#silent boarding gate

[irlvernon-moved]

shuffle your ‘on repeat’ and post the first 10 songs thanks for tagging me @wnjunhui ! i can talk abt music for hours if someone starts 😁

1. felt this way by carly rae jepsen 2. black eye by vernon 3. ros by mac miller 4. love letter by seventeen 5. come back to earth by mac miller 6. flightless bird, american bird by iron & wine 7. silent boarding gate by jun 8. so hot you’re hurting my feelings by caroline polacheck 9. london lights by with confidence 10. just a friend by biz markie

i tag: @junmail @junranghae @homerunhansol @wonufied @97-liners @zyx but no pressure, only if u wanna do it! everyone else is tagged too if u wanna share ur music 👋

[sstarlostt]

.

[starsstuddedsky]

apparently I listed to 733 minutes of jun.

[alchemistc]

eta: based on my spiral in the tags of this post

Tommy's quiet as Buck nuzzles his nose into his neck, fingers stretched wide against Buck's back, rubbing absentmindedly.

Buck tilts his gaze up. He's staring at the ceiling.

There's nothing wrong with a little ceiling staring. Buck is actually a really big fan of ceiling staring, when needed, but Tommy's been so good at being a sounding board when Buck needs it, way better than the silently judgey rafters, and Buck wants to return the favor.

"What're you thinking about?"

Tommy hums, lifting his head just a bit, the skin under his chin wrinkling like a shar-pei.

His hand slides up, down, palm lifting so he can swirl his fingers a bit.

Buck's always been a big fan of cuddling, but there's something extra sweet about Tommy's version of it - skin to skin, even if it's just rucking up Buck's shirt so he can get a hand in there, arms and legs all tangled up in each other, his hand always drawing aimless patterns. Buck's getting too used to it - had caught himself pouting, a little, the last time Tommy hugged him in a rush out the door and didn't do the little circular motion against the small of Buck's back that usually indicated when a hug was over. He's a little worried someone else is gonna hug him and he's gonna melt into it, tuck his face into someone inappropriate's neck.

"Eddie asked me something earlier, and I didn't have a clue how to answer it."

Buck tips his chin against Tommy's chest, a little eager at the idea of providing answers. Tommy knows how much he likes that.

"What about?"

"About you." He pinches at Buck's side. "Us, technically."

Oh. Well. Buck doesn't have facts and figures and statistics about that. Yet.

He hums.

"He wanted to know why I don't call you Buck."

"Do you two talk about me enough for him to notice that?" He's pretending not to be pleased about that. He's doing a shitty job, but still.

Tommy blows out a breath, hands drifting down, over the hem of Buck's briefs to squeeze. "You are one of the things we have in common. It's not all shirtless men beating the crap out of each other and trauma bonding over enemy gunfire," he says, wry, fingers sliding over Buck's ass and around to his hip, no real intention in the motion, just touching to touch.

And that's - oh that's kinda nice. The idea of that, just being a shared interest between them.

"I didn't know what to say," he continues, like he can't see Buck really fucking enjoying the idea of being a topic of conversation between his boyfriend and his best friend. "You introduced yourself as Evan. You've never corrected me, so - I didn't see a reason to change it up."

Buck grins, a little bashful. "Yeah. It took me a while to figure out why I did that."

Tommy raises a brow, hands still wandering as he waits for Buck to expand on that.

"Buck was a work thing, to start," he tells him, still working his way through it, because he's only recently considered exactly why he'd never told Tommy to call him Buck. "And then the 118 kind of became my family, and Buck - it just felt like Buck was who I was. The person I wanted to be. Evan was just - the guy I was before I found my people." Tommy's hand sweeps over his back. "And, like - I never hated that guy. Evan. He was just - he was just there, in the background. People only used it when they had something serious to say." Except his parents, but that - that's not the point he's trying to make, anyway.

"Good serious or bad serious?"

"Just - important. Something - something that needed both of those parts of me to be present in the moment."

Tommy hums. "So when we met, and you introduced yourself..."

"I think I was just trying to manufacture some intimacy." Buck admits, like he hadn't spent a ceiling-staring evening of his own figuring out this exact thing. "Get you to call me sweetheart right out the gate."

Tommy's eyes go soft and sweet. Buck never means to do this, give Tommy all these chick flick moments of introspection, but when they stumble into his lap he can't deny the little thrill that races up his spine at the sight of Tommy tucking them away. Tommy's hand settles between his shoulder blades, fingers spanning wide. "I'm not telling Eddie that," he teases, and Buck nips at his arm in retaliation.

[rainrot4me]

On Unholy Terms

Summary: You’re an exorcist sent by the church to investigate a graveyard deemed to be unholy. After stumbling upon a ‘demon’, your determination quickly falters.

Characters: Eyeless Jack x Exorcist! Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Probably definitely blasphemous, eating out, big size difference, jack fucks you on a tombstone, vaginal, shaming, forceful entry, slight humiliation, biting, some blood, choking, degradation

Words: 3.6k

A/N: There’s slight symbolism of Christianity/Catholicism, please take it lightheartedly. I don’t mean to be rude :’)

This was stupid and you knew it.

You trudged through the overgrown grass, your skirt constantly getting caught on thorns and twigs littering the ground. The rosary you clutched close to your chest was cold, giving you some stability as your fear grew the deeper you went into the woods.

The church had sent you to investigate a series of murders near an old, abandoned chapel that had been left dormant after funding ran scarce. Several years ago, you had visited the church on different occasions, but as you entered the clearing, it looked anything but familiar.

Dense fog surrounded the area, the evening sky casting a dark orange glow through the forest. The rusty flashlight in your opposite hand did little to aid your vision as you stepped closer to the overgrown building. Vines and debris had overtaken the small church, and the beautiful stained glass windows shattered or faded from the lack of upkeep. It felt depressing, the ground looking anything but holy now.

You shuffled around the side of the building, the dark oak doors boarded together, police caution tape decorating the step’s railings. You sighed, shining your flashlight onto the rest of the building, but finding nothing worth interest. You thought the church was idiotic, this was a job for investigators, police or something, not some young exorcist who barely got work as it was. However, the church had deemed this case a holy one considering it was on sacred ground. Nonetheless, if you felt this was out of your pay grade, you would give the cops a call yourself.

You walked around the back of the building, a wide field revealing rows and rows of tombstones and crosses. A cemetery. A small gravel path led to an arched gate, a beautiful design etched onto the iron bars. You signed a cross, kissing your fingers before stepping through the threshold, showing respect to the grounds.

The sun was dipping behind the trees, a dark sky looming as the fog surrounded you making it harder to see. You stepped carefully through the assorted headstones, each reading off a different name you felt too busy to acknowledge. A crow called somewhere in the distance, startling you slightly as you shone your flashlight around frantically. Your nerves were getting to you, the stale air making it harder to breathe. So far, nothing had stood out to you, no signs of life or commotion, let alone dead bodies that were so frequently reported. You felt restless wanting to leave so quickly, but you had to report something back or you would be penalized.

Trudging the gravel path, you stumbled upon a rather large mausoleum. The beautifully designed pillars lead to its gated entrance. You shone your flashlight at the doors, goosebumps running up your arms as you decided to go inside. You stepped onto the marble steps, the rusted gate creaking loudly as you swung it open. You clutched your rosary tightly, sweat running across your forehead as you silently cursed yourself. The tomb was dark and stuffy, with plaques of the deceased marking where they lay in the marble coffins. You angled your flashlight, eyeing the old but stunning design of the interior. You stepped further into the tomb, several dark doorways gained your curiosity. You stepped toward one, shining your flashlight in but seeing nothing except bookshelves lined with what you presumed to be death records and documents of the deceased outside. You gulped, stepping to another one.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your flashlight landed on an assortment of blankets and pillows nestled into a corner, several water bottles and books askew across the floor nearby. Your heartbeat became uneasy, fear creeping into you as you took a step back, the rosary pinching your hand as you clutched it tighter. Maybe it was nothing, maybe some squatter had used the building to camp out for the night. You tried to calm yourself, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your sleeve. A cool breeze wafted into the tomb, fluttering your skirt around your ankles as you continued searching the rooms. Suddenly, a loud screech filled your ears, sending your blood cold and you stumbling back onto your backside. You screamed as you threw your flashlight up quickly, frantically searching for the noise, panting heavily. Shining a flashlight on a crow desperately flapping his wings to escape the building, screeching again as he flew out and into the night.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths in you steadied yourself, blaming your imagination on your jumpiness. It seemed there was nothing but annoying birds and dusty graves, but no sign of any ghostly killer. You hoisted yourself up, reaching down to dust off your skirt before collecting yourself and shining your flashlight up again. That’s when you saw it, a tall figure resting his weight against the door frame of a darkened room. You held your breath, begging your body not to move as you could feel the tears well in your ears. The figure's ragged breaths echoed off the marble walls, his head angled to the side as if he was gawking at you. Your eyes flickered quickly, scanning his moves and praying he by some miracle moved on and let you leave. You prayed you would leave with no story to tell, but now you feared you wouldn’t leave at all.

The man pushed himself off the doorway, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and leaning in to meet your gaze. He towered over you, a good bit too. You wanted to run, to turn around and sprint out the doorway and never look back, but he interrupted your thoughts. “You’re a pest,” he grunted, looking you up and down as he slid the hood of his hoodie off of his head. He seemed to be wearing some creepy mask, the dark eyes sending your heart pounding in your chest. But his voice was calm, soothing almost, if it wasn’t handing you an insult. You gulped, standing up straight and letting go of the rosary hanging from your neck as you gripped your flashlight tighter.

“Why are you here? Who are you?” You croaked, voice catching in your throat from fear. You didn’t know why you were interrogating him, but this newfound bravery was short-lived as he stepped closer to you abruptly. You gasped, clenching the flashlight closer to you as he towered over you, head cocked and pressed too close for comfort. You whined, tears emerging again as his ragged breaths filled your ears. The rotten stench coming from him was consuming the whole room and your senses alike, making you close your eyes before tears threatened to spill. 

“I think a better question,” he snarled, sending a shiver through you. “Is why are you here?”

You peeled your eyes open, bringing your hand up to grip your rosary again. “I was sent… sent by the church.” You squirmed, knees slowly buckling under you as his presence pressed down on you. “Oh..” He groaned, standing straight again, running a hand through his spikey brown hair. “A holy little thing, huh? Come to catch some ghosts?” You could hear the grin in his voice, his hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck until he caught sight of your rosary. He reached out sharply, taking the cross from your hands and pulling it to him, straining your neck to come towards him. You squealed, throwing your hands out and placing them against his chest as he examined the charm, trying your damnest to keep distance between the two of you. He chuckled, following the necklace up and squeezing the ends together, choking your neck slightly from the tension. “I’m afraid God won’t help you here, little thing.”

He tugged your necklace tighter, pulling you flush against him as his hands landed on either side of your face. He forced you to look up at him, tears pricking your eyes again and again. “Such a pretty thing, though. What a shame some old church sent you away to your death.” He lifted his hand to slide his mask up over his nose, revealing the jagged smile hiding behind. He separated his teeth, a long grotesque tongue slinking out and falling below his chin. It was inhumanly long, your eyes blowing wide at the horror as you began to tremble under his grasp. “Oh, God…”

He leaned closer, passing your face and finding the crook of your neck, sliding his long tongue against the bare skin with a growl. You tensed, a slight moan leaving your mouth at the chill running down your spine from the sensation. The man stopped, retracting his tongue from your neck and leaning back slowly, bringing his face to meet yours. His unsure face turned to a manic grin, his jagged teeth shining in the night light as his hands slid down from your face to wrap around your neck and slowly grip. He squeezed every so gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your breath hitch. “How unholy…” He chuckles, sliding his hands down further to sit at each side of your waist. You freeze, embarrassment hitting you as his gaze looks all over you now. “Now that I look at you, you ain’t half bad. Your little church get-up is… rather tempting for someone so ordained.” He purrs. You flush red, your mouth running dry at his lustful comments towards you as you squirm under his grasp. He leans down, mouth inches from yours as he stares directly into your eyes. “You’re not as godly as you let on, are you?” He whispers, tucking the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he taunts you.

Your face blows red, eyes refusing to look at his face and deciding his hoodie is much more interesting. He laughs, standing up straight and sliding his arms under your legs, hoisting you up over his shoulder with your butt sitting high in the air. You squeal, gripping the back of his sweatshirt and pulling desperately as he walks out into the night air, a cool breeze blowing your hair into your face. “I’ve decided to treat myself tonight,” He boasts loudly to you, walking you over to a rather large headstone and setting you on top softly. “Thank you, Lord, for this meal.” He taunts, sliding down to his knees in front of you and sliding his hands up and down your thighs. You begin to panic, gripping the cold concrete under your hands as you try to balance yourself and focus on the man’s movements at the same time. 

“W-Wait! Please!” You beg, bringing your knees to your chest as he tries to slide your skirt up your legs. “I don’t even know your name…” You croak, eyes wide as he stares into your fearful face. He grins, gripping your ankles and bringing them back down to dangle in front of him. “Jack. It’s Jack. And I promise, you won’t forget it by the end of tonight.” He chuckles, gripping the bottom of your skirt and sliding it up your legs, scrunching it up at your waist so he gets a full view of your lacy panties. You shove your thighs together, blocking his view as you shudder a breath. Jack slides his cold hands between your locked thighs, prying them open as he places each leg on his shoulders. He hooks his fingers under the hem of your panties, sliding them down and hooking them on your ankle as he slides closer, his face moving in closer to the apex of your thighs. You hold your breath, your core aching as you feel his hot breath pant against your soaked lips. “Hallelujah.”

Jack grips your thighs tightly as he licks a thick stripe between your folds, a ragged gasp shooting from your mouth as you slam your eyes shut. His tongue circles your entrance, flicking lightly against your clit as you arch your back against the feeling. He groans at the taste, pressing his tongue into you slowly, relishing in every flavor of your pussy he can taste. You moan out, his tongue lapping at the juices leaking out of you as your arousal grinds your hips against his face. Jack chuckles against you, sucking on your lips as he curls his tongue inside of you, making you whine. He grips your thighs tighter, your legs dangling off of his shoulders as his fingers hold onto you so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. “Ahh- Jack…” You groan, sliding your hand into his hair and gripping tightly to stabilize yourself. You feel the white heat coming over you as you groan against him, hips bucking as his tongue continues to curl and throb inside of you. Your release comes quickly, an unfamiliar ecstasy overtaking you as you come on his tongue. 

Jack groans against you, continuing to slide his tongue in and out of you as his nose brushes against your clit. He’s not stopping, if anything he’s speeding up his movements and driving his tongue deeper into your cunt. You whimper loudly, the sensitivity overriding you as you begin to squirm away from his touch. He only grips tighter, pulling your hips up and off of the tombstone as he presses his face deeper into your folds. Your thighs spasm, gripping tightly around his head while he laps at your pleasure. You begin to sob, gripping his hair tighter and pulling forcefully as you try to pull his head from your core. “Please! Please, it hurts… God- Jack!” You grip your hands in his hair, accidentally knocking his mask back and off of his head as you stutter your hips against his tongue. All of a sudden his movements stop, his tongue slowly sliding out of you as you stop in horror. His face, rather, his eyes. The lack of them makes your stomach drop. His eye sockets are nothing but pools of black tar, dripping down his face and staining his gray-ish skin. It’s like you can’t move, your pulsing cunt still sitting inches away from his face as he glares, or seems to be glaring, into your eyes.

“W- What in hell’s name…” You croak, Jack slowly releasing your thighs and sliding his hands up your legs, pressing against them to stand himself up. He chuckles. “Hell exactly, little thing.” Your eyes hold wide, your fear unallowing you to move. “D- Demon…” You whimper, your legs dropping back down and dangling off the end of the tombstone. He smiles, reaching to unbutton his pants slowly, your eyes shooting between them and his terrifying face. “A demon who just made you cum,” He slides his zipper down, pulling his cock out and slowly stroking it as he looks down at you, the red angry head pulsing as he slowly chews his lip in between his teeth.

“What would God say…? Hm? His holy little thing lusting after a demon spawn?” Jack grins, stepping forward and hooking his hands under your knees, bringing them around his waist. He pushes your skirt back up, exposing your dripping cunt to his large cock as it twitches between your legs. He’s very large, actually, fear striking you as you wonder if something like that would even fit inside of you. Jack notices you eyeing him, sliding his hands around your back and gripping you tightly as he positions himself at your entrance. Jack leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your forehead while he reaches his thumb to slowly circle your clit, a breathy moan escaping your lips. 

You watch carefully as he pushes into you, his tip stretching your entrance open and stopping when you begin to whine, gripping the shoulder of his sweatshirt tightly. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, breathing deeply as he works your clit trying to get you to relax on his length. He’s barely even in yet and you’re already so tight.

Large tears threaten to spill as Jack slowly nudges his dick inside of you. He’s so big, the girth of him catching on your entrance as he’s forced to press deeper and deeper inside. You whine and squirm, his hold on your hips not allowing you to back away from the stretch and sensitivity. Jack’s thumb rubs your clit quicker, his breath becoming labored as he slowly begins to thrust into you. It won’t slide easily, so he becomes contempt with tugging and shallowly nudging his cock-head into your warm core. Tears spill from your eyes, your mouth hanging open as you try to babble your pleas. “S’bigmm.. Shit-” You hiss, whining as you sob through the stretch of your cunt. Jack presses kisses against your forehead, licking your tears up as they fall. He whispers to you, cooing his praise into your ear as he grunts and curses. “You can take it…” He mouths your neck, licking against your skin as his eyes begin to slowly roll. “We’ll make it fit.” He grunts, nudging your thighs open with his legs as he grabs your back. 

Jack shoves his cock inside of you, your cunt pulling him in and throbbing against the stretch and pain of it all. He can’t hold back, your cunt so warm and wet that he moans into your neck, lapping at it before he bites down on the skin, sinking his jagged teeth in and making you scream. He latches on, the taste of warm blood coating his mouth and sending him into a frenzy. He pulls his length out all the way to the tip before slamming in and reaching so deeply inside of you that it makes your breath catch in your throat. You moan loudly, tears streaming down your cheeks as your head lulls back, Jack’s thrusts sharp and deep as you grip his sweatshirt for stability. 

Jack retracts his teeth from your neck, lapping at the blood trickling down as he thrusts into you like an animal. He holds you tightly against him, his fingers gripping into your back as he groans his pleasure into the crook of your neck. “Ssgood.. Mm- fuck! You’re suckin’ me so good..” You grip his hair, hips stuttering against his thrusts and matching his pace. You hook your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in as deeply as possible. The stretch of his cock feels so glorious with each press against your g-spot. 

He kisses against your neck, moving up to your cheek and then meeting your lips, pressing them roughly against yours as he makes out with you. You groan into his mouth, his tongue sliding in and muffling your sounds of pleasure. He slides his hands out, hooking them under your legs and hoisting you up. He holds you against him in the air, fucking up into you like his personal fleshlight. You moan loudly into his mouth, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth as you roll your eyes. He slides his hand out from under your leg, gripping the rosary around your neck and pulling it tightly, cutting off your airway. He smiles against your mouth, hearing your labored breathing gasping as he pulls the necklace tighter. “You just love this don'tcha? Little thing milking me so good.” He groans, his hips stuttering faster inside of you, his cock jabbing deeply inside of you.

“Mmcomin- Jack-” You moan, air escaping you as you feel your cunt squeezing tightly around Jack’s length. He grunts, mouth hanging open as he stares into your flushed face, his cock twitching inside of you. He presses his lips against yours again, breathing in your moans as he feels you constrict against him. You moan out, pleasure washing over you as you cum on his cock, squeezing tightly around him. Jack grunts, unable to thrust anymore, he ruts up into your cunt, groaning loudly into your mouth as he spills into you. His thrusts eventually stop, bottoming out into you as he releases your necklace, you gasp, catching your breath again. 

Jack holds you tightly against him, breathing deeply into your neck as you catch your own. He slowly pulls out of you, and you wince from the pull. His seed spills down your legs, a groan escaping your lips at the lack of fullness you regrettably loved. Jack sets you on your feet, reaching to swipe his finger between your folds and sending a jolt through your body. He brings his fingers to his mouth, lapping up his and your juices and sighing at the wonderful taste. He pulls your skirt down, pressing a kiss against your forehead before zipping his jeans back up himself.

You shift on your feet, relishing in the kisses he places on your skin. “Uhm- Tha-” Jack places his hand over your mouth, leaning down to look you in your eyes. “Run along, little thing. Get back to your stuffy old church.” He leans down, picking up his mask and sliding it back over his face, bringing his hood up to completely cover himself again. You clutch your rosary softly, the cool night air blowing your hair slowly as Jack waves you off. “Will I ever get to… see you again?” You cringe at the desperation in your voice, shuffling on your feet. Jack crooks his neck again, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If I ever see you again, I’m afraid I’ll be eating a whole lot more than just that little pussy of yours,” he chuckles. 

You smile at him, turning to walk back down the gravel path as you see Jack make his way back towards the mausoleum. As you pass under the gated archway, you smile to yourself, holding your rosary closely.

What the hell were you going to tell the church now?

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (8)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson! reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 5.2k words

summary | chapter title: The Side Quests of Lady Mikaelson and Jaehaerys Targaryen. Flashback, flashback. Flashback, flashback. Flashback!!! (backpack song from dora playing)

tags | uhh, child sickness? creepy man, death, blood, miscarriage, reminder: reader is mentally and physically a teenage girl, with the knowledge and memories of a five-hundred year old vampire.

note | My heart will always be soft for viserys iii and the boy he was (before becoming angry and abusive). I always thought Dany was the prince that was promised, now I realise it was Jaehaerys all along. Jaejae the 2nd, you will always be famous to me. Alsooooo can we talk about CrazyTom's artwork of Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Aegon and Viserys. I'm obsessed!!!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the landscape, yet it felt as if you had been riding for an eternity. Your heart ached for Jaehaerys; the boy had gone from being flushed with fever to trembling like a fragile leaf in your arms. The relentless chill of night seeped through the sky as you desperately sought refuge, knowing that time was slipping through your fingers.

A troubling notion flickered at the back of your mind, persistent and unwelcome: vampire blood possessed remarkable healing properties. You understood its power all too well—but administering it to a child? The thought sent a shudder through you, compelling you to cast it aside.

At last, a flicker of hope emerged on the horizon, a humble farm materializing in the fading light. You encouraged your steed to quicken its pace, each stride bringing with it the promise of sanctuary.

Yet, as you approached the entrance, a gnawing doubt took root in your mind. The farm was eerily silent; no animals roamed the barren fields, and the grass grew wild, reclaiming the land it once served. Rusty gates hung crookedly on their hinges, their broken visage painting a grim picture of neglect. Though the place bore the marks of despair, it was shelter you so desperately needed.

In the heart of the farm stood a dilapidated house, its once-inviting facade now obscured by age and wear. Your brow knitted in concern as you noted the boarded windows, their splintered frames, while shattered glass glimmered ominously like shards of a lost past.

Dismounting the horse with careful precision, you cradled Jaehaerys in your arms, his small frame feeling impossibly fragile against you. His small head rested against your shoulder, and with tender care, you drew the blanket around him, eager to shield his silvery hair from sight.

With a determined stride, you approached the door, Jaehaerys nestled protectively against you. You wrapped your knuckles against the weathered wood, the sound echoing in the stillness. After a brief, agonizing wait, you knocked again, more forcefully this time, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. Your patience, a rare commodity in such dire moments, teetered on the brink of exhaustion. Just as you reached for the handle, ready to force your way in, the door creaked open violently.

A man stood there, his expression a mask of suspicion that softened upon recognizing you—a mere girl holding a babe. He appeared to be in his late twenties, towering over you with a lean frame, almost ghostly in his thinness. Dark hollows etched into his cheeks and sunken eyes spoke of sleepless nights and countless burdens, aging him far beyond his years.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of your urgency. "Forgive me, sir," you began, your voice a blend of desperation and resolve. "My son is gravely ill, and I implore you to grant us shelter from the weather."

His dark brown eyes flicked over your form, lingering on the boy before darting past you to survey the evening sky. "Seems fine to me," he remarked, a hint of sarcasm threading through his tone.

A sigh escaped your lips, a mingling of frustration and exasperation. You understood the rules of invitation all too well; only through his willingness would you find sanctuary. "I assure you, he has taken ill. A fever seizes him, and I fear he won't make it till sunrise if we remain out here. Please, I beg you—let us come inside."

The man scrutinized you, searching for hidden truths behind your wide, beseeching eyes. Then came the question that sent a ripple of caution through your veins: "Are you alone?"

A warning echoed in your mind, a primal instinct urging you to tread carefully. Yet, you were not merely a helpless girl; you were an Original, a creature of the night with immortality coursing through your veins. Steeling your resolve, you responded with a nod, your eyes wide to convey innocence, "Yes, I am."

He stared at you for a moment more, then stepped aside, inviting you to enter. “Come inside, then,” he murmured, granting you passage across the threshold.

As you ventured into his dwelling, it mirrored the desolation that lingered beyond its walls. The atmosphere was devoid of warmth, wrapped in a shroud of emptiness that seemed to echo the chill of the wintry night outside.

“How do you survive in winter?” you couldn’t help but ask, curiosity leaking into your voice.

He moved ahead of you, shrugging dismissively as if the question were an afterthought. “I get by.”

You followed him through the dimly lit corridors, ending up in what you surmised was his bedroom. With a gesture towards a ghastly contraption that barely resembled a bed, he said, “You can put him here.”

Grateful, you nodded and brushed past him, gently placing Jaehaerys down on the makeshift bed. With tender care, you swept the strands of hair from his face, attempting to obscure the telltale glimmer of his silver locks.

“You look a bit young to have a child,” the man remarked from his position behind you, his gaze trailing over you with an intensity that unsettled your very core.

"Aren't all girls?" you replied softly, allowing a hint of bite to creep into your tone as you turned your attention back to Jaehaerys.

"Fancy clothes you've got on," came his voice again, laced with curiosity and something more insidious. You sighed inwardly, frustrated by his relentless inquisition, feeling the heat of his gaze like a noose tightening around your throat. "You a lady or something?"

Your eyes drifted down to your attire — a simple green dress, elegantly cut but unpretentious by your standards. To you, it was nothing but fabric; to the eyes of the common folk, however, it gleamed with the opulence of fine material and intricate embroidery that bespoke of you standing.

"Or something," you replied vaguely, then spun to meet his gaze head-on, a noncommittal smile painting your lips as you turned to face him. "You've been so kind, yet I realize I have yet to learn your name. My name is Rebekah and this is my son, Jayme," you said.

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, an expression that held secrets of its own. "Hello, Rebekah. I’m Tym," he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise—or perhaps a threat, you couldn't discern yet.

The air thickened with a momentary silence, as your attention remained fixed on Jaehaerys, who stirred restlessly upon the rickety bed. With a subtle clearing of his throat, Tym broke the stillness. “Got some stew simmering over a pot. Care for some?”

His intentions appeared benign, yet a cautious wariness lingered beneath your polite smile. “That would be lovely, Tym,” you replied.

As he turned to fetch the stew, you cradled Jaehaerys, your fingertips brushing against his fevered brow. You planted a gentle kiss atop his head, whispering a quiet prayer for his recovery, your thoughts drifting back to a distant, haunting memory of the only time illness dared to lay its claim upon you.

You laid in your small makeshift bed, your frail form draped beneath layers of faded linen. It was a peculiar day, the air thick with the scent of impending rain, yet it did nothing to soothe the searing discomfort that coursed through her. At the tender age of eight, you found herself ensnared by a relentless cough, the kind that rattled your small chest and left you gasping for respite.

Your mother, Esther, hovered close, a blend of nurturing instinct and divine desperation etched upon her face. With deft hands, she anointed your forehead with fragrant oils, whispering incantations as if the very words could weave a protective barrier against the illness that sought to ravage her youngest child. Dreamcatchers, crafted from woven twigs and adorned with feathers, hung limply around the bed, enchanting the air with their promise of sweet, undisturbed slumber.

Though young and naïve, you could sense the depths of your mother’s magic, a language that danced just out of reach of your understanding. As your body quaked with another fit of coughs, you felt an unwelcome chill enveloping you, a stark contrast to the fever that scorched your skin.

“Shh, my sweet,” Esther cooed, her voice a soft balm against the storm of her anxiety swirling within the room. She gently stroked your flushed cheek, her eyes—usually so fierce and commanding—now wide with concern, scanning every inch of her child for signs of relief.

Suddenly, the sun’s warmth spilled through the hut as the flap was pushed aside with an abruptness that startled you. With great effort, you turned your head, your heart fluttering at the sight of your father's imposing figure silhouetted in the doorway. For the briefest moment, joy sparked within you—your father had come to check on you.

Yet that joy was extinguished instantly as you watched him barely acknowledge your presence, his gaze locked onto your mother like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “Wife,” he rumbled, his voice rough and unyielding, “Hendrik calls for you.”

Without a glance in Mikael’s direction, Esther continued her tending, damp cloth in hand as she wiped away the sweat that clung to your overheated skin. “I am busy, Mikael,” she replied, her tone firm, unyielding against her husband.

Your small frame tensed as the tension in the air thickened. Your father’s eyes darkened, annoyance flashing across his face. “He is in distress,” he pressed, his voice low, “he needs his mother.”

Fleeting uncertainty crossed your gaze as you stole a glance at your mother. Esther's lips pursed, a familiar sign of her frustration simmering just below the surface. “And she needs me more,” Esther countered defiantly.

“I will not ask you again, Esther,” Mikael’s voice was dangerous now, a rumble that hinted at the storm brewing beneath the surface.

With a resigned sigh, Esther’s gaze softened as it met yours, a flicker of pain reflected within, as she acquiesced. “I will be out in a moment.”

After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, Mikael strode from the hut, leaving a cold breeze in his wake. You could almost see your mother’s shoulders sag, the weight of contention that had filled the air lifting slightly.

Esther returned to her ministrations, fussing over you as if her very life depended on it, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your hot forehead. “Rest, my sweet. I promise, I will return.”

The present moment snapped into focus as the soft creak of the door announced Tym's return, his hands cradling a small bowl of steaming stew that filled the air with an enticing aroma.

You offered a grateful smile as he approached, accepting the bowl with a sense of warmth that contrasted with the chill of Jaehaerys's feverish skin. Though you had no need for sustenance— in all honesty, you had no need for human food, whatsoever—it was Jaehaerys who was truly in need of nourishment. Yet the delicate strands of his silver hair were a secret you dared not expose.

With wide, innocent eyes and a pleading smile, you turned your gaze to Tym, your voice a gentle lilt. “You’ve been so gracious and accommodating, Tym. Might I trouble you for a glass of water to soothe my parched throat?”

His expression faltered for a moment, surprise flickering across his face, before it transformed into a smirk that danced across his lips, revealing a charming dimple. With a nod of understanding, he lifted himself from his seat and made for the door, ready to fulfill your request.

The moment he stepped beyond the threshold, you seized the opportunity. Raising your wrist to your mouth, you punctured a vein with your sharp fangs, allowing a few precious droplets of your vampire blood to trickle into the simmering stew. The rich, coppery liquid blended seamlessly with the bubbling broth, and just as swiftly, your wrist healed, the wound disappearing as if it had never existed.

You leaned over the sleeping form of Jaehaerys, your voice a delicate whisper entwined with the warmth of your concern. "Jaehaerys, my sweet," you murmured softly, gently brushing tousled silver strands from his forehead. "You must wake and eat."

The boy’s lips pouted, instinctively shaking his head in protest, prompting you to coo in a soothing tone as you gave him a gentle shake. "Just a few bites, darling, then you can drift back into slumber. I promise it will help."

Slowly, his violet eyes began to flutter open, blurriness giving way to confused recognition. "Munās," he murmured, the word escaping his lips like a soft caress. A tender smile graced your face at the endearing term, encouraging him along as you lifted a spoonful of the stew to his mouth. (Aunt)

As he slowly sat up, the blanket slid away, unveiling his Targaryen silver hair glistening in the soft light. With a cautious lean, he accepted the offering, his tiny bites deliberate and slow, while you continued to weave sweet encouragements into the air.

Another harrowing cough wracked your small frame as you lay ensconced in the shadowy confines of your hut. Tears welled in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as the weight of despair pressed upon your fragile heart, specter of death lurking ever closer.

Your head turned slightly, drawn by the soft patter of footsteps crossing the threshold of your sanctuary. Hope flared within you as you believed it might be your mother returning. Slowly, you blinked open your weary eyes to behold a small boy with bright, golden hair and piercing blue eyes, peering hesitantly around the dim room.

“Nik,” you croaked, a wan smile flickering to life despite your ailment.

Niklaus met your gaze, his own lips curving into a smile that illuminated the gloom. “Baby sister,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, your voice hoarse and scratchy. “You’ll catch my sickness too.”

With a puff of bravado, Niklaus drew up his chest. “It’s quite all right. I was chosen as the sacrifice.”

Your small brows knit in confusion, the gravity of his words lost on your young mind. “What?”

He began to explain with a playful glint in his eyes, “Initially, Elijah offered himself but Rebekah, Kol, and Henrik voted, and I was chosen to come instead.”

“Why?” you asked, a small pout forming on your lips.

A mischievous grin danced across your brother’s face as he playfully drew out a small box he had been clutching. "Because, dear sister, I've brought gifts."

With that revelation, your sickened facade brightened, and hope rekindled within you. “Really?” you gasped.

“Indeed,” Klaus said, settling beside you, the box nestled comfortably in his lap. He opened it with care, revealing its treasures to you.

"Rebekah crafted this lovely flower crown just for you,” he announced, lifting out a quaint yet ruffled circlet made of daisies. A tender smile spread across your lips as Niklaus gently raised your head to place the crown upon it.

“Now, this is from Elijah,” he continued, holding up a delicate bracelet of tiny beads before sliding it onto your wrist. “He thought it would add a touch of color to your day.”

A frown grew on his face as he reached for yet another item. “Henrik was at a loss for what to offer, and Kol…” he hesitated, clearly exasperated, “Kol handed you an acorn.”

A delighted giggle escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all. “An acorn? Why on earth would he do that?”

“He thought it would be amusing,” Klaus replied, rolling his eyes, while you giggled in actual amusement, as he placed the acorn in your palm.

You gazed up at Niklaus with the purest adoration, your voice softening as you asked, “Now, what did you bring me?”

He hesitated for a moment, a shy smile creeping onto his face as he rummaged through the box once more. Finally, he withdrew a small wooden figurine, expertly carved into the likeness of a girl with delicate wings. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the beauty before you. “A fairy,” you gasped, snatching it from his hands with reverence.

“It took quite a bit of time to craft her,” your brother admitted, a hint of bashfulness coloring his cheeks.

Cradling the wooden figurine as if it were spun from glass, you murmured in awe, “I love her. I shall name her Nikola, after you.”

“I’m honored, baby sister,” Klaus replied, his smile brightening, though a shadow of concern lingered in his azure gaze as it wandered over your frail form.

A shadow fell upon the moment as a voice broke through, startling you both. “Niklaus,” came Finn’s stern tone from the entrance, his figure half-illuminated in the dim light, his gaze aflame with concern. “You ought not to be here.”

“I was merely—”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Finn interjected, his tone unyielding. “You must leave at once.”

Niklaus huffed, frustration laced in his voice. “Very well, I’ll take my leave.”

With a final, gentle squeeze of your hand, he cast a glare at Finn as he slipped out of the hut.

“He was only bringing me gifts,” you murmured to your brother softly, seeking to defend Klaus.

Finn turned his gaze upon you, his features softening entirely. “He is but a boy, sister, which means his body is more susceptible to the fever.”

“Oh,” you replied, frowning in understanding. Your eyes flickered to him, a hopeful smile gracing your lips. “But you have a gift for me as well, yes?”

A roguish grin unfurled on Finn’s lips as he lowered himself beside you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Indeed... my delightful company."

You pouted, feigning dissatisfaction at his answer. Finn relented swiftly, his eyes twinkling. “Fear not, sweet sister, for I come bearing treasures.”

From behind his back, he revealed your favorite flower—a rare middlemist bloom—its delicate petals unfurled like secrets waiting to be whispered. “But this doesn’t grow in our region,” you gasped, voice cracking yet lilting with awe.

“Indeed,” Finn replied, his expression warm as he regarded the flower. “I traveled great distances to find it, and what’s more, there’s something undeniably special about this one.”

“What is it?” you inquired, your heart racing with excitement.

“I’ve been practicing magic with Ayana,” he confessed, pride lighting his features. “And I have successfully cast a spell to ensure this flower shall never wilt.”

Your eyes widened in wonder, absorbing his words. “You mean it will remain this way forever?”

“Yes,” he affirmed gently, placing the flower delicately within your small hands. “Let it symbolize my eternal love for you.”

Your youthful heart raced at his declaration, a radiant smile gracing your lips. “Eternal, truly?”

“Indeed, my flower,” Finn replied softly.

As that memory enveloped you, a bittersweet thought gnawed at your heart. Finn's ‘eternal love’ had faltered in the wake of your misstep, a fleeting mistake that had cast a long shadow over your bond. The pain lingered like a specter, even as you tended to Jaehaerys, carefully guiding him to sip the savory stew infused with your healing blood. Each gentle caress of your hand across his fevered brow was filled with an unspoken hope.

The tranquility was shattered, a sound like breaking glass slicing through the air, pulling you from your reverie. You whipped around, your heart racing as you caught sight of Tym, his gaze locked onto the boy child. “Tym,” you breathed, feeling a prickle of dread.

“The boy’s hair,” he spat, voice laden with accusation. “It’s silver!” You flinched at the loudness of his words, your eyes darting to Jaehaerys, who, to your relief, appeared to be deep in slumber once again.

You felt a wave of dread wash over you, the boy nestled against you oblivious to the chaos. “He’s a Targaryen bastard,” you countered, your wide eyes feigning innocence, your voice a whisper of urgency.

Tym shook his head vehemently, his once warm expression now twisted by suspicion. “No, no! You called him Jaehaerys,” he exclaimed, his finger jabbing toward you like a dagger. “Today was the prince's funeral! Did ya kidnap him?”

Your heart sank, frustration simmering beneath your composed exterior. You raised your hands, palms facing him in an attempt to calm the brewing tempest, as if easing a wild beast. “No, please. Just calm down,” you urged, your tone laced with reason.

Yet a spark ignited within Tym’s gaze, transforming his concern into something darker. “Perhaps there’s a reward out for the two of you,” he sneered, the words dripping with malice. With that, he turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, you appeared before him with a feral grace that startled him. He stumbled backward, landing abruptly on his rear as shock flared in his eyes. “What the fuck are you?”

With a soothing tone, you replied, “I need you to calm down, Tym.” You tried, almost desperately, to appeal to a semblance of mercy within him.

In a frantic attempt to escape, he began to crawl away, but you were far too quick. Swiftly, you seized his chin in a gentle yet firm grip, directing his gaze to meet yours, channeling your compulsion. “Calm down,” you urged, feeling the power of your words weave through the air like tendrils of shadow.

Gradually, you noticed the tension in his shoulders ease, yet a gnawing uncertainty tugged at your mind. Yes, you were a stranger to him, but the haste with which he spoke of rewards for both you and Jaehaerys left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, you whispered, “What were your intentions with me?”

The compulsion settled over him like a shroud, and he answered without hesitation, the words spilling forth in a smooth, almost languid cadence. “A pretty girl comes to a lonely man's door. It’s practically a gift from the gods.”

“And what if I did not reciprocate those feelings?” The question escaped your lips with a pang of trepidation. Deep down, you feared you already knew the answer.

Tym shrugged, his gaze locked with yours, a reckless glimmer in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re a girl, and I'm a man.”

A weary sigh escaped you, disappointment settling like a stone in your chest. You dropped back onto your heels, your mind swirling with the implications of his words. In a world where predators lurked in shadows, your thoughts danced with the darkest possibilities—his intent to claim you while you slept, disregarding your will and robbing you of your decency, mere steps away from a child.

Deep sorrow enveloped you, thick and suffocating. With men like this, the glimmer of hope for any kind man felt like a cruel joke. “I genuinely believed you to be different—a bit strange, yes, but kind.” Your voice softened, laced with disbelief. “And now I see you possess the same animalistic traits as the rest.”

You paused, considering your next words with the weight they carried. “But I am not just any girl. And because of that I have the power and strength to protect other girls that cannot protect themselves.”

“And to do that,” you murmured, a chilling intensity igniting your gaze as your veins darkened beneath your skin, your pupils transformed into hungry slits, your fangs stretching long and sharp as moonlight kissed your features, “I must rid the world of men like you.”

Panic flared in his eyes, tangible and raw, yet your compulsion anchored him in place, keeping him eerily calm as you leaned closer, your breath a whisper of silk. “I haven’t fed in days. Soothe your mind by knowing that I shall savor every drop.”

With that, you descended, your fangs finding purchase in the soft flesh of his neck. His warm blood surged into your mouth, hot and intoxicating, even as he struggled against the inevitability of his fate, the frantic thumps of his heart echoing the finality of the moment, while his protests faded into a desperate silence — knowing it was a battle he could not win.

You lay in a restless slumber, your breaths ragged and shaky, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on your brow like dewdrops in the pale light of morning. Once again, Esther softly dabbed a cool, damp cloth over your forehead, worries etched deep in her face as she watched her youngest child struggle to summon the strength to open her weary eyes.

“Mama,” Your voice emerged, frail and whispered, like the rustle of leaves in a faint breeze.

Esther’s warm, deep-brown eyes locked onto her daughter’s, and a bittersweet smile graced her lips, tinged with sadness. “Hush, my love, I am here.”

The young girl gaze held Esther’s, filled with a mixture of trust and fear, as your mother’s tender hands continued to soothe your frail, sickly form. Yet, as the heat surged through your small body, you could not suppress the trembling words that slipped from your lips, “Am I going to die?”

For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze in the hut. Esther’s hand stilled, her heart clenched tightly in her chest. She diverted her gaze, struggling to conceal the tears that threatened to spill, the weight of her daughter’s words echoing in the silence. After a brief struggle for composure, she raised her hand to wipe away the dampness from her cheeks, looking down at the precious girl before her with fierce determination. “No, my sweet. You shall be just fine.”

A heavy stillness enveloped the hut, the world outside a distant murmur as your small voice broke through it once more, tremulous yet bold, “Will Father be sad if I die?”

Esther felt her heart shatter at those words, each syllable a dagger to her already broken spirit. Mikael harbored disdain for you, a constant reminder of his wife's unforgivable betrayal. Fortunate that he remained unaware of Niklaus’s lineage, yet Esther’s sweet daughter nevertheless yearned for her father’s love, seeking any semblance of affection in a heart hardened by resentment.

In that moment, Esther summoned what remained of her resolve, donning the familiar mask of tenderness, “Of course, he shall be, my star.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, yet she couldn’t bear to shatter the fragile threads of hope that clung to her daughter.

As your eyes fluttered shut once more, the lull of despair washed over Esther. She turned away, struggling to disguise the stark truth that loomed ever closer: her precious child hung at death's door. She could not bear the loss of another—never again, not after Freya.

Flaws ran deep in Esther, but they were borne of circumstances beyond her control; the bond she shared with you was a force unto itself. Perhaps it was the innocence of her youngest that drew Esther in, or perhaps it was the stark contrast to her other children. The warmth of your light was undeniable, a glow that illuminated the fears she dared not confront. Still, she would love them all—though deep down her heart loved you most.

With a surge of fierce determination, she pressed her hand to her abdomen, feeling the promise of new life stirring within her—a babe that once again grew. Yet the sacrifice loomed before her.

Night had cast its velvety cloak over the world; the moon watched solemnly as her family succumbed to slumber. Gathering the materials for her desperate ritual, Esther prepared with practiced hands. The moment felt both heavy and sacred. With a steady resolve, she sliced her palm, crimson droplets spilling forth to dance upon your fevered brow. Then, she cradled her daughter’s head, her other hand resting over her own womb.

With a whisper that quivered in the air like a prayer, Esther began to murmur the spell—repeating it like a mantra, “Hanc vitam in eam.”

"Hanc vitam in eam."

"Hanc vitam in eam."

Each iteration grew more fervent, woven with her love and desperation, a last thread of hope tethering her spirit to your fading vitality.

When she finally opened her eyes, a wave of relief washed over her like the dawn breaking through the darkest night. Your strained features had eased, the pallor giving way to the flush of life. A sob escaped Esther, raw and unrestrained, as she sank beside her precious child, lifting the fragile frame into her arms.

All that mattered now was the warmth of your body against her own, even as blood seeped unnoticed from between her legs, the physical price of her choice.

A/N — actually confirmation that reader is esther's fav. also to go in more detail of reader's infatuation with finn, it's mostly because in her time, you were raised to become the perfect wife, and her mother always used to tell her, "when looking for the right husband, he should be like finn." obviously she took that too literally.

Next up, Reader returns to King's Landing...

Anywayyy

ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴋᴀᴇʟsᴏɴs

(can you tell I made this within an hour ;) )

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear

@lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @ln8118 @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @Lokisgoddessofpower

@anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader @feelingfaye @sxlsvv @crystal-siren @no-one0804 @tojisprincess @meraxesruin @supernaturalstilinski @talilosha@emerald-error20 @athanasia-day @mynameisbaby9 @lexi-anastastia-astra-luna @siriusblackrunmeover @shilphy87 @moonstruksandco

[little-diable]

The Right Stuff - Hangman/Jake Seresin (smut)

I had this idea on my flight back home, so I simply needed to write it. It’s super self indulgent, but I ain’t sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader meets Jake on her flight back home, a man she's instantly drawn to. Over the course of their flight both seem to be getting tangled in the clear attraction they feel for one another. An attraction they give in to on their following date.

Or: The first time (y/n) lets a man touch her on a first date while feeling like she has met the one she wants to spend forever with.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car smut, somewhat public, teasing, slight choking, dom!Jake, strangers to lovers

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader (3.5k words)

Music rang in her ears, guiding (y/n) as she squeezed past people while trying to bite down her exhaustion. Airports had never been her favourite spot, too many people, too many noises – a mixture she tried to run from at any given chance. Her eyes flickered down to her phone, opening her boarding pass again to double check the number of her gate before she allowed herself to find an empty bench near the boarding era. 

For a moment, her eyes fluttered close as she deeply exhaled. Soon she’d be back home, allowing herself to relax while processing the past few days of her trip. As much as she loved travelling, she loved coming home even more, fully focused on her time to wind down. 

After a few more deep breaths, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open again to take in her surroundings and the people who sat on the other benches. Within seconds, her gaze was drawn to a man who was approaching the sitting area. Even though he wore sunglasses, (y/n) could instantly tell that he was handsome, more interesting than all the other people she had looked at so far. The man sat down two benches from her, looking down on his phone while she tried to find something else to focus on. 

But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes were drawn back to him every now and then. There was something to him that seemed to pull her in, perhaps it was the way he sat all too straight or the way his jaw muscles kept ticking whenever he looked up from his phone to study those who walked past him. Whatever it was, (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to stop looking at him. 

Only as the boarding process finally started did she manage to get a grip, turning her back to the handsome man while she made her way to the plane. She couldn’t help but silently hope that he’d sit close to her, giving her the chance to solve the mysterious aura he exuded – a good way to pass the upcoming hours of her flight. 

With a sigh, she plopped down in the middle seat while fumbling with her bag, knowing that she’d most likely have to stand up again to let somebody pass. She kept her eyes focused on her phone, at least until a slightly raspy voice caught her attention with a simple, “Excuse me?” 

Heat shot through her as she stared up at the handsome man from earlier. She didn’t say a word as she stood up to let him pass, trying to stop her heartbeat from spiralling. The expensive scent of his cologne instantly wrapped itself around her as if it was trying to lure her closer. (Y/n) allowed herself to look up at him for a moment, catching his gaze with a soft smile before averting her eyes again. 

She needed to find something else to focus on rather quickly before she’d make a fool of herself, fighting against the need to look at him to get lost in the bright eyes that were now exposed, perfectly matching his blonde hair. With trembling fingers she pulled her book from her bag, letting it rest on her lap while she put her phone away. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” His voice caught her by surprise, drawing (y/n)��s gaze back to him. A soft smile was playing on his lips, he let go of a chuckle as he showed her the cover of the book he was holding, “The Right Stuff” – the same book she was currently reading. 

“I do, even though I didn’t really expect to like it.” (Y/n) silently thanked her lucky stars for this very moment, proud of herself for keeping her voice low, not carrying any trembling syllables. “ It’s not your first time reading it, is it?” She pointed to the worn out pages, telling her that he – or the person who had owned the book before him – must have read the book quite a few times. 

“I think the first time I read it I was still a kid, so, yeah, it’s been through some stuff with me.” The laugh clawing through him had an addicting effect to it, letting one claw through (y/n) herself. She felt his curious gaze wander over her features before he reached his hand out  for her to shake, “I’m Jake.”

His hand felt warm against hers as (y/n) shook it while replying with her name. She prayed that the heat wandering up her neck wouldn’t embarrass her, not making it too obvious to him. It felt as if fate was treating her today, giving her a chance to learn more about the man who had managed to catch her attention from the first moment she had looked at him. 

“Are you flying back home?” Their books were long forgotten as Jake angled his body closer to her, not sparing the safety instructions any of his attention. She tried not to focus on whatever was dangling from his neck, hidden beneath the white shirt he wore, small details her mind was hyperfocusing on, trying to burn everything about him into her mind. 

“I am, I was visiting a friend for the past week. What about you?” The plane began to move, but (y/n) tried not to pay her uneasiness any attention, she felt strangely safe around Jake, trusting whatever it was that made her feel so comfortable. 

“Somewhat, I’m stationed there, but home’s Texas.” She had been trying to pinpoint his southern drawl for the past minutes, wondering about his backstory and whatever he’d want to tell her about himself. It certainly fit, adding to the many questions she wanted to ask, set on uncovering any and every secret Jake carried with himself. 

“Stationed? Are you in the army?” Curiosity spurred her on, something that seemed to amuse Jake as he sank further into the seat. With one hand he tugged on the band around his neck, exposing dog tags to (y/n)’s wandering eyes. Before she could stop her hand from moving, her fingers were reaching for the tags, stroking along the cold material. 

“I’m a naval aviator.” It was a simple reply, and yet (y/n) could instantly tell that this was more than just a job to him. Pride simmered in his eyes, stretching across his handsome features as he watched her study his tags before letting them drop back against his broad chest. 

“Well, I guess I’m in good hands now that we’re in the air, huh?” She kept her voice low, letting another laugh claw out of Jake who shot her a wink while nodding his head.

“I’ll keep you safe, darlin’.”

……

“You should absolutely come by, they’ll all love you.” Jake had just told her about the Hard Deck and his colleagues coming together there most nights. Hours had passed since they had boarded and yet it felt like she and Jake had known each other for much longer, instantly clicking as they shared more and more about themselves. 

“Maybe I will, that sounds like fun.” Her mouth was about to start hurting from all the smiling she had done, unable to let go of the happiness simmering inside of her. It was cheesy almost, too perfect and yet Jake had easily managed to pull her into his trap, forming a bond miles and miles up in the air where he felt more at ease than with his feet planted on solid ground. 

She was about to reply, wanting to ask another question about his job and the missions he probably wasn’t allowed to talk about when the plane started shaking. No matter how often she found herself in a plane to move from one spot to the other, turbulences had never been her friend, drawing a shaky exhale from her.

(Y/n) could feel Jake’s eyes on her, studying her for a moment while the pilot spoke barely coherent sentences that warned the passengers of the stronger turbulence. Another shake made her hand dart out to grasp the arm rest while trying to stay somewhat calm and collected.  And only as Jake placed his hand on top of hers to loosen her grip and interlace their fingers did she allow herself to look up at him again. 

“I promised I’ll keep you safe, didn’t I? It’ll be over soon.” He whispered his words as he studied her with concern swimming in his pupils.

This was a side of himself he was a stranger to, Jake had no problem chatting up pretty women, he was used to taking them to his or their place for a few hours he’d easily forget about the second he was up in the air, but something about (y/n) was different. Sure, he’d like to ask her out and perhaps even explore her bedroom, but this wouldn’t be a one time thing, at least not if he had a say in it. 

“Tell me more about your colleagues.” (Y/n) was grateful for any distraction as the plane kept shaking. Jake’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, managing to feel her more and more at ease. He started speaking, rambling about those he secretly admired and cherished, even though he’d never say that out loud to them, at least not in moments where their life wasn’t on the line and close to ending. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and even though (y/n) tried her hardest to intently listen to his stories, she struggled to catch up. Her mind was too occupied with everything she had learned about Jake while she wondered how she could keep him close, given he wanted to keep her around just as much.

But perhaps fate was feeling generous today, not running out on (y/n) just yet. 

……

Two days had passed since (y/n) had crossed paths with Jake, the man she had fallen for over the course of a handful of hours. After parting ways at the airport – with a tight hug that had lasted long enough to make others believe they were reuniting after months apart – they had begun texting almost immediately, making plans for a date Jake had asked her out on before they had gotten off the plane with their fingers still interlaced. 

A date that was just about to happen. A date (y/n) felt overly torn about, not used to feeling so excited and yet nervous over a date. Would they feel the same pull they had felt days ago? Would they still be as excited about being around one another while learning more and more about the one they strangely enough wanted to keep around? 

She had begged him for something lowkey, not caring about where he’d take her, just fully set on getting glimpses into Jake’s life. Her attention was drawn towards her door as the sound of the ringing bell filled her apartment. With shaking legs, (y/n) walked closer, opening it to let her eyes settle on Jake's handsome features.

“Hi, darlin’.” (Y/n) was pulled in for a hug, allowing her to inhale his comforting scent. She clung to him for a moment before peeling herself out of his grasp, scared that she may be unable to let go should he keep her close a second longer. Her smile grew wider at the flowers he gently pushed her way, “Here, thought you may enjoy them since you had these on your bookmark.”

“You’re sweet, thank you so much. Come on in.” She opened the door wider for Jake to step in, leaving him alone for a second while searching for the right vase. Moments later, (y/n) had her arm hooked through his, letting him guide her to his car. With his hand placed on her thigh, Jake drove them away from her home, sporting a smile as bright as the one she couldn’t bite down. 

“So, did you tell your friends about being asked out by a hot Navy guy?” His smile had turned into a cocky grin, remembering the mention of her closest friends and how they were set on finding (y/n) the right guy. Her tongue kissed her teeth as she shook her head at him, set on cutting right through the cocky facade he seemed to sport around most people. 

“Did you tell your admirable teammates about finally asking a woman out on a date? Oh wait, you don’t want them to know you actually like them, huh.” A laugh ripped through Jake who silently thanked whoever was listening for sending this fitting match his way. He squeezed her thigh harder at her teasing, showing off his perfectly white teeth while he studied her for a second too long. “Eyes on the road, lieutenant, can’t have you fucking up our date before I got a kiss, I need something actually worth mentioning to tell my friends about.” 

“Oh, you’re working hard today, spitfire. Don’t you worry, darlin’, you’ll have enough to tell them about.” With a wink thrown her way, his eyes flickered back to the road that was taking them straight to the beach (y/n) could already spot.

Excitement simmered inside of her as she realised that Jake must have remembered her comments about wishing for some more free time she could spend at the beach. Even though she lived so very close, she rarely found the time to come down here, adding another special touch to this very date.

He held the door open for her, letting his hand settle on the small of her back to guide her towards the beach. With their shoes carried in their hands, both found themselves walking along the endless seeming beach, getting lost in deep conversations they normally wouldn’t give in to on a first date. Yet this felt like anything but a first date, it felt like they had been doing this for weeks, months even, feeling all too comfortable with the other person. 

“Seems like a storm’s brewing out there.” Jake was sitting next to her, feet buried in the warm sand. (Y/n) had her head resting on his shoulder, following his gaze towards the darkening horizon. The wind began to pick up, dancing through her hair – a silent warning that they should find their way back home, Mother Nature’s own way of setting an end to their date. But neither Jake nor (y/n) dared to move, watching the clouds move closer as they kept sitting next to one another. 

Only as the first raindrops fell did Jake rise to his feet, pulling (y/n) back up with his hands finding hers. The moment had something awfully cheesy to it, something he’d tease others for if they ever told him about it, but today he didn’t find it in himself to care. Jake and (y/n) held eye contact as he wiped some rain drops from her cheeks, letting his fingers rest on her warm skin while dipping his head down to kiss her.

Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt, not daring to break away from the man who kissed her breathless. His tongue begged for entrance, unable to bite down their groans the second their tongues met, deepening their kiss all while the rain soaked through their clothes. Two strangers who have managed to fall in love over the short span of just three days; two strangers who’d prefer to spend their last seconds on this earth together should the world end any moment now. 

Thunder roared through the afternoon, breaking them apart to guide them back to his car. Rain pitter-pattered against the windshield, allowing them to get lost in another kiss while nature gifted them worthwhile moments hidden from curious eyes. 

“We have to stop before I end up fucking you in the backseat, darlin’.” His almost pained words left her chuckling against his lips. 

“What if I want you to fuck me there? You promised me good stuff I can tell my friends about.” The groan that followed her teasing words vibrated on her lips. Jake kissed her again before a simple, rasped out “Then move your pretty ass” left him. 

She was sitting on his lap, fumbling with his belt while thanking her past self for settling on a dress for their date. Jake’s strong fingers dug into her thighs as he kissed his way down her neck, leaving marks she’d struggle to cover up tomorrow morning, souvenirs as he’d call them, marks to remind her that from today on she was his, his only. 

“I need you to be sure about this.” His hand found her throat, fingers settling on her jaw to keep her eyes focused on his. There was something dark swimming in Jake's eyes, something that told her she’d struggle to put whatever was about to happen into words later on tonight. Her fingers grasped his cock, pulling him from his underwear while parting her lips to speak. 

“Let’s take this as another test to see how perfect of a match we are, lieutenant.” (Y/n)’s smirk turned into an open mouthed o-shape the second his fingers found her clothed heat, rubbing her pulsing bundle through the thin material of her already damp panties. She felt trapped, in the best way possible, getting lost in all things Jake Seresin, even though she was the one straddling him, keeping the tall man buried beneath her. 

An avalanche of lust rolled upon them both as she spread her saliva on his cock, pumping him while he kept touching her, drawing sinful sounds out of them both. She let him fumble with his trousers to pull a condom free, allowing her to roll it down his cock while he pushed her panties to the side, exposing her aching heat to his bright eyes.

“Fuck, we’ll do this the right way the second I get you home, you deserve to be fucked on a comfortable bed.” The heated kiss she pressed against his lips successfully managed to shut Jake up, drowning out their sounds.

She sank down on his cock with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingernails clawed into the spot where his neck met his muscular shoulder. Neither of them wanted to waste any time, settling on a rhythm that worked for them perfectly, letting his hips meet hers. 

“Shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’. Look how perfectly you fuck yourself on my cock.” Her walls fluttered around his cock, movements getting faster to feel Jake at any given chance, high on the feeling of having him buried so deep inside of her.

(Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t help but marvel at Jake, taking in the freckles on his cheeks, the piercingly bright colour of his lust-blown pupils, a godlike feature. Her fingers tugged on his tags, reminded of their run in days ago – oh, how much she’d like to tease her past self about this very moment, knowing that Jake Seresin was about to flip her life around from today on. 

“Jake, touch me, please.” His raspy chuckles filled the car, followed by her moans the second he rubbed her bundle of nerves. She was trembling on top of him, knowing that her high was close – just as close as Jake’s whose grip on her grew tighter with every passing moment. 

“Will you cum for me, baby?” One of his hands kept stabilising her, the other found her throat again, keeping an almost possessive grip that had (y/n) seeing stars. Incoherent, moaned words left her, ringing in Jake's ears while she could only get lost in his guiding eyes. Bright like the northern stars, a guiding light in darkening times she’d look for from now on. 

(Y/n) came with a gasp, a sound Jake’s lips swallowed with the kiss he needed to chase. His hips jerked up again, burying himself inside of her for one last time before he came too. She clung to him with heavy breaths, head resting on his shoulder, focusing on the feeling of his hand stroking up and down her back. 

“Can we do that again soon?” (Y/n) mumbled her question with hot cheeks, grateful that the falling rain was still hugging them with its cosy embrace. Jake tugged on her neck, forcing her to look at him again, gaze instantly drawn to his wide smirk. 

“We can do that daily, for the rest of our lives, darlin’.”

[tb3ih]

SWIMMING LESSONS. xiao.

a/n: this is a LITTLE spicy, but i promise it's good *prays silently*

classmate!xiao who's only mysterious because no one's ever seen him wear anything other than a scowl or that black iron chain that dangles against sculpted collarbones which peek out from his slightly unbuttoned uniform shirt.

classmate!xiao who despite having dozed off for the majority of the lecture, will always be the first to turn in his test and walk right out of class without so much as a second glance because the teacher allows self-dismissal after exams and he'd rather be underwater than in a classroom.

classmate!xiao who you will rarely ever see speaking to someone other than when called on by the teacher or summoned by his swimming coach, but for some reason, a pair of amber eyes seems to have followed you to your seat in front of him after your introduction to the class.

classmate!xiao who's eyebrow has lifted when you exchange a small greeting to him before settling into the desk in front of him, offering a small "hm" in reply and drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room.

classmate!xiao who observes you quietly while you take detailed notes of the lecture, not once sparing you an opportunity to catch him watching the way you bite the inside of your cheek when deep in thought about an equation or hypothesis.

classmate!xiao who sighs quietly and moves to gracefully pick up the pen you didn't realize you had dropped yet, setting it on your desk unnoticeably before continuing up to the teacher's desk to turn in his work.

classmate!xiao who wordlessly continues his work when you turn to observe his own solution process to a particularly difficult problem on the board, everyone else in the class watching speechlessly as you're completely oblivious to his correction of one of your formulas when you look through your notebook again for the topic.

classmate!xiao who now hums lowly in reply to your greetings in the morning and nods almost imperceptibly at your farewells in the afternoon.

classmate!xiao whose voice is stern but gentle after poking your forehead with the eraser part of his pencil when he catches an error in your solution, telling you softly to redo it again.

classmate!xiao who rests his chin on his palm while you work on your assignment on your now-conjoined desks, never letting his gaze waver even the slightest bit of a clue when you smile excitedly at finishing or solving something.

classmate!xiao who's slowed his stride just the slightest (he tells himself he wants to pay more attention to the street signs as he walks home) and suddenly you're catching him at the school gates and riding the train together.

classmate!xiao who doesn't hesitate to pull you gently to his chest when the train car is especially crowded, resting his chin just lightly enough on your head to have you blushing the whole way because he's a swimmer and his chest is very solid .

classmate!xiao who doesn't disturb you when you accidentally doze off in class during exam season, eyes narrowing menacingly at anyone who dares approach your desk.

classmate!xiao whose eyes are unreadable when you open your front door to find him standing there soaked by the storm, carrying a small thermos of soup because you had texted you wouldn't be attending class due to illness.

classmate!xiao who doesn't realize you're awake when he calls you beautiful watching you rest your head on his lap on the couch, the static background noise of the tv supposedly having lulled you to sleep.

classmate!xiao whose beautiful, golden eyes widen just in the slightest when you call his name just as he's about to leave your home, your expression a little panicked when he catches from having run from the living room.

classmate!xiao whose voice is barely audible when he says your name, watching as your fingers reach up to hook around his goddamn black iron chain, forcing him to lower his head just slightly.

classmate!xiao who's breathless when your lips ghost his, voice exasperated when you tell him how much he frustrates you sometimes.

classmate!xiao who's expression is confused, one of his hands gentle against your cheek when you try to explain to him how inconsiderate it was of him to tell you that and then leave.

classmate!xiao whose amused laugh has you blushing furiously, halting your rambling (dear archons, he's beautiful, you think).

classmate!xiao whose irises are mischievous and taunting when they just barely meet yours to ask you if you're going to kiss him yet.

classmate!xiao who's smirking against your lips when you realize you actually forgot to breathe and have to pull away to take collect yourself, hitting him lightly on the chest when you see that he doesn't appear to be fazed at all (you forget his sport involves long moments underwater).

and it's classmate!xiao who's now got your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you back upstairs to show you what it really feels like to be breathless.

part 2 !

© tb3ih mmxxiii all rights reserved.

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You are settling in to living in a new country. Your Alpha wants to show you how important you are to him.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 3.4k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Oh my GOD. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I can't believe the amount of love this fic is getting. I just had to write another chapter for you guys asap. I have a taglist so comment if you'd like to join it.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Two:

You sigh as you take in the barren state of your room. All that was left was boxes and your suitcases. Your mom is going to send the rest of your belongings after you arrive in Amsterdam. You were sad to leave your childhood home and your parents but, excited to see what the future holds. Especially now that you have a very sweet Alpha taking care of you. As much as you hate to admit it, your inner Omega has longed for this day. You still couldn't shake the nerves of moving to a completely different country. The AOMO assisted you with your visa which was easy to get approved for. Countries were more lenient with citizenship when it came to obtaining a mate. You haven't seen König in about a week. He went back to Amsterdam to prepare for your arrival. A knock sounded at your door before it opened. 

“You ready?” Your Dad asked, moving to grab your suitcases for you. 

“Yeah.” You followed him out of the room.

Your Mother was standing near the door, her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. You went over and hugged her. 

“My baby girl, moving out. I'm gonna miss you.” 

“I'll come visit, don't worry.”

“You better.” Your dad called an Uber to get to the airport.

The drive was silent besides the quiet radio in the background. The airport was busy. This was your first time flying by yourself, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. You gave your mother and father one last hug before to went to check your bags. Your mother shed a tear and adjusted your protection collar again, urging you to be safe. You bid them goodbye and headed to check your bags and go through security. Once you made it to your gate your phone vibrated. You didn't recognize the number. 

'Hello liebe, It is König. Kara has given me your number.'

'I am not used to texting, I text no one. Are you at the plane?'

Your heart jumped with excitement hearing from him. 

'Hi König, I am at my gate. It boards in about an hour I think.'

'Wonderful, I will be waiting for you when you arrive.' 

'See you then.'

You suppressed a squeal as you put your phone away. Your inner Omega was getting a little out of hand with her feelings about him. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush. You distracted yourself by using the bathroom and buying some expensive airport snacks to tide you over on the ride. It was a seven-hour overnight flight set to arrive at eleven am Netherlands time. Once you boarded the plane you got comfortable for the long flight. You brought a blanket from home and a neck pillow. Kara set you up with a window seat. As you took off you silently said goodbye to the big city and hello to your new future. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke as the lights of the plane cabin turned on. The flight attendants told everyone to prepare for landing. You gathered your things and gazed out your window. The city was lush, the leaves were turning slightly as fall rolled in. Your heart pounded against your chest with excitement, your Omega desperately wanted to see König. You still had to go through customs and baggage claim. 

König wasn't much better. Throughout the week he had distracted himself by cleaning and buying things for your arrival, but that did little to quell the Alpha in him. He brought new bedding for your nest. He didn't know what kind you'd like so he got a little bit of everything. Fluffy faux fur blankets, cooling quilts, silk sheets, you name it. He also started putting aside t-shirts he has worn in case you wanted them for your nest. His apartment had two bedrooms, one of which he never used. It had a bed and that was about it. Although he desperately wanted you to sleep in his bed, he knew Omegas needed their space to nest and feel at home. He furnished the room with a desk, nightstand, dresser, and TV. He would leave the decorating up to you as that has never been his strong suit. He waited outside of baggage claim tapping his foot anxiously. He had arrived entirely too early but couldn't stand to sit in his apartment any longer. 

Customs went by smoothly. You scanned the conveyor belts for your luggage. The longer the wait was the more your heart pounded. You were starting to sweat making your scent waft to the people around you. You moved to a corner with fewer people to avoid the annoyed looks people would give you. Your luggage finally made its round in the rotunda and you snatched it as fast as you could. You walked outside to the pickup area the sun blinding you for a moment as you looked around. You inhaled deeply trying to pinpoint König's scent. The faint smell of bread and cinnamon entered your nose through the breeze. You looked to the left seeing a familiar mop of hair behind a black SUV. He was too tall not to be the Alpha you were looking for. You walked up to him his back turned to you. 

“König.” You said happily. 

He turned to you surprised. “You're here.”

König was trying to contain his excitement. His inner alpha pressured him to pick you up, to hold you. As if reading his mind, you hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you, dwarfing you. He bent down resting his nose in your hair, savoring your scent. You looked up at him keeping your arms around his waist. He had his black surgical mask on. 

“I'm so happy to see you.”

“I spent every day thinking of you liebe.” 

He reluctantly released the embrace and opened the passenger side door for you. You sat in the car and watched him load your luggage into the trunk. He slid into the driver's seat glancing at you before pulling off onto the road. His scent sweetened the longer he was in your presence. 

“How was the flight?” He asked.

“It was easy, I just slept.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” 

König reached behind your seat to the back and grabbed a white paper bag. He handed it to you all without taking his eyes off the road. Inside was a croissant and a peach Danish. 

“Oh thank you König. You really know the way to woo me.” You chuckled taking a bite of the Danish. 

He responded with 'hmm' and a content smile. The ride was about thirty minutes. You gazed out the window taking in the sights of your new city. Many people rode bikes and there were endless cafes. König parallel parked onto a quiet residential block. You got out of the car taking in your surroundings. The houses were all unique in color and style. Only one person was walking down the street. König unloaded your bags and put them on the sidewalk. You went to grab them but he shooed your hands away. He locked the car and started walking. The house he led you to was a brick home with a few steps leading to the foyer. He opened the door and let you walk inside first before carrying your bags in with ease. You walked up the two flights of stairs. 

“The door is open.” König said from behind you. 

The second door came into view and you opened the door for him. He sets your bags down and closes the door behind him. The apartment was furnished but bland. Not much decor or color. It was obvious he doesn't spend much time here as it did not look lived in. 

“Come.” He said leading you down the small hallway.

 He opened the first door, it was the bathroom. Quite large for an apartment bathroom, you were excited to use the tub. He then lead you to the second door it was a nice furnished bedroom there were a lot of shopping bags near the bed. 

“This is your room. I brought nesting material for you but, I was not sure what you liked.” 

You walked in. The natural light of the morning flooded into the room through the large windows. The building was high enough that you had a decent view of the neighborhood. 

“König, you didn't have to buy all these for me.” 

“Nonsense.” 

You smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.” 

König's heart thumped against his chest. He didn't expect you to use his title so soon, but he was over the moon.

“You're welcome Omega.” He purred.

Your Omega preened at the title. Although the situation was new, you felt safe and cared for. You started opening some of the bedding to assess them for your new nest. There was a large dark blue comforter with matching silk sheets. You knew you should focus on unpacking but the temptation to build your nest was too high. König watched you from the door with adoration. He was proud of himself for making his Omega feel happy and safe. He brought your luggage into your room to unpack whenever you were ready. 

You were completely engrossed in your nest you didn't realize König was watching you. You took off your shoes and jacket and started arranging the sheets first to have a silky base. Then you used the quilts as a border before you could arrange it properly your phone started ringing, taking you out of the daze you were in. You reached for your phone in your jacket pocket. It was your mom. 

“Mom it's so early there you didn't have to call now.” 

“I know sweetie I just was paranoid. Did you arrive safe?” 

“I did, I'm at König's now.” 

“Oh, great ok that's all I was worried about. I'm gonna head back to sleep. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too Mom”

You hung up the phone and looked around at the mess of packaging on the floor. You were debating whether you should continue making your nest or clean your mess up. Sensing your internal struggle König spoke. 

“Let's unpack Schatz.”

“Oh, right.” 

You unzipped your suitcases and started sorting things into the dresser and closet. You instructed König to put your toiletries in the bathroom and put your clothes in certain drawers. He was happy to help, spending time with his Omega was the most important thing to him. König was given a little over three months' leave to settle with his Omega. After Christmas, he had to go back on missions. The thought made his heart ache. He shook off the negative feelings before she could pick up on anything, not wanting her to worry. König picked up the packaging placing it in one of the shopping bags. He went to the kitchen to throw it away. 

Now that he was here he did not know what to do. Does he give her space? Should he take her out? König wants to spend as much time as possible with her, but he did not want to be overbearing. Before he could overthink, he heard you calling him. Walking into your room he saw you kneeling on the bed. 

“Take off your shoes and come I want to test something.” You said. 

He obliged, taking his shoes off. You waved him over to your unfinished nest. He stepped up to you hesitantly not wanting to cross any boundaries with your nest. You grabbed his hand and made him lie down. König stiffened not wanting to ruin anything. He has never been invited into an Omega's nest before. You started arranging your nesting materials around him. Once you got a good sense of how many blankets you needed for both of you to be comfy, you released him. He sat up carefully trying not to disturb anything that you arranged. He was honored that you'd feel comfortable just being in the room while you created your space. 

While making your nest you noticed how barren the room was. You wanted it to be warm and cozy. You looked up at König. 

“Let's go shopping, Alpha. Can we?” 

“Sure, liebe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König was surprised you had so much energy after your night of travel. You took in the scenery of the local shops. You slipped your hand into Konigs and led him into a home decor shop. König let himself be dragged around as you browsed. Every shop they went into you picked up small things. A wall mirror, a pretty tapestry, a cute frog statue, you had to have it. One of the shops you walked into sold Omega protection collars. You sighed.

“I wouldn't mind wearing mine as much if it looked better.” 

The shop made custom-fit metal collars. There was a beautiful gold metal collar with a dangle charm in the center. It came down to a point near the clavicle. Contrary to your basic black leather one. 

“Would you like this one?” König asked. 

“Oh, no it's expensive.” 

You moved to walk out of the shop but you felt a hand on your waist stop you. König pulled you back to him gently and waved over the sales associate. 

“Can she try this one on?” The worker nodded and took the collar out of the case. 

You removed your collar with the key you kept in your wallet and let the worker place the gold one on you. You looked in the mirror and smiled. It complimented you in the best way, simple yet elegant. The worker explained that they do custom fittings that take a few days to make but it's worth it. You removed the collar and handed it back. 

“She would like to get fitted.” König said suddenly. 

“What? No König really it's too much.”

“Just in case.”

“In case what?” 

He didn't answer. The worker did a few measurements around your neck and the size and placement of your scent glands, writing them down on a form. After they were done they bid the both of you goodbye and looked forward to your order. 

“I don't think I'm gonna get it.” You told König.

“It's too much...” You added

“That's ok.” He said. 

He placed his arm around your waist as you walked, holding your shopping bags in the other hand. You had a feeling he was planning something but you let it go for the time being. 

By the time you got home, it was getting dark. König placed your shopping bags into your room. You yawned. 

“You should sleep liebe, you've had a busy day.” König said. 

“Yeah, I'll head to bed early so I can finish my nest.” You stretched your back and walked to your room. König followed behind you heading to his room. He grabbed your wrist spinning you back toward him. His other hand caressed your cheek while leaning down to your level. He pulled down his mask revealing his plump lips.

“Goodnight Omega.” He kissed your cheek. 

König felt it was only right to return the kiss you gave him before. He let the kiss linger for a few seconds before pulling away. Heat crept from your neck to your cheeks. König walked to his room smiling to himself. You leaned against your door, heart racing. You opened the door, your inner Omega was reeling from your Alpha's attention. Your alpha? You were completely smitten by the giant Apex. You closed the door, changed into pajamas, and jumped into your nest. You sighed into the pillows, fantasizing about your Alpha. You began adjusting your nest to your liking. It ended up taking you an hour to make it perfect, keeping in mind the space for König. You'd never made a nest with someone else in mind but it was nice. You got cozy and let sleep take over. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light entered your room slowly waking you. You looked at your phone, it was 6:04 am. You sat up and stretched, happy that you beat the jetlag. Wondering if König was awake, you quietly stepped out of your room and down the hallway to his room. You knocked gently. König was a light sleeper. He heard your small footsteps before you knocked and went to open the door. He looked down at your face still flushed with sleep. 

“Good morning.” You said, absentmindedly rubbing your eyes. 

König purred deeply. You looked so cute in your PJs he wanted to pull you into his bed., for more than just cuddling. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“Morning Schatz.” He guided you down the hallway to the kitchen. 

“I can make us pancakes for breakfast.” You suggested.

“Sounds wonderful.” 

König watched you flit around the kitchen. The kitchen was barely used because of his job, so it was nice seeing it get used. Your head snapped to the alpha when you realized he was watching you. 

“Go sit, I'll bring it to you.” 

König nodded and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV as he waited and listened to the kitchen utensils clanging in the background. A few minutes later you emerged with a plate for him topped with syrup. He took the plate and looked at the food quizzically. 

“What's wrong?” you asked. 

“These...are pancakes?” He analyzed the fluffy discs.

“Yeah, are pancakes different here?” He nodded.

“I'll try them.” He carved out a bite with his fork. You watched him intensely. 

“How is it?” 

“...Sweet, but good.” He said. 

You smiled and went to get yourself a plate. You plopped down next to him on the couch and you took a bite. You watched the random movie he put on as you ate, feeling perfectly content with your Alpha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, you were on the couch typing away on your laptop working on your next chapter. König was struggling to find something to do with himself. He wanted to give you space to write, but desperately wanted to spend time with you. He understood that your job was time sensitive. He was lucky to have you here at all. You heard König pacing behind you causing you to lose your concentration. You got up and went to your room. You rummaged through your suitcase, finding a copy of your fantasy novel. You walked up to König and handed him the book before returning to your spot on the couch. He appeared next to you on the couch glancing over the blurb. 

“I thought I had to buy a copy?” He said. 

“Well, you need something to do.” You chuckled. 

You two fell into a comfortable silence with König's mind now occupied. After a while, you glanced at the Alpha. He was engrossed in the pages well into the starting plot. 

“How is it so far?” 

“So good Schatz. I have not read a novel in a long time, I like it.”

“I'm glad.”

König bent the corner of the page he was on and closed the book. You nearly felt your heart jumped out of your chest.

“Ah! König!!!” You grabbed the book and attempted to straighten the corner out.

“This is a book sin!” You exclaimed.

“Oh? But I have no bookmark.” He gave you an amused look. 

“Ok just ask for one I have many!” You pouted.

“The book isn't hurt.”

“How do you know?” 

König laughed. It was so genuine and hearty that you almost forgot what you were upset about. You turned away and set the book page-side down. König's laughter died down and he looked at you. 

“You're adorable, Schatz.”

“Hmph.” You said. 

König reached around cupping your cheek. You turned to him. It was surprising to see his face a couple of inches away from yours. His eyes were soft as they gazed into yours, he looked down at your lips before capturing yours in a chaste kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the kiss. Your bottom lip slotted in between his in the most delicious way. He pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again. One of his hands slithered around your waist pulling you flush against his torso. The other hand firmly gripped the side of your jaw. 

Your heart pounded so loud you swear he could hear it.

König smiled against your lips. He finally had his Omega. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: Comment to join

@that-fangirl-1106 @itsryuken @y2katsuki

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

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[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter i

Summary: As the sun sets over Winter's Reach, Lord James 'Bucky' Barnes expresses his feelings toward his arranged marriage to the youngest of The Black Widow sisters. Meanwhile, the bride arrives at the Reach.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 926

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A/N: I'm out here writing chapter after chapter when I should be having a writing break. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Winter’s Widow: @lanabuckybarnes | @sapphirebarnes | @sebastians-love |Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The sun dipped below the horizon of Winter’s Reach, casting long shadows across the ancient stone walls. In a secluded corner of the estate, near the training ground stood James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and Prince Steven Rogers, side by side. The evening breeze rustled their cloaks as the two friends spoke in hushed tones, their words carried by the wind.

“I never wanted a bride,” Bucky’s face was set in a frown, his eyes dark and brooding as he confessed. “This union, this marriage… it’s a chain, not a blessing.” His voice was low and edged with bitterness. 

The future king looked at his friend with a mixture of sympathy and firmness. “I understand, Buck. However, alliances are crucial, especially now. House Romanoff’s support is vital for the stability of the kingdom.” 

Scoffing, Bucky’s expression turned cold. “I know. I know it’s about duty and the greater good. I’ve spent my life fighting, not having to deal with courtly niceties and forced smiles.” 

Steve’s gaze softened with understanding. “She has a gentle heart, unknown to the Black Widows of Belova. She wants to make this work, to support you and your house.” 

Anger flashed over Bucky’s eyes. “Support me? She’s a stranger, Steve. A little pawn in this game we’re playing. I didn’t ask for this, and I sure as hell don’t need her support.” 

Choosing his next words carefully, Steve took a silent moment. “I get it, Bucky. But sometimes, we don’t get to choose our paths. You might even find that she’s more than just a pawn.” he nudged his friend's shoulder. 

Bucky turned away, his jaw tightening as he stared out at the darkening sky. “Time is one thing I have little patience for.” He felt a flicker of doubt amidst his bitterness. 

~

The journey had been long and arduous, cold biting through your layers as you rode through the frost-covered landscape. The reach loomed ahead, a fortress of stone and vibranium, standing resolute against the approaching winter. 

Dismounting your horse, your legs ached from the ride. You looked up at the imposing structure. A sense of trepidation settled in your stomach the moment the gates opened. His expression as cold as the frost beneath you, greeted you in the courtyard. You could only assume this was James.

“Welcome to Winter’s Reach,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. His gaze was sharp and assessing as he looked you up and down. “I trust your journey was uneventful.” 

You nodded, trying to hide your unease. “It was long, but the scenery made it manageable.” 

His eyes flickered away, disinterest evident. “My father has arranged for your quarters to be prepared. You’ll find everything you need there.” 

“Thank you, Lord James.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, annoyance crossing his features. “Let’s not pretend this is anything but a political maneuver. Your gratitude is unnecessary.” 

“I understand,” you swallowed hard, his harsh words feeling a sting. “Still, I appreciate the gesture.” 

Turning on his heel, Bucky did not say a word as he led you into the Reach. The silence grew heavy and uncomfortable. A chill seeped into your bones as you looked over the interior, with sparse decorations and dark lighting casting shadows on the stone walls. Depicting past battles and family crests, tapestries hung forlornly.

Stopping abruptly once inside your quarters, he spun around to face you. His eyes pierced through you like ice, holding a brewing storm within them. “This is not what I wanted,” he hissed, leaning down until he was inches from your face. “I never asked for a bride, least of all one forced upon me.” 

You flinched with every word spat, you tried to steady yourself between him and the door. Your heart raced at the proximity, but you fought to remain composed. “I, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t choose this either, my lord.” 

His lips curled into a sneer. “Sorry? Save your apologies. They mean nothing here.” He towered over you as he straightened up. The tension between you was thick and suffocating.

Taking a deep breath, you met his gaze. “I understand your frustration. But we are in this together–”

Scoffing he cut you off, turning away with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Together? Don’t fool yourself. We are bound by duty, nothing more. Do not expect anything beyond that from me.” 

His coldness ached your heart, but you nodded, you could not let his bitterness break your spirit. “Of course, my lord. I’ll do my best to respect your wishes.” 

Without another word, he brushed by you as he walked out of the quarters. His footsteps echoed through the cold, empty hall. You were left standing alone in the vast, unwelcoming space as his presence seemed to pull all warmth from the room. 

Watching his retreating figure, you realized that earning the man’s trust and affection would be a long and arduous journey. You remained determined, despite his resentment, to break through his defenses. Believing that beneath his hardened exterior, lay a heart and soul worth understanding and loving. 

Making your way further into your quarters, the cold stone was a stark contrast to the warmth you hope to bring into this union. A simple bed, a wooden chest, and a small fireplace were the only comforts. You silently vowed to be patient as you tried to settle into your new surroundings. You longed to show Bucky that this forced marriage could become something more. 

For now, you had to navigate the cold terrain of Winter’s Reach, both outside and within the walls of the Reach. 

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[gubsbuubs]

Pacify Her

Pairing: Chip Taylor x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3.5K

Warnings: Drinking, kissing, mention of Chips toxic relationship with Liza, just pure fluff.

Summary: Based on the song Pacify Her by Melanie Martinez. Y/n can’t shake the feeling that she should save her neighbor from his unhappy relationship.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated - request are open 🍒

With dinner plans bubbling in my mind, I sauntered into my garden, hopping down the porch steps. The herbs at the front were calling my name, so I leaned in close, running my fingers over their leaves.

The earthy aroma of soil and blooms enveloped me in a familiar embrace. The setting sun cast long shadows across the street, illuminating the scene with a golden hue.

From the corner of my eye, I glanced between the boards of the fence that separated my house from the neighboring one.

A flicker of movement caught my attention, and I observed as a figure emerged from the house, shoulders slumped and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn-out denim jeans.

It's Chip Taylor, a familiar face, a man worn down by a relationship that seems to drain him of life.

Chip and his girlfriend Liza had moved in a couple of months ago, but it didn't take long for me to realize that she was not the right fit for him. From the start, their relationship seemed marred by toxic behaviors. Most often, it was Liza's voice that echoed through the thin walls of our homes, sharp and cutting as she berated Chip with insults and name-calling. He remained mostly silent, his voice a rare presence in their heated arguments, as he seemed to absorb her words with a quiet resignation. It was clear that she had a mean streak, and it pained me to see Chip subjected to such mistreatment.

Chip was a great guy in every sense of the word. Despite the storm brewing within his relationship, his true nature shone through like a beacon of warmth in our otherwise quiet neighborhood. He had a heart of gold, always going out of his way to make others feel comfortable and valued. His caring nature was evident in the small gestures he made, whether it was offering a friendly smile or lending a helping hand to a neighbor in need.

Beyond his kindness, Chip possessed a sweetness that was infectious. His laughter was like music, filling the air with joy whenever he allowed himself a moment of genuine mirth.

When Liza's sharp tongue is nowhere to be heard, Chip and I relish in each other's company, sharing stories that bring smiles to our faces. It all began with casual chats over the fence, and then, when my faucet started leaking, he offered his handiwork skills without hesitation.

But it didn't stop there. When my washer broke down or when my garage gate refused to close, Chip was there once again, ready to lend a helping hand.

His willingness to assist never failed to impress me. With each random problem that cropped up around my house, Chip was there, offering his support without expecting anything in return.

Now, I could proudly call Chip my friend.

We often share stories over a cup of coffee on my porch swing. Chip appreciated having someone who listened to him, and there I was, gladly fulfilling that role. It was clear that he valued our time together, and I was more than happy to provide a listening ear.

There's a sense of ease and comfort in our conversations, as if we've known each other for years. Chip's laughter fills the air as we exchange stories and bond over special occasions. He seems to be genuinely happy to be around me.

However, there's a noticeable shift in his demeanor when Liza is around.

As soon as he senses her impending arrival, he quickly makes his way back to his own house, eager to avoid any potential confrontation. It's as if he's a different person when he crosses the fence, leaving behind the warmth and openness.

Having shared my opinions on Liza's actions several times before, Chip knew where I stood—that she was often unkind to him and didn't deserve his unwavering loyalty. Despite my concerns, he seemed trapped in a cycle of toxic behavior, unable to break free from the grip of their troubled relationship.

It was hard to understand why he stayed with Liza despite her hurtful behavior. Perhaps he saw something in her that others couldn't, or maybe he held onto the hope that she would change. Regardless, it was evident to those around them that Chip deserved better.

As I observed Chip's weary demeanor, Liza appeared, her sharp features etched in a perpetual scowl.

I observed her as she made her way towards the street where her parked car stood, with Chip trailing closely behind her. "No! You stay here!" she yelled at him, and he obediently remained, abiding by her command, like a dog.

Liza's departure from the house is met with a palpable sense of relief from Chip, evident in the way his shoulders sag and his expression filled with exhaustion. Oblivious to his mood, Liza prattles on about her plans for the evening as she climbs into her car, blasting music as she drives away with an air of self-importance.

Chip walked toward his house with a heavy heart and a heavy sigh, his steps slow and deliberate. Leaning against the column of his porch, he stared off into the distance, admiring the sunset as it painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't even notice me standing just on the other side of the fence, silently watching over him with a mixture of sympathy and concern.

"Hi, stranger," I said softly as I rose from the ground, a handful of fresh herbs cradled in my palm. Peering over the fence, I met Chip's gaze, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Y/N! I didn't see you there," he replied warmly, his eyes meeting mine with a glimmer of appreciation.

I leaned casually against the fence, the scent of basil and rosemary lingering in the air between us. "How's your day been?" I asked, genuinely curious about his well-being.

Chip sighed, his smile fading slightly. "It's been... rough," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground briefly before returning to meet mine. "Liza and I had another argument. She stormed. Said she'd be back by Sunday. Doesn't want to deal with me today." His face scrunched up, as if the discomfort from the situation effected his body too.

I nodded sympathetically, understanding the strain in Chip's voice. "I'm sorry to hear that," I said softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Chip looked up at me, "Thanks," he said, his voice filled with hesitation. "But I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it just yet, but it means a lot that you're here for me." I nodded understandingly, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, how about joining me for dinner tonight? I was just about to cook up a batch of spaghetti and meatballs. It's nothing fancy, but I'd love the company."

Chip's face brightened up at the invitation, a small smile forming on his lips. "That sounds really nice," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I could use some distraction and good food right now." He admitted.

"It smells amazing in here, Y/N" Chip remarked with genuine appreciation as we stepped into my kitchen.

I chuckled and gestured towards the pot on the stove. "Well, I can't take all the credit. My secret ingredient is my grandma's homemade marinara sauce. It's always been a hit" Chip's eyes lit up with curiosity as he leaned in to take a whiff of the delicious aroma.

"I can't wait to try it," he said eagerly, his stomach growling in anticipation. I handed Chip a spoon and watched as he took a small taste of the sauce. His face instantly lit up with delight, confirming that my grandma's recipe was as good as ever.

"This is incredible," he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise as he took a bite of a meatball. "Oh I love homemade meals; this is not something I usually get to eat."

His words struck a chord within me, a reminder of the neglect that Chip seemed to endure with Liza. I could only imagine the lack of care he received when it came to something as basic as food.

"I'm glad you like it, Chip," I replied softly, a pang of sadness tugging at my heart. "It's unfortunate that you don't get to enjoy homemade meals more often."

Chip's expression softened, his gaze meeting mine with a hint of vulnerability. "Yeah, well, Liza and I usually just eat junk or order takeout. It's... not exactly the healthiest or most satisfying option."

"Everyone deserves to enjoy good food, especially when it's made with care and love," I said softly.

It pained me to know that someone so deserving was out there being treated so badly, especially when I knew I could treat him so well.

We decided to eat on the sofa, Chip offered to set the coffee table with plates and cups as I finished preparing the food in the kitchen.

"Wine?" I inquired without glancing away from the stove.

"Most definitely, please," came Chip's prompt reply from the living room.

I smiled to myself, pleased by his enthusiasm. "It's in the fridge, your pick!" I called back, knowing he appreciated the gesture of choice.

With the tray of food in hand, I made my way to the living room and set it down on the table. Chip was there, seated, carefully unscrewing the bottle of wine and pouring each of us a glass.

"Nice pick, Taylor," I remarked, nodding appreciatively at the bottle he had selected.

As the dinner progressed and we chatted and laughed, I couldn't help but notice how Chip really changed when he was around me.

His eyes lit up with each mouthful, and it warmed my heart to see him enjoying it so much.

At one point, he even got a bit messy with the sauce, and I had to gently wipe it off his chin with a napkin. It was a small, intimate moment that made me feel closer to him. As I leaned in, our eyes briefly locked, and there was a fleeting sense of connection that sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't help but smile as I watched him savor every last bite, knowing that I had succeeded in bringing him joy.

His demeanor was totally different from earlier, the tension seemed to melt away from his shoulders, as he leaned back into the sofa, a look of satisfaction gracing his features. With a contented sigh, he raised his glass to his lips, savoring the remaining traces of wine.

When Chip's gaze met mine, I felt a rush of anticipation. His eyes traced the curves of my face with a tenderness that spoke volumes, and then they drifted down to my lips, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

I couldn't shake the feeling that Chip deserved so much more than what he had been getting from Liza. It tugged at my heartstrings—this overwhelming urge to show him that he deserved to be loved and cherished.

"Stay away from things that aren't yours." Liza's voice echoed in my head, a haunting reminder of a previous argument we had. Chip had helped me with something around the house, so I offered him some cookies to take home.

Later that night, I was disturbed by banging on my door and screaming. It was Liza, yelling and screaming uncontrollably. The reason behind her fury? The innocent act of offering cookies earlier in the day.

But in right now I couldn't help but wonder if breaking those rules was worth it, if it meant bringing joy to someone who had been overlooked for far too long.

She had accused me of trying to steal her man, but was he really hers if he wanted me so bad?

After dinner, Chip and I tackled the dishes together, falling into an effortless rhythm. He washed while I dried and stored, our movements synchronized. It felt as if he belonged here, by my side in my house, his presence seamlessly blending with the familiar surroundings.

As we worked, stealing glances and chuckling together, there were these little touches, accidental but electrifying. Each brush of our hands or shared smile sent a jolt of excitement through me, leaving me yearning for more.

As I finished putting away the last dish, a sense of awareness tingled at the back of my mind, prompting me to turn around. There he stood, leaning casually against my sink, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on me with unwavering attention.

"What's on your mind, mister?" I teased, a smile playing on my lips as I faced him.

He chuckled lightly, tilting his head to the side with a soft smile. I could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes, as if he was debating whether or not to share his thoughts.

"I just don't know how to thank you," he admitted, his voice coated with sincerity.

I replied, my smile widening. "It was my pleasure. Just seeing you happy is enough.

“You're always so good to me. You listen to me... You've fed me... You're a good person in my life, and I don't know what I would do without you." Chip's voice cracked, wavering as tears welled up in his eyes “You've shown me kindness when no one else would, and I am forever grateful for that." My heart swelled with warmth as I reached out to him, pulling him into a warm embrace before his emotions could overwhelm him.

"Hey, hey, none of that, no crying" I murmured softly into his chest, my arms wrapped securely around him. "You don't need to thank me for being there for you."

As Chip relaxed into my embrace, his chin nestled against the top of my head, I felt a sense of tranquility wash over us. His warmth enveloped me, comforting and reassuring, as he let out a deep sigh of relief.

With my cheek pressed against his chest, I could feel the racing rhythm of his heartbeat, a frantic drumming that gradually began to steady.

"You know, Y/N" Chip began softly, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between us. "I don't think I've ever felt as happy and appreciated as I do when I'm with you."

His words took me by surprise, and I lifted my head from his chest to meet his gaze.

"You just... you have this way of making me feel seen and heard, you know? Like, I matter." I felt a swell of emotion in my chest at his words, and I reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"You do matter, Chip," I said softly, my voice tinged with sincerity. "Even if she doesn't show you the appreciation you deserve,"

Chip's expression softened at my words, "I know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes it's hard to see things clearly when you're in the thick of it."

I reached out to gently squeeze his cheek, offering him a reassuring smile. "I understand," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. "But you don't have to keep lying to yourself, Chip. You deserve to be with someone who truly loves and appreciates you, someone who sees you for who you are."

Chip's eyes flickered slowly acknowledging the truth in my words.

Chip's reluctance was palpable, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to come to terms with the truth. A shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes. "I... I do love her," he said quietly, his voice hesitant as if trying to convince himself of the truth of his words. "At least, I think I do. I mean, we've been together for so long... It's what's expected, isn't it? But lately, I've been questioning everything."

"Stop lying with those words," I urged, my voice soft but firm. "You know you don't love her."

I sighed, frustration bubbling up within me as I watched him wrestle with his feelings. "She's not good for you, Chip," I confessed, my voice tinged with exasperation. "I can't stand her whining. She's always putting you down, calling you names, and ordering you around. She doesn't deserve you." My voice trailed off into a whisper as I admitted, "Loving her seems tiring."

Chip's hands reached out to cup my face, as my eyes started to water, his touch gentle as he wiped a tear off of my cheek. I felt a sense of comfort wash over me in his embrace. The idea of him being stuck with someone so vile made me sad, and I couldn't help but yearn for him to break free from the toxic cycle he was trapped in.

"I... I don't know what to do," Chip murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching mine for guidance.

"You don't have to figure it out right now, Chip," I reassured him, gently cupping his cheek. "But you know deep down that she's not good for you. You deserve to be with someone who truly sees you and appreciates you for who you are."

" I think I've known that for a while now. Y/N when I'm with you, everything just feels different. It's like I can finally breathe, like I'm truly myself. I've been trying to persuade myself that I love Liza because that's what I'm supposed to do," he paused before continuing, "but deep inside, I've always known that it's you who makes me feel alive."

As Chip's confession lingered in the air, a mix of emotions swirled between us. With a gentle lowering of his head, our noses brushed against each other, and he reached out, pulling me closer to him. One hand found its place on my waist, drawing me in as our lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. The kiss was slow and tender, as if time had momentarily stood still.

But just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Chip pulled away, his eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty, as if he had been taken aback by his own actions.

With a shaky exhale, Chip spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I'm sorry," he murmured, his words filled with regret. "I shouldn't have done that. You're being a good friend, and I took advantage."

"No, Chip," I pleaded softly. "Don't apologize. I wanted that kiss. I've wanted it for so long." And with that, I leaned in once more, closing the distance between us.

Our lips collided in a fierce, urgent kiss, fueled by pent-up desire. It was a messy tangle of tongues and lips, each movement desperate and hungry. His hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer, while mine grasped at his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as if trying to anchor myself to him.

With each passing second, the intensity of our kiss grew, and the heat between us rose to a fever pitch.

As we pulled away, Chip's eyes searched mine, "I... I don't want to go back to my place," he admitted, as he pressed his forehead on mine.

His words sent a surge of warmth through me, and I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heart. "You don't have to," I replied softly, reaching out to take his hand. "You can stay here if you want."

A faint smile played at the corners of Chip's lips, his gaze softening as he squeezed my hand. "I'd like that," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"What about Liza?" I asked softly, unable to shake off the lingering worry about potential complications.

Chip met my gaze, his eyes steady and determined. "She won't be back until Sunday," he replied, his voice carrying a note of finality. "But even if she was, it wouldn't matter. I don't care. You're the one I want to be with."

As our lips met once again, our passion intensified, and we found ourselves slowly making our way to my bedroom.

Chip gently lowered me down onto the bed, his touch firm yet tender. I could feel the heat of his body pressing against mine as he settled on top of me, our bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were made for each other.

Chip's tender caresses traced delicate paths across my skin, igniting a trail of sensation that sent shivers down my spine. His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of my body with a skillful touch that left me breathless. In that moment, worries and inhibitions melted away, replaced by an overwhelming desire. Our bodies moved in harmony, fueled by the raw passion that consumed us.

As clothing fell away, discarded slowly and tenderly, we clung to each other with an unyielding grip. There was no room for hesitation or doubt. Each whispered word and soft sigh added to the symphony of our passion, echoing through the room.

In the embrace of our love, we surrendered to sleep. Bodies entwined, hearts beating as one, we found solace in each other's arms. In that moment, the past and future faded, leaving only the tranquility of the present as we drifted into slumber.

[mistyresolve]

| RTB - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Pilot Reader

Word Count - 3.4k

Summary - The reader is the pilot, AKA Stitch, of an apache helicopter, one the most dangerous, advanced killers in the sky. She’s been the 141′s go-to when they need aerial support for a year. After their latest mission, Ghost seeks out Stitch to offer a special thank you.

Warnings/Tags - 18+ ONLY, swearing, dry humping, switch, unprotected sex, creampie 

A/N - If you haven't already, I would suggest you read Incident Report before this one

Masterlist  ❤︎

Soot and smoke coated Ghost’s tongue and every breath felt like an attack on his lungs. The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder made his head spin. All that combined with adrenaline and anger, it was his life support. He clung to his senses with a feverish need. Rubble and bullet shells littered the ground around them. His once-black uniform took on a greyish hue from all the dust. Sweat rolled down his back and he had to blink it from his eyes. 

Beside him, Price was on the radio, his outrage tangible as he called for aerial backup for a third time, “I’ve got my men pinned here! Where the fuck is my support!”.   

Ghost felt a bullet's heat as it raced past the exposed skin of his neck, leaving behind the ghost of a burn. He ducked down behind the concrete barrier, cursing at himself, “We won’t be able to hold this position for much longer, Price. We need a plan to get us the fuck out of here,” Simon repositioned himself for a better vantage point. Ghost had long since run out of ammo and had resorted to picking up magazines from his dead comrades. He silently thanked every one of them, ripping off the dog tags from the few he could to take back to base with him. 

Price gave him a curt nod, “Chopper is five minutes out. They were diverted from another mission.” his face was grim and every muscle in his body was taut, readying to run for new cover or the bite of a bullet. Five minutes was a lot of time in situations like this, a lot could happen in a matter of seconds. He could die in half that. 

The team was forced into a corner of the compound, and they were getting hammered.  There was nowhere left to go. He kept one eye on the darkening sky beyond the compound's wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the incoming heli. He figured the pilots on board would have reached out by now, but the radio remained utterly and eerily silent. 

He craned his neck, hearing the distant sound of its propellors, but with the ruckus around them, it was difficult to determine exactly how far out it was. Something in his soul urged him to bring his radio to his mouth, “We’re in the southwest corner,” he was speaking to the pilots, who were most likely biding their time before revealing their presence to the enemy. If that were the case they were probably dark, using minimal instruments to keep their profile as discreet as possible. 

Then he saw it. The slightly darker patch of sky. 

Then it was firing, and screams followed. 

And just like that, this fight was shifted in their favour. 

Bursts of orange and red as fire erupted from the helicopter's guns in erratic intervals, and in between they would shift positions, making it nearly impossible to predict where they would shoot from next.           

Then a very familiar voice came across the radio, “Hello boys.”

An involuntary smile split across Ghost’s face.

“You’re fashionably late,” Price quipped back. 

“And here I thought you’d be excited to see us,” you replied as you dipped the heli back behind the walls, using it as cover as you moved closer to the closed gates keeping them from their escape, “Should I knock?”

They didn’t bother with a reply before Dutch let loose, blasting open the gates. You could nearly hear his smile, “Ladies first.”  

Being diverted from a different mission meant you didn’t have nearly enough firepower or fuel to do any real damage, but you could do enough so the soldier below would be able to breathe a little and regain their footing.   

You glanced down at your fuel gauge, cursing, “We’ve got five minutes of fuel before we’re RTB. Give me some targets,” You couldn’t stop yourself from searching the ground below in hopes of seeing a familiar figure.

Someone pointed a laser at one of the watchtowers, marking it and the people within as prey. You angled the aircraft, giving Dutch a clear view of the tower. With the help of the last HELLFIRE missile you had, it was desecrated in a matter of seconds. 

The floodlights that were pointed to the outside of the compound turned on, momentarily blinding you. The enemy used the distraction to shoot back at you. Bullets dinged off the sides of the Apache.

“Smoke!” someone called from over the radio.

“Flares,” your muscle memories kicked in, your thumb finding the appropriate buttons as your eyes still had yet to adjust. Somewhere beyond the cockpit, you heard as your flares interrupt your death. You gritted your teeth, you weren’t sure you had the firepower left to fight this fight, but the thought of leaving those guys down there helpless wasn’t one you were willing to have. 

Your attention snagged on the fuel. 

You didn’t have a choice. You were already cutting it close. 

Dutch listed off what he had left to throw at him. The list was devastatingly short.     

“I have one more good run before I have to turn back.” 

Another laser pointed to a truck on the other side of the now blown open door, a mounted machine gun giving suppressant fire to the ground crew. With that truck, even with the gate opened, they weren’t going anywhere. 

“Copy,” Dutch replied, his head already turned and locking in on the target. He unloaded the last of his rounds into the truck and the surrounding area. 

Reluctantly, you pulled back from the fight, “We’re RTB,” again you search for Ghost amongst the group. Finally catching the flash of white of his skull mask. The nerves that gripped your chest loosened, “And as much as I love these play dates with you guys try and stay out of trouble will you?” 

You’d arrived back to base a few hours ago but still had yet to change out of your jumpsuit. You were immediately dragged into a debrief. You checked your watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since this meeting began.

Task Force 141 has yet to return, and you were beginning to ruminate. While in the sky it was easier to ignore your feelings, having to focus on not being struck by an anti-air and falling out of the sky didn’t allow for such mundane activities. Now that you were on the ground, you had all the time and safety in the world to just think. 

You could say that’s why you loved flying so much. You’d never be able to say it out loud under the fear that you’d be grounded for a month under the mental health act; but, you’d sooner die than give up flying. 

Suppressing a yawn you sat next to Dutch in the room, arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of you. Your eyes grew heavy as you blinked up at the screen before you. You leaned closer to Dutch, “You think they’d notice if I just left?” 

A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth, “Not if you crawled.”

You pinched his thigh, scowling, “You’re a pervert.” 

There were probably twenty other people in this room right now. You could undoubtedly sneak out. 

A shiver raced down your spine, and your instinct told you that someone was looking at you. You peeked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the tall ominous figure standing at the back of the room. His hand still hovering over the doorknob. He jerked his chin to the hallway. A silent invitation to join him. 

Dutch was already rolling his eyes in pretend irritation, “You’re boyfriend beckons you.”

You made a face at him, “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Tell him that.”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning at the idea. You two were by no means together. Not to say that there wasn’t something there that could potentially foster such as relationship, but now wasn’t the right time. Neither of you had the time or the means for it. It would only compromise both of your work. 

And relationships between two soldiers were frowned upon by the higher-ups.  

You stood up silently, kicking Dutches ankles on your way by.   

Ghost slipped out of the room all too silently. You met him just down the hall.

His eyes dipped to your chest and heated. You removed the top of your jumpsuit and tied it around your waist, revealing the plain black tank underneath that did everything right to show off your curves. 

Then he was looking everywhere but you, his shoulders tensing, before he started to walk down the hallway. You fell into pace beside him. 

You check over him, looking for any signs of injury. Once satisfied that you couldn’t find anything you tilted your face up to his, “You guys should've had an aircraft on standby for that mission,” you reprimanded, half annoyed with him for getting into danger. 

He shrugged, “It was supposed to be covert.”

You analyzed his dark uniform, perfect for blending into the night and the shadows. He didn’t have his gun, and he carried his tactical vest in his hand. 

“You guys were lucky we had enough fuel to divert our route. What if we weren’t there?” you bit out, anger flushing your skin. 

He opened a door for you. The door to his accommodations, you realized. You couldn’t help but notice the space still smelled like you. Or your signature scene of eucalyptus and lavender. You’ve been spending a condemning amount of time here, and with him.  

“Good thing we’re lucky,” he pulled at the words with his tongue before turning back to you, eyes flashing to your figure again. His hands reached down to the know that kept your jumpsuit tied to your waist and tugged you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. You could still smell the fight on him. Dirt and smoke. A now familiar smell. 

Your fingers hooked around his belt loops. Heat radiated off of him and warmed your front. Already you were breathless. 

He shook his head, “It’s a damn good thing you were there.”

A question formed and you tilted your head at him, lips parting, “How did you know to tell us where you were? How did you know we were already there?” You had made sure your ETA was skewed to disorientate the enemy if they had access to your guys’ comms.  

“I figured there was a reason you guys were dark,” his hand traced the lines of your body, memorizing the feel of you under his fingers. They twitched impatiently against you. He slowly walked you backwards to the door to his bedroom, taking his time in watching you stumble over your weakening knees. “How can I thank you?” 

If he could read your mind and all the filthy thoughts that popped into your mind, he hid it well. Your ears burned in chagrin. You tugged his shirt out from his pants, diving underneath to touch his skin, “Let me touch you.” 

Ghost bit back a hiss when you dug your nails into his abdomen. He kicked the door closed behind him, reaching back only to lock it. Within seconds, his shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor, his muscles on full display as he did so. Your mouth went dry and the sight and the heat that was just at the tips of your ears shot down between your legs. No amount of time would ever tire you of seeing this man undress. 

Next was his mask, revealing the devilishly beautiful man underneath. The only way you could describe him was as “sinful”. Black still smeared across his features but it only accentuated his features.   

Fuck, you would eat out of the palm of his hand if he told you to. 

Whatever he saw on your face made him look away from you with a shy smile, a breath of a laugh escaping him. 

You brought his face back to yours, and you had to stand on your toes to reach his mouth. You’d be a fool to think that the kiss was anything but greedy. His mouth immediately opened to yours and he tilted your head with a hand to deepen it. You pressed yourself into him, needing to feel him against every inch of you. A calloused hand reached to touch the bare skin under your tank and traced the line of your spine. Your tongue brushed against him, and you turned to liquid.   

He undid the knot of your jumpsuit, and you stepped out of it. Leaving you bare apart from the tank top, a bra, and underwear.

This time, it was your turn to guide him. You took him to his bed, “Lay down.”

He didn’t waste a second and pulled you down with him. You were a tangle of limbs before you planted your knees on either side of his hips. With shaking fingers, you shamelessly outlined the lines and curves of his abs and chest.    

Not once did either of you break the kiss, which had become a mess of breath and lips and teeth.

You pressed your hips into his, finding his own arousal there. He groaned at the pressure, hands flying to your waist, and pulling you harder to him. Already a carnal heat that only showed up when you were with him was building somewhere low in your womb. And even lower still.

God, he felt good.   

He was going to be the death of you. You were going to burn up in his arms until there was nothing left of you but your need for him. 

He paused for a second, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his pants to readjust himself to better align with your strides. You tested, feeling the full length of him pressed to your core, “Carry on,” before his smile could take form it fell away to a hiss when you began a languid pace.  

You rolled yourself down on him, your mouth finding the pulse at his throat and licked a stripe it. 

Simon liked to pride himself on his control over his needs. He wasn’t a teenage boy after all. He was a man who was more than capable of asserting some sort of rule over his body. 

Until just now. 

Right then, his entire mind went blank.

He wasn’t sure if he had inhaled too much smoke or if he over-exerted himself today, but that control was nowhere to be seen. His hands fell to your thighs, allowing you full reign on the speed and intensity. 

You felt a knot at the apex of your tights tighten, and the liquid arousal that accompanied your desire. You hadn’t even cum yet and you were already soaking through your panties and his pants.

Your kisses to his skin turn into hot desperate breaths, and it sent tingles throughout his body. Your moans were like fuel to a flame and it was driving him insane.    

You clung to him, his skin slick with yours and his sweat, as you chased after your climax. He let you use him however you needed. Some ludicrous and giddy part of him revelled at the fact that he wasn’t even inside you and you were still half-wild for him. 

Suddenly, your pace stuttered and became erratic. That knot finally loosened and you melted onto him, your body twitching, but you maintained some form of a rhythm.   

You pulled back to look at him, his eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lips pulled between his teeth.   

You felt him jerk under you, pressing himself impossibly closer to you, his mouth falling open into a downright filthy moan. 

You welcomed the wet warmth between him and you that followed. 

You chased after his release with him. 

You also came back down with him, slowing down to a purr on top of him. 

He was breathless, his body jolting with every change of direction.

He would have been a little embarrassed for cumming in his pants if it hadn’t felt so fucking good. 

“So sensitive,” you crooned, drawing a line from his heart to the line of hair that faded into the cover of his pants. At first, you weren’t sure he heard you, but then he was growling and flipping you off him. You were face down on the bad, trapped underneath him, his knees moving to spread your legs apart. 

“Shouldn’ve said that,” he snarled, his voice dangerous. 

He pressed himself into your backside. 

He was still devastatingly hard. 

You whimpered into his bed, arching your back.

A hand slapped your clothes pussy and you mewled at him in understanding. 

Do. Not. Move.

Then the fingers of the same hand outlined your folds over the already damp fabric, focusing on your clit. With his weight on top of you giving your lungs little room to expand and the fact that your brain was short-circuiting your breaths become shallow and unproductive.

He pressed his fingers into your cunt, the only thing keeping him from actually entering you was your panties. 

You writhed, desperate for friction. A second slap against your heat stilled you. 

“Ohmygod,” you breathed, your legs trembling.

He pushed the cursed fabric down your legs, stopping at your knees. His fingers delved into the slickness there. He swore, almost impressed with how wet you actually were. 

Spread your arousal everywhere, across your folds, the sides of your thighs, up to the rounds of your ass. He wanted you a mess in his bed. And you were. You weren’t sure if you were drooling or not, but there was a high chance you were. 

Then his attention was back at your core, finger sliding into you without so much as a warning. Your greedy pussy tightened around his fingers, milking them as if they were his cock. His approving groan was nearly enough to send you over the edge. He was whispering naughty, impish things into your ear. Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made to want to scream.  

Still sensitive from before, it didn’t take much from him to entice another orgasm from you. Time wrapped but it couldn’t have been less than a minute before you were spasming around his fingers, and your mind was momentarily fried. 

He was whispering in your ear. Your comprehension went out the window so didn’t know what he was saying but from the tone of his voice, he was mocking you. 

You felt him shift so he was behind you. He attempted to knock your legs further apart but your panties were still locked around your knees, tying them together. 

You felt something warm and velvety soft tap at your entrance. Once, twice. He slid his cock between his fld, coating himself in you. 

He asked you a question, probably for permission. The thought that you could string together a coherent sentence right now was laughable. You weren’t even sure you could be trusted to provide your own name. 

You could only nod and with your last dregs of will, lift your hips to his.     

There was no amount the sex or foreplay that could prepare you for the sheer fucking size of him. He wasn’t just long, not that his eight inches was something to roll your eyes at, but he was thick. Thick enough that when you took him into your mouth, your jaw would ache for days afterward. He was always gentle and never shoved himself inside you like an animal, but you still needed a few seconds to catch your breath each time.  

The broken sound that same out of you was naughty, and Simon had to bite his lip to keep from cumming from the sound alone. You were also impossibly tight, but he’d be damned if he got bested by you a second time tonight. 

He cruised into a fast pace, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The tip of his dick hit your cervix with every thrust. And with every retreat, he brushed against your g spot.  

In these moments, there was only him. Only the sounds of his breath, and the feel of his skin. It made him addicting. When with him, especially like this, it was like a moment of reprieve from worries and stresses in life. 

The world could be ending and you wouldn’t care. There could be air raids and a fire outside your door and you would still feel completely safe with him. Death and hurt couldn’t reach you when you were in his arms.  

His rhythm faltered when you squeezed around him, and he cursed, his arms moved from your ass to brace around you. He just arms shook to keep from crushing you.  

He could feel you quivering, both around him and beneath him as your third orgasm approached. 

You were going to be the death of him, and he didn’t mind one bit. 

You writhed under him as you reached your undoeing, unsure if you wanted him further in or out of you.  

You could feel his seed spurt out of him, and coat your inner walls. You could feel his cock twitch with every spray. 

He started to slow, letting you reel yourself back into your body. You were spooled out across his bed, onto the floor, floating in the air. 

He slid off the bed, carefully tucking himself back into his pants. Which, only now did you realize he didn’t have the patient to remove. He was all wandering eyes and a rueful grin. He was slightly out of breath when he spoke, “So sensitive.” 

A/N: You like that?

[cr4yolaas]

to be fragile — iwaizumi hajime

synopsis: to be gentle is foreign to iwaizumi hajime. you teach him through the seasons.

content: angst, bittersweet fluff. fast burn. implied childhood friends (rdr and iwa). pre-relationship, implied post-relationship at the end. timelines are probably incorrect (i haven’t read the manga in a long time). iwaizumi is probably ooc. gender neutral reader. miscommunication and pushing each other away. coworker akaashi. not proofread.

notes: this was a spur of the moment fic. the pacing is very very swift and somewhat cheesy and i kinda just blew through everything in one go, because i didn't really plan any of this out LOL. hope u enjoy :)

SPRING, 2014

Iwaizumi had always been rough around the edges.

From youth, his shoulders had been burdened with the weight of the world, a result of his overbearing desire to be reliable. It grew increasingly evident as he aged. Even more so when he faced you in the middle of the airport.

“Are you not going to say anything?”

He turned around, his luggage following suit. The crowd swayed around you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his gaze cast to the floor. “I just thought-”

“Hajime.”

Iwaizumi was not delicate. He was not fragile, nor gentle, nor vulnerable. But the call of his name from your lips rendered him a fool.

He watched as you approached him, your fists tight around the strap of your bag. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me anything.” Your footsteps came to a clean halt before him. “I’m sorry if I did something that made you uncomfortable to share this with me. But if all this — pushing me away and leaving without so much as a goodbye — is because you thought it would be better, I don’t want to hear it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, pretending you didn’t read his intentions. His hand found its way to the hem of his shirt, a tell of his anxiety.

Another apology spilled from his tongue, this time quieter, softer. He braced himself for impact: for tears, for a harsh scolding, anything. Instead, he found himself in your embrace.

“I’m upset you didn’t say anything. But,” you paused, your grip around him tightening. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. Just text me, okay?”

Iwaizumi could only nod. He watched as you released yourself, allowing your fists to return your bag and your eyes to drift away. He waved goodbye, in silence, when you turned around and walked towards the exit. He sat with a heavy heart when your figure was no longer visible, and all he had left to do was wait at his gate.

The promise of a brighter future — one full of success, and passion, and growth — was impossible for Iwaizumi to turn away. Even if it meant casting aside his heart and leaving it in Japan to ache. Even if it meant shouldering the burden of being alone. He never wanted you to see it, in fear of you harboring distaste for him.

When he sat in the plane, Iwaizumi Hajime chewed at his cheek, once more, for he realized he had hurt you in exchange.

FALL, 2019

Against the pleas of his friends, Iwaizumi refused to celebrate his return to Japan. Instead, he found himself searching for you.

His feet were heavy against the asphalt, each second of contact solidifying the gravity of the moment. You sent him your address before he boarded the plane, but before that, there was minimal contact, save for awkward messages checking in on one another out of obligation. Regardless, the dull ache in his chest strung him to your front door.

You opened the door before he could knock.

"Hajime?" you whispered, the syllables of his name seeping from the cracks between your teeth all too easily.

He didn't know where to put his hands, didn't know how to look at you. His fingers found solace in the inseam of his hoodie pocket (which was barely hanging on). The speech he had written during his flight had slipped from his mind, leaving him silent.

You welcomed him in anyways. You had a tendency to do that — to accept him without question. Even if it felt wrong.

"Take a seat anywhere," you spoke, although your attention was elsewhere. The hum of the kettle was the only noise in the room, save for the shuffling of your slippers against the tile or the buzz of the air conditioning. A packet of green tea sat in each mug.

You sat parallel to him. As if to calm your nerves, your hands made their way around the porcelain, the heat of the tea spreading throughout your palms. Iwaizumi slouched in his seat, taking small sips from his mug to make himself look busy. To conceal his fear.

"How was it?"

His eyes darted up to yours, then to the side, then back down to his tea. "It was different. It's warmer there, and the people are louder. I met a lot of good people there, though. I think you would've liked it."

A hum reverberated in your throat. You didn't know how to convey it: your joy at his return, at the fact that you were the first person he chose to see, at him being within arm's reach.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have left like that. I felt like shit afterwards." I missed you.

You smiled warmly, the upturn of your lips filling his lungs with burning hot ichor. "It's alright. I got over it, anyways. I'm just happy you're back." I missed you, too. "What do you plan on doing now?"

"I'm gonna start working with the men's national team, as their trainer. I think I'll-"

"No, I meant, do you have a place to stay? Food to eat?"

He looked away, again, before shaking his head ashamedly. You laughed at his chagrin, your chin slotting itself into your palm. "Stay with me, then."

✧.*

A week passed. Iwaizumi wedged himself back into your life, with ease, after disappearing for five years. Your routine made room for him, now — grocery shopping, for two; breakfast, for two; laundry, for two. You did your best to ensure that he was comfortable, that the guilt from years ago would wash away. And yet, despite your efforts, he was cold. Distant, almost, even though he was around you all the time.

You feared the worst. That, while away, he realized how little he enjoyed your presence. That he wouldn't contact you again once he settled back in completely. That the silly feelings you had burrowed in the underwater reservoir of your heart would resurface, only to be shut down.

His voice in the kitchen pulled you out of your thoughts. You laid on the couch in silence, the calls of your name doing little to quell your worries. "I found an apartment close to my job," he muttered, the words blending in with the stream of water from the sink. "I'll be ready to move out within a few days. I'll let you know when."

"So soon?" you responded absentmindedly.

You watched him pivot towards you, his face blank but his eyes telling. "What do you mean?"

"I feel like I've seen you for such a small amount of time, and you're already leaving. Again." You sat up and met his gaze, calculative as ever. A sigh unleashed itself from his lips, the glass in his hands meeting the countertop.

"I don't want to rely on you too much," he whispered. "I can't. I just- I need to steady myself first." He nibbled at the flesh inside his cheek when you frowned. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to force you to take care of me. You don't have to do that."

"It's not a burden, really. I'm happy to be here for you, I'm happy to even see you after so long. I don't want you to feel like you have to rush yourself into everything."

Iwaizumi shook his head softly, his decision finalized long before the conversation had begun. He escaped to his room before you could protest. His heart sung of somber tunes and a loneliness he could not describe, a result of his never-ending guilt upon leaving you time and time again. He could not help the white hot tears staining his cheeks, nor the heavy breaths escaping his throat. Calloused hands pawed away at his eyes, and once again, Iwaizumi realized he had hardened himself far too much for your liking. He was always too far, too absent. He hated it. And yet, he felt it was necessary; he felt like he would lose himself if he allowed for a moment of rest.

"Hajime?" your voice called from outside his door. "I'll help you pack, okay? Just know I'm here. I'm always here."

He loathed how vulnerable you left him. He hated the fluttering in his stomach, the airiness in his head, the warmth of his skin from every word you spoke. It was a foreign taste on his tongue, one he wished to wash away every time it bubbled to the surface, but it haunted him endlessly. Distance would make him feel less weird, less weak, he figured.

Within a day, Iwaizumi Hajime had moved out of your apartment, this time leaving a small letter thanking you for your care and a bill that was much too unreasonable.

SUMMER, 2020

The heat beat down on your back in waves. Pinpricks of sweat cascaded down your back, evidence of your growing exhaustion.

In the heart of Tokyo, beneath a canopy of trees that accompanied each bustling building and towering skyscraper, a cafe nestled itself in the middle of a busy shopping district. You stood behind the bar five days a week, from nine to five, like clockwork. Akaashi Keiji — a face you barely knew from glances in high school — stood beside you every shift. He spoke minimally, save for rambles shared during late nights in which you were both tired and overwhelmed; all you knew of him was his career as an editor and his tendency to overthink. That was all you needed. Nothing more.

Iwaizumi's name hadn't left your lips since the day he left. The pieces of his being drifted away from you all too naturally. The lack of explanation left too much room for assumption — you believed he hated you or had something to hide from you, anything of that sort. But his existence lingered every now and then — mentions of his work on the news, an ad promoting the Men's National Volleyball Team, a post on social media with his account tagged in it. Efforts to abandon the taste of him on your tongue were all for naught, for he lived in every dusty corner of your life.

As if to haunt you once more, the television propped up on the wall featured his face, tanned and bright and sweaty, an interview about the team's upcoming match playing out on screen. You looked away. Akaashi's eyes followed yours.

"He talks about you sometimes," the boy muttered. His attention was drawn to the wet glass in his hands, his movements nearly robotic as he dried each curve and bump. "Bokuto tells me about it, on occasion. How your name pops up during practice for no reason whatsoever."

You tilted your head from its spot between your sweaty palms. "What does he say? About me?"

He placed the cup down on the counter, his wet cloth forgotten alongside it. Akaashi leaned against his back against the marble before explaining, "Lots of things, apparently. He says he feels bad for leaving you all the time, something along those lines. Bokuto says he never explains anything further than that, though."

You copied his position, the countertop cold against your back. Your jaw grew tense from how tightly you clenched it. The methodical fidgeting of your fingers against the hem of your shirt kept you calm, each thread of cotton consoling the ache bubbling in your stomach. "I hate that. I just- why can't he talk to me? Why does he feel the need to talk about me?"

Akaashi shook his head. "I don't know. Bokuto doesn't understand it either; he says its cuts into their practice time and it gets worse every other day." You didn't notice the drink he prepared for you in the midst of your conversation. The ice soothed your nerves, and you thanked him softly. "I don't think he hates you, for how much he talks about you. I think he just doesn't know where to put his feelings, or how to handle them."

His analysis forced you into silence. Quietly, you began to clean up the counter together, making room for the evening shift. The interview finally came to a close, and the screen flashed to an advertisement for women's hair care.

The bus ride home — which you routinely shared with Akaashi — was spent in thoughtful stillness. His words cycled through your mind, each statement making its rounds before settling in the depths of your chest. Your stop always came before his, and small waves of goodbye were shared before you began ascending the steps to your apartment.

Iwaizumi's contact burned brightly on your phone screen. You never did block him, despite your desperation to do so, in fear that he would contact you in any way. He never did.

You thumbed the call button, with hesitance. It rang three times in your ear before he picked up, the timber of his voice unfamiliar to you.

"What's up?" he answered, all too casually.

"Come over, please."

✧.*

You sat adjacent to him, cross-legged on the carpet in front of your couch. His knees were strewn up to his chests with heavy arms wrapped around them, akin to a child.

"Akaashi told me about you," you mumbled, the words tumbling out of your mouth in quiet jumbles. "He said you talk about me, a lot."

Iwaizumi looked at you briefly before turning his head away. "Yeah."

"Why do you keep leaving? Without saying anything?"

"I don't want you to see me at my worst," he began, his voice resolute yet wavering with anxiety. "I'm at my weakest when I'm around you. You don't need to see that."

Your lips parted, your shock plastered on your face. "I don't understand." He buried his head into his knees while you rambled on. "I just want you to be comfortable. That's all I've ever wanted — to see you truly at ease, at rest, for once. I don't mind." The words spilled too quickly, too rapidly.

An admission of your affection in the midst of your rant nearly slipped past him. His hands, once lost, found their way to your face, his marred skin rough against yours. Your speech died on your tongue, your breath cutting short and falling to a stop. "Hajime?" you whispered, and again, as always, your call of his name dissolved the composure ingrained deep within his bones.

His lips slotted themselves against yours, naturally, as if he were born to do so. The delicacy was alien to his being, for he had only known resilience for years upon years. As you had wished, he felt relaxed. At ease. Fragile, almost. He let go too soon, his hands returning to the ground and his eyes falling to the floor. An apology fell from his mouth.

He prepared himself for the worst. Instead, you smiled at him, toothily, and promised him that it would be okay. That he was allowed to be vulnerable. And finally, he smiled back, his lips curling up tenfold.

WINTER, 2022

Iwaizumi sat on your couch, his back heavy against the cushions. His arms stretched out before him, and under your gaze, each scar and bruise on his flesh was on display. A bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze were propped up against your legs.

"How did this happen?" you questioned, a lilt of jest to your voice.

"Got into a fight with a guy," he mumbled, wincing only slightly when the alcohol dropped onto his wounds. "Not on the job, if that's what you're gonna ask. We were out and he said some stupid shit. Had to knock some sense into him."

"Uh huh," you muttered under your breath. You wrapped the bandage around his arm daintily, the pressure just enough for him to breath in. "And look where that got you."

He sighed at your remarks, opting to observe rather than retaliate. Your hands were soft, a contrast to his own, and each ghost of your fingertips against his skin left him dizzy. "All done," you exclaimed quietly. He watched as you stood up from your spot on the ground, all while scooping up each tool into your arms. You disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone in your living room, his arms covered with your gauze.

Iwaizumi Hajime was always rough around the edges. To be gentle was unfitting for him, and he had always lived in such a manner. And yet, around you, he found himself seeking fragility. He yearned for each tidbit of sensitivity and vulnerability you rung out of him, for he adored the smile that adorned your lips in return. He had learned delicacy from you. And that was more than enough.

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (10) - Crying Lightning

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 4.6k

-Uninviting, but not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are-

“Are you going to tell me what happened two nights ago?” Wednesday’s question made you lower the book you were reading.

You sighed and got up from your bed. The lights in Wednesday and Enid’s part of the room were already dimmed as Wednesday set up candles and whatever else she needed to hold a séance. “I got attacked,” you knew better than to try and keep silent. Frankly, you were surprised Wednesday didn’t bring it up sooner.

She just turned to look at you, obviously not impressed by your very detailed explanation.

The look in her eyes made you look away as you leaned against the wall in her part of the room. “I went to mayor’s office, I thought I could dig up some information on all of this in the archive. Maybe figure out how all of this connects? Crackstone, the Gates family, that message burned onto the lawn, that monster, it can’t all be a coincidence, and then when I typed in ‘Fire will rain’ I felt that…” you still didn’t know how to describe whatever or whoever you saw.

“The one that attacked you,” Wednesday spoke up, causing you to nod.

“Can’t you give up? I don’t want that to happen to you as well and I’m not dumb enough to think it was an accident,” you finally looked at her again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d let this case go. But she didn’t see that. Those eyes. The chill… it felt as if you were one moment from dying, as if your entire existence was left to the mercy of the one who attacked you.

No. Attack would imply actual effort. You didn’t even see it coming, you were effortlessly, utterly defeated and outclassed in every possible way.

Your dad was stronger than you, faster than you, had better range and control over his lightning. Being a raiju meant you were more dangerous than most outcasts, but as far as other raiju went, you weren’t even average.

You could still follow your dad. You could still understand and somewhat quantify the difference between the two of you.

You couldn’t even comprehend the difference between you and the one who attacked you.

“I’m not going to give up just like that,” yet Wednesday remained stubborn, surely this wasn’t worth losing her life. You should have known her by now.

“Why do you even care about Nevermore in the first place?” you still couldn’t understand why it mattered to her to stop the school’s demise. She hated this place when she came here, saying she was forced to be here, she planned on running away and now she wanted to save it?

Wednesday paused for a moment. “It’s a challenge, I’m not backing away from one. You are free to stop involving yourself with me. In fact, I would prefer it if you did that,” she began lighting the candles and from where you were you couldn’t see her face.

Well, that stung. It stung way more than you were willing to admit to yourself. It wasn’t like you needed Wednesday’s approval, but her all but telling you to leave her alone just like that didn’t leave you entirely unaffected. “Right, I’ll leave you to,” you motioned to the candles and the Ouija board with the name ‘Goody’ written on it. “this,” maybe she just wasn’t in the mood.

Well, if that was what she wanted, maybe you really should give her some space. So, with that in mind, you went outside through the window and zapped to the roof. It was a nice, slightly cold night, with clear skies, meaning there wouldn’t be any storms tonight. Hell, you might even spend the night there.

You didn’t think you were delusional. In fact, you thought you had a fairly acceptable read on people, even ones as closed off as Wednesday. She cared, in her own way, and maybe she only showed it when you couldn’t see it, but she did. She stayed by your side the whole night, and for Wednesday that was huge. And the dance, and letting you keep her knife, and all the other small ways you managed to catch her showing you she cared.

You frowned, glaring at the stars and the Moon. Tomorrow was thirteenth, Wednesday’s birthday, and somehow, something just shifted between you two and there was a rift you weren’t sure how to deal with. Wednesday preferred being alone, sure, and you figured she wasn’t used to caring about people. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but a part of you thought that maybe, just maybe, she was trying to push you away because she wasn’t sure how to deal with those emotions. Or maybe you really were being delusional and were coping with the possibility that Wednesday plain and simple didn’t care and that she found your presence in her life annoying.

But she showed she cared. Thing said she cared!

You couldn’t help but groan, closing your eyes in frustration.

Why was she so complicated?!

~X~

Annoyed.

That’s what Wednesday was right now.

A surprise birthday party? A complete waste of her time, though an impressive subterfuge by whoever came up with this plan. Enid, likely, as others wouldn’t bother with this much planning, and you wouldn’t plan something that involved getting across the lake. Why were all these people here, anyway? They were Enid’s friends, well, most of them, she was sure Xavier was there because he liked her for whatever reason.

Still, she should have realized something wasn’t right when she saw the magazine cutouts used for the message. She didn’t pay enough attention to all the possibilities.

You not being there threw her off. Since it was Cracstone’s crypt going there would mean taking the boat and you wouldn’t approach that much water to save your own life, let alone for a surprise birthday party. So, despite Thing missing and suspicious invitation, she assumed you’d be there as well if her birthday was the reason behind the invitation.

Perhaps that was the logic behind your absence as well. That you being there might tip Wednesday off. Or perhaps she was giving whoever thought of this too much credit and you simply refused to face your greatest fear just to attend a party you probably knew Wednesday would despise.

Either way, her time was wasted, she was pushing you away successfully, and while that should have made her happy it was actually making her feel very irritated, and people she couldn’t care less about expected her to celebrate her birthday with them. If Enid absolutely had to throw her a surprise party, couldn’t she have done it in your own room, with just the four of you there. Wednesday might have even tolerated that enough to cut the cake.

Writing on the crypt caught her attention. “Wait, that’s Latin,” she knelt on one knee to take a better look. “Fire will rain, when I rise,” she translated.

“Okay, that’s not really a wish,” Enid said, but Wednesday was already too focused on the phrase to consider that. Maybe this wasn’t a complete waste of time after all.

“The first part of that was burned onto Nevermore’s lawn, it can’t be a coincidence,” she reached forward, touching the stone with the tips of her fingers and then it happened. The same sensation as her other visions overtook her and she found herself on the ground.

“Crackstone is coming,” she heard as she opened her eyes and realized she was in front of a gate she didn’t recognize.

“Goody,” she recognized the woman behind the gate and now that she wasn’t focused on other things happening in her vision, she realized it was almost like she was looking in a mirror. The only actual difference was the blonde hair. The height, the face, the resemblance was undeniably disturbing.

“You’re the Raven in my bloodline,” she spoke and disappeared. “Wednesday,” she appeared next to Wednesday.

Wednesday turned to her, finally she could ask what she wanted. “I was told you could teach me how to control my ability,” maybe that way she could at least predict when a vision would happen.

“There is no controlling a raging river. You must learn to navigate it without drowning. Time is not on our side,” she turned to the gate. “To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek.”

No teaching then, the dead were as disappointingly insistent on wasting her time as the living. “Do you always speak in riddles?” she questioned, annoyed by the lack of clarity.

“Do you always seek simple answers?” Goody replied immediately.

That irked her, for more than one reason. “Like using a raiju? I won’t do that,”

“You have no time for other solutions. Raiju is your best weapon,” there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, just because Goody more than likely used her raiju. Not even her mother telling her many believed Goody was in love with him persuaded Wednesday to understand Goody.

She wasn’t in love with you, yet she refused to use you, to put your life in danger. “Y/N isn’t my weapon,” she wasn’t budging on this, she was adamant on standing her ground on this, no matter how unreasonable it would sound to Goody.

“She will be, when you realize this is bigger than one life,” driven mad by her desire for vengeance, Goody couldn’t stop herself, she couldn’t stop even if stopping meant she could keep her raiju by her side.

Wednesday glared, not only did Goody say she couldn’t teach her, but she also spoke as if Wednesday should just throw you into danger and Wednesday wouldn’t do that. No matter what Goody said.

“Do not grow attached to your raiju. The path of a Raven is a solitary one. You end up alone, unable to trust others, only seeing the darkness within them,” Goody warned her.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she could already only see darkness in most people. And being alone was the best outcome for Wednesday. Even if lately, she found herself enjoying your and Enid’s presence, much more than she ever would have guessed she was capable of. The two of you left your marks on her, and she didn’t despise it.

“It should,” she vanished as if she was made of smoke. “Use your raiju,” her last words echoed and Wednesday despised how Goody went from saying ‘a’ raiju to ‘your’ raiju.

~X~

Wednesday’s attempts to push you away seemed to be failing miserably, as you casually approached her first thing in the morning with a long black box in hand.

“Hey, birthday girl,” you offered her a cheeky grin, confidently striding over to her table. At least you didn’t wish her happy birthday or open with the song, though being called ‘birthday girl’ was nearly as bad.

“Don’t call me that,” she warned, causing you to raise your hands in mock surrender.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you set the box on her table and took a step back. “I know things have been a bit, awkward, I guess, between us, but it’s your birthday, so I figured we can set it aside?” maybe she misread your confidence, because now that she properly looked you in the eyes she saw a hint of weakness, an uncertainty you were trying to cover up.

Doubt.

Her attempts were working, it wouldn’t take much longer to break your resolve.

It still didn’t feel as good as she hoped it would.

“Thank you,” she still thanked you as she carefully took the box, feeling the weight in her hands, it wasn’t too heavy, it was definitely lighter than it looked, so likely something that couldn’t be packed in a more convenient package. She glanced at you once more before opening the box. When she saw what was inside it, not even she could hide her surprise.

“I did take one of your own, so I figured this was only fair,” you rubbed the back of your head sheepishly as she pulled the knife out of the box. It was a work of art, its weight perfect and handle perfect for a firm grip regardless of the intended use of the knife. The sheath was made of leather, light gray with black stripes. Wednesday pulled the knife out of it and slid her fingers across the side of the blade. The pitch-black steel looked sharp and the handle, decorated with light gray stripes, similar to those of a tiger, looked as if it was personalized. Was it one of your own knives? Wednesday knew you had your own collection, because you used them to zap around so you naturally developed an interest in knives, at least that was how you explained it when she asked.

“Was this your own knife?” she asked.

“It felt like the only gift worth giving,” you still wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and you clearly weren’t going to explain any further, so Wednesday didn’t push, at least this time.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, setting the knife next to her typewriter.

You smiled, as if realizing how sincere her gratitude was, and took a couple of steps forward before crouching down and resting your forearms on her table. “Okay, I’m not going to ask you to confirm this, but I’ve been thinking, and I think you are dealing with something in your own way, and I might be wrong, but I feel like I should give you space.”

Somehow Wednesday’s cold dead heart sped up, hammering nails into her chest from the inside so hard she nearly looked down to see if nails were really coming out of her.

“I’ll give you all the space you want, but I’ll be right there,” you pointed your thumb behind you, toward your part of the room. “So, if you need or want me to go somewhere with you, I will,” you paused, or finished, but it sounded like you were just pausing. Still, you got back up so maybe you were done. “Just, if you think it might be dangerous, please let me come with you,” you requested, your gaze so soft Wednesday was now absolutely certain nails were about to pierce through her chest.

She needed to put a stop to this, because she had no control over what was happening between you two and that disturbed her, and not in a good way.

But before she could say anything you continued. “Oh, yeah, uh, I shouldn’t say this, but heads up, Enid’s gift is… something, yeah, let’s go with that,” you chuckled uncomfortably, and that was the only warning Wednesday would get. Granted, it was more than enough for her to mentally prepare, but nothing could have prepared her for what Enid called a snood.

Not even her composure kept her jaw from dropping.

She wondered what kind of threat or blackmail you managed to use to avoid wearing one too, since the blonde werewolf clearly complained about you refusing to wear your own.

~X~

Wednesday Addams was a constant source of worry, and you were just fully realizing that. “Did you just say she was in the back of mayor’s car when he got hit by a car?” you repeated what Enid just told you with your head clutched between your hands. How could one person go through so many things? That would probably remain a mystery to you.

“Wednesday!” Enid exclaimed when Wednesday came back, looking like nothing happened. Like there was no need to worry about what she saw. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m perfectly fine, in fact, it was on my bucket list,” of course it was. She met your worried gaze just for a moment and then made her way to her table to, soon enough, start her writing time. You figured you could give her some time, just like how she gave you some time after you were attacked.

You knew it wasn’t entirely fair to make a fuss about Wednesday sneaking out, when you did the same thing. Still, you were a raiju, in theory you could have dealt with almost anything, or at least escaped if needed. Wednesday was, aside from her vision, almost a normie.

So, you decided to give Wednesday a day to process every thought she had regarding what she saw.

You didn’t expect the next time Wednesday would speak to you would be while she was in the bathroom, calling you to come inside. And then, just as you stepped inside, the world went black.

~X~

You woke up to the feeling of excruciating pain as your body instinctively held the lightning in from bursting through. “Damn it, Wednesday!” you yelled, feeling the anger rise as you realized you were tied up in a bathtub filled with water. At least she placed you there in a way that didn’t allow you to drown.

She should have. Because you were going to be beyond angry when you got out. That is if you could. Sure, you could probably damage the ropes, but Thing was right there, guarding you and making sure you weren’t capable of bursting through with lightning. He was too close for a burst of lightning to actually work and set you free without hurting Thing in the process.

“Thing, buddy come on, get away so I can get free,” you pleaded, gritting your teeth as the pain increased. You were submerged up to your chest, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to stay in control over your lightning. If it continued like this you might actually shift right in the bathroom. Thing, however, refused, leaving no space for arguments as he confirmed his loyalties were primarily to Wednesday.

“Wednesday when I see you again,” you didn’t intend to give her space like this! How could she even do this to you?! Knowing full well what leaving you in water would mean for you! Insistent knocking on the window made your eyes widen. Maybe this torture could end.

“Wednesday!” Xavier called out, clearly from within the room. Usually, you’d complain about his nerve, but now you really didn’t care.

“Xavier! Get over here and grab Thing for me!” you yelled back and took a couple of deep breaths to make sure you were still in control over your lightning as he came in with his eyes covered. “You kinda need your eyes, and I have my clothes on, you dumbass,” you rolled your eyes, no longer having patience for any of this.

He opened his eyes and rushed outside the bathroom right away. You were expecting too much. “How did you even end up in that situation?!” he demanded, his voice filled betraying his panic and fear.

“Wednesday happened to me!” you snapped at him, glaring at Thing since he was the next best option with Wednesday gone for now. “Thing probably knows where she is, so go ahead and deal with that, just get him out of the bathroom,” you demanded.

You could hear Xavier taking deep breaths before rushing in and trying to grab Thing. Thing easily dodged him, but Xavier remained persistent and a few minutes later you could set yourself free. Now all that was left was to deal with Wednesday.

Thing gave in and revealed to Xavier Wednesday’s location, and you couldn’t help but glare at Thing. Seriously? Xavier got to know and you didn’t?! “I’m going after Wednesday. Do you want to come with me or-“ he stopped talking the moment he saw your glare. “I guess not. That’s fine! I’ll leave you alone!” he raised his arms, surrendering as he back away as quickly as he possibly could.

Xavier left you alone, knowing better than to stay close to you right now, especially since you were seething. Pushing you away was one thing. This? This was a whole other thing. You nearly tore your clothes off before grabbing a towel to dry off. And then you sat down at your table, your anger not fading even a fraction by the time Enid came back into the room, clearly distraught.

“What happened?” you were honestly surprised with how calm you sounded.

“Wednesday happened! She took me and Tyler to the Gates mansion and the monster was there! We could have died, Y/N! Tyler got hurt! Wednesday doesn’t care, she just wants to solve her mystery!” Enid cried out, and any other time you would have comforted her, you would have tried to calm her down, this time you just left the room, nearly slamming the doors behind you.

~X~

Somehow, Wednesday managed to avoid getting expelled, and she managed to avoid getting Enid and Xavier into trouble. It was a close call, and Tyler could have died, but she was one big step closer to solving this case. That was all that mattered, and she’d figure out how the mansion got cleared of all the evidence so quickly, she just needed to sit and think about it. Just as she was about to head toward her room and leave Weems to keep fuming the principal stopped her.

“Why didn’t you take Y/N?” the question made her freeze for a moment before she turned to look at Weems.

“I just chose not to,” she said, not willing in the slightest to talk about the reasons and emotional turmoil you caused her lately.

Weems studied her, looking like she had something to say, but chose to remain silent and Wednesday took that as a sign of dismissal. So, she walked away, the night was over, shecould go over the positive results tomorrow.

She was naïve to think this night was over.

“Wednesday!” she froze near the top of the stairs. This was the first time she heard you that angry. Thing warned her you would get angry at her over what she did, she just didn’t realize just how angry you’d get. She didn’t see this kind of anger even when you faced Rowan.

Wednesday guessed your eyes were red and she was… wrong. They were flashing between red and orange.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” you stopped right at the top of the stairs as Wednesday climbed up the rest of the way.

“I was making sure you were giving me space,” she wasn’t going to show weakness to you. She wasn’t afraid, but she didn’t feel good either.

You snorted at that, clearly not happy with that response. You turned away from her, perhaps not even able to look at her with how angry you were. “It that how you call it? First you put me through pain and nearly forced me to shift and now you put Enid in danger! Both of you could have died!” you clenched your fists.

“No one died and-“ before she could finish her sentence you spun around and pointed your finger at her, nearly jabbing her in the chest.

“No! This is where you shut it! You’ve seen what that monster did to Rowan, you’ve seen what happened to me, yet you chose to take a normie and a werewolf that can’t wolf out with you to a place that is clearly connected to this entire mystery of yours,” you stopped yelling, but your words were still laced with so much rage you didn’t even need to yell for Wednesday to feel it. “And you might as well be a normie as well, since all you have are those visions. Why am I even trying, you won’t listen to me no matter what I say,” you took a step back, getting closer to the stairs. “You know what? I’m done. You win, Wednesday,” you pulled out the knife she threw at you, the same knife you decided to claim as your own and pushed it toward her. You waited just enough for Wednesday to figure out what you meant and wrap her fingers around the handle. “At least try not to die.”

You turned around, intent on going down the stairs. Against her every instinct, against her dislike for being touched or touching someone, she reached out and grabbed your hand. “Where are you going?” didn’t you hear the rain?

“To my shed,” at least you were still answering her questions even if the way you glared back at her made her uncomfortable.

“It’s raining,” she couldn’t look at you, yet she couldn’t let go of you either.

You pulled your hand away, yanked it out of Wednesday’s hold and for a moment Wednesday dared to think she would have preferred it if you electrocuted her. “Don’t,” you warned and you didn’t need to finish that sentence. She got the message loud and clear, she shouldn’t even think of interfering. Not after what happened tonight.

The words she should have said remained stuck in her throat, as if someone wrapped them in a barbed wire and forced Wednesday to swallow them. “Wait,” it wasn’t enough, you were already halfway down the stairs by the time she managed to force even that one word out.

And it was just the start. Not even ten minutes later she was left entirely alone. After you, Enid left as well, not as angry as you were, but upset nonetheless.

Wednesday couldn’t blame her. She didn’t ask for friends, but Enid became that to her regardless. And you… it felt different with you, it felt different than anything she ever felt before, and it was a powerful feeling she couldn’t even begin to handle.

For the first time in her life being alone didn’t feel so good and Wednesday curled up against the window, right at the middle of it. She shouldn’t feel like she was feeling right now, she should have been fine with this, happy that she got what she wanted, at least with you.

Enid leaving hurt as well, even if the kind of pain wasn’t the same, but that hurt as well. Wednesday realized far too late that somehow, the two of you tore your way into her heart and now your very absence hurt her. Thing came up to her shoulder, offering a comforting pat. Telling her that he was right would have hurt less than his compassion and reassurance that both you and Enid would come back.

Wednesday pulled her knees to her chest, hiding her face as she curled up as much as she could. The rain hitting the window, and lightning in the distance made her cover her ears. You were out there in the storm, and it was all her fault. Abruptly, Wednesday got up and went to your part of the room, hoping that some distance from the windows would let her ignore the storm outside.

She wasn’t entirely sure how it got to that point, but in one moment she was standing in front of your bed and then she was taking her boots off, leaving them next to your bed and lying down, not even in her usual position. She just curled up once again and clutched your pillow.

She should have been honest with you, she should have told you about what her mother told her, she should have told you she wanted you to stay. Somehow, she kept doing everything she shouldn’t have with you, or in some way connected with you. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed, but she did it anyway, and she didn’t wake up even when Thing pulled your thin blanket over her.

And there, completely alone yet more surrounded by you than ever before, she remained for the rest of the night, her senses and emotions overwhelmed.

A/N: Four chapters in roughly a week? Honestly, I’m very happy with that. Please tell me what you think about this chapter, I’d really like to know if you think I’m making Wednesday seem OOC? Especially with the last scene.

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 10 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You missed out on a lot of things when you lived in Chicago, because you didn't want to do them without Bradley. On a very important trip, you and he both visit the city together.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and swears

Length: 1500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Five Months Later...

"I can't believe we're willingly flying to Chicago in January," you complained with a bright smile on your face. 

"This was your idea, Sugar," Bradley reminded you, holding up both boarding passes for the airline gate agent to scan. "It's not too late to stay in Vegas or fly to Fiji like I originally wanted."

"No, no. We're going to Chicago together," you told him, taking his hand as you boarded your flight from Las Vegas to O'Hare. Bradley spun your rings around on your finger as you located your seats and settled in. 

"Chicago in January. Two days before a blizzard is due to arrive. Are we about to go on the shittiest honeymoon ever?" he asked, kissing your lips. 

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Listen, we just had Elvis marry us yesterday on the Vegas strip. We had a quickie wedding after being engaged for five weeks, and I'm not even pregnant. Now we're about to get snowed in together in Chicago. You'll be stuck in a room with me for a week. I don't think a conventional honeymoon is what we needed, Beer Boy."

Bradley tipped his head back and laughed. "Actually, now that you mention it, being snowed in with you sounds like a dream, Sugar. What am I even complaining about?"

"I don't know," you whispered against his scars. "You get me and Chicago deep dish pizza around the clock if you want it."

"I want it," he confirmed. "You can feed me pizza naked in bed after we have sex. And then I'll get hard again, we can have sex again, and you can feed me more pizza. It sounds like the perfect week. Chicago in January is everything I ever wanted."

You were shaking with silent laughter as the flight attendant went over the safety instructions, and soon you were in the air. And then you fell asleep on your husband's shoulder. Bradley jostled you awake in time to see the city all lit up against a snowy backdrop as the plane descended into Chicago. 

"Are you ready for this?" you asked, standing next to him with your bags, about to walk outside to get a taxi. "It's three degrees out there."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Bradley mumbled, but he looked scared. "No problem."

Once you and he were outside, he was practically crying as you took care of hailing a ride to the hotel. "You have thin Californian blood now," you told him as he snuggled up next to you in the back seat. You kissed his icy cold nose and forehead as you headed through the city where you lived for four years during grad school. "It's embarrassing, Bradley. I married a Californian."

He shivered in your arms and said, "We're both Virginians, Sugar. I just hate being cold."

You were playing with his hair and kissing along his ear as he melted into you. Every time you thought about the crazy juxtaposition that your life had become, you felt tears in your eyes. You had missed Bradley terribly when you were living in Chicago and still even after you graduated with your PhD. So it just felt right that he was here with you now.

"That's where I got my second tattoo," you whispered as the taxi drove slowly down a side street. 

Bradley looked out the window and smiled. "Should be a historic landmark."

Your laughter filled the small space as he kissed you. Then he paid the cab fare, and you had never seen him move as fast as he did when he hauled all of the luggage inside to the warm hotel lobby. 

"Let's go get a good night's sleep," you told him as he carried everything to the elevator and then into the hotel room. 

"We're not sleeping," he said, shaking his head. "You're going to snuggle with me until I'm warm again, which could take hours, and then I'm fucking you for the rest of the night."

He wasn't lying. You pulled him into bed with you, and held his body close, softly kissing him and telling him how happy you were. 

"I love you, Sugar. I loved you ten years ago, and I love you today, and I'll still be loving you ten years from now."

Slowly and meticulously, he undressed you beneath the blankets, touching and kissing each new bit of skin as it was exposed. He took extra time and gave extra attention to your tattoos, just like he always did. 

"I've been in love with you since the first time you wore my bathrobe," he told you before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts as you giggled. "No, before that. Since the first time I watched you put a bottle of beer to your perfect lips." He kissed his way up to your mouth, lingering there until you were sighing against him. 

"You've been in love with me since you met me then? Is that what you're trying to say, Beer Boy?"

He groaned as he slid his length inside you. "God, I fucking love it when you call me that. Every single time. And yes, Sugar, ever since I met you."

You made love to your husband all night, your hands and eyes roving over his body as you told him how happy you were that you both ended up at your class reunion in Virginia. That he was at the same bar as you that night last summer. 

When you both finally fell asleep, it was a long time before you woke up. Room service had already switched from breakfast to lunch, but Bradley got them to agree to send up a pot of coffee along with your lunch order. You and he ate all bundled up in bed together with the curtains open, the first flurries of snow falling outside as the storm moved in. 

"We need to head out soon so we can get back before it gets dark," you told him as he sipped his coffee. 

His expression looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let's go, Sugar."

The taxi dropped you both off at the edge of the park as the sidewalks were getting slick from the snow. There were only a few people out and about, and even in the middle of the day, the sunlight was struggling to break through the heavy, gray clouds. Bradley had his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you approached The Bean together. You stood side by side, examining if for a moment in silence. 

"It's just a big, metallic bean," you said, leaning into Bradley as the wind picked up.

"I knew it would be dumb as hell, Sugar," he replied, gesturing at it with his hand like there was no good explanation for what they were seeing.

You wrapped your arms around his middle and looked up at him as you started cracking up. "I'm glad I didn't see it without you. It was worth the wait."

"You were worth the wait. The Bean, maybe less so," he replied, kissing you as you took your phone out. 

After you took a bunch of selfies and texted some to Nat, you looked at Bradley and hummed. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and the tip of his nose was getting red. He was perfect, and he was all yours. 

"Have you given much thought to a little Bradshaw bean?" you asked as snowflakes stuck on his mustache. 

"Bradshaw bean?" he asked. His brow was creased before it started to smooth out. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Sugar?"

You nodded and kissed his pink cheek. "Yeah, Beer Boy. A little baby Bradshaw bean. Just something to think about."

Both of you thought about it and talked about it as you stood in front of the giant bean in the middle of a blizzard. But you didn't need to make all of your decisions right now. You weren't planning on being without Bradley ever again. 

------------------------

THANK YOU for reading along on this adventure with me! Beer Boy/Man and Sugar belong together, and I'm happy she gets to take him to Chicago, even if it's during a blizzard! I hope you had as much fun as I did! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

Please visit the one-shot The Grateful Dad for some more Beer Boy and Sugar!

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