#it's raining today so i need to pass the time somehow

[helianthus21]

reworked version

[runefactorynonsense]

Melotober - Day 19 - Nostalgia

What a difference a year can make!

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: a power outage, Jungkook being a menace as per always, getting stood up for Valentine's Day, falling on a patch of ice, alcohol, curses, peach, OC gets a little jealous, explicit content: teasing?, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, sex toy (vibrator), male and female masturbation, praising, cum play (don't be stupid), fingering

☆word count: 13.2k

☆a/n: this is like one of my fav chapters in this whole series, and also the one inspired by jungkook's iconic live with the candle and the white dress shirt and oof :') hope you enjoy it!! Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, February 14th 

Sometimes, the universe aligns to create such a shitty day that you think your life is a joke. A cruel joke, and you’re just the sitcom character that people use to make themselves feel better.

Today has been one of those days. You woke up late, somehow not hearing your alarm, and got to your midterm so late you didn’t have time to finish. At least you were confident in the answers that you did write down, so you think there’s a chance you’ll still pass. 

Then, you forgot your student ID, and the lady at the cafeteria refused to let you eat even though she’s seen you almost every day of the semester so far. Nabi offered you some of her salad, but you felt bad and barely ate.

Then the rain started – freezing rain at that – and you had to run to the other building for your genetics class, ending with your hair half frozen and the knowledge that you’re going to get sick by tomorrow.

Genetics class in and of itself is fine. Your stomach gurgling all through the class isn’t, and you’ve noticed people looking at you where you’re sitting, every time your stomach thinks it’s a whale and it needs to sing to its fellow mates.

During break, someone offers you a protein bar, and you take it with cheeks burning, thanking them profusely. Though you hate the taste of protein bars, and you struggle to finish it without puking on the desk. You power through, and then the class resumes, and you try to focus. It’s hard, and when you receive a text from Hoseok, you stop pretending that you’re listening.

[2:47 pm] Hobi: have u seen the weather outside? [2:47 pm] You: yeah it’s trash. I think I’m still half frozen [2:49 pm] Hobi: don’t have power at my place anymore [2:50 pm] Hobi: and it looks dangerous to drive

You know exactly what’s coming. It shouldn’t even come as a surprise – you don’t know why you agreed to meet up on Valentine’s Day. Yet, you’ve been looking forward to it all day, perhaps because it’s been so shit even hanging out with Hoseok on this day of celebration of love seemed better.

[2:50 pm] Hobi: any chance I can get a raincheck?

You want to bash your head on the desk, and of course, the professor chooses this exact moment to call you out for being on your phone. You flush a deep red, mumbling an apology as you put your phone face down on the desk. Everyone’s looking at you, and from where you’re sitting at the back of the class you can see that half the people aren’t even taking notes. You think they’re full of shit for glaring at you, but you can’t help the way you turn crimson, and Nabi stifles a laugh next to you.

“Shut up,” you whisper through gritted teeth, elbowing her in the ribs. 

She shrugs innocently, and then her eyes slide back to the professor as he resumes the class. Not wanting to risk it, you focus too, and it seems the shame is what you need to finally concentrate because you find yourself typing away on the computer, describing the pictures in the PowerPoint slides so you can understand them later.

The lights go out five minutes before the end of the class. The projector shuts down in time, a clear indication that the college has run out of power too – something that rarely ever happens unless it’s the end of the world outside.

There’s a series of gasps, and the professor looks so jaded at the front of the class that you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made of the actual precious stone. He looks towards the door, where you can see that the light has also gone out in the hallway.

Without even a glance at the class, he slams his laptop shut, heaving out a sigh.

“Class dismissed for today, we don’t have enough time left to wait for the power to come back on.” 

It doesn’t even take half a second before everyone is starting to put their stuff away, the class suddenly overcome with a cacophony of sounds, and Nabi turns to you.

“Who were you texting during class?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up.” You put your laptop in your bag, chugging the rest of your water bottle before you stuff it next to the laptop. “Hobi cancelled on me.”

Of course the whole friend group now knows about you two. You have Hoseok to blame for that, and his incredibly good idea to have sex at a party last week, where Yoongi walked in on the two of you. You’ve never seen Yoongi look more uncomfortable before in your life and, to your surprise, he’s been teased about the situation a lot more than you or Hoseok. It’s still a relief because you were afraid the friend group would go to shit if people knew, but now it seems it’s only solidified it even more.

“Bruh,” Nabi lets out. “Why?”

You motion to the dead neon lights over your heads. “The weather. He doesn’t have power anymore.”

“Shit.” You finish packing your stuff and you’re walking out of the class when she continues, “That’s wild though, didn’t think the freezing rain would hit that bad.”

A girl in front of you turns as if summoned. “They’re saying it’s going to be the worst storm of the century.” She points her phone towards you and Nabi, screen first. “Look, tons of trees have already fallen.”

Your eyes widen, because indeed she’s showing a picture from a group chat, of a tree having fallen on someone’s poor car. You wince in time with Nabi.

“RIP to whoever’s car that is,” you answer.

The girl nods, a wistful expression taking over her features. “That would be my boyfriend’s.”

You don’t talk more after that, and she jogs to join her friends closer to the stairs. You take that as an opportunity to finally reply to Hoseok, grabbing your phone out of the pocket of your coat.

[3:59 pm] You: power even went out in college so yeah, np!

Hoseok is quicker to reply than you’ve expected, saying that he’d like to meet up some time this weekend if you can. You don’t promise him anything, though you don’t really have plans as of right now.

You’ve just got a feeling that, if the storm is going to be the storm of the century, you won’t be hanging out for at least a few days. And the moment you step outside, you realize that it might even take more than a few days.

Trees have fallen everywhere. The sidewalk is entirely iced, and just by the time you’ve made it to the bus stop in front of the building, you’ve seen a car accident, both cars unable to stop at a stop sign. You figure taking the bus would be dangerous right now, and you settle on aiming for the pedestrian trail that leads to a park near your apartment, while Nabi parts to head towards the dorm, where apparently the power is still on. She tells you to let her know if you have power at home, and then you turn to head towards home, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

At least it’s not raining heavily as you walk. It’s the only positive thing in your day, and you hold onto your phone, sending a text to Taehyung to inform him of the situation.

You’re two minutes from home when you slip on a slab of ice, and you fall in a puddle of mud that stains your pale pants. You don’t even know how there can be mud when everything else is frozen, but of course, you had to fall in it. You assess yourself for a second, making sure nothing hurts too bad and then you mutter, “Of fucking course.”

You don’t even feel like getting up. If it wasn’t for the fact that the mud in which you’re sitting is freezing, you think you’d sit there until you died. You feel drained, and the weight of the day finally hits you head-on, bringing tears to your eyes.

Or maybe it’s just the embarrassment of walking home with your favourite pair of pants ruined. You don’t even know anymore; too much has happened in just a few hours for your brain to accept to be working anymore. You angrily blink the tears away, knowing you’ll break down the second you step inside your own home.

You can only hope that Jungkook is not going to be there. You hold onto that hope as you get to the building, and when you see the lights are out, the tears win against you. You carefully walk up the stairs – even they are covered in a thick sheet of ice – and surprisingly, you make it to the top unscathed.

You try to unlock the door with shaky fingers, struggling to find the hole through the blurriness of your tears, and you almost consider breaking the door down when it suddenly swings open in front of you.

“Peach?”

You’re aware that you’ve got fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re aware that you probably look a mess – you are a mess – but all you can do is stare at Jungkook.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern as he steps aside to let you in.

You put your bag down, shrugging as he shuts the door behind him carefully, eyeing you as if you’re a specimen of a rare animal that’s going to run if he startles it. You refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to speak lest you embarrass yourself with crying even more. All you do is angrily wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Hey,” he says, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

You motion around. “What’s wrong?” You scoff, and out of spite, you force down the wave of tears that is threatening to meet the ones you’ve just dried on your cheeks. “Everything is fucking wrong.”

You glance at Jungkook, and he’s just watching, eyes widened. He seems startled by your outburst, and you think you see him gulp.

“Do you…” he trails off, glancing at the door. You only then realize that he’s clad in his winter coat, and he was probably on his way out when you arrived. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head no, hating yourself for the way your bottom lip trembles. 

His hand is still on your shoulder, and it slowly slides to your arm. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asks.

He’s only then realized that you’re half-covered in mud.

“I fell on a patch of ice,” you answer.

He makes you turn, assessing the damage. “If you soak your pants in water, I can get the stain out.”

“There’s no power.”

He turns you back around, offering you a small smile as he cocks an eyebrow arrogantly. “Astute.”

You want to punch him so bad, but what you do is laugh, which makes you think you’ve gone crazy.

“Water still runs, though,” he points out. “I’ll take care of it when the power comes back on. Doesn’t even need to be warm. You can save what’s left of the hot water for a shower if you want?”

He says it like a question, and you shrug your shoulders. A new tear rolls on your cheek, and to your surprise, Jungkook dries it with his thumb. He then points to your shoes.

“Take these off. You’re going to take a shower before the neighbours steal the water.”

“I don’t…” you trail off, as he’s just staring at you as if what you were going to say was going to be the stupidest shit he’s ever heard. As much as you want to hate him right now, the way his hand feels on your arm is making the anxiety lessen, until you realize that it’s going to be okay.

You can head to Ria and Nabi’s dorm right after a quick shower.

“M’kay,” you finally accept. “But you can go, you don’t have to stay.”

He shrugs, and when he lets go of your arm, you almost want to grab his hand and put it back there. “I was just going to charge my phone in my car. It can wait.”

You hold his gaze, feeling swallowed by his big doe eyes. It finishes drying the tears on your waterline, and you take a deep steadying breath. “M’kay,” you repeat.

At that he smirks, nodding his head once. He kicks off his shoes as you carefully take yours off, and then he makes grabby hands at you.

“What?” you ask.

“Your coat,” he answers. “I’ll put it in the closet for you.”

You slightly frown. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be nice?” When you remain silent, he chuckles. “You think I’m just going to let my best friend’s sister cry when she gets home?”

The words hurt, even though they’re just a statement of what you are to him. “You’re so random.”

He looks somehow offended. “Just give me your coat, peach.” He’s stern, and you have half a thought to mimic him, but you resist. When you hand him the coat, he offers you a grin. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

Once again you surprise yourself by laughing, and the grin on his lips softens in a way that makes you warm inside.

“You’re annoying,” you whine.

He shrugs as he opens the closet. “Just go take a quick shower. Make sure to soak the pants too.”

“Yes, mom.”

He chokes on a snort. “Oof, no, don’t call me mom.”

You stifle a laugh, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. He faces you again, and you startle as he pinches your cheek. You push him off, as all he does is offer you a wide grin that makes dimples appear on his cheeks.

You’ve never really seen those dimples before, not while he’s smiling. You have to force yourself to look away, and as entrancing as they are, you manage to have your gaze drop to a random spot on the floor. “Alright then, I’ll grab my stuff. You can charge your phone while I’m in the shower.”

“All good, I’m at 65%,” he says. “I just checked online, and the power outage will likely last through the night so… figured I didn’t have anything better to do.”

You purse your lips. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence before he motions to the bathroom. “Aren’t you going?”

Your cheeks burn, and you nod once before heading towards your room as he snorts behind you, evidently laughing at you. You ignore him, quickly grabbing a change of clothes and bringing them to the bathroom. Jungkook’s moved to the couch, and to your surprise you see him with a book in hand.

“You read?”

The question is out before you realize, and Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction.

“It’s for a class.”

You nod once. “Right.” You then scrape your throat, glance at the bathroom and then settle your eyes on him again. “I’ll be right back.”

He smiles at you, and it’s the last thing you see before you walk into the bathroom, softly shutting the door behind you. Luckily enough, it’s still light enough outside for you to be able to shower without being in the dark, and as Jungkook advertised, there’s still hot water.

You take the fastest shower of your life, not wanting to risk running out of hot water, and then you put your dirty pants in the sink, soaking them in cold water. You put your clean clothes on – nothing impressive, just a pair of black sweatpants with a white t-shirt. You take one look at yourself in the mirror – you look like you’ve gone through hell, but at least you’re refreshed. 

With a steadying breath, you walk out of the bathroom, and your eyes immediately find Jungkook where he’s still sitting on the couch, looking like he hasn’t moved an inch. He glances at you before resuming his attention on his book. You feel awkward, yet you still walk in his direction because, frankly, what else is there for you to do when there’s no power?

“What’s the book about?” you enquire.

He raises it for you to see as you sit next to him. He moves too fast, and all you can see is something about trickle-down economy before the book is back in his lap.

“Looks boring.”

He laughs. “It is. Plus, trickle-down economics is bullshit.”

You nod wisely, even though your knowledge in the economy and business field is little to zero. All you know is that trickle-down economics is what rich people use to defend their actions, which immediately makes it so you don’t trust it one bit.

Eat the rich and all that.

“Right,” you let out.

Jungkook throws you a glance. “Feeling better?”

You don’t know how to answer. Because, yes, you feel somehow better now that you are clean and warmed from the shower, but you’re still very aware that the power is out, you’ve likely failed a midterm, and your date was cancelled.

“Sort of,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders. “Today was just a shitshow.” 

He says nothing, but his big eyes on you entice you to open up to him, making you feel more at ease than you’ve ever been around him.

Maybe because you just need someone to vent to after all.

“Like… I woke up late this morning,” you tell him. “Arrived so late to my midterm that I couldn’t finish. Then realized that I forgot my wallet here and couldn’t eat lunch. Got stood up for a date tonight, and now no power here? This day has been the worst.”

You sit back on the couch after you’ve finished your tirade, and Jungkook just looks at you curiously. You don’t register you’ve called hanging out with Hoseok a date until Jungkook says, “You had a Valentine’s Day date?”

You shut your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale loudly. “Sort of. Not really a date.”

“How can it not really be a date?”

You entirely miss the teasing in his voice, mostly because you’re appalled at yourself for the slipping. “It’s just… my friend with benefits, so not a date.”

“Damn, peach,” he says, and he bursts out laughing. You crack an eye open, your heart feeling like it’s been stabbed as Jungkook grins at you. “Didn’t think you were one to have a friend with benefits.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, and his gaze slides away from you as his brows furrow slightly. “You’re Tae’s sister, and the way he talks about you I just… I don’t know.”

Annoyance creeps into you as you cock an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t listen to what Taehyung says about me. He still thinks I’m twelve.”

Jungkook snorts, and to your surprise, it makes you smile, right as he glances at you. 

“Are you not?”

“Yah!” You punch him in the shoulder, and he laughs as he massages the spot. “I’ll have you know I’m an adult.”

His features turn somber, and he plays with his piercing for a time before he answers. “I’m starting to realize it, trust me.”

In the somberness of his eyes, a spark ignites, and you feel as if electricity is running on every inch of your body. You wish it would run into the building instead, bringing the power back on but unfortunately, you’re the only victim, and all you can do is hold his gaze.

The moment stretches until you grow uncomfortable, and your eyes slide to the Switch under the TV, as if it’ll find solace there.

“Anyway,” you say, scraping your throat. “Apparently there’s still power at the dorms so I think I’ll head over there.”

“You’ll abandon me?” he says, faking offence. “Right when I offered to take care of your pants? The nerves on you.”

You roll your eyes as the awkwardness fades to be replaced by the annoyance Jungkook usually brings out of you. “You’re a big boy, you don’t need me.”

“You sure you want to walk all the way there though? What if you fall again?”

You push him as he smiles wickedly, satisfied that he’s annoyed you. “I hate you.”

“You know what you hate even more than me?”

Your brow creases in confusion. “What?”

He shrugs his shoulders, a smirk growing on his lips. “You’ll have to stay for me to answer.”

You sigh deeply, folding your arms on your chest. You gauge him, watch as his smirk only widens while you ponder staying here. And you don’t even know why you’re considering it in the first place. There’s just something about being able to talk to Jungkook like this, about being comfortable next to him that makes you want to stay.

“Name a single reason why I should stay,” you finally say.

His smirk turns victorious. “I’ll cook something for you.”

“The power is out,” you feel the need to remind him. 

He throws you a no-bullshit look. “Really, peach, you need to find a bit of creativity in your life.”

“What?”

“The stove doesn’t run on electricity, it runs on gas.”

You look up at the ceiling. “How was I supposed to know that, I barely ever cook.”

“I cook!” he bursts, waving the book around. You didn’t realize he was still holding it, and you laugh as the pages flutter around.  “And you usually steal my food, so just let me make something for you tonight.”

You purse your lips, meeting his gaze as he looks at you, faking annoyance. “What do you want to cook?”

“I have chicken that I need to cook tonight if I don’t want it to go bad,” he says. “I can make noodles with it.”

It takes you all but two seconds before you realize that there’s no way you’re going to leave when Jungkook is suggesting to cook for you. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” You nod, and Jungkook beams. “You won’t regret it.”

You laugh, slightly shaking your head as he puts the book away and gets up. He offers you his hand, the one with the tattoos on the back of it, and you furrow your brows. “What?”

“Go get changed,” he says, hand still extended between you. “I’ll give you a Valentine’s Day date, but you’re going to have to play the part too.”

Something stops in your chest – your heart, most likely – and you’re hit with the thought that this is a bad idea. That whatever Jungkook means by that is going to be the mistake of the century, yet you still find yourself accepting his extended hand.

He pulls you to your feet, and he doesn’t let go of your hand for a moment, big doe eyes widening slightly as he looks at you.

“You…” you trail off, scraping your throat as you look away from his eyes.

It’s all you can do not to get lost in his gaze. 

“I?” he presses, voice low.

“You should dress up too,” you mumble, cheeks burning. “So I’m not alone.”

He lets go of your hand, and your fingers twitch as it falls to your side. When his index finds your chin, you think your blood stops in your veins. He makes you tilt your head back, enough so that you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“I will.” His voice is grave, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to your lips once as they part. “I’m going to make this worth it. You deserve it after such a shit day, don’t you?”

You gulp. “Yeah?”

He pats your cheek. “Yeah, you do.”

And then he’s walking away. You’re left standing there, heart racing in your chest, feeling so warm you think you’re about to catch fire. You watch him disappear into his room, and it’s only when he’s out of sight that you manage to move, making your way to your own room.

You shut the door behind you, resting against it as you take deep breaths to calm down. You’re not sure if it’s doing you any good, because this is Jungkook. Jungkook, with his tattoo sleeve and piercings, your older brother’s best friend. Your roommate, the man that’s been playing with you for weeks, for months, like you’re just some playdough. You think he’s doing it on purpose. He has to – he’s trying to make your life miserable because you’re Taehyung’s sister. You don’t see what else it could be. Because why the fuck would Jungkook act like this with you?

You’re not stupid enough to believe it isn’t your fault. Because you were there the night of The Incident, and you reckon things have changed with Jungkook since that night. 

You take a deep, steadying breath before pushing up from the door. No matter what it is that is making Jungkook act like this, you’re still curious to see what he’s preparing for you. Spending time with him like this, with no power and nothing else to do than talk…

Maybe it’s going to help you understand what’s happening in that thick skull of his. So you search for something to wear, something warm since the heating is also down. You settle on brown dress pants that you know make your ass look amazing, and you pair them with a pale beige wool turtleneck. You tuck the shirt in your pants, putting a belt on to make sure it stays in place, and then you take a good look at yourself in your standing mirror. Satisfied with your outfit, you make to move out of your room, but you stop with your hand halfway to the knob.

You can hear Jungkook humming in his room, a soft melody that’s making you think he’s taking a long time in there. Is he actually dressing up? It makes something terribly warm and soft settle in your chest, and you turn back around, grab your makeup pouch and head to your desk.

If this is a date, or whatever it is that Jungkook considers dates to be, you want to look good for it. So you put a little bit of makeup on, trusting your instinct to make it look great even though the light of your small mirror doesn’t turn on since there’s still no power. You hear Jungkook get out of his room before you’re done, and you hope he doesn’t decide to come here.

You doubt he would, but you somehow feel awkward as you’re getting ready. Because he’s your older brother’s best friend, because he’s a college fuckboy, because he’s been making you feel too many things lately – most of them you repress as if your life depends on it. And you think, your life does depend on it. Because nothing can happen between you and Jungkook; you wouldn’t do that to Taehyung. And mostly, you wouldn’t do that to Jungkook, because you know Taehyung would hate him if something did happen.

You sigh. It comes out shakily, a clear indication that you’re growing anxious, and you almost want to laugh at yourself. You want to tell yourself to get a grip, to just play along for things are bound to go back to normality when the power comes back. 

You only stop feeling anxious when Taehyung texts you, your phone lighting up where you’ve put it down on your desk.

[5:02 pm] bröther👽: jk texted me the same thing! Glad u won’t be alone tonight [5:02 pm] You: he’s gonna cook dinner [5:03 pm] bröther👽: lmao, jk doesn’t cook for girls, feel lucky

With that you realize that, indeed, you should feel lucky. Because Jungkook can be a friend, if not anything else. It’s reassuring, and you finish getting ready feeling lighter than you’ve felt all day, as if the hell that today was is all forgotten. 

You spray some perfume on the inside of your wrists, dabbing it on your neck before you finally declare yourself ready to head out of your room. You hope Jungkook won’t make fun of you – he’d be the kind of guy to make fun of you for this, you just know it – and you make your way to the kitchen, where you can hear him busying himself.

He’s brought his portable speaker out of his room. The one that also has a projector in it, and it shines northern lights on the walls and on the ceiling of the kitchen, giving it a cozy atmosphere. No music is playing as of right now, yet Jungkook is still humming, voice low yet melodious.

You rarely hear him sing, but anytime you do, you feel like your ears are blessed by an angel.

He reappears from where he was hidden in the fridge, and his mouth falls open as he catches sight of you. 

He’s wearing a white dress shirt. You think it’s made of linen – it doesn’t look particularly fancy. Yet the way he’s rolled it on his forearms is weirdly attractive, even though he’s only wearing grey sweatpants with it. It’s a look, a look you think only he can pull off. He’s taken the time to style his hair back, and he’s put on earrings you’ve only seen him wear a couple of times during parties.

He eyes you up and down, his doe eyes crinkling in appreciation. “You look good, peach.”

The compliment makes you blush, and you offer him a small smile. He echoes it right away, and he holds up a bottle of rosé that you bought two months ago and forgot all about since then.

“Wine?” you let out as you stop in front of him. You feel awkward because, obviously, it’s wine, but you still hold his gaze as he nods.

“It’s yours but…” He shrugs, glancing at the label. “I figured it’d work well with the chicken.”

You nod once. “Sure, we can drink it.”

It makes him happy. You can see it in the way he beams, and then he puts it down on the counter with the rest of the ingredients. When he moves, you catch a whiff of his cologne, and you feel your cheeks burn again. You glance outside – the rain has stopped, but grey clouds are still looming in the sky as the world slowly darkens. You wonder if they’ll go away some time tonight – without the light pollution, you reckon you’d be able to stargaze.

You end up helping Jungkook with the cooking, chopping some vegetables as he takes care of the meat. You’re not particularly hungry, so you take your time, talking about everything and nothing. Jungkook is good at this, you realize. He’s good at changing your mind, at making sure it doesn’t wander back to your midterm and to the rest of your shitty day. He makes you laugh, cracking stupid jokes whenever you do something, smirking at you when you roll your eyes.

Being with him like this also makes you understand why he’s Taehyung’s friend. He feels more natural this way, less fuckboy-ish, and it’s a side of him you’ve never really seen before.

You sit at the kitchen table, sharing a glass of the rosé wine while the food simmers on the stove. Jungkook’s put on an indie music playlist before you started cooking – something you teased him about. Who knew Jeon Jungkook likes indie music?

“How was Tae before college?” Jungkook asks all of a sudden when there’s a lull in the conversation. “He barely talks about high school.”

You know the exact reason why, and her name is Youna. Taehyung’s ex, his high school sweetheart. The one that moved to the other side of the country without ever once looking back.

“He was an idiot,” you answer, and Jungkook laughs. “No, seriously. He dated the same girl all through high school. Was convinced he was going to marry her.”

“That sounds on brand with Tae,” Jungkook says, nodding his head wisely. “He said that about every girl he’s dated in college, but most of them don’t last more than a few weeks.”

You wince. “Remember Hailey from last semester?”

She lasted about three weeks, but she spent most of those at the apartment. It was the only three weeks where Jungkook and you had talked more than just small talk – or his usual teasing. Mostly because you kept complaining about her, and Jungkook kept saying you were cute when you were mad.

Come to think of it, it still was teasing.

“Fuck, her voice,” Jungkook lets out, shaking his head. “I’m sure she was faking having such a high voice. I don’t know how Taehyung could deal with that.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and Jungkook smiles as he watches you. “I swear to God, I was about to kick Tae out of the apartment,” you say. “I’m glad she didn’t last.”

“Agreed.”

There’s another silence as the song switches on Jungkook’s speaker. You take a sip of wine, appreciating the taste, and Jungkook gets up to check the food on the stove. He comes back a moment later, sitting back next to you.

You think he’s closer. He feels closer, and the smell of his cologne fills your nose again. 

“You put on some cologne,” you state, and it startles you somehow. You weren’t expecting to say that and, clearly, Jungkook wasn’t expecting it either.

“Yeah.” He looks down at himself as if the cologne is visible on him. “Do you like it?”

You gulp. “Yeah, you smell good.”

He smirks, nodding his head. “You too, peach. I love the vanilla scent.”

You don’t know what to do with the compliment. You mutter a thank you before taking a large sip of wine, and Jungkook chuckles before following your lead.

“Do you think Tae and that girl in France will last?” you ask. “He still hasn’t told me who she is.”

Indeed, he’s remained evasive whenever you’ve asked. You stalked the people that are with him on the semester abroad, and you think two of the girls could be your brother’s type, but it’s hard to tell.

“Oh,” Jungkook lets out. He grabs his phone, resting his forearms on the table as he opens it. He goes on Instagram, and as it loads, he glances at you. “He’s told me. Let me show you.”

“What!” you exclaim. “How come he told you and not me?”

Jungkook chuckles. “No idea. But here.”

He shows you the girl’s profile, and you take his phone as you scroll through the pictures. To your surprise, she’s not one of the two girls you stalked. She looks shy, barely showing her face in her pictures, most of them being of nature anyway. Come to think of it, you do get a romantic vibe from her feed, and you reckon that would work well with Taehyung. 

You’re about to give Jungkook his phone back when it vibrates in your hand, a notification appearing at the top. 

[6:05 pm] Shelly 💦🍒: are u gonna be here soon?

It’s not your fault that you read it, and your gaze widens as you look up from the device. Jungkook hasn’t noticed, and he smiles at you, seemingly expectant.

“So?” he asks.

“You had a date tonight?”

His mouth falls open. He looks guilty, eyes widening and taking a sheepish expression. He remains silent, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he thinks of what to answer.

You don’t know how to feel. You feel bad for the girl – Shelly – who’s clearly waiting for Jungkook somewhere. You feel bad that he chose to stay with you because you were upset, but mostly you feel strange that he’s doing all of this for you when there’s someone waiting for him. 

The emojis next to her name are enough of an explanation of what she is to Jungkook. Still, you feel increasingly uncomfortable, even more so as he says nothing.

“What the fuck, JK?”

“She’s no one,” he says when you get up. “Trust me, I’ve only hung out with her a couple of times.”

You laugh, and it’s somehow void of joy. “Why would I care?”

He looks at the glasses of wine, and then at the food on the stove. “I don’t know… because we’re…” He motions between you, and then at said glasses of wine and food. “I just forgot to tell her I wasn’t going to come over.”

It’s enough of a reminder that Jungkook, for all his current kindness, is a renowned college fuckboy. It reminds you of all the times you’ve heard him fuck – was Shelly one of the girls? You feel disgusted, and you walk out of the kitchen, not wanting to look at Jungkook right now.

“Peach,” he says as he follows you out in the darkness of the living room.

The living room is also strangely cold, and you shiver as you turn towards him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “But why are you even reacting like this?”

You scoff. “I don’t know, Jungkook, you tell me.”

You can’t see his expression. But when he takes a step closer to you, you feel the heat of his body radiating in the space between you.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, and you hear the smirk in his voice.

“No,” you say, and you scoff again. “I’m weirded out.”

“Because I was going to fuck someone tonight?” It’s his turn to scoff when you remain silent. “Weren’t you going to fuck that dude? Hoseok?”

You don’t know how he remembers Hoseok’s name, but he’s got a point. You wet your lips, tongue poking your cheek next. “Right.”

“Come on, peach, just come back in the kitchen,” he says. He grabs your hand, and your breath gets caught in your throat as he escorts you back to the chair where you were sitting. You begrudgingly follow, and when you’re seated he towers over you.

You tilt your head back. “What?”

He flicks your nose, and you dodge a second too late. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble. “I wasn’t jealous I was just weirded out.”

He smiles at you wickedly. “Of course, peach. Of course.”

He sounds so cocky you want to hate him, but all you can do is glare at the table. He pushes your wine glass towards you as he sits back next to you and you wordlessly take it to chug it.

“Now that that’s done,” he says once you’ve put it back on the table, “what do you think of Tae’s girl?”

You had all but forgotten why you were holding Jungkook’s phone in the first place. You recall her Instagram to the forefront of your mind, pursing your lips. 

“She looks chill,” you answer.

Jungkook pouts. “Just that?”

You shrug. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Well,” Jungkook starts. “For one I can’t believe she’s Tae’s type. She looks nothing like the girls he dated here. Like just think about Hailey?”

You just nod, because in truth you fully agree with him. 

“Her Instagram is a vibe though,” Jungkook continues. “Tae is big on vibes so… maybe it works?”

You nod once more, tilting your head to the side as you really think about it. Because frankly you’d like for Taehyung to find someone that lasts. As much as you know he’s been having fun in college, you know his happiness usually lies in a healthy relationship like the one he had with his ex. 

“Hopefully it does,” you finally say. “Tae deserves it.”

Jungkook looks at you, somber expression on his features as he plays with his piercing. It makes your heart cease in your chest, and you busy yourself with refilling the wine glasses as he remains silent.

“He does,” Jungkook eventually replies. “He actually really does.”

He sounds so serious you throw him a questioning glance. “Yeah?”

He blinks once, as if stepping out of a daze before flashing his infuriating smirk at you again. “Definitely.”

There’s an awkward silence, and you watch as he takes a sip of wine before getting up to check on the food. He deems it ready, and makes two bowls, one for you and one for him. He sets yours in front of you, a proud smile on his lips.

“Smells good,” you compliment him as he sits.

He winks at you. “Wait till you taste.”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, and you take a tentative bite, holding his gaze as he expectantly waits.

“Shit,” you let out, and you fan your mouth with your hand. “Why is it so spicy?”

“Don’t tell me you’re like your brother and can’t stand spicy food,” he complains as you take a long sip of wine.

You put your wine glass back down, wincing as it clinks against the bowl. It fortunately doesn’t break, and you push it away from the dish as you chuckle. “What’s wrong with not liking spicy food?”

He pouts. “You guys are so weak.”

You fake-glare at him. “This shit is so spicy it would wake the dead.”

He snorts, stifling his laugh until you meet his gaze and you burst out laughing at the same time. You think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him guffaw like this. His laugh is contagious, pretty, and you’re convinced it can have healing effects.

You’re convinced it has healing effects. Indeed, in that instant, you finally really forget about the day, the heaviness it left behind dwindling into nothingness. It’s replaced with happiness, and chatter with Jungkook becomes easier, more natural. 

You realize he smiles a lot. You make him laugh a lot too, and whenever he does you feel your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t like the feeling, know it’s a mistake, but with the wine, all you can do is try to make him laugh some more, and smile whenever he does.

You’re on your first beer after finishing the wine – and the overly spicy food, which Jungkook congratulated you profusely for finishing. You’ve talked about every subject that’s come to your mind so far, none feeling taboo with Jungkook. He eventually tells you about Shelly – she is indeed one of the girls you’ve heard him sleep with – and you laugh as he admits he’s really happy he didn’t have to see her tonight.

You can’t help but snort. “Jeon Jungkook, saying no to sex? I’ve heard everything.”

“Bruh.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Is your opinion of me so low you think sex is the most important thing to me?”

His eyes are gleaming with mischief in the light of his speaker, which will apparently run out of battery soon. You both don’t care, and you’ve lit a candle in case it does die. Its sweet fragrance has been chasing the smell of the food away, and it’s been giving the kitchen a homey vibe, even as it’s growing chilly.

“Is it not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at you. “Not at all.”

You throw him a no-bullshit look that makes him frown cutely. 

“How long can you go without having sex?” you ask him, holding in a laugh.

He narrows his doe eyes at you. “At least a few weeks.”

“A few weeks? That’s nothing!”

“Yah,” he bursts, and he laughs as you snort. “Peach, just because I have casual sex doesn’t mean I can’t stop if I want to.”

“Then stop,” you challenge him.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Give me one reason why I should.”

“To prove a point?”

His eyes narrow further, but if you’ve understood one thing about Jeon Jungkook, it’s that he doesn’t step down from a challenge. No, as competitive as he is, you’re pretty sure he’ll do it.

“Peach,” he purrs, and it has something warm form in the pit of your stomach. “Is it really about me proving a point, or is it about you being jealous?”

You choke on the sip of beer you were taking, which only makes him laugh. You think it’s a little condescending, but you know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way. You still punch him in the shoulder for it, unable to resist.

“Why would I be jealous?” you ask. “Hobi fucks me good.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes and his nose scrunches. He shakes his head once before looking at you again. “I didn’t want to know that.”

You smile as if you’ve never done anything wrong in your whole life. “Your loss.”

He laughs at that, gaze dropping to the table. Silence grows between you, but it’s comfortable, not like what silence with Hoseok feels like. With Hoseok you feel the need to speak whenever there’s a lull in the conversation but, right now, you’re content with just sitting back in your chair, sipping on your beer.

To your surprise, Jungkook starts singing over the song, gaze lost in his own glass of beer. His voice settles deep inside of you, resonating in your soul, and you just look at him, awe clouding your mind.

You’re not sure he’s realized he’s singing. Because when he meets your gaze, he lets out a small laugh. “Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You have a beautiful voice,” you whisper.

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but you’re pretty sure his cheeks have turned pink. “Nah.”

“No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I often hear you hum and… you sing really well.”

His nose scrunches up again. “Stop it.”

“Just take the compliment,” you say, laughing as he plays with his piercing.

You reckon it might be the first time in your life you’ve ever seen Jeon Jungkook shy. Because he clearly is, and he looks away from you, running his hand through his hair. It undoes the hairstyle, and a strand falls on his forehead.

You’ve never felt such a visceral need to brush your hand through someone’s hair before. You manage to resist, busying yourself with holding your beer instead.

“M’kay,” he lets out. “Thanks, peach.”

His voice is soft. Softer than the fur of a puppy, and it makes the warm thing in you grow. You gulp, wetting your lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance at your mouth, and he looks conflicted for half a second before he smirks again.

“We should have hung out like this before,” he declares.

“Yeah?” is all you can answer.

You feel yourself leaning in. You haven’t even realized how close you’re sitting to him until you’re leaning in. He does too. He leans forward, tilting his head to the side slightly. He looks surprised, even more so when one of your hands finds the back of his neck, pulling him closer until you’ve erased the distance between you.

You both didn’t close your eyes. And you both look startled from your lips touching, so much so that you let go of him, straightening away from him. He, on the other hand, hasn’t moved, and his gaze goes fully serious before he grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer to him again.

This time, when your mouths meet, you shut your eyes, sighing softly as he kisses you. His piercings press into your lower lip, and as his mouth moves against you, you feel the warm thing inside of you grow so big it bursts. It bursts the same way fireworks do – in an explosion of colours that leaves you waiting for more.

He doesn’t disappoint. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. His hand on your arm moves up until it rests on your shoulder before he decides better and moves it to the side of your neck. His thumb swipes at your jaw, gently, and it’s his turn to sigh in the kiss.

When his tongue darts out of his mouth, you meet it with your own. For a reason unknown, you expect it to make you both grow horny, but the kiss remains soft, slow like you have all of eternity stretched out in front of you.

Even though it’s languid, even though it’s soft, you grow dizzy, head spinning as you taste the beer in Jungkook’s mouth. As his hand moves to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You rest one hand on his chest, right above his heart, and you feel the organ racing under your fingers. It makes you grab a handful of fabric as if that will anchor you in the present.

As if that will make you forget that you’re kissing your brother’s best friend. 

It does, though you reckon it might be the way Jungkook shifts in his chair, moving so that you can straddle him. And he pulls you in, softly, tugging on your arm until you let go of the shirt and drape it over his shoulder. You sit on him, legs on each side of him, your toes barely even touching the floor. Still, your mouths move in unison, his lips petal soft against yours. 

Your other arm circles his neck too, until you’re holding him against you. His large hands land on your waist, gently, and his thumbs stroke you, barely even grazing you over the thick fabric of your wool turtleneck.

You don’t know how long you kiss. It just seems like you both don’t want to stop, like you both know the moment you stop will be a wake-up call, one you’d rather avoid while you get stuck in this bubble of eternity with him. The fireworks keep on shining bright, warm summer sun blooming in your heart as if this, this was always meant to be.

Oxygen is futile when you’re kissing Jeon Jungkook. Not needed, as if he breathes air into your lungs. You think he does, and you sigh once more as your hands get lost in the hair on the back of his head.

The next swipe of his tongue is sharper, carries more intent, and you both startle, finally parting from each other. Though you remain a hairsbreadth away, longing for his lips the moment your mouths aren’t connected anymore.

Immobile, you breathe in shakily, and you hear him do it too. He’s still stroking you, gently, and he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in. You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the clean laundry smell of his shirt, along with the scent of his cologne as you turn your face towards his neck.

The moment stretches some more, as you listen to the music. His grip around you loosens as you press a soft kiss on the mole you’ve discovered on his neck. He pushes you back, gently, until your back is against the table. Your gazes meet then, and you wonder if his eyes always shine like this. Do they always hold the light of the universe in them, or did you set fire to his gaze?

He gulps and his mouth falls open. His pupils fill with something you can’t quite put your finger on, yet it has clouds taking over the summer sun in your heart until the beating organ goes cold.

“Now you’ve had a fake Valentine’s Day kiss,” he murmurs, and the fireworks burst into a void that tastes like ash as you interpret his gaze.

He’s regretting this. It takes over all of his features, turning his big doe eyes into hearths of remorse. It finishes dousing the sun in your heart until the star goes to sleep, and all that’s left is the echoes of what once was.

“Fake?” is all you manage to let out.

He shuts his eyes, eyelids fluttering close softly. He looks like an angel repenting as he rests his forehead against yours, forcing your own eyes shut from the proximity.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he reminds you, reality sinking into his words. 

You nod against him before pulling away. You try to get up, but his hands on your waist hold you in place.

“Let me go,” you whisper. 

He does so, albeit reluctantly, arms falling to his sides in a defeated manner. You try to not let yourself think about it too much, try to forget what just happened as you stand up, moving away from him.

Without his body heat you shiver, and you hate yourself for the next words you say.

“We should share a room tonight. It’s going to be cold.”

His eyes shoot open as he turns his head towards you, surprise replacing the reality. As if he thought he ruined everything, and you think maybe he did. Maybe he did ruin everything, but you don’t even want to be thinking about it right now. You just want to go to sleep, to let the night pass.

Maybe the insanity will go with it.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “You know, Taehyung doesn’t have to know everything.”

Jungkook slowly gets up, facing you. You gulp as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, hand going to your chin again. He leans in, forcing you to tilt your head back until his lips find yours again.

It lasts a fraction of a second, yet it leaves you scrambling for breath as he takes a step back. He nods as you meet his gaze, an eyebrow cocked in question.

“We can sleep in your room,” he says. “It’s smaller, it’s going to be easier to keep it warm.”

Right as he finishes his sentence the battery of his speaker dies, and silence surrounds you as the northern lights go to sleep. The light flickers in time with the flame of the candle, and you glance at it.

“Sounds good,” you agree, and you wet your lips as you look at him again. His big doe eyes still shine even with just the candlelight, and you wish the world was different. Wish that he wasn’t Tae’s friend, that you could just grab him and have him kiss you stupid again. But he’s right. You shouldn’t be doing this.

Sharing a bed is only practical. Only because it’s cold, and you have to survive the night. A voice at the very back of your mind tells you that you could head over to the dorms, but you don’t want to.

You want to remain here, in this instant outside of the linear timeline of your life.

“Maybe you should get your bed covers?” you suggest. “So we don’t get cold.”

He smiles, so far from his usual smirk and grin that you feel a pang in your chest. “Yeah. Yes, that’s a good idea.”

All of five minutes later, he meets you in your room. You’ve changed into your previous outfit, and he’s swiped his dress shirt for an oversized white Nike t-shirt. He’s holding his bed cover to his chest, just a white bundle that he offers you as if he’s trying to make peace with you. You motion to your bed, and he nods before walking over to it.

You shut the door behind him, turning to look at him as he debates for a few seconds where to sleep in your bed. He starts by putting his bed cover over yours and then chooses to sit at the foot of the bed, on the side that’s against the wall.

He then turns to meet your gaze, his profile cast in the flickering light of the candle from the kitchen and the few others you’ve lit while waiting for him.

“I think this is the first time I’ve been in this room since Jimin moved out,” he tells you, and his lips stretch into that same soft smile.

You glance around, pursing your lips. “Hope it doesn’t disappoint.”

“It doesn’t,” he reassures you as he imitates your action, observing your room. “It feels like you.”

Not knowing what’s that supposed to mean, you cock an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t explain further, and you shrug it off as you move closer to your bed to sit on the edge. The moment you’re in his vicinity your heart picks up in your chest. It’s hard to believe that Jeon Jungkook is in your bed right now, and you have to remind yourself that it’s purely because it currently is freezing in your apartment. 

“Should we…” you trail off, motioning at the bed.

He chuckles, a sweet sound that forces you to gaze at him, eyes widening as your heartbeat picks up even more. “You want me in your bed so bad, do you?”

You short-circuit, flushing fully red as you struggle to find something witty to reply with. Falling short on words, you end up shrugging your shoulders as you move under the covers, hoping he won’t tease you further. 

You highly doubt you’d survive him teasing you more.

To your relief, Jungkook ends up chuckling again, but he remains silent as he slides in next to you, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. You lie on your back, while he turns to face you, and you feel the weight of his gaze on your profile.

It makes you turn to look at him, and he offers you the same kind smile.

“Shouldn’t we blow the candles out?” he asks, and his gaze darts to where you’ve left the candles on your desk and night table. “Just to make sure we don’t burn the building down.”

“You want to go to sleep right away?”

You hate yourself for saying that. Indeed, a smirk grows on his lips and he jumps on the occasion to say, “You want to do something else?”

Something grows hot inside of you, and it’s not that same summer sun he ignited in you earlier. You wet your lips, burning from the inside out as you remind him, “We shouldn’t.”

He chuckles again. “Didn’t you say he doesn’t need to know?”

You meet his gaze, find the mischief behind his big doe eyes and roll yours. “You’re annoying.”

Right on cue you shiver. It takes you by surprise, because you feel your insides burning, yet the temperature in your room is low, winning against the warmth.

“Are you cold?” he asks, no traces of mischief left in his eyes. Only concern can be found in his pupils, and you want to hate him for it.

“A little,” you admit. “The covers are just cold.”

They actually are, as your bodies have yet to warm them. To your surprise, Jungkook sidles closer to you. 

“I can hold you, if you want. I’m always too hot.”

You burn a thousand shades of red as you wet your lips. “You don’t have to.”

“Come on, peach, I won’t let you freeze while I’m right here.”

Yet he doesn’t do anything, waits until you’ve nodded your head to slide even closer, and he loosely wraps his arm around your waist. His warm breath fans the side of your face, and you do your best to ignore it.

“Better?” he asks, voice low as he whispers in your ear.

You shut your eyes as electricity courses through your whole body. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Your brain zeroes in on the weight of his arm on you, and when his fingers start tracing random figures on your waist, you let out a small yelp.

“That tickles,” you tell him.

He does it again, and you try to push him away. Only, Jungkook is far stronger than you, and all you manage to do is end up with your back against him as he holds you firmly to him.

“Stop,” you beg, a little breathlessly.

“It’s warming you up, is it not?”

You roll your eyes, though you reckon it is. You don’t feel nearly as cold anymore, and you can feel the heat growing in you again. As an attempt to get away from him, you shuffle, and it earns you a breathless chuckle from him.

Just to make sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing, you move your hips again. Something twitches in his sweatpants and your mouth falls open.

“You’re…”

“Consequences of the position,” he’s quick to say. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t know how you possibly can not worry about it. It’s all your brain can focus on as you shift again, and this time he hisses.

“Maybe you should not do that.” His voice is low, husky, and it sends shivers all over your body. 

You bite your lips. “Why?”

He pulls you back in, flush against his chest. His lips ghost on the side of your neck, and you think you’ve been struck with lightning. “Because we can’t do anything about it.”

“Right.”

He rests his head on the pillow behind you again, sighing deeply. His hand holds you against him, forcing you to feel every inch of his hard body pressing into you.

Of his hard dick too, where it pushes into your ass.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” you say, eyes fluttering shut.

He nods. “We should.”

“I need to blow out the candles.”

His arm loosens around you before he fully lets you go. You prop yourself on an elbow, leaning towards the night table. You blow out the candle you’ve left there, and before you can move you feel Jungkook’s palm resting on your hip.

“Shit, peach,” he whispers.

You look behind yourself. Your position is explicit, as if you’re angling yourself to fuck yourself on him better. It makes you move your hips, and you see the moment something snaps inside of him.

“Why don’t you lie down next to me before we blow the rest of the candles out?”

There’s something stern, authoritative in his voice, and you immediately obey him. 

“On your back,” he adds.

You exhale shakily as you turn, not daring to disobey. His hand lands flat on your stomach, and he starts drawing circles around your navel. You inhale sharply as he nudges your cheek with his nose.

“You look stressed.”

“What are you doing?”

You hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Helping you fall asleep?”

“Jungkook…”

“Peach.”

You fall silent as he keeps tracing circles. He sighs next to you, almost longingly and he rests his forehead against your temple. His lips are so close you think you feel their softness on your cheek.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispers. His fingers still on you, under your navel. Some inch or so over the band of your sweatpants and he pushes your shirt up before resuming his actions directly on your skin.

“We really shouldn’t…” you trail off.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asks.

It’s rhetorical – he knows just as well as you that you won’t. “No.”

“It could help you sleep.”

You don’t want to know what the ‘it’ refers to. “Yeah?”

He wets his lips, or maybe he plays with his piercing. But from the proximity, you feel his tongue and you think you’re going to die right then and there.

“Doesn’t it help you sleep when you touch yourself?”

You’re soaking your panties. You’re burning up, caught on fire by every strike of lightning that Jungkook’s words ignite in you.

“Does it help you?” you counter-back, remembering when you heard him watching porn two weeks ago.

“It does. Always sleep soundly after.”

You slowly nod, gulping as his lips close on your jaw, and he sucks gently. 

He’s danger in human form. And he knows what he’s doing, he knows how to weave words to cause your undoing. You think he’s already started weeks ago, the night of the Incident. 

Taehyung is miles away from your thoughts when you say, “You want to touch me?”

He smirks against you, licks at the spot he just sucked on. “Why don’t you show me how you touch yourself?”

He moves his hand away from your stomach, and you moan softly when he parts your thighs open, resting his palm on the one closest to him as he presses it against his hard dick.

“Shit, Jungkook.”

“I know.”

You hate him. You hate him so much you slide your hand between your legs, pressing a circle on your clit.

“Good girl.”

You moan again, yet you stop your ministrations on yourself. “I want to watch you touch yourself too.”

He grunts, grinds his dick in the side of your thigh once more. “You want to see me come?”

“Want you to finger me with your cum.”

You’ve gone insane. You think there’s an asylum out there for you, yet Jungkook only chuckles manly against your jaw. “Peach, I won’t touch you tonight.” You whine, and he sucks on your jaw again. “You can do it yourself.”

He’s mad. So are you, and you untie the knot of your sweatpants so you can slide your hand in. You moan softly as you find your clit, and you dip two fingers inside of yourself before moving back to the bundle of nerves.

“Jerk yourself off,” you tell him. You try to sound commanding, dominant, but your voice is whiny. It earns you a smirk from him as he turns on his back. He takes off his pants and underwear, clearly not as shy as you. You can’t see his dick when you look down as he’s still under the covers, and you gulp as you imagine it.

Feeling bold, you push the covers off, needing to see him. And the sight doesn’t disappoint. His dick is large. Not excessively long, but the girth makes you understand why he’s got girls screaming whenever he fucks them. His tip is glistening with precum, and he runs his thumb on the slit before spreading the precum on his shaft. Large veins run along the length, from base to top, and you’re struck thinking he’s got the prettiest cock you’ve seen in your life.

“Like what you see?” he teases as he strokes his dick once, slowly but with a firm grip.

“Do you want to see me too?”

You really are bold. Far bolder than you’ve ever been with anyone before. Maybe because all of tonight Jungkook has put you at ease, and you think there’s nothing embarrassing about finally living out your fantasy. Especially not when he’s so pliable to it, willing to follow you into the land of insanity.

Scratch that – he’s the one leading to madness.

“It’s only fair if I see you too, no?” he teases with a smirk on his lips as he looks at you with his dark, intense gaze.

“Yeah.”

It’s all you say before you shimmy out of your pants. You don’t miss the way his eyes go to your hip, where you have a large dragon tattoo. He curses under his breath. “Didn’t know you were tatted.”

“Got it last semester,” you answer with a shaky voice.

He smirks up at you. “Hot.”

You gulp, unable to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. Shier than him, you keep the panties on. To your surprise, he sits up, runs his hand on the inside of your thigh before he lies down on the other side so he has a view of between your legs. His feet are next to your head, and you angle yourself away from them so that they aren’t in your face anymore.

“Touch yourself, peach.”

You nod, and you draw circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear. It’s a plain black thong, yet you feel immensely sexy when Jungkook’s doe eyes narrow dangerously as he watches you touching yourself, stroking his dick lazily.

You watch how he touches himself, heart beating out of your chest. You’re on fire, a wildfire raging through you, and you moan softly as you press harder into you.

“Why don’t you touch yourself under your panties, mmh?” he asks, gaze sliding up to meet yours before he goes back between your legs. “Won’t it feel better?”

You can’t resist him. You push your panties to the side, holding them with one hand as you go back to your clit. Your thighs instinctively want to close together, but he holds them open.

“Put your fingers in.”

You do. You push two digits in, arching them as you rub at the sweet spot inside of you. He watches, licking his lips as he increases the pace on his dick. You moan right as he grunts, the sound making shivers course up and down your spine.

“Why don’t you use your vibrator instead?”

You entirely stop moving, digits deep inside of you. “Huh?”

“I’ve heard you use a vibrator,” he explains. “I want to see you bury it in your tight little pussy.”

Your walls clench around your fingers at his crude words, and it doesn’t take any more for you to roll towards your night table so you can grab said vibrator. When you’re settled back in your previous position, you click it on, and the soft buzzing fills your room.

“Wait,” Jungkook says, stopping you before you’ve pushed your panties aside again. “Take this off.”

He pinches the fabric on your hip, over the tattoo, and all you can do is nod once before you do. He licks his lips, looking at you appreciatively through half-lidded eyes. He looks between your legs, where you just know he can see your juices glistening. Before he says anything else, you put the vibrator on your clit, legs twitching as harsh pleasure courses through you.

To your surprise, he moans, a low sound that has your pussy clench hard. Of course he sees, and he’s quick to say, “Put it in, peach.”

You obey, and you let out a breathy sound as you immediately rub your clit with your other hand. The next few minutes are a world of bliss, of pleasure and of Jungkook’s praises and grunts, entwined with your moans. You think your room is burning hot, or maybe it’s just his eyes on you. His balls are tight as he jerks off harder, faster, eyes never once moving away from the spot between your legs, where your vibrator makes squelching sounds as you push it in and out of you.

“You’re doing so well,” Jungkook tells you after you’ve moaned loudly. 

You’re nearing your high, but for some reason, you haven’t been able to hit it yet. His words bring you closer, yet it remains just barely out of touch.

“So fucking well,” he adds, breathlessly, and you notice he’s gripping his dick harder, moving so fast you barely can see his hand, except when it slows on his head with a flick of his wrist. He moans, grunts loudly. “You’re so hot, I’m going to come.”

“Fuck,” you curse as you watch him push his shirt up, and you catch sight of his defined muscles. They contract as he jerks himself off, and you think you’re drooling.

Maybe because you’re so close to hitting an orgasm that you can’t do anything other than drool.

He glances at your face once. You meet his gaze, blood boiling as you see his eyebrows almost touching over his eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes loudly. His eyelids flutter close as his eyebrows bunch up over his eyes even more, and then he moans out something that sounds like your name.

Not ‘peach’. Your full name. It makes your eyes water as you observe him, as you watch how he looks in pain. And then he curses, and your eyes fall to his dick to see white spurts of cum coming out, covering the tattoos on the back of his hand as he keeps moving, never once faltering.

Your walls clench tightly around your vibrator. You think you’re about to come, but the orgasm doesn’t want to hit, evading you frustratingly. Your motions grow inconsistent, the push and the pull of the vibrator clearly not enough for you.

As Jungkook comes down from his high, he surveys you once more, features blissed out from coming. He watches you struggle as his hand stops at the base of his dick.

“Look at the mess I made because of you,” he says, and you moan. He tilts his head to the side, pulls at his piercing, and then stops you. Puts his hand over yours between your legs as the vibrator rests deep inside of you. “Do you need help?”

You feel some of his cum as it spills from his hand to yours. You keep rubbing on your clit, meeting his gaze as he awaits your answer. “Yes.”

He smirks, and you let him grab your vibrator. He pulls it out of you, watches your juice on it with a hungry look on his features before he hands it to you again. “Put this on your clit.”

You obey, and you sigh in pleasure as he covers two of his fingers with his cum, even picking some up where it fell on his abdomen, decorating his defined abs. You know exactly what he’s going to do before he does, and it makes you curse.

He meets your gaze. “Are you on the pill?”

“IUD.”

He smirks. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes his cum-covered fingers inside of you, arching them to expertly play with your g-spot. You cry out, throwing your head back in pleasure. He fucks you with his digits for a while, and you press your vibrator hard on your clit, as if it’s going to make you come faster.

All it does is make you close your thighs on his wrist. He pulls his fingers out, forces you to spread your legs wide open again, and then circles your entrance with one finger.

“It’s so hot, to watch my cum dripping out of you.”

His digits are in again before you can reply, and he fucks you so well, you crash right into your orgasm, walls spasming around his fingers. You moan, loudly so, and tears prick at your eyes as the waves of your orgasm drown everything in you, making you shake with pleasure.

You ride the high for a long time. Longer than you’ve ever had before, and Jungkook whispers filthy praises to you all through it, until you cringe with oversensitivity and turn off the vibrator. You put it down next to you, and Jungkook pushes in and out twice more before he pulls his fingers out of you.

You remain silent for a while, both of you regaining your breath. Once you stop feeling like you’re seconds away from passing out, you prop yourself on your elbows, watching him. He’s still looking between your legs, and you instinctively close them.

His eyes shoot to your face, and he smirks. “You have no idea how hot you are with my cum dripping out of you, peach.”

You bite your lip, so hard you think you taste blood. “Shit.”

“I know.”

“What did we do?”

He shrugs, sucking on his piercing. “We made sure we’ll sleep well, that’s all.”

You sigh, nodding once before you lie back down on the bed. “Shit,” you repeat.

This time he laughs. It’s a soft sound, something that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. For some reason, it reminds you of the kiss in the kitchen, and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Even more so as he says, “Let me go get something to clean you up with.”

He pulls his boxers up and then gets up. You miss the way he winces as his feet hit the cold floor, and he’s back with a washcloth before you’ve had time to realize he was gone.

“I’m sorry, there was no hot water left.”

“Oh,” you let out.

He chuckles as he sits next to you. “Do you want to do it or…?”

You nod, and you grab the washcloth out of his hands before cleaning yourself up. It really is cold, and you wince, one eye shutting as you make sure you’re clean before handing it back to him.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

“I don’t know?” 

He laughs, still grabbing it before throwing it in your hamper. “Did you want to pee before going to bed?”

You nod again. “I should.”

“Are you okay to get there?”

You roll your eyes, finally finding some of your usual defiance. “You didn’t fuck me, Jungkook, I can still use my legs.”

“Right,” he lets out before chuckling. “I’ll wait for you here then.”

The trip to the bathroom is the worst you’ve ever experienced, with how cold it is in the rest of the apartment. You’re pleased that your room is warm when you come back, and your heart squeezes in your chest as you see Jungkook lying on his side, looking at you as you enter and shut the door behind you.

He smiles warmly at you. “Better?”

“Why is it so cold?” you complain, which makes him laugh that cute, giggly laugh of his. You immediately look away from him, not wanting him to see the blush on your cheeks.

You blow the rest of the candles out, and in the dark, you make your way to your bed. You slide under the covers, sighing at how warm they are now.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Jungkook says as you settle next to him.

You gulp. “What?”

“You said you were going to go to the dorms,” he reminds you, even though that was an eternity ago. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh,” you let out. You’re happy it’s dark because your cheeks burn so much you imagine you’ve turned purple. “I’m glad I stayed too.”

He sighs, and you feel the mattress move as he shifts. “Do you want to cuddle?” he asks. “For warmth.”

You snort, and even though you’re in the dark, you nod. 

“Sure.”

A few seconds later, you’re the small spoon again, and he holds you close to him. He sighs once more, and it ends with a yawn that has you laugh softly.

“Tired?” you tease him.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, nuzzling his face in your hair. “I’m going to sleep like a rock.”

So are you. Even if you shouldn’t, even if you and Jungkook probably committed a big mistake tonight, you still know you’re going to sleep soundly.

Especially as his breathing evens out behind you, interrupted by soft snores here and there. It forms a melody that lulls you to the land of dreams, to a land where you can forget that he’s Taehyung’s best friend, and where you can imagine that he’s yours after all. It’s idyllic, unreal, yet your sleeping form clings to it like it’s a lifeline in a storm.

You just know that reality is bound to hit again soon.

Prev | Chapter 3.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Oooooof yep. They really did that hehehe. What did you guys think? Did you like it? Let me know!!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[theonottsbxtch]

Ok so… 🌧️☁️🔥 - Lewis Hamilton.

Could u base it off the trend, dark curls and water colour eyes.

Thanks Queen

WATER COLOUR EYES | LH44

an: this is totally not based off of nico rosberg, no why would it be? also this was written in an hour and is NOT proof read.

summary: lewis' and his teammate have been treading a thin line between love and hate, so when one of them gets into an accident. surely it changes everything.

wc: 4.3k

warnings: car crash

The air in the garage was thick with the familiar scent of oil and rubber, the rhythmic thrum of engines in the distance like a heartbeat. You were stood at the far end, methodically reviewing your race notes, eyes tracing over each figure with sharp precision. Focused. Composed. Untouchable.

But you could feel him there—he was always there, lingering just on the edge of your awareness, never saying anything but always watching. The weight of it made your jaw clench, your muscles tighten in a way that annoyed you more than you’d cared to admit.

Lewis was leaning against the wall across from you, arms folded, his posture lazy and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. You could hear him breathing. You didn’t have to look up to know he was wearing that same infuriatingly relaxed expression, the one that somehow made you feel like he was waiting for you to slip up.

Minutes passed, neither of you speaking, the silence between you thick with something unspoken, but heavy. The team buzzed around you two, but your world was much quieter—tense, a slow-burning friction that had been there since the day you had both signed on.

Finally, you chose to break the silence, not out of need to acknowledge him, but to break the weight pressing down on your chest. "Do you ever plan on doing something useful?"

Lewis didn’t answer right away. Instead, you heard the soft shift of his weight as he stood straighter, footsteps crossing the short distance between you, slow and measured. You didn’t look up. Not yet.

"Are you always this charming before a race?" His voice was calm, casual, the subtle bite behind his words only evident to someone who knew how to listen for it.

You exhaled slowly, setting your notes down on the table in front of you. Only then did you meet his gaze, your cerulean eyes locking onto his, steady and unwavering. His eyes were dark, tension brewing within them, and the way they met yours now—unapologetically, searching for something—only made your guard go up further.

"I’m focused. Maybe you should try it sometime," you replied, your tone even, though every word was a small act of defiance.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t a friendly one. It was the kind of smile that said he was amused by you, that he liked getting under your skin.

"I am focused," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. "Just not on what you think."

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Lewis didn’t like that they were racing today, there was far too much rain. Every practice session since they had gotten to Zandvoort felt wrong, every time he got into the cockpit of the car, he wanted to get back out.

The race was chaos—engines roaring, tires screaming as they hurtled through corner after corner at breakneck speed through the rain. Every move had to be precise, every decision calculated, and he was good at it. No distractions, no second-guessing.Even though he didn’t want to race today, Lewis lived for this.

But today, besides the race, something else was off. He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head. Even as he fought for position, his mind wandered—always back to you. To the way your eyes flashed when she spoke to him, the way you never backed down, never let him in. You were supposed to be teammates. Rivals. So why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

He shook it off, pushing harder, focusing on the track ahead. But then he saw it.

Your car, just ahead in the pack, spun out. It happened so fast—a sudden twitch, then a violent swerve. His breath caught in his throat as your car skidded sideways, slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch of metal.

Time slowed. Everything else—the race, the other drivers, the screaming radio in his ear—faded away. All he could see was your car, mangled and still, smoke rising from the wreckage.

"Bono, is she okay?" he breathed, panic clawing at his chest.

He was supposed to keep driving, follow protocol, and wait for the safety car. But he couldn’t. Lewis’ hands moved on their own, wrenching the wheel to the side, veering off the racing line. The pit radio crackled, Bono’s voice screaming at him to stay focused, to stay in the race, but he didn’t care. He slammed the brakes, pulled the car to a halt on the side of the track, ripping off his steering wheel in one swift motion.

Before anyone could stop him, he was out. Feet pounding against the asphalt, he sprinted toward your car, every second stretching painfully, his heart pounding in his ears. His mind was racing, filled with worst-case scenarios he couldn’t shut out. You had to be okay. You had to be.

As he reached the wreckage, marshals were already swarming the scene, but he shoved past them, his pulse roaring in his veins. The front of your car was a crumpled mess, the cockpit barely visible under the bent metal and debris. He could see your helmet, your still form inside, and the sight made something twist violently in his chest.

"What the fuck happened?!" His voice was raw, frantic, his hands reaching for the cockpit, trying to pry it open. "Someone help me for fucks sake!"

One of the marshals grabbed him, pulling him back, but he fought against it, his whole body trembling with the need to see you, to know you were okay.

"She’s unconscious—" one of the medics started, but he couldn’t hear the rest. His world had narrowed down to you and the sound of his own ragged breathing. He’d never felt fear like this before, not on the track, not anywhere. It gnawed at him, made his hands shake as he stood there, helpless.

His mind screamed at him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you.

When the medical team finally got you out, he saw your chest rise and fall—shallow, but steady. Relief hit him like a wave, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to hear your voice, needed to see you open those damn eyes and tell him off like you always did. He needed you to be okay.

"She’s breathing," one of the medics reassured him as they loaded you onto a stretcher, and he nodded, but it felt like a hollow victory. Lewis wasn’t supposed to care this much. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But as they carried you away, all he could think was that he’d break every rule, throw away the whole damn race, just to hear your voice again.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The quiet hum of the air conditioning did little to settle the nerves that still buzzed under your skin. You sat on the edge of the small cot in your driver’s room, staring blankly at the wall. Your body ached—nothing broken, they’d told you, but the crash had rattled you more than you had wanted to admit. Your helmet sat discarded on the floor, and the sound of the accident still echoed in your head, the screech of tires, the crunch of metal.

There was a knock at the door, sharp and insistent. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.

"You in there?"

You closed your eyes for a brief second, already bracing yourself for the confrontation you weren't ready to have. He hadn’t left you alone since the crash—hovering around the medical tent, pacing outside your room. You’d heard him through the walls, arguing with the team, demanding updates. He was relentless. But you didn’t want his concern. You didn’t need it.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Typical. He always pushed his way into your space, never asking, never giving you a chance to breathe.

"You shouldn’t be here," you said, your voice low, your eyes still fixed on the floor. You didn’t have the strength to look at him, not yet. Not when your emotions were too close to the surface.

"I was worried," he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, and that only made you angrier. "I needed to see for myself that you were okay."

You laughed, a bitter sound, shaking your head. Finally, you forced yourself to look up at him. His usually confident posture was gone; he looked tense, his shoulders tight, his dark eyes clouded with something you didn’t want to name. Guilt? Regret? You didn’t care.

"You were worried," you repeated, your tone mocking, though the anger bubbling inside you was anything but playful. "Since when do you care about me, Hamilton? You’ve made my life hell from the second I signed with this team."

Lewis flinched at her words, but didn’t move, didn’t back down. "I—" He stopped, searching for something to say, something that wouldn’t make it worse. But you didn’t want to hear it.

"You don’t get to be scared for me." You stood up, your body protesting with every movement, but you ignored the pain. Your emotions were a live wire, snapping and sparking in the small room. "Not after everything you’ve done. The comments, the looks, the way you treat me like I’m just some obstacle in your way."

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening, but you weren't finished. "You’ve been trying to tear me down since the day I got here. You’ve questioned my skills, doubted my place on this team, made me feel like I don’t belong every single chance you get." You took a step closer, your voice rising, cracking with the intensity of everything you’d kept bottled up. "So don’t stand there now and pretend you care. Don’t act like I’m something worth worrying about."

He didn’t move. He just stared at you, his face a mask of tension, like he was holding something back—something he wasn’t sure how to say. His eyes flickered, just for a second, and you saw it: the same fear you’d felt when your car slammed into that barrier. It confused you. It infuriated you.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice, rougher now, cut through the thick silence. "You think I planned to be this way with you? I don’t—" He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know how to do this. How to deal with you. Because you—"

"Because what?" you snapped, cutting him off. "Because I’m a threat? Because you can’t handle the fact that I’m as good as you? Better, even?"

"Because you scare the hell out of me!" he shouted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. The room fell silent, his confession hanging in the air between you, raw and jagged.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the admission hitting you harder than you wanted to admit. But you didn’t let it show, couldn’t let him see how his words affected you.

"You scare me," he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was admitting something to himself as much as to you. "The way you drive, the way you push yourself—you’re fearless, and it’s terrifying. And today—" His voice cracked, and he looked away for a second, composing himself. "Today, when I saw you crash, I thought—I thought I’d lost you."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you swallowed the emotion rising there, forcing yourself to stay strong. To stay angry.

"You don’t get to care about me," you said again, quieter this time, but with the same fire. "Not when you’ve spent months trying to break me."

Lewis opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. For a moment, you just stood there, the distance between you feeling both impossible to cross and too close. The tension, the unspoken things that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long, it all hovered between you, crackling like electricity.

Finally, he took a step back, his gaze falling to the floor. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice rough, but sincere.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to push him further away, to tell him that his apology wasn’t enough. But another part of you —a part you weren’t ready to confront—was scared by how much you’d wanted to hear him say it.

So instead, you stayed silent, watching him leave, your heart still racing, your mind reeling from everything that had just been said—and everything that hadn’t.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. Your body felt heavier now, the adrenaline from the confrontation seeping away, leaving only the dull ache of exhaustion and the weight of his words lingering in your mind.

You scare me.

You ran a hand through your hair, still trying to make sense of it all. He was the one who had made your life hell, the one who pushed every button, who treated you like you didn’t belong. And now, he was saying he was scared? That he cared?

You paced the room, the silence gnawing at you, your mind spinning in circles. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were rivals—always had been. He was the enemy on your own team, the one who made you want to scream every time he walked into the room. But today, when he stood there, looking at you like he was terrified of losing you, it had felt… different.

There was a part of you that had wanted to stay angry, to keep that fire burning between you. It was easier that way. Safer. But another part—the one you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge until now—was starting to unravel, slowly, painfully, as if everything you thought you knew about him was coming undone.

You sighed, sinking back onto the cot. Your body ached, but it wasn’t just the crash. It was everything else—the confusion, the pull you felt toward him, the tension that never seemed to leave you two, the way he looked at you like you were both his greatest threat and something he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

You don’t get to care about me.

You had meant it when you said it. But now, alone with your thoughts, you wondered if you had been pushing him away because you didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself. That maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to stay away. Not anymore.

Before you could second-guess it, you stood up, heart pounding in your chest. You weren't sure what you were going to say, weren’t even sure why you were doing this, but your feet carried you out of your room and down the hall. His room was just a few doors down, the quiet hum of the team in the background doing nothing to settle the storm raging inside you.

Your knuckles hovered above the door, hesitating for just a moment before you knocked, your heart in her throat.

It opened almost immediately. He stood there, still in his race suit, his room a mess and his  eyes shadowed with the same exhaustion you felt. He looked surprised to see you, but there was something else there too—something raw, vulnerable, that made your chest tighten.

Neither of you spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Finally, you broke the tension, your voice quieter than you intended.

"I shouldn’t have said what I did."

Lewis didn’t respond right away, just watched you with those sharp eyes that always made you feel like he was seeing straight through your defences.

"I didn’t mean it," you continued, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "I mean… you didn’t deserve that. You cared, and I shouldn’t have thrown it back in your face."

He looked down, exhaling softly. "I’ve given you plenty of reasons to hate me," he said quietly. "I get why you reacted the way you did."

For a moment, neither of you moved. You were about to say something else, but then he looked up again, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

"It’s foreign to me," he said, his voice low, his words deliberate. "Liking someone like you. Someone I’m not supposed to like."

Your breath caught in your throat, the air between you suddenly feeling too thick, too charged. The heat from the room, from him, seemed to close in around you, making it hard to think straight.

"You drive me insane," he continued, stepping closer, his voice rougher now. "You challenge me in ways no one else does. And I hate it. But I also…" He stopped, his eyes locking onto yours, his next words barely more than a whisper. "I can’t stop thinking about you."

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. The tension that had always been between you shifted, growing heavier, hotter, more intense. You could feel the pull, the unspoken thing that had been simmering beneath the surface for months.

Your throat was dry, your body betraying you. "You’re not supposed to care about me," you whispered, but there was no anger left in your voice. Only confusion, and something you weren't ready to admit yet.

He took another step closer, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough to hear the slight hitch in his breath.

"I know," he said, his voice husky, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "But I do."

Your pulse thundered in your ears as his words lingered in the air between you, charged and crackling like static. Every second felt stretched, like time was holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next. The tension between you had always been palpable, always simmering just beneath the surface, but now, it was unbearable—thick, electric, like the split second before a lightning strike.

You knew you should say something, break the moment before it went too far. You should push him away, remind him of all the reasons this couldn’t happen, why they couldn’t cross this line. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you found yourself frozen in place, the walls you’d built up around him crumbling. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, and you felt something inside you shift, like a wire snapping loose.

Your breath hitched as you leaned in, just the smallest movement, enough to close some of the distance between you. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the space between you shrinking until it felt like the air itself was suffocating, pressing you together.

And then, he moved.

His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, his touch feather-soft, like he was testing the moment, unsure if you’d pull away. Your skin tingled where his hand touched, sending a shiver down your spine, and for a brief second, neither of you moved. His thumb gently grazed your jawline, and the touch was so tender, so unexpected from him, that it made your chest tighten.

When you didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, something shifted in him. The tension snapped like a taut string, unravelling all at once. He closed the gap between you in a heartbeat, and before you could think, before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was urgent, messy, like he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t control it anymore. His lips pressed against yours with a hunger that matched the heat between you, a raw, desperate energy that made your knees weaken. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t careful. It was a release—months of pent-up frustration, confusion, anger, and something else that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.

Your body responded instinctively, your hands moving to his chest, gripping the fabric of his suit as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His body was warm, solid beneath your touch, and you could feel his heart racing just as wildly as yours. You pulled him closer, needing more of him, needing this as much as he did.

The kiss deepened, and his hand slid from your cheek to tangle in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your mouths moved together in a rhythm that was both frantic and intoxicating, as if you were both trying to make up for all the time you’d spent fighting this. Every brush of his lips, every shift of his hands made your pulse spike, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. You could taste the desperation in his kiss, feel the tension still lingering in the way his body pressed against yours.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, tangled in each other, caught in the whirlwind of your own undoing. But when you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, your foreheads pressed together, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Your breaths came heavy and uneven, the world spinning around you as you tried to catch up to what had just happened.

Your mind was a haze of emotions—confusion, relief, frustration—and yet there was something undeniable settling deep inside you, something you couldn’t push away anymore.

You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, and your heart was still racing, but now, instead of fear or anger, there was something softer, something that scared you just as much.

"I’m still angry with you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. But there was no heat behind your words now, just the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, like you couldn’t quite hold it back.

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating between you as he brushed a thumb along your jawline, his touch lingering, as if he didn’t want to let go. His eyes softened as they met yours, the usual sharpness replaced by something you weren't used to seeing in him—vulnerability.

"I wouldn’t expect anything less," he murmured, his voice low, rough with the aftermath of what had just passed between you. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you.

His forehead still rested against yours, and the air between you was thick with the unspoken things that hung in the balance. You could feel his breath mingling with yours, could still taste the remnants of his kiss on your lips. The tension hadn’t disappeared—it had merely shifted, becoming something new, something more dangerous. The line between you was gone now, blurred beyond recognition, and you didn’t know how to navigate it.

His other hand came to rest on your hip, the touch firm, possessive, pulling you just a fraction closer. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, and you didn’t stop it this time. You didn’t want to.

His lips hovered just above yours, teasing, tempting, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy, his eyes searching yours for permission—for something more. And in that moment, you realised that you wanted it, too. Wanted him.

the end.

[qingxin-dream]

Scara relaxing on the couch with you<3 if u do NSFW having him cockwarm you so he can relax

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬”

summary | today was one of those days where nothing could go right. well, maybe, it’s been like that for awhile. and you know damn well that your loving husband was not about to watch you fall into despair. (art credits: unknown)

warnings | not proofread, reader has a mental breakdown, comfort, profanity, smut [18+, MDNI], female-bodied reader, cockwarming, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, slightly possessive/dominant, marking, breeding kink, creampie

genre | modern au, comfort, smut

word count | 3k

pairing | husband! scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The sky had been overcast all day, only putting a damper on your mood. Work has somehow become extra stressful lately with more and more responsibilities piling up. You felt the crushing weight on your shoulders with each passing hour and you couldn’t wait for the clock to hit 5pm.

The last place you wanted to be was at work, away from home, and without your husband, Scaramouche. Even then, your relationship was getting to a point where it was nothing more than bitter roommates. He had missions to complete while you were obligated to work every day. Someone had to be the breadwinner, after all.

Sweet freedom washes over your exhausted body when it’s finally time to go home. You rush outside only to find that the clouds had turned a nasty gray color and wet droplets of rain dotted your suit jacket.

Great, you forgot an umbrella.

The rain was really picking up now, your clothes soaked and your hair flattening into drenched clumps. Running through the downpour, you had to make it another block to your car until you got stopped at an intersection—narrowly avoiding the wave of water a speeding car almost splashed onto you.

Once you practically leaped into your car for safety, the sense of stillness that suddenly permeated the air brought you back down to earth. You were more than overworked. You were burned out, with hot tears freely streaming down your face in a choked sob. Gripping the steering wheel, you slumped your forehead onto your knuckles, shoulders shaking as you cried out all the pressure you had bottled up inside. The rain beat against the windshield, drowning out your agony.

Once you managed to compose yourself with a few sad sniffles here and there, you turned the key in the ignition. Tonight you decided to forget about everything. No stress. No work. Not even a single load of laundry. You couldn’t muster the strength for anything other than some sort of self-care or self-indulgence.

When you walked through the door with an expression bordering on despair, Scaramouche knew you had a rough day. He frowned to himself. Frankly, the distance between you two was a sore spot for him as of late and he was expecting you to lock yourself in the bedroom.

At first, he had been stubborn about the tangible separation pushing you further and further away from him. Foolishly, Scaramouche had tried to drown himself in his busy work and missions, simply trying to ignore it. But after a while, he realized that this damned feeling of alienation and being constantly on edge like some old married couple was ridiculous.

That’s not who he married or the life he signed up for, and Scaramouche found himself determined to finally act like you both loved each other for once.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you from the couch. Looking down at his casual sweatpants and shirt, you wished you could’ve stripped down and lazed around on the couch this afternoon. Sleep was something you desperately needed. He offers a small olive branch with his softened tone of voice. “Why don’t you get changed and come sit with me? I missed you.”

You drew in a hesitant breath. Perhaps it was your way of attempting to decompress before answering your husband or you were unsure of his intentions. The couch was definitely calling to you, and the prospect of your lover’s comforting arms enveloping you was even more tempting. In a haste, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag, nodding with a bit of a pitiful pout on your lips as you went into the bedroom.

Scaramouche perked up slightly upon hearing your return, making room for you on the couch so that he could spoon you just right. As you sat down, his hand immediately went to your hip and he found himself gravitating toward the comforting crevice of your neck. Your skin was colder than he expected from the rain but he was more than willing to share his warmth with you, his fingers venturing up the contour of your waist under your baggy shirt.

“There’s goosebumps on your skin,” he noted with an obvious smile in his voice. “Why don’t you take this off and let me warm you up, hm?”

You gaze at him over your shoulder, catching the subtle seductive intonation of his offer. Despite his pads of his fingers gently caressing and massaging your hip in encouragement, you weren’t entirely sure if you had it in you for too much physical affection. Most of all, you just felt tired.

Yet, Scaramouche always got his way. Maybe it was how the words rolled off his tongue that sparked your imagination in the back of your mind, or that mischievous gleam of excitement in his violet eyes. He had no problem catering to your needs, helping you slowly lift that baggy shirt over your shoulders and tossing it aside. He quickly did the same.

Suddenly, he ensnared you in his arms, burying his nose in your neck and sighing. The feeling of your back pressed against his bare, muscular chest was like a balm soothing his soul. You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, surprised by his enthusiasm, and pull a heavy blanket over you both.

“Better get rid of these too,” Scaramouche suggested softly into the shell of your ear, tugging at the elastic waistband of your shorts. He generously nuzzled your neck, peppering a few kisses across your sensitive skin to distract you as he easily slipped you out of your bottoms.

Your whimpers were buried in your throat. You purposely tried to stifle it, but the little shiver of your neck and body against his ministrations couldn’t hide your true feelings forever. The slow drag of his hand up your plush thighs, over the round of your hip, and dangerously close to your breasts was merely a confirmation of your suspicions.

“Scara… please,” you murmur, sounding more like a faint plea for peace and relaxation. “My feet hurt so much. I don’t think I can move anymore, let alone do—”

“Shhh, love, you really think I’m going to make you do anything?” he asks rhetorically, the timbre of his sweet words deepening to a level bordering on husky. His hand travels back down the curves of your body with silent reverence, hoping to ease your worries. “I don’t think you realize how hard you’ve been working until it breaks you.”

With a click of his tongue, your husband continues to let his hand journey over every inch of your lovely form. Your breasts, your stomach, your pelvis, hips, thighs… If he was being honest, Scaramouche would never have thought he’d discover someone as perfectly imperfect as you. To not remind you of how much he secretly worships your whole being would be a grave sin in his eyes.

“I feel like I never see you anymore. We never talk anymore,” he mumbles into your shoulder blade, taking his time to kiss and nibble as much of your upper back as he could. You involuntarily arched your back, the sensation of his mouth along your spine sending pulses of electric desire through you. His voice shifts into a possessive growl. “And I miss my wife.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you weep dryly, rolling your head back to relax on him fully. Your thoughts instantly short-circuited at the revelation of his thick bulge pressing into the plush of your ass, tactically held in place by his fingertips digging into your love handle. You were so ready to just melt into him completely, to give in and let him take care of you.

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness,” he quickly interjected to correct you. You could feel the smirk spreading on his face as he leans into you as much as possible. The back of his hand ghosts your inner thigh, nudging it to the side. “Show me how much you want my mercy.”

You were hanging on every syllable that left his lips in a hushed whisper. A featherlight touch grazed near your outer labia, enough to capture your attention like a moth to a flame. That was all it took for him to push your mind over the edge. It was pathetic, really, how you were desperately trying to mentally fill in the blanks and imagine the pleasure of his slender fingers massaging your needy clit.

Scaramouche knew exactly what he was doing. He loved getting a rise out of you. Admiring the subtle contortion of your features in pleasure may be his favorite pastime. Tickling the insides of your thighs and skirting skillfully around the one place you wanted him most, he scoffed in amusement every time you sighed softly in frustration.

“I thought you were going to be nice,” you groaned impatiently, beginning to lazily roll your hips in rhythm with the intermittent brush of his fingers just shy of your cunt.

“I am,” he snickered into your collarbone, his hot breath pouring down your chest and thrilling your skin. “You can’t lie to me. I know you like when I tease you until you’re begging for me to stuff you to the brim.”

Taking your lower lip between your teeth, you managed to defiantly buck your hips forward and finally feel the tantalizing glide of his index and middle fingers between your slick folds. The sweet victory ripped a lewd moan of your lover’s name from your pretty throat. To say you were utterly addicted to the sound of him parting the lips of your glistening pussy might be an understatement.

“Tsk, tsk, good things come to those who wait. Isn’t that what you humans say?” Scaramouche mocks you lightheartedly, though his fingers don’t leave your clit. Rather, he circles the sensitive nub at a tantalizingly slow pace to earn another cock-twitching moan from your angelic mouth. “I could touch you like this all night… unless you’d rather serve your punishment on my cock instead?”

You were too preoccupied with the intoxicating pleasure concentrated on your aching clit, eyelashes resting on your cheeks and jaw slightly agape. Scaramouche chuckled deeply into your ear with satisfaction, returning his lips to your neck but this time with a little more force. His teeth sunk into you, intent on leaving a good bruise.

It would be a clear reminder in the morning of who you belong to.

He sucked a little harder, causing you to yelp in a mixture of both pain and pleasure. His words were muffled against your skin with a gentle scolding. “I asked you a question.”

“C-cock, please,” you nearly choke, starting to grind sloppily onto his hand for some sense of relief. His other arm underneath you tightened, essentially pinning you to the heat radiating from his body from behind.

“Whose cock?” Scaramouche grumbled jealously at your vague plea. He needed to know that you didn’t just want anyone’s cock to fill up your drenched, gummy hole. The intensity of his violet irises demanded an answer, glued to your blissed out and desperate expression. His fingers were hastily stimulating your clit as he intently watched you parse love and lust on the brink of an orgasm.

“Y-your cock! Please! I need it so bad,” you cried out loudly, the threat of tears lingering behind your eyes. He abruptly slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet your moans, and then shoved his hot, veiny cock pulsating with desire across your soaking wet entrance.

Scaramouche couldn’t stop the salacious groans under his breath, wanting you to hear all the ways you make him unravel. He was eager to drag the mushroomed, pink tip of his cock over your clit over and over, occasionally teasing your hole with the pressure of his length trying to nestle itself within you. But he never pushed it all in. Instead, he continued to gather your essence on his cock—the mere thought of cumming in your rosy folds like this and fucking it messily drove him wild.

“Don’t tell me… hnnnghh… that this is all you want, (Y/N),” he grunted with honeyed pleasure, grinding at a little faster rhythm. You were already nearing your climax again, whispering prayers and praises under your breath for Scaramouche to plunge into you and fuck you senseless.

His hand was still tightly covering your mouth, so you simply shake your head and moan breathily to ask for more.

“Mm, good girl,” he mumbles intimately, kissing your ear and nuzzling you affectionately again. “I know my baby is tired and needy, so I’ll let you be my little cocksleeve tonight, okay?”

You nod and hum against his hand enthusiastically.

He takes the opportunity to shower you with a few more kisses, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance once more. Your walls were already squeezing eagerly on the small inch of his tip inside you and he didn’t dare delay any longer. Scaramouche grabs you by the hip and buries the entirety of his thick cock in your slick tightness, his eyebrows crinkling at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“F-fuck!” Scaramouche curses sharply, bottoming out completely in your aroused cunt. “So good. S-so fucking good, yeah…”

“A-ah, yes! Mm…” you sighed raggedly with ecstasy, pure pleasure and relief washing over you. His huge cock was stretching you perfectly, the lips of your pussy sucking him in at every possible chance. Despite your exhaustion, your husband had wound you up so much that you begged for tiniest semblance of a thrust into your sopping hole. “Oh my god, p-please, fuck me.”

Without warning, you decided to selfishly fuck yourself on his throbbing cock, but Scaramouche instantly snatched your throat. He held you tightly against his pecs and craned your neck with a forceful grip so that you were facing the ceiling, your oxygen partially cut off. The submissive position had your spongy walls dilating in excitement.

“No, no, wait,” he chastised you, his voice cracking slightly at the end as he struggled to adjust to your greedy cunt. “N-Need I remind you, love? Good things come to those who wait; and if you’re lucky, I’ll cum in you.”

He couldn’t believe your pussy was still quaking around his girth, releasing your neck as you nodded obediently. Once he pulled you into him tightly with his strong arms around your stomach, Scaramouche nudged your legs closed so that you could completely envelope his cock. It was incredibly hot every time he shifted to get more comfortable and your walls only swallowed him further. His breathing calmed slightly, wanting to relax with you for the rest of the night deep within your cunt.

“I-It feels too good, Scara,” you whined, cuddling into the pillow on the couch and clutching the warm blanket to your chest.

For the love of Celestia, your body was so exhausted from work but at the same time you wished you had the strength to fuck him like crazy. You made a mental note to wake him up tomorrow morning with the feeling of your folds lubricating his hardened cock, sinking completely onto his impressive length when his pretty indigo eyes sleepily opened for the first time. You’d make sure to hush him and keep his sleeping mask on snugly, fucking him to your heart’s content.

But for now, your husband returned to worshipping the expanse of your soft curves, coaxing you to relax despite the occasional twitch of his cock inside you. Scaramouche’s voice was smooth as silk when he whispered into the crook of your neck, “See? That wasn’t so bad now. Why don’t you turn on your show and I’ll keep this pretty pussy of yours company for as long as you need, hm?”

You both melted into each other’s embrace, connected in every way imaginable for the first time in a long time. The sensation of your lover’s cock nestling into your folds slowly nudged your sweet spot, drawing breathy moans out of you. He thrusted slowly but deeply, marveling at the lust clouding your eyes pushing you just a little bit closer to the edge.

Though Scaramouche was enraptured by the heavenly sound of your pussy slurping his cock, the need burning in his core was beginning to overtake him. “Mm, turn around for me, babe.”

He was gentle and attentive to you as he helped you face him, holding you firmly against his chest and quickly ensuring his cock didn’t leave your cunt for too long. As he stuffed you full, his mouth captured yours in a passionate kiss. His fingers dug into your hair, keeping your lips planted on his as you lazily swirled your tongue on his own and moaned his name.

“Nnghh, can’t take it anymore,” Scaramouche growled hungrily into your mouth, lifting your leg slightly to support you so he could delve his cock deeper. His tone trailed off in a quiet beg, “Lemme breed you, (Y/N). Please…”

“Mhmm,” you agreed without hesitation, cupping your lover’s cheek and kissing him with growing reckless abandon.

He was unequivocally smitten by your ardent claim to his lips, groaning lewdly into the kiss as he began to fuck your desperately pulsating pussy. His grip on you tightened, focusing solely on ravaging your walls until you were on the verge of screaming his praise.

“Hah, that’s it. Goddamn it, I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he takes your lower lip between his teeth roughly, plunging ruthlessly and chasing his impending orgasm. “You can take it, you can take it, yeah… you better fucking cum all over me or else, I swear…”

You reeled him in with a firm tug of his dark purple locks, nearly crying in pleasure onto his tongue intermingling with yours. Moaning and whimpering like a whore, you clutched onto your lover like your life depended on it. “O-Oh my god, Scara, shit, I’m cumming! I’m… mmph, f-fucking c-cumming…!”

Scaramouche pounded his cock into your sopping release, a guttural groan escaping him as he generously coated your spasming walls with loads of his hot seed. He kept himself buried in your cum-laden folds, your erotic juices mixing around the base of his cock while he kissed you softly.

“God… you have no idea how much I missed you.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated. my masterlist.

[wordsofelie]

🏠one goodbye, a million hellos

A Phoenix and Ashes & Don’t you dare run away short story (can be read as a standalone)

Suna x f!reader

Summary: Suna is invited to the wedding of his ex. he goes there with a broken heart and leaves with a loving one.

Content warnings: alcohol consumption, non-explicit bed scene, swearings, timeskip, manga spoilers

Words count: 3.5k

Suna knew from the moment he woke up that morning, that today was going to be shitty day. First, his alarm didn’t go off—luckily, his lazy cat decided to scratch at the door, waking him up. Bleary-eyed, he noted that the noise outside was way too loud for it to be 6 a.m. That’s when he checked the time. It was 8 a.m.

He launched out of bed and stumbled as his ankle twisted slightly. He barely registered the discomfort because he simply had no time to waste. Then he checked the weather on his phone: a sunny day ahead, or so he thought. However, all he had to do was cross the threshold to realise that he’d checked the forecast for Hiroshima, not Tokyo, and that it was pouring rain in the bigger city.

The way to the gym didn’t help ease his mood. He had to wait for two overcrowded trains to pass before he could squeeze onto the third, only to watch in horror as his wallet tumbled out of his bag and skidded across the station floor. Two teenagers shot him a pitying look and smirked.

His coach made him run ten extra laps of the court as a punishment.

Anyway, it was shaping up to be the shittiest day.

Only two things can possibly redeem it now, Suna hopes: the company of his chubby, grey cat and the arrival of his long-awaited new volleyball shoes.

When he finally reaches his apartment building, he rushes to the mailbox.

Fuck, the shoes aren’t there.

He sighs heavily and sorts through the stack of mostly junk mail. There’s an ad for the new yakiniku restaurant that opened in his neighbourhood, a fan’s letter (how did they find his address?) and then, at the bottom of the mailbox, a delicate, white envelope with his name inked in familiar handwriting. Suddenly, his chest tightens. Suna feels his lungs closing, as if they can no longer inhale the breath from outside. Because, even if he wishes he could unrecall the way his ex-girlfriend used to write his name, he can’t; and the letter is from her. He doesn’t need to open the letter to know what it is. She wouldn’t use such elegant paper for him—not anymore. So, he knows, even before reading a single word, that it is an invitation to her wedding.

Her wedding to Miya Osamu.

But just in case his hunch was wrong, in case she dumped his former teammate and wants Suna back in her life, he decides to unfold the paper, carefully.

Honda Airi & Miya Osamu are pleased to invite you...

That’s enough for today.

He shoves the letter into his bag, in a harsh move. Yet somehow, he can’t bring himself to crumple or shred it to pieces for it is certainly very precious to Airi.

When he enters his apartment, he mumbles a shy “tadaima”, it’s unusual for him. He never much cared for the ritual of announcing his return, but his mother used to insist on it, so he only does it with her and his younger sister when he visits them. And Airi once complained when he didn’t. He never knew why it mattered so much to her.

“It’s just… I love having someone to say ‘okaeri’ to,” she said.

Only now does Suna understand the warmth of having someone to greet when coming home, or rather, Suna understands the coldness of having no one to go home to. Not even Peko-chan, his cat, bothers to look up at him, it doesn’t seem like that ungrateful bastard is going to come and ask for cuddles anytime soon.

He finds a single lollipop on the kitchen counter and unwraps it, it’s sweet but somehow tonight, it tastes bitter.

The letter stays in his bag for weeks. Airi tries to call him a few times, leaving messages of “hey, I was wondering if you had received a letter?”, and “tell me when you have received the invitation… I’d like to talk with you about it.” Which turned into “everyone received theirs so I don’t know if you moved out or if you’re ignoring me… anyway, please call me back.”

She sounds so worried; it makes him feel bad and so, he calls her back.

Airi seems to be thrilled when she talks about the wedding plans. There’s this spark in her voice that reminds him of everything he once loved about her. For a brief moment, he almost forgets it is supposed to hurt.

She begs him to come because “you’ve always meant a lot to me, and… I still think of you as a close friend. And Osamu’s entire team from high school is coming. It wouldn’t feel right without you there. But I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable-”

“I’ll come.” He simply replies. Suna has always been a man of few words. He believes he hears a sigh of relief in her voice.

She thanks him one, twice, thrice, Suna pretends it is a pleasure. Which it is (because he made her happy) but also isn’t (because all the regrets he pushed aside for years suddenly resurface).

That evening, he reads the whole invitation. It is so quintessentially her—simple and graceful, the venue will be in the mountains, of course she loves the mountains. The wedding will be held in summer, near her birthday. Every detail seems to fit her perfectly, even the name next to hers, and despite the hurt and regrets, Suna Rintarou has to admit that Miya Osamu is a way better choice than himself for her; he had always been.

The day comes and Suna feels his stomach hurt when he arrives at the venue. It’s a small gathering, which only makes him more visible when he parks. He glances at the people that are already there, and takes a deep inspiration—yet, even in the calm, he can feel his pulse race. A few seconds after, he hears Atsumu tapping on his window.

“Sunarin, my man!” Atsumu’s grin is wide as ever, and Suna’s response is his usual faint smile.

Atsumu explains everything to him from what’s planned for dinner to where the restrooms are but soon after that, excuses himself to go see his brother who’s almost done getting ready.

To stay close to people who are calm and won’t ask too many questions, Suna makes his way to his senpai, Aran and Kita, and nods through conversations, pretending to be his normal self, quiet and unbothered.

Suna doesn’t remember a lot about what happened after, maybe because he was to focus on trying to make the pain in his chest go away.

But when Airi arrives, he finds her beautiful, but he also admits to himself that his heart doesn’t beat the way it used to. The man realises that it is not her that haunts him, but the regrets and the “what could have been?”. It’s the longing to have someone by his side to cherish. It’s the fact that the only true love story he had experienced ended in tears—because of him—and when he tried to fix the broken glasses, it was too late.

This goodbye will forever hurt.

By the reception, Suna attempts to control his drinking—partly because he is a professional athlete, but mostly because he fears he might say something stupid to Airi, “Could it have been us?”, he nearly asks when he bumps into her at the buffet. But instead, “I’m happy for you,” comes out.

“Thank you, Rin. It means a lot coming from you.” the hurt eases even slightly.

Still the alcohol starts blurring his mind a little bit and he turns, only to find himself spilling his drink on someone.

“Shit,” that someone says.

“Oh-sorry!” he mutters, reaching for a napkin to help.

She says nothing back, and doesn’t even look at him at first, not out of annoyance, Suna concludes, but because her attention is glued to her camera, which took the brunt of the spill (and that thing seems the hell expensive).

After a minute or so, she sighs heavily and mumbles a “thanks gods, it’s still working.” As she raises the camera, she snaps one picture of Suna.

The man raises an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback.

“I need to remember the man who almost made me lose my job.”

She grins. And Suna can finally see her whole face. She’s more radiant than a thousand suns.

“Your job?”

“Yep. Honda-san, I mean, Miya-san now, hired me to be the photograph for tonight. My shop is close to her workplace.” She says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she extends her hand to introduce herself.

“Mmh, nice to meet you. I’m Suna.”

He’s cold. Suna knows he is, but it’s not like he can do anything about it, that’s just who he has always been. Somehow, she doesn’t seem impressed or upset by it. She simply scratches her chin and frowns.

“Are you here for the bride or the groom… Wait, let me guess. You’re pretty tall and handsome. Volleyball player, right? So, the groom’s side, I’d say.”

Suna doesn’t know how to respond to that because after all, he’s here for both.

“Actually…” He hesitates. “I was in high school with them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were the mysterious type and cool guy all the girls had a crush on?”

Suna laughs, a short huff through his nose. “I don’t know. Were you the stalking girl who took pictures of her crush?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Did you take many pictures of me tonight?” He wheedles and crosses his arms.

“Who said I had a crush on you?”

That girl is probably smarter than he would ever be, Suna concludes and just when he’s thinking about what he can argue back, she chimes in.

“But, if you want to know, you’ll have to stop by my shop sometime.”

He’s surprised when his heart skips a beat and finds himself wanting to know more about her. They chat naturally for the next half an hour, like old friends or something close to it. She mentions Momo, her cat, a clingy, high-maintenance furball that couldn’t be more different from his laid-back pet. He shows her a photo of said pet, and she laughs about how nonchalant he looks (“like his owner” she adds). She still thinks the felines would look good together. Suna wonders if they would.

“Well, I just forgot I’m supposed to be working and I saw that dude who looks like an owl doing a backflip on the dancefloor. I think Miya-san wouldn’t want me to miss this.” She leans just an inch so that Suna is close enough now to inhale a fragment of her scent. “Guess I’ll see you around… Mister Cool Guy.”

Before he can say anything, she slips back into the crowd. Suna thinks he catches a slight blush on her ears, he smiles, and it makes his cheeks hurt.

Two weeks after, Airi calls him.

“Rin, I hate to ask, but I’m in Osaka right now, and the wedding photos are ready. Could you pick them up?”

Suna wonders if she has some sixth sense or if fate is intervening, but either way, he decides to take the chance.

When he arrives at the shop, she’s there, and the man swears he caught her smile widen when she saw him. She’s helping a young girl with some identity photos, telling her jokes, and making funny faces to get a smile from the child. The way she acts with her makes him think that she has that ability of making everyone feel at ease.

“Here for the photos?” she asks and hands him the envelope.

He takes it, but something holds him back from leaving just yet. He’s here to do his ex a favour, but as he heads toward the door, he finds himself turning around.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Nothing,” she answers, almost too quickly.

The middle blocker holds back a teethfull smile, “There’s a new yakiniku place nearby. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

“I close in twenty minutes.” She informs.

“I’ll wait,” he replies, and finally lets a rare smile break through.

The dinner’s great, they talk about everything and nothing at all. He grills the meat, she eats it while telling him about her degrees and her previous experiences working in a rigid company, why she hated it and how her boss was a butthead. Suna notes that her eyes shine when she explains how she finally followed her dreams and became a professional photographer. She asks him about his dream, impressed when she searches for his name on the internet and sees the number of followers on his public profile.

By the time they’re walking back, neither is in a rush to leave the other. Their feet drag slightly, as if it would help delay the moment they part ways.

“Next time, I’ll try the karubi,” she exclaims, nudging him.

“Next time?”

“What? Aren’t you going to take me on another date, Suna Rintarou?” She smirks, bright and clear.

Everything inside him moves and his heart aches. But this time, the feeling soothes him.

And so, he agrees to go out with her again. The dates become regular and slowly, as the days pass, fingers intertwine, soft kisses land at the corner of lips, and “i like you” are whispered under the moon.

With her, it’s never awkward, never forced. And Suna thinks that maybe he isn’t cursed to be loveless after all.

A few months later, when her apartment lease ends, they move in together. Suna, with his ever-pragmatic mind, decides they know each other well enough to make it work. She’s clumsy, messy, and can sleep till noon—he often returns from his morning run to find her still in bed, though now she tries to get up and wait for him with two steaming cups of tea. She has a tendency to comment on absurd reality shows about people fighting in a villa, and while he doesn’t admit it aloud, Suna finds an odd comfort in her quirks.

At first, her cooking is questionable, bad even, but he finds her watching YouTube tutorials on “How To Meal Prep for Athletes.” Soon, her omurice (that was a bit too burnt in the beginning), packed with olive oil for good fats, protein-rich chicken and eggs, rice for carbs, and fiber-loaded courgettes and red peppers, becomes something he actually looks forward to. Her repertoire of healthy recipes grows, and they fall into a rhythm that makes Suna feels nothing less than at home: he handles the cleaning, and she deftly manages bills and taxes.

On the weekends, they play video games and go on hikes—though never too long ones, because she stops constantly to capture everything. “You already took a picture of that flower,” he points out, and with her innocent smile, she replies, “But the light’s different now.”

She respects his boundaries, never pressures him to do things he dislikes, and doesn’t complain when his responses are short and of few words. She doesn’t make him feel bad when his training runs late. No matter what hour he comes home, she’s waiting—half asleep on the couch, two cats curled in her lap, an almost-empty packet of low-salt and 0% fat crisps by her side. He kneels before her, murmuring “tadaima,” and her eyes squint and then shine as she responds, “okaeri, my love.”

She never misses his games, always making sure to snap the best shots of him. Sometimes, she even sneaks alongside the official photographers, scolding them for not taking enough pictures of Suna.

“What a bunch of idiots…Can’t you see he’s the ace of the game?” (it got her to be kick out of the gym once).

She learns all the rules from volleyball even though she still gets confused with the rotations. One day, from where he stands on the court, Suna hears her protest when the referee whistles for a foul he made (even though it was obvious he touched the net with his chest).

In return, Suna never fails to attend her exhibitions. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks when she cries because “no one came” and “I’m a failure.”

He lists every reason why she’s mistaken and how she’s the most talented person in this entire universe. It makes her cry even more, but with happy tears this time. He keeps on believing that her art will be celebrated worldwide someday, but that he’ll remain the first to stand in line when queues of fans will show up to see her masterpieces.

After a hard day, he runs her a bath, (always putting a little bath bomb that smells like roses, her favourite). When he’s away for matches, he brings back mugs from every country. The shelves are now overflowing, and they had to buy a new cabinet, but she still asks him for more.

He discovers what makes her feel good, the spots on her skin that sends shivers down her spine (her upper thigh, the back of her shoulders). He learns what words make her lose her mind, what pace she enjoys most.

When he messes up, she’s never afraid to call him out. “You’re a piece of shit,” she shouts sometimes when she’s pissed at him, and they burst into laughter because they can never be mad at each other for more than fifteen minutes.

During the Paris Olympics, they explore the city for what she calls their “honeymoon” (they’re not married, not even engaged, though Suna wouldn’t mind giving her his last name, or taking hers). She photographs every single croissant they try, and even makes him pose like he’s holding up the Eiffel Tower, much to his dismay. The man grunts but does it anyway (it’s a total fail).

She jumps in his arms when Japan wins against Argentina. He almost stumbles, but happiness overwhelms him at the same time.

He meets Airi’s gaze, who came with Osamu and his parents to cheer for Atsumu. She beams at him, and he smiles back.

(After all, going to that wedding wasn’t quite a bad idea.)

And just like that, a year transforms into two and into three. His career is stable while hers flourishes.

When he turns 30, she shows him a video montage that leaves him flustered. He laughs at her for getting teary-eyed even though she’s the one who made it.

“Where did you get all these pictures of me as a kid?” he grumbles, embarrassed.

“From your mum, of course! She was happy to help.”

“To help humiliate me?” he asks, and she tries to shut him up with a quick, “I love you.” He rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

For her birthday, he gifts her the camera she’s been dreaming of her entire life. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Please, keep taking pictures. I love them... and I love you,” he tells. She answers she could die happy.

Her first picture with the new device is, shamelessly, Suna’s “beautiful and too-hot-for-public-decency back muscles.”

“Are you taking nudes of me, darling?” He raises an eyebrow when he catches her in the act.

“But this is my favourite scenery.” She tries to explain with a pout. He lets her snap more pictures.

She heads to New York for a major exhibition where she wins an award for best nature photography. From their shared apartment in Tokyo, Suna congratulates her over the phone.

But the week drags on and her absence is painful. He craves her omurice and the low-salt crisps (which taste suspiciously like cardboard), and even finds himself calling out “tadaima” to no one at all. And it seems like, he’s not the only who feels depressed since both cats have decided to start a hunger strike because apparently what Suna feeds them doesn’t meet their standards (even Peko-chan refused the tuna he gave him.)

He looks at the photo album she made of their travels before bed. Suna is convinced that one day, their shelves will be overflowing not only with mugs but with albums (because they have many years ahead of them, many more moments to share).

He forgets what his life looked like before her, not that it matters anymore, Suna wouldn’t mind erasing every memory from his head to keep exclusively the ones with her.

She finally returns home with the award, and he picks her up from the airport (driving a little too fast and barely stopping at red lights, don’t tell her). When they step in the doorway, Suna grabs her waist and pulls her against him tightly, his face nestles in her neck.

“Rintarou…” she chuckles and grabs his hair—he loves when she does that—“I stink because of the flight, let me take a shower.”

Her cat meows to get her attention.

But Suna wants her all to himself.

“Say tadaima,” he orders, sounding like a child.

She blinks in confusion, then takes his face in her hands, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “Tadaima, my love.”

Suna wants to breathe the words, make it his oxygen. His lungs open, his whole blood is filled with an air he never felt before.

Gosh, she’s everything, he tells himself.

“Okaeri.” He responds.

They take a shower together (until the water runs cold), they order take away (burgers with an extra slice of fries), they watch her stupid reality show (Suna starts to be invested in the drama), he falls asleep on her lap, the cats join him.

That night, Suna dreams that it lasts forever.

(It will.)

author notes: if you read Phoenix and Ashes and Don’t you dare run away you know that i haven’t depicted suna as the most loving and kind human being, but what i enjoy so much about writing is that we can develop complex characters who evolve, fail, get better or worse, and make them experience life-changing events. so i really loved describing this new version of suna and make him fall in love again.

anyway a lot of talking haha when i just wanted to give sunarin a happy ending <3

i hope you enjoyed reading this and I’m gonna go working on the kageyama fic now 👀

[doitforbangchan]

honeyy, as you can see... i'm missing my people so much 😭 can we get jinnie - getting rid of the boys - and sneaking into omega's room to spend the night with her when channie's away, please? 🥹❤️

heheheh i love this idea it is very cute 😍thanx bb i hope you like it

ABANB Drabble 02

"This is a long grocery list, Hyune. Are you sure you need all of it?" Felix asked, looking at the texted list that Hyunjin had sent him.

*cough* " Yeah, m' sure. I need everything on that list to feel better." Hyunjin faked another cough, thankful that he was only speaking on the phone or else Felix would have seen the sly grin on the other betas face.

Everyone was out of the house right now. Felix, Jisung and Minho were out shopping, Changbin and Jeongin were at the gym,  Seungmin had gone to visit his family for the weekend and Chan had left this morning for a client meeting. That only left Hyunjin alone… With you. A rare moment he would not pass up on. Hyunjin had not had any time with his omega in what felt like centuries ( about 4 days) and he was beginning to go crazy. 

You were just getting over a cold, having spent too much time dancing in the rain with Jisung a few days prior. Jisung hadn’t gotten sick somehow but you weren’t so lucky. You were feeling much better now but still not one hundred percent so you (more like Minho) thought it better to rest a little more. Your cold gave Hyunjin the perfect cover- ‘somehow’ you had given him your illness so he just had to stay home today while everyone else ran errands. 

He added for good measure, “Plus, Baby would benefit from a lot of that stuff too.” 

That seemed to do it as he heard Felix hum in agreement. “I suppose so. Alright then we will grab it while we’re out, but we may be gone a little longer than usual. Are you gonna be ok taking care of yourself for a while?” 

*cough* “I think so.” He hid his snicker behind the cough. 

The phone was snatched out of Felix’s hand, a loud ‘HEY’ being heard then Minho’s voice rang through the phone. “Do not go bothering Baby while we’re out. She needs to recover and get her rest, and she can’t do that if you’re up her ass the whole time.” 

‘Oh if only you knew just how up her ass I can be, Minho’ Hyunjin thought snarkily. “I won’t. I Promise.” 

Minho scoffed and Hyunjin could imagine how the elder beta was rolling his eyes, “ Yeah right. Get some rest, Hyune.” 

Min had ended the call before he could respond, the line cutting with a quiet beep. Hyunjin pocketed his phone and stood from his place on the couch. The beta listened for any sign of life but heard nothing except the muffled voices coming from the tv in your nesting room where you were resting. He was giddy as he ascended the steps to the second floor, a fluttering in his stomach that he never grows old of was making him jittery and he couldn't fight the smile that lingered on his lips. 

Hyunjin approached your door and gave a tentative knock on the wood. He heard the tv pause and a light shuffle, then a quiet “Come in.” Your voice was still slightly scratchy. 

The beta slowly cracked the door open and peeping his head inside, his long hair swaying with the movement brought a little crackly giggle out of you. “Hi beautiful, how are you feelin’? He asked, taking in how cute you looked snuggled up in your nest.  

“Hi Jinnie. M’ feeling ok, still a little under but definitely better.” You replied, “What about you? Did I get you sick too?” 

He shrugged, “Ah a little, no big deal.” He faked another cough, turning away for a second. Hyunjin needed a way in and playing with your nurturing instincts was the way to go. You seldom let the boys enter your nest, only when you deemed it necessary. 

“Oh Jinnie I’m sorry! How about you come cuddle with me, maybe the body heat will help with your fever!” Bingo. 

*cough cough* “I can’t just invade your nest like that Baby. I’ll be ok.” *Sniffle* 

“Nonsense. You get your skinny little butt in here Hyunjin.” You waved him in with a stern look on your face. 

“Well, if you insist.” He wasted no time before shuffling over to you and flinging himself into your nest next to you. He cuddled up close when you wrapped your arms around him. 

You placed your lips softly upon his forehead, feeling a light fever in the warmness of his skin. “Hm you are warm. Lay down. I have some tea on the bedside- you should drink some, it will help your throat.” He wanted to swoon, even when you yourself were feeling bad you still took care of him in his ‘time of need’. You weren’t lying when you said you felt a fever on his skin though. 

“You’re the best, Baby. What are we watchin?” 

“Greys anatomy.” You picked up the remote and resumed the program. 

“Again? Haven’t you seen every episode like.. Four times?” 

“Shhhhhh” You hushed him, “This is a good part, their plane is about to crash.” 

You both settled in together, cuddled up watching the drama series with drooping eyes. That is where the other members of the pack found you later; both asleep wrapped around each other. Minho grumbled about Hyunjin being a liar and Felix giggled and took pictures to print out later. 

Hyunjin woke up a few hours later with a scratchy throat and a very real congestion in his nose.

Worth it.

©doitforbangchan

@jehhskz

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Lack of Focus

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt comforts you when your forgetfulness seems to be ruining your life.

warnings: swearing, weepy reader, period mentions, Matt being adorable, reader's no good very bad day

a/n: this is heavily inspired by my own life last month where my unknown disability gave me such intense brain fog on my period that I thought I’d somehow gotten brain damage.  Thankfully, it’s passed but what the FUCK y’all. That has never happened to me before and it was terrifying. So here is a little emotional hurt/comfort based on that! Also it takes place in the "In All the World" verse, but it can be read as a standalone. As always, please reply/reblog/DM me feedback!

w/c: 3.7k

Elbows planted firmly on your wobbly desk, you tried to ignore the way the large gouge on the left side dug into your exposed skin. You could feel the splintering fiberboard prickling your flesh, but you were too exhausted to adjust your posture. Your body felt heavy, as if you’d been transported to a different planet overnight and hadn’t quite adjusted to the intense gravitational force. Invisible strings attached to every cell that composed you, anchoring your movements to a far away point, making it difficult to even sit up straight.

Lifting your chin from atop your clammy hands, you strained to reach the coffee cup that you’d stupidly left on the far corner of the desktop. The minuscule weight of the mug made your hands shake, your strength sheerly depleted even though it was barely 8:30 in the morning. The watery coffee slid over your tongue, leaving the gritty residue of undissolved powdered creamer behind. You were used to crappy break room coffee, but it tasted especially bitter today, like a poor consolation prize for a contest you hadn’t entered.

In a word, you felt…groggy. Which made no sense, since you’d been sleeping ten or more hours a day the whole week—if you included your frequent naps. Your period-exhaustion and raging brain fog were apparently in cahoots this month.

The heat wasn’t helping either. New York was currently jumping between excessive, brutal sun and pouring rain. Each day felt like a Greek myth, Apollo and his father battling it out in a wretched display of strength, leaving you and the other mere mortals of Long Island to cope with the muggy weather until their spat was over. Walking through the streets felt more like swimming, given there was so much water vapor in the air you practically needed gills to process oxygen every time you stepped out of your apartment. Nearly suffocating on the 15 minute walk from your apartment to work surely wasn't helping your inability to think clearly.

With a massive sigh, you hauled another box of sheet music into your lap, thumbing through the pages of crumpled and coffee-stained paper. The district had been especially aggravating this summer, trying to appease the school board with promises of low budgets and high rates of success. As much as you’d love for that to be your reality, you had yet to decide on a starting piece for either of your choirs, and the fall musical was barely on your radar. Your mind was plodding through quicksand, grappling for steady ground. The last thing you needed was added pressure from a handful of men who refused to understand the importance of the arts, let alone your career.

Fingers rifling over the blurry text of one particular song selection, you paused, considering the technical skills you’d need to rebuild with your students after their summer break. Removing the pages from the box, you set it aside to ponder further, turning your attention back to the endless stacks. Before you could feel too proud, having stepped incrementally closer to actually  accomplishing something today, a shrill buzzing sounded from your desk. 

You jumped at the noise, losing your grip on the heavy box which toppled to the floor, spewing its contents across the grubby tile of your office. “Shit,” You cursed, snatching your phone up to answer it as you bent down to gather up the sea of scattered papers. The former organization system you’d meticulously sorted them into was nothing but a distant memory. Add it to the growing list of “to dos”, you thought miserably.

Swiping absently at the screen of your phone, you crammed it between your ear and your shoulder, trying to uncrumple the ancient cardboard box that had collapsed during the fall as you greeted whoever had disturbed you. “Hello?” Your tone was less than upbeat, and you could hear a small, slightly-miffed scoff across the line as the caller came to that realization as well.

“Hi, sweetheart. Is everything ok?” Your hands froze around fistfuls of paper, embarrassment clawing at your throat as you registered your boyfriend’s voice. 

“Hey, Matty. Yah, I’m fine. Sorry for sounding like..that. It’s been a tough morning.” You explained, messily gathering the papers into your lap as you fell into a criss-cross position on the floor. 

“I can tell,” Matt chuckled sympathetically. “Are you still coming?” 

Forehead scrunching with confusion, your brain valiantly attempted to decipher the question’s meaning before you eloquently asked for clarification.

“Huh?”

Staring at the walls of your office dumbfounded, your posture became less relaxed as Matt explained what he’d meant. “To the coffee shop? You promised to meet the three of us for breakfast.” 

“Oh god.” You absolutely had. Matt had been moping all week about his busy schedule and the resulting lack of time you’d spent together, so you’d readily agreed when he’d suggested coffee. He’d even been sweet enough to schedule it on the one day that you didn’t have any early meetings so you wouldn’t be too rushed after meeting him. “Oh Matt, I’m so sorry.”

“You forgot.” His response was patient, but even over the tinny speaker his hurt was obvious. Your eyes stung as you pictured his face falling, silently conveying your failure to his coworkers. 

“I’m so so sorry, I’ll be there as soon as I can. It’s the little cafe off of 7th and 42nd?” Clambering to your feet, your voice was slightly choked as your throat constricted—your disappointment and frustration squeezing it like a vice. 

“Hey, it’s ok, love. It’s almost 9:00, we have a meeting with a client in 45. If you’re all the way across town—“

“I’ll barely get to see you anyways.” You finished his thought, eyes falling shut as your hopes of not missing another activity were dashed. This wasn’t the first time this week something important had slipped your mind, despite being on your calendar. You’d already had to reschedule a dentist appointment, scramble home fifteen minutes late to meet with a student for a private lesson, and you’d filed the application for a grant three hours too late because you’d misread the instructions. The constant mistakes were quickly spiraling, leaving you to wallow in confusion and despair as your brain fog only grew. “I’m s—“

“Don’t apologize, sweet girl. It happens,” Matt reassured you. He was disappointed, you had no doubt about that, but he wasn’t angry. A wave of gratitude for Matt’s endless compassion crashed into you swiftly, nearly bringing you to your knees. Your tongue felt heavy, cheeks dampening as tears began to fall. “I was just worried something had happened. It slipped your mind?”

“I don’t know what’s up with me, Matt.” You whimpered, dropping heavily into your squeaky desk chair with a shaky exhale. “I know my mind has never been a ‘steel trap’ but..I’m starting to think something might be wrong.”

Your voice broke off on the admission. Bringing a knuckle to your mouth to bite down on, you refused to sob into Matt’s ear over the phone. He didn’t deserve that after you’d stood him up.

“I know. I’m sorry the past few weeks have been so hard. Do you have plans tonight?” Matt asked softly, voice laden with concern. Even through the phone, his voice bundled you up in a comforting warmth, a layer of protection between you and the world. He was eternally patient with you, loving you endlessly despite your recent bout of ditsy-ness.

“Not sure I’d remember if I did,” You chuckled humorlessly.

“That’s ok, sweetheart. Anything on your calendar?” Acknowledging your frustration, Matt tenderly redirected you—trying to keep your mind from wandering without blaming you for it. God, you loved him.  

“Let me check.” You sniffled, drawing the phone away from your temple so you could flick through your schedule. “Not after 4:00.”

“Ok well I should be done here around 6:00. I can come over for dinner, if you’d like.” Your lips formed a tiny smile at Matt’s loving persistence.

“Yes please. Can we meet at yours instead?”

“Of course! You can go straight to my loft after work, if you feel like it. You can use the spare I gave you.”

“Are you sure?” You suddenly felt a bit timid, being handed so much trust after letting everyone down for over a week.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. You know how much I enjoy you being there. Besides, I’ve missed you like crazy.” His voice was a rumble, making you feel far more loved than you thought you deserved at the moment.

“I miss you too, Matt. I wish my stupid brain would’ve remembered coffee so I could’ve seen you earlier.” Your vision shifted as saline flooded your waterline, tears wobbling as they fought to escape.

“I’ll just have to make it up to you tonight.” Matt purred, definitely waggling his eyebrows even though he was not in your line of sight.

Laughing in surprise, you felt heat rush to your face. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one that needs to be making it up to you.”

“Agree to disagree, sweetheart. We’re going to go open the office, but I’ll see you tonight. I love you.” He lingered over the last three words, tone dipping into pure reverence—the exact pitch that made your stomach flutter as he revealed just how much he cared about you.

“I love you too, Matt. Apologize to Foggy and Karen for me? Tell them I owe them at least three bagels a piece.”

“Three? That’s a pretty steep fee, love. I think I can talk ‘em down.”

Shaking your head with a giggle, you bit your lip. “Thank you for looking out for me, Matty. I hope you have a good day.”

“You too, angel. Call me if you need anything, ok? If I can’t talk right then, I’ll call back when I can. But I’m here if you need me.”

“Ok. Thank you.” Listening as the line disconnected, your heart clenched with disappointment as reality set in—you had an entire day of work to get through before you got to see your partner. Gaze dropping to the haphazard stacks of sheet music draped over your knees, you groaned, hefting them into your arms and dumping them on your desk to organize. Hopefully your sluggish mind could handle the repetitive task without too much issue.

Meandering up the stairs at a snail's pace, each bend of your knee took intense concentration. You were ready to keel over and pass out, letting the guilt and frustration and embarrassment that had amassed over the day fade into oblivion as if it had never happened.

After missing your morning coffee date, and ruining a week's worth of office organization, your day had not improved. Your murky brain had managed to sort the piles of sheet music into the correct songs, but it had taken every drop of your energy. In an effort to perk up before your hours of meetings, you'd thrown back a few more cups of coarse break room coffee—which tasted disgustingly similar to pond water as the day progressed. Each forced swallow stung with the reminder that your forgetfulness had cost you a decent latte and a much needed outing with your boyfriend.

Even four cups of the bog water masquerading as your beloved caffeinated drink couldn't solve your boredom when the administration started rambling on about test scores and parent satisfaction. Graph after graph flashed before your eyes, blending into a drab collage hung on the walls of your brain. When you hadn't shown enough enthusiasm for the new district mandates surrounding attendance and compulsory study hall, your principal had chewed you out—scolding you for not being a team player, for putting your own interests ahead of the success of your students. It took every ounce of resolve you could muster not to burst into tears right there at the conference table.

Finally, they'd dismissed you and you'd gathered your things to leave—only to be caught in a downpour on your walk to Matt's. Though your things were protected by the thick fabric of your messenger bag, you hadn't brought any form of poncho or jacket, so you were utterly soaked when you reached his building.

The fates were clearly determined to drag you down. And, given the exhaustion seeping out of your every pore and the harrowing tightness in your abdomen, you were ready to submit to their malevolent will. You wanted to curl up in a ball and hibernate for a week. If nothing would go right, what was the point of squandering your energy day in and day out to achieve mediocrity?

Bottom lip trembling as tears rolled down your cheeks, you stumbled across the landing to Matt's door—sticking your spare key into the lock and wiggling it. The damn thing didn't budge.

”C'mon!“ You muttered, fresh tears beading in the corners of your eyes as you jiggled the key furiously. ”Open you stupid—“ As you pushed at the small piece of brass with your fingers, it slipped from your grip, your hand smacking against the door frame with the residual energy.

A sob escaped you, your frustration boiling over when your psyche was presented with another obstacle. Yanking the key out and dropping it to the floor, you slid down, back against the cool wood, your sopping jeans squelching as they hit the floor. With a heaving breath, you brought your shaking hands up to your face, trying to soothe your frazzled heart before deciding your next move.

Inhale for 7. Out for 11. Just like you told your kids when they got jittery on the night of a big performance. It wouldn't fix your mood, but it could help you get a grip.

Staring down at the offending hunk of metal on the carpet, your brain flickered with realization. It wasn't the right key. Your own apartment key and Matt's were the same color because you'd made copies together, but the bows were shaped differently. The key to your apartment had a rounded head, while the spare to Matt's had a pointed one. He'd suggested the difference in design to help him keep the two separate.

Heat creeping up your neck, you shoved the damn thing back in your pocket, pulling out your lanyard and singling out the correct key in the line up. 

Your legs shook tremendously as you clambered to your feet, barely functioning enough to keep you upright as you hauled yourself into Matt's apartment. With every step into the loft, your soggy flats squished with your weight, surely leaving a trail of sweat and rainwater behind you. Dropping your bag against the wall where it wouldn’t be a tripping-hazard for your boyfriend, you scrubbed at your clammy cheeks with a fist, padding into the bedroom.

It was quiet, beyond the sliding door. The brick walls and insulation muffling the New York ambiance into a gentle hum, barely noticeable over the buzz of the central AC. A soft, manufactured breeze whirled around you, raising the hair along your limbs. Your damp clothes did nothing to protect you from the temperature change, the frigid air sliding right through them, latching on to the thin layer of moisture against your skin.

With numb fingers, you fumbled for the buttons on the back of your top, ripping off your drenched blouse and replacing it with one of Matt's warm hoodies. As soon as you had shoved your arms into the garment, your discomfort began to fade away. It smelled distinctly of Matt, rather than the stale stench of wet cotton you'd been carrying around. Unzipping your pants, you stripped out of those as well, replacing your underwear with a pair of clean boxers. Mental breakdown stalled for now, you lifted the comforter strewn across the familiar mattress and sunk into the silk sheets with a fatigued exhale.

You were out like a light.

Matt’s lips quirked up at the sound of rustling sheets, his fingers still tapping away on his laptop. Momentarily pausing, he tuned in to your vitals, listening carefully as you roused. Your heart rate picked up, an almost imperceptible sigh leaving you as you wriggled about in his bed.

With a pitiful groan, you untangled yourself from a cocoon of his sheets, ambling out of his bedroom on heavy feet. He was pretty sure you thought you were alone–the tiny gasp as you opened his bedroom door confirming his suspicions.

“Matty?” Your lilted voice was dipped in precarious optimism. Baring your teeth with the tiniest smile, you readily accepted his lifted arm as an invitation to snuggle in beside him on the couch. Setting his laptop and headphones aside, Matt engulfed you with his arms, grinning into your hair as you went limp against his chest with a pleased hum.

“Hi, sleepyhead. Did you have a good nap?” You pouted at his teasing comment, grumbling against his chest. He chuckled, cradling the back of your head so he could plant a kiss on your crown. “I'm not judging you, pretty girl. I'm glad you got some rest. Seems like you had a bad day.”

“How did you know?” You mumbled, rubbing at your eyes as Matt adjusted until you lay steadily across his lap.

“You missed breakfast and you hate the school's coffee, your clothes in my hamper are drenched, and I ran into Mrs. Gomez who warned me of an amateur burglar outside my apartment earlier.” There was a soft slap of skin against skin as you dropped your head into your hands with a moan.

“I was hoping I wouldn't have to relive that particular detail.”

“Sweetheart, if you wanted to spend time with me, you could have stopped by the office. No need to commit a petty crime to get my undivided attention.”

“Ma-att” You groaned, jabbing him weakly in the stomach with a knuckle.

“I mean, I'm sure Foggy would agree to take your case, but seriously it would save a lot of paper if you–” He broke off into a genuine laugh when you shoved off the couch, pouting profusely he was sure. Chasing after you with ease, he caught you by an elbow, angling you back towards him so he could gently kiss your lips. “Sorry, sweetheart. But the image of you trying to break in was too adorable to let slide.”

“That's mean, Matt. Kicking your girlfriend when she's down. Bullying.” You glowered, your arms loosening from their tight cross over your chest as he peppered your head with soft kisses.

“Mmm you're right,” Matt murmured, lips brushing over the bridge of your nose. “I'm sorry to bring it up. Do I need to worry about any broken locks or windows?”

He could practically hear your exaggerated eye roll. “I didn't break anything. I have a key.”  You grumbled, not seeing the humor in the experience.

“What happened, angel? Did you leave it at work?” His question was genuine, but his teasing smirk seemed to push you over the edge.

Tears pooled in your eyes as your chin dropped to your chest with embarrassment. “It just took me a few tries to open the door. I did manage to remember the one thing I needed to get into your apartment.”

You didn't mean for the comment to sound so snarky, but you weren't really in the mood to be picked on. Matt's banter usually cheered you up, enticing you into joking right back with him. Today, though? The idea that Matt expected you to have forgotten another important thing was far too realistic to be humorous.

“Hey,” Matt tutted sympathetically, his amused grin morphing into a slight frown while his brow furrowed with concern. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm not being oblivious on purpose, Matt. I don't know why I'm like this right now.” You sniffled, hastily wiping away the tracks of moisture forming on your cheeks.

“I know, sweets. I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to poke fun.” Swaying you from side to side as if he was comforting a fussy infant, Matt stroked your scalp as he shushed you. It would've been easy to see the change in his behavior as offensive, but Matt's small repetitive movements and hushed tone were comforting, so you leaned into what he provided.

“I'm tired, Matt. I'm so tired and I'm trying so hard to remember everything but I..I can't.” Lips quivering, you squeezed your eyes shut as another wave of tears pooled in them.

“I know, love. I know you're trying.” Matt assured you, scooping you into his arms and settling back on the couch. “It's just been a bad week. It'll get better.”

“What if it doesn't? What if this is how I am now?” You worried aloud, the hormones clouding your brain triggering a fresh surge of anxiety.

“Then we'll deal with it.” Matt shrugged, speaking as if this was the only possible outcome.

“I love you.” You whispered, nudging your nose into the hinge of Matt's jaw. His throat rumbled under your cheek as he echoed your declaration.

“I love you too, angel. Always.”

“Even when I'm scatterbrained and overly emotional?” You asked timidly, your own discomfort with your unusual period symptoms skewing your expectations.

“Without a doubt, my love.” Matt craned his head to kiss your hairline, frowning as you shuddered into the touch. ”Still tired?“

You nodded against him with a frustrated sigh. “I don't know why, I feel like all I've done this week is sleep.”

“You had a tough day, sweetheart. That would wear me out too.” Matt reasoned, tugging a knit throw off the back of his couch and tucking it around you securely.

“But I want to spend time with you,” You groused, the edges of your words muzzy as sleep tugged at your consciousness.

“There’s plenty of time for us to spend together, ok? Just rest. I’ll wake you when food gets here.” 

“You ordered food?”

“I did,” Matt murmured. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten today, so I ordered Thai and pizza. Whatever we don’t eat tonight, you can take for lunch tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Matty.” You whispered gratefully.

“Anytime, sweet girl. I love you.” Repositioning so you were sprawled against his chest, the two of you fully horizontal, Matt rubbed circles into your upper back, lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

[taintedcigs]

GETAWAY CAR — rockstar!e.m. x f!reader

CHAPTER ONE: BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF CRIMES

next chapter →

✦ summary: in which you return to hawkins to attend your best friend nancy's wedding, facing the problems you left behind, and the one person you abandoned; eddie munson. (wc: 9.4k+)

✦ warnings — ANGSTANGSTANGST, pining and slowburn, reuniting <33, strong language!, mentions of alc*hol and drg use and a toxic relationship, reader is sad and feels guilty. kinda mean eddie but not rlly.

✦ pairings — rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader, past billy hargrove x fem!reader

✦ authors note — okay so its finally HERE. im SOOO EXCITED for u guys to read it!! i have tried to proof-read this a lot but my mind is fuzzy so ignore all mistakes!! if u need some stuff to listen to while reading this long ass chapter or the songs mentioned in it u can check out the playlist !! hope yall enjoy it mwah &lt;3

series masterlist | series playlist

I'm a cold heartbreaker Fit to burn and I'll rip your heart in two

The sound coming from your slightly jammed stereo while the rain gently pattered on the roof of your car could’ve been heavenly. 

If only it weren’t the roads of Hawkins that you were travelling in. Five years that had passed were seemingly nothing when you recognized the familiar streets and the infamous forest, heart skipping a beat when you finally arrived on Maple Street. 

The cars parked just outside of the Wheeler House were enough to give you anxiety, especially when your eyes spotted that van. His van. Why did he still have it? Wasn’t he a rich rock star by now? There was an unnecessary bitter taste in your throat, and your gaze was stuck on the van now, gulping physically as you tried to ignore those guilty feelings bubbling up inside of you. Mind quick to revel in all those memories you had with him in that stupid vehicle.

5 YEARS AGO.

“Hurry!” You whisper-yelled, still looking around, Eddie was right behind you, his tongue darting out of his mouth as it always did when he was focused, running like hell as his calloused hands harshly gripped the tequila bottle that you two had just stolen.

The angry voice of the shop’s owner had long disappeared by now, but you could never be too careful. When you finally got close to his van, you stopped Eddie immediately. “Behind you!” You yelled in a fake-worried voice, causing Eddie to start sprinting forward toward the car.

When he noticed you not following and breaking into laughter, his worried face eased as he realized your little prank, giving you a humorless laugh as he started sprinting towards you.

You squealed when he grabbed you by your waist, lifting you off in one swift motion, spinning you around as your giggles filled the space.

Eddie’s grin faltered quickly. “I hate you,” He mocked in a serious tone.

 “I’m sorry, but I just love that worried look on your face. And, oh god, that sprint! You know what you should be?” You asked, a smirk forming on your lips as you waited for him to fall into your trap.

Eddie sighed exhaustedly, a grin plastered on his face, he put you down.

You squealed happily as he did so, “A... Tiger!” You mimicked pompoms with your hands as you tried to re-do your cheer routine, chanting after Eddie.

He playfully nudged your shoulders, “Oh, Pinky... You are on a roll today, huh?” He asked, the nickname rolled off his tongue so sweetly. It was a stupid fucking name, sure, but you loved it. It somehow stuck, the entire town calling you Pinky ever since you pronounced ‘Pinky Promise’ wrong once and your parents funnily referred to you by it.

You nodded, giggling, stealing the bottle from his hands, and chugging a sip. “This was a great idea.” You hummed, pointing to the bottle, the bitter taste burning your throat, almost coughing with how big of a chug you took.

He quirked his brows, flying over to your side as he opened your car door.

“Let’s go, thief.” He tilted his head, hands gesturing forward animatedly.

“What a gentleman!” You mocked dramatically, sliding into the messy van easily as Eddie heaved a sigh.

He sprinted toward the other door, cursing as he struggled to open the rusty door, eyes bulging out of his head almost as he checked to make sure the coast was clear. “You know…” He started with a muffled sigh as he hopped into the driver’s seat. 

“Everyone thought I would be a bad influence on you… or that you would at least be a good influence on me, but ever since I met you, all we have done is illegal shit.” His voice was mocking. “I think it’s time you give up that good girl cheerleader title, princess. Because forcing your best friend to steal booze is definitely not good girl material.” 

Throwing your hands up in defense, you turned to him. “And they still think you are the devil worshipper!” You added, a hearty laugh escaping from your slurry lips.

Eddie sighed when he couldn’t turn the ignition properly, his van—Aurora, which Eddie of course named himself—was too old now.

“Oh, come on, baby,” He whispered when his fingers roughly tried to turn the key further, earning a hesitant cough from his precious Aurora. “Pleasepleaseplease…” He whispered, engine roaring back to life now with his second try. “There you go, honey, thank you!” He exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air, mouth quick to press up against the wheel, giving Aurora a thousand kisses, causing you to squint your eyes.

“You are… pathetic,” You scoffed with a shake of your head, a teasing smirk playing at your lips.

“Oh, we’ll see who’s pathetic,” He disagreed dramatically. His eyes diverted from the road as he sneakily grabbed your bag, causing you to protest quickly. “Hey!” He didn’t mind your tug on his bicep when he dug his whole arm into your bag, fiddling as he tried to find your cassette tape under all the mess.

“There we go,” He hummed when he animatedly pulled it toward your sight. ‘BEST MIXTAPE’ The tape dramatically read when Eddie snatched it out of your view stuffing it away from you. 

“If you make fun of Aurora, you lose your music privileges.” He hummed all-knowingly, a troublesome look overtaking his features as he focused back on the road. Your gaze squinted, barely able to see his plump lips that were now quipped into a grin.

“Really…” You hummed, hiding behind the way your lips twitched mischievously.

Eddie’s curiosity was quick to perk up; you not whining ‘Eds!!’ as you elbowed him and huffed when you called him a jerk meant only one thing.

You had some really good new music.

“You sure about that… Munson?” You quirked a brow, grin growing wider as you seized your bag from his hands, earning a groan from Eddie.

“What have you got up your sleeve, sweetheart?” He asked, stealing a quick glance at one of your pretty smiles before he turned his attention to the road.

“Something really good…” You hummed, hand diving into your bag again before you reclined in your seat, throwing him a knowing look.

“Jesus…” He whined. “What d’ya want?” He implored, his gaze squinting.

You wanted to keep the game going, tease him further, and get him to his breaking point. But the way his eye twitched with curiosity, tongue licking his lips with need made you want to tell him everything, let him in on your little surprise.

“Hmm… Music privileges…” 

“And?” He asked with a huff, knowing that’s not all you wanted.

“And, I’m gonna pick the place where we drink this cutie!” You exclaimed, hand pointing toward the tequila bottle you had a firm grip on.

He threw you a glare; it wasn’t a hard glare, you knew it and he knew it, he did it just to tease you, and that’s exactly what had you so giddy about him. “Fine…” He whined, teasing further. “Whatcha got?”

You clapped animatedly, pulling out the cassette with a huge grin. The Cure’s ‘The Head on The Door’ album was swaying in your hands as Eddie groaned.

You pouted. “You got me all excited for The Cure?” He pinched his brows together, causing you to gasp dramatically, huffing.

“What’s wrong with The Cure? You love them!” You protested, glaring at him.

“You love The Cure, sweetheart.” He grinned, earning a scoff from you as your hands were quick to wrap around your chest annoyedly.

“Just for that, you won’t get to know what the second album is. And it really was a good one.” You shrugged, putting the bag in front of your legs, just out of Eddie’s reach.

“Oh, come on!” He sighed, eyeing you with squinted eyes. 

“I was joking! I love The Cure.” He murmured, but you shrugged again, eyes falling toward the window as you started giving him the silent treatment playfully.

“Really?” He understood your play. “Jesus H. Christ.” He huffed, attention turning toward you.

“Just check the glove compartment.” You ignored him again.

“Pinky.” He called out. “Do it.” His eyes pointed toward it, causing you to sigh as you opened it unenthusiastically.

A bunch of cassette tapes fell toward your lap, you squealed at the contact. “Eddie!” You exclaimed with a chuckle.

Three Imaginary Boys, Seventeen Seconds, Faith, Pornography and The Top was sprawled across your lap, and your eyes widened.

The Cure’s discography. Just sitting in his glove compartment.

You turned to him with an affectionate gaze, hands covering your mouth as you stood speechless.

“Wh-what are these?” You were a stuttering mess. Did he really do all of this for you?

“Uh–I’m pretty sure those are albums, princess,” He mocked you in a playful tone as you tilted your head, tongue sticking out in a childish manner.

His smile grew wider before he shook his head. “Started collecting those–uh… after that day–uhh, you remember that?” His gaze avoided yours. 

“We–uh almost got kicked out of The Hideout?” He muttered with a sly grin, eyes focused on the road just so you wouldn’t notice the slight flush on his cheeks.

“Eds–” You attempted to speak, but he didn’t let you. “You remember that day? You asked me what my favorite band was?” You nodded furiously, Eddie didn’t even have to take another glance at you to know you had a warm smile on your face, sensing your head bobbing up and down excitedly. 

“Y-you know, before they tried to kick us out?” You gave him a slight giggle, humming.

“I told you mine was Dio. And you told me yours was The Cure?” A dizzying grin was stuck on your face, cheeks stretching with pain from how big it was. And Eddie knew if he looked, even for a split second, he’d fall for you all over again. He knew that he couldn’t contain those feelings inside of him anymore. So he avoided it. He avoided that one glance thrown your way because he didn’t want to lose you.

You bowed your head to say ‘yes’ again, words didn’t dare come out of your grinning lips. You didn’t know what to do; you wanted to hug him, feel his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to kiss his flushed cheeks and his apparent dimple, which you couldn’t get enough of.

The silence hanging in the air was killing you. “I remember.” You muttered, almost shyly, like the two of you weren’t teasing the hell out of each other mere seconds ago. 

His brows furrowed when you leaned over your seat again, digging something from your bag as you hid it behind you.

“That is why…” You smiled, hands shaking as you hid the cassette behind your back. “I got you this!” You exclaimed, swinging the tape in front of his bulging eyes.

His eyes squinted before the realisation set in. You remembered that day. Just like he did. You remembered his favorite band. Just like he did yours.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, you were just being friendly, right? You didn’t do this in the same loving, caring way he did. You did this as a friend. You were a great friend. And he was an asshole for harboring these feelings for his best friend.

He couldn’t help the squeak that escaped his plump lips. The car came to a halt quicker than he intended it to. Swinging you over your seat, making you squeal with him.

“Jesus, Eddie!” You giggled, turning to face him and seeing his speechless face as he admired you. You could feel your cheeks heat up, and it was embarrassing.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

Why did he have to complicate things for you?

You wouldn’t be good enough for him.

And there was Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy—

Your inner thoughts were interrupted by his childlike screams as he seized the Sacred Heart album by Dio from your hands.

He didn’t hesitate—like you did—to engulf you in a hug. Hands securely resting on your lower back, and you could feel your breath hitch.

You would spend all of your work pay checks on stupid damn records if it meant you could see him like this again, and you’d happily starve if it meant you’d have him hug you like this again. But that’s what friends did, right? 

“Oh my god.” His eyes widened, tone much calmer before his excitement rose up again. 

“Oh my fucking god, Pinky!” He yelled in delight again, taking you by surprise when his hands were holding your shoulder in excitement. 

“Y-you… shit- you got this for me?” He asked with a sympathetic gaze.

You nodded quickly. “Of course!” 

“Why’d you think we had to steal that bottle?” You winked teasingly, causing him to snort.

“Pinky, you’re the fucking best.” He muttered into your hair, a grin overtaking your features when he held your face in his hands, honey-glazed eyes boring into yours.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” His fast-paced mantra left you giggling again before he pressed a small, appreciative smooch on your forehead.

He was just being friendly, you thought. There was no way he could want something more. You were beyond fucked up for that, and Billy was the only proof you needed.

He sighed contently when he relaxed back into his seat. “Wherever you want to go, princess, let me know.” He winked with a childish smile.

The two cassettes were replayed over and over again before the two of you made your way to your ‘special destination’.

Dragging Eddie through the woods while he whined earned several giggles from you. He chugged the bottle in his hands with a sour face.

“How much longer do we have to fuckin’ walk?” He complained, his feet dragging on to exaggerate.  

“We’re almost there, you dork.” You squinted your eyes at another frustrated groan escaped his lips. Laughter erupting from your stomach teasingly before you handed him the stolen bottle, Eddie chugged quickly, and his face soured, “How did you even find this place anyway?” He asked.

“Skull Rock?” You asked, and he nodded. “Wait, you don’t know about Skull Rock?” You questioned, eyes widening, causing Eddie to roll his. “C'mon, Pinky, not all of us hang out with the prissy popular kids.”

You gasped and playfully but still harshly hit his chest, “Ow!” He flinched. “Shit, are all cheerleaders as heavy-handed as you?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “Hey, I barely touched you!” You smirked while he faked getting hurt, rubbing his chest mockingly.

“Skull Rock is known as the make-out spot of Hawkins.” You enunciated dramatically as Eddie ooh-ed, “Thanks to, ‘King Steve’”, you mocked, mimicking air quotes.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Wait… wait,” His walking came to a halt when he tried to process that information. “Y-you and Steve?” He asked, dumbfounded, a slight overtone of jealousy was apparent in his tone, mixed with his own insecurities, and your face was quick to sour. “God, no!” You scrunched your nose; you loved Steve, but not in that way, never in that way.

“Who do you think taught him this place?” You tilted your brows. 

“I came here the first time my parents left with a tiny note stuck on the fridge.” You shrugged. You were used to your parents always leaving you without any notice other than a scribbled note that told you that they’d be gone for a while. And you never knew if it would be for days or for months. Now that they've been gone for the last four months, you assumed it was permanent this time, and even though you never admitted to it, it fucking hurt. Coming here has been your only escape lately. And all you wanted to do was share it with Eddie, have him in your comfort zone. 

Eddie’s face soured; you could see that red tint on his cheeks, almost like he was furious. And he was, because he understood. He understood what it was like to have deadbeat parents who were fucking useless, he understood the pain it brought and how it could make a person feel so fucking unwanted. But at least he had Wayne. You didn’t have anyone. The closest thing to you had that resembled a family were your friends and the Wheelers—and even that wasn’t enough to give him some peace of mind. 

“When Steve had his first heartbreak, I brought him here, but that fucker turned this place into an orgy party,” You continued, a simple chuckle escaping your lips. 

“And after that, people started coming here all the time for their little make-out sesh.” Your hands stretched forward to make a point, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Even Billy took me here one time,” You murmured the Billy part, wanting to avoid the talk with Eddie because you knew neither of them liked each other, and you rarely, if ever, spoke about him with Eddie, while Billy always announced his distaste for Eddie, murmuring about how it was obvious that the “freak” just wanted to get in your pants.

“You know, Billy is one of those people who think I’m a bad influence on you because I’m a “freak” and “devil worshipper,” right, sweetheart?” You avoided his gaze.

You didn’t want to talk about Billy, at least not with Eddie, and not now. You just wanted one thing to yourself without him being involved, which seemed impossible.

You forced a smile. “Well, Billy is…” an asshole, an idiot, and sometimes a fucking narcissist, you wished to say, but you didn’t want to drag Eddie into your relationship problems. Billy was still your boyfriend, and in all honesty, your on and off relationship was something that no one actually understood.

Nancy gave Billy a glare each time he came around, Steve and Robin constantly reminded you how awful he was. But it didn’t matter, because you couldn’t let him go, each time he fucked you up in a different way, you went back to him.

You took him back because you didn’t know any better, you accepted him because love was supposed to be like this, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be a challenge, it was supposed to be fucking hard. It was supposed to be something to fight for.

But it was so…exhausting. Trying to get him to understand you, trying to get him to care, trying not to make him mad—walking on egg-shells each time you were around him.

And everything was so fucking different with Eddie; things were so uncomplicated with him and so fucking fun. You didn’t want to admit that you wanted that… that you wanted him. 

Because he was easy—and in the best possible way. He was so easy to love. He was safe and he made you feel safe. When he caressed your back, when he opened a door for you, when he let you walk in front of him with his hand ghosting over your lower back, when you asked him to hold your bag and he swung it over his shoulder. He laughed at things easily, he made you laugh easily. He listened intently, when you just wanted to open up for a bit, he was quiet; when you needed someone to talk to, he gave you all the advice in the world.

And more than anything, Eddie cared. He cared about you, in a way you had never been cared for before.

He brought a side out of you that you never knew existed; relaxed. He was gentle with you, he knew how to joke around, and he didn’t have any problems being who he was. He was open and nice; he didn’t get angry at everything, and it was just… nice to be around him.

You shook your head at your thoughts, “Billy is Billy.” You concluded, eyes fixed on the ground. Eddie just gave you a small smile, as if he understood your train of thought. His hands caressed your back reassuringly in a way that was telling you that it was okay to think what you were thinking, and it brought an imminent smile to your face, knowing that he would always be there for you.

You remembered that night clearly when the two of you drank an entire bottle of booze you stole, and smoked Eddie’s stash, bodies lazily laying next to each other, Skull Rock had the best view, stars filled the empty sky, and a crescent moon appeared between them.

It was relaxing, lying with Eddie, high out of your mind.

“There’s no way you think Honeycomb Cereal is the best breakfast food.” You shook your head as Eddie scoffed.

“I do! It counts as breakfast, and you can also eat it as a snack on its own, what more do you need?” He raised his brows, taking a puff from the joint sitting between his index fingers.

“Uh? I don’t know, waffles? Eggs and bacon? Actual good cereal?” You mocked, causing Eddie to nudge your side lightly.

“Oh, and which cereal does the princess think is the best?”

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch, of course,” You said proudly.

“You are disgusting.” Eddie scrunched his face. You shrugged with a grin on your face as you snatched the joint from his fingers, reaching for the lighter in his hand. And before you could even light the blunt sitting in your fingers, the carved lighter caught your attention.

It was a silver Zippo lighter with a dragon print and had scratches all over it. You scrunched your brows as you looked up at Eddie and said, “What the hell is this?” You held the lighter up, and Eddie seized it from your hands.

“A lighter?” He replied smugly, causing you to huff, “Where did you even get it?” Your curiosity peaked.

“Bummed it off a guy at the bar last night, pretty fuckin’ cool, huh?” He asked, getting excited as he showed you the print, the carving of the dragon was so detailed that you could basically count its scales.

“Stealing is considered cool?” You murmured, causing Eddie to give you a huff as he placed the lighter on the rock between the two of you, allowing you to get a more detailed look. 

“Really, Pinky?” He almost snorted. “How about you answer that one, because the tequila bottle you’re holding wasn’t paid for... If I remember correctly,” He mocked a thinking face, dimples ever-so apparent as he tried to contain his grin.

“I–We!” You expressed in a higher tone, “Didn’t steal that bottle because it was cool, doofus. We! did it because we’re poor.” You enunciated the ‘us’ part again before nudging his rib slightly and prodding, earning a “Hey!” from Eddie, who was ticklish. 

“Anyway.” You giggled, handing the lighter back to him with a grin on your face, “Would’ve been cooler if it was pink.” Eddie gave you a weird look.

“What?” You implored, shrugging carelessly.

“Pinky liking pink… what a surprise, huh?” He said sarcastically, causing you to groan.

“Don’t be such a guy, Munson,” You warned, you liked pink, but both of you knew that wasn’t why the nickname stuck. And it didn’t matter what it truly meant because you liked it. You liked that it was the only thing you had from them that didn’t leave—something that was truly yours, something that would never abandon you. 

“Oh, you know that’s not why, you doofus.” You rolled your eyes. “Have you ever seen a pink dragon?” You gushed, and Eddie shook his head. 

“See! Case closed.” You grinned.

“Pink dragons are cool,” You said with a determined face, and Eddie couldn’t help the grin that was plastered onto his face now.

You spent the rest of the night giggling like a bunch of kids over nothing, the chilling breeze of the Hawkins nights providing comfort to you that you had never felt before.

When your shivers hadn’t stopped, you heard Eddie sighing, “Okay, you are getting my jacket,” He insisted, annoyed, because you had refused his offer for a jacket a million times just because you didn’t want him to be cold.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head before you could open your mouth to refuse. Calloused hands quick to securely wrap his infamous black leather jacket around you. You looked up at him, a sympathetic gaze apparent, as you tried to refuse, tried to insist that he would get cold, but he didn’t accept it. “Better I freeze off than you.”

Your heart fluttered before it was apparent on your face, lips twitching into a warm, sickly sweet smile as you accepted, “Thank you,” You murmured, almost shyly. The jacket fell comfortably on your shoulders, a whiff of weed, beer and the old leather smell engulfed you, warmth taking over your entire body.

You liked the feeling of wearing something that was his. In fact, you liked it too much. Something about Eddie always provided some sort of security for you. He made you feel comfortable in your skin, like he was meant to be there for you, like he was supposed to help you, even when you repeatedly told him you didn’t need it. You cleared your throat to gather your thoughts, taking the joint in his hands as your head slowly but comfortably fell on his shoulders.

Taking a puff from it, you looked over at Eddie. “As soon as I graduate, I’m leaving this place.” You could feel his head turn toward you, his gaze almost burning its way through your hair. 

“Eight months, eight fucking months left.” Your tone was the most serious he had heard that night, and he couldn’t help but have a baffling look on his face. You had mentioned something about ‘leaving this hellhole’ before, but he never knew how serious you were, at least until now.

He shook his head quickly to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and scare you away, so he shrugged. “Fine, but you can’t abandon me, I’m coming with you.” His tone was nonchalant, and it brought a smile to your face.

“I would never leave without you.”

NOW.

You shook your head at the memories, at least you had achieved one of those things. You got out of the hellhole that was Hawkins as soon as you graduated, being selfish enough to not care about the ones you had left behind, but you needed to do whatever you could to survive, and you shouldn’t have to apologize for it, right?

Right?

It’s what you kept repeating to yourself, but there was one part of you that always felt guilty for leaving without a goodbye, cutting off all contact. And that guilt returned with Nancy’s invitation; you knew you couldn’t hold off on her wedding, no matter how much you wanted to escape the town that caused you agony.

Nancy was your best friend when you were living in Hawkins, she was there with you through everything, and the Wheelers were there when your parents abandoned you, inviting you to their home as if it were nothing. 

You've seen Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin several times in the last couple of years. Especially after Nancy told them the exact reason why you left, they understood and welcomed you. 

That’s what you loved about them; even though you spent some time apart, they would always be your best friend. And that is exactly why Nancy picked you as her maid of honor—because she knew you’d always be there. She trusted you with her whole life, and so did you. The two of you knew things about each other that no one else did. 

And I'll leave you lyin' on the bed I'll be out the door before you wake

You huffed when you turned the stereo off, the lyrics giving you a stupid familiar  feeling, like it was written about you and Eddie. Like Axl and Izzy were hiding somewhere in the California apartment you and Eddie stayed in right after you left, as if they witnessed you leaving him there. 

The song became an afterthought when you realized you actually had to go in now or one of Wheeler’s snobby neighbors would surely call the cops on you for suspiciously watching the house while hiding in your car like a coward.

Eddie was already in there.

What if everyone else was there too? 

Would they cuss you out and tell you to fuck off? 

You surely deserved it.

You cursed yourself when you exited the car, feet dragging you all the way to the door, knowing that you needed to do this. Inhaling a deep breath, you rang the bell, even the tune sounded the same, and the guilt inside of you started rising up again.

“Will you get that?” Nancy’s screaming voice could be barely heard from your side of the door, and your eyes immediately pressed shut together.

Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don't let it be Eddie—

When the door swung open, the eyes that met yours blinked quickly, not knowing whether they were imagining it or not.

Your blinking eyes were quick to open widely as well, and a sigh of relief left your chest.

It wasn’t Eddie.

But it still wasn’t any better. Your face was quick to feel hot as your gaze met hers, and you felt ashamed. Not knowing what to say, you murmured a simple “Hey.”

Max stood in front of you with an unreadable expression, and you were afraid. For the first time, you were afraid of her.

Was she going to slam the door in your face? Was she just going to ignore you? 

You bit your lip out of nervousness at the silence, and just as you were about to open your mouth again, Max squealed—which you had never, ever heard her do before—as she wrapped her arms around you in a jump-like hug.

Your breath got caught in your lungs, and a hearty giggle escaped your plump lips as you embraced it, melting into the hug. 

“I can’t believe it.” She squealed, pulling away from the hug to see your face fully again, her eyes almost prickling with tears.

Jesus. She had grown up so fast.

Her face that fell around your shoulders felt weird now that she was so much taller and much closer to you in height. She looked different, and you couldn’t decide whether to feel ashamed or guilty about it.

Your eyes widened, almost in shock, you never expected to be perceived in any way positively, especially by Max. And she could sense that shock on your face, with the way your mouth visibly stood agape. 

“You-uh… you’re not mad?” You implored, eyes almost widening with the need to know. 

Her eyes softened, and the sorrows in your heart were quick to dissipate with it, she shook her head lightly, almost in an all-knowing way.  “Uhm- I-I know what happened.” She almost whispered, gaze falling toward the kitchen, implying that Nancy had already babbled about the day you left. 

Damn you, Nancy Wheeler. 

Your head popped up toward the kitchen, where Nancy was, as if you were going to run up to her, your cheeks fluttered with embarrassment, you never wanted Max to find out. 

“Don’t… please don’t be mad at her.” She turned your attention back to her with a gentle touch on your arm, easing your tense body with just one touch. 

“If she didn’t tell me what happened… I don’t think I’d even talk to you, Pinky.” She admitted shyly, your gaze on her still widening. 

“Wh-what exactly did she tell you?” You asked, you weren’t going to get mad at Nancy, you knew she didn’t have any malicious intentions, you just never wanted Max to know what her step-brother did. At least not until she was much older. Your brain almost short-circuited as you looked at her once again. She was already much older; you knew Nancy made the right call.

“Not much!” Max blurted quickly, maybe to ease your worries; maybe it was the truth. 

“Just that- uh-that… Billy did something horrible, and that you and Eddie left and then uh… the two of you went to.. uh—Chicago?” She stuttered, head hanging low before she looked back at you, trying to read your expressions.

“California,” You muttered.  “Uh-Los Angeles, to be exact.” You breathed, correcting her. Did she know more? Did she also know that you left Eddie after that, too? Did she know that you had been carrying the guilt of leaving Eddie, her and those four little idiots too? The only ones you didn’t have any contact with in the last five years?

“Is that… is that where you are now?” Her brows pinched together; she knew where you were—New York, Nancy had told her. But she just wanted to hear more from you, and you could sense it. 

You shook your head. “New York.” Your lips pursed together, and she gave you a slight nod as if to ask if there was anything else going on in your life, you caught it immediately. “My cousin helped me get this apartment, and she, uh, has this record shop there.” Max gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“And, uh, it has like a tattoo shop behind it—records by day and tattoos by night.” You revealed more, awkwardly, your stupid joke made you want to hit your head against the perfectly white marbled walls of the Wheeler’s. “I’m actually training to become a tattoo artist now,” You said with your gaze stuck on how much she had grown now, almost feeling embarrassed for some reason before Max’s gasp turned your attention back to her.

“No way.”

“Dude, you’re still so fucking cool.” She nudged your shoulder, and your face instantly lit up. All the worries in your head disappeared, giddiness replacing it when you realized Max still saw you as her cool older sister.

“You think so?” You teased, giving her a light-hearted chuckle, “Uh… yeah? Dude, you work at a record store that has a tattoo shop in the back… you invented cool at this point.” She encouraged, surprise and fascination washing over her face.

“If Mad Max says so” You teased, muffling her hair and earning whines from her. 

And you hated that it took you back to five years ago. Every stupid fucking thing you saw or did in this town made you take a trip down memory lane, but it was the worst with Max, because almost every memory with her had your head wandering off to the certain redhead’s step-brother. A chill ran down your spine at the idea of him even being back in town. But there was no fucking way, right? 

You had heard from Nancy that the Mayfield-Hargrove’s had moved out and returned to California by the time Max started going to college—somewhere far away from them. However, she and the other kids always returned to Hawkins in the summer. You assumed she wanted to reunite with her friends and that she was trying to avoid the step-fuckers—a nickname Max herself gave both Billy and Neil Hargrove.

“He-uh… He doesn’t know about the wedding, right? Or he isn’t… he isn’t back in town? Is he?” You stuttered eerily; you knew Nancy would never invite him, but you still wanted to make sure that he didn’t know about it or that he wouldn’t know you were back in town.

“No—god, no.” Max shook her head quickly. “He’s in California with the ‘parents’.” She scoffed. “He has no fucking clue.” She added.

And you nodded simply; one of your worries was now at ease.

“What about…” You trailed off, pretending to sound nonchalant about wanting to ask about Eddie, you were anything but as you fiddled with your fingers.

Max picked up on it immediately. “Eddie?” she asked almost smugly, making you nod quickly—too quickly to appear nonchalant.

“Oh!” She grinned, making your cheeks feel hot.

Damn it. How did he still have this effect on you without even being present?

“He came like an hour ago. The last I saw him he was arguing with Dustin about their nerdy game.” She rolled her eyes slightly. 

“Oh, uhm, that’s—that’s good…” You said unsurely, you knew he was here, because of his stupid van that was parked outside just behind your car, but what the fuck were you even going to do when you did eventually see him. 

Would you pretend like nothing happened?

Would he pretend like nothing happened?

How the fuck were you supposed to do that when your feelings for him were still all over the place? You already felt dumb for not managing to get over him in the last five years, it just seemed impossible considering how things were left off.

You cleared your throat, turning your attention to Max. You didn’t need Eddie to cloud your mind right now, the guilt of abandoning Max still filled your stomach.

“Max…” You caught her attention softly, and almost as if she knew you were going to bring up the subject, a pout overtook her features. 

“I—I’m sorry…” You started, voice shaky. “I fucked up, I should have let you know... A message, a call, a note… Jesus—anything.” Your voice was meek, causing you to gulp.

“I should have done something, I—Fuck… I don’t know what to say, just that I’m really sorry.” You were stumbling over your own words when your vision got blurry, eyes glossy as you looked up at her.

“Pinky…” She muttered comfortingly, you didn’t expect this kindness from her that you thought you were unworthy of. You had left her without anything, and she still greeted you with open arms.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe people could forgive you, maybe they could forget. Maybe Eddie would laugh it off. 

“I know that…” She offered a sympathetic gaze. “I knew deep down that you would never leave without a goodbye if it wasn’t important.” She gulped, physically, that familiar lump in her throat returned with the emotional weight her words held. 

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Max gave you a small smile. “I know how hard that must’ve been for you, okay?” Her hands were quick to take yours into hers, fingers gently soothing you. “I don’t blame you. So don’t fucking blame yourself… I know how you get.” Her hands stood on your shoulder now, shaking you lightly in the guise of making you feel better. 

A poor smile appeared on your lips, Max possibly didn't realize how much her words mattered to you, how you needed to relieve yourself of the guilt. One gesture from her almost enough to heal the wound that coming back to Hawkins split open deep inside of you. 

“Oh my god!” Nancy’s shriek caused you to turn around. 

“Pinky, finally!” Her voice beamed, and before you even got a chance to say anything, she engulfed you in a hug.

 “I was about to lose it,” She whispered into the hug before her eyes widened at you and Max.

“Shit…” She muttered, knowing Max had probably already told you that she blabbed about your disappearance.

“I was going to mention that…” She tilted her head adorably, a shy smile adorning her lips as you brushed it off with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, Nance.” You waved your hands in dismissal. “I can’t be pissed at you for anything… at least for the next five days…” You hummed. 

“You better use your wedding privileges wisely.” You said, throwing her a wink, as you pulled away from the hug. 

Your hands rubbed together quickly. “So... uh–where’s everyone?” You stammered, you were mostly asking about Eddie, but you also wanted to know where the hell Steve and Robin were. You missed those two idiots who were attached at the hip. They could calm you down better than anyone.

“The other kiddos are only going to be able to make it to the rehearsal dinner and the actual wedding.” She pouted, knowing that she planned a five day full of activities for all the people closest to her and Jonathan, but Mike, Lucas, El and Will were all going to miss it. 

She huffed. “And uhhh… Steve and Robin are coming later tonight.” 

“You remember we got that brunch thing at Steve’s tomorrow, right?” She asked, eyes squinting with doubt, before her arms crossed against her chest. 

You almost groaned, head falling back. Fucking Steve and his stupid brunch plan. 

“How could I forget?” You said through pressed lips, trying your best to seem enthusiastic, it wasn’t that you had a problem with it—it was because you were nervous, so fucking nervous to be in the same close proximity of Eddie again.

“And Jonathan should be...” She eyed the backyard. “Yup, in the backyard with the band. I left all the band planning to him.” She shrugged, making your eyebrows quirk. 

Shit. She really did fucking love Jonathan, didn’t she? She would’ve never let anyone meddle with her own plans otherwise. 

“Uhh–Dustin and… the others–” Her voice slightly cracked, and you instantly knew she was talking about Eddie. 

“They’re-uh they’re just in the basement… uh—getting something I needed.” She nervously scratched her head. “I’m sure they’ll—uh… say hi when they can.” She gave you a nervous smile, eyeing Max before turning her attention to you.

And just like clockwork, just as Nancy started to babble more about the plans she had for the five days you were supposed to be in Hawkins, her words were quickly interrupted by the loud voice of Dustin, “Shut up!”

“Shut the fuck up!” He exclaimed excitedly as you gave him a slight giggle.

“I wasn’t talking,” You joked, and before you could get another word out, Dustin squeezed you in a tight hug, causing more giggles and excited squeaks to escape your lips.

“Looks like somebody missed me, huh?” You raised a brow.

“What have you been up to, Dustybun?” You asked with a sly smirk, causing Dustin to cringe at the nickname.

“Me? Jesus, you’ve been gone for five years, and you’re asking what I’ve been up to?” You shrugged.

“Where the fuck have you been?” You couldn’t pinpoint if it was genuine curiosity or a slight anger lingering in his tone.

“New York,” Max spoke before you, the attention in the room shifting towards her. 

“She’s a tattoo artist now.” She exclaimed excitedly, causing Dustin’s eyes to widen.

“You?” He questioned, causing Nancy to join in and nod in excitement.

“No fucking way!”

“Well, I’m not exactly—”

“Dude, that’s so fucking cool!” Dustin gushed, interrupting you.

“Man, I knew those sketches were too cool to let them go to waste on Eddie’s bedroom walls,” He snorted, but your brows quipped, his bedroom walls? Did he still keep those? 

“You have to tattoo me,” He raved, interrupting your thoughts as you stared at him in disbelief.

“No way, do you want Miss Henderson to kill me?” You huffed, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Oh, come on, just one little favor?” He pouted.

“Nuh-uh! The last time you asked me for a favor, she chided me for months, months!” You emphasized, “She even left me one too many voicemails scolding me!” Dustin sighed.

 “How about something not-too-big? Like the bat one you did for Eddie, it looks so fucking—”

“You talkin’ bout me, Henderson?” A voice rang from the basement, and the slight sound of his footsteps dragging closer and closer toward the two of you caused you to stop dead in your tracks. You always knew Dustin was too loud for his own good.

You gulped, physically, and that lump in your throat reclaimed its place, his voice caused further suffocation in your throat, not being able to breathe when you could recognize that husky tone anywhere.

But it felt different.

Something about him felt different.

Your brain was struggling to comprehend a thought, your mouth had dried up, and it was getting harder to breathe.

“Dude... you could not rock a tattoo like me, no matter how fuckin' hard you—” And there was a pause, a small hitch in Eddie’s breath, as he finally realized who Dustin was talking to. And you could feel that hesitation, that uncomfortable tension filling the room that was once comfortable.

“Pinky?” You could recognize him just by his footstep alone, but now you’re sure it’s him, the nickname still rolling off his tongue so easily and sugary, like you had never left, like everything was okay again.

You’re slow to turn to face him, heart pounding with worry before you fully take him in, trying to decide his facial expressions, waiting for the anger, disappointment, shame, and fury.

You cannot place what his gaze holds, but you have missed the small glimmer in his eyes, the same one he always had when he saw you, so promising, so mellow that you feel your heart tightening.

You take him in now more than ever, his cheekbones are hollow and his face is more defined. He has so much more muscle on him, and it makes you question how long he has been working out.

His hair still lays messily on his forehead, bangs framing his face perfectly. Black jeans paired with a band-tee, and not just any band-tee, a Corroded Coffin shirt that unintentionally has you smiling. His dark brown eyes are mesmerizing as ever, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to accept the sight in front of him. Trying to make sure that he isn’t hallucinating, that you are actually here.

He looks good, so good that you can feel your mouth dry up, words getting stuck in your throat, the guitar pick necklace adorning his neck makes you want to pull him closer toward you.

You study him more than you should; those deep brown eyes are staring at you like a deer in headlights.

When he takes a step closer, gaze still locked to yours, you feel as if your souls have made a bridge, one you weren’t sure if you would be able to mend.

Close. He’s very close, but still, not close enough, not to your liking anyway. You want to be close enough to take him in wholly; you want him to engulf you in his arms, protecting you from all that’s bad in the world, feeling every ounce of him. The one person you had been yearning for was standing a foot away from you, and it was truly painful.

“You came,” Was all that left his plump lips, his gaze was still soft. He was as nervous as you are, something that you didn’t manage to pick up on. 

If only he knew why you had to abandon him, maybe he would understand… Maybe he would even rid you of your guilt.

“Y-yeah, I did,” You stuttered.

“Max, Dustin!” Nancy announced. “Why don’t you two help me in the back?” Nancy threw a look that both of them understood immediately, running off after her without another word exchanged.

The incessant throb in Eddie’s heart returned when his attention turned back to you, he knew you would come, but he didn’t know how much that would crush him.

That rage in him, bubbling up at the surface, subsided quickly when you gave him that gentle look. “What’s Dustin yapping about?” He asked with a chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood and ease his own worries.

“Oh— uhm… just that he wanted me to tattoo him,” You couldn’t help the nervous crack in your voice.

“You? Oh my god, you finally did it?” 

“Well… not exactly.” You gave him an awkward chuckle. “I’m training to be one, though.” You shrugged. 

“You know I’m a happy customer of yours.” He gave you a smile before he flashed his forearm, showing you the bat tattoo that you gave him five years ago.

He had much more tattoos now, but the bat tattoo you gave him still stood out among the thousand others on his forearm, at least it did to you. “Oh!��� He breathed, attention diverting to something else as his hands fiddled behind him. He dug them in his back pocket, he struggled to get something it out. “Aha!” He exclaimed, waving the worn out notebook in front of your curious gaze. “But I’m definitely not giving you the ‘Promise’ notebook back!” 

Your pupils dilated at the sight; he still had it. He still had the notebook that your stupid sketches were sprawled all over. You gave it to him sometime during senior year, when he was having some trouble with his songwriting process. Your parents got you that notebook as a joke as soon as they saw the handwritten ‘Promise’ on the front, a silly play on your nickname. And you wanted him to have it; you wanted it to inspire him as much as it did you; your art mattered, and you wanted him to see that, so did his. 

“You… you still have that?” You asked, an astonished look still not leaving your features. “Yeah, it really played a key role on our first album.” He beamed. A crimson red blush was quick to wash over his cheeks; he wasn’t sure if he should’ve told you that or let you in this quickly when you left him on a whim in LA. 

“But… that’s— that’s still so fucking cool, Pinky,” His eyes widened, he shook off his thoughts in a flash. He had missed you, so fucking much—more than he let you on.

“So I’ve been told.” You meant to sound nonchalant. 

“What have you been up to?” You asked as if you didn’t know, as if you didn’t try to gather some information about him from Nancy and Jonathan. As if you didn’t listen to their album the second it came to your record shop.

“Just making some music, here and there.”

It was a lie.

He knew it was a lie, and you knew it was a lie.

Eddie made it big after the last time you saw him, signing onto the biggest record label and releasing an album that became way bigger than even his group had intended to.

“You don’t have to be so humble, I know how big you guys have made it.” You offer him a slight smile.

“Maybe a little bit.” He gestures with his hands, causing you to giggle. “Even had a gig here last week, the crowd was crazy.”

“It’s funny, though.” He murmured, causing you to raise your brows. “All the fuckin’ people at Hawkins who called me a freak and tried to shun me out was screaming my name... pretty weird fuckin’ feeling, huh?” He shrugged.

“I guess I know how the popular princess feels now,” He teased.

You nudged him slightly, “Guess you’re the popular boy of Hawkins now, huh?” He gave you a slight smile, and it felt comfortable, he was so easy to be with.

“Yeah, Jonathan worked really hard to get us for this wedding thing, you know?” He joked, giving a slight smirk.

“You and Jonathan, huh?”

“I don’t even know how you guys became best friends.” You added, wanting to joke.

“Yeah, I guess a lot happens when you don’t abandon people.” Ouch. You guessed you had deserved that one, but it still hurt to see him think of you this way, the entire atmosphere of the room had shifted, the casual conversation you had wasn’t as genuine as you thought it was, and you could see that he was hurt.

You knew he would be angry, but this seeming grudge wasn’t what you were hoping for. Maybe it was selfish of you, but you wanted him to miss you, tell you that he wanted to be with you, engulfing you in his arms as he spun you around, muttering how much he loved you.

But that wasn’t realistic, was it?

You gulped, feeling awkward, and now it was Eddie’s turn to feel bad. He internally cringed as he saw the look on your face, he knew that look so well. The way you played with your hair for some sort of comfort, he could sense that the guilt was eating away at you.

“I— I guess I deserved that.” You forced a smile, chuckling ironically, sensing the visible shift in Eddie’s face, the initial shock of reuniting with you wearing off, and his anger and hurt taking over. 

The tension that lingered in the air was interrupted by Jonathan swinging open the sliding door in the backyard and the four people standing behind him.

Before you could comprehend who they were, a squealing voice caused you to turn around, and a blonde-haired woman brushed past you. “Eds!” She called out, walking toward Eddie.

You looked up to see Jonathan leading Gareth, Jeff, and Frank to the backyard, telling them something about their gig, but you could care less as you stood still in your place, eyes glued on how Eddie greeted the girl, focus shifting solely on her as his hands caressed her shoulders, comforting her, as if you weren’t there, as if he didn’t care.

That screeching voice sounded familiar, but you couldn’t tell who the hell she was supposed to be when all you could see was her back and Eddie’s hands ghosting over her waist.

You were starting to feel small, trapped in your own body, with nowhere to go. Why was she hugging Eddie? Why were they so fucking close?

When she finally turned around, tucking her straight blonde hair behind her ears, glimmering blue eyes met yours, and you immediately realized who it was.

Chrissy.

The same Chrissy that was your supposed friend in high school, the same Chrissy who suddenly turned on you and made your life a living hell in senior year.

That’s why you didn’t recognize her—the strawberry blonde color she had was now more vanilla, and you hated to admit that she looked pretty—too fucking pretty.

Your eyes were narrowed with distaste; you had no right to be jealous, but you were powerless against that ugly emotion when it came to Eddie, swelling your chest way quicker than you intended to and stinging you harder as you struggled to keep a forced smile on your lips. 

Huffing, your mind drifted to Eddie. Surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, you decided. He knew some of the horrible things she did to you during your senior year, so there was no fucking way he would want anything to do with her.

Right?

“Oh my god, Pinky!” She squealed once again when she saw you, and you wanted to chuckle bitterly. With your tongue rolling inside your cheek, you tried to keep your damn mouth shut. She didn’t get to call you that nickname. Not when she did all of that during your senior year.

You didn’t return the hug she forced you into, eyes drifting to Eddie who was now avoiding your gaze. Lips pursed shut as he twisted his rings. Something weird was going on, and your stomach churned at the thought.

When Chrissy’s forced embrace on you ended, you barely forced a smile, and with a dead look on your face, you waited for her to disappear.

Why was she even here?

Who even invited her?

Running up to Nancy and asking her what the fuck she was thinking inviting her here would’ve been an exaggeration, you realized.

As envious thoughts sank further and further into your head, you realized something was wrong now. The way Chrissy leaned in to whisper something in Eddie's ear, giggling as she threw her head back.  

It meant something. It was like a sick feeling of deja-vu. A sinking feeling twisted your stomach, and a pang of insecurity gnawed at it. Your jaw clenched involuntarily; Eddie didn't even spare a glance in your direction. His attention was fully on her, and a wave of rage surged within you, threatening to overflow. The need to separate them, to pull her away from him, was almost unbearable.

Still, you knew you couldn’t do anything, and that was what made your blood boil, Eddie was nothing to you, he wasn’t even a friend to you—at least not anymore, something that you made sure of five years ago.

And before you could say or do anything more,

Chrissy smashed her lips against Eddie’s.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

here’s my submission for the fall coffee house put together by @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno - im not gonna lie i have no idea where this came from but its the longest thing ive written in literal months so enjoy!

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none :) except that i didn’t proofread lmao

You’ve always been a planner, always had goals for your future, dream boards and five year plans and a list of things to accomplish before you turned thirty. None of those ever included feeling so claustrophobic in what was supposed to be your dream job that you packed everything up and moved away and got a job at a coffee shop. Your life is far from terrible, and you’re quite happy with your choices, but you know if you were somehow able to tell past you where you would end up at twenty seven, she would have spit in your face.

The coffee shop you work at is wonderful, especially now that autumn is in full swing, because it’s almost absurdly cozy and warm. You’re able to wear whatever you want, craft playlists, design menu boards, and spend all day talking with regulars and newcomers alike. Even if it wasn’t where you imagined you would end up, you couldn’t be happier. Especially when an incredibly attractive single father starts to frequent during your shifts.

Isabel and Frankie Morales are nothing short of delightful. The pair of them are absurdly polite, which is especially adorable on the kindergartner, and Frankie is a generous tipper. Before, they had come in every Friday when he picked Isabel up from school for a cookie to split, but now that the weather has turned, they come in most days around two for hot chocolates. Most of the time they retreat to a booth, but on busy days, Frankie helps his daughter onto one of the high top stools along the counter before sitting down next to her, giving you the perfect opportunity to watch and listen to their conversations, still a little scared to actually speak to him beyond the small talk when you take their order.

Today, it’s raining, pouring really, and the shop is mostly empty, the students who normally hunker down for study marathons nowhere to be seen and even most of your regulars hadn’t bothered to show up, choosing to stay dry at home rather than brave the elements for their coffee fix. Your boredom grows with each hour that passes, but then the bell above the door rings to life, and Frankie and Isabel hurry inside, an umbrella trailing behind.

“It’s raining really hard,” Isabel says, trudging up to the counter and leaving her father behind to deal with shaking out the umbrella to keep it from dripping. Normally, she’s glued to her father’s side, but maybe she feels safer with the emptiness of the shop.

“Yeah it is,” you agree with the girl, trying not to laugh as she attempts to stretch herself tall enough to see you over the counter, and you compensate by leaning forward on your elbows, “I didn’t think you guys were going to show up.”

“We were already wet, what’s the worst that could happen,” Frankie says as he approaches the counter himself, umbrella sufficiently dry.

“And I really needed a treat,” Isabel adds, sounding so much like an adult trapped in a toddler’s body you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“Don’t get her started,” Frankie mutters, and you laugh again, calming your giggles as Isabel clears her throat.

She launches into a story about recess and reading spots and lunch tables, and it’s hard to keep it all straight, but you nod along all the same, sympathizing with the exhaustion of being a little girl.

“That sounds rough,” you say when she finally finishes her story, and she nods sagely, causing you to fight against your giggles again, “how about I make you an extra special hot chocolate, hm? Would that help?”

“Yes please!” Isabel’s eyes light up, her little frown replaced with a gap-toothed grin.

“Same for you?” You ask Frankie, even though you know he’ll refuse.

“Just a black coffee for me, please.”

You ring them up for a small black coffee and a small regular hot chocolate, even though you give them both larges and you add flavoring and toppings to Isabel’s drink. Instead of slipping into one of the many open booths, they take a spot at the counter, and your heart expands to an impossibly large size. Handing over their drinks, you place a plate of cookies in front of them too. They’re all Halloween and fall themed, and you’d spent the better part of the afternoon decorating them with more care than necessary, simply because you had the time. Frankie starts to shake his head, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“Please, just take them. They’ll all go to waste otherwise, no one else is gonna come in.”

“You should take them, then,” he counters, not giving in.

“C’mon, I’ve eaten about ten of these bad boys today already, and I’ve got a box full of pastries set aside for when I leave. Take the damn cookies,” you’d normally never use that language with a customer, but it’s dead besides the two of them and you’re grinning so you don’t think he’ll take offense.

A smile blooms on his face even as he shakes his head at you, and he takes two cookies from the plate, one for himself and one for Isabel, who looks like the happiest girl in the world now that she has cookies to add to her ginormous hot chocolate.

It’s dark by the time they get ready to leave, and you feel a little awful, like you’ve kept them trapped with you when they could have a million things they needed to do all because you were a little bored.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” you say, a little sheepish as Frankie helps Isabel back into her raincoat, which is difficult because she refuses to part with the cookies you’d boxed up for them to take home.

“We should be thanking you, for the cookies and the company,” he counters, pausing in his struggle to smile at you. You smile back, but then Isabel is tugging on his sleeve and pulling him down to her level. She whispers at him, and they’re a little too far for you to hear, so you just busy yourself with wiping down the already spotless counter until Isabel clears her throat rather dramatically and you turn your attention back to the pair with a gentle smile.

“You know, these are a lot of cookies for only two people,” Frankie starts, and you’re getting ready to argue with him, thinking he’s trying to get out of taking them again when he continues, “maybe we should split them three ways? And we can make you hot chocolate for a change?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he means, but when he does, there’s no stopping the smile that overtakes you, and you’re so beyond happy you can’t even speak for a minute.

“I’ll be done here around six,” you reply once you can form words again, and Frankie’s smile is so gorgeous it threatens to eliminate that ability all over again, “if you’re not already sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he responds, and if you weren’t already a complete goner, you definitely are now.

[juliaia]

Rainy Nights in Hell's Kitchen

—————————————————————

Summary: You’ve been dating Matt for about a year—you always sleep better when you’re with him.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, fluff, overuse of em-dashes.

A/N: This is super short and sweet, but I wanted to try writing for Matty. Totally feel free to request stuff if you enjoy, but I post fics at random whenever the urge strikes, so I’m not like an “official tumblr fanfic person” or whatever—but I sure am here!

—————————————————————

It was a dark and stormy night—and usually you wouldn’t mind that. The rain is pretty peaceful, and with the windows open you can catch the cool night air and the smell of petrichor on the breeze.

But today has been long and tiring, and lately you’ve been having really vivid, unpleasant nightmares.

You’ve kept them mostly to yourself, tying them to the general stress of day-to-day life and maybe a dash of unresolved trauma—but they’re just nightmares. They’re silly, and you are definitely not afraid to go to bed tonight in your own room in the dark, with the occasional, startling boom of loud thunder in the background.

The fact that you immediately answer a much too eager, “yes”, when Matt asks if you want to stay over at his apartment is totally unrelated.

So now, you’re sitting in the bathroom with Matt, getting ready for bed.

He looks so damn pretty in the slightly dim lighting. His face is cast in a soft glow, his bare chest is looking like a very warm, very comfortable pillow, his sweats are fitting him very nicely and making his butt look exceptionally cute—but to be fair, he always looks sinfully good. You’re pretty sure you could watch him just exist for hours on end.

You see a grin creep onto his face as he feels your eyes on him.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.” He says, pushing his hand through his hair as he turns towards you and holds out a hand. You take it, and he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Just watching you. You’re pretty.” You say. His grin softens to something less mischievous and more fond and sweet, and he leans in again, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re prettier.” He murmurs—he’s got this shamelessly lovesick look on his face. You chuckle and roll your eyes.

“Says the blind man.” He gives your hand a playful squeeze.

“I can still tell you’re pretty—ready for bed?” He asks. You hesitantly nod.

“Uh, yeah, alright.” He raises an eyebrow.

“…You’re usually more enthusiastic about sleeping.” You sigh, the two of you walking over to settle into bed on top of the cool silk sheets.

“I’ve just been having weird, bad dreams.” You explain. Matt’s face goes all soft and sympathetic.

If there is one thing Matt is, it’s protective. Which is usually sweet, but occasionally overdramatic to the point of hilarity. For example—two weeks ago, you got a papercut while opening a package (one of those awful cardboard-paper-cuts), and the moment Matt heard you let out that little hiss of frustration and pain, he came rushing over to fuss over you, face painted with concern as he took your hand and frantically examined the wound. It’s especially funny considering how he insists you don’t need to worry about him when he shows up at 3 in the morning after patrol, bleeding from a stab wound in his side, or on the verge of passing out from a concussion.

So, you mention the nightmares, and Matt goes all soft, pulling you against his chest, holding you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Oh, angel, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks. You shrug.

“Eh, you’ve got other stuff on your plate—they’re just nightmares.” Matt shakes his head, nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.

“They’re upsetting you, and ruining your sleep.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

“Matty, babydoll—“ He cuts you off by pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours, his warm eyes unfocused and unseeing but somehow still so damn emotional.

“Sweetheart,” He says. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you, please?”

Dammit—Matt and his stupid puppy dog eyes. That sweet soft sad look he gives you, the pleading, pouty face, his pretty pink lips and big dumb wet eyes. You relent, sighing in defeat, and he grins, pulling you into his arms, kissing your cheek, and dragging you to bed, laying down with you.

“I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You grumble, folding yourself into his arms, smushing up against his chest. He rubs your back, holding you close. “Nothing gets to ruin your sleep except for me.” He says. You snort, giving his bicep a squeeze–oh those wonderful thick arms of his.

“Dork.” He pulls you over, tucking you against his chest for a cuddle. He nuzzles his face against the top of your head.

“I’m here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. No nightmares.” He says. You smile, hand finding his, fingers lacing through his own.

“I don’t know if you have any control over what I dream about, but I appreciate it anyway.” You say. Matt yawns softly, kissing your temple.

“I’m just gonna hold you so tight the nightmares won’t be able to get you.” He loves having you so close, loves being able to protect you and cuddle up with you to sleep. He presses his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, letting out a happy growl. You reach back to ruffle his hair.

“Thanks, Matty.” You murmur. He nods, kissing your cheek.

Curled up in his arms, you fall asleep easier. The rain falls outside, soft pitter patters on the window panes as Matt’s steady breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up at two in the morning, hands gripping the sheets, Matt wakes up with you, pulling you closer and kissing your temple, hands coming up to rub your shoulders.

“Hey angel, you’re okay. I’m here.” You push yourself further into his arms, body shaking slightly as you wrap your arms around his arm, holding it against your chest. “I’m here.” He rubs your chest, hand drawing soothing circles against you. “What can I do to help, hm?”

You just push yourself closer to him, and he settles you into his lap, shushing you gently and kissing the top of your head. He holds you tightly, hand gently rubbing over your racing heart in a gesture he hopes is grounding and comforting.

You tuck your face against his warm neck, inhaling the scent of him, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. He chuckles, hand coming to cup your cheek, his face tilting down and his nose nudging against yours. You wrap your arms around him, too tired and shaken up to be embarrassed about seeking him out for comfort. He cuddles you against him, laying back with you against his chest.

You’re quickly lulled back to sleep by the soothing sounds of his breathing and heartbeat, and after that, you sleep solidly through the night without any issues. Matt’s warm arms wrapped around you, blankets cozy and soft, the rain and thunder outside becoming gentle background noise.

In the morning, Matt wakes you up with a few soft kisses on the temple, stirring you to consciousness, drawing a little grumble from you. He chuckles, rubbing your back gently.

“Sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.” He pecks you on the lips. You hide your face against his chest, trying to block out the light from the window. He kisses the top of your head, throwing his leg over your hip to pull you closer. He’s so warm, and he smells so good, and he’s cuddling you close like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “Did you sleep okay? Aside from the bad dreams?” He asks, hand resting on your back. You nuzzle your face against the crook of his arm. You did sleep okay, you felt safe and warm in his arms, held close in his arms.

“Mhm. Slept better with you.” You say. Matt grins, face flushing as he snuggles you closer, squishing you against him.

“You should stay over more often. Move in with me, so I can keep you safe from all the nightmares.” He says, fingers brushing through your hair. You smile softly.

“…Shit, are you asking me to move in with you?” You ask. Matt kisses your forehead.

“Depends…would you say yes if I was?” You chuckle.

“Yes, yes I would.” Matt smiles, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Then yes, yes I am asking you to move in with me.”

“And I’m saying yes.”

[octuscle]

My biggest dream was to backpacking in europe between the end of high school and the beginning of college. But I didn't do it. In a few days I'll celebrate my 50. birthday and my wife told me she has a special present for me realizing my dream from my youth and getting a young lover for herself when I'm back. Now I've this countdown on my phone from your corporation. What's going on?

You think it's a bit silly when you get on the plane. With hand luggage only. A large rucksack. Nothing else. Otherwise, when you get on the plane, you usually have a suit on and your laptop with you. Today? T-shirt and functional pants. Cell phone with extra powerful power bank. You feel dressed up. And you look really dressed up too.

When you wake up shortly before landing in Paris, you stroke your chin. Shit, you can't have grown that much beard between New York and here… Anyway, now you have to make your way to Gare de Lyon somehow. The TGV to Vezelay leaves in four hours. And from there, the first stage takes you along the Way of St. James to Strasbourg. With your little bit of school French, you'll manage quite well. In the metro, you look at your reflection in the window pane. You are a miserable tourist. An ageing man in ugly functional clothing. But the beard looks pretty cool…

When you finally arrive at Vezelay station, it's late. You are tired. You've booked a hotel room near the station for your first night in Europe. A bit of comfort. By the way, the Chronivac timer has expired. The display shows that the transformation is in progress.

The hotel is relatively elegant. You stand out at breakfast. Yes, you are freshly showered. But you could go to the hairdresser again. And although you've had a fresh shave, you've already got a shadow of a beard again.

Now it's getting serious. You're standing in front of the hotel. The rucksack on your back. You're already hot. And your first stage of the day is 25 kilometers. How much is that in miles? And why are you doing this to yourself…

The day is hell. You're sweating like a pig. Your feet hurt. You have a sunburn. On the one hand you're hungry, on the other you feel like puking. And when you arrive at your stage destination, you realize that you can't get accommodation without a reservation. As you pass a building site, the foreman asks you if you are looking for work. You reply that you need somewhere to sleep. He replies that that is not a problem. If you give him a hand, you will be given dinner and a place to sleep. You don't really feel like doing any more physical work. And you've always been a failure as a handyman. But somehow you know how to mix concrete and pour a foundation. And as you drink a beer in the evening sun at around 7:30 p.m. and talk to the other craftsmen, it feels very normal. One of the carpenters asks you if you're from the north of France. Because of your strange dialect. You look at him questioningly. And say that you're from Buffalo. He asks if that's near Lille. You have obviously arrived in France.

When you wake up the next morning in your bunk in the trailer, it's 05:30. You were expecting a hell of a muscle ache. But you feel like ripping out trees. You wash yourself briefly with ice-cold water in the rain barrel and then continue on your way. You've promised to help out for two more days before you move on.

Your wife mocked you when you said you wanted to take time out to do two months of work and travel in Europe. Sometimes you realize that she is simply much older than you. But shit, so is the French president's wife. And he should be about your age. 45 years old, as far as you know. Just four years older than you… Well, he's got further than you. But you look hotter than him. And the fresh air is obviously doing you good. Your wife is really suggestive when you facetime. You didn't even know she was into phone sex. But it's a nice change. Normally you tend to fuck colleagues on the building sites where you're helping out. It's more of a man's world. Something for real guys. And if you're anything, you're a real guy.

You've been on the road for six weeks when you finally arrive in Strasbourg. Shit, it's expensive here. Prices completely spoiled by tourists and European bureaucrats. Fortunately, you soon find a job here too. Not as a construction worker, though. But as a waiter in a bistro. And you can even sleep above the bistro. On the very first evening, you notice that very few guests spend the whole night here. A constant coming and going. And when you have to go to the toilet across the corridor, a not at all bad-looking guy in a stuffy suit asks you if you'd like to come up to his room for a moment. He slips you 50 euros. A hell of a lot of money for a blowjob or something. Should you feel cheap or like a hooker? Who are you kidding? Back home on the other side of the pond, you're the toyboy of an ancient lady. She's already 50 years old.

Strasbourg was awesome. But you only have three more weeks before you have to go back. The new semester at university starts. And your GILF is waiting for you back. She told you yesterday how much she misses you. You went out of your way to make her squeal with ecstasy at the end of the phone call. The PayPal payment arrived immediately. Together with the money you earned as a hustler and waiter in Strasbourg, you can now enjoy your last days to the full. You love the wind on your nipples. Maybe a hot trucker or something will pick you up as a hitchhiker. Tonight you should be in a place called Karlsruhe. Then it's not far to Frankfurt. And from there it's back to Buffalo. Someone there is eagerly awaiting her young lover.

[krisdreaming]

Rain is a Good Thing

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x gn!reader

WC: 965

Summary: It hasn't rained for a while now, and you can tell that Kita is getting concerned.

A/N: Yes, the title is a Luke Bryan song. Yes I listen to country music sometimes, sue me. Also, one day I will actually research what is involved in rice farming. Today is not that day.

This morning, like every morning lately, you watch Shinsuke peer out the kitchen window and heave a sigh. You look out, too, and see a clear blue sky, the newly risen sun already beginning to beat down strong and hot. You can't recall exactly the last time it had rained. You think it must have been almost a month, and you can feel your husband's concern.

These few weeks are the most critical for a good harvest. By now, you know it without Shinsuke having to tell you. You feel anxieties of your own creep up every time you look out over the fields and see the growing plants. Last week you'd noticed their leaves just beginning to curl at the edges. Please, you had murmured up at the sky, watching a white puff of a cloud scud by.

After dinner, Shinsuke turns on the TV to the weather channel. It's become an almost nightly ritual. You curl in next to him, watching with more anticipation than you would have ever thought possible. When the weather woman predicts more of the same dry heat for the coming days, you can feel your husband deflating beside you.

"It's got to rain soon," You pipe up uncertainly, not quite sure if such a statement is more of a jinx than anything else. "Right?"

He turns to you with a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes like it usually would. "Yeah. It's gotta." He doesn't sound entirely convinced, but he presses a kiss to your forehead before rising to his feet. You stay on the couch a few moments longer, watching him make his way to get ready for bed. If you could reach up into the sky and wring rain from the clouds yourself, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The next few days pass exactly as predicted. The grass in the front yard has begun to crisp and brown, and puffs of dust have begun to settle on Shinsuke's clothes as he works beneath the hot sun. He's careful to brush himself off before coming inside, but it still collects in a few corners. After sweeping it up one afternoon, you make your way out to the porch.

The sky is crystal clear, a breathtaking blue that, under different circumstances, would fill you with wonder. It would make for a pretty picture if the land beneath it was lush and green instead of slowly browning. "Please, we need rain so badly." You're murmuring up to the sky, but you can't say who you're actually talking to. At this point, it's any being that will listen. "It would mean so much. Shin works so hard. Don't let it be for nothing." You know you aren't making much sense, whispering up into the blue, but somehow you feel just the slightest bit lighter after.

That evening, the weather woman announces a chance of rain the following day. Your eyes meet Shinsuke's, and you grin. Surely, this is a good sign. "It's not a very big chance," He hedges, but his eyes look a little brighter with hope he doesn't dare put into words.

The next day, you find yourself watching the sky all day. The morning starts bright as any other, and you try to ignore the sinking in your gut. If Shinsuke also feels it, he doesn't acknowledge it either.

Towards the afternoon, you spot clouds gathering in the distance. You know he sees them too, but neither of you says a word when he stops in the house for a long drink of water before heading back outside. It feels too fragile to even mention.

You're nearly finished eating dinner when you hear it. A few splattering drops hit the kitchen windowpane, and Shinsuke's head instantly lifts. He shovels a last bite in his mouth before jumping to his feet. "Thanks for dinner," He mumbles quickly, pressing a barely-there kiss to your cheek before dropping his plate in the sink and darting for the door.

As you carry your own plate to the sink, you hear the steady drumming start up on the roof. Looking out the window above the sink, you can see the rain falling steadily, and you can't help the bubble of laughter that slips out.

Quickly deciding that the dishes can wait, you make your own way to the door. Stepping out, you see your husband standing a few paces into the driveway, arms slightly lifted out from his sides as the rain pelts him.

"You're getting soaked!" You call from the porch.

"I don't care!" He says in response, tilting his head back and letting the droplets slide down his cheeks. "This is wonderful." It really is, you agree silently, watching him with a growing smile on your face as he grins full and closed-eyed up at the sky.

It's a split-second decision to step off the porch, and the cool rain immediately begins to dot your skin, feeling like dozens of tiny kisses. When you reach him, he turns to you and reaches for your hand. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he spins you around and into his arms, and you both laugh breathlessly.

"It's raining," Is all you can announce, stupidly, arms tightening around his neck as he holds you close. His smile is wide, and you can't help but lean in towards it.

"It's raining," He agrees against your lips before crashing his own against them in an enthusiastic kiss. You're both soaked through now, but you can't bring yourself to care. Your fingers slide into his wet hair as his grip on your waist tightens, deepening the kiss. Finally, you pull back, his dear face cupped in your hands.

Thank you, you offer silently with a fleeting glance to the sky, to whoever must have been listening.

[1nephthys]

The one with you

Word count: ~1.2k

Summary: just when a young barista thought her day couldn't be worse, it actually turns out it is... not so bad?

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader

Warnings: a bit of body shaming, a solid portion of delusional, English not being my first language

She got on the bus dripping wet because, of course, she forgot her umbrella and she was standing at the bus stop for a good ten minutes because traffic jams in the morning were awful. She wanted to text her boss that she would be a bit late but just as she took her phone out of her pocket she noticed a notification.

Battery low, 1%

And before she had any chance to do so, little electronic device shut down.

She looked at her watch, good thing she was old-school about those and preferred to check the time on her wrist instead of her phone.

9.03am

She was already three minutes late and the ride was at least ten more minutes long. Her boss was going to kill her.

She finally made it to her stop and got out of the bus. She ran to the coffee shop in the hope she wouldn't get wetter and be even more late.

9.17am

Just as she opened the door and the little bell above them rang she was met with an angry face of her boss.

"You are late." The lady said strictly looking at her poor, wet hair, clothes and makeup on the verge of melting.

"I know, I'm so sorry. The bus was late, the traffic jams are terrible." She tried to explain but the face of her boss hadn't soften even a little bit.

"Then maybe you should start getting there on foot. That would do great for your weight. And bring an umbrella with you. Now you gonna take some time to get ready." Oh. So she chose to be mean that day.

"I- I'm sorry. It won't happen again" She could explain herself better, but it wouldn't work. So she chose to ignore mean remark about her weight and get ready for eight hours of work.

Her day was awful. Starting with the bus, then the mean boss, then the lady who wanted a vegan latte but with cow milk, the little boy who dropped his glass of hot chocolate and his mother who yelled at her for not cleaning it was enough.

She was on the verge of crying while counting down the last minutes of work. It was still raining awfully and now the last bus just passed by the coffee shop but she couldn't wait for this 40 minute walk home.

3.28pm

She was collecting half full glasses that two girls who left few minutes ago left on the table.

While the sign "Leave your glasses and mugs right there. Thank you:)" was just a few steps away, above a counter for them.

She put the first glass of now cold, half-full coffee on the tray while grabbing the other one and turning around to get them to the counter.

And just then, she was met with a chest of somebody.

She spilled half of the glass of coffee on the customer that just come in.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry- I'm just gonna..." She didn't even know what to say. The day just couldn't get any worst.

"It's alright. I was in the way. Sorry." He saw the panic in her eyes and he definitely didn't put "make a poor barista cry" on his to-do list today.

"No, I'm sorry. God. I will pay you for that shirt." She said. Yeah, she definitely had money for what looked like a Tommy Hilfiger shirt with her salary.

"There's no need. I'm alright, really" He said, and just then her boss rounded the corner and looked at her employee and the man beside her, she looked like she would blow.

"Oh my god, your shirt! What happened?" She asked, trying to act all cool in front of a customer.

Just when y/n tried to put herself together and start explaining herself without getting fired, the blond guy picked up the glass from the floor, which somehow hadn't broken and looked over at the boss.

"I'm sorry, I just spilled it all over myself. The glass is in one piece though." He explained and looked over at y/n, who tried, she really did try to tell the true but today was too much so she just decided to let the stranger save her in front of her boss.

"Oh, alright. I'm so sorry then. I'm sure y/n there can help you and bring you new coffee as soon as possible." She said with a smile, oh how fake this smile was.

She went back to the back of the coffee shop, probably to sit in her office while y/n with the stranger walked up to the counter in the cafe.

"Thank you so much for that. I think you literally saved my life." The girl said quietly. She finally had a chance to properly look at the guy. He had blond hair and the deepest green eyes she had ever seen in her entire life. "What would you like to order? It's on me" She asked with a tired smile, but it was still the prettiest smile he had a chance to look at ever.

"I think coffee would be nice." He said.

"Alright, which one?" She pointed at the menu above her head, which consisted of about 20 different coffees.

"The one with you? After your shift?" The question just slipped out of his mouth and his cheeks got a bit red. Already thinking what to say if he got rejected.

"I guess I own you, huh?" She answered with a question, but hey, that wasn't no, right? He asked himself.

"Only if you want to." He was shy. cute. "I'm Mick, by the way" He scratched the back of his neck without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm y/n," She said with a smile. "And I would love to get a coffee with you, Mick" He felt like a huge stone was being lifted off his shoulders.

"You are closing in twenty minutes, right?" He asked and she answered with a nod of her head. "Let me go home quickly and change a shirt without a huge coffee stain and I will pick you up. That's sounds good?"

"Yeah, but I still need to clean up the place after." She explained.

"Don't worry about it. I can wait. I will see you soon." He didn't even give her a chance to answer as he was already at the door.

He did seen her soon, and then he seen her every single day of his life. And there two things she learned that day: do not call the day the worst of your life before sun sets and do not cry over spilled coffee.

a/n. I'm honestly not very happy with that but I started writing it literally a month ago and finished it just now because I simply do not have any time.

[orchid-and-bone]

"Silver Lining" ||

Charles Smith x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Length: 2.5k

A/N: I had the idea run in my head after a friend told me about it storming where they live, which a little fic popped into my brain, and I do have an idea for a second part if anyone shows interest~

But I adore Charles and think he deserves the world. This is my first time ever writing for him, so I hope I did some justice!

Summary: You were separated from your father while on a business run, and now you're stranded with no way home and soaked from the raging storm. A stranger approaches you and offers his hand, and when you take it, you find a new friend.

The only thing that made today even worse was the steady rumble of the storm that was rolling in toward your direction. Of course, why wouldn't it start storming soon? You felt the chill of the air hit your skin, the leaves in the trees slowly began to wave gently, and then their dance became panicked. The clouds ahead rolled in, deep, grey, and heavy. You tried to find shelter quickly before you felt the gentle, cold raindrops begin to fall, but there was none around for miles, and you had no clue. 

You'd run for a cluster of trees and figured that the grouping of leaves and branches would save you somehow, which was true for the moment, but as soon as the heavier clouds slowly made their way overhead, you knew you were doomed. Your entire outfit was soaked, the jacket you had that was draped over your head barely kept the water from getting into your face, it just dripped right through the fabric. You let out a frustrated groan as the rain hid your tears, but you wiped them away angrily and figured you'd just wait till the storm passed. 

If the thought of asking strangers for help didn't terrify you, you would have been waving your arms frantically so you could have been seen sooner, but you remained hidden among the trees for now. You figured you could wait it out and see what would happen from there, only problem was that it wasn't letting up. 

Over an hour passed and you were feeling as miserable as a wet cat in a burlap sack, and there had barely been anyone on the roads to flag down in the first place. You sniffled and wished that you weren't so nervous, you felt defeated.

What you didn't hear was the sound of hoofbeats approaching, the thunder drowned that out completely, instead, you had your arms wrapped around your legs as you lowered your head, wishing the rain would stop just for a little while. 

The man on his horse rode as fast as he could to try and get back to his camp, he had been just caught out in the storm coming back from an errand he had to run for Dutch, so if he timed it right, he could get back before it really got too unbearable. His horse, Taima, was sprinting fast since she didn't want to be out in this weather either, the man couldn't blame her. He was almost so set on getting back that he barely saw you, a brief blur in his peripheral, but he managed to spot you.

He pulled on Taima's reigns and she chuffed in response, wondering why they were both slowing down, but she trotted where she was needed. The horse trotted right up to you as you shivered from the cold, and you looked up in curiosity. 

“Are you alright?” The man asked you, looking down with wet hair plastered to his face. He was large, bulky, like he could punch a man once and he'd be out of commission for a week. “Are you hurt?” 

You looked up from him and stared for a second, wondering if it was your imagination conjuring a savior of some kind or if it truly was someone there to save you. “Hello, I uh, I’m cold… and lost.”

The man then hopped down from his horse and crouched under the leaves with you, checking to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. “Hmm. You seem unhurt, so that's good. Where do you stay? I could give you a ride back.”

You're shivering as you look up at him, wondering how far you'd gotten from home. “I live near Emerald Station on Emerald Ranch, you know where it is?”

“That's quite a ride from here, how'd you end up all the way out here?” 

You looked ashamed, but he didn't press any further, instead, he reached for your hand. “Come on, I'll get you home, okay?” 

You just smiled up at him and nodded, then grabbed his hand. He was so warm despite the rain still pouring down, and you wished you could retain some of the heat he was giving off, it felt wonderful. He assisted you onto his horse, but instead of sitting on the back, he made sure to sit you in the front, that way his arms could envelop you and give you some of his body heat. 

“I hope you don't mind, this way you can keep some warmth,” he explained as he settled in on the saddle. 

You tried to get as comfortable as you could, but it didn't matter, the heat was the most important. You clung to his arms and snuggled back against his chest, shaking like mad as you braced yourself for the ride. “This will work, thank you,” you sighed in contentment, already feeling safer with this man as your teeth chattered.

“I'm Charles,” he said as he snapped the reigns of his horse, and now you were on your way back home.

It was embarrassing really, how you ended up all the way out here on your own, far from Emerald Ranch. You and your father had taken a long ride out for a business venture just outside of Rhodes, and of course, you wandered a tad too far from the wagon, interested in the beautiful nature that surrounded you. When you had been far too invested in following a small group of foxes, there was a commotion and gunfire, so you ran. Of course, you ran, you wanted to stay safe. You heard your father shouting for you to hide, all you heard was his voice and gunfire. 

You wished he was okay…

The sharp cold from the rain began to sting as soon as you felt the sliver of warmth from Charles, but you tried not to let it affect you too much, you just had to hope that you would be home and your father would be alright. You were so lost in thought that you weren’t sure if the man had spoken at all or if you had been imagining it, but when he cleared his throat, you looked up at him in confusion.

“Did…you say something? I’m sorry, I was thinking…” you explained timidly.

The man looked down at you ever so slightly to check on you, and you caught a glimpse of the scar that adorned his cheek, but you said nothing about it aloud. You were curious how he got it, but you had no place to ask such things, nor would you have that courage. “I was just asking you if you were hurt at all, or if you could remember what happened.”

“Oh, um, I got lost, separated from my father. I don’t know if he’s alive…” Saying it out loud made it too real, you wanted to cry with how your entire body felt as if you were riding waves. 

Charles continued to ride down the path, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary or Lemoyne Raiders, which had become a larger problem as of late. “Well, do you remember how you got separated?” He asked you, hoping you could give him something to work with so he could help, considering he could track fairly well. 

Your eyes darted down and watched as his hands held onto the reigns, you committed the lines, the scars, and the contours by memory as you sat there between the horse and his chest. “I think… something happened with his business proposal he had with some men, maybe some bounty hunters or gang members… I dunno, I wandered off and got separated before I heard the gunshots.”

Charles listened and continued to guide Taima, finally crossing into New Hanover territory, but there was still quite a ways to go, and the rain was slowly but surely mellowing as you both continued to ride. Maybe asking you what happened wasn’t such a great idea, despite wanting to reunite you with your father, maybe you required more of a distraction than recalling painful memories. 

“Emerald Ranch is a nice open area, you lived there long?” 

You were thankful for the topic change as you wiped away the tears and rain that fell against your face. “Yeah, my whole life so far, it’s quiet mostly, never really get a lot of nonsense there. I get to watch the deer and wild horses a lot,” you said as you took in the scenery around you. Despite the circumstances, you thought that it was a beautiful area.

A small smile played at his lips. “So you like nature, I'm assuming?”

“Mhm, watching the wild horses is my favorite thing when I get to sit alone in the fields, it's peaceful.”

“I like nature as well, I track a lot of animals and you get to see all sorts of creatures and places you never really expect.”

“How far have you been here, you know, in the country?” 

“Well, Colter has been the coldest and farthest up I've been, the mountains are no joke.” 

You thought of how beautiful the snow looked across the mountains, wondering just how cold it was out there, and just what types of animals inhabited the snowy hills. “That is pretty far,” you pointed out with a small smile.

Charles nodded and made a content hum, wondering if he should tell you about the interesting creatures he saw while he was stranded in the mountains mere months ago, but he had wondered if this conversation was stimulating enough for you, that is until you spoke up again. 

“What kind of animals are up there? I heard there’s a rare bison that’s seen around there, its fur is pure white.” You had heard stories around the states that there were legendary, rare animals that were scattered all around, most of their coats being a pure snowy white or a rare pattern.

Charles was impressed with your knowledge of things surrounding that nature, but he was also interested in spotting some of the rare creatures on his own time. “I  believe you’re right, I have a friend who goes hunting regularly to help feed our camp, and he says there are rare animals scattered across the states.”

Your eyes brightened at the mention of it and wondered just how many there were out in the world, you were curious to know if there were even any nearby, so maybe once you were home safe and sound, you could ask around. The silence between you two wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest, but you felt that he was a man who didn’t say much, kept his cards close, which you didn’t mind. You weren’t exactly dissimilar to the man who saved you, always feeling that your feelings and thoughts shouldn’t be overshared, you never knew who would use that against you. 

You could finally see the outskirts of the ranch as you rode closer, your chest tightened, hoping you could see your father's wagon, but maybe he’d gotten home some other way. Or what if he wasn’t home at all? What if something-

“We’re just about there,” Charles said, snapping you out of your daze. “Which house is it? I’ll make sure you get there.” He slowed Taima down to a trot as he entered the grounds of the ranch, and you pointed.

“There, that larger house in the center, to the right.” You were still in his arms now, wondering if you’d get home to your worried mother, already seeing her face brighten when she laid her eyes upon you, but that smile faded when your father was nowhere in sight. What would you tell her? HOW could you tell her? 

Charles stopped his horse and he patted your shoulder gently, then grabbed your hand as you slowly hopped down. He then proceeded to jump down beside you and wrap an arm around your shoulders, walking you straight up to the door. “Are you going to be okay?” He asked in his gentle tone, looking over at you with an unreadable expression. 

When you froze at the door, not reaching for the handle, you looked up at him with worry etched into your features. “I’m not sure… I don’t know if my father is here, or alive for that matter…”

“I can keep a look out-”

The door swung open, revealing your disheveled father looking like a sopping wet cat, but his face conveyed all the love in the world when you stood there. “Oh, sweetheart! You’re alive! I can’t believe what happened, oh-” Your father threw his arms around you and almost sobbed against you.

You stood there in complete surprise, but that heaviness lifted as soon as you realized this wasn’t a cruel trick. Your arms wrapped around your father and squeezed so tight that you thought he’d pop. “Dad, I… I thought something happened…” You sighed in relief and then looked back at Charles, who was beginning to walk away. You pulled away from your father and reached out, touching Charles’s shoulder. “Wait.”

He turned to look at you and offered a quizzical look. “Are you alright?”

“Well, er, yes, but please,” you began as you began to dig through your pocket, then you pulled out a few crumpled bills that were soaked. “Er, sorry, but please, this is all I have and I want you to have this.”

Charles shook his head with a small smile. “No, that’s quite alright, you keep it.” He grabbed your hand and curled your fingers back around the bills, his large hand encasing yours. 

“But, I insist you take it for the trouble.”

He just smiled a little wider. “Trust me, it was no trouble at all. You stay safe, okay?” He placed a hand gently on your shoulder to express how much he appreciated your kindness. 

He was kind, and selfless, and could have probably used the cash to help himself. Instead, he just refused it and just wanted to see you safe. In a moment of weakness, you did the same as you did with your father and hugged the larger man, thankful that he came to your rescue. You smiled as you squeezed him, and slowly but surely, his arms wrapped around you and he stroked your shoulders gently.

You told him your name and your smile only grew. “Can I see you again?” You asked him with a sudden urgency, hoping to repay his kindness later on. 

“Thank you, Charles…”

“You’re welcome, oh, I never caught your name.” He pulled away and looked down at you, your eyes shining with happiness as you flashed him a smile. 

He was taken aback by this question, unsure of how to really answer, mostly because he never knew what would happen with Dutch and the camp, he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. But when Charles looked down at you and you just looked at him so fervently that it was as if he couldn’t say no, even if he wanted to.

“Of course, I would like that very much.” 

[fieldofdaisiies]

In canon. Can be seen as part two of Trapped. Azriel finally takes Eris up on his offer to talk. He goes to the Autumn Court on a very specific day, wanting to escape his loneliness and has no idea how much his visit means to the High Lord of Autumn. for @azrisweek | azrisweek masterlist | read on ao3 | no warnings

Azriel isn’t entirely sure what he is doing here. It is Solstice in the Night Court, his family is happily celebrating, probably currently opening the last presents, and he finds himself in the Autumn Court, far away from all of them. Alone. A little cold, his wings tucked in tightly, his trembling hands folded in front of his body.

But he couldn’t have stayed a moment longer. It tore him apart from the inside out. To watch them, to share their happiness but at the same time to not really be part of it.

He has gotten so tired of it, their happy display of love and bliss, while he was rotting away on the inside due to his jealousy and desperation. The void where there once used to be his heart, seemed to grow without hope for a stop. It stretched out and made him feel cold from the inside out. His senses have somehow started to feel numb, most days he doesn’t feel anything at all. Nonchalance.

So, he did the only thing he thought of after departing from the Riverside Estate: he allowed the tug on his chest to guide him and bring right into the centre of his nemesis‘ court.

Right to Eris Vanserra.

Surprisingly, it isn’t raining in Autumn like it normally does when he is on a spying mission (something he won’t stop doing even though it has become irrelevant after Beron died and Eris is on their side). Today the weather is rather alright, the air is damp and carries the faint scents of moss and pine and Azriel fills his lungs with a deep inhale. Despite who rules over this court and despite his fear of fire, Azriel has always been one to like autumn. If he had to decide, he would say it is his favourite season. The weather in the Autumn Court always reminds him of his childhood – the good parts of his childhood. The moments he spent with his mother in her hut in the Illyrian steppes when he was a young boy and could escape his father’s and stepmother’s cruelties for a few hours.

A gentle breeze blows around him, and his eyes close for a short moment where he only listens to the sounds around him. He allows himself a moment of peace, takes in another deep breath, his hand resting on a tree trunk, his gaze now focused on the Forest House. It is mostly dark, there is only the hint of a light in one room on the ground floor. From the outside it looks like a library, maybe a living room, so it tells Azriel that Eris might still be awake. 

He hopes he is. Otherwise his visit here is completely useless and he will have to go home again and then spend Solstice alone in his flat. 

His jaw clenches and he allows himself to hope that Eris is still awake and has time to talk to him for only a few minutes. Just a short conversation. It is all Azriel wants. It is all he needs.

A few years ago Eris had offered the spymaster to come here whenever he needed someone to talk to. Back then Eris was a new High Lord and in the years that have passed Azriel has never taken him up on that offer, until this day. He has never been brave enough in the past years, never sure of what to say to Eris why he came. 

He isn’t sure about what to say this day either, but somehow it feels different. He has more confidence, and he just wants to talk to someone. Only if for a small moment. Only if for a night.

Azriel moves to the gates around the Forest House, the droplets of dew adorn the iron bars, and he lifts his hand to the door knocker, but realises soon that if a sentry or guard opens the door he has absolutely no idea what he would say to them.

I came to talk to your High Lord because I felt lonely, doesn’t seem like the right thing. He has to come up with something…better. Like court business. But that wouldn’t make sense on Solstice.

He steps away from the large oak door, blows out a pent-up breath, and brushes his hair back. 

I could throw some stones? he thinks, but then quickly decides against it. He is not a small boy anymore, he is a grown up male, a powerful Illyrian he will have to go about this differently. He will knock, but only after waiting a moment longer. Maybe Eris happens to see him and–?

His thoughts are cut off abruptly.

With a loud creaking noise the large oak door of the Forest House opens, its hinges rattling and Azriel tries to scurry away as quick as possible, having allowed himself a moment of distraction he now regrets. 

He almost trips over his own feet when he ventures backwards, trying to flee into the forest behind him, hoping the weathered trees are enough to shield him from–

“Shadowsinger!” Eris’ usually polished and smooth voice is tinged with surprise when he appears in the doorframe, his appearance as immaculate as always. He moves outside, heading towards the gate, and braces his hands on the iron railing.

“I—” Azriel is rendered dumb the moment his eyes land upon the High Lord’s half-exposed chest, all the hard panes of muscles and the fine dusting of red hair beneath his thin linen shirt. Eris has always looked good, but now…Azriel is speechless.

“You?” Eris asks, his tone flat. He raises a brow the same moment he crosses his arms over his chest. Azriel can see how his biceps flexes due to the motion, and his brain circulates short.

“It is Solstice in your Court, Shadowsinger, what are you doing here?” Eris’ tone is flat, but at the same time sharp, piercing right into Azriel’s chest.

“I‘m on a mission,” Azriel quickly answers.

Eris braces both hands on his hips and frowns. “On Solstice? In the Court of someone who is your ally now.” Eris cocks a brow, his lips that suddenly seem very kissable, pursed. “Spare me with your lies.”

Azriel’s body is stiff, and he tries to drag in a breath. “You made an offer. That I could come to you if I needed someone to talk to.”

“What?”

“The offer?” Azriel’s brows lift, his cheeks warming. Eris must have forgotten about it, of course he has, it was made an eternity ago, and now Azriel looks like a fool. But the High Lord surprises him.

“That was nearly six years ago, Shadowsinger.”

“And?” Azriel lifts a brow. 

Eris releases something that sounds like a purely male, long-suffering sigh, and pinches the bridge of his nose, then he folds his fingers over his lips. His gaze runs over Azriel, and finally locks with his eyes. “Come in then. I was just getting tea ready. You like tea?”

Azriel must look absolutely shocked, staring wide-eyed at the Autumn Court male who is gesturing towards the inside of the Forest House.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve grown another head. May I remind you, you knocked on my door, Shadowsinger, and asked me to talk. Obviously we wouldn’t speak out here where it is cold and about to start raining again.”

“I didn’t think you would—”

“Keep my offer?”

“Can you stop interrupting me, Eris?”

“I‘m finishing your sentences, Shadowsinger.”

“That is interrupting.”

The corner of Eris‘ lips lifts, making a small, delicate smirk appear on his face. “I apologise."

He steps aside, allowing Azriel entrance. First into the front yard, then into his home.

The Forest House, as Azriel remembers correctly, has changed a lot since Beron died. Everything seems brighter now, more alive, the colours more vibrant. Intricate carvings adorn the walls and ceilings of the corridors, sconces illuminating the corridor with a soft light that dances over the polished stone.

Azriel inhales a deep breath of the crisp, that smells of pine and wildflowers, freshly cut wood with a hint of ash and fire.

Their footsteps hollow through the seemingly empty ground floor of the house while he walks slightly behind Eris. He has no idea where the Autumn Court male is leading him, follows blindly, and realises that this could be a trap. But why would Eris lead him into a–

“For a change I didn’t find you in a trap this time, Shadowsinger,” Eris drawls over his shoulder, gaze slowly running over Azriel’s frame. The spymaster only glowers, bites the inside of his cheeks to which Eris has to laugh. For a split second the spymaster worries that the High Lord can read his mind, but quickly brushes off this thought. 

Eris turns back to face the long corridor, but Azriel clears his throat. “I have only been in your trap once.”

“Twice,” Eris corrects him, holding up two slender fingers. “But the second time you could free yourself, thinking I wouldn’t notice, but Spymaster—” Eris stops abruptly in front of a large wooden door, fingers curling around the handle. “I have eyes everywhere.” He pulls on the handle and opens the door with a loud, croaking noise, revealing a beautiful and warm living room, appearing in all colours and shades of autumn — orange, scarlet, yellow and brown.

Azriel would have never thought to ever see this part of the Forest House and it feels kind of intimate. He follows Eris into the room, ignoring what the High Lord said to him, his eyes exploring.

It is beautiful here, cosy and homely. Two greyhounds are lounging on the sofa close to the window, and another one is lying on the carpet, belly up, right next to the—

Fireplace.

Azriel’s eyes lock onto the flames dancing, almost as if led by a melody. A lump the size of peach forms in his throat, but he can’t tear his gaze away. His own wails of pain fill his ears, a phantom pain erupting in his hands. He tries to swallow, his throat constricted. 

Eventually, Eris speaks up and it makes Azriel look away from the fireplace, right at the High Lord of Autumn. High Lord of Flames.

“Please sit,” Eris offers, extending his hand to the sofa. Azriel does as told, turning his gaze to watch Eris disappear through a different door than the one they came in. He is only gone for a few minutes before entering the living room again, two steaming mugs in his hands.

When reaching the sofa, he offers one to Azriel, then strokes his hounds‘ heads and plops down on the couch next to the shadowsinger, placing his mug on the small table next to them.

“Don’t you celebrate Solstice in Autumn?” Azriel asks, fingers curling tightly around the warm mug. He lifts his gaze and meets Eris‘. The High Lord is looking at him, at his hands… his scars, but for the first time Azriel doesn’t feel ashamed. He allows Eris to look and see the marred skin, knowing different markings of cruelty also grace the High Lord’s skin.

“I think some people here do but we never did. And I also don’t have anyone to celebrate with,” Eris says, voice laden with sadness. “My brothers are either at war camps or somewhere with their wives, and mother is…in a different Court.” Eris averts his gaze for a moment, before looking back at Azriel.

“Why are you really here, Azriel? Why are you not celebrating with your family?”

The shadowsinger huffs in answer, then takes a sip and when he looks back at Eris, the words pour from his mouth. “I felt out of place, third wheeling the whole time. I know it is not their intention or fault but everyone constantly rubbing in your face that they are loved and have a mating bond is…annoying.”

“And it hurts,” Eris bitterly expresses.

Azriel gives him a side-long glance, then exhales loudly. “It does,” he finally says, voice laden with emotion. “It hurts a lot.”

“It hurts so much especially when you start to question why after more than 500 years you still haven’t found your equal,” Eris continues, unsure why he reveals his deepest feelings to Azriel. To Azriel out of everyone. 

But once again, just like six years ago, it somehow feels so right. Sharing those things with Azriel —with his mate— feels right.

After almost ten years, Eris is still keeping the secret safe within him, in his heart, locked away behind iron bars. Azriel can never find out about Eris already knowing about it. And if the bond doesn’t snap in place for Azriel then—

“I often wonder if the Mother has no one planned for me,” Azriel sighs and Eris can see the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. He isn’t sure about revealing those things to the High Lord and Eris understands. But he can also see his bitterness, his frustration and the longing within the shadowsinger. He just wants to find his equal, his partner, his mate, like the High Lord himself does, too.

“Mates are a rare thing,” Eris answers without really thinking about what he is saying. His eyes fall to Azriel’s hand, and the scars. This is an odd situation they find each other in, and laying your heart bare in front of your nemesis is not quite natural. But at the same time it doesn’t feel odd. It feels right.

Azriel’s gaze darts to Eris‘ eyes, almost like he can see right through him, and make out the big secret within his soul. Eris‘ throat bobs when he tries to swallow, a heavy, deafening silence falling upon them, stretching out.

“I just want to find someone who cares.”

I care, Azriel, Eris wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut instead, only looking at the shadowsinger.

“Someone who cares enough to…ask how I am, to hold me in their arms after a mission, to help me with my wounds, to…listen to me. To reach out when they notice I am struggling.”

Eris‘ hand snatches forward without further thought, clasping Azriel’s tightly. The shadowsinger makes a movement as if he wants to pull back his hand, but then decides against it. He allows it. And it does something to Eris. His soul starts to warm his chest from the inside out. Little sparks explode and his skin feels hot all of a sudden.

“Struggling how?” Eris queries, hoping to distract himself a little from the feeling inside him, fingers trembling around Azriel’s and. He can feel the scars beneath his warm palm, and it pains him to know that such harm has been brought upon Azriel.

“To see something positive in life.” Azriel draws in a deep breath, and pauses when his tears start to glaze over with tears. “There is just so much darkness, and has been for years, centuries. I am scared I will never find light again, to never see something bright again.”

Eris squeezes his hand softly, the shadowsinger’s pain reverberating through him almost like something ties their souls together. Eris has to shake his head. Because it is the truth. Their souls are unmistakably tied together by the mating bond. He can feel how his heart beats a little slower, sagging, hurting with the pain Azriel is feeling, because he is connected to Azriel and he can feel his emotions.

“I know what this is like,” Eris silently admits, still wondering why the shadowsinger allows him to hold his hand. Maybe Azriel is feeling it too?

“I’ve only found myself living in darkness, with no path to a brighter future. When Beron was still alive, I always thought it was because of him, but I soon realised that these feelings are rooted deep inside of me and the void where my heart once used to be only grows with every day that passes.”

Slowly, Azriel starts to nod, as if understanding exactly what Eris is saying. His gaze moves to Eris’, and his lips part but no words leave his mouth. He only looks at the Vanserra male, mouth slightly open, emotions flickering in his eyes. His shadows calm around him and, carefully, Azriel tugs in his wings. 

Eris brushes his thumb over the back of the spymaster’s hand, not once breaking eye-contact. He swallows around the lump that has formed in his throat, his mouth feeling a little dry. 

“I brought you something. A little present,” Azriel whispers, breaking the silence and also their eye-contact. He pulls his hand out of Eris’ hold and rolls back his shoulders. A cold fills the place where Azriel’s hand used to be and Eris pulls back his arm, flexing his fingers at his side.

“For me?” He lifts a questioning brow, his expression more than incredulous. 

No one has ever brought him something. Gifts weren’t really a thing in the Autumn Court. For birthdays they only ever got heirlooms which would immediately be put away to a safe place after their birthday and they would never see them again.

“It is nothing special, just—” Azriel pulls out a small thing from his chest pocket, not bigger than the size of his hand. It is something wrapped in a serviette and it smells sweet so Eris guesses it is food. It must be food, but why would Azriel bring him food?

Azriel carefully tugs at the corners of the serviette, and it sticks a little to what is inside. Eris‘ eyes linger, following each small movement of Azriel’s scarred fingers. He wonders if the memories of how he got them still haunt Azriel in the same way his own memories do and his eyes flicker to the fireplace, and the soft flame burning in it. Worry settles in his gut.

Does Azriel fear the fire? Is he too polite —despite being a brute— to say something?

“I—”

Eventually Azriel pulls the whole wrapping aside, interrupting Eris. “Elain…she caught me leaving and wouldn’t let me go until I told her where I was going.” Azriel blows out a long breath. A look that speaks volumes passes over his face. “She told me to bring you a cookie. It is selfmade.”

Finally, Azriel is done unwrapping the paper, now holding a small yet deliciously smelling baked good in his hand. It isn’t larger than his palm, but Eris couldn’t be happier about it. Elain thought about him, and wanted him to have a present. And Azriel brought it to him. He can barely believe it.

A small smile tips up the corners of Azriel’s lips and he looks at Eris‘ eyes. “She was very persistent and wouldn’t let me leave without it.”

“Of course, she was,” Eris chuckles. He feels how his heart warms. Elain is wonderful, a sunshine, and he loves her dearly — like the sister he never had. He is happy that his little brother found happiness in her, and couldn't have hoped for anyone better for Lucien. She is everything he needs and deserves. 

Azriel breaks off a little piece and Eris lifts his hand to grab it, but Azriel overwhelms him. Startles him.

“Open your mouth,” the shadowsinger says, smiling weakly and lifting the small piece of the baked good to the Autumn Court male’s lips. 

Eris is caught off guard. His heart drops into his belly, his breathing becomes ragged and within an instant, his hand snaps up and he grabs Azriel’s arm, fingers curling tightly around his wrist. “I can’t—you can’t give me food!” he warns, his tone loud and commanding, concern ringing within his voice.

Azriel’s eyes widen in slight shock, the corners of his lips drooping, and then his shoulders. He looks at Eris’ almost as if the Vanserra male has grown another head, but then, after a moment of eerie silence, he lowers his chin to his chest.

A tremor courses through Azriel, making his hands shake. “So it’s true,” he breathes. “The feeling inside me…the pull. We are mates. It is really true.” Azriel falls silent after the words have left his mouth, but it seems as if there is more he wants to say.

Eris is left speechless as well. He can only nod, slowly, his mind and thoughts racing like wild horses though. There it is, the revelation. He has hoped to keep it a secret forever, but now all the cards are on the table and there is no way back.

“For how long have you known?” Aziel asks, not lifting his gaze, staring at the stone floor, his jaw clenched. 

“For a while,” Eris admits, but doesn’t elaborate. He can’t quite concentrate or focus, his thoughts are all over the place, his heat heavy in his chest.

“What is a while?”

“Since the High Lords meeting.”

The revelation would knock Azriel off his feet if he weren’t sitting down. That was nearly ten years ago. A decade. A decade has passed and Eris has known about the bond all the time. For a decade Eris has kept this secret. 

Azriel has felt a shift within himself since he rescued Eris from Briallyn, but he has never allowed himself to consider the shift he felt to be the bond or connected to it. He has never felt real indications for it being the bond until a few months ago when Eris paid a visit to the Night Court and their hands accidentally touched. 

A sudden sharp sting of hurt pierces him – why had Eris kept it a secret for so long? Does he despise the bond just as much as me? Azriel thinks. Does he want to break the bond and accept everything that comes with it? The hurt. The agony. The pain. Or is Eris ashamed? Ashamed to be mated to him? To a male?

“Why have you kept it a secret?” Azriel asks in a hoarse voice. “Why have you kept it a secret for so long?”

Eris huffs, but then a steady voice says, “Because…Beron would have done unspeakable things to me if he found out that I am mated to a male. If he found out that I am mated to a male from a court he isn’t fond of.” Eris gives his head a shake. “And I found it hard to accept. You out of everyone, Shadowsinger. I was worried you would not want it anyway. That you would reject me, and break it the moment you find out about it.” His throat bobs when he swallows. “I was scared…”

Azriel wants to say that he would have never rejected it, but he had similar doubts, but Eris is quicker.

“How long have you known?” the High Lord asks as he reaches out and takes the cookie and the serviette into his hand, placing it on the small table beside them, next to his mug. He starts to chew on his lower lip, a nervous habit he picked up a long time ago. Azriel’s eyes dropping to said lip doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and although it makes his heart beat faster and his skin grow taut, he keeps his expression stern – a cold mask he has perfected to never let others see what is going on inside of him.

Quietly, Azriel explains how he started to feel the bond, but also admits how he tried to avoid thinking it was the bond, and that he didn’t want to believe it. Eris understands, of course, as he also didn’t want to believe it. 

“Why did you keep it a secret?” Eris softly asks, his gaze meeting Azriel’s. “Throwing the question right back at you.” His lips for a barely there smirk and Azriel breathes a chuckle.

“For the same reasons as you,” he admits. “I was scared of how you would react, thinking that someone like you, a future High Lord, or as it is the case now, a High Lord, would reject someone like me. I am bastard born, lesser fae, a brute—”

“I brute wouldn’t sit here like this, chatting with me like this, being kind and listening to what I say, Shadowsinger.” 

Eris‘ kind words catch Azriel off guard and his eyes open wide in surprise. 

“But you always call us brutes.”

“I don’t mean everything I say, and I apologise if referring to you in such an inappropriate way hurt you.” Eris lowers his chin, hoping the spymaster will accept his apology.

“Apology accepted, High Lord,” Azriel whispers. He drags in a deep inhale, holds his breath for a moment and then blows it out. “It feels weird to think about you in another way than hating you. After such a long time. And after such a long time where I didn’t allow myself to listen defp inside of me, or for my feelings to blossom.”

A cold chuckle leaves Eris at that, and with a smirk on his lips he looks back into Azriel’s eyes. “Right?” He huffs. “You out of everyone.”

“I assume it is because I am too irresistible.” A grin appears on Azriel’s face, not quite a mischievous one, but rather teasing one and Eris has to laugh, his cheeks heating. He is happy about the change of topic as a sudden lightness feels the air between them, easing the growing tension.

“You are not irresistible but rather impossible, Shadowsinger.”

“And still the Mother chose me for you.”

“She did,” Eris sighs. He glances at Azriel, then to the fireplace and lastly to the window. Rain has started again, large drops now sliding down the glass. His eyes follow one of them, and he blows out a long breath. “Stay the night?”

Azriel follows his line of sight, his throat working on a swallow, but he answers nothing, only looks at the window as well. 

“We have a lot to talk about, Shadowsinger,” Eris tells him, not averting his gaze, “I don’t want to rush anything or leave things unsaid. Now that the bond is revealed we should lay all the cards on the table, and talk about everything, starting with what happened to Morrigan.”

“No,” Azriel’s tone is sharp and Eris’ gaze cuts to him. “I’ll stay, but let’s start by calling me by my actual name, Eris.”With a silent, breathy laugh parting his lips, Eris’ eyes close and then he tips his chin at the spymaster. “Alright, Azriel, let’s do this.”

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @jules-writes-stories @talibunny30 @berryzxx @lilah-asteria

thank you so much @queercontrarian for beta reading💛