#she can quite literally understand what you’ve been through

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - one (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you've never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he's so much more than a crush, he's your soulmate. one | two | three | four

note: please enjoy this truly self indulgent romance. will be four parts total, and i'll post each as soon as they are ready to go. happy comeback week, and i hope everyone enjoys this 💖

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, a lot of fluff and tenderness, love at first touch, shared feelings/emotions/physical sensations, anxiety/stress over what to do, reader's family isn't the best, kq is not the best company for the purposes of this fic!, light smut including - heavy makeouts/grinding, hand kink, size kink, phone sex, sexting, fingering, jacking off, dirty talk, praise, use of good girl, use of pet names like baby/jagiya/sweetheart. basically this fic is an excuse for me to write star-crossed desperate love so i would say it's the literal opposite of a slow burn lmao

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 17.9k

It’s eleven in the morning when your day starts, hiding in the green room of a concert venue in Berlin, and the day feels lost already. With Eunji and Dahan ill that only leaves you and Iseul to handle makeup for all eight members and with how exhausted you are from yet another night of little sleep, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep up. You’re trying to stay awake, but while the members are all out on stage learning their marks and rehearsing the improvisational moments for this tour stop, the green room is quiet and you keep nodding off. 

“Bad night?” Iseul’s voice startles you out of one of your dips into sleep and your body jerks up right. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, “hey,” 

“Here,” She pushes a bright can into your hands, an energy drink, “you need this.” 

“I need to be sedated,” You grumble, taking it from her, “the time difference is never this hard,” 

“Mm,” She shrugs, “it’s unpredictable,” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I guess.” 

The thumping music outside as they run through another track is starting to give you a migraine. You take a long sip of the drink and then leave the can on the table in front of you, choosing instead to hide your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt and let out another long sigh. 

“Girl,” Iseul nudges you, “you look like shit. Your station looks like shit.” 

“Thank you?” 

“In thirty minutes we’re going to be busier than we’ve been since that Inkigayo stage for Answer,” She points out and you grimace at the reference. Back then it really was just a skeleton staff and one of the makeup artists quit on the spot, too stressed to continue the work and walking out in the middle of doing Yeosang’s foundation. 

What a mess those old days used to be. Nostalgia sometimes makes you forget how late those nights were and just how impossibly tired you had been. This feels too reminiscent of that for sure. 

Iseul taps your shoulder to get you to lift your face as she continues, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t do this shit on my own. I need you.” 

“Okay,” You breathe, scrubbing your hands over your face to jolt yourself awake as best you can, “you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t be sorry,” She gives you a sympathetic smile, “I get it.” 

This tiredness feels different though, so deeply ingrained in your body. Something’s been keeping your adrenaline running like a long, drawn out anxiety attack and you can’t understand it. You’ve been on tour before, you’ve been on planes, you’ve had long days, and you’ve worked with this exact group for years. There’s nothing on paper that should be making you so anxious, but the threads of it are humming in the deep back of your brain even now. 

“Come on,” Iseul prompts again, pulling you to your feet, “let’s get you in gear.” 

“Right,” You take another long sip of your energy drink and pray it starts kicking in soon and that the effects won’t make you feel crazier, “let’s do this.” 

She helps you put your station together with ease and then pull yourself together. Within those precious thirty minutes of calm before the storm you’ve downed two cans of pure caffeine, assembled your station and strapped on your brush belt, and tried to make yourself some form of presentable by slicking your hair back into a smooth knot and adding a coat of lip balm. 

As always, the boys have used the ladder game to determine hair and makeup order which means those at the bottom of the list have more time to relax fresh-faced on the couches before getting poked and prodded and wrapped up like presents for thousands of screaming fans. With only you and Iseul available it’s about to be a race against the clock to get them ready. 

Their managers hustle them from the stage to the back rooms where the rest of the staff waits, and the members gather around you and Iseul and your makeshift makeup stations. 

“Alright,” Iseul says as the members quiet down, “we’re down some staff as you know,” 

They nod attentively and you trade a close lipped smile with Hongjoong. 

“We’re just going to do the best we can as quickly as we can,” She explains, looking down at their names on a slip of paper, “Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San,” she recites, “you’re with me in that order.” 

You run through the names on your slip, “Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, that leaves you with me.” 

Iseul nods as you finish your words, “Please be ready to slot in when the person in front of you is finished, and then you can go directly to wardrobe for your soundcheck outfits,” 

“We’ve got it,” Hongjoong nods, “and if there’s anything you both need,” 

“We’ll be fine,” Iseul assures him, “but it’s definitely going to be cutting it close,” 

“We should get started,” You cut in, “if you’re ready?” 

Hongjoong jumps to your chair immediately and Wooyoung steps to Iseul’s, and before you know it you’re off. 

The room is alight with activity while you both work, only you don’t have a relaxed pace and only two members to perfect. You’re used to working with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, they’ve been your assigned members for as long as you’ve worked with Ateez, but when staff shortages or timing gets tight, it can be a bit of a free for all. 

You stay focused and execute each member’s makeup like a well rehearsed dance, and you do your best to ignore the buzzing anxiety in your veins. For a little while, you handle it like a professional. 

When Yunho finally settles into your chair, about a single second after Mingi leaves it, the exhaustion careens back into you sideways. It takes you a minute to prep your tools this time, and you’re pretty sure that without the artificial pick me up of the energy drinks you’d be passing out on the spot. 

You steady your hands against the vanity in front of you and take a deep breath, and when you look up you catch Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, a tiny crease of concern between his brows. 

“You okay?” He checks. 

You give him a smile, albeit a tired one, “The jet lag is really hitting this time,” you explain, “but I’m fine,” 

He looks sympathetic immediately, “Same for me, I feel like I’m barely sleeping,” 

“That’s not good,” You tell him as you prep your stainless steel palette, “you have a long night ahead,” 

“I’ll sleep tonight,” He says, “I’m sure,” 

“After dancing for three hours I’d hope so,” You smile and pick up your first set of tools before turning towards him. 

“Do you have anything you could take?” He asks, studying your face, “A sleep aid?” 

“I usually don’t like to,” You admit, “I always feel groggy the next day,” 

“And we have another show,” He finishes for you, his lips coming together in a thin line as he thinks. 

There’s nothing really for him to do, but it’s kind of him anyway to be so concerned. They always are, this rare group of eight idols who remember staff birthdays, bring coffee on the early morning schedules, and always, always take extra time to clean up after themselves so it’s not left to anyone else. 

You take a step closer towards him and glance over his bare face and then it occurs to you, “You know what’s funny?” 

“Hmm?” He tilts his face up to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done your makeup before,” You smile, it’s a ridiculous thought. 

“No way,” He blinks, thinking back, “it’s been… forever, are you sure?” 

You nod, “You’re usually with Eunji,” you tell him, “and even when we’ve swapped around, I don’t think so. I think you’re the only member I’ve never done,” 

“Wow,” He laughs, eyes bright, “well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“Is there anything,” You start to ask him if there’s anything he prefers, anything special about his makeup that he gets done with Eunji that he asks for, but Iseul catches you idle as she pats foundation onto San’s forehead and answers for you. 

“His skin gets dry,” She jumps in, “don’t use too much powder,” 

Yunho grins, a laugh on his lips at the directness of her words. 

“And don’t use that oil,” Iseul adds, “that primer oil you like, he’ll break out by tomorrow,” 

“Thank you, Iseul,” Yunho says, and you watch San’s face as he stifles a chuckle. 

“Noted,” You smile, and you swap out two of the products in your hands before taking up your position by his side again. 

You’ve gotten used to working with idols, to working with Ateez and with Yunho specifically, and yet when you get this close a little flutter of nerves rocks through your belly. He’s handsome, and if you’re being honest he’s just your type. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or this weird feeling in your chest that you’ve been dealing with all week, but for the first time in a long time you think about what it would be like to kiss his lips. 

“How do you want me?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and you have to shake off the impending blush at the way his words make you feel. You have work to do, and you had gotten over your silly little crush on him years ago, you need to get a grip. 

You recover fairly smoothly though with a quick smile, “Right,” he’s never worked with you before, and he’s looking to you for direction, “head back a bit, please, and eyes closed,” 

“Alright,” He follows your instructions to the letter. 

“Okay,” You tell him, “primer first. Let me know if anything bothers you,” 

“Mhm,” He hums and stays relaxed. 

He has the loveliest eyelashes, that’s the thought that echoes through your brain as you start working on him, and you wish it never occurred to you at all because you keep glancing up at his closed eyes. He lets you work, he knows you’re exhausted so he doesn’t push you for conversation, and you’re strangely grateful. You know he’s chatty sometimes in the chair, an extrovert through and through and always keeping Eunji company or talking with the member beside him, but right now he keeps still and gives you respite on a hard day. 

You’re patting foundation into his skin with a large paddle brush when Iseul interrupts your thoughts, “Do you have that eggplant liner?” 

“Check my table,” You offer, but with how sluggish your brain is feeling there’s no way you remember a single thing on your station without looking.

“Mm,” She pivots around and pokes through the products and tools behind you, and you glance over as San opens his eyes to watch Iseul rifle through things. 

“Damn,” She mutters, “how much time do we have?” 

“Um,” You glance down at your watch, “twenty?” 

“Perfect,” She scoots behind you and disappears into the hall, no doubt to find your traveling makeup case and the liner. 

You sigh, chewing the inside of your lip at the idea that you only have twenty more minutes, but you really don’t want to rush and have his makeup melt off on-stage. 

“You’re fine,” San assures, his body angled towards you and Yunho now while he waits, “don’t worry about the clock,”

Yunho hums his agreement from below you, “Plenty of time,”

You refocus on Yunho’s skin and notice a long black and white hair from the paddle brush affixed to his cheek, mixed in with the foundation. You take the brush again, wiping off any excess foundation and checking to see if more fibers are loose, and then you work the brush against his cheek in an attempt to free the loose hair but it isn’t coming off easily. Every attempt you make just slides the hair into a different spot on his cheek and covers it with more foundation. 

“Um,” You usually don’t like to do this, but you might have to, “can I just…”

His eyes open but his expression stays smooth, “Can you?” 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, “do you mind if I touch you?” 

“You already are,” He smiles, a small, amused crease between his brows you’ll have to pat out momentarily. 

You tuck your brush away and gesture with your hand, “You just have a hair,” 

“Oh,” He laughs, “of course, yeah,” 

You’re just supposed to touch his cheek, brush away the hair with the pad of your finger and then get back to work, that’s all it is, so you’re completely unprepared for the feeling that rockets through your chest when your skin finally touches his. 

Yunho gasps softly as your fingers brush over his cheek, his eyes blowing wide and his expression blanking, and it’s the only indication you have that he feels something too. A tightness wrenches in your chest, like someone pressed something hot and hard directly into your breastbone and your stomach does a somersault. Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest now that it’s started up again. 

The tattoo on your chest feels warm beneath your blouse. 

“You,” Yunho manages, his voice shaky and you know for sure he felt it too. 

You rock back a step, “I don’t understand,” 

“Shit,” Someone else says, and then you realize that it’s San and you’re not alone with the only other person in the entire world, you’re in the middle of work in front of at least one other person and it’s only your existence that just got tilted on its axis. Yours and maybe Yunho’s. 

“Oh,” You glance to the side, taking in San’s wide eyed expression, “oh my God,” 

“I’m not insane, am I?” Yunho smiles, his focus entirely on you, and you think you might just pass out, “You felt that?” 

There’s a noise in the hall and San scrambles up to his feet, “Iseul,” he says heading for the door, “do you need help looking?” 

He’s covering for you both, but thoughts are slow to form and all you can manage is blinking at the man in your chair. 

“You did, right?” He asks again, eyes soft and hopeful, and then his fingers brush over the center of his chest. Squarely over his breastbone.

He’s yours. 

You want to reach out and yank up his shirt, check the tattoo over his heart to see if it’s the same looping knot shape as yours, but you don’t need to see it to know for sure. It’s him. 

San says something about forgetting the liner altogether, a little louder so you both know the room is going to get crowded again, and you shake your head to jolt yourself out of your paralyzed position. 

“You didn’t?” His hand falls. 

“I did,” You rush to correct, “I’m, I don’t know,” 

He nods, wetting his lips and shifting in his chair. He moves to reach for you, but reason and sense click back into place immediately and you realize that no matter what your tattoo feels like and no matter what this means, you’re at work and about to have a very private moment in a very public place if you’re not careful. 

You shake your head with a glance at his hand and jerk your head towards the door, “Later,” 

“Right,” He leans back from you, “of course, right,” 

Footsteps to your right draw your attention and Iseul is huffing, checking her own watch, “We’ll do brown,” 

“That’ll be fine,” San assures her, but his eyes are glued on the pair of you. 

Iseul moves to step around you again and realizes you’re just standing there, “What’s with you?” 

“Sorry,” You manage, blinking hard and refocusing, “I just got dizzy,” 

It’s not entirely a lie, given that you felt the entire earth shift under your feet thirty seconds ago and your life is completely changed. Dizzy is the least of how you’re feeling. 

Yunho’s expression shifts immediately, concern across his face, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out again, from being too familiar. 

“Oh,” Her eyebrows raise high, “do you need me to finish Yunho?”

“N-no,” You take a breath, “just give me one second,” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yunho asks, and in the back of your brain you wonder if his voice has always sounded this good. 

“Here,” San cuts in smoothly, cracking the seal on a fresh water bottle and passing it over to you, “do you need to sit a minute?” 

San’s hand rests on your upper back between your shoulders as you take a long sip of water, the cold shocking your brain back to reality in exactly the way you need. 

“Thank you,” You tell him honestly, “I think I’m okay, just a headrush,” 

San nods, and when you refocus your eyes on Yunho, you almost laugh. His gaze is squarely on San’s hand where it sits on your back, and you watch the fast, silent exchange between the two men when San drops his hand and Yunho realizes his own reaction. He blushes, ears running red and he dips his head to avoid both your eyes. 

“Iseul,” San steps around you both and distracts your friend, “ready to wrap?” 

“Yeah,” She agrees, “let’s finish up. You’re sure you’re okay, y/n?” 

“Mhm,” You hardly trust your own voice, but you nod anyway, “I’m good now.” 

Yunho tilts his face back up as you step close, and the tension between you is so palpable and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. Your tattoo feels warm and heavy and something tells you that his does too, you can see it in the tenderness of his brown eyes. 

“Dizzy?” He asks quietly, keeping his words just for you. 

You shake your head, “No,”

“That’s good,” He murmurs, but he lets whatever words he wants to say rest on his tongue. 

Your tattoo throbs and you don’t dare touch his bare skin again. 

His makeup takes fifteen more minutes and his eyes don’t stray from your face the entire time. You barely finish on time, and wardrobe is standing by to get them into their first outfits of the night, so when you put the final touches on he’s already being pulled out of the chair before you have a chance to say anything. 

You want to corner him and ask him exactly when he’ll have time to talk later, but despite working together for the last few years, you and Yunho aren’t that close. You’re friendly, but you’re not familiar enough to casually ask what he’s doing later and not have it seem strange. While friendships between staff members and idols are not discouraged, even between the opposite sex, being overly familiar or suggestive would certainly leave a question in everyone’s minds, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself that quickly. 

This is between you and Yunho, no one else. You don’t want an audience for this. 

So he goes, pulled away by wardrobe and his other members, fitted quickly into his Soundcheck outfit. He has his game face on, so do all the members, and you watch him disappear down the hall without a second glance back at you. 

You collapse into the couch and press your eyes closed, focusing on the singular feeling of heat and soreness from your chest.

A soulmate. 

The tattoo on your chest was one you barely looked at anymore, too focused on living your life to sit in the mirror and wonder about the person who would be your other half, the person that would slot into the gaps in your spirit with a simple brush of skin on skin. But now, it aches. It pulses to remind you that it’s real and that you’ve found him. 

Everything in your life is about to change. Has already changed.

On the couch you don’t sleep as much as you disassociate, still stunned, your buzzing brain filtering out everything Iseul says as she cleans up around you and preps both of your brush belts for touch ups. There’s such a small amount of time between Soundcheck and the concert that you barely get to process, you just exist, playing the moment you touched him over again and again in your mind. Despite how utterly changed you feel, the world is just continuing on around you like a regular day.

Once again, you and Yunho miss each other for every brief moment between Soundcheck and stage.

The shift happens in the wings, in the underbelly of the stage where you and the other staff members for hair, makeup, and wardrobe wait for any last minute quick fixes. The eight of them are almost ready, pumping themselves up between rows of technical equipment and stage scaffolding. 

There’s so much commotion around you and yet your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet, the feelings you once had for him coming back to you full force in a blurry torrent. 

He shifts, stretches, swallows hard, and then looks up directly into your eyes. There’s a question in them that you can’t read, but you manage to smile. 

His shoulders relax just a little. 

You raise your fist, giving him the gesture for ‘fighting’ and he returns it with a wide grin. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, the final step of their pre-show ritual as the concert hall starts to roar, “huddle up.” 

The eight of them circle up with each other, one leg in and one out. 

“We’ve practiced hard,” Hongjoong starts, patting his members on the back, “let that practice pay off, and have fun out there,” 

“Okay!” San hypes them up, getting the tension high. 

“Let’s give it our all,” Hongjoong continues, a wide smile on his face, “fighting!”

They echo it back, and a tense feeling starts to roll in your gut. 

“Alright, one,” Hongjoong starts the count and you feel the tension in your own body rising, enough to make you take a soft step back from the group, “two,” 

On three they chorus it, moving their feet in a synchronized step,  “Eight makes one team! Fighting!” 

They break apart, clapping each other on the back, and your eyes meet Yunho’s for one more fast second before he’s jogging after the rest of the members and finding his mark on the stage risers. 

You feel the sensation of his eyes on you even after he’s gone. You have the length of four songs and their opening ments before members start swapping out on stage for makeup touch-ups and technical adjustments. The sound of the audience is intense, the start of the first song keying up, and you stumble back from your post to get a breath of air away from it all. 

There’s a bathroom along the hallway two doors down from the green room that’s meant for staff and you blissfully find it empty. With shaking hands you flip the lock and sink down into a crouch, your back braced against the wall as you breathe through the sudden wave of feelings filling your chest. 

Adrenaline, that’s what the bitter taste on your tongue is. 

Your heart is thumping, double time like you’re running a marathon, and then you realize it. You can feel him, even now with the bond between you unfulfilled you can feel his emotions coming to you like a wave. Adrenaline, anxiety, euphoria, exhaustion, it all roils through you and you brace your hands on the wall to get your composure back. 

They say the first time you feel your soulmate link it takes you by surprise, but this is an intensity you couldn’t have imagined. It’s all encompassing and honestly terrifying, and you’re struggling to understand which parts of you are you and which are him. You can’t conceive of how an accepted bond would make this feeling stronger when it already feels like your emotions and his are knit together so tightly. 

Anxiety strikes down the link and you realize it’s not stage fright, it’s for you. He can feel your panic and your fear just like you can feel every ounce of his performance and if you don’t get yourself in check you’re going to be distracting him even more than you already are. 

You yank yourself up off the floor and collapse against the sink, turning on the cold water tap and taking slow and steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting slowly, relaxing your body with every pulse of oxygen through your system. You hope he can feel it, but you have no idea how this all really works. You’ll have to call your sister when this is all said and done, find out what she felt when she met her wife, but right now in this bathroom in Berlin you have to do this by yourself. 

You hear the pulse of another song thrumming through the stadium as they keep performing, and you feel the thundering beat of his heart in your chest, but you breathe into it this time and try to keep yourself calm for his sake. You splash cold water on your face, keep breathing low and slow, and eventually you pull yourself back up to standing tall to look at yourself in the mirror. 

You look the same as you did a few hours ago, before him, but the warmth in your chest is still present and you wonder if that will ever go away or if that’s just a permanent part of the link. 

With shaky hands you unbutton your blouse and pull your bralette down in the center to reveal what you already know is there. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

The tattoo nestled at the base of your sternum is the only one you were born with. Every other line of ink on your body was put there with intention, but this one you’ve had for as long as you can remember. The maedeup knot is small, but intricate, and until this moment it had always been colorless. Loops of black and gray twining together to make a rounded diamond, unbroken with no beginning or end to the threads. 

Now the ink has changed, a deep red against your skin that makes the knotted josephin soulmark look even more traditional, but the skin is slightly inflamed, tender to the touch as you brush your fingertips along it. It feels like a fresh mark, not something you’ve had since birth, but considering how it’s changed, maybe it is new. A soulmark shifting color is common, you know that, but it still stands out so starkly against your skin and your other black tattoos. You can’t look away from it. 

A pounding on the bathroom door makes you jump and you fix your shirt, covering the mark back up and buttoning it away. You wonder if Yunho’s mark is the exact same like other couples you know and if it too turned red, if it’s warm to the touch, if he felt you brush against your mark through the link. 

“y/n?” A voice comes through the door and you shut off the tap. 

“Coming!” You wipe the excess water on your hands onto your jeans and take one last, fast look to make sure your mark isn’t visible, before opening the bathroom door. 

Wonshik, one of their many managers, is waiting for you on the other side. His eyes narrow when he sees you, “Are you ill?” 

“No,” You assure him. 

“You’re sure?” He presses, “We can’t afford to lose any more staff or risk getting the members sick if you are,” 

“I know, Wonshik,” You nod, “I promise I’m just tired, jet-lagged. I was putting cold water on my face, that’s all. I’m not sick,” 

He exhales in relief, his expression softening, “Thank God,” he says, “I can only take so many surprises.” 

A little sickness is nothing compared to a staff member and an idol under a dating ban being soulmarked, but you hold your tongue. 

“They’re about to come off,” He says, “Iseul was looking for you, she seems like she might start climbing the walls if you don’t get back to help her,” 

“No, of course,” You start back towards the side stage entrance, “I lost track of time, but it won’t happen again,” 

“Make sure you sleep tonight,” He adds, following you closely, “no sleep means no immune system, and no immune system means sick.” 

“Don’t worry,” You promise, winding your way through the dark backstage, “you won’t lose me,” 

“I better not,” He sighs, and then Iseul comes into sight. 

“There you are!” She hisses low under her breath, “I was about to have a panic attack,” 

“I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m good,” In the commotion, your brain starts to ease into normalcy. You’re used to this pace, the speed of lightning fast makeup touch-ups and assisting wardrobe when things start to go awry with their quick changes. The audience feels none of this, they just see smooth change-outs on stage and cool idols in new clothes, but backstage is a wild flurry and it always puts you on an entirely different plane of focus. 

“Here we go,” A stage director starts, gathering everyone’s attention, “four minutes… starting…” 

The stage goes dark and in the venue a video starts to play to the crowd to fill the space between costume changes. You prep your hands, making sure your kit is ready to go and you see the wardrobe specialists out of the corner of your eye readying themselves to help facilitate the quick change. 

Suddenly they’re here, and the stage director interrupts once more, “Now, four minutes people, let’s go.” 

“Mingi,” He gets to you first and he crouches down to drop his face to your height, “stay still one second,” 

He says nothing, but he nods as you pat powder across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, checking him over for any other defects. He looks good and you nod, “Go, go,” 

Mingi peels off to the left of you and you hear the sound of fabric swishing as he and Wooyoung rip off the top layer of their outfits behind the privacy screens and trade garments with the wardrobe team. It’s a fast shuffle, but you stay focused on who’s in front of you. 

“Seonghwa,” You wave to him, pulling blotting tissues out of the pack on your belt, “here,” 

He knows this drill well, you’re used to working with him and you have a clean routine down. He blots the sweat off his brow himself and starts to unbutton his jacket while you shift focus to Yunho. 

For a split second you almost forget what happened earlier in the buzz of backstage, but the minute your eyes hold on his awareness floods you. 

“Hey,” You say, but there’s a time clock shout behind you and you beckon him down, “come here, let me fix things,”

He drops down to your height just like Mingi did and stays steady while you work, but his eyes flick up, “You’re okay?” 

“I’m good,” You nod, “don’t worry,” 

His expression clears a little and you guess you have your answer about the feeling of the link going both ways. 

Hongjoong clears his throat behind you both, “We’re short on time,” 

“Am I good?” Yunho checks. 

Your eyes flick over him fast, “Yep,” 

He’s out of your eyeline a split second later, and you’re grateful for the distraction of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, otherwise you’re sure you’d dwell a little bit too long on the fact that Yunho’s half naked next to you, privacy screen or no. 

“One minute,” The stage director announces, “everyone’s doing great,” 

The boys are almost done, flying through the last of their zips and getting their hair smoothed down by that team as they finish. You put the last pat of powder on Seonghwa’s nose and give him a nod before he’s gone too, dropping his jacket as he goes and giving you all a quick flash of his bare back. 

You turn back towards the group as they prepare and your eyes zero in on Yunho again. His expression is serious, it’s his game face before he gets back out on stage, and you watch as he corrects the placement of his in-ears and ensures that his mic pack is secured. He runs through his pre-stage ritual and you can’t help but be a captive audience. 

“Good work,” The stage director says as Seonghwa rejoins the eight, fully dressed and ready for stage, “fifteen seconds for act two,” 

The crowd heats up again as the video starts to fade, and the members do their final checks. Yunho doesn’t look back at you once, his eyes forward and focused as he and the other members find their places on the rising platform that will take them back out to the main stage. 

You can see him a little though, in the low light in his white trousers and blue satin shirt. He lifts his hand, adjusting his microphone once again, and then as he drops it back to his side he lets his fingers skim over the familiar hollow of his chest. 

Your mark warms, you feel it as if it were your chest he brushed his fingers over, and your breath stops. 

The platform rises, the crowd roars, and your heart starts beating to a new rhythm. 

He really is yours. 

It turns out that later means much later. 

You manage to get out of dinner with some of the other staff members, but that just leaves you anxious and alone in a hotel room trying and failing to eat room service. Iseul would be back soon to take up her place in the other bed, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have Yunho’s number. 

Now that emotions are a little smoother, you can’t feel him. Or maybe you can, but it’s so faint that you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s definitely in the hotel, but that’s partially the solid feeling of your link with him and partially the YouTube live being broadcast from Seonghwa’s room where all of the members are. 

You put the live on and watch, feeling strangely disconnected from the men on screen. You’ve known them for years, but suddenly with this new truth everything feels foreign and confusing. 

You should call your sister, but it’s only six in the morning in Korea and even though this is an emergency of life altering and epic proportions, you can’t bring yourself to wake her on a Saturday. 

You try your best to eat the pasta you ordered and watch as the live eventually ends. Your phone dings and for a split second you think it will be him, but it’s just Iseul telling you she’s heading back to the hotel. 

A soft knock at the door makes your stomach lurch. 

You’re frozen. 

There’s another knock, a little firmer this time but then you feel the warm touch against your mark and you’re on your feet, your hand on the door handle before you can think. 

He looks tired, that’s your first thought. His face is bare again, and his eyes are rimmed in a little bit of red like he just removed the day’s stage makeup. Despite all that, he smiles when he sees you and sighs, leaning against the door frame, “You’re awake,” he says. 

“I waited,” You manage. 

He grimaces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his eyes flick behind you into the room and he swallows, “are you alone?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “but not for long, Iseul’s on her way,” 

He nods, “Come to my room?” 

“Are you sure?” Your eyes widen. 

“We need to talk,” He nods, “can you get away for a little while?” 

Iseul will probably expect you to be asleep, but you can’t let this go until morning. If you’re ever going to sleep you need to talk to him now. 

“I’ll think of something,” You tell him, “what room?” 

“2606,” He answers, reaching into his pockets and producing an envelope from the front desk, “take this,” 

He passes you one of his room keys and you nod, “I’ll be up in five minutes, but you should go,” 

“Okay,” He breathes and neither one of you makes a single move to step away from the door until a sound down the hallway pushes you into it. 

“2606,” You repeat and he nods, swiftly moving down the hall before anyone can see him standing at your door. 

You have no idea what you’re going to tell Iseul that would make sense, but you don’t care. You stack up your room service for collection, kick on a pair of slippers, and give yourself the fastest look in the mirror ever on your way out the door. You want to be gone before she gets back, the idea of facing her and lying ten times more difficult than an empty text. 

No problem - I can’t sleep, I’m just going to walk a bit. Don’t wait up.

You don’t stick around to see if she’ll believe it. 

You try to seem casual when walking to Yunho’s room, like it's yours. You don’t want anyone to give you a second glance and wonder where you’re going, so you keep your head up, smile at anyone you pass, and when his door comes into view you scan the card like it’s any other day. 

When the heavy door shuts behind you, you sigh. 

“God, finally,” His voice startles you, and you look up to see him pacing, “I’ve been going insane all day,” 

Your shoulders drop, you aren’t alone, “Me too,”

He runs a hand through his black hair and finally stops pacing, but doesn’t come any closer, “So, this is real?” 

“It feels pretty real,” 

“How did we never feel it?” He manages, “I’ve known you for years,” 

“We’ve never touched until today,” You tell him, and that has to be the reason, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve been turning it over in your mind all night, and with the exception of bumping into him last week in the hall, it’s all been polite bows and waves. 

“How is that even possible,” He breathes, “team dinners? Holiday parties? Work?” 

“Skin to skin,” You murmur, “I think that’s what it was,” 

“I had no idea,” He swallows, gesturing in the negative space between your bodies, “I always liked you, but I thought it was just, you know, a crush,” 

“You what?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“Well,” He backtracks, “not like that, it’s not like I’ve been holding a candle.” 

Your face stays neutral, but he grimaces at his own words. 

“I’m fucking this up,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” 

Your stomach warms, “Yunho, it’s okay, honestly,” 

“I just meant I’ve always liked you, I thought about asking you out when our contracts loosened up if you were still single.” He clarifies and then you watch his face blanch, “You are single, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “we don’t have to worry about that,” 

He nods and you see him searching for the next thing to say, the right thing. 

“Your mark,” You cut in, taking a few steps further into the room, “did it change?” 

“Completely,” He nods, “did yours?” 

“Yeah,” You wonder the right way to ask him if you can see. 

“Does it feel,” He starts.

“Warm?” 

“Yes,” He nods, “and tender?” 

“Like a fresh tattoo,” You take another step in. 

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” He confesses, “but I’ll take your word for it,” 

“Can I,” The words are stuck on your tongue, “maybe this is weird, but I mean, I guess we’re soulmates,” 

“You want to see it?” He surmises. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” 

His lips quirk, “I’m comfortable,”

Heat twists in your gut and you wonder if he can feel that too. If he does he doesn’t say it, but you watch as he pulls the black t-shirt off over his head. 

You’ve never seen his chest. Any inch of his skin except for his neck and arms really, and you guess that was part of keeping his soulmark covered. Idols always do, even when they’re in the most inconvenient locations, there’s always makeup or flesh colored tape or editing to take care of it. The idea that someone could replicate it and try to fake a connection is far too real for someone famous. 

He drops his shirt onto the bed and pink tinges his cheeks as he gestures towards it, “Well,” 

Your mouth drops, it’s the exact same, down to the size and the placement and every little loop and you stumble forwards to get a better look, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Has yours always been red?” You reach out, your fingertips hovering just over it. 

He shakes his head, “Not before today,” 

“Mine’s the same,” You tell him, your eyes glued to his sternum, “just the same,” 

You know every centimeter of this tattoo. You’ve studied it a thousand times in the mirror, tracing over every curve with your eyes, trying to find the place where the cord starts and ends. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers brush gently along his mark, and you feel the ghost of the sensation against your own. 

“I can’t believe we never knew,” You murmur, sliding your finger along each rounded edge. 

“You feel that?” He asks, “Right?” 

You’re nodding and moving to tug off your sweater before you can even think it through. He starts to shake his head, to say that you don’t have to, but you’re already tossing the sweater next to his discarded shirt and tugging down the front band of your bralette so he can see the whole mark. 

His eyes flick over you fast, but with the matching mark in front of him he doesn’t focus on anything else, “It’s exactly the same,” 

“I know,” You reach for his hand, but the minute more of your skin connects with his you feel your chest throb and you drop it like it burns you. 

He winces, touching his chest again, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“In the beginning,” You nod, “I think?” 

“Does it always feel like that?” 

“I’m not sure,” You admit, “I was going to call my sister and ask, but it’s too early at home,” 

He smiles, “Your sister found her soulmate?” 

“In highschool,” You smile back, “they’ve been bonded together since they were eighteen,” 

“Older or younger?” He asks, and you realize just how little you know about each other despite how long you’ve worked alongside him. 

“Younger,” You say.  

“I have a little brother,” He replies, “but he’s still in school,” 

You nod, painfully aware that this is such a strange conversation to have with your shirts off just standing in the middle of a hotel room, but somehow it’s easier than any date you’ve ever had. 

Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mark and he reaches out a hand again, “Can I?” 

Your heart quickens and you nod. 

His fingertips graze over the edge of your mark, mimicking your touch from before, sliding along the edges of the tattoo. His eyes widen and you know he’s feeling the sensation in his own mark, a mirror image of each other. 

“This doesn’t hurt,” He observes, letting his fingers linger. 

“I think we have to get used to each other,” You remember that fact from somewhere, “the link has been dormant for a long time, I think it takes a minute to get used to having it,” 

“Makes sense,” He murmurs, his eyes still squarely on your mark, “I’ll be honest though, I still really want to touch you,” 

“Yeah?” Your voice is thready. 

His fingers fall away and he nods, “Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” You agree, painfully quickly. 

He swallows tightly and takes the smallest step forwards, before offering out his hand, palm up and waiting for you.

Your eyes flick from his face down to his outstretched hand, and you reach for him slowly. You let your fingertips skate over the skin of his palm, down each digit, ghost the pads of your fingertips together. It’s warm, sharp and dizzying even just to brush against each other. 

You wonder what more will feel like. 

“Can I try something?” He murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper even though you’re all alone. 

You nod. 

He wets his lips unconsciously and moves a little closer, your bodies now only inches apart. Anxiety, anticipation, thrill, it all runs through your gut like a whirling wind and you shiver at the torrent of his emotions, a grin breaking out over your face. 

His smile mirrors yours, “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” 

“You can feel that?” 

“Yeah,” He breathes, grin widening, “this is crazy,” 

You laugh, a little nervous, a little elated, and he finally reaches out his hands. 

He takes a steadying breath, and then his fingertips brush along your jaw. 

You suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation, electric and hot, the feeling rocketing through your entire body. You tilt your face up to his as he continues his gentle touches, your eyes watching him as he studies you. His plush lips are parted, brown eyes wide with awe as he grows a little bolder to brush over your cheeks, down your throat, and back up to your jawline. 

“Feel alright?” He murmurs. 

You nod into his touch and he starts to lift off but you reach for him, “Don’t stop,” 

Your hands land safely on his hips, still covered by his sweatpants and you watch him swallow again at the sudden contact, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth fills the bond, no doubt the first threads of his arousal, and you wonder if he can feel your own. If he can sense how much he’s affecting you with just his fingertips on your face. 

His hands settle back on your skin, this time smoothing across you with his palms, one hand cupping your cheek and the other sliding over your shoulder and down your bare back. 

You can barely breathe, the room so silent and around you, like the only thing in the universe that exists is the two of you orbiting each other, standing at the precipice of something so catastrophic and wonderful. 

Your hands adjust, resting on his taut abdomen as you move a little closer together, and his eyes flutter shut as he breathes through the sensation of your hands on him properly for the first time. 

“You’re so warm,” You murmur, your hands softly tracing his abdominal muscles, instinct guiding you to touch more of him, seek out every inch of him as you unconsciously make a map of his body in your mind. 

He hums pleasantly, eyes reopening, “So are you,” 

He feels so right, so essential under your touch. 

Yunho wets his lips softly with his tongue, and a nervous thrill passes through your belly. His eyes flick over you, the pad of his thumb sweeping a line over your lips. You suppress a needy sound, still trying to keep your head amidst the thrumming emotions and steady thumps of your heart. 

He doesn’t stop, just stroking your skin slowly, fingers on your back pressing just a little as he sighs. 

“Yunho,” You shiver. 

“Cold?” He gravitates a little closer. 

“N-no,” Your body is all but pressed flush against him now, and you have to lean your face up even more just to see him as he stands tall over you. 

“I…” He starts to say something but lets the words die off, like he’s thinking something through, but then he sighs, “forget it,” 

His lips are on yours. 

Yunho lifts you, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you up into his embrace. You gasp against his mouth, finding his shoulders to hold onto as one of his arms bands around your lower back. 

The kiss is shattering, the world tilting once again, a new frequency humming between your two bodies. It’s hot, your skin buzzing from the contact, but the way you move together is fluid and easy. Your legs part naturally, settling around his hips and his free hand finds your plush thigh as he tugs you into place, slotting your bodies together like they were always meant to be. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your lips when he draws in a quick breath, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. His nose nuzzles against yours, and his lips part at the same moment yours do, tongues meeting in the space between your mouths to flick against each other. 

“Don’t,” You push closer to him, fingers knotting into the back of his hair as you kiss him back. 

He hums, the hand on your thigh sliding up to cup your ass and you shiver as his wide hand stretches across your backside, squeezing your pillowy flesh. 

A tiny whimper does leave you then, liquid heat spreading through your body, the combined sensation of both your arousals giving you a headrush. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs between kisses, “you’re so beautiful,” 

“Yunho,” Your voice is thready, his name a stretched out sound. 

He holds you close, nearly stumbling as he moves. You blink your eyes open just as he spins you both, pushing you up against the hotel wall and pinning you in place with the weight of his body.  You should slow things down, but nothing in your life has ever felt this good and you find yourself diving back to meet his kiss again. 

 His arm slides out from behind your back as he pushes closer, your body fully supported by the flat of the wall behind you and his hips under yours and one hand firmly anchored on your ass. With his arm free he cups your cheek, a pleased sound on his lips as he dips you back into the wall and deepens the kiss. 

Heat blooms through you, your kisses getting needier, artless and desperate just to get a little closer together. The kind of kissing that sounds as messy as it is, tiny pants and moans muffled between you, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. 

“God,” He shudders, his lips breaking away, but his eyes only flick over you for a second before he dives back in. This time his lips travel, hot kisses across your jaw and back to the hollow of your ear, down your throat as he holds you a little higher on the wall for the right access. 

You grip his shoulders with one hand and lock your fingers in his mess of black hair with the other, your head falling back against the wall. He pants against your throat, a soft groan as he kisses, and your stomach tightens pleasantly. 

“Y-Yunho,” You gasp, arousal rolling through you, and unconsciously you rock your hips, desperately seeking some kind of friction. 

He hums low in his throat, kissing back up your neck fast to get to your lips again and his hand slides off your cheek as he crowds you tighter, bracing himself against the wall above your head. His abdomen presses against your core, and even through layers of fabric you feel his heat. Hungrily, you roll your hips again and catch a little pressure, moaning in earnest against his mouth. 

Yunho makes a tight sound and then he breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he takes in slow breaths, his body all but trembling with need as he holds you. 

“We need to slow down,” He manages. 

You can’t find words, not yet, but you nod against him. 

“You deserve better,” He says, “dates, presents,” 

You laugh softly, your hand in his hair softening from a grip to a gentle hold, carding through the long locks at the base of his neck, “I don’t need all that,”  

He smiles wide, brushing off your words, “Still,” He sighs, still recovering from the heated make out, “I think I have more self control than fulfilling our bond by fucking you into the wall,” 

Reality bleeds back in at that. Soulmarks were just that, indicator marks. A way to find your person amidst a sea of thousands, if not millions. All the shared sensation and emotion a precursor to something more permanent and binding, something only sealed together by sex. 

You lift your head up, and he leans back to mirror you. 

“I lost my head there,” You admit, warm blush in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” 

He smiles, and you take in his expression. His hair is a mess, mussed and disheveled and his face is pink from his nose down to the dark, well-kissed curve of his lips. His bare chest is flushed bright pink and his eyes are bright and warm. You fight the urge to kiss him again. 

“Me either,” He shakes his head, “it’s incredible,” 

“Overwhelming,” You nod, exhaling softly. 

He makes a soft sound to agree and then starts to push back from the wall gingerly, letting you slowly unwrap your legs from his waist and ease down to the floor. 

He lets you go when you’re steady on your feet and clears his throat, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants and running a hand through his tangled locks. He’s hard, that much is obvious from the distinct outline of his cock through the gray fabric, but you do your best to look away and not think about how thick and heavy it looked just from kissing you. 

“Jesus,” He adjusts his sweats again, “sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” You cup your own cheeks with cool fingers, “I promise you’re not the only one,” 

His eyes hold yours for a lengthy beat and then he swallows, taking a wide step back and nodding, “Right,” he shakes his head, “we’re supposed to be slowing down.” 

“Slow,” You lean against the wall behind you, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to steady your thumping heart. 

“I’m going over here,” He grins and walks to the far wall by the door to the bathroom, leaning back and crossing his own arms, “we really should talk,” 

A pulse of anxiety flickers through you, and you realize just how quickly you went from his hotel room door to nearly falling into bed. He’s handsome, a kind man, your once upon a time crush, and certainly fated to be a good match for you, but that doesn’t mean you should throw out good sense and rush things. No matter how much your impulses were screaming at you to do just that.

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a bed between you, and you nod, “You’re right,” you finally say, “we barely know each other,” 

Yunho’s smile fades just a bit, “I wouldn’t say that,” 

“We’re coworkers,” The words tumble out, “I know what we’re both feeling, but,” 

His brow furrows as he thinks through your words and he shakes his head, “y/n,” he cuts you off, “do you believe in soulmates?” 

“Yes, of course,” Even if you hadn’t before, the way you’re feeling now would be enough to dispel any skeptic. 

He takes in a quick breath, the sound sharp as he draws it through his teeth and he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You’re scared,” he massages the top of his sternum with his fingers, and you recognize your own chest is tight with anxiety, “I can feel it, talk to me.” 

The instant vulnerability of the bond is startling, and you can feel your own expression crumble. It’s suddenly a bit like being an ant caught under a magnifying glass, too much sharp attention all at once and you swallow tightly, eyes flicking away from his tender gaze. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, “I’m not pushing for more, not tonight,” 

“Yeah,” Your voice is soft, too quiet for your own liking. Something about the way he sees you so clearly and so quickly makes you feel exposed, nervous and strangely childlike. 

“Hey,” He breaks through your little thought spiral, “look at me,”

You straighten up again, finding his eyes. 

“I’m just happy I found you,” He tells you, and you feel the truth of it in your gut, “we can figure everything else out together, and at our own pace, okay?” 

Relief spreads through you, the knot in your chest loosening, “Promise?” 

“Promise,” He nods, raising one hand with his pinky extended, “I just want us to try,” 

You nod, extending your own pinky to seal it, “Me too.” 

He smiles at that, “Barely know each other,” he scolds softly, “I’m offended.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tension bleeds out of your shoulders. 

“Mhm,” His expression is full of cheek, “I’m the one with a crush, remember? I notice things,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly and your arms relax from their tight position crossed over your chest, “What things?” 

“Let’s see,” He starts, and for a brief moment you think maybe he’s bluffing, but the moment he starts you melt and he holds your gaze as he warmly recites all the little things he’s noticed about you over the years. 

“You only wear silver jewelry,” he notes first, nodding towards you. 

Your tight hands uncurl. 

“You have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” The more he talks the more he relaxes against the far wall, “and you start getting flushed after the second shot of soju, you really are a lightweight,” 

“You always pick a Big Bang song for karaoke, and you’re late to work every Monday,” He laughs a little at that and keeps going, “you don’t wear a lot of color but when you do it’s red. We’re both from Gwangju but you moved to Seoul when you were five,” 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster, warmth filling you again and you don’t know if it’s your affection or his anymore, but it hardly matters. 

“Um,” He takes a deep breath and glances away for a moment and then catches more threads from his memory, “you’re a Sagittarius, you’re a runner, and the last book I saw you reading was Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. I bought it, but I haven’t had a chance to read it just yet,” 

“Yunho,” You find yourself smiling, a hand over your surprised lips. 

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs a little, “we aren’t strangers. I know this is scary and fast and going to change the rest of our lives,” 

Elation, pure joy, spills over unfettered from his side of your new emotional tether. 

“But I like you,” He confesses, “I have for a while, and this,” he brushes his fingers along his soulmark, “just changes the timeline.” 

He’s yours. 

You push off the wall, crossing the room and all but leap back into his embrace, your arms looping around his shoulders again as you push up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 

“This is real,” You murmur. 

“Yes,” He cups your cheeks, nodding as he pecks your lips again. 

“You’re mine,” 

“Yes,” He grins. 

“Oh, this is crazy,” You laugh, forehead against his again. 

“We’ll go slow,” He assures you again, “we’ll figure it out together,” 

“Together,” You nod. 

He dips low once more, this kiss more tender, and he separates you both before things can heat up again. “Hmm,” He glances across the bed and makes a small face at the time displayed on the digital clock, “did you eat?” 

“I tried to,” You confess, “I was nervous,” 

“You need to eat,” He snaps up his black shirt from the bed and slips it back on, and your chest warms. It’s strangely domestic, strangely commonplace like you’ve been in this position a thousand times before. 

Yunho adjusts his shirt and then kisses your hair as he passes by you, padding over to the hotel microwave and searching through the assorted snacks and instant meals, “It’s too late for room service,” 

“I’m okay,” You pull your own sweater back on and sit on the edge of his bed. 

“y/n,” He glances back, a softly scolding tone. 

“Really, you need to sleep,” You offer. 

He dismisses that thought, “But I’m hungry, eat with me?” 

You concede, and while he starts whipping up two servings of ramen, you wonder if this is what he’s going to be like. It makes sense, he’s always been a caretaking kind of person, but having it so tenderly directed at you feels right. 

“When we get home,” He says as he pours in the spice packets, “I’ll take you somewhere nice,” 

“This is nice,” You smile. 

“y/n,” He sets the ramen on a side table and sits next to you, “this is cup noodle from a hotel microwave,”

“The company is nice,” You take the ramen happily though, and tuck into the warm meal.

“It is,”

“Mm, you know,” You slurp back some noodles and softly clear your throat, “you weren’t the only one with a crush,” 

He freezes, letting his noodles drop back into his cup, “What?” 

“I’ve always liked you,” Your own confession feels easier after his, “I put it aside since we work together, but I guess, I mean, what I’m trying to say is that we both felt it before the mark, you’re not alone in that.” 

 “I had no idea,” 

“I’m very professional,” You tease him lightly. 

He nudges you and tucks back into his noodles, “How long?” 

“Hmm,” You get more comfortable, crossing your legs and scooting back a little onto the mattress, “I thought you were cute when we first met,” 

“God,” He groans, “we were such kids,” 

You nod, swallowing another bite, “Mhm, you had that blonde hair,” 

He laughs. 

“I remember thinking, ‘that one’s trouble’,” You confess. 

“Me?” His eyebrows perk up, “I’m perfectly nice,” 

“Trouble as in you’re my type,” You roll your eyes, “but I don’t think the crush properly came until later. You’ve always made me laugh, and when I realized how I was feeling I just did my best to keep some distance,” 

He nods, face getting a little serious, “I know what you mean,” 

That knowledge leaves you both a little quiet. The late hour, the adrenaline come down, all of it barrels into you at the same moment as the next anxious thought. How in the world were you both going to navigate this with a contract as tight as theirs and the public eye always watching? 

“Yunho,” You murmur, the last of your noodles left to go cold as you sit with that thought, “Are we going to be able to figure this out?” 

“Figure what out?” He looks genuinely confused by your question, “Us?” 

“You’re an idol,” You nod towards him, “I’m staff,” 

He rests a hand on your knee, “We’ll be fine,” 

“Aren’t your contracts,” You trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. 

“They’re strict, yes,” He nods, “year seven,” 

Dating, romance, even the perception of it was more than discouraged by companies in this industry, their artists contractually obligated to be single and available and dedicated only to their fans. Five years would have been the industry standard to prevent any idol from being caught out with a partner, let alone a potential soulmarked one, but seven is excessive. 

You blanch, “That’s almost two years away,” 

“We will find a way,” He says, “we’re not the first people in the industry this has happened to,” 

“Really?” You perk up, “Who?” 

He falls short, “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s bound to have happened.” 

“And then ruined their careers,” You groan, flopping back flat on the mattress and covering your face with a hand, “which is why we’ve never heard of them,” 

Yunho laughs, earnestly laughs, and takes the half empty ramen cup out of your hand to discard, “Maybe, but for now, let’s just stay positive. Get to know eachother better,” 

You nod. 

“Nothing can change the fact that we found each other,” He points out, dropping down onto his side on the bed next to you, “and I’m okay with that.” 

“So we just lie to everyone?” You chew at the inside of your lip, staring up at the white ceiling. 

“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers tuck under your chin and draw your eyes to him, “I know you’re anxious,” 

You sigh, letting his softness calm you again. 

“I know,” He repeats, “I am too, but we don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re both tired and it’s been an emotional day,” 

“Okay,” You nod, “okay, yes, you’re right,” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek again, and you watch him exhale and sink further into your touch, “Will you stay tonight?” 

That wakes you up. 

Your eyebrows raise, “Stay?” 

“Just to sleep,” He assures you, “I just… I don’t want to be without you yet,” 

“I need to get back before Iseul wakes up if we do that,” You note with a grimace. 

“What time?” He glances back to the clock. 

“Seven,” You say, “her alarm is set for seven-thirty,” 

“We can do that,” He grabs his phone off the side table and sets an alarm, “we’ll get up,” 

The pull between your bodies is so strong you’re fairly sure you would have stayed no matter the consequences, but you nod, “Then I’ll stay,” 

He grins and pushes himself off the bed, “I’ve got clothes, if you want to get comfortable,” 

“Sure,” you sit up and wait for him to find things in his still packed suitcase. 

“Um,” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the bag, “these should work, and if you get cold,” 

You smile as he grabs a gray hoodie and comes back to you. 

As you start to pull off your sweater again, he turns around and leaves his back to you, “Sorry,” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, making short work of changing. You’re swimming in his clothes, but his sweatshirt smells like him and you just want to bury your face into it, “you can turn around now,” 

His shoulders relax as he turns back, and you watch his lips part as he takes you in. 

“What?” 

“You look cute,” He clears his throat, shrugging off his reaction. 

You smile and ease back onto the bed, “Oh, I get it,” you laugh, “is your guy brain on fire because I’m wearing your clothes? Is this some kind of… you won the competition, ownership thing?” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, kneeling on the bed to shuffle closer, “No competition when you’re literally fated for me,” 

“Right,” You let the word drag out on your tongue to tease him. 

“But I like taking care of you already, and now you’re warm and comfortable,” He collapses next to you onto the mattress with a sigh, “and I know I don’t own you, but you are mine, just like I’m yours now. I won’t apologize for liking you in my clothes or in my bed, for liking when you look like my girlfriend,” 

Warmth blooms in your cheeks and you duck your face into the sheets. 

“Now come get under the covers,” He maneuvers the duvet, “it’s late, you were dead on your feet today,” 

His voice is so warm and familiar, and you slide into the covers beside him. 

In bed you keep a little distance, and despite the number of times both of you say that you should go to sleep, your conversation is almost impossible to stop. Yunho holds your hand in the middle space of the mattress between your bodies, and in the dim lighting of the hotel room you whisper thought after thought back and forth. A million things coming to mind you need to tell each other so suddenly now that you’ve found each other. 

As you talk his fingers travel, restlessly stroking your skin, up and down your arm and tapping out patterns. When his palm slides back and forth over the sharp lines of the tattoos on your upper arm, and you feel the question slipping out of your lips and revealing more about yourself than you intended before you can catch it. 

“Your parents,” You blurt out, “will they be happy?” He’s spoken about them so much over the past hour that you can’t help but ask him that question point blank. 

“So happy,” He responds with ease, a laugh on his lips, “they always worried me being an idol meant I’d never be able to find the one and settle down, they’re going to love this story,” 

You smile at the easy way he calls you ‘the one’, but the question you really asked still remains unanswered and you exhale softly, “But,” you manage, “will they be happy with me?” 

Yunho stills, reaching across the bed to hook his finger under your chin and draw your eyes up to his again, “Very happy,” he says, “just like I am.” 

Your muscles relax, his words a soothing balm, and you adjust your position on the pillow beneath you, “Just checking,” 

“Mhm,” He studies your face, “jagi, why wouldn’t they be happy with you?” 

The endearment slips off his lips with ease, and a burst of warmth spreads through you. You’ve never needed pet names and softness like this from a partner, but from him it makes your heart quicken. 

The momentary elation fades though, and his question comes back into your mind. You take a deep breath, you owe it to him to tell him now, “My family won’t be happy,” 

“With me?” His eyebrows raise. 

“It’s me,” You shake your head, “my parents have difficult ideals, and I’ve never pleased them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, they… they’ll find a way to not be happy for me.”

His eyes soften, and his thumb strokes along your jaw, “I’m sorry,” 

“It is what it is,” 

“Are your parents soulmates?” He asks softly. 

You shake your head, “No, they don’t really believe in soulmarks,” 

You watch his eyes widen in surprise. 

“Unless,” You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “the match is ‘fortuitous’,” 

“For status?” He surmises. 

“Status, money,” You shrug, “connection. But I think I could marry the next president and they’d still find a way to be disappointed in me,” 

His jaw flexes tense for just a moment, before his expression smooths over again. 

“Anyway,” You clear the bad thoughts away as quickly as they came, “my sister and I never went along like they wanted, like my cousins and the rest of my family, so we are the great disappointments. It’s not… it’s fine, but, I guess you should know before we, you know,” 

He smiles, a bit of amusement in his expression that you can’t place, “Did you think having bad parents would scare me off?” 

“It could,” 

“No,” He slides a hand under your side and tugs you across the mattress to press a fast kiss to your lips, “it never could.” 

“But I’m,” You start, all the reasons why a partner might care ringing in your ears. 

“Beautiful?” He cuts you off, “Just my type? If it’s anything else I don’t want to hear you say it,” 

Your stomach flip flops hard and you push lightly against his chest to get him to stop. 

“The thing is,” He brushes your hair back from your cheek, “my parents are soulmates. I grew up in a house full of a lot of love, even when they were being strict and scolding us.” 

Your smile at his warm expression. 

“So I know they’ll love you,” He explains, “they know what this feels like, what it means. I have plenty of family for us both,” 

Your throat constricts, tears threatening for a moment. 

“Your sister, though,” He grounds you out of the bad thoughts without even thinking, “you two are close?” 

“Very,”

“I’d like to meet her,” He smiles. 

“You two would get along great, my sister and her wife both, actually,” 

Yunho nods, listening attentively, “Do they have kids?” 

“Not yet,” You groan, “but I’m dying to be an auntie,” 

His thumb drags a comforting line across your cheekbone, his expression warm and affectionate, “Cute,” 

You sink into the pillows, a yawn creeping up to your lips, “She’s going to lose her mind when I call her,”  

“Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You huff a laugh, “she thought that when I started working here I should have found an inconspicuous way to bump into all of you to test possible bonds. She’s going to be riding the ‘I told you so’ train.” 

“She’s funny,” He smirks. 

“Very,” You sigh, unconsciously cuddling into his warmth. 

“Has it been a while since you’ve seen her?” He asks softly, adjusting his arms around you so that you’re cradled against his chest with the pillows at your back. 

“Mhm,” You yawn again, the warmth of his body settling the last of the adrenaline inside you, “a while,” 

“Let’s find a day off after the tour,” He tucks the duvet around you. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes feel heavy. 

“Yeah,” He kisses your forehead. 

“Yunho,” You yawn again, dipping your forehead into his chest, “God, I’m so tired again,” 

“Mhm,” He yawns too, “me too, jagi,” 

You hum softly, fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt just to feel a little skin, “I like that,” you murmur, “I like you,” 

“I like you too,” He chuckles, “now go to sleep,” 

A piece of you wants to protest, wants more time cocooned in this day with him, but something about his body feels so right. After a week of sleeping poorly, your body tight and anxious and heart fluttering for no reason at all, when he touches you, your mind goes blissfully blank. 

Your muscles relax, your breath dropping low and soft in your chest. 

Nuzzled against his tattoo, you drift.

You’re supposed to wake up to an alarm. Early enough that you could slip back into your hotel room and your own bed to yawn and stretch next to Iseul and make her believe you were there the whole night. That’s what was supposed to happen. 

Instead, you wake to the heavy sound of a hotel door and Seonghwa’s voice, Yunho jolting awake beside you. 

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says for what sounds like the third time to your fuzzy sleep-addled brain, “oh my god?” 

“Hyung,” Yunho pushes himself up, his arms unwinding from around you, “hey, don’t freak out,” 

“Don’t freak out,” Seonghwa’s eyes blow wide, “are you fucking kidding me? Hongjoong is going to kill you,”

“You don’t understand,” Sleep is still heavy on him and he shakes his head to try to pull himself away. 

“I understand plenty,” Seonghwa counters, “how long have you been lying to us?” 

His reaction surprises you, and you ease yourself up to sit next to Yunho. You’re not sure what to say or not say, you don’t know what they’ve discussed in the past when it comes to dating and relationships, but by  Seonghwa’s outburst you can guess it’s honesty at a minimum. 

Yunho’s face falls, “No, it’s not that,” 

“I can tell you what it looks like,” Seonghwa lowers his voice to what amounts to a stage whisper. 

“Hyung,” Yunho rubs his eyes, running a hand through his mop of black hair. 

“It looks like you’ve been sneaking around,” He continues, “how long have you two been fucking?” 

“Hey,” Yunho’s voice sharpens, and his hand crosses your body to anchor on your opposite thigh. 

Seonghwa’s eyes track it and he shakes his head, “This is so stupid,” he steps back in surprise, “you’re both being so, incredibly stupid.” 

Yunho gives you a squeeze and opens his mouth to reply but Seonghwa keeps going. 

“Naive is what it is,” 

Irritation bubbles in your gut and you can’t stop yourself, “Seonghwa, will you shut up for one second?” 

He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open, “What?” 

“Can you please,” You hold his gaze, “please, just listen to Yunho for a minute before you jump to conclusions.” 

He shifts, taking a step back and crossing his arms, and then he looks to Yunho. 

Yunho finds your eyes quickly, silently asking, and you give him a nod. 

“Okay,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair again, “I’ll just say it.” 

Seonghwa waits, his expression completely neutral except for the irritated corner of his lips.

“y/n is my soulmate,” Yunho squeezes your thigh again and you slip your hand into his to twine your fingers together, “we didn’t know, but now we do.” 

Seonghwa’s brows go high, shock filling his features. 

“We’re not hiding,” You add, “we just… it’s just,” 

“How long?” Seonghwa manages. 

“Soundcheck yesterday,” Yunho says, “we haven’t known long enough to lie, hyung.” 

“You’re sure?” He looks between you both, and you know what he’s thinking. How could it be possible to know each other for years and not know. 

“We’re sure,” You answer confidently, calmly, “I swear,” 

“It’s real,” Yunho’s thumb strokes across knuckles, “it’s very real.” 

Seonghwa swallows, taking in the news and sinks back against the hotel dresser, “Well, fuck,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho laughs. 

“You were off timing yesterday,” Seonghwa points out, “and distracted,” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yunho grimaces. 

“No, but,” He shrugs, “I know you and you’re never off time.” 

“It wasn’t easy to focus on the show yesterday,” Yunho admits. 

“I’m sorry,” You nudge him with your shoulder, knowing a huge portion of that must have been the panic flooding his side of the link. 

He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for,”

When you look back up, Seonghwa is smiling and he sighs, “Oh, you’ve both got it bad.” 

“Obviously,” You hide your face in your sweatshirt sleeve. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asks, “Because you can’t act like this around anyone else,” 

Your mouth feels dry. 

“We don’t know,” Yunho answers, “we have to figure that out, for now I think we just try to keep things normal.” 

Seonghwa nods and then leans forward, “Listen, I know you’re not asking for my advice,” 

You both wait. 

“But you're my brother,” Seonghwa says unequivocally, “so I’m going to give you some anyway.” 

Yunho nods. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Seonghwa points out, “and I’m sure it will be hard to act like acquaintances in front of everyone, but you have to do it, at least until you make a plan.” 

“Yeah,” Yunho’s cheeks are a little pink and he squeezes your hand. 

“No one fires the idol for things like this,” He reminds you both, “so for her sake, put it away for today.” 

“He’s right,” You nod, “today we go back to coworkers,” 

Yunho draws your clasped hands up and kisses your fingers, “Okay,” 

“You’re lucky I offered to check on you,” Seonghwa sighs heavily, “if any of the managers came in,” 

“Check on me?” Yunho perks up at that, “Hwa, why,” 

Things come into focus for you at that moment, how bright the hotel room is with sunlight, how well rested you really feel. You twist in the bed and look at the digital clock, “Oh no,” 

“You were late,” Seonghwa explains, “we figured you overslept, I offered to use the spare key to get you up.” 

“Fuck,” Yunho curses. 

You both slept straight through Yunho’s alarm. 

“Iseul is going to fucking kill me,” You roll out of bed, your hands breaking apart as you scramble for you phone, “what the hell am I going to tell her?” 

Your phone reads nine-thirty. In thirty minutes you’re supposed to be packed into a van and on the way to the venue and when you look at the collection of notifications your stomach churns. 

Three calls from Iseul, and a lengthy string of text messages. 

Did you already get up and get ready?

Your work bag is still here…

Not funny, girl, where are you?

Did you make it back last night? 

Can you answer me?? 

I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard anything - You haven’t even read these? 

You better not be dead in a ditch, I’ll kill you myself. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hands are trembling as you tap out the fastest reply - Alive, be right there.

Yunho’s a whirlwind behind you, stripping out of his sleep clothes and yanking on whatever outfit is at the top of his suitcase, “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” 

“Sure,” You search the floor for your jeans and dart into the bathroom, “my best friend is going to murder me though,” 

You change at lightning speed, swapping his sweats for your jeans and then tying up your hair into a messy bun before pushing back out into the main room. 

“Everyone’s downstairs,” Seonghwa offers, “you shouldn’t run into anyone on the way back to your room.” 

“Good, okay, good,” Your heart is pounding, “where’s my room key?” 

“Here,” Yunho darts forwards and finds the little envelope, passing it to you, “take a breath,” 

“I have to go,” You manage, “I have to think of something,” 

“Don’t kiss and tell,” Seonghwa offers and he’s being funny but it’s vaguely helpful. 

“Wait,” Yunho grabs your hand and tugs you back, snapping your phone out of your hand. 

“Yunho, I don’t,” You start to say but he waves you off. 

He types fast, adding himself as a contact in Kakao Talk, “My number,” he explains. 

Seonghwa huffs a laugh. 

You take the phone back and tuck it into your pocket, “I’ll message you later,” 

“Good,” He dips forwards and presses one warm, tender kiss to your lips, “now get out of here,” 

You kiss him back, just once and fast, a little shred of self indulgence before you have to act like he’s just another guy, and then you’re darting out of the room, shouting back a thank you at Seonghwa as you go. 

You navigate the halls fast, and opt to take the stairs to get down one floor faster and more inconspicuously. You take a deep breath when you get to your hotel door, and then you dive. 

“So you are alive,” Iseul’s waiting, just like you thought she might be. She’s sitting on your still made bed, her phone in her hands and a tense expression on her face, “I was just about to tell the managers you were missing,” 

“I’m so sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean to worry you,” You take a few steps into the room. 

Her eyes flick over you, and you realize at the moment her eyes widen that you’re still wearing Yunho’s hoodie, your sweater still discarded on his bedroom floor. 

“You hooked up with someone?” Her voice spikes, “Are you kidding me?” 

Thankfully the hoodie is plain, just a heather gray with no identifying attributes that scream his name, but you’re still swimming in it and it’s clear you’re rumpled from bed. 

“Listen,” You hold up your hands, “I didn’t mean to not text you, I just fell asleep,” 

“With some guy?” She stands. 

“Yes,” You settle on some version of the truth. 

“Who?” She flounders, “We’re supposed to text each other,” 

And you always did, when either one of you went home with someone there was always a little preemptive safety report. A name, an address, a shared location, something so that you weren’t completely alone in the world with a strange guy. 

“I’m sorry,” You say again. 

She studies you, and it’s like she’s looking through you. 

“Oh my god,” Her eyes widen, “we know him.” 

“Iseul,” Your cheeks heat. 

She points at you, “I’m right!” 

“It’s not a big deal,” You skirt around her words. 

“The only reason you wouldn’t text me is if you were with someone we both know,” She narrows her eyes, “so give it up.” 

“I can’t,” You press, “leave it,” 

“Why are you being so weird?” 

“Iseul,” You sigh, avoiding her gaze, “I just woke up in a panic, and I have like fifteen minutes to get showered, can you give me the third degree later?” 

“I’m not letting this go,” 

“Yeah,” You pull off Yunho’s sweatshirt and head to the bathroom, “I know, but we have work.” 

“Work with a coworker you slept with,” She stands in the doorway while you start the shower, and you realize her tone isn’t so much as angry anymore but probing. 

“I didn’t sleep with him,” You groan, “well, I guess I did, but we didn’t have sex, okay?” 

“That’s awfully cozy for a one night stand,” She crosses her arms, “unless you’re seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” 

“No,” You test the water heat and unbutton your jeans, “I swear I’ll explain another time, but can you just drop it for today? Or do you want to stand here and watch me shower?” 

“Fine,” She concedes, “you will tell me?” 

“I swear,” You nod, “I want to tell you, but I’m not ready yet, okay?” 

Her eyes soften up at that, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “but I’m having big feelings about it and I need to work it out,”

“Oh,” In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never seen you in love or even close, and she just blinks, “got it,” 

“Can I shower now?” You gesture towards the running water. 

“Yeah,” She steps back, “yeah, but I’m still mad you didn’t text me.” 

“Okay,” 

“And I’m still going to guess who it is,” She smirks. 

“Fine,” 

Her smile widens and she rolls her eyes, “I bet it’s one of the BB guys, isn’t it? You always like a dancer,” 

She turns the corner before she can watch you blushing harder, so nearly on the money with her guess, but you put it all out of your mind for now and focus on your day. You’re late, and it’s about to be another long one. You’ll have time for everything else later, if you can just keep your cool. 

Work is bizarre to say the least. You and Yunho both do an excellent job of not looking at each other except for when he’s in your makeup chair, and you’re getting better and better at ignoring both San’s and Seonghwa’s nervous glances. 

This time you start the makeup early, less time pressure with the schedule adjustments, and the night goes off without a hitch. Soundcheck to stage to VIP benefits, it’s a whirlwind and you’re grateful for the distractions everywhere you look. 

You can still feel him, emotions from his side of the link ebbing and flowing throughout the day, but the sharp intensity of yesterday has dulled a bit after your night together. In quiet moments you find yourself thinking about his lips, or the way his hands held you as you tumbled into sleep, but you push it down and stay professional. 

As the show ends, Iseul ropes you into team dinner, desperate to observe who you interact with and how, still on her quest to find your mystery bed partner, but the boys aren’t there and so there’s nothing for her to really see. 

Later, with Iseul passed out from one too many shots of soju, you slip back into Yunho’s hoodie and cuddle into the warmth of your own bed. You need more sleep, you know that, but your brain isn’t cooperating. You toss and turn in the sheets, body feeling like a taut cord, and all you can think of is him. 

You miss him. 

It’s not even two days of having him in your life like this and you feel nervous and achy without him. There’s no way you’ll survive two years of this. 

Over an hour passes as you sigh, changing positions again and again, and then your phone finally buzzes. You scramble to see if it’s a message from him, nearly dropping your phone in the process. 

Can’t sleep? - He must be feeling your restlessness. 

Not at all - You reply, chest feeling warm at the contact. 

Little bubbles pop up immediately to indicate he’s typing and then another message pops on your screen - You’d think after last night we’d both be exhausted.

So you’re as awake as I am? 

Just can’t relax. I liked having you here last night. - He confesses. 

You roll over in the bedding onto your front and push the pillow under your chest before you keep texting - I liked it too. I’d come up except Iseul wouldn’t lay off guessing who I was with this morning. 

Oh? Did she guess correctly? - You can practically see the smirk on his face. 

Nope - You tease back. 

Was she upset? - He asks. 

At first, but I told her I would tell her soon I just needed some time - You reply. 

That’s good, honest. - His message makes you smile. 

How was Seonghwa? - You tap out. 

Fine…. stressing and acting like a hyung, you know - He says. 

You smile and type out another message - Is he keeping this to himself for now?

Yes - Yunho’s message comes in, and then another - For now, he knows we need to decide things first. 

That’s good - You send back. 

Things lull for a moment, and you try to think of something more to say, but Yunho swoops in with a question that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughing - Who did Iseul guess you were with? Was I even on the list?

I thought you’d be happy she didn’t guess - You reply. 

Bubbles appear immediately, then another message - I’m a little offended, I’m the obvious choice.

Why’s that? - You tease him. 

You feel something warm in your chest, and his next message flies back - I thought I was your type? 

You stifle another laugh - You are, she’s not very observant.

So who did she guess? 

Your belly flip flops and you hide your face in the pillow for a moment. His obvious jealousy, even just to tease you, is making your heart quicken and you can’t stop yourself from making it harder on him. 

You take a breath and reply - About half the BB crew and a few of your managers.

The replies don’t come for a moment, and you nervously refresh the chat. 

Finally a message comes in - I’m trying to think of something funny to say, but I’m actually just irrationally jealous. 

She was just teasing, no need to be jealous - You smile into your hand. 

Doesn’t matter - He says - Now I’m just here alone wondering which of our coworkers Iseul thinks you have chemistry with

He is jealous. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in your belly and press your legs a little tighter together. If you close your eyes you can feel the echo of his hands on you from last night, and all you want in the world is for him to come down here and kiss you hard like that again. 

With a slow exhale you return to your phone - Don’t be jealous, Yunho. We both know I’m yours.

Yeah? - His reply comes after a beat - No need to be jealous then.

Exactly - You reply. 

I bet you like it a little though - His message flies in as yours sends.

You feel warm all over and you run a nervous hand through your hair before replying - No, I don’t. 

Jagi, you forget I can feel how worked up you’re getting. 

Your stomach clenches, drops and twists. He’s going to be the death of you and you’re still just flirting.  

You work up the courage and finally send your reply - You’re the one that pinned me to the wall last night. 

I’ve been thinking about that all day - The message reply is fast. 

You smile and bite your lip, snuggling further into the mattress and trying to ignore the growing pulse between your thighs - You did seem distracted during rehearsals.

You feel warmth in your chest, and you know exactly how much your flirting is affecting him. Another text pings through and you shiver when you read it - How could I not be distracted with you there? All I could think about was the way you said my name last night. 

Your thighs press together - Yunho?

Yes, jagi?

Or more whiny, was it? Yunho-ya? - You type it out fully, emphasizing the extended sound, knowing exactly what he wants to hear from the way he gripped you last night. 

The room is suddenly hot, and your heart beats faster to sync with his. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, bubbles popping up and then receding again and you wonder how he’s lying in bed. If he’s hard already, if he’s palming himself? You wonder if he sleeps naked when he’s alone and youre core clenches, arousal pooling in your gut and you know he can feel the threads of it. When he finally presses send on his message you have to cover your mouth to keep quiet. 

Feeling needy? Are you squirming around in that hotel bed wishing for me, sweetheart?

You feel that message from your top to your toes and you steal a fast glance at the bed next to you. Iseul is sound asleep, turned away from you and snoring softly, and you let out a relieved, shuddering breath. 

You could pump the brakes here, tease him and find a way to say goodnight, but you simply can’t. Need and arousal overwhelms you and you tap back your reply fast - I’ve been aching all day.

Do you have headphones? 

The question catches you off guard, but you write back - Yes, airpods.

Put them in - He says, and you swallow tightly, reaching for the little headphone case on your bedside table. 

Your fingers are shaking as you take them out of the case and put them in, making sure they’re connected before you reply - Done. 

His call lights up your phone, ringing in your headphones and you swipe to answer with a panicked glance at the bed next to you, but Iseul sleeps on, none the wiser. 

“y/n?” His voice is so rich and quiet, a little raspy edge after singing all night and you nearly moan. 

“Hi,” You whisper as soft as you can, “I can’t,” 

“Don’t talk,” He soothes you, “don’t wake Iseul up, I’ll talk to you and you can text me back, okay?” 

You minimize the call and open your chat back up, sending him a quick emoji to acknowledge his words. 

“Perfect,” He laughs softly, “this is way easier than texting. Listen, I know we said slow, but I’d love to help you relax if you want that. If not, I can just say goodnight, it’s up to you.” 

You exhale softly, a needy thrill in your gut - Let’s relax together. 

“Oh,” He sighs pleasantly, “yes, I’d love that.” 

You want me? - You ask. 

“You can feel how much I do,” He responds, “I’m sitting here convincing myself not to come downstairs and get my hands on you.” 

You hum softly, shifting in the sheets and relaxing deeper into the pillows. 

You hear his own breath, the way he parts his lips with a wet sound, “Can you tell me what position you’re in?” 

You tap out the reply - Lying on my front, on my stomach. 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased, “I bet you look so cute, all twisted up in the sheets and blushing,” 

I was tossing and turning. 

“I bet you were,” He groans a little, “I tried everything. I hit the gym, cold shower, did some deep breathing, but you have me so keyed up I can’t sleep,” 

You send him another emoji, the blushing face. 

He laughs, the rumble of it too deep and warm in your ear with your headphones in. 

You tap out another message - What position are you in? Trying to picture it. 

You hear him shift around in the sheets, “I’m on my back,” 

Wearing? 

He chuckles, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking what you’re wearing?” 

I asked you first.

“Fair,” He shifts again, and you picture him restless on his back in the bed you shared the night before, “just boxers,” 

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. 

“And you?” 

You wish it were sexier all of a sudden, but that just wouldn’t be practical in a room with your friend so you tell him honestly - Pajamas, the button down kind, they’re gray. 

“God, you’re adorable,” The covers on his end shift again, “wish you were up here with me.” 

Me too 

“This is probably better,” He says though, “I don’t think I could hold myself back for another night.” 

Me either - You confess. 

“y/n,” His voice warms, low in his chest, “jagiya, can I help you? Can I tell you what I want you to do?” 

Your hands are shaking and you type the reply so fast there’s a typo that you have to fix - Pfease - Please.

He chuckles, “Alright, get comfortable, just listen to my voice, okay?” 

You message him one last thought - What about you?

“I’m… I’m, uh,” He lets out a shaky breath, “I’m already stroking for you,” 

You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, dropping your forehead to the pillow in front of you. 

That’s so hot - You text him quickly when you hear him say your name, probably a little nervous he came on too strong. 

He hums, “Good,” he says, “then don’t worry about me, just listen to my voice.” 

You set your phone to the side, snuggling into the mattress and the pillows just like he asked for, sparing one more glance at Iseul to confirm she’s still completely out of it. 

“Comfy?” He asks when you stop shifting around. 

“Mhm,” You murmur in a whisper. 

“Good,” He sighs, “now slip one of your hands under your cute little pajamas, between your thighs.” 

You slide your arm down, tucking it under your body and into your sleep pants. 

“Under your panties too,” He says, his voice a little husky. 

“Mhm,” You murmur again, following his words. 

“Tease a little for me,” He instructs you, “not too fast, just your fingertips on the outside,” 

You breathe low and slow, gently passing the pads of your fingers over your slit, just barely ghosting against the hard nub of your clit. 

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” He groans a little and you hear the sound of sheets, “you make the cutest faces when you’re feeling good,” 

You make the tiniest noise of acknowledgement, fingers still brushing your cunt. 

“Can’t wait to see you fall apart for real,” He confesses, a strain in his tone as he sighs, and you picture him. His long legs spread wide in the bed, stretching from corner to corner, his boxer briefs pushed down and his hand fisting his cock. 

You’re going to lose it when you finally get to touch him again. 

“You can touch now,” He murmurs, getting your attention back, “are you wet?” 

You push your fingers through your folds and sigh when you feel just how slick and swollen you are. With your other hand you find the phone nearby and tap out a quick message - So wet

“That’s good, that’s so good,” 

Your fingers start to circle on your oversensitive nub and there’s no way he won’t have you coming in five minutes or less with it feeling this good and his heavy breath in your ear. 

“R-rub your clit for me,” He pants and your eyes roll, you can hear the sounds of the sheets rhythmically swishing as he pumps his cock harder, “get your fingers nice and wet,” 

You whimper into the pillow, biting down hard on your cheek to keep yourself in check. 

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, “sound so pretty,” 

You rub harder, faster, your legs stretching wide under the downy comforter to give you better access. 

“Baby,” He gets your attention with that, “push two fingers inside yourself, imagine I’m there with you,” 

You shift, hand slipping lower and body arching to slide your middle and ring finger as deep as they’ll go. You stay mostly quiet this time, but your breathing is heavy and you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Close your eyes,” He murmurs, “picture my fingers,” 

You gasp softly. 

“Grind,” He tells you, “grind your pussy on my palm and feel my fingers fucking you,” 

You bite back a moan, only the slip of a soft sound into the microphone as you start to rock, rolling your hips and working your clit against your hand as you sink into his fantasy. You always took him for soft, the romantic type who’d blush at saying the word ‘pussy’ let alone talking you through what’s bound to be the headiest orgasm of your life, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong. 

“Yes,” Yunho moans and you shudder, “I can hear you moving, you’re doing so good,” 

Pleasurable stars burst behind your eyes and you grind harder into your slick palm. 

“So good,” He groans and you hear him roll in the bedding, his voice changing to something lower and breathier, and then the rhythmic rock of sheets from his side of the phone tells you all you need to know. You can almost see it, Yunho braced on his forearms, hips thrusting to drive his cock in and out of his hot fist, his face buried in the pillow you slept on the night before. 

Heat melts through you, your body alight, and you grapple to find the phone again - Close

“Already?” He says in a flushed exhale, “You’re so hot, that’s so hot,” 

You need him to talk to you, you need him to tell you what to do, and you whimper into the bedding as you work your body faster up to the peak. 

“You gonna come for me?” He murmurs, “Yeah? Hmm?” 

You drop the phone and press a hand over your lips, stifling the threat of a real moan. 

“Let go,” His voice is so low in your ear you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, “come for me,” 

Your legs are trembling, knees digging into the mattress and sweat gathered on your brow, and you feel the pressure start to crack open inside you, “Coming,” you whimper into your fingers so he knows, and then it breaks. 

“God, good girl, yes,” He groans, “I’m coming with you, fuck,” 

Your body curls into itself as you release, locking up in pleasure as you feel wave after wave of heat. You bite down on your knuckle to keep from making a sound, silently falling apart, dimly aware somewhere in your gut that half the heat you felt was his, that part of that pleasure was his own. 

Yunho moans in your ear as you ride the sensations, panting and cursing and you can’t wait to feel him pulsing inside you while he sounds this good. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover, but when your brain starts to connect again you realize you’re panting against the cool flat of the mattress and both your phone and pillow are nowhere to be found. You swallow hard and pop your head up, but Iseul hasn’t moved an inch and you thank god for her liberal use of melatonin while traveling. 

In your ear you register the sound of Yunho’s breath and the end of a sentence, “still there?” 

He must have been talking, and you try to focus in on the sound of him now as you slip your hand out from between your sticky thighs. 

He exhales slowly and you hear him shifting around, “y/n, baby, are you there?” 

 “Uh-huh,” You manage. 

“Sleepy?” He murmurs, misreading your sound, “That’s okay,” 

You make a tiny noise of protest and search the bed for your phone. 

“Baby?” He’s confused and you grin at his sleepy sated tone. 

Sliding off the bed onto nearly boneless legs, you find your pillow off to the side and your phone underneath. You snap it up and send a message quickly - Wait

“Wait?” He breathes, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here,” 

You tiptoe to the bathroom as quietly as you can and then shut yourself behind the heavy door, flicking on the light and collapsing to sit on the closed toilet lid. 

You disconnect your earbuds and bring your phone to your ear, “Hey,” 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, still a little breathless, “Hiding in the bathroom for a sec so I could actually talk to you,” 

He hums, a quiet, lazy laugh, “Ah,” 

“Are you okay?” You find yourself asking, a little nervous tumble in your gut. 

“Me?” He says, “I’m incredible, you’re incredible,” 

“Yeah?” You draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around yourself and smiling into the phone. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He checks, but you still hear the sound of him calling you ‘good girl’ and you shiver. 

“Not too much,” You sigh into the phone. 

“Good,” He hums, “I thought so, I was trying to pay attention to how you were feeling, but it was a little,”

“Hard to focus?” You offer and he laughs. 

“Yeah,” He sighs again, heavy and sated. 

“I can’t wait for this tour to be over,” You confess, “I just want to be with you,” 

You feel a pang in your chest and listen as Yunho rolls in the sheets, “I know, I want that too,” 

A little lump forms in your throat and you breathe through it, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Have you ever felt like this before?” Your thundering heart has started to slow, and you let your eyes close as you murmur the question. 

“Never,” He murmurs, “but I felt this way before we touched,” 

You feel his tenderness wrap around your heart as if he were in the room with you, and with a small smile you whisper, “I thought you said you weren’t holding a candle?” 

“I lied,” He says softly, “it’s been you for a long time,” 

He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but you feel the way he loves you through the link in a wave. It’s as good as any confession to you, just as honest if not more so. 

“I wish I could come upstairs,” You manage, tears pricking your eyes. 

You hear him swallow and breathe a slow breath through his nose, “Soon, I promise. We’re going to do this right,” 

“I know,” 

“Are your headphones still in?” He asks

“No, but I can switch back,” 

“Put them back in and go get back in bed,” He softly instructs, “it’s late, but I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?” 

“Okay,” You swap back over to your earbuds and adjust them. 

“Get back to bed,” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yunho,” You interrupt him, “thank you for staying with me,” 

“Always,” He says, and for the first time in your life when someone says they’ll be there, you believe it. 

“I’m going back out,” Your voice drops to a whisper, “good night,” 

“Mhm,” He listens as you slip back into bed, “just get comfortable, just breathe. I’m right here with you, jagiya, I’ll be right here.” 

He murmurs to you softly until your mind is sinking into darkness, body finally unspooling and letting you drop off into sleep. It’s not the same as his arms around you, but it settles you more than any meditation, his voice a steady whisper through your dreams. 

In the morning when you wake the call is still connected and the first sound you hear is his slow breath and the steady beat of his heart.

[anmaries]

I think another reason why I prefer rogue’s hair to be huge and untamed is because I think it fits her a lot more personality wise. rogue might be southern, but she’s never fit into that southern belle type of box. she was born into a cult, and then she was raised by terrorists, and that made a major impact on the way she deals with her feelings and surroundings. rogue can be incredibly violent and aggressive. whether it be threatening remarks or just actual violence she struggles a lot with having a proper response to certain situations. she has very extreme reactions, like her commitment to being self sacrificial to those who show her kindness, or the fact that a small disagreement can lead to her beating the shit out of someone

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Keep Your Eyes on Me

tara carpenter x female reader

summary: You’ve quickly become close with all of Tara’s friends, but her trust issues keep her at a distance from you. But maybe you're able to chip away at her defenses...

word count: 2.2k

————

"I don't get why no one else is suspicious of her!" Tara exclaims looking around at everyone with a frustrated expression. "Mindy? You're literally suspicious of every living thing. And Sam what the fuck, you don't let me leave the house unless I'm carrying a cross bow or something," she exaggerates rolling her eyes.

"Why are we speaking about me like I'm not here?" You whisper to Chad next to you while ripping your string cheese into strands. He laughs but so does everyone else, seems like your whisper wasn't as quiet as you thought.

Tara groans frustrated and heads up the stairs, leaving her friends and you in the living room in an awkward silence.

Sam was the first to break it, "She'll come around, it's just been hard on her you know? Trusting new people and all that fun stuff."

You give her a nod completely understanding the root of Tara's issues with you, it wasn't personal but that didn't mean her distrust in you didn't sting. Especially considering it's been four months since you met the group.

"I am curious though," you speak, "She's not wrong Mindy, you're sus of everyone. And Sam why do you trust me too?"

"Well you met my brother playing pickle ball," the twin speaks. "Pickle ball doesn't really strike me as a psychopathic killer activity," she laughs.

"Neither does string cheese. Can you imagine Ghostface stringing their cheese and eating it?" Sam adds with a laugh.

You don't know whether to be relieved or offended that your habits don't indicate you to be a killer. But you're grateful that the rest of the group clicked with you quickly after Chad introduced you to them.

The core four minus Tara sometimes wanted to smack the girl across the head for being so oblivious and blind to you. Before you met the group Chad being the yapper that he is, explained all that happened in the past year and a half, so you were fairly well equipped with knowledge on how to navigate a friendship with everyone.

Everyone also noticed how attentive you were to Tara especially.  You didn't know what it was but you immediately developed a soft spot for the girl when Chad told you all she went through. Meeting her for the first time you instinctively felt the need to protect her but that's been quite hard with her negative feelings towards you, but that doesn't mean you don't try.

————

Sam eventually goes up to Tara's room once everyone leaves and decides to put an end to this.  The younger Carpenter looks at her sister from her bed when the door is opened at a speed where its hinges could fly off.

"Jesus Sam, why are we trying to break my door."

"What the hell are you doing Tara?" Sam gets to the point ignoring the question.

"What are you talking about?"

"Y/n."

"Ughhhhhh!" She turns around face planting into her pillow with a groan, hating the topic of you.

"It's been four months and you haven't once given the poor girl the benefit of the doubt." The sister says softly. "I don't know why you're so keen on hating her, it's like you want her to be Ghostface just so you can prove a point."

Tara turns around to respond, clearly annoyed.  "Because it's so clear she doesn't have good intentions!  I don't get you either sis, you want me to be cautious of people, but it's a problem when its Y/n?"

Sam sighs moving to sit on the foot of the bed, "Tara, do you not see how much that girl cares about you?"

Tara is silent and looks down at her fiddling hands not knowing what to say.  She does know how much you care and she hates it.

All those times you would come over to her place with the excuse of "Mindy sent me to grab something" but you always stayed until Sam got home from work, just so she wouldn't have to be alone.

"Clearly you do realize how much she cares for you," Sam says taking notice of her sister's silence and demeanor.

Tara turns red recalling how you would always be attentive to the leg that Ghostface broke a year ago.  You would always position yourself so she'd have access to the railing of a staircase. Offer to drive her places that may have seemed like too lengthy of a walk. Straggle behind the group when you realized she couldn't walk as fast as the others. And even deprive yourself of any physical activities that the group was participating in, so Tara wouldn't feel alone when she sat out.

"The damn girl literally sits in the kitchen whenever your hungry ass wants to cook something so you'd feel safer!" Sam suddenly says. "Even I hadn't thought about how being in the kitchen may give you PTSD."

Tara hadn't either. But now that she knew the reason why you'd sit with her in the kitchen, she realized that she did feel much more comfortable with you in there then the times you weren't. After all she did have her attack take place in the kitchen. The brown eyed girl shrunk into her sweater in shame as she recalled how poorly she treated you that day.

You leave the group who were playing an intense round of charades in the living room and decide to join Tara who was alone in the kitchen.

"Hey what are you making?" You smile.

She ignores you and continues to get the seasoning out for the mac and cheese she was making herself.

"Why aren't you playing with everyone else?" Tara suddenly spoke.

"Just wanted to see what you were up to."

"Well you can leave now," she rolls her eyes.

"I'm good, I'll stay here."

"You do know that you aren't winning any points with me by trying to talk to me and forcing proximity right?" Tara says with attitude. "I still don't trust you and if your goal isn't to kill me, but just to get in my pants, then I'm so sorry if I ever made you believe that you had a chance with me." she finishes sarcastically feigning a genuine apology.

"Not my goal," you reply keeping it short. You knew the girl would not receive anything you say, so you got up from the seat you initially took at the island in the kitchen and went to the dining table which was a little further away. Tara thought that you left since she didn't hear any comments from you anymore and her pride was too high for her to turn around and check if you were still there. She couldn't control the frown that was making its way onto her face. That was until she heard you scrolling through TikToks at the table and suddenly felt a sense of relief that couldn't be explained.

She would continue to finish her mac and cheese and tried to hide her laugh from any funny TikTok sounds she heard from your phone. And tried her hardest to shutdown her curiosity whenever she heard your laugh. As soon as she finished making her bowl, she walked out of the kitchen not even glancing at you. She was too stubborn to realize that she hadn't once thought about her attack due to your presence in the kitchen.

Until now.

"That's why I trust her Tara," Sam reveals. "She notices things that I don't. I can't always be watching out for you. You need to have a bunch who have your back, and for that to happen you need to take a chance on people here and there."

"Just think about it. Just separate your idea of Y/n being Ghostface and the possibility that she can betray you. And ask yourself what kind of person is left standing in front you. And is that the type of person you want to take a chance on."

————

Two weeks have gone by since the group last saw each other, and since then you and Tara were able to do a lot of individual thinking. Today the group decided that they went too long without seeing each other and they all decided to go to bar in downtown Manhattan.

Everyone decided to meet at the Carpenter residence, and Tara hated to admit it, but she was excited to see you, but she also felt nervous at the thought of being around you.

You were the last to arrive, and you greeted all your friends with a smile. Tara was waiting with a smile for you to greet her like you always do, but it never happened.

You ignored her.

"Is everyone ready to go?" You say looking at everyone except Tara.

The shorter girl had to compose herself before anyone realized that she was bothered by your lack of acknowledgement. She didn't know how to feel, what in the world were you doing?

The group made their way to the subway in one piece, and the two Carpenter sisters were walking side by side while everyone else was a little ahead.

"What the fuck is Y/n doing?" Tara whisper yells to her sister.

"What do you mean?" Sam replies playing stupid.

"She's not even looking at me?" Tara admits, not caring at how childish she sounds. "Why isn't she paying attention to me?"

Sam laughs at what two weeks of not seeing you and some deep reflection has done to her sister. "I mean what do you expect, it's not fair for her to keep trying for someone who doesn't make the same effort. She's probably done trying." Despite her words, Sam didn't believe a thing she was saying, she wondered what the intentions behind your actions were, but the Carpenter knew it was nothing ill.

Tara makes a hmpf sound, and tries to act unbothered by her sister's words. But the idea of you not having your gaze on her worries her more than she would like to admit.

Meanwhile 20 paces in front the sisters you and the twins are having a interesting conversation of your own.

"I can't do this anymore!" You whine looking at Mindy.

"Girl, stand the fuck up, it's been 20 minutes since we left the house, can't you see that it's already working?"

Chad chimes in, "Honestly I agree with my sister for once, she'll be yours by the end of today."

"W-whoa I don't want her to be mine or anything," you blush. "She's gone through a lot, I just need her to tolerate me, you know?"

Mindy rolls her eyes but smiles, happy that Tara has someone patient like you in her life. "Yeah yeah Y/l/n, now walk faster, it's not like she can run and catch up."

Your jaw drops while Chad drops dead in laughter.

Everyone manages to get onto the same subway cart in one piece, and you realized how much harder it was going to be acting like you can't notice Tara in here. The subway was packed from one end to the other. And you just so happened to be standing next to the only available seat.

You glance at Tara only to see her already looking at you and you immediately look away. Trying to get Mindy's attention you some how try your best to mime to her that you want Tara to sit in the free seat. Though of course Mindy's horrible charade skills translate into real life and she ends up sitting in the seat herself.

You face palm at your friend, and gave up on trying to look out for Tara. But in that very moment you notice a man getting far too close to the girl than you would like. It was a crowded cart so proximity was a given, but this seemed deliberate on the stranger's part.

Acting without thinking, you shove the guy as casually as you can to the side, not realizing that it meant you are now face to face with Tara. Just as you were about to break and speak to her, the subway doors open at your stop.

Tara hated that the doors interrupted the words you were going to say to her, but was grateful that it got her attention off of you before you could notice the blush on her cheeks.

As everyone got off the subway, you find yourself straggling behind the group out of habit. Just as you attempt to quicken your pace, you feel a tug on your sleeve.

Tara looks up at you with her big eyes, and you don't know what to do. This is the first time the girl has looked at you without rolling her eyes or looking away immediately.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

You didn't know what to say, and continue walking with her by your side, so you don't fall too far behind from your friends. "It's okay," you mutter back looking straight ahead. 

You don't blame the girl for her behaviours.  Her traumas manifested into something difficult and she was making an attempt to be better. That's all that mattered to you. And maybe you were just too weak for the girl that you would let anything slide, but you were fine with that too. 

Tara smiles at you, happy that you weren't giving her a hard time. Happy that you understood what those two words she just told you encapsulates.

Suddenly she grabs you by your arm and holds it as you walk side by side.

Startled by her touch you look at her.

She smiles up at you, "It's easier for you to keep your eyes on me this way. No need for secret glances."

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[samkerrworshipper]

underneath the surface pt.2

i wrote a part two to a fic? sorry what?

anyways loved will always have a soft spot for this! hope you all enjoy and lmk how you felt about it xo

warnings: soft smut & soft angst viewer discretion advised

Alexia knows she should be the brave face in this whole situation, she’s not the one sitting in a hospital gown on a gurney about to head into surgery, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s sizzling with anxiety. She doesn’t know why, there isn’t anything particularly terrifying about her circumstances, this is a routine surgery, the chance of complication is extremely low, the chance of death is less than 1%. She knows because she’s google checked five times in the last hour.

She’s trying to hide it, because she knows even though you are putting on a brave face you are secretly terrified. She’s been playing the chivalrous girlfriend. Trying to eliminate any outside stress so that you don’t have to worry about it, which is causing Alexia to stumble into a spiral of worries. She’s worried for you, she’s worried for the future, she’s worried about everything that moves and breathes.

Alexia can normally cope under stress, give her a game winning penalty in a world cup winning game and she’ll treat it with the same amount of composure as she would a penalty in a 20-0 friendly game.

Alexia stressing about you though, is a completely different story. She’s snapped at everyone in the lead up to this week, she’s shut down, she’s in her fortress and until she knows that you’re going to be okay that’s not going to change.

You’re the best thing that happened to her, and even though she has absolutely zero impact on what’s going to happen in the operation room she feels like if she controls all of the outside variables then somehow that’s her contribution. She wants to believe that if she can make everything on the outside right, then it’ll somehow change what’s happening on the inside, Alexia wishes deep down that she could fix it all and that this situation wasn’t happening.

Alexia doesn’t understand why you suffer so much from a disease that has no cure, she doesn’t understand why something so horrible exists and why you are plagued with it.

You don’t seem phased at all, like this is normal routine for you which is making Alexia feel even worse.

You’ve gone about your morning as usual, denying Alexia in every way as she tried to do random acts of service that were actually useless.

You’d quite literally breezed your way through it all and to the hospital without a waiver, no tears, no worries, no stress. It was a long time coming, Alexia appreciated the fact that from what you and google had told her, laparoscopy’s could be life changing for people with endometriosis, it could effectively make your quality of life during your period so much better. But it was still surgery, Alexia remembers when she had her acl surgery, she was a bundle of nerves to the point where her mami had to sit by her bed to stop her from hyperventilating whilst they administered the anaesthesia.

There is no clutching for Alexia’s hand, no desperate admissions of fear, no articulation of any anxieties or stress. You’re practically meditative, sitting on the hospital bed in your gown waiting patiently for the doctors to come and collect you.

Alexia’s walked herself through the surgery hundreds of time, when she can’t sleep at night it’s the first thing that her mind drifts to, there isn’t any set routine for a laparoscopy, it’s based on how much tissue has built up and where it’s built up. They won’t know until they open you up, from the limited amount of information Alexia has been able to extract about your past surgeries she’s figured out that for you in the past, it normally builds up in your pelvis, fallopian tubes, the ligaments around your uterus, your ovaries and the last time you had a laparoscopy they even found small clusters on your bladder, vertebraes and bowel. Hopefully, they’ll just find it around your uterus, but if there are signs that it might have attached to other organs then the surgery can become far more invasive and longer. Your doctor has said that in the best case scenario it could take an hour or two, worst case scenario it might take upwards of 5 hours.

At least two hours of Alexia falling deeper and deeper into her fear that something horribly bad is going to happen.

You’d encouraged her to touch base with her therapist in preparation, a proposal that Alexia had laughed at. She knew that you’d talked to your psychologist a day beforehand in preparation, and told her that if possible you’d like to follow up a few days after your surgery. Alexia had no reason to reach out though, she wasn’t the one who was having her reproductive organs sliced up, it was her job to make sure that you were able to achieve optimal recovery. Your health was Alexia’s biggest concern, she needed you to recover, she needed you back on the pitch with her, she needed you back to normal as soon as possible, so that all of her stress and anxiety about everything that was happening could dissipate.

“Alexia, you’re squeezing.”

Alexia looked down at her hand, it was resting on the outside of you thigh, her hand all fisted up in your skin and the paper thin hospital bedding.

“Sorry bebita.”

Alexia retracted her hand as if had been burnt, she felt horribly guilty about the selfishness of her feelings, it wasn’t right for her to be so twisted up in her own troubles. She wasn’t the one suffering.

She didn’t know how to explain it, she felt like a child with her hand between couch cushions, reaching for something and only grazing for the edge of it. She only grazed the edge of understanding what you were going through, it felt like she was eternally reaching for more, trying to feel it, and yet she didn’t have hands big enough to grab what she wanted. She didn’t have the tools to fix this, she didn’t have the body to understand what you were going through, she was left searching without any chance of retrieving anything.

“Alexia.”

Alexia looked up at you, there was something in your body language, like you were uncomfortable, or on the border of being uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry bebe, is everything alright? Are you comfortable? I’m sure they’ll be in soon to come and get you, I know you must want to get this over with.”

You roll your eyes, and Alexia is aware that it’s your way of saying no, but for some reason it cuts deeper for her, she’s so on edge, she’s been on edge ever since you got your surgery date and it’s all starting to reach a certain point that is pushing Alexia in ways she doesn’t understand.

“I want my girlfriend to relax. I’m going to be fine Alexia, nothing is going to happen.”

Alexia knows that factually you’re correct, but in Alexia’s imaginative brain she can’t wrap her head around the truth.

“I know bebita, I just want to make sure that you are feeling good, si? You’re comfortable? It’s important for your recovery that you feel as good as possible.”

Your roll your eyes again.

“Alexia, everything is perfect, it’s all fine. I’ve recovered from this same surgery two times, I’m prepared. You’ve made sure that when I get home I’ll be comfortable, I’ve walked you through what the next week might looked like. I’m prepared and so are you, everything is going to be fine.”

You’re eerily calm and Alexia can’t tell whether or not it’s a front to hide your secret insecurities or if you seriously are content with what you are going through.

She supposes that when you’ve been living with something so debilitating for such a long time that at some stage you get used to constantly being disappointed with your body and constantly knowing that it doesn’t perform the same way that other people’s do.

“I know bebita.”

Alexia doesn’t even sound like she believes herself.

“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem that way.”

Alexia doesn’t want you worrying about her, she doesn’t want you worrying about anything, she wants you to feel calm.

“Bebe, I’m fine. I know our plan, I was the one who made it.”

It’s a weel made plan. Alexia had spent weeks getting everything in line for this moment. You were both going to take at least a week away from football, two weeks if need be. Alexia would return after the rest period, to training until she felt like she was in a place to be back on the pitch. You’d come in with her on the good days, meet with the team doctors and work through whatever exercise that was allowed whilst also just reintegrating into the team. If it all went to plan you’d make your way back into team training at the six week mark, and if it all went to plan you’d be back playing around the eight week mark. For the first week, you would be on mostly bed rest. Alexia had already meal prepped your comfort foods and easy foods to digest for the first week, and she had no doubt that her teammates would drop some more food off. You would rest, allow yourself some grace to recover from what you were going through. Alexia would make sure of it. She didn’t know what you’re previous recoveries from your surgeries looked like, you hardly shared any details about your past with endometriosis but what she could gauge it musn’t of been a positive experience. She was determined to change that though.

“You’ve got nothing to be scared about Ale, I’m going to be fine. I can’t guarantee how happy I’m going to be once this is over but I’ll be okay. I’ve been here, I’ve done this before, it’s the same as every other time.”

Alexia doesn’t think she’s seen anybody go into surgery so casually, as if this is truly just another surgery for you, as if there is no magnitude behind what is about to occur.

“I know bebita, I know.”

Alexia reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze before bringing it up to her mouth and pressing a soft kiss to it. Her lips linger for a second, it feels good to know that you are here with her.

“Ms Putellas, it’s time to take her.”

Alexia looked up to the doorway, where one of your nurses was waiting.

She didn’t want to say goodbye to you, she didn’t want the waiting to start.

Alexia stands up, moving her lips from your hand and pressing them to your hairline, breathing in everything about you. The smell of your shampoo that she’d massaged into your hair this morning, the smell of your body soap, the warmth of your skin. It was all you, the you that Alexia knew, the you that Alexia loved so much. She had so many hidden insecurities, but her biggest one was that deep down this surgery was going to somehow change you, and when you came back different to how you currently would, you wouldn’t want her anymore.

There was no explanation, but it didn’t change what Alexia had come to believe.

“Alexia, I love you, I am going to be fine, I will see you in a couple of hours.”

Alexia didn’t know it, but you had your own insecurities. You’d never had anybody, friends, family, partners that had stuck by your side through all of your issues. Who was interested in a person who was completely broken from the inside? Why would Alexia want to stick around for all the troubles. It wasn’t easy looking after a person with a chronic disease, even with her limited amount of time dating you she’d hardly experienced the real struggle. Sure, she’d seen you on your period, but that didn’t compare to a lifetime of struggles.

Alexia had advocated for you, with the team, with the physios, with the coaches, with your doctors. But was she prepared to do that for the rest of her life? Was she prepared to sacrifice her own health at certain times to prioritise yours? It was the ultimate sacrifice, and even though Alexia was genuinely the best person that you’d ever met, yet you wouldn’t blame her for being unable to compensate for you.

“I know bebe, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you so much, it’s all going to be fine.”

Alexia pressed her lips to your forehead one final time, you didn’t push her when she took her time. Alexia’s lips shook against your skin, the quiver silent as she kept any emotion she had at bay. She needed to be strong, she needed to stay strong for you.

“Ms Putellas, one of the nurses will take you to the waiting room, a doctor will come get you when she’s done.”

Alexia finally pulled her lips away, it truly did feel like she was parting with you completely, like she was being pulled away from you completely.

The nurse reached for Alexia’s hand and she shook it free.

You frowned at her, like she was making this so much harder, it made her feel bad, but she needed this, she needed a moment.

“I love you.”

You let up on your frown.

“I love you too.”

Alexia nodded, if there were tears in the corner of her eyes then she had no idea, her focus was on you, only ever you.

Only when she finally felt comforted, did she let the nurse lead her out.

The nurses took you down one end of the hallway, and she dragged herself in the opposite direction.

The waiting room was the same as any other, random stock pictures of scenery from somewhere around the world, chairs that were more uncomfortable then any other surface, bright white lights that were bound to remind Alexia exactly where she was.

It was all uniform, besides her mother sitting in the corner.

Eli looked the same as she always did, her lips sitting in a content smile. There were big lines all over her face from her smiling all the time, it was the reason why everybody gravitated towards her.

“Mami.”

Alexia had known there was something slightly suspicious happening when her mother had been dodging her calls for the last few days. She’d assumed in typical fashion that whilst Alexia was looking after you, Eli would go into overdrive, cooking all the meals, helping Alexia. She hadn’t quite expected this.

Alexia had kept the details about your surgery vague with her family, she didn’t feel like it was her information to give away and also she wanted to keep some privacy. She knew it was going to be a tough period for you and also for herself.

“No, before you say anything, I am staying.”

Alexia smirks, pushing back the words that had already been on the tip of her tongue.

“You don’t need to be here, I could be waiting for while. I can call you when she’s done and you can come to see her.”

Alexia walks towards her mother, and she knows by the way that Eli is looking at her that she’s not going to be able to convince her to leave. Alexia’s stubbornness came straight from her mother.

“I will do no such thing. I shall wait here with you, I’m here to support my daughter.”

Eli nudges Alexia into the seat beside her.

“I’m not the one having surgery Mami, I will be fine waiting on my own.”

Eli slaps Alexia’s arm.

“Estupida. Tan estupida. When I was in hospital with your faher do you know how alone i felt? No, you will not be alone. Maria has gone to go and get coffee, we will all wait here together until she’s done. Comprendida?”

The tears that were in Alexia’s eyes a couple of minutes ago are back, the sick feeling of anxiety that’s been in her stomach all week, especially today suddenly feels less all consuming.

“You don’t have to do this alone, there are people here for both of you. There is support for you.”

Alexia nods, and for the first time in a while she actually feels like she doesn’t have to handle it all, like maybe she can off load some of the responsibilities that are making her chest ache with every breath she takes.

“Thankyou.”

As the doctors had told Alexia, the first week is by far the worst.

Your surgery ends up going for a lot longer then expected. As the doctors had expected, it hadn’t looked good, and it had spread to some of your organs. The positives were though that there hadn’t been any complications and they’d managed to remove all the affected tissue.

It had ended up being a day procedure and the doctors had cleared Alexia to take you home once you’d woken up and were eating and talking.

It had only gone downhill from there.

You were in a lot of pain, and pretty much delirious on the feeling of it and anaesthesia.

Getting you out of her car and into the house had been near impossible, carrying you was too uncomfortable for your incision, and walking was also impossible.

Eventually, with a mixture of limping, Alexia bearing all the weight for you and dragging you as carefully as she could she got you into your bed.

Alexia had set the house up so that when you were home everything would be easy, she hadn’t organised though for you to be completely immobile.

She got you set up underneath the blankets, allowing you to rest whilst she worked on making a light meal for dinner.

When Alexia came back, you were running a fever.

It was a low grade fever, something the doctors had told her to expect but it made her feel uncomfortable.

A fever was the first sign of an infection, and you weren’t awake enough to know what was going on. What if something bad was happening and she didn’t know? What happened if she didn’t catch it early enough? What if she was the reason that something bad happened?

Before Alexia could find the warning signs of slipping into her own brain she was falling deep into a fog of anxiety.

Alexia was the one who was responsible for making sure that you were okay. She thought that she’d worked out every different variable and issue that could arise, she’d promised you that she’d be there for you after your surgery. If she couldn’t help you with this though then was she really capable of dealing with all of it?

You stirred slightly as Alexia removed the thermometer from your lips, your eyes hazily opening up, looking at her with confusion.

“Hugs.”

It’s almost laughable the way that you whine at Alexia, the doctors had said that you would be pretty out of it for the first few days. You’d told Alexia that in the past, the first two or three days after your surgeries tended to consist of mostly sleep and adjusting to the pain of your healing incisions. After they had healed it was all upwards from there.

“How are you feeling? Do you want some more pain relief? Do you need some water? Food? You’re not feeling nauseous or cold?”

You shook your head, your lips morphing into a soft smile as you took in Alexia, all flustered and clearly worked up.

“Want hugs.”

Alexia was guarded, she always was when she was focused on protecting people. You didn’t want guarded Alexia. You wanted relaxed, homey, calm Alexia. The Alexia who would sit on the couch with you after a rough game and eat icecream, the Alexia who would silence her alarm on a morning workout day to stay in bed with you, the Alexia who just wanted to spend all of her time with you. You just wanted the Alexia that would put whatever you wanted above all else.

Alexia looks torn, really torn, like she knows that she should probably be caregiving in some way. She promised you though that she’d let you guide her through your process, that she wouldn’t try to control how you wanted to recover.

“Okay bebita, if that’s what you want.”

Alexia slips to the wardrobe quickly, pulling off her sweats in favor for changing them in for some softer pyjamas. She doesn’t know how long she’s going to be in bed with you but she assumes it’s going to be long enough that she’ll want to be comfortable.

When she makes her way back into the bedroom you’re waiting patiently, like you know that if you’d fallen asleep whilst Alexia was gone she probably would have gone off to tackle some non-existent chore to make herself feel better. Alexia rolls her eyes at how well you know her more unobvious traits and tells.

Alexia, without trying to shift the mattress at all, pushes herself under the covers of your bed. She’d made sure to put down fresh sheets, so it’s comfier and snugglier then it normally is. When you realise that Alexia is going to make no attempt to shift within cuddling distance you pull your arms out from underneath the blankets. Everything is sore and accompanied with a tinge of pain that makes your head hurt. It sucks. You want your teddy bear of a girlfriend to hug it away.

Even though it hurts, you reach for the hem of her sleep shirt, tugging it towards you. There is no power to your movements but there is a general message. Alexia shuffles closer to you, but still far away enough that you definitely can’t use any part of her body as a pillow. You don’t know why it hits you then, you know you’ve got a lot of built up emotions, and that hormonally there is so much going on in your body and the pain medication isn’t making it any better. You don’t know why, but all of a sudden the tears start to fall and you can’t contain the sniffle that you make.

“Bebita, what’s wrong?”

Alexia shoots up, ready to take action in whatever way is needed.

“Do you even love me? What person wouldn’t want to give their girlfriend a hug? I know I just had surgery and I’m digusting and haven’t showered and smell like hospital but can you not just give me a hug, is is that big of a ask?”

Alexia almost immediately recoils, the feeling that sets into her stomach is one of horror. Of course she wants to hug you. Of course she wants to love you, she’s just scared to hurt you.

“Bebita, no. It’s not about any of that, I just don’t want to hurt you bebe. I love you so much bebe, none of the surgery stuff bothers me, not in the slightest. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

At this stage you’re sobbing hysterically and Alexia feels so horrible.

“I know you didn’t want me to get the surgery, I know it was stupid but can you just hug me?”

Alexia genuinely does a double take when you say that, it’s a insecurity that you haven’t expressed to her at all and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Bebe, of course I wanted you to have the surgery. I can’t tell you whether or not it was a good decision for you, but for me it was a no brainer. Bebe, you were in so much pain, you were struggling so much and for me it was so hard to see you go through that. I don’t know why you’d think that I wouldn’t want you to get the surgery but I can tell you that any decision that makes you feel happier and healthier is always going to be the best decision. If this surgery makes you feel healthier and happier then why would it be stupid?”

You don’t really know what you are thinking or why you’re suddenly thinking all of these things but you just feel so wrong all of a sudden.

“You promise?”

Alexia smiles at you, finally leaning over into your personal space. She bring her hand up to yours and interlocks your pinky with hers.

“I pinky promise, now how about we work out that hugh that you want. I don’t want to hurt you, so what’s going to work best?”

Alexia reaches up to thumb away the tears that are still leaking down your face, you can’t control the random emotions that are flurrying through your body like a tornado.

“The doctor said I should sleep propped up, so I could lie with my back pressed to your front?”

Alexia figures that probably is the best way to approach this whole situation.

It’s not easy getting you to sit up for long enough for Alexia to slip in behind you, but you both reap the reward when you get to relax against each other.

Even though you’re wrapped in Alexia’s hoodie she swears that she can feel your bones relax against hers and even though she knows that you might be in pain she selfishly couldn’t care less. For the first time since she’d walked through the doors of the hospital this morning she finally feels like she can breathe, like she has you, like her inherent need to protect you from everything has finally been fulfilled.

Alexia worries about you more then anything else, when you get injured, when you’re sick, when you’re away from Alexia too long she worries. Her need to protect and care for you has only developed more over the course of your relationship, and when she found out about your endometriosis it doubled. She’s never worried much about anything besides football, and even when she worried about football it was never the same kind of worry, it’s more internalised stress about achieving what she’s set out. For you, everything is irrational, none of it makes any functional sense, it’s ridiculous. And yet she kind of loves it, because she knows that it means it’s all real, that her love for you is so real and true that she worries irrationally because the thought that anything bad could ever happen to you she knows that it would break her in ways she’s never been broken before. She saw it in here mami when here papi died, the way that she stopped being able to function in the absence of him, and god forbid anything similar happened to you Alexia knows she’d be the same.

There’s this thing about recovery, about recovery from a non-injury that makes your skin crawl. You’re not a good person to be around when you’re struggling, it’s the half the reason you’d kept your reproductive issues from Alexia, because it all made you grumpy and tired and borderline and fucking bitch. There was a pattern of shutdowns, emotional, physical, mental, every single time you had a slip or bad period. A surgery though, it was a whole different story.

By week two you felt pretty much back to normal, but as the doctors kept reminding you, you weren’t. That was the problem with internal surgery, eventually the outside of your body returned to feeling normal, but the healing process on the inside took ten times longer. Your scars were healed, even the swelling had started to go down, the pain was minimal but you were still healing.

By week 4 you knew that you were toeing the line of being a bitch and being intolerable. You stomped your way around the halls of the training facilities, annoyed with your lack of progress and the fact that whilst all of your teammates were out on the pitch, you were stuck indoors under the air conditioning doing the exact same pelvic floor exercises that you’d been doing for two weeks. You were now allowed to run on the treadmill, instead of the slow walk that you’d been doing for the past few weeks. It all felt like nothing though, like you were being pulled through hell with no real picture of when you would be allowed to return.

You’d known about all of this before your surgery, known that it was going to be a slow process. What you hadn’t realised though was just how lonely that process was going to be, nobody understood what you were going through. At least with injury there was common ground, everyone on the team had been through some kind of back setting injury that had them in the gym more then on the pitch. They’d never been sidelined for something inside of them though, something that was going to keep coming back and keep hurting them over and over again.

Week 5 was when you broke. There wasn’t any exact reason, maybe it was the way that Mapi continuously kept trying to get you to try some stupid gym challenge when she knew you weren’t allowed to, maybe it was the way that Alexia kept coming home everyday complaining about how the defenders couldn’t get their act together, or maybe it was just the overwhelming pressure that was starting to get to you.

All you know is that after a particularly hard day and Alexia groaning about the sprints they’d run after every drill on the way to the car, it had been the final straw for you.

The minute your seatbelt was fastened there were tears pouring down your face.

When Alexia reached out you smacked her hands away.

“Bebe, talk to me, are you in pain? What hurts?”

If you weren’t busy crying you’d probably slap Alexia for the stupidity she was exhibiting.

“No, no I’m not fucking in pain. I’m sick of you constantly fucking tell me about all of your problems and acting like I wouldn’t die to be doing what you’re fucking doing. I’m sick of everybody thinking that I can do everything that they are doing just because I look fine. I know I look fine, I know I seem fine, hell at this stage I’m pretty sure I am fine. I’m sick of feeling like I’m back to normal and being told that I’m fucking not, that I have to wait another week, that I can’t do things that are so normal to my life.”

Once again when Alexia tries to give you a hug you deny her, wiggling out of her hold as soon as she tries.

“Bebe, no recovery is linear or easy. Just because yours looks different to most peoples doesn’t make it any less valid. You need to be more gracious to yourself, you are going to get back from this. Just because it isn’t a normal process or what a recovery normally looks like for you doesn’t mean that you are any less entitled to your process.”

You know that like everybody else, Alexia doesn’t understand. Sure, she’s injured herself, she’s been through hell and back for her recovery. She doesn’t understand though what you feel, the immense struggle that you are going through.

“No Ale, you don’t fucking understand. There was no point in your recovery where you weren’t able to eat your favourite foods because your body didn’t react well, there was no limiting you from sex, there was no limits on what the unaffected parts of your body could and couldn’t do. There was no limits on how much time you could spend in certain positions or limits on whether or not you could fucking vaccum or carry something heavier then 5 kilos. You don’t understand, I have nothing to look forward to, i’m going fucking crazy watching everybody do things daily with ease that I can’t fucking do. My fucking body hates me, it betrays me everyday. And I can’t change that, I can’t do anything about that.”

Alexia forces herself to take a deep breath, to truly consider what you’re saying. She doesn’t want to invalidate you, not even remotely, she knows how easy it is for people like you to be invalidated because of your disease. She has no idea what you are going through, she can’t even begin to understand, and yet she’s been trying to. She’s been trying to empathise with what you’ve been feeling, she’s tried her hardest to force her feet into your shoes but the reality is that she will never be able to. Nothing is going to make her understand the magnitude of what you are going through, and she thinks that she needs to stop pretending that she does.

“You’re right bebita, you’re right. I’m so sorry, just tell me what you need, whatever you need and I will help you. I will try my hardest to do whatever it is you need. Just take some deep breaths with me, vale? It’s okay, the world isn’t going to end right here and right now, it might feel like it but I promise it won’t. These are fixable problems, we can fix this, maybe not right now which sucks but eventually this will all be fixable.”

This time when Alexia moves to hug you, you don’t flinch away. For the first fucking time in five weeks you be slightly heard, less alone and isolated.

You sob into Alexia’s neck, not caring that it’s making her neck wet and also your face. It feels good to let it all out, like all of the weight, all the words from your psychologist, from the doctors, from the physios, from your teammates, from the coaches, from Ale are slowly becoming background noise. All you want is for it to be background noise, for it to all disappear.

“We’re going to be okay bebe, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to work this out.”

Alexia doesn’t really believe her own words, she doesn’t know if everything is going to be okay, not remotely. She doesn’t know how to help you, after you became self-reliant after week 2 her job as your caregiver was pretty much nonexistent, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t still need help. It was all confusing, a back and forwards dance that didn’t really make any sense really. Whether Alexia had realised it or not though, she’d assumed that you were happy to do it alone, inadvertently. She was giving you your space to recover how you wished, even though it was clear that wasn’t necessarily how you wanted to go about your rehab.

When your cries softened Alexia let go a little bit, so she could look at you.

“How can I help bebita? Tell me what I need to do and I will do everything I can.”

Your eyes are all glassy and full of tears, it makes the hole of guilt in Alexia’s heart even bigger.

“I just want to play.”

Alexia furrows her face, because of all the things she can do, that isn’t one. She can’t clear you to play and she won’t condone you rushing your rehab to get back. She wants you to play, do desperately, but only when you’re at full health.

“I can help you with your rehab, bebita you can be cleared from the six week mark onwards, if you work really hard this week there is a chance you could be back in training next week. But you can’t rush yourself, I know you want to be back on the pitch, I want you back on the pitch. But you need to be ready, and right now you aren’t.”

Alexia thinks it might be a little bit too brutal, but the way you nod at her with real determination tells her that she’s said the right things, she’s supporting what you need whilst also being honest.

“I can’t get you back on the pitch but how about icecream, huh?”

You look like you might start crying again but after a few seconds you roll your eyes in the same way that you would to Alexia on any other day.

“It’s a wednesday, your cheat day is Mondays.”

Alexia shrugs, because cheat days aside, she’d break any and every rule just to see a smile on your face.

“Well last time I checked everyday is a icecream day, especially on wednesdays.”

Alexia’s goofy smile never leaves her face. It’s clear on your face though that you’re still worrying.

“Bebita, you can’t do anything about this. You just keep doing what you’re doing, even though it sucks and we wait until your six week appointment and hopefully you get good news. The doctors said if everything went how it should then next week should be when things start to pick up, you just have to trust the process bebe and it’ll all work out. Until it all works out, we have icecream, no?”

Your barriers break and for the first time since you’d sat down in the car you smiled at Alexia.

“Yes, we do have ice cream.”

Alexia had been forbidden from coming to your six week appointment, you wanted to do it alone, wanted to face whatever news you were given on your own and she respected that.

It didn’t make it any easier.

In the space of around an hour she had reorganised her wardrobe and then reorganised it again because she couldn’t handle not having certain things in certain places. She then moved on to folding all of the laundry, making sure her kit bag had everything that was necessary for the away game coming up and then out of pure desperation she moved on to cleaning all of the dishes.

She’d seen the way that the last week in particular had drained you, how everyday had been even more of a struggle. For the first few weeks, there had been moments of intimacy, moments of love and softness. All Alexia wanted was that back, she wanted to be able to love you and have you reciprocate it without withdrawing. She just wanted some part of you back.

When she heard your keys turning in the door, she tried her hardest to look normal, perched on the kitchen bench like a kid waiting for their parents to come home from work.

She listens to the sound of the door clicking open and shut, then the sound of shoes scuffing off, a bag being dropped and then your footsteps. Alexia’s heart beats faster and faster as she listens to you slowly get closer to her.

She’s rewarded when she finally sees you, and you’re not crying and don’t look like your about to punch something so she thinks there must be some kind of good news on the horizon.

When you spot Alexia clearly waiting for you, you almost laugh, she looks like she’s trying so hard to not ask you what she clearly wants to. She looks almost antsy.

“Hi.”

You keep walking, closer and closer, until your standing in between her legs and looking up at her from her spot sat on the counter.

Before she asks a question, you lean in, you need it. You need to feel Alexia in a way that’s been forbidden for far to long.

The kiss is breath taking, not to rough, not to over bearing. It’s just enough of everything that you feel like you’ve been missing out on. It makes everything better.

Alexia lets you take control, it feels good to not be out of control with everything that’s been happening.

Eventually though, when your hands move from her neck to the hem of her shirt, she pulls away.

“Bebe, I love you, but if you haven’t been cleared we should stop here.”

You roll your eyes and fish your hand into you back pocket, pulling out a folded up slip of paper.

“I think you’ll find that you have a girlfriend who has been cleared to return to all activities except games until I’ve gotten sufficient training hours, I’ve got the green light amor.”

Alexia pulls the paper from your hand, her eyes scanning every single word of the clearance form your doctor, making sure that you’re telling the truth. When she gets to the bottom, her face lights up and before you can say anything she’s standing up and lifting you in her arms.

“Alexia, put me down.”

You giggle as she balances you on her hip as if you are much smaller then you truly are, already walking towards your bedroom.

“I think it’s time to show my beautiful, patient, hardworking girlfriend just how much i love her, unless you disagree?”

You have no objections.

Alexia drops you down on the bedding as softly as possible, a big cheshire grin plastered across her face, like a huntress whose found her prey.

She joins you on the mattress, crawling up your body and kissing different places as she goes.

When she get’s to your head she presses her lips to yours, there isn’t any inhibitions or barriers, she kisses you like a person whose been so deprived of something that they’re craving it, like she’s greedy for you. Alexia moves her lips everywhere, your neck, your collarbones, as low as she can get until your tank top stops her and when she wants more, she gently tugs the top off.

Alexia worships your skin like it’s holy, she kisses and sucks and bites until your sweating and so worked up that you can’t think. When it starts to get to you, she unclips your bra, and that’s a whole other level of worshipping every inch of breast and then your nipples.

It’s glorious, 6 weeks of celibacy had been hell. Technically this would have been okay, but neither of you trusted yourselves to get to this stage and not go further.

So being here, being at this level of pure ecstasy and pleasure was everything you’d wanted and it made all of the tough moments feel so much smaller.

After she was sufficiently happy with her worship of your upperbody, she began her campaign downwards, spending time on your ribcage and stomach before spending extra time showering your incision with soft kisses.

It was something she’d done regularly since the bandages had come off, everytime you stared in the mirror for two long, or complained about how ugly it looked she would spend at least half an hour reminding you just how perfect your body was with certain scars. Those scars were proof that you were healthy and taking care of yourself and for Alexia that mattered far more.

From your incision it was down to the band of your leggings, which after a quick glance up to check you were still happy, she slowly peeled off.

“Alexia, enough teasing.”

Alexia pressed open mouthed kisses all along the outline of your panties.

“I’ve been away from your body for so long bebita, I’m just reintroducing myself.”

You rolled your eyes at the blonde, and were about to say something bratty but were stopped when she moved her open mouth a bit further down, just above your mound.

Instead of a bratty retort Alexia’s ears were met with the glorious sounds of little moans slipping from your lips as she teased you.

When you started bucking up into her, Alexia made the executive decision to move things ahead a bit quicker then she intended, after all she had plenty of time to do this, over and over again.

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts, si? If anything feels wrong say something, we’ll just stick to my mouth for now and work our way back up.”

You nodded at her, even when you felt good sex could be painful, it was a weird back and forth of you feeling good and then all of a sudden feeling bad. All you craved right now though was sweet release.

“Want to taste you bebita, god I missed tasting you.”

You swear your legs go numb and you almost orgasm just from her words.

“It might be quick, it’s been a long time Ale and I’m sensitive.”

Alexia smiled at you, kind and genuine like she had all of the time in the world.

“Just feel it however you need to, if it’s fast then it’s fast, whatever you feel just take it.”

You nod at your girlfriend before relaxing against the pillows on your bed, allowing Alexia to pull one of your knees above her shoulder.

The feeling of her mouth on you is truly the best feeling in the world, you don’t care how loud you are because the fulfillment you are getting has been so hard worked for that you can’t help but just enjoy it.

Alexia licks and sucks in all of your most sensitive places, places that have been untouched for so long that you’d almost forgotten just how good it could feel. When she pulls your clit into her mouth you see stars and you know that you aren’t going to last long at all, you gather Alexia can tell from the way that your octave heightens.

“Ale-Ale I’m going to cum.”

You can feel Alexia smirk against you.

Even though she knows that she’s able to satisfy you, there is nothing better then actually doing it.

“Go ahead bebe, I’m right here, you’ve been so good and patient. You deserve it, if you feel it just let go.”

You nod your head, biting down on your lip as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, there is no hesitation from your edge, when she grazes her teeth against your clit you are well and truly gone.

Normally, you’d last more then one round, or you’d reciprocate at the least but before you can even try Alexia has you bundled up in her arms, pressing kisses all over your face.

You squeal and flinch but she doesn’t stop, not until your face is all red and your both relaxed against your pillows.

“You know how proud I am of you? You’ve been so good this whole process bebita, so perfect, so hardworking, so determined. You’ve pushed through it all, and you’re going to keep doing ti because your the toughest person I know, truly. I love you so much amor.”

You know that for the rest of your life, Alexia will take care of you, like nobody else. Underneath the surface she cares for you more than anybody else ever had and ever will.

[halfwayhearted]

Will You Cry? — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: Ever since JJ’s confession, it feels like your relationship with Spencer is crumbling to pieces right before your eyes. You’ve had enough.

Word Count: 920+

Disclaimer/s — ANGST (hiphip!), no fluff/comfort ending, no use of Y/N, I think that’s it! 🎀

A/N: Soooooo, haha… Lmk.

‘I’ve always loved you’.

Those were Jennifer Jareau's exact words to your boyfriend of two years. You weren't angry; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She had to give the UnSub what he wanted, to be impressed. And she did exactly that.

You weren’t mad at her at all. Nor him.

Well, you weren't mad at him then. Now, it was a whole different story.

The pieces of your relationship were shattering, bit by bit, right in front of you. The worst part was, you felt completely and utterly helpless. You tried, and you tried, and you tried. But, he just kept on acting the same way.

Distant.

Once it hit exactly two months, you realized you faced one thought and one thought only.

If you decide to let go, how will he feel?

Will he reassure you, claiming it’s just a… a rough patch, finally realizing just how deeply his lack of understanding and communication has quite literally affected you? Or, will he keep doing what he's been doing, shrugging and brushing you off like you're nothing but a stranger he happens to pass by almost every single day?

You'd find out one way or another.

Oh. You’ll actually find out right now! How fun.

As soon as you hear the front door unlock and creak open, you rise to your feet, casting a wary glance towards him. You nervously wipe your sweaty palms on your pants.

He had spent yet another few hours at the BAU, even though he didn't have to. That was also one of the reasons you so badly needed to talk to him. He never stayed this late before, but ever since everything went down, he started to. Leaving you to drive home alone, wondering if this was the slow, painful end of something special.

“Hey,” you begin, “You’re home late. Again.”

He merely hummed, a distant sound, as he took off his leather messenger bag, hung it on the hook with a weary sigh, and slipped off his shoes.

How could you even bring this up? Just—you didn’t know, take a deep breath and go for it? “Do you think we could maybe… talk?”

Slowly, Spencer flicked his gaze to meet yours. He mutters your name under his breath before replying, “I’m tired. Can this wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“No,” you blurted, internally face-palming. “It won’t take long, I don’t think.”

Inhaling sharply, your boyfriend nods and begins to take off his tie, his eyes never leaving you as you figure out how to start.

“About JJ’s confession,” you begin, mentally cursing yourself when you see him stiffen almost immediately. It’s already out. So, just stick with it. “Did it mean something to you?”

Silence. Deafening silence. The only sound is the subtle hum of the air conditioning. You vividly remember you and Spencer on the couch, his head on your lap as he read a book you both wanted to read together. He’d pause whenever the air conditioning kicked on, making you let out a small huff of laughter. It feels like it was just yesterday. But, in reality, it was four months ago.

You felt your patience thinning, “Spencer—”

“What do you want me to say?” He quips, lifting his arms in frustration. His words cut through the air, earning a bitter scoff in return.

You kept your composure. “Answer the question.”

“Why does it matter?”

Why does it matter? You could’ve burst out laughing right then and there, but you held it in.

“It matters because I need to know if everything I’ve been doing these past two months have been for nothing!” You snapped, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I tried to make this work, it’s like you’ve given up on us or something.”

All you get in return is silence, so you continue. “You don’t talk to me as much as you used to. Not about your day, what you’ve read, how you’ve been—nothing! It’s always ‘I’m tired, talk later,’ or you vanish into your office for hours and hours on end. We don’t even do the things we used to. Haven’t you realized? I—I don’t even know what to say to you anymore, Spencer. No weekly dates, no quality time spent. I didn’t mind because as long as you were here, I was fine. But now? Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve tried to get at least a little communication from you, but you’ve given me nothing. I’m tired, okay? So, please, talk to me.”

…

He blinks. Once, twice, three times. Nothing.

Of course.

A humorless laugh bubbles up and escapes your lips. The tears you fought so hard to hold back now stream uncontrollably down your cheeks. You brush past him and reach for your sweater. Just then, you feel the desperate brush of his fingers against your elbow, but you pull back and slip the fabric on with a trembling resolve.

You hear him say your name. You don’t answer as you grab your bag. He says it again, this time much louder. Still, you don't respond as you grab your keys. Once you stand in front of the door, you turn to face him. “If you can’t come to terms with your feelings just yet, I understand. But I’m done putting myself through that—the waiting. I won’t put up with that anymore. Not right now.”

He says nothing.

Spencer Reid is silent.

You catch the softening in his expression, but you turn away sharply, refusing to let yourself crumble under the weight of his gaze.

“Goodbye, Spencer.” And with that, you leave.

You were done.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[rinhaler]

MORE UNCLE NANAMI PLEASIEEEE PLEASE 🥺🥺🥺🥺👉🏽👈🏽

++ 𝐡𝐢𝐢, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲/𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 🙈 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐤𝐬𝐣

It's been a while since I did any nanamin stuff hehe (combining two reqs bc u both don't have anything specific heheheee)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, incest, fem!reader, uncle!nanamin, fingering, exhibitionism, public sex ig, squirting, pet names (sweetheart, princess, angel, baby).

words: 1.1k

“W-Wow…” you muse, taking in the decadent atmosphere of the restaurant.

You’ve seldom been to places like this, like when your favourite uncle decides to treat you and your mother to a nice meal when he’s in town. But even then, there is a stark difference from the restaurants back home in the village you live in. It’s magnificent. You may have experienced a similar setting before, but never on a date.

A date with that very same uncle, nonetheless.

“You like it, sweetheart? I’m glad.” he tells you, taking your hand as you're guided by the maître d' to your table. He looks over the top of his menu as he studies your face. You’re so precious, that’s what he thinks as you look over the options and realise you don’t understand what any of them are. “I’ll order for you.” he assures you, taking the menu from your hand and setting it down.

You feel yourself get warmer, a little embarrassed that he picked up on your cluelessness so easily. But you smile, regardless, thanking him.

You’ve been so excited for this little trip since you first heard about it.

“Uncle Nanami wants to know if you’d like to spend the weekend with him?” your mother asked/told you. And, bless her, she had no idea what that would entail.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him. You were hardly surprised when your ankles were practically behind your ears as he drilled his cock in and out of your puffy, slicked up folds, the minute he got you to his house.

You’d been drenched the entire train ride.

“You look so pretty tonight, princess.” he tells you, cupping your face so sweetly with a rough, masculine hand. His singular hand is almost the size of your entire face. He coos at you as your eyelids become heavier, leaning in to place a delicate kiss on your cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here with me. Hopefully your mother won’t object to this being a regular thing.” he smiles.

You’ve been squirming in your seat since before your main course arrived. The way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, you forget how naughty your uncle Nanamin can be. Your panties are once again entirely soaked through. He’d mentally noted how much you were wriggling around, though he chose not to comment on it. Not until—

“Can’t sit still for five minutes, hm? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“N-Need you…” you whisper, putting your head down to avert his intense stare. Though you’re soon looking at him again as he tilts your head up by your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“What was that, angel? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Need you… uncle Nanamin, need you real bad.” you pout. And at that, he smirks. You’re a little taken aback as his hand lowers beneath the table. Here? Right here? Your heart pounds as you look around at the other clueless restaurant patrons. This is so unlike him. He’s always so upstanding and discreet. But—

“My my, sweet little girl. You are soaked.” he comments as his fingers breach the hemline of your cotton panties. You bite your lip as his fingers drag up and down the length of your slit. He shushes you as your eyes well with tears, shame and pleasure wrack through you as he finds your slippery clit. And he targets it, skilfully. “Be good for me, be so good for me. If you make a single sound, I won’t touch you for the remainder of the weekend. Do you understand?”

You take his words literally, only nodding as he awaits your answer. It’s near impossible, though, when he makes you feel so good like this. Even with just a few pathetic rubs on your clit, your eyes begin to roll back.

“Na— Nanamin,” you do your best to whisper, his name leaving your lips as a ghoulish gasp. He shushes you, quietly, but it’s loud enough to make a statement. His eyebrows furrow, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or disappointment. You think you’ll die if he stops, though his ministrations haven’t ceased yet. Maybe you were quiet enough to test the boundaries of what he actually meant.

He doesn’t want you to cause a scene.

“Kiss me, please.” you whisper again. And that softens his features. He pities you, you think, although that assumption proves wrong as he indulges you. He closes the distance between you without letting up his gentle yet purposeful touches on your pretty pearl. You’re a little surprised when you feel his tongue enter your mouth, something you’ve never known him to do in public before. “I— I love you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles into your kiss before he breaks it completely. “You’re so close, you’re shaking. Let me see how much you love me. Cum for your favourite uncle, sweetheart, go on.” he instructs you.

He holds one of your hands with his free one while your other one curls into your seat. Your knuckles turn white as you finish, legs trembling and clamping around his hand as you douse his fingers. You can’t believe he’s made you squirt in public. Embarrassment rises through you once more, and you’ve never felt such a scorching temperature in your life.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed, while Nanami withdraws his hand and crosses his ankle over his knee. You watch him as he sucks his fingers clean of the mess, your mess, with a look of contentment on his face. You, however, are panting heavily while you rest your head in one hand on the table. You’re slumped over, and you couldn’t feel more self-conscious.

You don’t exactly look like you belong here.

“Would you be interested in some dessert?” a waiter asks as he approaches, though his question almost evaporates as he looks at you. Your sweat coated skin and your mussed up hair catches him off guard. Your irregular breathing makes him worry for your well-being. “Are you alright, Miss? You look…” he finds himself at a loss of what to even say. He knows he needs to be polite, but you almost look ill.

“She’s fine, just a little warm and worked up.” your dear uncle intervenes, smiling at the waiter graciously as he interlocks his fingers and rests his chin atop them. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? I’m sure you’ll cool down after some ice cream.”

You nod, doing what you can to pull yourself together. You’d hate to embarrass your favourite uncle, after all. What if he doesn’t invite you back to do this again?

“Wonderful, sir.” the waiter smiles as he holds up a pad of paper with a pen to take your dessert orders. “You make a lovely couple, by the way.” you aren’t sure if he’s being polite out of obligation to his job, or if he genuinely feels that way. But you and your uncle share a knowing smile with each other, and yours only grows wider as he brushes a fallen section of hair out of your face.

“We aren’t a couple.” he starts. “I’m her uncle.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[artists-ally]

Hello sweetheart 😘 I really really adore your writing so much ! So, I dare to send in an idea as well 🥰 maybe you're dating Harvey but he barely had time for you lately, so one time he wants to surprise you with dinner at his apartment and you enjoy your time together. Then you both end your evening with lovely passionate smut and lots of cuddles afterwards. In the morning he wakes up before you and takes time in admiring you, realizing how happy he is to have you ? Hope that's not too cheesy ❤️ thank you so much in advance!

{Warm} Reader x Harvey Specter

This has been sitting in my inbox for god knows how long. I thank you for your patience my dear. I love this idea so much, and this song Warm by SG Lewis is just perfect. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. P.S. nothing is EVER too cheesy for me to write <3

Word Count: 3,998

Warnings: Just some good ole fluff and smut, some very soft dom!Harvey.

Tagging: @rosedpetal @blacktreacle22

Summary: After a particularly brutal month in the office, you've noticed some changes. Harvey is just... not present. Rather than demanding his attention, you just simply float by, knowing eventually he'll return his negligence. And boy does he ever.

~~~~~

“Yn, you really just need to grow a set and tell Harvey he’s being a jackass,” Donna scolds through the phone.

I roll my eyes, “Donna, I told you before. I don’t mind. He’s focused on winning this case, and it quite literally is the life and death of this firm. So, while I appreciate your ‘words of affirmation’, I didn’t ask for them.”

“I know, I just hate to see you so neglected.”

“Oh please,” I pff, flipping my head to move a chunk of hair out of my eye. “Neglected is probably the last thing I am. I can entertain myself. I actually haven’t minded the space. Every once and a while it’s good to go back to the basics. I’ve finally learned how to take care of the plants, I can make a mean lasagna too. I’ve even gotten back into reading. For fun.”

“Sheesh, clearly something is wrong if you’ve been reading voluntarily.”

I snickered. “I don’t know, I saw a book recommendation on instagram and fell in love. Childhood penpals turned strangers, turned back to penpals and she found out he’s the world's biggest rock star and he’s been writing songs about her the entire time.”

“Sounds exactly like the fairytale mushy-gushy shit you love. How you found Harvey to fill those shoes I’ll never understand.”

“He’s just… I don’t know, exactly what I need? My life is perpetually disorganized and he’s too organized. We balance each other out. It just works, and I love our life. I love our dynamic, and I love him. Since he’s so busy, and I have the energy and mental space to, I don’t mind picking up the slack. Again, things will balance themselves back.”

Donna sighed, and I knew that flat line was on her lips. “I know, you’re always so insightful. Optimistic bitch.” I cackled a laugh. “But in all seriousness, Harvey needs you. You’re right, he is too organized. He needs you to unwind him. I know how he is, and he needs a kick in the ass every once in a while. So, if by the end of the week, he doesn’t come around a little, just push him. He’ll fold. Especially for you, and that ass of yours.”

A smile bloomed onto my face, the door of our apartment building coming into view. “Thanks Donna, I’ll let you know how tonight goes. Maybe I’ll stop by the office in the morning and bring the crew some coffee, a few bagels as well.”

“This is why you will always remain my favorite. Now go eat that Chinese food, you sexy son of a bitch.”

“How did you know I had Chinese food?” 

“Because I’m Donna.” Then the line went dead.

Psycho. My psycho, but still a psycho. 

I did indeed have a takeout bag hooked in my elbow filled with Chinese food. Sesame chicken and wonton soup for me, beef and broccoli with pork lo-mein for Harvey. I got a small order of pork fried rice and some scallion pancakes to share. I was about ten seconds away from crouching in an alley and eating myself into a coma. 

The city streets were just beginning to fill up with Friday night festivities. Those heading to lavish dinners or exotic clubs, dressed to the nines with pristine hair and outfits. I looked down at my beat up orthopedic sneakers that kept the never ending foot pain of being a museum tour guide at bay. Here I was, surrounded by the most eccentric and busy place on earth, with absolutely nothing to do.

And that felt amazing. 

I scurried up the steps to the apartment building, greeting our doorsman with a smile and a wave. He gave me one back, pulling open the big glass doors. The mild April chill vanished and the comfortable, still air caressed my cheeks. The elevator door chimed open, chimed closed, and ascended to the top. 

21… 22… 23… the floors climbed and climbed. What was I going to watch? The new season of Bridgerton was out, I could watch that. No, the next season can’t possibly be as good as Charlottes. Maybe a movie? Didn’t that second Dunne one come out? I’m not sure I understand the first one enough to comprehend the second. 

The ding sounds, and I step off, juggling my keys as I rattle off more ideas in my head. 

There's always The Big Bang Theory, maybe Two Broke Girls? Nah, I’ve seen those a thousand times. Maybe I should watch something new. No, nothing sounds interesting. I could try to read, but I don’t wanna risk spilling anything on my book. Once in third grade, I was eating a bowl of cereal in the morning, and I spilled the entire thing on my book. If You Give A Mouse A Cookie was never the same again. 

When the door opened, I toed off my sneakers, kicking them in the corner. I threw the keys in the bowl and hummed a song aimlessly. In the kitchen, I pried a plate out of the cabinet and began to spoon food onto my plate. I won’t tell Harvey, but I stole some of his lo-mein. 

“Yn,” a voice spoke. 

I spun so hard I knocked my hip into the kitchen island corner, a scream bubbling out. “Jesus fucking christ Harvey! You could warn me next time, fucking hell.” 

My heart thrashed in my chest, my eyes going a little wonky from adrenaline. I swallowed, bending at the waist to catch my breath.

“Sorry, my love,” he smiled, coming to raise me from my hunched over position. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“A simple text would’ve been lovely,” I sighed, rising to my full height. “What the hell are you doing…”

All words died on my tongue as I looked around. The table was decorated with a white cloth, candles skewed about. There were flowers in a vase on the counter, beside it a card with two small boxes. There was champagne chilling in a metal bucket of ice, a box of chocolate covered strawberries and cherries next to it. 

“Harvey, what’s all this for? Our anniversary isn’t for two months.”

He grinned, that smirk going right to my chest. “No, it’s not.”

“Then what's all… this?” I waved my hand around, noticing a few balloons blown up and taped to the archway. I somehow completely missed the rose petals lining the floor. 

“It’s because I love you,” Harvey grabbed my hips, pressing our fronts together. “You’ve been… dealing with me for weeks now. My absence, my constant mood swings and lashing out. And I know what you’re gonna say-”

“That I know you’ve been stressed and need some time to focus on the case?”

Harvey tilted his head, a flat expression on his lips. “Yes. That.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Harvey. I know how important work is to you, and I know that you’ve really needed to focus so the firm doesn’t crumble and-”

“But I need you to know that you are a thousand times more important than work,” he says, placing his palms on my cheeks. He kisses me softly, stealing the air from my lungs. “Then the firm,” another kiss.  “And anything that has to do with that hellscape. I love you, Yn. And I don’t know what I would do without your constant flexibility with my chaotic life. So this is a very small token of my appreciation. The first part, at least.”

I hummed against his lips, letting my arms lay across his shoulders. I kiss him deeply. “The first part?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, hands falling down my back, a less than PG-13 flex of his hands on my ass. “First, I want you to open those little boxes. Then, we’re gonna eat and have some dessert.”

“I feel like there's more to this list,” I smile, making my way back to the counter to get our food. One second to the next, Harvey gripped my arm and pulled me back into his chest. I could feel his desire pressing into me. “Looks like I’m right.”

“You’re always right,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear. He kissed the side of my neck, leaving a little bite below my ear. “Go sit, I’ll get the food.”

A new thrill fueled my body, propelling my steps to the dining room. I sat, playing with the end of the table cloth as Harvey brough everything over. The champagne, the card, the boxes and the food. Before he made his way to his seat, his palm cupped my neck and he tilted my head back. His deep, lust filled eyes locked with mine before he kissed me again. 

“Open whichever you’d like, darling,” he sat opposite me, tucking the napkin across his lap. 

“Just because I did what anyone would for their love doesn’t mean you need to shower me with gifts, Harvey,” I said, giving him a pointed look. 

“And if I bought them just because I wanted to?” 

Point taken. I read the card, a picture of a polar bear wearing sunglasses on a beach with a coconut in its hand plastered on the front. 

Classy. It made me giggle nonetheless.

To my Yn,

Thank you. I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you for being here, even when I wasn’t. I’m sorry for my absence, I promise I’ll be more conscious of my time spent at the office. I love you, more than I ever thought I’d ever be able to love anything. You are everything I’ve always wanted, and everything I never knew I’d need. After this last month, I didn’t understand just how badly I craved you. Your smile, your laugh, your warmth. The taste of you in the morning, and those adorable snores at night. No matter how many times I do it, I’ll never get tired of kissing you. Never tire of taking your breath away. I’ll never get sick of you being the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing before I sleep. 

You are forever entwined in my soul, Yn. And I wouldn’t dare to imagine it otherwise. 

I love you. <3 Harvey

I looked up at him, tears lining my eyes. He just winked at me, fork scraping his plate as he shoved a mouthful in. 

“Fuck you for that,” I sniffled, brushing away the tears as I blinked. “That was so uncalled for, you didn’t need to do that to me. That’s so unfair.”

He smiled, “I know you love that shit. And before you ask, Donna didn’t come near me when I was writing that. It all came from up here.”

I laughed as he touched the side of his head. “Good to know all those years at Harvard Law taught you something other than corporate jargon.”

“Open the boxes, little devil,” he sipped his champagne, nudging the boxes towards me. 

Both were a dark blue velvet, unlabeled. They were closed with a silver ribbon. The first one I grabbed was about the size of a book, and something rattled inside. I undid the bow, lifting the lid. Inside was a Kindle. I gasped, pulling it out and looking it over. 

“Harvey,” I grinned, mouth falling open. “You did not.”

“But I did,” he smiled brightly. “Unlimited.”

I could jump his bones from across the table. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Well, after you find out I got you a case, a Pop Socket, and one of those stands with the remote clicker so you don’t even have to hold it, you might love me a little more.” I squealed, pushing out of my chair as I crashed into him. We nearly tipped backwards. Harvey laughed, rubbing my sides as I latched onto him. “I knew you’d appreciate this. I know we haven’t been together much, but I remembered you showed me a video of some girl who had one.” “You remembered that?” A new set of tears choked my voice. 

“Of course I did. And I also remember you telling me that if I bought you another set of earrings you’d use them to pierce my ears, so that option went out the window.”

I swatted his chest, Harvey’s smile easy as he eased me off of him. “This is perfect, thank you so much.”

“Of course, my dear. Now open the next one.”

What could be better than a Kindle Unlimited? With a stand AND a remote to turn the pages for me. Harvey has no idea what he’s done, I’ll literally never get out of bed again. 

Practically ripping the box in half, I take off the lid and peer inside. 

I blink a few times, looking from him to the box. “My passport?”

“Yup.”

“I feel like there is something I’m not getting here.”

“There is.”

“Are you gonna tell me or make me guess?”

“I’m not that mean,” he rolled his eyes. 

“I mean you have been ignoring me for the past month,” I feigned being upset, letting out a little yelp when he threw a piece of broccoli at me. “You're literally four years old.”

“We’re going to China.”

Everything stopped moving. I dropped the box, my small, navy blue passport skittering across the floor. My ears buzzed, my fingers buzzed. “I- What?”

Harvey grinned. Fuck, I missed that grin. “We’re going to China. We won the case last night, and I am desperate for some time with you. You’ve always wanted to go, so why not now? I have everything set up. We’re gonna stay in the mountains, we’re gonna go hiking and see some shows. I also know you’ve wanted to-”

“We’re going to China?” I had to make sure I heard him right? I’ve been learning the language for years now, engrossed with their rich culture and history. The cuisine, the art, the music… everything. Had I been in a different timeline, I would’ve moved there. 

“Yes, my love. We’re going to China. Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” My eyes nearly fell out of my skull. “I can’t take two weeks off of-”

“Yn,” he cut me off, knowing I was going to spiral into a never ending list of reasons of 'why this and why that'. “It’s all been taken care of. All you have to do is pack a bag and get you cute ass in my car on Sunday morning. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“But-But Harvey… what the FUCK? WE’RE GOING TO CHINA? Oh my god, I have to call Donna.”

“Can you call Donna tomorrow? I have other things I’d like to do before you go blabbering to her about how amazing and awesome I am for planning this.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Donna planned this, didn’t she?"

“She did find the panda place. And the art festival. But everything else was my doing. You can applaud now.” Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch. My cocky, arrogant son of a bitch, but one nonetheless.

I looked at him, dumbfounded. He did all this for me, just because he had a crazy workload. I feel like it should be the opposite, me pampering him, congratulating him on his huge win. Not him fueling my book obsession and planning my dream trip. 

But it was yet another reason I loved him more and more every day. He just did these things, without prompting. Without need. He felt like he was neglecting me, leading to… all of this. 

We ate our dinner, chatting about anything other than the case. I asked about it, twice, and he completely side-stepped my attempt. I wanted to know, but if he didn’t want to talk, I wouldn’t push. I told him the plot of this terrible Mafia romance book I finished earlier in the week, and he listened to every grating, awful point I made about it. All with a dopey smile on his face. 

Harvey cleared the plates, setting them in the sink. He brought more champagne, the strawberries and the cherries. In a calm silence, we devoured them, eyes raking over each other. I risked a look below the table, seeing just exactly where he wanted the next phase of the night to go. 

“You looking at it makes it worse, you know,” Harvey leaned back in his chair, my legs propped in his lap. He stroked his hand up and down, fingers dipping into one of the holes in my jeans. 

“Good,” I smiled, a sinful intent in my eyes. 

He looked from my smile to my eyes and back down. With a curse, he threw my legs off his lap and pulled my chair close to his. Harvey enveloped his mouth with mine, the sweet taste of chocolate mixed with the sour berry and tarte champagne. Every flavor on his tongue became my own. 

I was in his lap the next second, legs folded against his thighs. Harvey kept me firmly planted. Steady. He wouldn’t dare let me fall. I got lost in him, suddenly aware just how long it had been since I truly had him. Truly tasted him. Truly craved him.

He stood, taking me with him. The familiar route to our bedroom whirled by. I landed on the bed with a soft bounce, tugging on the collar of his shirt until he laid on top of me.

“So demanding,” he whispered on my lips. I wrapped my legs around his hips to emphasize my need. “Fuck… I love it when you get like this.”

“You made me this way, Harvey,” I pleaded, eyes catching him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you what you deserve,” Harvey sighs. It’s not heavy, but it’s noticeable. “Let me take care of you, Yn.”

“I just need you to-”

“I know, my love. Let me worship you. Treat you how you deserve. You’ve been so patient with me, now let me return the favor.”

Well, I’d be stupid to deny him.

Delicately, he kissed down my torso, lifting my shirt over my head and throwing it for tomorrow's problem. He removed my socks, then my jeans. From ankle to knee, he kissed and bit my skin, making me squirm against the sheets.

Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, the tips of my fingers and toes pulsing with anticipation. With the last remaining pieces of my clothes gone, he spread my legs, kneeling to the ground. 

The sight of Harvey Specter on his knees between my thighs was… empowering. Not that he hasn’t tasted me with his tongue, I’ve just… always been on top. Never so… exposed.

A heady sigh left my lips, body going lax with the first pass of his tongue on me. I clenched my legs against his ears, muffling my whines. He pushed them against the mattress, eyes pinning me as he sank his teeth into the muscle of my thigh. 

“You know better than to hide those pretty moans from me, my love.” Yes, I do know better. “Scream my fucking name if you want.”

I just might. 

He made quick work of me, practiced movements easily sending me up and up and up. He’d slow back down, torture me with more bruising marks on my thighs while I writhed and begged for him to let me release. I arched up off the bed when he added his fingers.

I was so close, a month's worth of pent up desire threatening me all at once. My mind and body were on fire. I couldn’t hold off any longer. I chase that high, circling my hips against his face. His hands, firmly planted on my inner thighs, I shook, that month long ache finally subsiding before roaring back to life. 

When I thought he’d stop, he kept going. Around and around and around his tongue went. Teasing and sending an endless supply of pleasure through my body. 

“H-Harvey,” I gasped, my body up in flames over his never ending devotion.

“I’ll stop when I want to. Fuck Yn, you taste so sweet. Almost as sweet as hearing you beg for me to let you cum. Can you take one more?”

Again, I nodded, content to let him spend however long he wanted at my aching core. My second release came much sooner than the first. He didn’t bother teasing me, knowing it would ruin all his hard work if he stopped. With a few more sweeping passes, he licked me clean, sitting back on his heels to look at me. He wiped my cum off on the back of his hand, giving me a wicked grin.

“You are so fucking beautiful, all laid out for me to do as I please,” Harvey said, beginning to strip. 

“Please Harvey, have me. Any way that you like.”

He chuckled, kneeling over me. “I will, but like I said, I want tonight to be all about you.”

“Well I want you to fuck me.” I am not very good at being subtle. 

“How can I deny you when you ask so nicely,” he purred, closing our lips together, I parted my legs for him, desperate for the friction of his body on mine. His chest, his stomach, his hands lacing with mine. I needed all of him all over me. 

It didn’t take long for him to slip inside me, every inch of him stretching me in the most desirable way. I hummed as he stilled, his need clear in the way his arms shook to keep still. 

“Move, please please move,” I begged, threading my hand in his hair. With a reluctant drop of his head, he rolled his hips into mine, our bodies finally meeting in full. 

“I was trying to be gentle,” he reasoned. 

“Fuck gentle, I need you. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know my love, I know.”

With each thrust into me, a new sensation bubbled inside me. My toes curled, my back bowed, my eyes fluttered shut. He quickened his pace, heavy breaths falling from his lips into mine. His air was mine. Every muttered curse and moan and praise went straight through me. He needed me as much as I needed him.

~~~~~

With my mind not fully awake, I lazily fling myself off my stomach and onto my back. My arm knocked into something hard, and I squinted against the morning sun. Oh, Harvey.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, crashing back down against the pillow. 

He chuckled, kissing the hand that accidentally hit him in the face. “It’s okay.”

“Are you going into the office?” I asked, still keeping my eyes closed. Man this bed is so comfy…

“No?” He said, a question in his tone. “Why would I?”

“Why else are you up so early?”

“I was just looking at you, my love. It’s been a while since I’ve just… looked at the love of my life. Taken the time to appreciate just how fucking stunning you are.”

My heart melted, a lovesick feeling welling up in my chest. I turned over, facing the handsome lawyer and grinned ear to ear. “I’m sure I look fabulous after last night.”

“You’ve never looked hotter. Lips swollen from mine, hair a mess from my hands… your body covered in my-”

“Okay,” I snatched his lips between my fingers, silencing his next words. “I did just wake up, at least let me shower before you destroy me again.”

“Only if I can quote on quote destroy you in the shower before I cook you breakfast and fuck you again on the counter.”

My eyes snapped open, meeting his blown out pupils. “You certainly have a vivid imagination for…” I looked over at the clock on the side of the bed. “... eight thirty-seven AM.”

“Wait till you find out I’ve been awake since six. With nothing to do but plot all the ways I could ruin you.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, offering my lips as a peace offering. He quickly accepted, kissing me deeply. “Man, I missed this.”

“More than you could ever know.”

[muffinsin]

Hiya, I'm new to the blog but I've loved everything I've read so far! I was wondering if I could request the Dimitrescu daughters (separately) getting saved by a maiden that they thought hated them? Like, maybe a hunter breaks in + smashes a window and the maiden literally carries (or drags) the daughter to safety and refuses to leave their side until they've warmed up.

Maybe the maiden never actually hated the daughters (like a miscommunication/the maiden having a difficult to read expression), or maybe they stopped hating the Dimitrescus a while ago but nobody noticed? Idk, it's up to you, I just think you'd have a fun take on it :3

I went through the anon lists and hopefully I didn't miss any, so if possible can I be sleepy anon? Please and thank you, and have a great day/week!

Hi :)! I’m happy to hear ya like my works :)🙌 Honestly what a cute prompt!

Let’s get into it :) anon name is all yours🙌

Masterlists

Bela

Bela is, a mystery to you

To her, you seem like an enemy. A staff member, yet with a deep hatred towards her

Perhaps, if you weren’t so pretty and cute, perhaps if she didn’t like you in some strange way she is too proud to voice, you would’ve ended up in the basement already

Alas, Bela keeps you safe and only puts you in your place when your work isn’t done properly. She thinks you should consider yourself, lucky

To you, she seems like an uptight boss bent on punishing you for every little mistake

You wonder, what have you done for her to be this obsessed?

She notices every little mistake you make

A true perfectionist, you realize soon enough, and it bothers you to no end

But, unlike her interpretation of you, you don’t hate her. You don’t even really dislike her

She’s just..uptight, a little bitchy, yes. But she’s smart, you’ve come to notice, and quite obviously she is breathtakingly beautiful

Perhaps, if both of your false views and interpretations of one another were out the way, you’d have talked sooner

You would have liked to start a conversation with the supposedly dangerously intelligent and cold eldest daughter of Alcina Dimitrescu

Bela, on the other hand, would have liked getting to know you sooner

Still, she only ever sees false hatred in your eyes that is truly mere curiosity

She has never been all that good at reading people’s emotions

Their intentions? Yes, their facial features? Yes. But still, her books cannot teach her to fully understand humans, people, it seems

It’s a fatal misunderstanding on both your parts, one that this day will clear up, it seems

The day, while not being an ordinary one at all, is not all that unusual to Bela. An uprising, again, though somewhat cute in numbers

Four maidens. Bold, or perhaps only desperate enough, to dare fight back

It’s a pointless fight, a squabble she doesn’t even bother notifying her sisters about

Even with the many knives and utensils scattered around them in the kitchen, the fight seems pointless

That is, until Bela easily dodges a pot that smashes into the fragile window behind her

Immediately, she screams in pain at the cold air rushing in

The three remaining troublemakers spot their opportunity instantly, so it takes less than seconds for the other kitchen windows to be shattered

Bela grits her teeth, one arm wrapped around her protectively, her other hand clutching her sickle

She refuses to tell her sisters. Refuses to allow Mother to hear of this. She can do this! She can’t cause her family trouble. Cassandra would have never let this go on. Daniela would have killed them in seconds. Bela should have never let it come this far, should have prevented the window from breaking..

Throwing herself back into her battle, she strikes one down, but pays the bitter price when two steak knives are sliced and thrust into her thighs

Immediately, she falls, her blood gushing, her limbs aching and as if on fire. The cold immediately finds the large gashes and digs through. The blades of the knives seem icy cold like the terrain outside

She manages to knock one down with her, but as the back of her hooded head hits the windowsill, her vision begins to blur

One more

She tries to call out for Cassandra, hoping, pleading, Mother will hear nothing of this

To her surprise and horror, she finds she can’t reach her sister, too far away for her weakened swarm to detect

She grasps for her weapon, but can’t detect it. Was it lost when she fell? She can’t remember, but tastes her own, foul blood in her mouth

With difficulty, she sees the maiden’s lips moving. She can’t make out what she’s saying, but her expression enough is sufficient to allow her to assume it must be some kind of insult

Pride, cockiness, a human’s downfall

She watches as, seemingly out of nowhere, you stand behind her, bringing Bela’s abandoned sickle down at her neck

It’s messy, and rough, but enough for the woman to drop her weapon and scream. Enough to fall to her knees and enough for Bela to finish her off

Golden, unfocused eyes meet yours. She looks unsure. Worried. Confused. Cold. Hurt. Scared

Never did you think Bela Dimitrescu would feel such things. Never did you think you would truly see a glimpse of humanity in her

But, you have…

You have seen her eyes squint when she laughs with her sisters, seen the faintest hint of a blush and happiness hidden beneath pride when being praised by her mother. You have seen her playful annoyance aimed at her youngest sister

When you close in on her, her first instinct is to lean in. Then, nearly within that same moment, she snarls and pushes herself harder against the cold wall

You hate her. She has no reason to believe you are not part of this attack, or at the very least are now that her weakness is so pathetically displayed

But you don’t approach predatorily

With your hands raised, you gently move closer to her

She watches you closely, her golden eyes watchful even as her body trembles

Slowly, you unwrap the sleeping robe from around you. Is it this late already? Bela hadn’t noticed

The material is thin, but the action shows your intentions nonetheless, and so she allows you to lean into her personal space

A small, quiet gasp passes her lips when you pick her up. Automatically, she sets her hands on your shoulders and wraps the robe tighter around herself

With her vision blurry and the foul taste in her mouth, her bloodied, non functioning legs and aching arms, she doesn’t protest when you keep holding her up and close to you

Your warmth is…comforting

Bela winces a little. She doesn’t want to look up at you, doesn’t want to ruin this perfect moment

After all, when she does look up, what will she see? Hatred? Annoyance? Cockiness?

You pass the fireplace, walk up the stairs

She clings tighter to you, but there are no others in the hallway

All staff members know better than to leave their rooms at nighttime, and even more so in winter, when it is known the residents of castle Dimitrescu are more on edge and easier to irritate

After a little while she notices where you’re taking her- her own room, her safe harbour

She extends an aching arm and closes her fingers around the door knob, helping you open the way inside

She wonders; have you ever been in here? What do you think?

Despite her annoyance, Bela manages to bite down a curse when her cheeks heat up a little

Secretly, perhaps, she wants you to like her room

And like it you do

Bela is every bit the perfectionist you knew she is

But, there is beauty in this

Her shelves are organized neatly. The books placed in them tell you the woman in your arms is fond of just about everything

Information and documentaries of a vast range of topics can be found, from hobbies to animals, to biomes, to sciences

Her bed is made and her nightstand is nearly empty, save for the storybook placed on it

It isn’t opened and sports no mark or so

You assume she hasn’t touched it in a while, but somehow, you correctly guess that it’s meant for the few times her sisters sneak into her room and the story calms their anxious minds

When Bela looks up at you eventually, she gasps quietly at the softness found in your eyes

She stays quiet as you set her down on the bed, doesn’t even wince when you brush aside her hair to have a look at the nasty cut on her head

With the heat of the room, the wounds begin healing slowly

And still, you fuss over her

She hopes you don’t take notice of her dusty pink cheeks and wide eyes when you press your sleeve to her forehead

Your subtle smile tells her differently

Cassandra

She hates you, you’re sure of it

And you hate her, she’s sure

After all, why else would she dump dead, stinking deer in front of your room every single morning?!

Why else would she do this to you and no one else!

Why is she tormenting you? What have you done to her!

After all, why else would you dispose of her beautiful gifts every single morning?

You must hate her!

She feels stupid for gifting you her finest meat every day, but can’t stop, either

Perhaps she can yet woo you, after all

But you dump it off to the kitchens every time! Not even back to her! The kitchens! For common staff!

You must hate her…!

When you pass her in the halls, you do your best to avoid eye contact. Were you looking at her, you would notice her doing the exact same thing

Despite her hatred for you, you are curious about her

She’s beautiful, there’s no question there

With chocolate-coal-brown hair that easily falls down at her shoulders, sometimes curled, at other times straightened, her golden eyes you only sometimes dare gaze upon

She has one lazy eye, and you find it’s the cutest thing in the world. Her features are stunning and you regularly fight yourself to avoid staring at her

At night, at times, you can’t help but wonder what this beauty of a woman would be like curled against you

Her pale, snow-white skin pressed against yours, her face tucked away by your neck, your arms tight around her

Sometimes, you bitterly remind yourself; she would strike. Bite down at your jugular with all her might and drain the life from you

But, perhaps even happily so, you would allow her to

Despite her hatred of you, she has you wrapped around her finger

Despite your hatred of her, you have her wrapped around your finger

A raid at the castle marks the time both your lives are about to change

Raids are, by all means, hardly unusual

While they aren’t everyday happenings, all residents and staff of the castle, even the villagers, know of the foolish men and sometimes women attempting to break into the castle every few weeks or months or so

None are successful, but it seems this never dampens their spirit

But, there is protocol

And so you find yourself hiding in the only room closest to you at the beginning of the raid: the armory

The very armory occupied by Cassandra Dimitrescu

You know protocol, you know to hide in the nearest room, lock it even, and wait it out. Protocol never mentions the case being in which a Dimitrescu sister is near

You hold your breath, but it’s no use. She notices you immediately, and given the current raid at the castle you ought to be happy she doesn’t automatically strike you down

Instead, she holds your gaze for a moment. Your eyes meet a dark gold, more beautiful than anything you have ever seen before

You don’t notice you’re holding your breath until she stretches her arm out, her gloved fingertips pointing towards the back of the room

You understand instantly. A hiding spot, as instructed. Of course

Even as you slide between and behind the large barrels, hide behind the suits of armor standing at the back, you can’t help but keep your eyes lingering on her

Her back is smooth, her hips surprisingly slim

She looks regal, yet lethal in the way her fingers twitch and she grasps the weapon tighter every few seconds

Soon after you’ve slipped into your hiding place and Cassandra started sharpening her weapon- you briefly wonder why it is she stays with you, rather than throw herself into the sure fight happening somewhere in the castle- when you begin hearing shouts ahead

Then, you see them, two men, as they burst into the armory

They’re broad shouldered and sport brown hair and a brown, stubby beard. Thick noses and burst lips adorn their faces. They’re twins, and judged by their clothing, hunters stemming from the village

You hold your breath and shrink against the suits of armor and barrels surrounding you

They sneer at Cassandra, their weapons- two machetes, one each, drawn. They’re wholly focused on her

If they’ve seen you, they pay you no mind at all

Cassandra doesn’t wait for one of them to attack. Instead, you watch as she throws herself into battle

Swarming halfway and masterfully avoiding all incoming attacks from the two intruders, she catches one’s neck with the end of her sickle and reaps chunks of the other man’s clothing and skin from his ribs

You watch as blood forms and drops fast. The man splutters uselessly, stumbling back while the other, though injured, tries to fight back

It becomes clear to you now, why Cassandra is known as the best huntress at castle Dimitrescu

Despite her impressive display, your eyes press shut when the injured man stumbles in your direction

Again, he doesn’t seem to take notice of you, and yet you don’t dare move

Then, a loud bang forces your eyes open and a scream from your lungs

But you are not the only one screaming, and so you are lucky enough to be unnoticed again, for…

Cassandra’s scream was the one outweighing yours, you realise

The woman screams and shakes, her hood torn off to reveal teary eyes and her beautiful, pale skin breaking off slightly

Behind her, you notice the crack in the wall now a large gap. It must have been caused by the explosion you’ve heard

She’s still fighting strong, having finished the already weakened man bleeding out near you

Still, you grit your teeth and watch with wide eyes as the machete of the other connects with her arm. At first, she howls in pain, the noise so desperate and pure you almost cry

Then, the limb falls. You watch as it falls from her and breaks off into what must be hundreds of little flies that curl in on themself as the cold wind touches them

You grit your teeth when the woman stumbles backwards, her back dangerously close to the large gap in the wall. If she was to fall…

The man seems to have the same idea, pushing and swinging his machete around like a madman trying to make her back up into the gap

You decide you can’t bear to stand idle while her fate may be sealed

Slithering from behind the armor and barrels, you yank the other machete from the dead man’s tight grip

In a smooth, albeit difficult swing, the sharp blade meant for monsters connects with the man’s exposed neck, just where Cassandra struck him before

His head tips to the side as he collapses, and you drop the weapon immediately

Cassandra groans and growls madly as you near yourself and push her weak arm wielding the sickle aside

She reminds you a little of an animal with rabies, the way she shakes and growls, and you hope you don’t pay the bitter price for your care

Still, you wrap your arm around her slim hips and pull her towards you, wary of the large piece of broken off wall behind her

She doesn’t fight you, merely keeps on growling and- crying? You can’t be too sure. You didn’t take her for one to cry, but then again, you wince when you nearly step on what used to be her arm

Carefully, you scoop the unmoving flies from the floor and into your pocket

The woman is clearly out of it, her lips parted and sharp, fang-like teeth on display as she snarls and growls over and over again, her screams quiet, but almost banshee like in their shrill tone

You wonder; is she trying to reach her sisters with it? If she is, it’s entirely too quiet and weak of a scream, you decide

You take another gamble and hook your free hand under her legs, promptly lifting the woman into your arms

Again, she snarls and shakes, but makes no move to attack you

That is, if you don’t count her sharp, bloodied nails of her remaining hand digging into your shoulder

And still, you can’t bring yourself to believe this is meant to be an attack

You carry her out the library and the only place you know to be warm; the kitchens near the grand dining room

Cassandra relaxes significantly as you move her to the room, the warm fires and steam warming her sore body

Still, you don’t dare let go of her

When you hold your breath, you realise; she’s almost..purring? That can’t be right

The next thing you realise are the flies, previously unmoving, buzzing in your pocket

You set the woman down on a clear part of the table and retrieve one of them, smiling as it buzzes in your hand

You place a gentle kiss to it, not unaware of the small gasp coming from Cassandra, and release it. Immediately, it returns to the stump where her arm used to be

You repeat the process, kissing flies as they return to her

Cassandra’s thankful for the cold still in her body, for it’s at the very least suppressing her growing blush

You feel her lean against you and cant help but wonder;

Perhaps, she doesn’t hate you

Maybe, you don’t hate her

Daniela

Daniela is almost 100% sure you hate her

You never react to her sly smirks, her cute giggles, the sweet hand resting on your shoulder!

She has tried flirting with you for ages, and nothing!

You’re never rude to her, actually- you’re very kind to her!

You always bring her a flower when your work in the gardens is done

You always braid her hair for her and brush it out after

You make sure her room is clean and her bath is full of bubbles and delicious scents

You always smile when you see her

So why haven’t you kissed her yet!

She doesn’t understand

She’s thrown you so many signs! All she could. But you haven’t acted on a single one

She thinks, you must hate her

And you?

You’re a little…clueless

You like her, so very much

You lie awake at night, your mind occupied by the beautiful, auburn haired woman that regularly visits your dreams and thoughts alike

Sometimes, you dare dream

Could she be yours?

Could you make her happy?

Could she want you?

But is she not with others? So many stare when she passes, you hear the hushed voices either insulting, or praising her

She’s a goddess residing in this castle; what chance have you got?

You try to be close to her, yet never too close

You don’t want to disrespect her, never

You care far too much about her for such a thing

Then, one day, there is an attack

Lycans, they say, a stray pack headed from the village and led by their prey directly to the castle

Of course, the staff is immediately brought and locked away for safety

You are less lucky, having insisted the day prior you’d like to clean out the library

After all, this is where Daniela is known to spend her days…

Now, separated from the other staff members, you have little choice but to stay put

You try your best not to glance at Daniela, who stands with her sickle held tightly. She too heard the alarms, it seems

You grip the fire poker, your eyes still trained on the floor

You wonder; if you looked at her, could you ever advert your eyes again?

It seems, there is little to no time for you to dwell on this thought, for a loud bang and a snarl is all you hear when the door to the library is ripped from its hinges and a furry snout peaks through

Before you have time to react, Daniela grips the lycan already

You watch as she works, no, plays with the wild animal

She spins it and giggles, grips and yanks, breaks and slices

The beast only snarls at her, yet can’t even hope to land even a single claw on her

All goes well, you don’t even think you need to make use of your improvised weapon

Even the snarls and screams from the outside dull. They’re retreating, it seems

Then, however, a gasp is ripped from you when the beast pushes against you. Whether it did it on purpose or was knocked against you, you can’t tell, but you do realise one thing; you’re falling

Hoping to catch yourself, you reach out to grab all within reach

Only, unfortunately, is that a lever

In the next second you feel icy cold wind come down at you and hear the piercing scream of the auburn haired woman next to you

Your hand stretches out, your lips parting as you scream a warning that comes too late

She’s knocked back by the force of the lycan’s gigantic paw swiping at her, thick claws dragging through her dress and soft, pale skin

You feel ill as blood pools at her stomach and the sickle falls from her

She kicks the animal away, yet it looks, and sounds, as though each move only pains her so much more

You realise your own mistake fast and quickly work on shutting the windows again, her scream and your own blood pumping loudly urging you to work faster, faster, faster

When you look to the side, she’s barely sitting up, her bloodied hands and arms desperately shielding herself against the creature

You don’t think, can’t think, won’t take the time to think now

With the fire poker gripped tightly in your hand, you charge

You scream, and it’s met with a pained howl

Thankfully, Daniela must have injured the creature enough for a simple, powerful strike to its heart to finish it off

And still, you feel your uniform slip from you and the nasty, aching pain of the large slashes made at your back

You grit your teeth, ignoring the mark the creature has left on you even as its foulness enters your body

You turn Daniela to find her bloodied and shivering, her flies dropping, her skin seemingly switching between breaking and healing itself

Again, you don’t dare waste time

She watches you through a blurry haze as you wrap your arms around her. She almost tastes your scent

It takes everything not to taste you

She feels her wounds, the pain she has almost forgotten all about. What is pain? This is a nasty reminder

Next she’s lifted to you, her fingertips and face nuzzling your warm skin

You feel her move to you, as close as she could, and all but grant her this

You know now what happened, what you have caused her

And you’re set to fix it. You won’t allow a stupid mistake, an accident, to be it for her

Daniela shivers still as you pick her off the floor and rush through the halls

Yet, all she feels is you. Your warmth. Your heartbeat, loud and close against her ear. She loves every moment of it

She isn’t sure where you bring her at first, until she finds herself set on her bed

When did she get here? She can’t tell. Black dots appear in her vision and her stomach feels slick with blood even as it starts closing up again

You gently cup her cheek, your eyes, so beautiful and worried, checking her over

You notice the little cuts on her face heal and shut nearly instantly, whereas bruises caused by the cold wind stay stubbornly in place

Perhaps, if the cold hurts the woman, the heat could help her, you figure

Daniela whines when you move from her and for a moment you feel your cheeks heat up. Her fingers entangled with yours, her golden eyes wide and hopeful

She doesn’t want you to go. Not now. Even if you hate her

And really?

Neither do you

You only wish to hold her close, to protect the precious creature held so close to you

You wish to cup her face and stroke the soft fingers holding onto yours so sweetly

You want nothing but to nurse her back to health, to know her, really know her

To be here

To make her yours

You watch, the truth laid bare in her eyes. No flirty smiles you don’t understand, no hidden meanings behind words you can’t understand

Her feelings, exposed and shown to you in her bright, golden eyes

You lean down as gentle as you can, and even more so, you press your lips to the flower tattoo adorning her forehead

“I’ll draw you a bath, it will warm you up”, you whisper. Then, you promise:

“I’ll return, iubita mea”

[clairdelunelove]

love thy neighbor

neighbor!itadori yuuji x f!reader, brief mentions of megumi

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort, slight angst?

warnings: suggestive, 5.6k words

synopsis: getting a new neighbor was bound to be a hit or miss. and in your case it's a miss. that is, until you're sharing the elevator with a guy that looks like he belongs on the cover of the latest calvin klein magazine. and suddenly, things don't go as planned because he's oddly… sweet?

a.n. had neighbor!yuuji on my mind for a while so I decided to push myself and write smth sickeningly sweet! missed writing longer works so I hope you enjoy! <3

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you wholeheartedly believe that your new neighbor has more than 24 hours in a day. 

the incessant noise is an indicator of that. blaring music, doors slamming at odd times, and the animated buzzing of the television during the neighborhood’s quiet hours all filter through your apartment’s worn walls. wails of a melodramatic actress haunted you in your sleep. initially, you chalked it up as a coping mechanism for your neighbor. perhaps she was going through a messy breakup and found comfort in rewatching the same movie series– several times, in fact– to help manage the heartache. you understand; it was a vulnerable type of growth that needed to be dealt with. however, it’s been the exact, aggravating routine for the past two weeks and it was driving you crazy. it had gotten so bad to the point where you were absentmindedly mumbling the corresponding dialogue whenever you were preoccupied with household chores. 

and you’ve never seen her, per se. you’re just assuming that your neighbor was a young woman that reminisced her college days by cranking up the speaker to the highest volume and bouncing around to the beat. deafening stomps to the carpeted floor. at least, that’s what you hear before a piece of furniture inevitably falls from the prancing and it goes dead silent. 

so imagine your surprise when a man steps into the elevator you’re wobbling into and rushes to press his designated floor number. it’s still relatively early. the sun is barely peeking out and the first flush of morning arises to allow the day to commence. yet, he’s panting as he trickles in behind you, squeezing himself through the metal doors before they can close and he’ll be forced to wait a couple minutes. 

“oh,” he utters while noting that you pushed the illuminated button to his apartment floor already, “thanks!” 

his voice is sleek and smooth. it’s cute, quite frankly. it rises in accordance with his gratitude, so much so that you’re intrigued to get a glance at this well-mannered stranger. and gosh— you’re not disappointed at all. 

he’s taller; not at a height that’s towering over you but it’s enough for you to take note of. it’s a fantastic change of pace from the elderly tenants that typically inhabit the building and your eyes eagerly roam to discover more about the male beside you. his hair is, remarkably, pink. a tone that matches the tinge of blush that glazes over his skin due to the sweat that he desperately tries to wipe off. he’s clad in gray workout shorts and a muscle tee, both of which accentuate his toned physique. your mouth literally drops as you openly stare at the cuts of raw, powerful muscle that glisten on his body from underneath the tacky fluorescent lights. 

and, immediately, embarrassment floods through you at the stark contrast behind the reasoning of why you’re up so early in the morning. overly sugary treats to begin your day served as your motivator. you just weren’t expecting to run into someone that started their day by exercising to the point that they looked like they belonged on the cover of calvin klein. it’s not one of your proudest moments.

slumping over in an attempt to conceal the pastry bag and sweet drink in your hand, you internally pray that this situation can pass quicker. save yourself from the embarrassment of it all. 

he seems to pick up on your uneasiness though because his brows raise in curiosity, “what’d you get?” 

and oh, calvin klein guy is talking to you.

“um, a latte and some breakfast pastry that the bakery sells. I go there pretty often,” you press your lips together before adding, “it’s the one right across the street. they open early.” 

you’re cringing as the words leave your lips because really– the words ‘pastry’ and ‘breakfast’ being together would never be in the male’s vocabulary. you assume that he’s judging you for your innate ability to overshare about your rather unhealthy eating habits. after all, he had just finished what you presumed was his daily workout. perhaps he’ll even dig low enough to make you feel terrible about it. educate you on the importance of having a balanced breakfast. you’ve been on enough dates with ‘gym bros’ to acknowledge that it’s a possibility and you don’t want to hear it. 

“oh really?” he ends up responding with a natural smile and it nearly blinds you, “I didn’t know! I might hafta check it out then. it looks really good!” 

“their strawberry cream cheese breakfast pastry is one of my favorites.” 

the suggestion tumbles out before you can think better of it but his smile only seems to brighten as he says in finality, “I’ll try that one then.” 

then, he whips out his phone to visibly take note of the specific pastry you told him only seconds ago. and, wow, this guy might just be a top contender for the world’s best apartment crush. you watch him out of the corner of your eye, captivated by his radiate energy. he pockets his phone once again, shoots you a grin of finality, and abruptly lifts the end of his shirt to wipe the remnants of sweat on his forehead. his eyes are wide, mortification expressed in his hurried actions and it takes some self-restraint to not giggle at his endearing expressions. 

“sorry I’m all gross, jus’ got done working out,” he explains like it wasn’t obvious, “promise I’m not normally this sweaty all the time.” 

you’re instantly drawn to him. he’s all sharp features but soft intentions. a phenomenon that you wish to unravel if he’d allow you to. he lets out a sheepish laugh, the melodic sound cutting through the awkward elevator silence, and you’re giggling in earnest soon after. 

“it wouldn’t be so bad if you were, though.”

you bite your lip. the statement is a tiny bit bolder than you were expecting but his bashful expression says it all. he’s keen on the attention. his brows raise in mild surprise but the tips of his ears tinge red. not one to actively go searching for it but finds pleasure in it if you’re willing to hand it out. 

the elevator dings and the doors slowly open to reveal your apartment floor’s hallway as he scrambles for words. though, you know you’ve made quite the impression when he follows behind your retreating figure. a flicker of warmth laps up at you, a sort of satisfaction sizzling within you at how he’s actively pursuing you and for the first time in a while you’re grateful for the good change in fortune. 

“well would you look at that,” the blushy haired male’s voice rings just as you move to unlock the door to your apartment, “we’re neighbors!” 

and your mouth drops. 

he’s your neighbor. the same one that’s been repeatedly keeping you awake during the night by dialing up the volume on every show he’s watching. or how you can audibly hear the thuds as he leaps around while playing some ear-splitting video game. or how, vaguely, you overhear the hissed scolding of another male’s voice from the opposite side of the wall that separates the two of you. it’s all been the calvin klein guy– not some heartbroken girl that’s stuck chasing after her crazy college years. 

“whatta crazy coincidence!” he adds, breaking your dawning realization, and grins as he sticks his own key into his apartment and turns it. 

but you find your voice before he can stroll through his entryway. you know that you should just say something and get it over with. voice your frustrations of ending up with the misfortune of having a rather boisterous next-door neighbor while you strived to achieve the most stress-free life. the desire to have a fresh start was unattainable at this rate. give him a piece of your mind for further ruining your– already– messed up sleep schedule. 

“wait! um,” you clear your throat and try to quell the anger that grabs hold of you, “the walls are super thin and I can hear whenever you’re blasting your music or watching tv, ya know. could you try to keep it down, please?” 

and why is your voice dying down at the end of it? the heated exchange you’ve been reciting in your mind is reduced to a polite inquiry. a sort of ‘hey it’d be really nice if you could do this for my well-being but it’s alright if you can’t!’ type of barter. inwardly, you kick at yourself because the whole point of this is to give your neighbor a piece of the irritation you experience daily. yet, you bite your lip when he gives you that sweeping glance of his that makes you weak. the one where his gaze lingers on you with a curiosity that begs at him to be sedated. his widened eyes sparkle, a shade of honey that reminds you of butterscotch candy, as he understands your displeasure. 

“ah, I’m super sorry ‘bout that! I wasn’t sure how soundproof my room was since I just moved in and the loud music kinda helps me focus. but I’ll try to be quieter,” the apology rushes out of him as he tilts his head to the side, “hope you didn’t lose any sleep ‘cause of me. it’d kill me if that happened.” 

this isn’t going in the direction you thought it would’ve. at most, you expected to perhaps throw some hands or at least anticipated an angry dispute to erupt based on your confrontation. yet, the blushy haired male treats this like it’s a mere misunderstanding that he’ll resolve if you just give him the word. he’ll listen. just tell him what to do and he’ll do it without any qualms. you’re left starstruck, lips agape, and utterly embarrassed by this whole ordeal. here you were attempting to make the most out of some noise when all he was doing was naively enjoying his free time. he stands unmovingly, attempting to decipher the endless range of emotions that you display throughout the whole ordeal. you feel the heat creeping up onto your neck, desperate to immediately flee from the situation, and push open the door to your apartment. 

“no, no, no, I sleep fine. just,”  you call out behind your shoulder and abruptly shut the door behind you, “try not to do it again, thanks!” 

— 

“oh!”

you were expecting the sight of bright eyes and blushy hair, with an instinctual grin that lifts like he’s looking forward to seeing you. what you weren’t anticipating, however, is the tuft of coal black hair and passive expression that greets you in the entryway of yuuji’s apartment. the stranger gives you a once over, not inappropriate by any means, but more along the lines of legitimate curiosity for your sudden visit. 

“sorry, I thought,” you pause to recheck the apartment again and stutter through your justification, “I must’ve had the wrong apartment. I thought someone else lived here.” 

he’s quiet at first, seemingly trying to gather the words he wishes to say before he can think better of it, “is it a guy that’s obnoxiously loud?” 

“um–”

“with pink hair?” 

“yes, exactly!” 

your eyes light up at your neighbor’s description, the image of him basically ingrained into your mind. with his considerate eyes and kind demeanor despite your one-sided bitterness towards the person that disturbed your peace. your encounter with the blushy haired male has been occupying your thoughts for the last couple of days so it’s no wonder you decided to show up and apologize. equipped with a box of takeout and a meek smile, this proved to be your attempt at atoning for your previous run in with him.

the pure delight in your voice causes the dark haired male to be taken aback. he doesn’t recently recall yuuji gushing about meeting some girl. rather, megumi wasn’t expecting him to withhold such information since he had the tendency to overshare about everything. the latest restaurants opening up, upcoming movies, or newly released comics– the blushy haired male was continuously spouting about it. but yuuji had that magnetism about him that attracted anyone and everyone. so who was he to infer the relationship between the two of you? it wasn’t his business. he knows someone that might’ve wished to know, though. 

it’s a bit awkward due to the silence that follows as you shift on your feet. it was a bit difficult to read the man in front of you. the contrast between him and his blushy haired friend was too great. his neutral expression gave you almost nothing to consider and you felt the nervousness creep up on you. this rendezvous proved to be more than you anticipated. heat trickles behind your neck as megumi pulls out his phone to type a quick text before pocketing it again and stepping aside. 

“you can wait inside,” he says with finality while angling his slim body so you can pass through the entryway, “he’ll be here soon. he’s just running some errands.” 

“thank you!” 

and the apartment is a lot cleaner than you imagined. there’s a couple of misplaced hoodies and comic books that are left out on the living room table but it’s fitting. then again, it’d been a while since you were invited into a guy’s place. especially one that occupies your mind so frequently.

before you can chicken out, you gesture to the bags in your hands, “oh! I brought over some food, by the way. a peace offering of some sort.” 

megumi’s dark eyes flick over to the contents in the bag and realize just how much you’ve been carrying this entire time. plastic containers are filled to the brim with an assortment of perfectly placed sushi. it looks delicious but the sheer amount would almost be comical if megumi wasn’t aware of how much his friend could consume. the bags’ handles you’re gripping onto are thoroughly stretched, as though the weight of the food was unexpectedly dense and he doesn’t bother masking how his eyes widen. you brought a lot. 

“you can help yourself too! I wasn’t sure if he was allergic to anything so I got a bunch. maybe too much,” your voice lowers during your rambling to hide your embarrassment. 

“thanks.”

it’s a seemingly simple word of gratitude yet it’s genuine. you note that his voice has considerably softened since he first spoke to you. like his tone is soothed from its typical bluntness and he’s putting in an effort to be considerate. he strikes you as the type to believe actions rather than words. it’s intriguing. he’s put a comfortable amount of distance between the two of you but now he strides towards you and despite your protests, he moves to take the bags from your grasp to place them on the counter in order to ease the burden. somewhere along the way introductions are shared and the two of you take part in lighthearted conversation. it’s initially clumsy with your habit of oversharing and megumi’s short responses but soon you both find a delicate balance that feels nice. 

it’s a start. 

and it’s the scene that yuuji doesn’t have the chance to see as he stumbles through the door of his apartment. he heaves, clearly a sign that he rushed here, and haphazardly closes the door with the back of his heel as he strolls in. he’s all swift energy and hectic movement– exactly like he always is. 

“brought in the newspaper! if you even wanna read that junk later,” he distractedly calls out while placing a grocery bag onto the counter and vaguely catches a glimpse of the food you brought, “wow look at all this food! I thought you didn’t get paid until the end of the week, fushiguro–”

“did you even read my text, idiot?” 

“what! you met my neighbor? why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 

yuuji, now coming out of his room, has his phone clutched in his hand and he quickly unlocks it. a gasp leaves his lips once he reads his friend’s message. the way his eyes speedily trek along the screen is laughable and it causes megumi to click his tongue in annoyance. then, yuuji peers over at megumi to give him overly exaggerated, gaping eyes and a pout. it’s quite the spectacle, really. megumi’s already used to this, however, and he continues to relax on the living room couch. 

the dark haired male presses an exasperated hand against his face and mutters, “what’s the point of having a phone if you just forget it half the time.”

“so,” yuuji carries the conversation and prompts his friend to go on, “what did she say? did she ask about me? why’d she leave so quickly? don’t tell me you scared her off, fushiguro!” 

there’s a plate of unfinished sushi in front of megumi and he pokes at it as he ponders about his friend’s sudden interest in your departure. it’s unprecedented, new– how yuuji’s gaze immediately flicks over to the door like he’s debating on if he should see you. pay you a short visit. tell you how grateful he is that you visited and he’s sorry that he wasn’t home to greet you. he was so easy to read. 

“she said that she’s sorry for blowing up on you that one time,” megumi recalls as he brings a slab of ginger to his mouth, “said the food was to apologize.” 

“aw man, that was totally my fault though!” 

“I know but still, you should eat the food before it goes bad. she did bring it for you after all.” 

humming in agreement, yuuji grabs a pair of chopsticks, chooses a variety of different sushi pieces, and makes himself a plate. he takes a seat beside megumi, a tendency that was bound to be a custom at this point. the duo had a history of crashing at each other’s place ever since they were younger. it was an attempt to bring a sense of normalcy in their hectic lives. they engage in the usual small talk; with yuuji expressing his utter delight every time he shoves a piece of sushi in his mouth and megumi responding with stoic comments. all is well. though, the dark haired male perceives that there’s something off. there’s a light furrow in yuuji’s brow, an indication that he’s troubled and ruminating. 

so by the time yuuji’s done eating, megumi addresses the other male’s concerns with a terse frown, “well? are you going to see her or are you just gonna sit here wallowing in your own self-pity?” 

-

“jus’ noticed that I never got your name!” 

your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. not once were you expecting your neighbor to be at your door at eventide– especially since you were just at his place earlier in the day. in fact, you had rubbed off all the extra makeup and glitz after you finished delivering the takeout to megumi. he seemed trustworthy enough to relay your message so you didn’t think your neighbor would amble over to speak with you, much less with a pretty bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

he grins, anticipating your shock, and adds, “asked around the apartment complex for your name ‘cuz I wanted to write you a card but everyone just looked at me like I was crazy! like, I didn’t have much to go off of except what you look like!” 

and you consider the possibility that he looks even better in casual clothes. maybe it’s the way every article of clothing he owns fits him perfectly; broad and muscular shoulders tapering inward to emphasize his narrow waist. or, it’s a long stretch, but perhaps you’re just hyper vigilant of him whenever he’s close. wearing a plain shirt tucked into loose pants, he’s as breathtaking as you remember and you do your best to calm the wave of butterflies in your stomach. 

you instinctively bring a hand to cover your bareface as you give him your name. a smile tugs at his lips. shifting the bouquet of flowers underneath one arm, he pulls out a tiny, decorated card and a pen from his pocket. he rhetorically says your name, lets it marinate on his tongue, while writing it and slipping the card in the center of the bouquet. 

“awesome. this is for you,” he hands you the flowers before bashfully rubbing the back of his neck, “fushiguro told me you stopped by earlier and dropped off all that food. ‘m sorry I wasn’t there to see but thank you, really.” 

you press your lips together, aware that this is your chance to right your wrongs and stumble on your words, “oh! you didn’t need to. I was rude and complaining about something small so I just wanted to do that for you–” 

“and,” he meets your eyes as he confesses, “I wanted to see you again.”

his words go straight through your heart. distinctly, you feel the gentle caress of his long fingers against the back of your hand as he slips the bouquet into your arms and his touch is dizzying. you might just melt. liquify into a pile of mush due to his sweet actions. doesn’t help that he’s gazing at you like you string up each individual star in the times of twilight. his eyes roam the entirety of your face. memorizing every pretty freckle and curve now since he’s close. 

“guess it also helps that my neighbor is really pretty,” he whispers, like the compliment is punched out of him and laid out for you to delve in. 

from there on, his focus drops to the pink of your lips. then to the glimmer of your skin that peeks beneath your homey clothes. almost outwardly sighs at the sight before him. like he wants you–thoughtlessly, selfishly, and desperately. the only way he knows how to show he cares. lodges himself deep within the depths of your soul. lets himself in due to his benevolence and warmth. 

then, he pulls away and blinks himself out of the stupor that was induced by you. there’s a sheepish smile on his face like he’s aware he’d been caught. a dust of red splattering on the tips of his ears. but to which he was at fault for; staring too intently or letting his blossoming feelings show– who really knows? 

yuuji steps back to take his leave before it can get too dark out, “glad we both got what we wanted at the end. I'll see ya later!” 

and with that, he waves you a farewell while you’re gripping onto the bouquet of flowers he gifted you. you’re a hot, flustered mess from your encounter with your neighbor. heart racing and thrumming against your chest. but you guess your apology successfully worked. your next step is to find a nice vase. and as you mosey through your apartment with a little extra bounce in your step, you trim the stems and set the flowers to be displayed in your living room. it’s been a while since a man has ever given you flowers. it’s nice. brightens the place up. a huff of content passes your lips. and yes, you do manage to get his name because tucked at the bottom of the card is his full name– followed by a small, scrawled heart. 

-

the next couple days roll into weeks of giddy, mushy happiness that’s unparalleled to anything you’ve ever experienced. he makes an effort to see you almost every other day. stands in front of your door with a bright grin plastered on his face while the both of you catch up. and you share a little bit of your life and schedule so he’s informed on the most convenient time you’ll be home. and it stuns you that yuuji’s naturally this warmhearted. he’s characteristically a provider and giver. finds reason in being the one that lets you have peace of mind. he signs off on your packages when you’re not home, carries your heavy groceries if the elevators are broken, and keeps you company during your midnight snack runs. always inquisitive of your feelings and thoughts. and it’s not just you that he treats kindly (and sure what he does for you borders the invisible line of being more than neighbors). but he’s just inherently courteous. he helps stray animals cross the busy intersection in front of the apartment, moves the massive potted plants for the elderly tenants, and even goes out of his way to greet every individual person in the mornings. yuuji is too good to be true. 

so it’s no wonder you overhear him conversing with a girl. 

it was completely unintentional– initially. you were in the process of slipping on your shoes to go on your usual bakery run. the typical sweet treat that kept you motivated and energized for the rest of the week. that is, until an overly raucous giggle startles you. you freeze at the unusual noise. it’s feminine. not the usual scoff and chuckle you typically overhear from megumi when he visits. the walls are so thin, courtesy of the rent being low, hence catching onto your neighbors’ conversations was pretty easy. so who’s laughing that loud in the early morning and why was it coming from yuuji’s side of the wall? 

checking wasn’t necessarily a crime. and you know it’s wrong but your logic is swayed when yuuji’s own laughter follows. your eye twitches. the sound was bittersweet now. your hands tighten into fists as your breathing quickens and you realize that having the freedom of becoming attached to someone comes with some risks. 

letting your feet lead you closer, you’re perched next to the wall connecting your apartment with his and you hesitantly press your ear against the painted surface. 

“where to, miss?” 

that’s yuuji’s voice. you recognize it from anywhere because it’s perfect– honeyed and sincere– or at least, that’s what you were bewitched with. it wasn’t the exact emotion you conjured up now though. you stood there, dazed beyond comprehension. confused about the relationship you shared with him. you assumed it was mutual; well, a fondness that came in the form of watching him tip his head back in laughter as you artlessly sing your favorite song to him. or how, when the two of you lounge on your couch, you’re both sharing hopes about the future until the sun rises. most importantly, you were hurt. utterly devastated by the accidental secret you’ve uncovered. did it mean nothing to him? you feel your throat close up. can feel the beginnings of frustration arise and your hand moves to clutch at your heart. you needed an explanation; a clarification for the way he’s been treating you. you didn’t want your one chance of happiness to vanish. 

storming to his door, you give it a firm knock before impatiently shifting on your feet, “it’s me.”

you don’t expect him to answer, to be fair. he could choose to ignore your knock, shrug it off and give the run-of-the-mill excuse to the girl he was seeing. or there’d be a beat of silence as he desperately shoves the girl out of sight before he answers the door like those cliche rom-coms that boast high praise due to the drama. and a part of you knows that yuuji’s not like that– he’s sweet, charming, and undeniably considerate– but you don’t know what to believe. you’re a hot mess that’s destined to explode. 

so it catches you off-guard when the door immediately swings open. 

you stand steadfast, however, “yuuji, we need to talk–”

but the outburst dies on your lips. you’re gaping at the sight that you’re greeted with. megumi’s the one that opens the door for you. his dark eyes flick over to you once and he pulls the door back further to reveal where the commotion was coming from. almost like he understands why you’ve shown up. then, he clasps his hands over his ears to block out the deafening volume of the television and yuuji’s incessant reciting.

there’s a sneer plastered on megumi’s face as he turns to the pink-haired male, “I told you to knock it off before she got the wrong idea.” 

and at the mention of ‘she,’ yuuji freezes. he’s perched atop their rickety couch, teetering on the edge, and holding the end of a hairbrush to his mouth like it’s a microphone. there’s no other girl. he’s not flirting with anyone. the television’s on, playing an iconic movie scene as he passionately narrates the actor’s lines in time with the script. it’s entertaining. amusing. and under different circumstances you’d fall into a fit of laughter but once he meets your eyes, yuuji pauses. 

“crap,” he drops the hairbrush and hastily scrambles to the remote to flick the television off, “‘m sorry was I being too loud–” 

yuuji rushes to greet you. his feet steadily thump against the wooden floors as he hastens his steps. his subconscious leads him to you, always. like he can’t help but come to you despite everything. there’s an abashed grin on his face and the tips are his ears are tinged red from being caught. yet, he’s clearly delighted to see you at his door. 

and the guilt automatically hits you. 

“n-no! I mean, uh,” you focus your attention to the floor as you shake your head, “that’s not why I came here. I thought– oh my gosh– I feel horrible now.” 

tilting his head in confusion, yuuji patiently waits through your sputtering in an attempt to understand what you’re saying. you’re distraught. seeking a sound enough reason on your sudden arrival. you’re flustered, tongue-tied, because now that you’ve seen what you heard earlier, it all makes perfect sense. your ability to jump to conclusions was astounding and the bane of your existence. heat radiates from your cheeks as you clam up. 

there’s a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll be taking my leave now. I don’t feel like third-wheeling today,” megumi explains while stepping past you, “counting on you two to work it out.” 

before the dark haired male leaves he lifts his hand to good-naturedly pat your head. it’s foreign and as if he realizes this, megumi simply shrugs. then, he murmurs his own blunt, twisted encouragement and leaves the both of you alone. 

it’s silent. 

but then yuuji gently leads you inside his apartment. hums that it’ll be better to talk with no interruptions. you let him guide you into the place that you frequent rather often recently, welcoming the press of his fingers against your waist and how his touch instantly brings warmth. he sits you in the middle of the couch, chuckling when you inadvertently sink into the cushions. but he abruptly stops once he detects your regretful expression. the way the corners of your lips are downturned and how you refuse to look at him. an arrow pierces at his heart. 

leaning to place his hands on your shoulders, he carefully mentions, “you wanted to talk?” 

he keeps his voice light, mindful and it’s his gentleness that breaks you. his bright eyes are trained on your face to decipher what’s been bothering you. doesn’t like seeing you so distressed. he’s already grasping for a solution without even knowing the problem. he’s so good to you. 

and when his thumb soothingly caresses against the side of your neck, you wring your hands as you try to explain, “I know I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping but I overheard you speaking to someone. a girl. so I thought–”

you break off to press your lips together in embarrassment. there’s a flash of realization on his sharp features, like he finally acknowledges the misunderstanding. the issue that’s driven you to the point of showing up to his door and staring up at him with wistful eyes. causing his will to break into pieces that you’re destined to pick up and glue back together. then, before you can blink, he’s dropping to his knees and grasping onto your hands. his knitted brows relax as he exhales your name in hushed relief. and it’s a sight of pure reverence. reassurance to the very aspect of your being. you’ve appeased his worries so he’ll make it right; it’s a promise. 

“that was all my fault, I was being stupid and messing around. I’m sorry for making you worried,” yuuji clarifies in a single breath, “I want you to know one thing, though.” 

bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a tender kiss in the space between your knuckles and looks up at you, “I’m serious about this– about you.” 

the octave in his voice drops at the end of his confession, bordering a hoarse whisper meant only for you. a rawness to his sudden seriousness. a reason for his countless efforts. and there’s only so much he’s allowed you to be aware of with his growing feelings. like how he thinks of you right as the sun rises. right when the brilliant hues are flourishing as the day begins to take over. or how he imagines you as the love interest in every romance movie. or how the days become brighter when you’re around. you bring significance into his life.

and he admits that he’s new to these all-consuming feelings. his mind morphs into oblivion and his mouth turns into the equivalent of fuzz. simply due to your sweet smile. it takes all his willpower not to reach out for you when you’re near. his fingers tremble in need to hold and cherish you. he’s utterly whipped. so one thing is for certain– when he thinks of you, there’s a lightness that engulfs his world.

“yuu.”

yuuji’s broken out of his trance when you sweep a gentle hand through his blushy hair. the sentiment is unmistakable now. his act of kneeling in front of you proves his resolve and sincerity. uttering his name is the closest aspect of him being yours. your sweet neighbor. he lets out a content hum and your glossy lips curve into a smile at his reaction. forever fascinated by his undying need to adore you. he sees his whole world beaming back at him. and in that moment, yuuji was convinced that his sole purpose was to bring you happiness. this was the prospect of his adoration. a regard to his devotion towards you. pretty eyes half-lidded, he peers up at you and knowingly tilts his head.

“wanna go get that breakfast pastry you always get at the bakery? 'm pretty sure it was the strawberry cream cheese one,” he asks, his tone hopeful yet bashful as he adds, “you could think of it as a date.” 

[carlsangel]

dad’s rifle (g.i.t.w, ch.3)

carl grimes x fem!reader

warning: death.

masterlist here!

other chapters here!

You always felt like you had an unfair disadvantage in life. You were on vacation when the world died, just with your dad and sister. He was in the military and barely had much time with you but he finally was able to take you somewhere for a week. There was a layover somewhere in Georgia when everything started to get progressively worse. You knew nothing about the area so when the apocalypse struck, you and your family were lost.

It was rough at first, your dad was oddly aggressive and your sister was cold. She never spoke to you, but she pushed you around when you needed to be. She probably saved your life multiple times without you even knowing.

Anyway the first couple months were rough but you were eventually able to be somewhat comfortable with it all. You missed your extended family like hell but you still had your dad and your sister. You were okay.

Until you weren’t.

At some point you guys were in a smaller group. Just a bunch of survivors doing their best to keep living. You would separate at night however, build campfires per family even though that sounded quite dumb. the flames were small so you weren’t visible. Your dad had surprised you with marshmallows that night. “Here take this one.” You were sad you didn’t make your marshmallow like his, he was always so good at it. Your sister was still not talking but she was enjoying herself as well. She ended up giving you her bracelet that night too. Just in case anything happened.

It wasn’t until the morning you woke up to the sounds of the dead along with your dad yelling. He grabbed you and your sister and bolted off into one direction, leaving the rest of the group to fend for themselves.

The dead still followed you to your new destination, an old cabin. In said cabin there was an old chair that looked quite large that your dad used to secure the door shut so you had time to escape. He lead you both into the far back room of the cabin and opened a window, a window that only opened half way.

Enough for you and your sister to get through. Meanwhile, the dead bursted through the door.

It was a quick goodbye.

You and your sister made it out alive. You were on your own for a little while after that. When it came down to it, your sister felt like she had to do whatever it took to protect you. She was often aggressive or rude when telling you what to do, only because she knew you’d listen to her. At the time she seemed so mean, but now that she was gone you could understand everything she taught you.

It wasn’t easy losing her either.

It happened maybe two months after your dad. You thought that if you were ever in a situation like the one when you lost your dad again, you’d do everything in your power to stop it. You constantly feel like you could’ve done anything to help, or maybe you should’ve stayed with him. Then you wouldn’t be in so much pain.

You and your sister ran into a horde of walkers. She knew that you’d never be able to run from it, not without a distraction. She looked around frantically for a solution. All she saw as a viable option was herself. She stops you and puts the bag on you. “You take the bag, you take dad’s rifle and you run. Run as far away as you can. Okay? I love you.” She tells you pressing a kiss to your forehead and pushing you in the opposite direction. She pulls her knife out of her belt and prepares, meanwhile you try to protest. “I don’t wanna leave you here, I-” She’d cut you off to tell you to just go.

So you run. You run as fast as you could all while sobbing your eyes out. You’ve been on your own ever since.

You learned to live alone, you took all the tips you and your sister had learnt together as well as some of your dad’s military experience and you ran with it. You did great by yourself, that fact never went unnoticed. You found a group or two you somewhat got along with and they would quite literally perish soon after meeting them. It was tragic, yes but you never got attached so it never quite got to you. After that you chose to isolate yourself, just so you didn’t have to deal with the pain. In reality it seems cold, but that’s just how you were able to say steady.

You wanted to stay alive, you knew that the only way your dad and sister’s memory would live on is if you were to stay alive and honor them. You hoped that one day you could tell stories about them to your children. That is if you made it to have any.

Anyway you dodged a fair amount of sketchy groups. You considered yourself as someone who got the good and bad ends of the apocalypse stick. You could sense when something wasn’t right and that saved you a lot of the time. For the shit end of it, well you lost your family. But that’s all in the past.

─── ⋆⋅ ꒰ა 𐚁 ໒꒱ ⋅⋆ ───

Now you were dealing with some sassy cowboy. He stole your rifle and ghosted you. Ironic for someone nicknamed the ghost in the woods, you were the one who was meant to disappear. Granted you could tell that Alexandria was having a rough time. Once the horde cleared to a louder section of the community you were able to get closer to get a good look at what was going on inside the walls. You could see the absolute grotesque amount of walkers, almost looking like an entire sea flood the front gates. Some spilled to the side and lingered there, so you steered clear.

A part of you felt somewhat anxious, you thought you’d be witnessing the fall of Alexandria. Maybe Carl would die, but you didn’t want to worry about that. At least you tried. You weren’t quite successful. Noticeably, Alexandria was going through a rough patch. They had tons of their people die, not to mention they drew plenty of attention with the blaring truck horn which you realized had hit at the opposite wall you were at. You lingered at the back wall rather than the busier side. Little did you know, you’d have a visitor.

You pulled your knife after hearing a branch snap behind you.

It was Carl.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You keep your voice low so you don’t draw the walkers. “I’m here to get you.” He explains, he’s slightly out of breath. “Get me? It’s too dangerous for you to be outside the walls.” You tell him. Unfortunately he’s as stubborn as they come. “Which is why I’m here to get you. Cmon, we don’t have much time.” He tries to get you to move but you don’t budge. “You need to leave.”

Carl’s been so concerned for you the past couple days he hadn’t been coming out to see you. He’d been meaning to but everything seemed to be going downhill. Just the day before, the Wolves broke into Alexandria and he had to be there for Judith. He was scrambling to find any way for you to come back with him.

“Look, I get it, I didn’t bring back your rifle and…I know I pushed you a little too much to join Alexandria the other day. But this is serious. It’s life or death, okay? Just do the right thing. Come back to Alexandria. Just till the hordes cleared up and—maybe you’ll like it there and choose to stay. You don’t have to just please hear me out.” He pleads.

He’s so convincing, but you’re just as stubborn as he is.

“I told you I have no interest. I’m fine out here it’s not my first time around a horde. You should go.” You frustrated Carl to no end and he really didn’t want to annoy you or betray your trust, but he had no option. You could see him build up the strength.

“You either come back to Alexandria with me or you’re never getting your rifle back.”

The words that came out of his mouth were quite unlike him, he never wanted to be as bitchy as he was.

He just needed you to listen.

a/n: i want you all to know that when building this story, the sisters death made me so sad that i decided that canonically the sisters not dead she made it out and she’s looking for the reader trust

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow @lilyglasergrimes @smollbean42905 @deadgirlwalkingx @txrasbae @lalaloopsie12309 @crusadecherryblossom @violetashfall @zombiigrll @amanita-raine @prettylittlevampire12 @shadowybasementmiracle @junkyard-juno27 @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @sophiaatwdluver

[notjustjavierpena]

I’ve been binge reading your amazing husband!javier series and it makes me feel soo 💕💗💞 but what i’m very curious about is inés! i don’t think (unless i missed it) that you ever wrote anything about when inés was born!! just curious on javi’s reaction to having a girl. girl dad javi for the win. that’s it. that’s all.

Girl

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I so hope that this is what you had in mind, anon-sweetheart. This is the best I could do 🥺💖❤️

Summary: A glimpse into how Javier handles Inés, his two days old daughter.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, descriptions of a postpartum body, Javier loves his family, Javi POV, newborn bubble, bit of angst, life with a tiny baby!!

Word count: 2.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57176173

Girl

There are soft and fine hairs on Inés Peña’s head. Javier already finds that his favorite pastime is to run his fingers over them, feel the way they brush against his fingertips, and send butterflies through his body all the way to his heart. The gentle strokes to her head make her squirm underneath his touch, solidifying the fact that he is a father of two now, one of whom is a baby girl. 

He never quite understood the idea of wanting to take a bullet for someone until he became a father to Lucas. It makes him feel slightly bad about the stress he must have caused his father back in the day, running around intentionally seeking dangerous situations all the way into adulthood. He supposes that it’s payback that Lucas already causes him stress from merely existing and he has to force himself to give up control once in a while when Lucas wants to independently try new things that might get his knees scraped literally and figuratively. He knows it’s ridiculous to think that maybe it’ll be different with Inés because he has a certain idea of how it will be to be the father of a girl. You’ve laughed about that already, told him that sometimes it can be even worse with a girl. 

A girl.

He weighs the meaning of this, has been aware of the new responsibilities that follow with having a daughter since he held Inés in his arms for the first time. A nurse had handed her to him whilst you got some much-needed rest and he had been floored by emotions that shot through his body. He had never thought much of the significance of raising a daughter before she came into his life screaming but feeling her skin against his own made his mind spiral. How stupid a man he is, that he ever thought it wouldn’t be much different than what he has gone through with Lucas, and whereas he still looks forward to the day of her first smile, her first step or her first word, a special kind of dread follows him around as he looks down at her now. The world is so cruel for someone so tiny and frail, someone bound to be met with challenges he’ll never understand. It’s a different kind of need to protect; it’s instinctual, intense, and utterly consuming. What about her first party? Her first job? Her first boyfriend? What about all the things that only you can help her with? Oh God.

He huffs out a little laugh that stems from disbelief. Inés is two days old and she has already transformed him into something new. He loves everything about her: Her flat little nose, her disproportionately big hands, the details on her skin, creases on her forehead, and prints on her fingers that make her seem so real even when she doesn’t do much. He knows she exists for real because of her being soft to the touch and because of the tiny noises she makes in her sleep but it’s the feeling in his body, a buzz that he can’t explain that tells him how real. 

Sleep is all she does really, much like her older brother did during his first week in the world of the living. She has big eyes that flutter behind her eyelids as she dreams, curling up her little body to mimic the way she slept in her previous home which is your belly until she wakes up slowly with a massive yawn that makes you giggle as you greet her. 

“You are so loved, Inés,” he whispers as she coos in her slumber. He tucks the blanket around her a little more, rubbing her little belly with his fingertips, “So so loved, mi amor (my love). Mamá and I are gonna take care of you.”

He barely finishes the sentence when he feels a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, making him turn his head to look back at you. You are standing right behind him, smiling tiredly at him and just out of the shower but you shake your head when he starts to get up from his seat to offer it to you. 

“How are my two loves doing?” You ask softly to redirect his attention away from you but he takes you in for a moment before finding the proper response. You are in the underwear that you specifically bought for the first month after Inés’ arrival, waddling around as your body still hasn’t quite figured out that it’s not housing a baby anymore; your belly is still rounded, your skin bears stretch marks that he thinks of as beautiful as lightning on a night sky, and you move through his home with the careful slowness of someone healing. 

“Perfect,” he says when he still has his eyes on you, smiling warmly as you return it with a shy face. He turns back to look at his infant daughter and rests his arms on the side of her bassinet, “We’re perfect, ain’t we, Inés?”

“At least you are,” you groan softly, dragging the footstool from Javier’s chair towards the two of them. Your words are followed by a chuckle to hide your self-consciousness, “I don’t feel very perfect myself these days.”

Javier tuts at you as you go against your doctor’s advice of not moving things that are too heavy so soon after giving birth. He decides to move swiftly before you can protest, getting up from his seat and guiding you to sit in his chair instead. He has a warm and reassuring hand on your back as he helps you sit down, knowing that the tiredness is as much from the soreness of your back and feet as well as the sleepless nights a newborn brings. 

“Gentleman,” you note.

“You are amazing,” he stresses and sits down opposite you, not bothered at all by the new seating arrangement, “Absolutely beautiful too. How are you feeling?”

“Just a little sore, it’s okay. Don’t worry,” you admit and look past him to stare at your baby to consciously ignore Javier’s concerned eyes. You lean towards the bassinet and he decides not to get too fussy about you, just hears your dreamy voice and lets it wash over him, “Can you believe Lucas used to be this size?”

Javier shakes his head as memories of Lucas’ early days flood his mind instead, noticing the way his two kids already look a bit alike. He scoots his seat closer to yours and takes your hand without saying anything, “Yes and no, it feels like it was only yesterday. Can’t believe he’s running around now, stressing his father out like that.”

You put a hand on your belly as you giggle quietly, moving slowly to rest your cheek against the side of Inés’ bed and only wincing a little. Javier squeezes your free hand but you choose to tease him instead of acknowledging his concern, “This one will too, you know. Enjoy this moment while it lasts.”

“I’m trying but I really want to pick her up all the time,” he tells you with embarrassment. He wants to press his nose into the top of her soft head and inhale that distinct smell that all babies have, the one that seems to be holding him hostage in a bubble of sentiment. 

“You can’t,” you scold playfully, “She needs rest and so do you.”

“Fuck, lo sé (I know),” he nods understandingly but he has the kind of longing that only a newborn can cause to a parent, “Pero es tan perfecta (But she is so perfect).” 

“También será perfecta cuando se despierta (She’ll also be perfect when she wakes up),” you remind him and pull his hand to your lips to kiss it, showing him a sort of affection that only you have ever brought him.

“Perfecta como tú (perfect like you),” he charms with no other endgame other than seeing your mouth pull into a little smile, cheeks warm from his love. 

“You clearly need a nap too,” you say in your motherly voice, hiding your face from him and trying to play the fact that he still makes you feel like a teenager off, “Gotta sleep when the baby sleeps.”

Javier finally tears his gaze away from his beautiful infant daughter. He sits up straight and watches you mirror him with hidden discomfort. He could continue his playful reluctance to get up from his seat but seeing how tired you look despite your best efforts to hide it from him makes him a little more serious. 

“Alright, you win,” he lets go of your hand to hold his hands up in mock surrender, earning a quick and affectionate roll of your eyes. He’ll read your mind like this and adjust accordingly, happy to play the fool if it just ends in your comfort, “I’ll behave myself if you take a nap with me.”

“That’s a deal,” you agree and put your hands on your knees to stand. 

Javier rises from his seat and holds out his hand to help you, shaking it a little when you don’t immediately take it. However, when you do and haul yourself up from the chair, a relieved expression crosses your face when you can support your belly while he supports your back. 

He guides you across the floor to the bed, chest feeling alight with his affection for you as you get comfortable under the covers. He dares a last glance at his daughter before joining you, lying down face-to-face with you and tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You smile with heavy lids, placing your hand between your heads so he can take it. 

“You rest,” you tell him as he curls his fingers around your wrist instead, rubbing your delicate skin with his thumb. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the quiet room. 

You furrow your brows while smiling, “For what?”

“For giving me my family,” Javier drags your hand to his mouth, returning the kiss you gave him earlier. It’s so gentle because you are so sensitive everywhere right now, body filled with overwhelming hormones and overstimulation, “You’re a pretty big factor in its production, you know. I just… did what I do best.”

“Javi,” you avoid his eyes, focusing only on the slightly dirty joke by chuckling. 

“No, I mean it. Look at me,” he continues and only goes on when you give in and find his eyes. He places your palm against his cheek, “You are a brave woman. And so strong. Your body is so powerful.”

You swallow hard, clearly affected by those words because he knows the journey to receiving the gift of Inés has been a bumpy one. You both try not to think about that one particular night. You brush his cheek with your thumb, “Thank you, baby. And thank you for being such a wonderful father.”

It’s Javier’s turn to look away. He exhales deeply through his nose, “I don’t know about that. Do you think I’ll be whatever she needs?”

“Of course,” you turn your hand to run your knuckles along his face instead, “What are you worried about? Look at Lucas.”

“There’s so many things I’ll never understand being her father,” he says regrettably. He can feel his blood pressure spiking just thinking about the fact that someone will try to limit her for simply being born a girl. He thinks about his past, guilt rising in his throat at some of the things he has done during his years in Colombia when he jumped from bed to bed which now seem starkly at odds with raising a strong woman. 

He closes his eyes briefly, a deep crease on his forehead showing you that this is not just a passing thought but something that has been rooted into the bottom of Javier’s mind. Inés being born has simply triggered it to come out. He is struggling before you, feeling the weight of his newfound role as a girl dad. 

“You know, having a daughter is very special,” you say without getting a reply. 

His thoughts drift to the challenges ahead, imagining the countless ways society might try to define or confine his daughter. The world, he knows, can be goddamn unforgiving if he doesn’t live up to his responsibilities of teaching her resilience, to empower her to navigate a world where she might face things that he will never fully comprehend but will lie awake over if he misses the severity of them.

“Hey, heyheyhey. Javi,” you make him snap out of it, scooting closer to run your fingers through his hair. Your voice is soft and tender, “Where did you just go?”

“It was so easy with Lucas, I know, but I can’t help but worry if I’ll do wrong by Inés,” he confesses quietly, ashamed of these intrusive thoughts, “If I’m a good example of a man.”

“You are a fantastic father, Javier,” you stress and give him a sweet smile, a twinkle in your eye as you talk, “Wouldn’t have let you marry me and make babies on me if I didn’t think that you were a good man, you know. Give me some credit for choosing you.”

“You knew how to pick ‘em, huh?” He says with a smile, reassured. 

“And I should know about horrible fathers, baby,” you bump your noses together with a little laugh, “But seriously though. You parent with compassion and love. I wish I had had you growing up and I’m a girl, so yes, my opinion matters.”

Javier's smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing as he listens to your words. He’ll always feel undeserving of your unwavering belief in him but right now, he just lets it soothe his soul.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” he murmurs and pulls you into an embrace, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that turns into several loving ones, the two of you using the little amount of free time you have to enjoy each other. Your belly touches his stomach which drives him crazy, your scent is everywhere, and he pants softly when the kissing ends.

“As long as I am half as amazing as you. You’re such a natural. I don’t know how you do it,” he says and gives you one last longing kiss. He gently runs his hand over your still-rounded belly, the skin marked with stretch marks, “I’m in fucking awe of you, Mamá."

"It’s just instinct, Javi. We both have it.”

“Don’t downplay it. You are the best mother they could ever–” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Inés makes a noise of complaint. He tenses up and listens, his eyes going toward the bassinet. You both hold your breath, waiting to see if she’ll settle back into sleep or if she needs attention.

When the soft whimper doesn’t turn into a more insistent cry, you are the first to speak. You tease lightheartedly, “See? Instinct.”.

“You know what? I’m just gonna check on her,” he carefully disentangles himself from you and moves over to the bassinet. You watch as he leans over and he can feel your gaze in his back as he watches Inés' chest rise and fall slowly. The joy of reunion is just the same each time he goes to look at her. Did the two of you really create something so incredible? He sighs in relief and reports to you, “She’s fine, probably just dreaming.”

“She’s asleep,” you pat the bed, “Now, come back to bed. I want you to hold me before Chucho drops Luke off tomorrow and we have to be four people in here.”

“No more quality time with my girls,” he pouts theatrically as he gets into bed again. He scoots closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. 

“We’ll have plenty of quality time, just a bit noisier,” you say with a soft laugh. You nestle against him, feeling the warmth and safety of his embrace. 

“Christ, I love you,” he whispers into your hair.

“Mhm,” you kiss his chest even if it’s on top of his t-shirt.

As you drift off to sleep in his arms, Javier feels excitement when he thinks about spending his first day as a family of four with you. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, so he falls asleep until he is needed, knowing he’ll be there in less than a heartbeat.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[wndaswife]

it’s been a few weeks since you’ve broken up, and cheerleader!wanda makes you cupcakes for your birthday. you’ve spoken a few times since your breakup when you picked up your things from wanda’s place or when she drunk-called you that she missed you and that she was really sorry. she spoke with you again the next day, apologizing for that too. all in all, you are still kind to her, and that only makes wanda want you so much more. you don’t seem very angry with her and rather you act quite civil. she waits for you in front of your dorm room, a container of sorted cupcakes in hand, fidgeting with her hair and the collar of her shirt while she waits for you to come to the door

you’re quite surprised that wanda’s stopped by, but she tells you that you’d made her birthday really special when you were together. in fact, the way you spoiled her and cared so much for her that day while being able to just be alone together was the first time wanda really realized her feelings for you. she had never felt so cared for before you celebrated her birthday. she tells you that she understands you hate her now and that you’d likely not want to spend any of your birthday with her, but she wanted to return at least some of the favour for what you’d done for her. eventually, you give in and take the cupcakes gratefully

you could tell that wanda did care for you, and that she’d been missing you and making efforts to get close with you again. even when you’d picked up your things from her place, she asked how you were and even if you’d like to stay for a little to talk and catch up — she was desperate to speak with you again. though that didn’t change the kind of person she was, how she treated you at first

unsure why you really do it, you invite wanda to see you perform at a small event over the weekend. you’re just playing two or three songs at a small casual restaurant that’s known for having local performers play. wanda is elated and excited that you invited her, and her reaction nearly makes you blush

she attends over the weekend, sitting by herself at one of the small tables in the restaurant. it almost hurts how badly she wants and misses you, listening to your tender lyrics and your soft voice, the tranquil expression on your face and watching the gentle strumming of your fingers. it felt like her heart quite literally stopped when it looked like you looked up right at her while you were singing — of course, she couldn’t be sure you did

she hopes she can get the chance to talk with you after your performance; she made a tiny attempt at writing poetry for you before she came, and had it tucked away in a little card to celebrate your gig at the restaurant. she did much research for it, searching up how to express your feelings through words and how to construct the rhymes and timing of the lines right. you liked poetry, and you were an amazing writer, even writing her a song once before. she wanted to impress you somehow, show you that she cared about your interests and paid attention to them. she knew she messed up, but she wanted to show you that she could be someone that you could trust and love again

after the performance, wanda watches as you approach a different girl across the restaurant who it looks like you’d invited too, settling down beside her. wanda hadn’t ever seen her before, so she wasn’t sure what your relationship with her was, but she looked smarter than wanda did, knowledgeable about music and poetry and writing in a genuine way, and not in the way wanda wanted to be for you. she wanted to be smart and know things about music and writing and books like you did, but she didn’t, not naturally anyways, and all the things she knew were things you told her and things she searched up on her own to understand and connect to you better, like what she had done tonight with the card

you did end up approaching wanda too, saying you were surprised to see her even though you’d invited her and all. she thanked you again for inviting her and told you how good your performance was, but that she had to leave for another event she had partially skipped to attend your show. she took her phone from the table and the card along with it, tucking the both of them back into her bag so you couldn’t see the card hidden between her phone and the palm of her hand. it was badly written anyways and would’ve sounded stupid to someone who really knew poetry, and wanda should’ve known better than to try and prove herself to you through things she just makes a fool out of herself while doing

[bellalaufeyson69]

Peter Quill x Reader

Enemies to lovers (sort of)

Breakfast

(Spoiler if reading this next sentence! Takes place after GOTG and before GOTG3. Gamora is with the Ravagers and is no longer with Peter in any way. Also meaning that as confirmed by James Gunn, we the reader can understand what Groot says because we’ve been with him so long 🥹)

Description: Quill and Yn hardly ever get along and it’s gotten on everyone’s nerves. Nebula comes up with a solution to the problem by making them spend time together in hopes of working out the differences.

Wc ♡ 3.5k

Masterlist ♡

————

Rays of sunlight burst through the wide front windows of the Milano as the team sat around the table waiting for Groot to finish the breakfast. We all took a straw from a hat daily to see who had the duty, though when any one of us pulled the straw and saw it said groot, we’d discretely pretended it said someone else’s name. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust him to be a good cook, it was just that he can get a little… distracted.

“What day is it today?” The tree pondered, looking over to Mantis awaiting an answer all the while completely unaware that a twig from his arm has now caught fire from the stove.

I was quick to catch this and jumped from my spot to put it out, though as I ran to help him I came crashing into a tall, decently sweaty Peter. “Common Quill!” I hissed before turning back to Groot only to be halted by his annoying voice.

“Oh like that was my fault,” he complained throwing his hands in the air and looking to the team for reassurance yet getting none as they tended to zone Peter and I’s arguments out.

“Maybe if you payed any attention to anything you ever do!” I snapped turning back to face him feeling a rise of irritation come over me causing me to completely forget why I’d even got up in the first place. “Also, you’re disgusting. We have showers for a reason, you literally soaked my arm in your nasty sweat,” I made a disturbed expression whilst wiping the warm wet liquid onto my pants.

He scoffed with an eye roll while taking a glance at the ceiling. “Im sorry if I get a little sweaty when I work out, it’s natural, and I was going to take a shower, not that it’s any of your business; after we ate breakfast.”

“How convenient, so we can all join together and eat while inhaling your B.O.”

“Oh would you two please just shut up! I’m sick of all the incessant bickering you make me want to rip my ears off,” Nebula intruded from beside Groot. She and Rocket had been busy helping Groot put out the small flame that Peter and I had long forgotten about. “You’ve been irritating because Gamora’s gone, and you’ve been a living-breathing brat ever since you failed the last mission,” she called out our behavior almost in a motherly way. She’s been weirdly diplomatic when dealing with us instead of just telling us to go yell at each other somewhere else.

With a huff I went back to my seat and sank in the chair feeling a tinge of embarrassment overwhelm me at the memory of that last mission. I had never failed before, and this time put everyone at danger because I couldn’t control my emotions and attacked a guard too soon. I got a lecture about it from pretty much everyone except Mantis and Groot. That experience definitely hurt my pride quite a lot, so sometimes I might have a little extra sass to try and build it back up. “At least mines a real reason to be acting like a jerk,” Peter mumbled while sitting down in the seat farthest from me.

I snickered to myself at his comment. Sometimes he can be a real idiot. “You realize you called yourself a jerk too right? Nice one Einstein.” I clapped back not willing to let him win this argument, or really any in the future. Peter Quill just always has to be the leader, the cool guy, always right. Not when it comes to me.

“That’s it!” Nebula shouted in pure aggravation. She stomped over to the both of us and grabbed one of our arms with a decent strength considering she’s part bot. “You two are on breakfast duty, and if I hear you argue once while doing it then you’re both gonna be stuck cleaning the engine for two months,” she snapped, shoving us both toward the fridge. We often all had chores to do but we made it fun by having a spin wheel to see who has to do what. Cleaning the engine was always the worst one, but what made it easier was knowing you only had to do it once and then you could spin the wheel next chore week.

“Who said you were in charge? I think you’re forgetting this is MY ship,” Peter defended while crossing his arms.

“Yeah,” I added confidently. Who the heck is Nebula to tell us what to do.

“Nah I agree with that. You two are the most annoying a-holes I’ve ever had to share a space with. Mantis and Drax don’t even argue as much as you do,” Rocket chimed in matter of factly.

“It is true! I would much rather sit and listen to Mantis’s pathetic stories than hear you two fight anymore,” Drax said as he stood tall and serious.

Mantis glanced over to him with a bubbly smile. “Awhh thank you!”

“You are welcome idiot,” Drax replied with a pleasant smile. In his mind he was being respectful, and Mantis didn’t know any better.

Nebula turned her head back to us with an expression as of saying ‘that’s what I thought’. “So it’s settled. You two are gonna work this stupid stuff out, and if we hear so much as a bad tone, then you get stuck with Engine duty,”

We’d both surfaced a similar response between grumbles and eye rolls, yet had no choice but to accept our fate. Majority rules is how this ship functions, which was a feature I loved when it was in regard to someone else. Soon the rest of the group piled out, rocket on his way out mumbled on about how we’d better be quick. I gave a short glance to Peter which was a mistake as he’d so very annoyingly been standing there sifting through songs his Walkman and earbuds. Of course he’d tune me out, I wouldn’t be surprised if he just stood here the whole time too.

I started gathering some of ingredients and pans we’d need, already feeling angry at the fact that he hadn’t even attempted to move to help me. This was a clear indicator that my assumption of his laziness was likely going to be right. I semi aggressively dropped down the container of bacon onto the counter letting my current mood take the control of my motion. I grabbed the unused pan and placed it down and began putting strips of bacon on it. “You’re doing that wrong,” Peter softly mentioned. He seemed tired, I wasn’t sure if it was tired of the arguing or just in general but the tone definitely helped ease my anger a little bit.

With a huff I turned to look over at him and was surprised to find him standing so close, hovering just inches from my frame looking down at the pan, then making eye contact with me. His expression was blank, and calm which confused me. “I’m putting the strips out, how else am I supposed to do it?” I felt my brow still furrowed down in the looming frustration I felt before. We always fight, and one of us always takes it too far, those are times that make it hard to ever not be annoyed at the man’s presence.

He took an earbud out and let it hang by the cord before stepping closer until his body was pressed against my side. I stayed long enough to feel his warmth until I realize the normal thing to do would be to step out of his way, so that I did. Part of me wished he’d do it again, that he’d give me an excuse to accept his embrace. If I hate him so much why did that little ounce of intimacy feel so nice? A confusing mix of emotions. “You don’t put them all at once only do half so they cook more evenly,” he explained whilst taking off some of the already placed bacon. “Also put them folded like this so that- F*CK! AGH!” He’d instantly jumped back from the grizzling pan holding his hand in pain. “Stupid grease, ow!” He complained to the pan as if it were alive which made me laugh quite a lot. The whole scene was funny really.

I hadn’t noticed that through my laughing he’d been looking at me smiling ever so slightly, until I caught him, in which he looked back at the pan. “Are you alright there captain?” I amusingly teased his super strong title, while instinctively placing a caring hand on his shoulder with a soft rub. The moment I placed it I felt the mortified realization of my actions and ripped my hand back off. Too embarrassed to comment on it I’d redirected my focus to making eggs in the other pan hoping he wouldn’t mention it.

I cooked in silence for a little while until I felt as if I was being watched. Hesitantly I turned my gaze to Peter and surely enough was met with him staring right back at me. He looked to be deep in thought until I caught him when his lips curled into an arrogant grin. “Oh no no no, are you kidding me? You’re tellin’ me you can’t even cook eggs either? What can you do?” He provoked in amusement making me roll my eyes.

I waved my hands in the air in defeat. “Fine! You do it yourself then.” I stepped aside from the counter and began to walk away until I felt a warm hand take a light grip on my forearm and pull me backward. I stumbled back to my position in front of the pan where Peter was beside me holding my arm.

“Relax,” he soothed while slowly inching closer, it almost seemed like he was hoping his movements were slow enough for me not to notice. “You’re not gonna get any better with that attitude,” he continued, his hands slowly brushing my hips while I was too distracted listening to what he was saying. He moved cautiously almost trying to catch me in the distraction. “So much attitude all the time,”

I scoffed at his comment. “Attitude? I don’t have attitude, you’re the one who’s always moping around making little comments at everything.” his fingers now wrapped around my waist as he stood behind me, his breath tickling my shoulder.

“Let me show you,” he furthered, completely ignoring what I’d said and going on with his own point.

I’d attempted at pushing his hands off me. “No, I don’t need your help Peter,”

He stood there his grip strong as he looked down at me with a little ‘huh’. After the death glare I’d given he kindly explained the cause of the sound. “You called me Peter,” he pointed out with a grin.

I felt taken off guard at that comment and honestly a little flustered. I always made it a point to call him by his last name, I felt that first names were for people I respected. Why did that slip so easily? “I was just distracted…” I trailed avoiding his gaze and looking back to the pan. “Are we gonna cook the eggs or not?” I redirected the conversation away from the tension as I didn’t know how to react. My heart fluttered at his proximity but my mind reminds me of our dynamic. We’ve never got along let alone been close in this way.

He took my cue to move on and eagerly grabbed the spatula, handed it to me then paused and hesitantly slipped his hand on the back of my own. His other hand rested on my waist still as he guided the cooking. “It’s all about the wrist” he spoke softly.

I let out a breathe as I stood stiffly. I wasn’t sure what to do with this but I didn’t hate it. In fact it was quite the opposite. “This isn’t going to help you get over Gamora,” I bluntly stated without really thinking about it. I didn’t intend on being rude and my tone pushed that. Truth is that must’ve been an insecurity festered up. He’s a flirt and I can’t be his distraction.

He was silent for a moment but his position didn’t budge. “Why are you always so quick to push me away?” He quietly asked sincerely. He seemed hurt which was the last thing I expected from him. Was I reading our dynamic wrong? I couldn’t have been I mean we fight constantly.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t.” He interrupted. “Be real with me, just this one time,” he took the spatula from my hand and placed it on the table before grabbing the hand back again and bringing it to my waist to hold there. “What can I do to fix you and me?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that whatsoever because I didn’t know what that meant. You and me. As in no more arguing? As in becoming friends? As in something more? It doesn’t help that Peter is known for his flirting. “I-“ I sighed. “What do you mean?” I felt myself submitting to his touch as my body relaxed against his.

“Last weekend, we’re sitting on the couch. My arm was up around the top of it and if I moved it down just a little bit it would’ve literally been around your shoulder. Everything’s fine we’re all watching a movie, and I make a bad joke about your favorite character because I think it’s cute when you’re mad and you storm off cursing at me.” I couldn’t see the point he was pushing for but found myself blushing at the compliment. “Can’t you tell I do those things to get close to you? We don’t talk what so ever and the most I get from you is if I pull it out of you by making a dumb comment,” he explained his head now stooped closer to my shoulder, resting slightly against the side of my face and neck. “I know I can be childish, or a jerk but I don’t know what else to do when all I want to do is talk to you,”

“Oh really?” I perked up a little bit ready to make my point taking a step away from Peter. “What about the time we were here drinking and you made a comment about how I was ‘acting different to impress people’? How romantic,” I poked feeling his logic start to crumble.

He let out a huff. “You’re not remembering that the way I am and yeah I shouldn’t have said that but you spent the entire night all over that xandarian guy,” he expressed stepping forward to grab my hand and pull me back in. “You know how much I wanted to punch that dude straight in the jaw every time he touched you? Why should he get to kiss you?” He seemed to be getting offended just remembering the night, and honestly a little heated.

“Peter,” I softly tried to intercept.

“No, I’ve been here this entire time. For years it’s been me here with you, we go on missions, we’ve explored new planets, had ups and downs, and I have to sit there and watch some guy kiss you? Some guy who just came along that same day, put no effort into his relationship with you and got you,” he rambled on with pain in his eyes. I hadn’t seen him show that much emotion over someone since gamora. “It’s not fair,”

I felt horrible for not seeing this sooner. I couldn’t help but rethink everything but at the same time he definitely went about this in the wrong way to get my attention. He got it alright but it was never good. To me he was just constantly nitpicking me and all the things I liked and it drove me crazy. I guess that’s the fault in miscommunication. A lot of the stuff was pretty dumb to get genuinely mad at, often he’d just tease my favorite movies or comment on my fighting skills. Nonetheless in this moment I felt truly sad for him. “I didn’t know…” he was focused very intently on every word I said and I could just tell the anticipation anxiety was eating him up. In reality this was a confession of his feelings. “If I would’ve known…” I trialed off not wanting to press further as I’ve never been very good at expressing my feelings.

“If you would’ve known then what?” He softly nudged me to continue. He took our interlocked hands and held it on his chest.

“I don’t know, things would’ve been different. I didn’t know that’s how you felt I just thought you hated me honestly,” I admitted awkwardly.

He exhaled with a frown. “I could never hate you, and that mission…“ he got softer watching my expression because he knew this topic was sore for me. “It didn’t matter to me that we failed, all I could think about was how I could’ve lost you,” he admitted keeping eye contact as he spoke. “I can’t lose anyone else, and I just miss what we used to be like.”

This confused me as what he’s referencing is our friendship back when he was with Gamora. Is he trying to say he wants to be friends or is he being romantic? He’s so hard to read sometimes, but his actions are telling me romance. Clearly he could see the confusion etched on my face because he clarified all my questions without ever having to hear them. “You know, how close we were. Cracking jokes, playing pranks on the rest of them,” he explained. “I want that. But… something a little different…” he seemed a little more awkward now like he didn’t know how to word what he felt.

“How different?” I asked feeling my heart pick up just a little bit. Perhaps MAYBE the reason I got so mad at everything Peter did was because MAYBE I valued his opinion, because MAYBE I was sort of always secretly into him.

He perked up at the question surprised I hadn’t shot it down right then and there. “Well,” he started while taking my hand and giving me a dramatic twirl. The guy is smooth. “Maybe a little romance, I’m thinking Jim and Pam,” he referenced my favorite Earth show as I’ve forced him to watch it after our trip there.

A mischievous smile found my lips at that. “Ohhhh, so someone was lying about not liking the show?” I teased in a ‘I told you so’ kinda way.

He chuckled at my call out. “I told ya Y/N, I just love to mess with you.”

“Hmm, fine but you have to watch rom coms with me,” I laid out my terms matter of factly.

His eyes widened. “Fine? Fine what? Fine to the romance?” He double checked as I hadn’t made myself all that clear.

“I GUESS,” I dramatically excepted in a fake disinterested tone.

“Well then Mrs. Y/N” he pulled me into him yet again wrapping his arms around my torso, though this time I let my hands rest on his chest. “I’m gonna romance the shit outta you,” he grinned that same cocky little grin that used to make me wanna smack him.

I rolled my eyes at his over confidence but was thrown off at him leaning in closer to me. I couldn’t find anything sassy or witty to remark because now all my focus was on the fact that Peter Quill’s lips were so close to mine. The lips of always secretly wanted to kiss. I let out a breath feeling the tension before he’d made the move to fully go in. He kissed me softly, and slowly. His hand cupped my cheek and when he pulled away he gave a real genuine smile.

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me” rocket yelled out from the doorway next to a very shocked Nebula.

“I give them a week tops,” she jokingly murmured but I could tell she was genuinely happy for us.

Rocket groaned from his place clearly fed up with the fact that he’d suffered through our bickering just for us to end up into each other. “If I’d known all you two jackasses needed to do was bang it out- WHY ARE THE EGGS BLACK?” He ran over to the stove to turn off the switch as if that would save the already far gone breakfast. “that’s TWO breakfasts down the drain, that’s it! I’m done! We’re getting fast food from knowhere,” he flailed his hands in the air and walked out of the room in defeat making the rest of us chuckle.

“I’m glad you two figured it out finally,” Nebula gave a small smile. “Really thought you were blind,” she dryly joked.

Peter and I looked at each other in confusion for a moment before smiling and accepting the fact that apparently we’d been obvious about our unknown feelings. With that she left the room to follow Rocket to the controls of the ship to fly us all to knowhere. This left Peter and I alone once more, he stared down at me in amusement. “I knew you were into me.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes for the millionth time, slipped my fingers into his and dragged him out to the main area of the ship preparing for the rest of the teams reactions.

—————

My first Peter Quill fan fic! Sorta rushed so I apologize for any errors! Let me know if I should make more!

[luciopioid]

No Looking Back

minnie x f!reader . 2,572K words

tags: older minnie/age gap. alcohol. use of “girl” and other feminine terms. vaginal fingering.

synopsis: minnie is a regular at your cafe job. after one particularly hard day, she runs into you and helps you out in more ways than one.

Minnie hands you a glass of wine before she sits down beside you on her couch– albeit probably too close, but the smell of her perfume and her radiating body heat next to you makes any doubt disappear immediately.

“So how long have you been there?” She asks, ruffling a hand through her hair. You shoot her a look. “The cafe, I mean.” She chuckles.

“Oh! About a year now. My last job wasn’t getting me by, but the pay here is a little better and the tips are good. I’m thinking about quitting though because last we–” You catch yourself.

“Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous. But a year. I’ve been there a year.” You chuckle awkwardly, catching minnie’s gaze as she looks at you with a warm smile.

“Why are you nervous, baby?”

You feel your face go hot and it takes every fiber within you not to start giggling like an idiot.

You don’t really remember how you got here exactly, but you do remember crying profusely and running into one of your regulars at your job.

_

It was raining and you had just worked a shift from hell. Customers yelling in your face, whipped cream and green tea spilled over your pants and shoes– the whole nine yards. You practically run out of the cafe on your way to your car. You huddle to yourself, as if it will make the rain avoid you specifically given you forgot your umbrella. You sit down in your passenger seat momentarily, and for the first time in six hours, you breathe. Ready to go home and shower and probably cry, you start your car. Or try to at least. You turn the key again. And again. And again, but to no avail it doesn’t start. At all.

You feel tears stinging at your eyes, but you blink them away and decide to get out and pop the hood. You don’t know what you’re looking at. You just want to go home. Your hair is wet and your clothes are cold and damp.

At some point in between clocking out and having a breakdown in the rain, you ran into Minnie, a regular customer at your job that comes in every other day.

Shit.

You didn’t know what bothered you more: being in this vulnerable position for anyone to walk by and wonder if you were crazy or really down on your luck or having the woman you’ve had a crush on for literal months walking by and wonder if you were crazy or just really down on your luck. You prayed it was the ladder.

“Are you okay?” She asks after she gets out of her car, jogging towards you. “Do you need a jump?”

She’s in high waisted jeans and a blouse. Unlike yours, her hair and clothes dry. “Here,” Minnie says, passing you her umbrella as she goes to open your hood. It’s useless now, but a kind gesture nonetheless.

“I don’t know if it’ll work,” You whisper, “With the rain and all.”

“Are you locked out your car?” She asks, concerningly.

“No.” You say calmly.

“So why didn’t yo–” She pauses and laughs softly, understanding you’re in a particularly vulnerable state.

“Look,” Minnie pauses. “I live right there. Why don’t I take you to my place really quick so you can dry off and when the rain stops, I’ll come give you a jump, hmm?” She says with that same familiar smile that made you weak in the knees when you see it.

As charming as she is, you didn’t want to be pitied, even if you were quite literally having a breakdown outside of your job.

“I don’t know, It’s–”

“Come on!” She says pulling you to her car by your arm. Not letting you finish your potential objection.

-

“Thinking about what’s gonna happen to my car if it’s broken. Thinking about how I’m in a stranger’s huge fucking apartment as I wear her clothes. You know… the usual.” You joke and Minnie gives you that same warm smile as she chuckles. You finish the rest of your wine in one sip. Minnie gives you a concerning look before doing the same just for the hell of it.

“I feel like I only had a shitty shift because I didn’t see you today.” You say, entirely too late to take back.

Before you can try to awkwardly change the subject, “I can’t tell if you’re blaming me for your shitty day or if you missed me.” She says jokingly and you immediately feel a relief fall over you.

“What? Of course not!”

“Of course you didn’t miss me? Wow… Here I thought I was a favorite of yours.” Minnie says fake dramatically and for the first time all day, you feel a real genuine smile creep on your face.

“I’ve always wanted to ask, is Minnie short for something?” You inquire, your nerves slowly zipping away from the glass of wine.

Her eyes light, “No, actually.” She says matter of fact-ly. “It’s just a nickname. My real names Nicha.”

“Nicha,” you repeat to yourself, “That’s pretty. It’s fitting.”

You regret meeting her eyes because the look she’s giving you makes you want to dart your eyes in the opposite direction, but in fear of looking like a pussy in front of the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen, you hold it.

Minnie is looking at you, eyes low and smiling. “You’re so pretty, you know that? Not used to seeing you outside of your work.”

You feel your stomach tingle and your face heat up again. “Yeah?” You say, deciding to play this little game with her back.

“Yeah. You look even better in my clothes too.” She adds.

In the back of your mind, you knew this was crazy. Going to the home of a woman you barely know, letting her wash your clothes and putting you in her’s. Letting her offer you alchohol—at worse— drinking it.

“Was this your plan?” You ask, voice low and sultry. “Get some drinks in me. Try to jump my bones?”

Minnie scoots closer to you, “What? Of course not!” She says, mocking you from a few moments ago. “And don’t say it like that. Making me sound like a creep.” She jokes and shows you that smile you can’t seem to get enough of right now.

Minnie gently takes your hand and opens it. “D’you want me to stop, baby?”

Fuck.

“No.”

“Good.” She brings your hand to her mouth and presses a light kiss to your palm. You look at her with desperate eyes.

“You’ve had such a hard day,” Minnie coos, face inching towards you. “Can I make you feel better?” She whispers into your ear, as if there was anyone else around. You nod, saying yes to whatever that entails.

She kisses the sensitive skin where your ear meets your neck and you let out a soft gasp. You couldn’t believe this. You gently move her face in front of yours, holding her by her chin with your fingers. She bites her bottom lip mindlessly as she looks at yours. Minnie’s eyes flicker up to yours. “Can I kiss you?” She whispers, and you waste no time closing the gap between the two of you. Her lips press against yours firmly before she opens her mouth to take in your lower lip. She sucks at your lips slowly as you moan in between kisses. She tastes sweet like expensive wine and her lips are just as soft as you imagined.

Minnie’s hands find your hips and she grips them, tugging you closer. She pops her mouth off of yours and latches onto your neck. She gathers a part of skin between her teeth before biting down, you gasp unexpectedly before she soothes it with her velvet wet tongue and plump lips.

You’re dizzy. This is all too much. It’s too much, but you can’t help but want more.

She nips and sucks at various spots of your neck, ones that you are sure will leave marks, but you can’t find it in you to care. She comes off of your neck to meet your eyes, her nose touching yours. Minnie tugs at the bottom of the shirt of hers that you had on. She looks at you for permission and as soon as you give her a nod, she begins to bunch up the shirt at your collarbone, leaving your chest bare and exposed. Minnie places her hand on the small of your back before laying you down on her couch as she settles between your legs.

Mindlessly, your hands go to cover your breasts. That is until Minnie goes to lean down towards your ear. “Don’t hide from me. You’re so beautiful.” She says kissing at your neck again. “Wanna see you,” Her hands gently cover yours and move them away, “All of you.” Still holding your hands at your sides, she wraps her mouth around your nipple and you involuntarily whimper at the warm, slick contact. She twirls her tongue around it repeatedly, each time trying to earn another one of the beautiful sounds you make. She lets go of one of your hands, but you keep it there. In obedience. She uses her now free hand to pinch at your unoccupied bud, making you yelp and clench your fist. She switches to the newly pinched nipple and sucks as she kneads your opposite boob with her other hand, now leaving you with two free hands.

You use this as an opportunity to cup the back of her head with your hands as she sucks on your breasts repeatedly. Your hips buck into her involuntarily, wanting more of whatever was going on. You moan out into the open space again before asking, “More.”

It was all you could manage to say right now. Minnie pops off of your nipple and looks up from you at this position, “More what, pretty girl?” You groan at her and move your hips against her body, desperate for any sort of friction.

“I want you.” You say, low, for her ears only.

“Yeah?” She teases you as she creeps one hand up from your chest to your lips. She cups your face, her thumb grazing over your bottom lip. Without her even asking, you open your mouth, allowing her to slip her thumb in with ease. You wrapped your tongue around the lone digit, watching her eye your mouth in adoration.

She slips her thumb from your lips and slowly replaces them with her middle fingers and like before, you obey and suck. You allow her to push them back into your mouth, you coat her long digits in your saliva as you moan around them. “Look at you. Such a good girl.” Minnie muttered. “A good girl just for me.” She grins. Her praise was making your head spin.

Minnie pulls her fingers out of your mouth and lays against you,holding herself up on the forearm surrounding your head. She slips a hand into the front of the shorts she gave you. Your underwear was in the wash along with the rest of your clothes, you’ve never been more grateful, for the sole fact that her slick wet fingers immediately met your clit, making you gasp softly.

“Please.” You beg. Now feeling extremely desperate to feel her inside of you. She kisses your cheek and shushes you. “Shhh. Patience, love.” She whispers. Her fingers circle your clit once more before teasing at your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” She teases.

Her mouth finds yours as she kisses you, slow and languid. It’s at this point too that she decides to push her fingers into you, making you groan into her mouth at the feeling. Minnie starts off slow, her fingers pumping in and out of you at an excruciating pace for you. You whined at the sensation. “Please— Go faster.” You whimpered against her mouth.

“I’ve always wanted to have you like this. Always wanted to fuck you.” She says, almost as a confession. If you weren’t physically at a loss for words, you’d tell her the same. You’d tell her about how you always eyed her long fingers and strong hands as you took her order. About how good you thought her plump lips and nose would look under you as you rode her face. If only she knew.

She fucks her fingers into you more firmly now, at a new pace that makes you moan with every pump. A pace that makes you grip at her arm, your nails digging into her flesh. “F-fuck Minnie. Please.” She bites at your neck once more. The multiple stimulations making you mewl like a fucking kitten.

She comes up from the crook of your neck to admire your face. Your face flushed with a glowy sheen— she’d swear she’s never seen a more beautiful sight. You continue to babble nonsense and whine as she fucks into you, you feel a knot forming in your stomach as you’re being inched closer to release.

“Say my name.” She says softly, almost sounding desperate, but still demanding.

You moan and attempt to do as she says, “Mi—.”

“Nu uh,” She interrupts you, grinning, “My real name.”

As soon as she said that, she began to speed up, her fingers hitting a spot that you felt were sure to make you cum around them soon. Barely able to speak, “N-Nicha…” You whimpered. You feel her smile against your bare skin. Your hips begin to buck against her hand. She sucks on your neck, her face finding that same spot that earns the familiar noises from you. “Close, Nicha…close.” You mutter out between moans. You knew you weren’t going to be able to last long.

The movements of Minnie’s fingers in your pussy we’re becoming sloppier as you clenched around her. “There you go,” she coos, “Come for me, pretty girl.” And with one last praise, your walls tighten around her fingers and your hips grind against her, hard and desperate. You let out a string of curses and whimpers followed by her name as she kissed you all over. “Want you to cum all over my fingers.” She says, sending you over the edge with one last whine before entirely riding out your climax.

Your heavy pants fill the entire room. Minnie’s forehead touches yours while she hovers over you. You decide to break the gap again and meet her in a long, slick fluid kiss. You could feel her fingers still inside of you before she slowly pulls them out of you. Her face still centimeters away from yours, she puts her fingers into her mouth, allowing herself to taste you before turning her head to pull you into a deep kiss once more. You moan into the kiss, tasting yourself on her lips— you swear you’ve never been more turned on. You stay like that for a few mere moments before the beeping of her dryer snaps the two of you out of it.

“Do you feel better, baby?” She asks, coming off of you and sitting up. She fixes her hair and adjusts her shirt.

“Much better.” You say, offering her that same shit eating grin in return.

Minnie cups your face with her free hand, giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek before standing up from the couch.

“I’ll go get your clothes…”

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Erin/Julius; cosmic vertigo

For the prompt: More Erin and Julius understanding each other on a deep level

“Have you ever thought about the universe?” Julius says.

“I get a headache whenever I do, so I mostly try to avoid it,” Erin says, then, feeling Julius’ eyes on her, “Yeah, I guess. You’ve got to narrow it down a little from ‘literally everything in existence’ for me to figure out what you're getting at, though.”

“How things — change, I guess,” Julius says. “How if something went just a little differently, your life could be completely different too.”

“So like alternate universes,” Erin says, relieved. That’s much less likely to give her a headache. Not unlikely, but thinking about what, exactly, exists past forever? What a constantly expanding universe is expanding into? The last time Erin let herself think about it too long she ended up with a migraine. Possibly a coincidence, but she’s not risking it. That thing lasted two days.

“Yes,” Julius says. “If I was drafted one pick higher, or lower, I would never have come to Edmonton.”

“And you wouldn’t have met Jared, and therefore me, and neither of us would be lying in this bed right now talking about the universe,” Erin says. “Something like that?”

“Something like that,” Julius echoes, then gazes at her for a long moment, not speaking.

“Stop measuring how good a consolation prize I am,” Erin says. Doesn’t matter how great he thinks she is: nobody’s great enough to make up for the pain and suffering of playing for the Edmonton Oilers.

Julius’ mouth quirks, like she’s said it out loud.

“You’re alright,” he says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “I do my best.”

“Worth coming here,” Julius says.

“Let’s not get too crazy here,” Erin says.

Under the covers, Julius finds where she’s laced her hands on her stomach and prises the nearest away so he can lace his own fingers through it, that hand thief. She likes to sleep like she’s in a coffin and he knows that. Still, she supposes she can lend it to him for a little while.

“Feeling philosophical tonight, are we?” Erin asks.

She doesn’t have to ask why: he’s going back to Finland in two days. Only for a month, before he flies back to Alberta to train with Jared and his buds in Calgary. She doesn’t have to ask why for that either. Dude isn’t going to train in a city he’s never even lived in, a city that hates his guts, just because he misses her brother, though she’s sure Jared would argue otherwise. She won’t make him say it.

“I can come,” Erin says. “If you want me to. I can come.”

Julius blows out a breath. “Next time,” he says.

“Sure,” Erin says. “It’s not — it doesn’t expire or anything. Standing offer. I mean, unless I have something else going on. Then you’re shit out of luck.”

“I will make sure your schedule is clear,” Julius says.

“Thanks,” Erin says. “Thoughtful of you.”

“Would you like your hand back?” Julius says. Erin doesn’t think she’s imagining the reluctance. A month’s not really a long time if the universe is your scale, but if it isn’t, well. It’s long enough.

“That’s okay,” Erin says. “You can have it a bit longer.”

*

So the thing is, when Erin told Julius she’d go to Finland with him, well — it isn’t that she didn’t mean it, because she did, it’s just that she sort of figured that at some point between her saying that and him taking her up on it, she might just spontaneously get past her fear of flying.

Except, fear is such a strong word, isn’t it? She’s fine. She’s been on planes without dying. She even hopped on a plane to see the Canucks host the Oilers — would someone with a lifelong fear of planes do that?

And yeah, sure, it was only ninety minutes, and by the time she quit telling herself that they probably weren't all going to die — but if they did, they better not fuck up and identify her as Bryce’s girlfriend in all the death announcements — they’d pretty much already begun the descent.

Then, once she was done a new recital of how they probably weren't to die — at least they’d better not, because Bryce would feel so guilty about inviting her — they were taxiing to the gate.

And while, like, statistically, that was one of the most dangerous times, like how parking lots and the kilometre around your house are the places you’re most likely to get into an accident, it’s hard to work up the same panic when you’re like, twenty feet in the air instead of twenty thousand.

The flight back wasn’t too bad either, and by the end of the trip, she thought she might have even gotten over that whole fear of flying thing.

She was incorrect.

The thing is, she actually did okay on the flight to Toronto. It helped that it was first thing in the morning, and apparently sleepiness beats out panic, a fact she’s going to be taking advantage of in the future. She genuinely thought she'd reached the other side of it, but the flight to Amsterdam has quickly proven her wrong.

Planes aren’t supposed to shake. And dip! She swears they started to drop out of the sky at one point. Julius said that it was a normal amount of turbulence, but frankly, no turbulence is normal, is it? Sure, it can be a typical amount of turbulence, but normal? They’re in a metal tube in the sky, being thrown around by wind. Erin does not consider any of that to be normal.

“You didn’t tell me you don’t like flying,” Julius says, so quietly Erin can hardly hear him over the almost deafening plane sound nobody else seems to be bothered by. Erin thinks that’s pretty big of him, considering she’s had his hand in a death grip since the turbulence began, and she hasn’t relinquished it even now that it’s finally stopped. In his shoes, she’d probably be going with ‘you know these hands make millions, right?’.

Money that means she’s flying in comfort, if not…comfort. For some reason, Erin thought it’d be easier to deal with things in business class. She doesn’t know why — in a plane crash, the front of the plane is the least likely to survive. But hey, at least Erin got free champagne.

The champagne didn’t help. She hadn’t really thought it would, but she’d been hoping.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d say I don’t like it,” Erin says. It comes out in a voice she's never heard in her entire life, so perky it’s almost shrill.

“Something stronger?” Julius asks, looking about as disturbed by Stepford Erin as she is. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about the word she’d use or the next drink she should have, but either way the answer's probably yes.

“Do you want your hand back?” Erin asks. It’s not so much an offer as a genuine question, because she’s not sure her hand will unclench for long enough to release it, and she’d probably grab it again the next time the plane started rocking, though maybe she can figure something else out. Grab his thigh or something. It also makes him millions, but it can probably hold up to the abuse a little better.

“You can have it the entire flight if you need,” Julius says. “And for the others.”

Erin’s really, really been trying not to think about the fact there are more flights after this one. Plural.

“Might make it hard to eat,” Erin says. He has the window seat — no fucking way she wants to see just how high up they are, even though she already intellectually knows it — and she’s had custody of his right hand since take off.

“I can figure it out,” Julius says, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. It isn’t quite relaxing — nothing is, right now, not with that damn plane noise — but it’s, you know, not not relaxing, which makes it better than pretty much everything in the world at the moment. It makes Erin’s eyes prickle.

“I know it’s irrational,” Erin says. “I’m well aware of all the statistics, and that it’s safer than basically every kind of transportation. I know. It’s ridiculous. I'm being ridiculous.”

“We can drive,” Julius says. “When we get to Helsinki. We can drive instead. Or take the train.”

Erin tips her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. That still leaves Amsterdam to Helsinki, but one flight is better than two. “How long a drive is it?” Erin says.

“Does it matter?” Julius asks.

Erin shakes her head, and when they fall, she swipes at them with her free hand.

“We can drive,” Julius says, thumb tracing back and forth, and Erin focuses on it, the slow sweep of his skin against hers, until the flight attendant comes, asking if they’d like something to drink.

“Champagne,” Erin says. “Please.”

“Two,” Julius says, even though he didn’t even finish his first. “Please.”

“What are we celebrating?” the flight attendant chirps, and Erin stares up at her, unable to muster even a weak smile. Beside her, Julius must be pulling out the ‘dumb fucking question’ face he gives reporters, because the flight attendant says, bright and fake as Stepford Erin, “Two glasses of champagne,” then hurries on to the next seats.

“People,” Julius murmurs, and Erin slides down, twisting in her seat until she can put her head on his shoulder. Probably makes it harder than she needs to, since she refuses to give up Julius’ hand the entire time, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps up the slow sweep of his thumb, and when she finally makes herself comfortable — or, as comfortable as she can, considering the circumstances — he kisses her hair.

“Sorry about stealing your hand,” Erin says. She really hopes he doesn’t think it’s an offer to give it back, because he’ll be disappointed.

“That’s okay,” Julius says. “I don’t need it for my job or anything.”

Erin decides to hold on a little tighter, just for that.