yourself whining as you became more turned on. 

“W-wanna suck you off,” you whispered shyly and he pulled his face out of your neck, looking down at you with a smile. 

“Alright,” he nodded before climbing off of you, settling himself next to you on the bed. You sat up then, reaching down and pulling off your t-shirt before letting Namjoon help you unclip your bra. Even though the two of you hadn’t had sex as often as you hoped, you had sex often enough to know that your husband was definitely a breast man and he loved to see them while you gave him a blow job. 

You moved down the bed and settled yourself on your stomach in between his legs, pulling down the shorts he had on and his boxers just enough so that his cock fell out, taking ahold of it in both of your hands. He was almost fully hard and you didn’t waste any time taking him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip.

“Fuck,” Namjoon groaned deeply and hearing your Alpha feel good only spurred you on. You then took him as deep into your mouth as you could, making him moan from how good your throat felt around his cock. Once you deemed him wet enough, you began to bob your head up and down, using your hands to stroke the parts of his shaft that you couldn’t reach with your mouth. 

“Good girl baby,” he praised you. “So good to my cock.” You could feel yourself getting wet but you were too focused on doing your best to make your husband feel good. As you continued to suck him off for a few minutes, you could feel his cock beginning to throb lightly and you knew that meant that he was close to coming. Just as that thought registered in your mind though, Namjoon reached down and pulled himself out of your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” You wondered. 

“You're sucking me off a little too well baby,” he chuckled. “I was about to come embarrassingly fast.”

“That’s ok,” you shrugged. 

“Not if you want my pups inside of you instead of in your mouth,” he smirked, making you blush at his words. “Here, switch places with me.” You sat up and shuffled on your knees up the bed, turning yourself around before laying down on your back. Namjoon then sat up and grabbed ahold of the waist band of your leggings, pulling them down along with your panties. You let your legs fall out and Namjoon licked his lips once he set his eyes on your bare pussy.

“I knew it,” he grumbled, reaching out and letting his middle finger ghost over your clit. “I could tell you were getting wet baby, I could smell your scent from your pussy.” Without giving you the chance to reply, he dove forward and sucked your clit into his mouth. You cried out, your back arching up off of the bed as he suckled on your clit. 

“Damn it,” you whimpered, lifting your head and watching him as he began to leave wide licks up your slit. 

“Let’s see how you do with a finger,” Namjoon muttered, pausing the actions of his tongue in order to slide his middle finger inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, letting your had fall back against the bed. 

“You’re so tight baby, you’re just swallowing my finger,” Namjoon groaned. You felt movement on the bed and when you opened your eyes, you were surprised to see that Namjoon was now laying next to you on the bed, looking down at you as he pushed a second finger in alongside his 

“You want Alpha to make you come like this?” He wondered aloud as he began to thrust his finger in and out of you. “Wanna come on my fingers?”

“Please,” you nodded and he smiled as he began to fuck you faster. Namjoon’s fingers were long and slender, meaning that he as able to reach the deepest parts of you without it being too overwhelming to you. 

“Ha, ha,” you moaned in time with his thrusts.

“You’re dripping baby,” he told you but you didn’t even hear him because you could feel your orgasm winding to it’s end in your core.

“I’m gonna come,” you announced and nothing could’ve prepared you for Namjoon pulling his fingers out of you. You whipped your head to look over at him, tears beginning to well up in your eyes as you felt your orgasm slowly but surely slipping away. 

“Why?” You pouted and Namjoon cooed at you before leaning over and kissing you firmly for a few seconds before pulling away. 

“Alpha wants his Omega to come on his cock while I come inside of you, ok?” He told you and you sighed reluctantly before nodding your head. 

Namjoon pushed his shorts and underwear all the way off his legs before reaching up and pulling his t-shirt off as well. He then sat up and moved to settle in between your legs, taking ahold of the base of his cock and tapping the head of it on your clit. 

“If you want me to c-come on your cock, d-don’t tease me,” you whined and he just chuckled fondly. 

“Ok, I’m sorry baby,” he whispered, guiding his cock into you slowly. You felt like you were going to choke on air as he stretched you out, since you had basically forgotten how long and thick he was. 

“Oh, just like that baby,” Namjoon mumbled as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you. “You’re opening up so good for me.”

“A-Alpha,” you whimpered, clutching onto his forearms as he began to fuck you faster. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“What does?” Namjoon goaded you. “Tell your Alpha baby.”

“Your cock feels good inside me,” you moaned. “Feel so full.”

“God, I can’t believe that I was keeping myself from feeling your tight little pussy every day,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry baby.”

“It’s o-ok,” you stammered back, the beginnings of your orgasm starting to reappear.

“I’m gonna fuck you everyday from here on out if you let me,” he swore, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “Would you want that? Want Alpha to always keep you full with his knot?”

“Please, please, please,” you chanted.

“Want Alpha to fuck a baby into you?”

“Give it to me,” you moaned loudly and Namjoon reached up, sliding two of his fingers into your open mouth. You didn’t even hesitate to start sucking on them, making your husband groan as your tongue slid around the digits. 

“Gonna make you come,” he said as he pulled his fingers away from your mouth, reaching down and setting them on your clit. Your mouth dropped open as he began to rub firm circles on the nub and you were almost embarrassed by  how fast the stimulation sped up the pace at which your orgasm was running towards you. 

“Holy fuck, don’t stop,” you pleaded. “I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead baby, I won’t stop you,” he promised as he continued to fuck you and rub your clit. Sure enough, your orgasm slammed into you a few seconds later. The moan that fell out of your mouth was almost deafeningly loud and you were sure that Namjoon would have indents on his arm from where you were gripping onto his skin as your back arched up off of the bed. 

“Fuck, you’re squirting baby,” he groaned as he took his hand off of your clit and placed his hands on the bed next to your head, fucking into you even harder now. 

“T-too much,” you murmured as you set your hands against his chest.

“You love it though. You’re still coming for me,” he smirked and you couldn’t help but to blush because you could still feel yourself leaking onto his cock. 

“I do,” you admitted and he leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. 

“You’re so perfect for me,” he grumbled and you could feel the beginnings of his knot starting to swell. “Squirting for me and marking your Alpha. God, it makes me want to stuff my knot into you and fill you up with my pups.”

“Do it,” you encouraged him. “Give me a baby Joon.”

“I love you,” he grunted and you gave him a small smile.

“I love you too,” you replied, moaning lightly when he kissed you again. As the two of you made out, Namjoon pushed his knot inside of you and you felt his cum start to pour into you. He continued to give you light strokes, making sure to fuck his cum even deeper inside of you than it already was.

“Making sure that it takes huh?” You giggled and he just blushed as he pulled back to look at you. 

“Gotta make it worth it,” he pointed out. “Besides, even if you don’t get pregnant this time, we can always try again and again and again.”

“As long as you make me come like that again,” you nodded in agreement.

“Oh, I definitely wanna see that again,” he smirked. “Maybe I should deny you your orgasm more often.”

“I’ll murder you,” you stated firmly, making him laugh loudly. 

“I’m joking baby,” he said, leaning down and kissing your mating mark. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered.

.............................................

A few weeks later, the day of Namjoon’s coronation had finally come. The entire pack was gathered outside near the wall of magnolias that you and Namjoon had gotten married near, waiting for the ceremony to take place. 

The two of you were in your shared bedroom, where you were helping him get dressed into his traditional hanbok. 

“Are you ok?” You asked him while you fastened the buttons on his chest. 

“Yeah, of course,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re trembling,” you giggled and he just sighed heavily.

“I’m terrified,” he admitted. “I’ve been looking forward to being Pack Leader my entire life but what if I’m not good at it? My dad and grandfather were amazing Pack Alphas and what if I can’t measure up?”

“Joon,” you tsked as you reached up and set your hands on his cheeks, making him look you in the eyes. “You can’t compare yourself to anyone else. You are going to be an amazing leader because you’re thoughtful, caring, and selfless.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” you smiled. “Just like I know that you’ll be an amazing daddy.”

“A daddy?” He repeated confusedly and you nodded your head. It took him a few minutes but when he put the pieces together, his eyes widened. “Baby, are you pregnant?”

“I am,” you nodded, squealing in surprise when Namjoon wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, spinning you around in a circle. “Wait, you’re gonna make me nauseous!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he laughed as he set you back down on the ground. “I just can’t believe it.”

“You’re happy, right?”

“Of course I am,” he sighed contentedly. “I’m so happy that our parents arranged our marriage.”

“Ditto,” you cooed, leaning forward and kissing him gently for a few seconds before pulling away. “Now, we have to go. You have to go and claim your rightful position.”

“We have to claim our rightful position,” he corrected you as he reached down and intertwined your fingers with his. After taking one last look at him to make sure that he looked good, the two of you walked downstairs and out of your house, ready to step into your new roles and the new phase of your lives. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

[seijorhi]

Hi, I saw ur post about requests closing soon so I figured I’d give ya another, but it’s okay if ya don’t get to it anytime soon since you have so many!! Can I request Yandere Suga and Daichi with a fem! darling who’s oblivious to them, and they both maintain the image of friends in front of others but they’re actually fighting each other for your love, but then you start dating someone else and they both team up? I 💕 your writing so much, I’m excited to see what you do 😌

Yes of course bby! Hope you like it 💕

Daichi Sawamura x female reader, Sugawara Koushi x female reader

TW implied non-con, slight nsfw, manipulation, abuse of power (kinda), minor violence, mentions of grief

Tug O’ War

You meet Daichi first, on the outskirts of Miyagi thanks to a blown tyre and a dead phone battery. It’s just after nine pm and you’re ready to resign yourself to abandoning your car and hiking the rest of the way when the police cruiser pulls up, and sitting behind the wheel is Officer Daichi. 

Sawamura, he tells you on the drive into town.

“So I take it you’re not from around here?” he asks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a small smile adorning his face, but you know he’s just being polite, trying to break the somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Truth be told you don’t mind the quiet. With his radio playing quietly in the background, you’re still trying to sort through your thoughts, prepare yourself for what’s waiting for you when you arrive. 

But that’s not his problem, and you don’t want to be rude, so you shake your head with a faint smile of your own. “I am actually… or I was, I guess. I moved away after high school.”

A lone eyebrow quirks, “Oh yeah? So what brings you back to Miyagi then? Family?”

Fingers twist in your lap.

“… Something like that.” 

Maybe it’s because of the nerves eating away at your stomach, or maybe it’s just been a while since you’ve been back, but the drive to your sister’s house feels like it takes longer than it should. Daichi makes easy conversation the whole drive, and by the time you pull up out front of your old childhood home you find yourself glad of the temporary reprieve. 

“Thank you. For the lift, I mean,” you tell him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he lifts your suitcase out of the trunk and passes it over to you. “I would have been up for one hell of a walk if you hadn’t come along.” 

He grins down at you, laughing not unkindly, “It is kind of my job, but you’re welcome. I could hardly leave you stranded, now could I?”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can speak a word the front door of the house is thrown open and a tiny figure barrels out onto the front lawn. You have a split second to brace yourself before impact, tiny arms wrapping around your middle, “Auntie!!!” 

A bewildered Daichi watches as you smile (genuinely, perhaps for the first time that night), ruffling the boy’s hair. “Hey buddy, how’s my favourite little man?” 

Glancing up, you spy your sister standing in the open doorway and your smile fades a touch. Your nephew’s already excitedly chattering, blissfully oblivious to the situation - a minor miracle in and of itself - as he eagerly tugs you back up towards the house. 

It’s only when you’re halfway up the driveway that you remember Daichi.

A glance back over your shoulder confirms your suspicion - he’s still standing there, watching the odd display with a slightly confused expression, though to his credit he manages to quickly school his features back into something a touch more befitting an officer of the law when he realises he’s been caught.

“Thank you again, really. I appreciate it. You’re kinda my hero tonight.”

He nods, and it might be a trick of the dim light, but you swear you see his cheeks flush pink, “Anytime.”

Just as he promised, your car is picked up by a local towing company the very next morning before you’re even out of bed. The tyre is replaced without too much fuss, but when you go to pay, the mechanic simply shakes his head and tells you it’s all been taken care of.

You make a mental note to swing by the station and thank Daichi (again) in person.

***

It’s only fitting, you suppose, that you meet Suga a few days later. 

Thursday’s your sister works late, which leaves you to pick your nephew up from school. You’re thankful that they’re already aware of the situation, nobody questions why a veritable stranger is passing through the gates - at least, not after your nephew perks up at the sight of you, shouting your name as he hastily tries to shove his arms through his backpack. In his excitement he almost trips - would have tripped - if not for the silver haired man who catches him before he can stumble, setting him right with a shake of his head.

“Please slow down, Daisuke. You’ll hurt yourself,” he chastises gently. 

Your nephew pouts, and you can’t help but chuckle a little as he ducks his head in shame as you approach. “Hey bud, did you have a good day?”

Hazel eyes regard you curiously as your nephew clings to your legs, nodding before burying his face into your side. 

“You must be Y/N,” the man - Daisuke’s teacher you can only assume - says as he straightens up. 

Considering your nephew had all but screamed it across the courtyard, there’s not really a need to confirm it, but you nod anyway, accepting his hand when he offers it. 

He’s tall and handsome - though maybe handsome’s the wrong word. Pretty, maybe - his features are soft and delicate, with long eyelashes and eyes you could quite easily lose yourself in, truth be told.

“His mother told us you’d be coming by every now and then to pick him up. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Sugawara, Daisuke’s teacher.” He pauses, biting his lip for a moment before exhaling quietly. “I’m sorry, by the way, about…”

You’re quick to wave him off, ignoring the painful tug in your chest, “Please, it’s- I-I’m not… It’s fine.” 

It’s very much not. 

Even as you say the words your hand finds its way to Daisuke’s hair, stroking it gently as his grip tightens. You’ve never been good at dealing with grief, your own or anybody else’s, but you can’t stand the platitudes - even those with the best of intentions. 

Sugawara frowns faintly but he doesn’t push you and desperate to change the subject you force a smile on your face, “So, you’re the famous Suga I’ve heard so much about! He absolutely adores you, you know? You’re almost all he talks about at home.”

He laughs, and just like that you feel the tension in the air dissipate. “Oh, is that so? I guess I could say the same about you. I’ve heard nothing but ‘auntie Y/N’ all week.”

Your cheeks heat, and you gaze fondly down at the boy still clinging to your side. “He’s a good kid.”

Daisuke chooses that moment to pipe up, launching into a detailed recount of his day, much to your and Suga’s mutual amusement. 

And neither you nor Daisuke notice that while you’re engrossed in his retelling, Sugawara’s pretty hazel eyes are focused on you, a soft smile playing across his lips. 

Thursday afternoon pick ups quickly morph into Tuesday, Thursday and Friday afternoon pick ups as well as Monday morning drop offs, and you don’t mind one bit. For one, you know that your sister appreciates it more than she lets on and you would do anything to make this even the slightest bit easier for her, and it gives you a bit more time to spend with Daisuke, which you’ve missed more than you care to admit. 

Also because whenever you do stop by to pick him up, Suga - Koushi, as he keeps insisting you call him - makes it his personal mission to strike up a conversation, whether he’s out there supervising the kids or not.

He’s friendly and warm and has a surprising habit of making you laugh at the most unexpected things, and you can’t help but find yourself being reeled in by the silver haired man. It doesn’t hurt that Daisuke thinks he hangs the moon in the sky, but there’s just something about Suga that’s… easy.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t poke or pry. You still have a few friends in Miyagi, but the conversations inevitably end up circling back to what happened and how you’re holding up. You don’t blame them, you know they’re only worried about you, but it’s exhausting. Suga’s a breath of fresh air, and you hadn’t realised how desperate you were for a friend who didn’t know all the grizzly details.

Though being Daisuke’s teacher, he undoubtedly does.

But Suga seems content to pretend, until the day you arrive sniffling, eyes rimmed in red and unable to muster your usual smile.

That’s when the facade breaks, and he takes you back inside the classroom away from all the prying eyes of the other parents and lets you fall apart on his shoulder. You should be mortified, but you suppose that Suga’s probably uniquely equipped at dealing with emotional outbursts, considering he spends his days surrounded by six year olds.

“He was like my big brother,” you whisper after a while, your voice shattered and raw. “I miss him so much.”

He doesn’t say a word but his grip tightens and he hums quietly, and that’s enough.

***

A week after you get settled, you swing by the local police station with two coffees in hand and timidly ask the uniformed officer sitting at the front desk if Daichi’s around. The man looks at you, looks at the two drinks in your hands and grins a little too widely. 

“Good ol’ Daichi, eh?” he winks, “Yeah, he won’t be back for a while. Can I help you with anything, ma’am?”

Your cheeks burn. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering he’s a police officer and all, but it does and you feel like an absolute idiot. Of course you should have checked before coming, but even if you’d had the foresight to do that, it wasn’t like you had his number.

Thankfully the other officer takes pity on you after you explain why you’re actually there, promising to let Daichi know you stopped by, diligently taking down your number to pass along as well. 

True to his word, it’s hours later - well into the afternoon - when your phone lights up with a notification. Several, in fact.

Hey Y/N.

It’s Daichi.

Sawamura.

Srgt. Mokoto said you came to see me today?

Is everything okay??

The corner of your lips quirked up, and you get the sense that Mokoto had likely neglected to tell Daichi the real reason you’d dropped in, probably to make him sweat. 

Hey :)

Yeah everything’s fine.

I brought you coffee as a thank you for the other day! Which I maaay have drank myself when you weren’t there…

But let me make it up to you! I can drop by the station if you’re around on wednesday at all?

The reply comes quickly. 

Absolutely. 10:30 work?

You shoot back a quick reply confirming and toss your phone on the couch with a sigh. 

It buzzes again a moment later, but the text message waiting for you isn’t from Daichi.

So a little birdie tells me you’re back in town. 

***

“You know, you really didn’t have to bring me coffee. I meant what I said, it’s part of my job. My boss would have had my ass if I’d just left you stranded there like that.”

You glance over at him with a wry smile. “Yeah? And paying for my new tyre and the towing, is that part of your job too?”

Daichi’s cheeks flush pink and he almost chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah.”

‘Ah’ indeed. “So considering I doubt you’re going to let me pay you back-”

He lifts a hand to stop you, shaking his head adamantly, “Not a chance. I know the guy who runs the garage, he owes me a favour. It was nothing, really-”

“Then coffee is the least I can do,” you say with an easy shrug. “But I know you���re busy, and I don’t want to keep you too long-”

Daichi’s hand - warm and rough - reaches out to close around your wrist, stopping you before you can stand.

“Stay,” he says, dark eyes glimmering.

***

You’ve forgotten, having spent the last few years living in the heart of Tokyo, just how small a town this really is. 

You’re standing out by the school gates watching Daisuke run around with his friends when Suga decides to broach the subject. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Hmm?” You glance up to find him watching you with that same fond if not mildly exasperated expression on his face. It’s not his fault, not really - you’ve just been a little out of it the past few days. 

Thankfully, Suga doesn’t hold it against you, chuckling. “Tomorrow night - are you free?” he repeats.

Your eyes widen a little, cheeks warming. “Um… well I kinda have a… thing earlier, but I should be free by then. Why?”

A silver eyebrow lifts. “A thing?” he prods.

“Just a thing. Why are you being so nosy all of a sudden?”

Suga laughs again, “Well if you’re not still tied up with your thing, I’m having some friends over for drinks for my birthday. You should come.”

Which is how you find yourself standing nervously out the front of Suga’s apartment, a bottle of wine in hand. 

When you knock, however, the person who opens the door is not the one you’re expecting. Tall, broad shouldered and handsome, out of uniform for the first time since you’d met him-

“D-Daichi?”

The brunette stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“I, uh… I’m- is Suga… Is Sugawara here?” you manage to stutter out, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze.

His brows furrow, an odd look passing over his eyes, and for one awful moment you think you’ve somehow managed to screw up the address. But before you can embarrass yourself further, a familiar head of silver hair appears behind his shoulder, slapping him on the back.

Relief washes over you. “Suga! Happy birthday!” 

Pushing a still somewhat bewildered Daichi out of the way, Suga’s quick to wrap you up in a warm embrace - which takes you by surprise - with a grin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your eyes flicker back to Daichi for a split second, and Suga’s follow. He’s more observant than most give him credit for, but even the most oblivious would have a hard time not noticing the blank expression on the brunette’s face - or the way he was still staring at you. “You two… know each other?” he asks, ignoring the teasing and impatient shouts coming from inside the apartment.

Finally, Daichi snaps out of his stupor. “Yeah. We met the night she moved back into town.”

“Which is a polite way of saying that my car basically imploded and he saved me from having to hike all the way back to my sister’s,” you correct, and Daichi huffs in amusement, though he doesn’t disagree. “Suga teaches my nephew,” you tell him, answering the unspoken question written across his face. “I didn’t realise the two of you were friends, though!”

The two share a glance over your shoulder.

“Yep.”

“Small world, I guess.”

You laugh, passing Suga the bottle of wine, allowing Daichi to lead you inside with an innocent hand on your lower back.

There’s a decent few people squashed into Suga’s modest apartment, but somehow you manage to find yourself sitting around his coffee table, Daichi’s arm slung over the back of your seat, Suga sitting opposite you both, discussing - of all things - high school sports.

“Volleyball, huh?”

You can kind of see it. They’re both tall and in great shape - you’re pretty damn certain the muscles Daichi sports aren’t just for show - but it’s more than that. You tilt your head, chewing on your bottom lip. “What school did you say you played for?”

“Karasuno,” Suga says.

It takes a moment for it to click - though you blame that on the drink in your hand that Suga’s dutifully kept topped up - Karasuno… the flightless crows. Ah yes. 

A slow smile creeps across your face. 

“I saw you play once.”

Both men’s eyes widen, “You did?” Suga asks.

“Yep. The guy I was dating at the time, he played too.” You almost laugh when you glance up to find Daichi frowning at your side, an unexpected tightness in Suga’s usually easy going smile, “It’s okay,” you reassure them, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach, “you guys won. It damn near broke his poor heart.” Not that he’d ever admitted as much out loud.

There’s a short silence, then-

“What team?” 

You do laugh at that, “Don’t you think you guys are a little past high school rivalries?”

The ex-captain and setter meet each other’s eyes. Neither speak a word, but something utterly indecipherable passes between them, and when Daichi finally breaks it to glance back at you, there’s a sharp grin plastered across his face.

“Nope.”

You shake your head, feeling like you’ve missed something. 

***

Hours later, fresh from a steamy shower, you stumble into bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. Sure enough, two unread messages are waiting for you.

You looked so damned pretty today. 

Are you gonna let me take you out to dinner now or am I gonna have to get on my hands and knees and beg?

You smile into your pillow, quickly typing out a reply.

I don’t know, you used to be pretty good on your knees.

Your phone lights up a moment later, a familiar ringtone playing out.

***

Life gets busy after that. 

Suga mentions that Daisuke is struggling in class, so you decide to join some of the other parents and volunteer as a ‘class helper’ one afternoon a week. Dai beams whenever you show up, and Suga seems eternally grateful for the extra set of hands - even if it’s just for craft time. 

And just when you think you’ve managed to patch one hole, another appears. Miyagi might be a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, it’s not immune to the low life creeps that used to hang around your old apartment block in the city - you’re mugged walking back from the store, a bag of groceries for dinner in arm. The guy only hits you once, a blow to the cheek that sends you sprawling to the ground, grabs your bag - the one with your phone and wallet - and runs. 

Your sister almost bursts into tears when she sees the cut on your lip, and it’s guilt more than anything else that swells through you when she spends the next twenty minutes berating you for not being careful enough.

You know she doesn’t mean it, you know she’s just scared. The promise falls from your lips before you can stop it, but it’s worth it you think, when her face relaxes and she pulls you into a tight hug.

But when you drop by the station the next morning, Daichi takes one look at you, and you watch in perfect slow motion as that warm smile freezes and falls. You expect the police report he makes you file, though you don’t really hold that much hope that they’re going to get your phone or wallet back, but not the words that come out of his mouth next.

“Self defence classes? Daichi, I...” you exhale with a huff, “don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”

The dark look in Daichi’s eyes as they flicker across your face tells you otherwise. “What if they had a knife, or a gun?” 

You would have just thrown your bag and run, you weren’t stupid - your purse wasn’t worth your life, but Daichi doesn’t want to hear a word of it. 

“What if your wallet wasn’t all he wanted?” he presses, and you stiffen at the implication. Gentle hands reach across the table to grab yours, the rough pad of his thumb brushing against the back of your palm, “Just you and me, two hours a week, that’s all I’m asking.”

… What now?

“You’re going to teach me?”

“You got somebody better in mind, sweetheart?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow and a wry grin.

It makes sense, you suppose - what with him being a police officer and all. 

And between your one on one sessions with him, volunteering at the school with Suga, making sure that Daisuke got to school on time, that the house was cleaned, there was food in the pantry and your sister wasn’t falling apart, you were running on fumes.

Yet when you come home exhausted and aching from Daichi’s place and catch sight of him, casually leaning against your doorway with a bag of takeout and that damned smirk you’d fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago, you can’t help but grin.

“Hey, baby. You hungry?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

***

They’re more observant than you give them credit for.

Suga notices the way you gingerly stretch to put away the paint supplies one afternoon.

Daichi catches an eyeful of a bruise on your neck as he hovers over you - the makeup you’d used to hide it having rubbed off with the last manoeuvre.

Suga catches you checking your phone more often, smiling softly to yourself.

Where Daichi used to be able to coax you into staying back for a drink, you were quick to finish up and head home, claiming to be tired and hungry. You don’t take him up on his offer for dinner either. 

But the final nail in the coffin came in the form of a drawing.

“Dai, who’s that?” 

Suga’s crouched by his desk, gazing oddly at the picture your nephew had drawn. The task was simple - draw your family. Daisuke had dutifully done just that; him, his mom, you, and-

“Auntie’s new boyfriend.”

Suga’s eyes snap to yours and you curse your heart for skipping a beat. “I didn’t know you were dating anybody.”

***

Daichi’s fingers tap restlessly on the leather of the steering wheel. 

He was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago but when the call came in, he didn’t really have a choice but to answer it. She’d asked specifically for him after all, and even if she hadn’t, the Sergeant would have tossed the case his way regardless.

Mokoto knew how he felt about you.

Spending an hour and a half sitting in your living room while your sister sobbed wasn’t exactly how he’d planned on spending his afternoon, but he supposed it came with the territory. He knows how to do his job properly, though. Listening, asking the right questions, offering sympathy without promising results - it’s nothing he hasn’t had to do before. 

“Please Daichi, she- she’s all we have left, I… I can’t-”

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aching to leave with every second that passed. 

Of course, it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Through her tears, your sister did manage to give up the name of the guy you were fucking. 

A name he certainly recognised from way back in high school. He knows he’s going to enjoy pursuing that particular lead, but as he pulls his car into the driveway and switches the motor off, Daichi shoves the thought aside.

He has other, far more pressing matters to deal with.

His heart thrums like hummingbird’s as he walks up the pathway, nodding politely at his elderly neighbour as he passes. 

The sight that greets him inside his living room makes the wait worthwhile.

You, on your knees, stripped down to your pretty, lace underwear, arms cuffed behind your back and your plush lips wrapped around his best friend’s cock.

With his long fingers carefully carding through your hair, Suga coos at you between breathless moans, praising you for being such a good girl for him with every roll of his hips. You’re shaking, trembling as silvery tears spill down your cheeks and when he drops his wallet, phone and keys on the bench and kicks off his shoes, your wide, pleading eyes turn to greet him.

Daichi’s cock stirs in his pants, a rush of excitement and something much, much darker and more primal flooding his veins. 

Noticing that he no longer has your full attention, Suga’s eyes follow yours. “You’re late,” he says with a lazy smirk.

Loosening his tie, Daichi huffs out a laugh, “And I see you didn’t bother waiting.”

[buckleyblueyes]

once you find it (it can never be replaced)

Wrote this as a little late birthday present for @diazchristopher! I hope you like it Neethu! Happy belated birthday! 

Summary: It’s not an earth shattering realization, there’s nothing dramatic about it. It’s as simple as it is inevitable (also read on AO3)

Buck realizes he’s in love with Eddie three days before Halloween. It’s not an earth shattering realization, there’s nothing dramatic about it. It’s as simple as it is inevitable. It happens on a Monday morning at the station. The coffee maker breaks on the first cup of the day, and nobody's happy about it. Chimney makes a run to the coffee shop to get them through, but he’s not back yet, and Eddie is glaring daggers at the broken machine, as if he can intimidate it into working again.

“Hey, Bobby, can we get a Hildy?” Albert asks.

Eddie whips around before Bobby can say anything. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no. It’s bad enough I have one of those hell machines spying on me at home.” He glances at Buck. “I refuse to let Hildy infiltrate the station.”

Bobby chuckles. “Calm down, Eddie. We couldn’t afford a smart coffee maker anyway.”

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, and Buck can’t help the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” is what he says out loud. “God, I love you,” is what he says in his head. It doesn’t take him by surprise, doesn’t freak him out like maybe it should, given that he’s dating someone who isn’t Eddie. He’s always known his feelings for Eddie were more complicated than simple friendship. He hasn’t let himself dwell on it, has always had good reasons for ignoring the flutter in his chest when Eddie looks at him a certain way, or the warmth that cascades through his body when Eddie finds a reason to touch him (a hand on his shoulders as he passes by, an arm brushed against his, a knee pressed against his thigh in the truck). It was always there, a faint hum in the back of his mind.

Easy to ignore, until suddenly it’s not.

Buck breaks up with Taylor on a Tuesday in November, two weeks after the hum in his mind has graduated to an all encompassing buzzing under his skin, three days before their six month anniversary. It’s not dramatic, or even very painful, for either of them, and Buck knows he made the right decision. He likes Taylor, but he doesn’t love her, and as sad as she is to see him go, he knows that she doesn’t love him either.  

He’s not sure why it takes him so long between the realization and the decision to break things off with Taylor. Maybe it’s because breaking up with Taylor means actually acknowledging that he’s in love with Eddie to someone other than himself. Not that he says it, but he knows it’s implied in the way he says, “I just don’t think this is what I want,” and the way she just nods, like she’s seen this coming. Which she probably has. Subtly has never been Buck’s strong suit.

He announces the breakup the next day at work because Chimney is asking when he’s free to babysit Jee-Yun next and mentions something about not wanting to get in the way of Buck’s relationship and Buck assures him that there’s no relationship to get in the way of. Chimney pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Buckaroo,” he says with a small smile.

“I’m okay,” Buck insists. “I was the one who broke it off.”

“Oh.” Chimney sounds dumbfounded, which Buck supposes is fair, given how often Buck talks about being lonely. “Why?”

Because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, Eddie choses that moment to step out from the otherside of the ladder truck. “Why what?”

“Buck broke up with Taylor,” Chimney says, like he’s not stepping in the middle of an emotional minefield--after all, none of the mines will blow him up.

Eddie’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. But Buck knows him well enough to see it.

“We wanted different things,” Buck says, shrugging. The bell rings before Eddie or Chimney can ask more questions. Buck sighs in relief.

By the end of shift, everyone at the station knows about the breakup, because Chimney knows, and Chimney loves gossip, and Buck told Chimney he could tell people. It saves him the trouble of having to acknowledge it, lets the word spread without him having to have the same conversation a dozen times. Instead he focuses on his work, pretending not to notice the sympathetic looks his coworkers keep flashing him. Poor Buck, they’re all probably thinking, alone again.

Well. Almost all of them. Buck has no idea what Eddie is thinking, but he’s sure it’s not the same sad sympathy everyone else is exuding because Eddie never even liked Taylor. He’s probably relieved he doesn’t have to make awkward small talk with her again, if anything. Eddie watches Buck like their other coworkers, but the look in his eyes isn’t sympathy. Buck pretends not to notice Eddie’s looks, too.

A week after Buck’s breakup with Taylor, he’s leaning against Eddie’s kitchen counter with a beer in his hand, and Eddie’s at the sink washing dishes (only fair, since Buck cooked dinner). Christopher is in his room working on homework, and the house is quiet, which only serves to emphasize the tension that’s been building between the two men for the last week, like a rubber band slowly pulled taut, just barely held in place between two fingers.

“So,” Eddie starts, in a tone of forced casualness. “How have you been doing since your breakup?”

Buck takes a swig of his beer. “Fine. It was my choice, and I don’t regret it.”

“Your choice,” Eddie echoes, placing the last dish on the drying rack, before turning to face Buck. “Y’know, you never really told me why.”  

Buck gulps. “Eddie…”

“Why did you break up with Taylor?” Eddie asks, dark eyes boring into Buck. The rubber band stretches even further. “And I don’t want the lie you told Chimney.”

Buck sets down his beer, and crosses his arms. “Why did you break up with Ana?”

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” Eddie doesn’t hesitate. “She wasn’t who I wanted.”

Buck’s arms fall back to his sides. “Who-what do you want, then?” He tries to swallow the word “who” in the back of his throat, but it comes out anyway. His palms are sweating and his heart is racing and oh, God, what if he’s wrong about this?

Eddie just takes a step forward, expression unreadable. “Don’t you know, Evan?” His voice doesn’t shake, but it’s quiet, almost a whisper. Like he’s forcing the words out before he loses his ability to speak completely.

It’s not even really an answer, not entirely. There’s just enough plausible deniability that Eddie could walk it back. Maybe. If they weren’t six inches apart. If Eddie wasn’t looking at him like every hope and dream he’s ever had rely on what Buck does next. If the last time Eddie used Buck’s first name wasn’t in a hospital room. If Buck didn’t know Eddie so completely.

The rubber band snaps.

Buck practically lunges forward into Eddie’s space, wrapping his hands around Eddie’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. He kisses Eddie hard, pouring every ounce of pent up emotion from the last three and a half years into it, and Eddie kisses him back with equal intensity. Eddie’s hands on his waist, callused and warm, and Buck pushes Eddie up against the edge of the sink so their bodies are pressed together as firmly as their lips are. Buck’s fingers find their way from Eddie’s neck into his hair, and he tugs gently, earning a moan from the other man. Seizing the opportunity, Buck slides his tongue along Eddie’s lower lip, which falls open further to let Buck in. Time moves slow as honey around them, as they melt into each other. Nothing else in the world seems to matter except getting more and more of Eddie.

Buck’s giddy with the feeling. He’s kissing Eddie. Eddie is kissing him back. Eddie wants him. He has to pull back, unable to stop himself from letting out a small giggle.

“What?” Eddie asks, breathless. He sure is a sight, hair mussed and lips swollen. He looks wanton and a wave of smugness bubbles up in Buck’s chest because he did that.

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” Buck says softly, leaning down to rest his forehead against Eddie's. “I thought you might--but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Eddie’s brown eyes soften with fondness. “Me too.”

Buck swallows. “Should we talk about this?”

“Probably," Eddie says, and then continues in that casual, matter of fact tone of his, "I’m in love with you."

“Oh, well, good,” Buck ducks his head and smiles bashfully. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Eddie sucks a breath through his teeth, moving back just so he can move in again at the right angle for a kiss. “Well, then. Are we done talking?”

Buck pretends to think about it for a moment. “Hm, yeah. I think we’re on the same page.”

He barely finishes his sentence before Eddie’s lips are on his again, and this time he’s the one pushed up against the counter, the cold tile digging into his back. He knows they have more to talk about--how to tell Christopher, how (and when) they want to tell the team, what this means for their working relationship--but that’s all secondary. They’ll figure it out, together. Because he’s Buck and Eddie is Eddie, and they’ve both been all in since the day they pulled a live grenade out of a man’s thigh together.

Right now, all he needs is for Eddie to never stop kissing him like this.

(Eddie never does.)

[bobohu4eva]

Pink Lace - Chapter 5

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, adult themes/situations, eventual smut

Tag list: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banana @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekswifey @bbhyun506 @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza @baekyeonoreo @bobohumyonlyboo

Masterlist

After your conversation with Baekhyun Monday evening Tuesday was spent desperately trying to get Baekhyun off your mind, with little success. He’d asked you if you liked him like that, and you couldn’t tell him no. Hell, you knew in the back of your mind that the answer was definitely yes, you just couldn’t bring yourself to say it to his face. 

As much as you did like him, the prospect of starting something with a customer who was also your professor was still terrifying. What if you two got together and people found out? Or what if things started to go south and you were still stuck with him as your teacher? 

Despite your other schoolwork, and cleaning basically everything you possibly could, your mind just kept racing with every different possible scenario for if you did tell Baekhyun how you felt. And most of them were quite unpleasant. He could lose his job, you could make class absolute hell for yourself if things didn’t go well, and so on. Different possibilities played themselves out in your mind over and over, and there was little you could do to stop it. 

However the thoughts that stuck with you the most were the ones where things didn’t end badly. Thoughts of his arms around you, his comforting words whispered in your ear, and the gentle touches of his pretty hands on your skin. As much as you fought it, the attraction was there. 

The way your mind bounced between thoughts was stressful to no end. Every time you tried reasoning with yourself, you just thought about how good he made you feel when you were alone together. 

Baekhyun was always so willing to be vulnerable with you, it made you feel appreciated. He was so open about his feelings, and honest with his intentions towards you that it made it difficult to push him away. You wanted to be able to show him the same kind of vulnerability as well, but the possibilities if you did still frightened you too much. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to go on like this forever, sooner or later you had to figure out what to say to him. 

Your essay was plaguing you as well. You’d tried to start it on several occasions, but Plato’s writing was so old timey and incomprehensible you didn’t even know where to start. It also didn’t help that every time you tried to start writing, all you could think about was what Baekhyun would think. The idea of turning a shitty paper in for him to read and grade made you feel sick. You knew you were shooting yourself in the foot putting it off but you just couldn’t bring yourself to start it either. 

“You’ve cleaned everything in the apartment. Twice. What’s with you today y/n?” Mia asked as she walked out of her bedroom and into the common area, finding you once again wiping down all the surfaces in the kitchen. 

“I’m trying to distract myself, was that not obvious?” You knew what was coming next. 

“Baekhyun still on your mind?” 

Yes. He was. In every possible way, good and bad, and you couldn’t stop it. 

“I think I do like him.” 

“See! I knew it!” You rolled your eyes at her. “Anything exciting happen yesterday? Did you decide to keep the money?” She asked, sitting down at the dining room table, you sitting down across from her. 

 “I’m keeping it, I tried giving it back but he told me some stuff and turns out he doesn’t need it after all.” 

“So he IS rich?!” 

“Yeah... although not from anything cool or fun. His rich parents died recently.” 

“Oh shit, that sucks. That must’ve been an awkward conversation.” 

“Not really. I don’t know why but talking to him is getting easier and easier. I even stayed after he told me I could go.”

“You really must like him then, damn. Can’t blame you though, he is hot.” You shot her an angry look but you both knew she was right. “So what are you gonna do about it?” 

“Do about what?” 

“You liking him. He obviously likes you a lot too, so what happens next?” 

“Nothing. He’s my professor.” 

The look she shot you next said something reminiscent of ‘are you fucking serious’.

 “Oh come on y/n this guy is hot, and rich, and super into you. Even if he is your professor you can’t pass up a fling at least.” 

“And when it ends? What then? Or if someone finds out he’s fucking a student? He’d lose his job and it would be my fault.” 

“No, it would be his fault, and he’s rich anyway so it wouldn’t even matter.” 

You thought back to your last conversation with Baekhyun, and what he said about his parents. Even if he did choose to risk it for you, the thought of him losing a job that meant so much to him still didn’t sit right with you. 

“It would matter to me. Either way I don’t want other students shit talking me either. If my classmates found out there was something between us it would be hell.” 

“All I'm hearing right now, is that you just need to not get caught. The semester is only 16 weeks, as long as nothing gets out while you’re in his class nothing too bad can happen. You just have to be careful.”  

You thought about it, and she wasn’t exactly wrong. As long as nothing got out while you were his student, nothing too bad could happen. 

“He won’t lose his job if people find out we’re together later on when I’m not his student anymore, right?” 

Mia shrugged. “He doesn’t hold any power over you anymore then so I don’t see why he’d get in any trouble. People might just think it’s weird since he’s older. How old is he anyway? He looks young.” 

“I’m not exactly sure... Somewhere around 30? Late 20s maybe? I should ask him.” 

“Yeah you should. I still have homework I need to do, I should get back to that.” She said before getting herself a glass of water and retreating back to her bedroom. 

~

The next morning you were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep because of everything that was going through your head. You wanted Baekhyun, and he wanted you, but there was still too much risk involved. But part of you kept thinking about what Mia had said as well. Could a fling really be that bad? 

You were nervous to see him too. You still hadn’t given him an answer to his question, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to dodge it forever. Lying seemed like a decent option, but you knew with how honest and vulnerable Baekhyun always was with you, you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to lie to him. Especially when you did want something more with him, you were just scared. 

As philosophy class drew closer and closer you felt uneasy. You felt bad seeing Baekhyun again without giving him an answer, but you didn’t know how or what to say. You only hoped he wouldn’t press you for it. 

Class went by and you didn’t speak to him. He didn’t keep you after either, which was a relief. You had been hoping he’d at least go over some stuff that would help you on your essay, but you had no such luck, and you needed it done by midnight if you wanted any credit. 

When you got home you cursed yourself for procrastinating so much, but you had other homework too and you knew you’d be able to focus on that better, so you started it first. 

Eventually your mind got sucked into your physics assignment, and you forgot about Baekhyun and the essay, too focused on the task at hand. 

By the time you were done with your other assignments it was 8pm. Four hours until you had to submit your essay. One hour went by just reading and rereading the text you were supposed to write about. Another was wasted on an intro paragraph you kept deleting, because you still couldn’t understand the text. When 10pm hit, and you started to panic.  

You realized that you weren’t going to be able to do it. Your mind was now in freak out mode and you couldn’t concentrate anyway. Either the paper wasn’t getting turned in at all, or you needed to do something fast. In any other class you would’ve BS-ed  your way through it to turn at least something in, but you just couldn’t do that knowing Baekhyun was going to read it. You weren’t going to be able to submit it that night, but you needed to at least contact him and explain so he wouldn’t think you were stupid. 

By 10:30 you found yourself scrolling through your contacts, staring at his name. You’d thought about emailing him, but he probably wouldn’t see until morning and you didn’t have that much time. 

In hindsight you probably would’ve been fine to just send an email and try to get an extension, but the combination of anxiety over your grade and wanting to talk to him had his name in your phone looking better and better. 

So you called. 

Your nerves were on fire as you waited for him to hopefully pick up. Was this stupid? Would he even answer? Worst of all, what if he was disappointed in you for not being able to do the assignment?

After a few rings, he picked up. “Hello?” 

“Hi Baekhyun, it’s y/n.” 

“Y/n? Are you alright what’s going on?” You could hear the concern in his voice even over the phone, and you remembered why he gave you his number in the first place. 

“I- I can’t do the essay.” You felt your voice shake, before unloading all your grievances in one breath “I read the thing a million times and I still have no idea what it’s about and I put it off until tonight cause it was making me so anxious but I still can’t focus and now it’s too late and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out.” 

You heard him sigh. “Slow down, It’s okay, I know it’s a difficult assignment. Have you at least started?” 

“No..” You felt tears swelling in your eyes, threatening to spill and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice even over the phone. “Can I just skip this one? I tried to start it so many times but I don’t know how to analyze something I can’t even understand.” You choked out. 

“Y/n...” You could tell he was thinking of what to do. He probably shouldn’t give you special treatment, and you knew that but right now you hoped he would just give in. Unfortunately you had no such luck. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you just not do it. It would make it too obvious that I’m treating you differently than other students.”

“Then can you at least help me? Or give me more time? Please?” You begged.

“I’m still in my office. I can help you if you meet me here.” 

You felt your palms get sweaty and your heart beat faster at the idea of going to his office again after what had happened last time, especially this late at night and in such a fragile state. 

“O-okay. I’ll be there in 10. Bye.” You said, hanging up before he could respond.

Quickly you got on some shoes and drove yourself to the building his office was located in. Last time you’d been in there he’d asked you about your feelings for him, and now you had to go back. You told yourself to just focus on getting the essay done, but the thought still hung around in the back of your mind as you walked down the hall towards Baekhyun’s office. You felt jittery and embarrassed, but you needed to do this for your grade.

After taking a few deep breaths to ready yourself, you knocked on the door, and heard a muffled “Come in” from the other side, so you let yourself in. Baekhyun was sitting at his desk, which was covered in papers you assumed he’d been grading. Instead of the nicer clothes he would usually wear during lecture, he was just wearing a black t shirt and sweats now. 

“You know you scared the shit out of me when you called. I thought you were in danger or something.” He said to you as you sat down in front of him. “I really didn’t think you’d call me over school work.” 

“I’m sorry..” 

“It’s okay! I’m not mad or anything, just surprised. What part of the text are you having trouble with?” 

“All of it...” You felt your lip starting to quiver. “I’m sorry I know this sounds so stupid and you probably think I’m just trying to take advantage of how you like me but I promise it’s not like that.” You said, looking down and fidgeting with your hands, trying to hide the frustration on your face.

Baekhyun crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, smiling. “I never said I thought that. I told you it’s not an easy assignment, it’s ok if you’re having trouble. Plato can be difficult especially for people who aren’t used to reading things that old.” 

“I should’ve at least started earlier...” 

“Probably, but it’s too late to dwell on that now. Let’s just try to go over the reading together, yeah?” You nodded. 

He moved his chair to your side of the desk before opening your textbook to the reading for the essay. 

“So the first thing that makes The Ring of Gyges so confusing is that you don’t really know who’s talking. Basically it’s a conversation between Plato and his brother Glaucon where they’re discussing justice, and it’s actually Glaucon speaking for most of it, not Plato.” 

You were listening to what he was saying of course, but you were still distracted by the proximity. Baekhyun was sitting right next to you now, arms almost touching. The only other time the two of you got that close was at the club. And you did not need to be thinking about that while he was explaining your assignment to you. 

“Are you following me so far?” 

Your eyes immediately shot up from the book to meet his, and you quickly nodded. Having him look you in the eyes again like that made your face feel hot.

“Glaucon argues that people only peruse justice for the benefits of it, and not because they actually want to be good people. He uses the example of a ring that grants it’s user invisibility, therefore allowing them to do unjust things like steal without being caught. He tells Plato a story about a man who finds such a ring and uses it do overthrow the king.”

You groaned. “It still doesn’t make sense though, what does some story about a stupid ring have to do with justice?” 

“Well, if you were given the ability to steal and deceive people for your own benefit, without ever having to worry about getting caught, wouldn’t you do it too?” You stayed silent. “Basically, what you need to understand is what Glaucon is arguing. He’s saying that doing good deeds isn’t a part of human nature, and everyone would behave unjustly if they knew they would never get caught. Therefore, justice is something people pursue not out of want, but out of fear of the consequences if they don’t.”  

All you could do was stare at him. It was infuriating how attractive he sounded while explaining it to you. 

“Do you have a bit of a better idea what to write about now? Remember it’s only two pages, so don’t stress too much.” 

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, it makes a bit more sense now... do I still need to finish it tonight or?” 

“Friday. Just email it to me by midnight on Friday and I won’t count it late.” He said, smiling again. 

“Thank you for doing this, I’m sorry it was so late and everything.”

Baekhyun just chucked, “You know if it’s you I don’t mind. You could keep me here all night with questions and I wouldn’t stop you. But you understand now, right?” 

The way he was smiling at you now along with the closeness was making you slightly dizzy. 

“I think so, Glaucon is basically saying that injustice is better than justice then right? Because everyone would do unjust things if they’d always get away with it.” 

Baekhyun nodded. 

“So according to him the best way to live life would be to do things you know are wrong, but without being caught.” 

“Exactly. See, I knew you were smart, y/n.” A smirk had made its way onto his face as he spoke. 

You couldn’t help connecting what he was saying to what you were feeling inside towards him. You wanted him, and you knew it was wrong, but how could you deny it to yourself when it felt so right? 

“Baekhyun...” You asked, hesitantly. “D-do you think it’s okay to do things you know are wrong, as long as no one finds out?”

“I think it depends what you’re talking about.” He answered, now looking you in the eyes again with intensity. “I would never kill anyone, for any reason, even if I knew I could get away with it. But, if I really wanted something, I think I would take it.” 

You were hyperaware of how his eyes were now scanning your face, lingering on your lips. “Take what?”

A hand made contact with your thigh, slowly moving up until he stopped, right below the hem of your shorts. His thumb drew soft circles on the sensitive inner flesh, giving you goosebumps. 

“I know you feel it too, you want this, don’t you?” Baekhyun asked, now moving a stand of hair out of your face. He let his hand rest on the back of your neck, keeping you facing towards him. 

Your heart felt like it was about to short circuit from how fast it was beating. Your palms were sweaty and you could feel yourself shaking slightly. The way his thumb stroked your neck beneath your ear made you shiver, and you knew he saw. All you could do was stare back at him, dumbfounded. Any words you tried to get out stuck in your throat. He was right, you did want it. Now more than ever. 

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now. I dare you.” He said, running his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes fixed on how it trembled beneath his touch. He was slowly moving your face closer his, but you didn’t stop him. 

Your silence told Baekhyun all he needed to know, and his lips quickly found yours. Immediately you let yourself melt into the kiss. You felt your whole body buzzing, finally getting what it had wanted for so long. His lips felt unbelievably soft against yours, moving in a slow rhythm as his other hand came up from your thigh to cup your face as well. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, letting it become messier and more desperate. 

“I like you” you pulled away just enough to whisper “so fucking much.” You felt him grin into the kiss as your lips met again. 

He tasted like strawberries, and you felt high as your lips kept crashing together with more and more need. Your whole body felt like it was set on fire and simultaneously dunked in an ice bath, every nerve vibrating with want.    

When Baekhyun pulled your bottom lip gently between his teeth you let out a soft moan, and he started to lose it. He broke the kiss, standing up and pulling with him, before backing you up against the wall, a hand on either side of your head. 

“Sweetheart, don’t push me” He breathed, and started peppering kisses along the side of your neck, from under your ear down to your collarbone, sucking and biting on the way. 

Trapped between him and the wall, you felt weak and breathless. Your brain was in overdrive and you gasped at his ministrations, hands burying themselves in his soft hair.  His hands had traveled down to your waist, holding you against him tightly.

“Baekhyun” You breathed out, rubbing your thighs together as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, y/n. Don’t say that.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth.

His body pressed you into the wall, and your arms wrapped around him pulling him into you even tighter. He was completely consuming your senses and your knees felt wobbly from the intensity of it all. He was already smothering your entire front, but you tried to pull him even closer regardless.

You felt something hard press into your hip as his mouth covered yours again, and this time you shamelessly moaned his name into his open mouth. 

Much to your disappointment, Baekhyun immediately detatched himself from you, backing up until his back hit the opposite wall of the office. You could see how turned on he was by the outline of his dick through his pants and the pained look in his face. 

“Fucking christ...” He said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. You just watched from the other side of the room. He kept his eyes closed and you observed as his jaw clenched and unclenched before you heard him continue. “You have to go. If you don’t I’m gonna fuck you on my desk and I won’t be gentle.” 

Your throat went dry at his crude words, but you couldn’t deny your own arousal. You walked back towards him, reaching out to touch his chest which was now rising and falling rapidly, but he grabbed you before you could make contact. His grip on your wrist was so tight it was almost painful. His knuckles were white, and you could see a drop of sweat trickle down the side of his face. 

His eyes bore into your own with a stare that warned you not to try anything more. 

“I’m sorry y/n but you have to leave. Not tonight. Not like this.” With his free hand he grabbed your belongings off his desk, shoving them into your arms. 

Still speechless, he opened the door and pulled you outside before going back in and closing the door behind him. You stood and stared at his office door for a minute, recollecting yourself and processing what the hell had just happened. 

Eventually your shaky legs began making their way down the hallway, back towards your car. You were pretty sure a janitor saw you as you turned the corner just down the hall from Baekhyun’s office. You kept your head down, trying to hide your face best you could while hurrying past. 

Once you were sitting in your car, you slumped into the seat, mind still in a daze after what happened in Baekhyun’s office. You waited for your breathing and heartrate to slow down before you drove away. 

Baekhyun left shorty after you as well, unable to concentrate on anything but the sound of you moaning his name. He felt terrible for throwing you out of his office but he’d meant what he said. He didn’t want his first time to have you to be in his office, purely fueled by pent up lust. He wanted to give you more than that. 

More than anything, he just couldn’t believe he’d gotten what he’d wanted for the entire summer. It didn’t seem possible, but now it had happened. And you actually kissed him back. It felt too good to be true. He felt himself once again struggling to sleep, but this time because he was too excited. This time, he didn’t have to keep himself up wondering, he knew he had you. He just couldn’t wait to see what would happed now.

You on the other hand couldn’t stop worrying about that exact thing as you stared at the ceiling above your bed. What would happen now? The thoughts weren’t fearful anymore, there was just too many of them to shut your mind down enough to sleep. 

You’d finally allowed yourself to give into him, and there was no more turning back. 

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