#that chemically pure coffee they have

[boilingheart]

Been watching Breaking Bad little by little lately. Why do Walter White and Gale Boetticher read as the most dramatic slowburn ever with the little screen time they have together. wtf. was that just me seeing that? this is my destiel.

[slytherinsmuse]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Domestic Chaos | Draco Malfoy ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I guess mention of sexual activity and condoms

Summary: Fluff, Comedy | Draco navigates through muggle life with the love of his life.

Word count: 8966

author's note: I am so sorry that this request took so long. But work has been hell before the holidays. Now that I have some time off I managed to finish it. I hope you like it! @malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy

The first week of living together with Draco Malfoy had been… an adjustment, to say the least.

You smiled to yourself as you wandered down the stairs of your new house, recalling the mix of chaos and charm that came in the start of sharing a home with Draco. Moving in together had been a big step, one you hadn’t expected to take so soon. But after months of navigating your relationship between your cozy Muggle world and his pristine magical one following your graduation from Hogwarts, it only made sense to create a space that was truly suited for the both of you.

Granted, the transition had been smoother for you than it had been for him.

Draco, for all his poise and pure-blood grace, had little to no experience with Muggle life. Your enchanted house—a quirky blend of his velvet armchairs and your mismatched cozy furniture—reflected that perfectly. It was a home where magical portraits coexisted with photo frames from your favorite vacations, where your television and laptop shared a shelf with his collection of ancient spell books.

It was perfect. Except for the moments where Draco had done his best to interact with Muggle appliances.

The faint sound of muffled clattering pulled you towards your kitchen, curiosity outweighing your desire to get yourself a hot mug of coffee. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you padded down the hall toward the kitchen. As you stepped through the doorway, you froze, your grogginess instantly replaced by disbelief at the sight before you.

The dishwasher, a seemingly harmless Muggle machine, stood wide open. Inside, dishes were arranged in what could only be described as abstract art. Draco stood in front of it with his wand drawn, muttering incantations under his breath. A suspiciously green, bubbling potion had been poured into the detergent slot, and—Merlin help him—a set of silver goblets that were very much not dishwasher-safe glinted proudly from the bottom rack.

“Draco.” you said carefully, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, “what are you doing?”

He didn’t flinch, though his wand froze mid-air. “Using this infernal contraption you insisted on bringing into our home.” he replied, his tone clipped.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. Our home. The words still gave you butterflies.

“This ‘infernal contraption’ is a dishwasher,” you corrected, stepping closer. “It cleans dishes. Without magic. That’s sort of the point.”

Draco huffed, a faint pink tinting his pale cheeks. “Well, it’s doing a poor job of it so far.”

“Probably because you’re trying to curse it into submission.” You peered into the dishwasher, your eyes widening. “Wait. Is that—oh my God, Draco, is that the antique goblet from your mother’s dining set?!”

He glanced at the goblet, then back at you, feigning innocence. “What? It needed cleaning.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s over 200 years old! You can’t just throw it in a dishwasher!”

“Well, I certainly can’t hand wash it,” he said indignantly, crossing his arms. “Do you know how much trouble the preservation charms require? It’s exhausting.”

“Then maybe don’t drink wine out of a priceless artifact?”

“Then maybe don’t serve wine in cheap glass cups,” he shot back, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “It ruins the wine taste…”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, fine. Touché. But seriously, what is this… potion?” You gestured to the green, bubbling mess in the detergent slot.

“It’s a universal cleaning tonic,” he said proudly. “Far superior to whatever chemical nonsense Muggles use.”

“It’s not even liquid! It’s oozing! You can’t put that in a dishwasher!”

Draco frowned, glancing back at the machine as if it had betrayed him. “So what’s the proper way, then?”

You sighed, grabbing the small box of dishwasher tablets from the counter. “Watch and learn, Pure-blood.”

With a sigh you carefully removed the bubbling mess he had poured into the detergent slot. Draco watched with a mix of curiosity and mild indignation as you wiped it clean with a paper towel.

“This,” you said, holding up one of the tablets from the box, “is what you’re supposed to use.”

Draco tilted his head, eyeing the tablet skeptically. “That tiny thing? How could that possibly clean anything?”

“It’s designed for this, Draco. It dissolves in the water and works its magic—well, not literally, but you get the idea.”

You slid the tablet into the designated compartment and snapped the dishwasher closed, pressing the buttons to set the correct cycle. “And this,” you added, pointing to the buttons, “is how you actually start it. No wand required.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable as the machine hummed to life, its rhythmic sounds filling the kitchen. After a moment, he muttered, “It still seems unnecessarily complicated.”

“Complicated? You were about to duel the dishwasher,” you teased, crossing your arms.

Draco smirked, his signature smugness returning. “And I would’ve won.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you leaned against the counter. “You’re hopeless.”

Before you could say more, you felt his arms snake around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and his breath tickled your neck.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice softer now, “but I’m learning, aren’t I?”

You snorted, tilting your head slightly as you felt his lips brush against the curve of your neck in a featherlight kiss. “Barely,” you teased, though your tone lacked the bite to make it convincing.

Draco chuckled, the vibration of it humming against your back. His kisses trailed lazily along the side of your neck, his hands tightening ever so slightly around your waist. Just as you began to melt into his warmth, a sharp, electronic beep shattered the moment.

Draco froze, his lips pausing mid-kiss. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” he asked, his voice tense and laced with suspicion.

You laughed, turning in his arms to face him. “That’s just the washing machine.” you explained, finding his baffled expression entirely too adorable. “It beeps when it’s done with a cycle.”

Draco frowned, glancing over at the machine as if it were an intruder. “Why does it need to announce its accomplishments? It’s not as though I announce every time I complete a task.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember you declaring victory the last time you hung up a picture frame.”

Draco scowled, though the faint pink creeping back into his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. “That frame was enchanted to repel nails. It was a triumph,” he muttered defensively.

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair out of his face. “Draco,” you said, still grinning, “the Muggle world is going to kill you at this rate.”

He grumbled, tightening his hold around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. “Life is unnecessarily complicated without magic,” he muttered, his tone dripping with indignation. “Why would anyone willingly choose this… process over a simple charm?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Maybe because some of us didn’t grow up with the luxury of a wand to fix all our problems?”

Draco pulled back slightly to look at you, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You’re saying you willingly endured this madness? What kind of resilience do Muggles possess that I’ve clearly been deprived of?”

“Patience!”

Draco scoffed, stepping back just enough to look at you. “Patience is for people with time to waste,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

You rolled your eyes, slipping out of his arms and heading toward the counter. “Come on, your Highness,” you said over your shoulder, pulling open the breadbox. “Let’s see if you’re capable of making toast without burning it.”

Draco followed you with a mock-offended expression. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of operating a toaster,” he declared, though his hesitation as he glanced at the machine suggested otherwise.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, smirking as you slid a couple of slices into the slots. “Here, I’ll start it for you. You can handle buttering them when they’re done. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

Draco leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “You’re underestimating me again, love. I’ll butter the toast so flawlessly you’ll weep.”

You snorted, turning to grab plates from the cabinet. “Sure, let’s call that your triumph of the day.”

As the toaster clicked and the smell of warm bread filled the kitchen, Draco busied himself setting the table—his version of setting the table, which involved summoning everything with a flick of his wand and arranging it with the precision of a dinner party.

“You do realize breakfast doesn’t require formal presentation, right?” you teased, sitting down as he placed a perfectly folded napkin by your plate.

Draco smirked, sliding into the seat across from you. “Just because it’s breakfast doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be elegant.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he reached for the now-popped toast, applying butter with such deliberate care you half-expected him to use a ruler for even distribution. Shaking your head with a soft smile, you rose from your seat and quietly grabbed a mug from the cabinet, filling it with fresh coffee from the pot on the counter.

The warm aroma filled the kitchen as you set the pot down and returned to your chair, savoring the first sip in comfortable silence. Across the table, Draco finished buttering the toast and waved his wand casually, sending the coffee pot floating over to his side. It tilted gracefully, pouring a perfectly measured amount of coffee into his mug before settling back in its spot on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of your cup. “So, pouring coffee is too much effort, but you’ll put on a show buttering toast?”

Draco looked up, his expression far too smug. “Presentation matters, darling. Coffee is utility. Buttering toast is an art.”

You snorted, biting back a laugh as you leaned back in your chair. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and giving you a sly smile, “you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

“Debatable,” you shot back, though the way your lips twitched betrayed the truth.

As the two of you ate, the quiet hum of the dishwasher filled the air, mixing with the faint clinking of dishes and the comforting warmth of the morning. You couldn’t help but think that, chaotic as it was, life with Draco had its charm.

Halfway through breakfast, Draco cleared his throat, setting his mug down with a deliberate clink. “By the way,” he said nonchalantly, brushing a nonexistent crumb from his sleeve, “my parents have asked to visit for dinner this evening.”

You froze mid-sip, glancing up at him.“Tonight?” 

This wasn’t the first time Draco had invited his parents over since you’d moved in together, but it never got easier. The Malfoys had made their opinions about his choices abundantly clear. The arguments had been frequent and heated when Draco first announced his decision to move into the Muggle world. Dating mudblood, as Lucius had so delicately put it during one particularly venomous conversation, had been a sore point from the start. The disdain in their voices, though carefully masked in your presence, was never far from the surface. Still, Narcissa had tried to keep things civil, at least outwardly. Her maternal instincts, perhaps, outweighed her prejudices. Lucius, on the other hand, had never fully hidden his disapproval. The sideways glances, the veiled barbs—it all painted a clear picture. They saw your relationship as a deviation, something temporary that would inevitably pass. And yet, they remained fairly cordial in front of you, no doubt for Draco’s sake. Tonight’s visit felt like yet another test, one you were determined to pass—though it always left you walking on eggshells.

Draco nodded, as if this were the most natural announcement in the world. “Yes, tonight. Around seven, I believe.”

You blinked, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “Right,” you murmured, your mind already racing. “I’ll need to go shopping today before the shops close, then.”

Draco frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Shopping? Whatever for?”

“For dinner, Draco,” you replied, standing to gather your plate. “We don’t exactly have a stocked pantry suitable for hosting your parents.”

As you moved toward the sink, he waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll just send a house-elf to take care of it.”

You froze, staring at him over your shoulder. “Draco,” you said slowly, turning back toward the table, “We don’t have house-elves.”

He blinked, as though the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “We don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly, placing your hands on your hips. “They don’t exactly come with Muggle homes, you know.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, a look of mild bemusement crossing his face. “Strange. Well, no matter—I’ll ask Father to send a couple over for the day.”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “You’ll what?”

He shrugged, as if this were a completely reasonable solution. “I’ll write him after breakfast. It’s hardly a problem.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again as you tried to formulate a response. Finally, you shook your head, rubbing your temples. “Draco, we are not borrowing house-elves from your dad.”

“Why not?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

“Because,” you said, sighing as you sat back down, “this is our home. I’m not dragging house-elves into it every time we have guests over. I’ll just go shopping, make a nice meal, and that’s that.”

Draco looked at you as though you’d just suggested cooking dinner over an open flame. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you replied, sipping your coffee again. “This is how Muggles do things. Welcome to the real world.”

For a moment, Draco looked as though he might argue, but then he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Fine,” he said, his tone begrudging. “But I’m coming with you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “To the grocery store?”

“Yes, to the grocery store,” he said, his expression a mix of determination and distaste. “If I’m going to endure this… experiment, I might as well see how it works.”

Smiling, you leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “Alright then. I’ll go get ready.”

When you returned a short while later, Draco’s gaze immediately fell on the several empty shopping bags you were holding. His brows knitted together in confusion, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply followed your every movement with the intensity of someone trying to solve an unspeakable mystery.

You set the bags by the door and reached for the keys to the house, slipping them into your pocket before pulling on your shoes. Draco’s confusion deepened. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to leave,” you said, nonchalantly tying your laces.

Draco raised a perfectly arched brow. “And how exactly are we planning to get there? Apparition or Floo Powder?”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “Neither.”

“Neither?” he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief.

“We’re walking,” you said matter-of-factly, straightening up and grabbing the empty bags.

Draco blinked, his expression torn between incredulity and exasperation. “Walking? Why on earth would we walk when we could be there in seconds?”

“Because,” you explained patiently, “the shop is close by, and it would be weird to just appear in the middle of it. Muggles don’t take kindly to people popping out of thin air near the frozen food aisle.”

Draco stared at you as if you’d just suggested climbing a mountain for fun. “This is madness,” he declared.

You laughed, patting his arm as you opened the door. “Consider it part of the full Muggle experience.”

Still grumbling under his breath about the absurdity of it all, Draco stepped outside with you, his silver hair catching the sunlight as he scanned the street. “Walking,” he muttered again, shaking his head. “What will they think of next?”

You only smirked, knowing the real fun was yet to come. Draco laced his fingers with yours as you stepped out into the crisp winter air, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots. He pulled you closer as you walked, his warm breath visible in the cold. The streets were lined with houses adorned with twinkling lights, wreaths on doors, and the occasional snowman standing proudly in a yard.

“I could’ve taken the car,” you said casually, glancing up at him, “but I don’t think you’re ready to experience traffic yet.”

Draco gave you a pointed look, though his lips twitched with faint amusement. “If it’s anything like the stories you’ve told me, I’d rather not risk my sanity—or my temper.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “That’s probably for the best. One honking horn, and you’d be out of there faster than you could say ‘Pure-blood.’”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the bustling scenery around him. The sidewalks were busy with people bundled in coats and scarves, some carrying shopping bags, others chatting cheerfully. There was a warmth to it all—a vibrancy that was so different from the cold, quiet grandeur of the Malfoy Manor.

“For all the stupidity the Muggle world has to offer,” Draco murmured, his voice thoughtful, “I’ll admit… I do enjoy how lively it is.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the rare vulnerability in his tone. “Lively?”

He nodded, his icy eyes catching the glint of the snow-covered streets. “The manor was… beautiful, I suppose. Grand. But it was so isolated. Mostly empty land, save for the occasional visitor or house-elf passing by. There was nothing like this—” he gestured to the people around you, the soft hum of life that filled the air. “—no life, no… warmth.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “Well, you’ve got that now,” you said, smiling up at him. “Even if it comes with grocery shopping and dishwashers.”

Draco smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “It’s a compromise I’m willing to make,” he said, his voice teasing but sincere.

As the two of you continued walking, the snowflakes began to fall again, dusting the streets and your hair in a light layer of white. Draco tightened his hold on your hand, the moment between you quiet and peaceful as the world around you bustled with life.

As you approached the grocery store, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a coin, flipping it between your fingers before sliding it into the lock on a row of shopping carts. With a satisfying click, the cart popped free, and you grabbed it, turning to Draco with a smile.

He stared at the cart, then at you, his brow furrowing. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the coin slot on the cart. “It’s how you unlock them. You put in a coin, and when you’re done, you get it back.”

Draco’s confusion deepened as he examined the contraption with a critical eye. “Why would you need to pay for a cart? Isn’t that the store’s responsibility? Do you lose the money if you don’t return it?”

“Yes, you only lose the money if you don’t return it.” you explained, suppressing a giggle at his baffled expression. “It’s just a system to make sure people don’t leave the carts all over the parking lot… or steal them”

He tilted his head, considering this. “So, Muggles have to bribe themselves to do the responsible thing?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug, trying not to laugh at the sheer disdain in his voice.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the cart as if it had personally offended him. “What a pitifully inefficient system,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why not just enchant the carts to return themselves?”

You snorted, wheeling the cart toward the entrance. “Because not everyone has magic, Draco. This works just fine.”

He fell into step beside you, still looking slightly affronted. “I should write to the Ministry. There has to be some sort of international wizarding intervention for this level of absurdity.”

You smirked, patting his arm as you entered the store. “You do that. In the meantime, try not to hex anything while we shop.”

Draco grumbled something under his breath but followed you inside, his sharp gaze taking in the bright fluorescent lights, the neatly stacked shelves, and the bustling crowd. “This is going to be an experience,” he muttered.

“You have no idea,” you replied with a grin, steering the cart toward the produce section.

You wheeled the cart through the store, stopping in the produce aisle to grab fresh herbs and vegetables for the roast dinner. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Draco wander a few steps away, picking up various food items and squinting at the labels like he was deciphering ancient runes. It was adorable, really, but you couldn’t help but focus on your shopping. As you mentally ran through your list, you zigzagged through aisles, tossing essentials into the cart—seasoning, potatoes, stock, bread. Before you knew it, you were in the snacks aisle, debating between crisps and popcorn.

That’s when you realized it. Draco was gone. You glanced around, craning your neck to see if you could spot his silver-blond hair anywhere in the sea of shoppers. Nothing. You sighed, silently praying he hadn’t decided to duel the automatic doors or try to interrogate the self-checkout machine. Just as you picked up a bag of crisps, you heard his unmistakable voice behind you.

“Look at this!” he said, sounding thoroughly impressed.

You turned around, and there he was—holding a bright yellow plastic broom.

“They have brooms here!” he said, turning it over in his hands as if he’d stumbled upon the latest innovation in flying technology. “Never seen one like this… must be a new model.”

You froze, staring at him, your lips twitching as you struggled to keep it together. “A new model?” you repeated, barely managing to suppress a laugh.

Draco nodded, completely serious. “It’s so lightweight. And this handle… not wood, but some kind of sturdy Muggle material. I’ve no idea where the charms are hidden, though.” He ran his fingers along the bristles, frowning slightly. “Odd design, but maybe it improves aerodynamics?”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, fighting to keep your laughter under control. “Draco… that’s not… it’s not a flying broom.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from curiosity to confusion. “What do you mean? It’s a broom. What else could it be used for?”

“It’s for cleaning,” you managed, your voice trembling with suppressed laughter. “Muggles use it to sweep floors.”

Draco stared at the broom, then at you, then back at the broom. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” you said, finally letting out a small giggle. “That’s about as far from a flying broom as you can get.”

Draco’s face twisted into a mixture of horror and disappointment as he looked at the broom again. “They’ve completely ruined it,” he declared, setting it back on the shelf with a level of disdain usually reserved for cursed objects. “What’s the point of a broom that doesn’t fly?”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, earning a few amused glances from other shoppers. “Oh, Draco,” you said between giggles, grabbing his arm. “Come on. Let’s get the rest of what we need before you find something else to ‘improve.’”

You couldn’t stop grinning as you watched Draco hover near the cleaning aisle, his gaze fixed on a row of mops. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he gingerly poked at the mop’s sponge end.

“What’s this for?” he asked, holding it up like it was a weapon he needed to disarm.

You chuckled, wheeling the cart closer. “That’s a mop. Muggles use it to clean floors—specifically, to scrub them when they’re wet or dirty.”

Draco’s lips parted in disbelief, and he blinked at you as if you’d just told him people used quills to sew fabric. “You’re telling me… they manually drag this thing around on the floor instead of just casting a Scouring Charm?”

“Pretty much,” you replied with a shrug, struggling to keep a straight face.

He shook his head slowly, muttering under his breath, “Primitive. Absolutely primitive.”

After returning the mop to its place like it had personally offended him, he stuck closer to your side for the rest of the trip, steering the shopping cart with surprising enthusiasm. At first, he pushed it tentatively, testing its movement, but before long, he was zipping down the aisles like a child with a new toy.

“Draco,” you called after him, trying not to laugh as he gave the cart a small push and watched it glide forward. “It’s not a racing broom.”

“Of course not,” he said, smirking but not stopping. “It’s much slower.”

Despite his antics, he peppered you with questions as you continued shopping, picking up random items and holding them out for inspection.

“And this?” he asked, holding up a box of instant pudding mix.

“It’s dessert. You mix it with milk, and it thickens into pudding.”

He frowned. “No wand required?”

“No wand required,” you confirmed, tossing the box into the cart.

He sighed dramatically, moving on to the next item. “And this?”

“A tin opener. It opens cans.”

Draco’s expression fell further. “What’s wrong with an Opening Charm?”

“Not everyone has one, Draco,” you said patiently, biting back a laugh as his disappointment deepened.

Item after item, his curiosity turned into sheer disillusionment. “Muggles really have to work this hard for everything, don’t they?” he muttered, picking up a manual whisk and giving it a dubious glance.

You smirked, taking it from him and placing it in the cart. “It’s not all bad. You’re surviving, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” he replied, pushing the cart forward with a little more flair than necessary.

By the time you made it to the checkout line, Draco had perfected his ‘long-suffering Pure-blood enduring the trials of the Muggle world’ expression, but you couldn’t help but notice the occasional glint of fascination in his eyes as he took in the bustling store around him. You were focused on unloading the cart, placing items neatly onto the till conveyor belt while Draco hovered a safe distance away from the machine. His cautious glances at the moving belt made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t alive. Out of nowhere, he called your name, and you turned just in time for him to shove a small box into your face.

“What is this then?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.

You froze, your eyes widening as you recognized the box of condoms he was holding with an almost clinical detachment. Your face turned scarlet in an instant.

“Draco!” you hissed, snatching the box from his hand and glancing around to see if anyone had overheard.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head as he looked down at you. “What are they for? Some kind of… candy perhaps?”

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words without alerting the nearby cashier or the couple in line behind you. Pulling Draco closer by the sleeve of his coat, you whispered urgently, “They’re… for, um, protection. During, uh, intimate moments.”

Draco’s brows furrowed, his confusion only deepening. “Protection? From what? Are Muggles frequently attacked during—oh.”

The realization dawned on his face, his pale cheeks tinging pink as he took a slight step back. He cleared his throat, glancing at the box still in your hand. “I see. That’s… efficient, I suppose.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your burning face. “Can we please not discuss this here?”

Draco, however, seemed more intrigued than embarrassed now. “Do they… work reliably? Or—how do you even put it on?”

“Draco!” you hissed again, cutting him off as you stuffed the box back onto the shelf behind you.

He smirked at your reaction, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “You’re blushing, darling. It’s adorable.”

“Because you just asked about condoms in the middle of a grocery store,” you muttered, turning back to continue unloading the cart, your face still burning.

Draco chuckled softly, clearly finding your embarrassment far too amusing. He stayed quiet for a moment, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him lingering by the shelf where he’d found the box. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he examined the options: strawberry, ribbed, ultra-thin. Before you could say anything, he plucked one off the shelf and, with exaggerated caution, tossed it onto the conveyor belt from a distance, as if it might attack him.

You blinked at him, your confusion only growing as you stared at the box sitting innocently amidst the rest of your groceries. “Draco… what are you doing?”

He avoided your gaze, suddenly very interested in straightening his coat. “What? I want to try them,” he mumbled, his voice almost innocent.

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head as you leaned closer to whisper, “Draco, you do realize these aren’t, like, some kind of Muggle novelty item, right?”

He finally glanced at you, his pale cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m perfectly aware,” he said, straightening his posture. “I just… want to see what all the fuss is about.”

You covered your face with your hand, torn between exasperation and laughter. “You are unbelievable.”

The cashier began scanning the items, and Draco, determined to prove himself useful, did his best to place them into the bags you had handed him. His movements were deliberate and almost comically precise, as if packing groceries was a skill to be mastered.

You watched with quiet amusement as he gingerly placed eggs into a bag, his face a mask of concentration. He only paused when the cashier announced the total and you pulled out a card to pay.

Draco’s eyes widened, his gaze darting between you and the small machine where you inserted the card. “That’s how you pay?” he murmured, half to himself.

“Yup,” you replied, suppressing a grin as the machine beeped, signaling the transaction was complete.

But what truly left him speechless was the receipt. The small slip of paper emerged from a hidden compartment with a faint whirring sound, and Draco stepped back slightly, his brow furrowing in suspicion.

“What now?” you asked, noticing his confusion.

He pointed at the receipt, his voice low and serious. “Is it enchanted?”

You chuckled, taking the receipt and tucking it into your pocket. “No, Draco, it’s just a record of what we bought. No magic involved.”

He said nothing, though his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Once outside, with the shopping bags evenly distributed between you, Draco slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you walked through the snowy streets. His grip was firm and grounding, but his face was set in a deep, pensive frown. You glanced up at him, his furrowed brows and slightly parted lips betraying the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. Deciding not to interrupt, you pressed yourself closer to his side, letting your head rest lightly against the side of his chest. The walk home was quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your boots. Draco remained silent, processing the bizarre journey into Muggle life. You didn’t push him, knowing he’d speak when he was ready—or maybe not at all. By the time you reached your house, his frown had softened, though his eyes still had a far-off look. As you unlocked the door and stepped inside, you caught the faintest glimmer of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Next time,” he said as he set the bags down, his tone a mix of humor and resignation, “I’ll handle the receipt.”

—

You busied yourself in the kitchen, determined to make a flawless roast dinner for Draco’s parents. You knew they weren’t particularly fond of you or the fact that Draco was immersing himself in the Muggle world. Still, you were set on showing them that you belonged in Draco’s life, no matter how many raised eyebrows they threw your way. Draco leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed as he watched you work. His silver hair caught the warm light of the kitchen, and though his expression remained neutral, you could tell he was intrigued. You chopped, seasoned, and kneaded everything by hand, and it was clear he wasn’t used to such a process.

“You really do all of this without magic?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Yup,” you replied, sprinkling some herbs over the potatoes. “From scratch. It’s not so bad once you get the hang of it.”

Draco hummed in response, clearly not convinced but unwilling to argue. The quiet shuffling of aluminum caught your attention, and you glanced over your shoulder.

What you saw nearly made you drop the salt shaker.

Draco stood there holding an unpackaged, rolled-up condom in his hands, a deep frown etched on his face. He was holding it between his fingers like it was a particularly slimy slug, his lips curling in disgust.

You bit back a laugh, trying to focus on the potatoes as you replied casually, “You have to unroll it.”

“Aha,” Draco mumbled, clearly no less confused, as he turned and disappeared into the other room.

You shook your head, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. For a moment, the kitchen was quiet again, save for the sound of the roast sizzling in the oven. Then came muffled grumbles from the other room.

It didn’t take long for Draco to reappear, still holding the condom. His face was a mix of defeat and lingering disgust as he held it up. “I have no idea how this thing works,” he admitted, his voice low. “And why does it feel so… disgustingly slimy?”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, clutching the counter for support as tears sprang to your eyes. “Oh my God, Draco,” you managed between fits of laughter.

He scowled, tossing the condom onto the counter as if washing his hands of the whole ordeal. “It’s not funny!”

“It is!” you replied, wiping at your eyes. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with it!”

Draco sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t understand how Muggles deal with this nonsense. Magical contraceptives are far less… revolting.” He glanced down at the discarded condom with a look of pure disdain. “It couldn’t even go on.”

You bit your lip, barely holding back your laughter as you stepped closer to him. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek gently, guiding his attention back to you. His silver eyes softened slightly, his frown easing as you leaned in and kissed him softly, your lips lingering against his just long enough to distract him from his frustration.

When you pulled back, your voice was low, your tone teasing. “You need to be… excited for it to work, Draco.”

Draco blinked, his cheeks immediately flushing a soft pink. He straightened, his usual composure cracking for a brief moment as he processed your words. “Excited?” he echoed, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You grinned, brushing past him to check on the roast in the oven. “That’s right,” you said casually, as if you hadn’t just sent his mind spinning.

Draco stood frozen for a moment, glancing back at the discarded condom as if it had betrayed him yet again. Then, he turned to you, his voice laced with indignation. “You could have told me that earlier instead of letting me wrestle with it like some kind of fool!”

You laughed, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Draco huffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter once more, his pink cheeks still betraying him. “Muggles,” he muttered under his breath, though there was a faint, reluctant smirk tugging at his lips.

“Alright, Malfoy” you teased, brushing your hands off on a towel. “Go set the table before your parents get here, and I promise no more surprises. For now.”

Draco gave you a mock glare before turning to do as you asked, his mutterings about Muggle nonsense fading as he left the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you returned to your cooking. Living with Draco was chaotic, but moments like this reminded you just how much you loved having him in your world—even if he’d never quite understand all of it.

The table was set perfectly, as if Draco had spent as much time arranging it as you had cooking. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your clothes as the knock on the door echoed through the flat. Draco opened it with his usual composed grace, greeting his parents with a stiff nod.

Narcissa stepped inside first, her expression polite but guarded as she glanced around the house. “Draco,” she said softly, pulling him into a quick hug. Her gaze flicked to you, and she offered a small, tight smile. “Y/N.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” you greeted, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

Lucius followed behind her, his sharp features betraying nothing but disdain as he surveyed his surroundings. He inclined his head slightly toward you, though his lips never moved to form a greeting. It was clear that he was only here under duress, likely at Narcissa’s insistence.

“Do come in,” Draco said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the dining room.

As everyone settled at the table, the tension was palpable. Narcissa sat with perfect posture, her delicate hands folded neatly in her lap, while Lucius sat rigid, his cane resting against the table. His icy gaze swept the room, his disdain evident in every furrow of his brow.

Draco, however, seemed unbothered. He stood proudly, bringing out the food you had spent all afternoon preparing. He set the dishes on the table with a flourish, clearing his throat. “Dinner is served,” he announced, his voice filled with pride. “And before you ask—yes, it was cooked entirely without magic or the help of house-elves.”

Narcissa’s brows lifted slightly, a spark of genuine surprise in her eyes. “Really?” she asked, glancing at the dishes. “That’s quite impressive.”

Lucius, on the other hand, let out a scoff, his lips curling into a faint sneer. “Why anyone would willingly endure such a process is beyond me,” he muttered, earning a sharp glance from his wife.

You bit your tongue, focusing on serving the food as Draco sat down beside you, clearly unfazed by his father’s comment. The meal began in awkward silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of cutlery and the occasional scrape of a chair.

Finally, Narcissa broke the quiet, turning to her son with a warm, curious smile. “So, Draco, what did you do today?”

Draco sat up straighter, his face lighting up as he launched into an enthusiastic recount of the grocery store trip. “We went to this… Muggle establishment,” he began, his voice carrying a mix of awe and incredulity. “You wouldn’t believe it, Mother. Rows upon rows of food and supplies, all sorted into sections. It was fascinating.”

Narcissa listened intently, her eyes softening as he spoke. “That does sound rather intriguing,” she said, her tone genuine.

Draco continued, describing the shopping cart, the conveyor belt, and the curious beeping machine at the till. “And did you know they have these tiny coins you put into the carts to unlock them?” he added, gesturing animatedly.

Lucius let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as if Draco’s enthusiasm was physically painful. “I fail to see the appeal,” he muttered under his breath, casting a glance toward the window as though contemplating apparating away.

You stifled a laugh, watching the stark contrast between Draco’s animated storytelling, Narcissa’s interest, and Lucius’s clear misery.

“I even packed the bags,” Draco added proudly. “It’s a ridiculous system, but I managed.”

Narcissa smiled warmly, her pride evident. “I’m glad to see you adapting so well, Draco. It’s important to understand how others live, even if it’s different from what we’re used to.”

Lucius muttered something unintelligible, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his cane.

Draco turned to you, his eyes bright with satisfaction. “See, love? Mother appreciates it.”

You smiled back, your heart warming at his excitement. “She does,” you said softly, glancing at Narcissa, who nodded in agreement.

Lucius, however, simply sighed, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression. “Let us hope this… experiment of yours doesn’t last too long,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain.

Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his composure, reaching for your hand under the table. His fingers squeezed yours briefly, a silent reassurance that he didn’t care what his father thought. The rest of the meal continued with a mix of awkward small talk and Draco’s detailed observations of the Muggle world. Though Lucius remained unimpressed, Narcissa’s quiet encouragement made the effort feel worthwhile. As the conversation wound down and the plates were nearly cleared, Draco suddenly leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. His sharp blue eyes glimmered with something unreadable, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I have something to show you,” he muttered, his tone casual but with a hint of mischief.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What is it?” you asked cautiously, your brow furrowing as you tried to guess what he could possibly be up to now.

Draco stood up, strolling out of the dining room with the air of someone retrieving an important artifact. Lucius and Narcissa exchanged puzzled glances, while you felt a flicker of dread creeping up your spine. He returned a moment later, holding a familiar box in his hand.

Your heart sank as your face turned beet red. No. No, no, no, no.

He placed the box of condoms on the table, directly in front of you, and tilted his head with a curious smirk. “You never explained properly,” he said smoothly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed his nonchalant demeanor. “I think it’s time I fully understood how they work.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

Lucius froze mid-sip of his wine, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. Narcissa’s lips parted slightly as her eyes darted between the box and her son. Meanwhile, you felt your soul leaving your body as your entire face burned hotter than the roast in the oven earlier.

“Draco,” you hissed, your voice a mix of mortification and desperation. “Not now.”

“Why not?” he asked innocently, his smirk widening as he clearly enjoyed your discomfort. “You said it was important to understand Muggle things if I am living here.”

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “Draco, darling, perhaps this is a… conversation better suited for another time,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with amusement.

Lucius, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to sink into the ground. “For Salazar’s sake, Draco!” he snapped, his pale face turning an uncharacteristic shade of red. “Have you lost all sense of decorum?”

Draco shrugged, unbothered. “I was merely curious, Father. Isn’t that what this move is about—understanding?”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m going to die,” you muttered under your breath.

Draco leaned closer to you, his smirk softening into something almost endearing. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said quietly. “It’s just a box. Besides, you’re the one who said they’re important.”

“Not during dinner with your parents!” you shot back in a harsh whisper.

Narcissa stood gracefully, reaching for her wine glass and glancing at Lucius, who was visibly seething. “Perhaps we should take a moment to admire the décor in the living room,” she suggested, her tone light but firm. “Give them a moment to… collect themselves.”

Lucius rose quickly, eager to escape the situation, and followed her out without another word.

As soon as they were out of earshot, you turned to Draco, glaring at him through your lingering embarrassment. “What is wrong with you?”

He grinned, his pale cheeks still faintly pink. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Draco,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. But despite your mortification, a reluctant laugh bubbled up, escaping your lips.

Draco chuckled softly, nudging you playfully with his elbow. “Hey,” he said, his voice laced with mischief. “It looks like my parents knew exactly what the box contained.”

You groaned louder, shaking your head as you peeked at him from between your fingers. “Why are you like this?”

“Because it’s more fun than I had ever experienced in my life,” he replied, smirking. “And because your reactions are priceless.”

You swatted his arm lightly, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Draco said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with an infuriatingly smug expression.

You shook your head, standing to start clearing the table. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth twitched despite your best efforts to remain stern.

Draco stood as well, grabbing a plate and following you to the kitchen. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softening slightly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother look that impressed. You’re winning her over, you know.”

You glanced at him, your irritation melting a little as you caught the sincerity in his eyes. “Maybe,” you said with a small smile. “But your dad looks like he’s ready to disown you.”

Draco shrugged, setting the plate down on the counter. “He’ll survive. I’d say this visit is going better than expected.”

You arched an eyebrow, gesturing toward the box still sitting on the table. “Even with that little stunt?”

He smirked, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “Especially because of that,” he whispered.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you turned back to the dishes. Life with Draco was unpredictable, embarrassing, and absolutely worth it.

After a while, with the kitchen cleaned and dessert plates neatly arranged, you rejoined Draco’s parents in the living room. You placed the cake and a small pot of tea on the coffee table, smiling as Narcissa complimented the presentation. “It looks lovely, dear,” she said warmly, her eyes lighting up as she tasted the first bite. “And delicious.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” you replied, feeling a small wave of relief at her approval.

Meanwhile, Draco stood by the TV, flicking it on with the remote. The screen lit up, filling the room with sound and color. He had been obsessed with it ever since the two of you moved in, constantly exploring its features and marveling at the variety of channels.

“And this,” he began, gesturing to the screen, “is called a television. It’s a Muggle device that streams moving pictures and sound. There are different stations—some show plays or sports, others music or news.”

Lucius, who had been seated stiffly on the sofa, cast the TV a disinterested glance at first. But as Draco flipped through the channels, his gaze lingered, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

Draco settled on a music channel, where a pop song played over vibrant, fast-moving visuals. Lucius leaned forward slightly, his cane forgotten at his side as his eyes remained glued to the screen.

Narcissa, meanwhile, sipped her tea and turned to you with a soft smile. “The cake is truly wonderful, Y/N. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, glancing at Lucius, whose face was now bathed in the colorful glow of the TV. Draco was explaining the concept of music videos, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and pride.

“And these stations,” Draco said, pointing to the remote, “play music continuously. The visuals match the songs—like this one, see?”

Lucius didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were analyzing every detail. Eventually, he gave a slow nod. “Remarkable,” he muttered under his breath, clearly fascinated despite his obvious disdain for anything muggle.

Narcissa glanced at him with a knowing smile but said nothing, letting her husband enjoy his unexpected discovery.

After a while, Narcissa stood gracefully, placing her empty teacup on the table and smoothing the fabric of her elegant robe. “It’s getting late,” she said gently, her tone warm but firm. “We should be heading home.”

Lucius didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the television, where a lively music video was playing. His normally composed expression was slightly softened, his eyes darting between the screen and the remote in Draco’s hand.

“Lucius,” Narcissa prompted, her voice holding a hint of exasperation. “It’s time to go.”

He finally tore his gaze away from the screen, his brows furrowing slightly. “Yes, yes, in a moment,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively as if he needed just a little more time to understand the contraption.

Draco smirked, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “I think he likes it,” he whispered to you, his voice filled with amusement.

Narcissa gave you a knowing glance, her lips twitching into a faint smile before turning back to her husband. “Lucius,” she said again, a bit more firmly this time, “we’re leaving. Now.”

Lucius sighed dramatically, rising from the sofa but casting the TV one last, reluctant glance. “I suppose,” he said, his voice tinged with regret, “we can continue exploring this… device another time.”

You exchanged goodbyes at the door, Narcissa giving you a soft pat on the arm and a smile that felt almost maternal. Lucius remained as formal as ever, though there was an unusual glint in his eye as he glanced at the living room one last time.

As the two of them stepped outside, you lingered by the door with Draco. The crisp night air carried the faint sound of their voices as they walked toward the apparition point.

“You know,” Lucius muttered to Narcissa, his voice carrying just enough for you to catch, “we should consider getting one of those televisions for the manor.”

Narcissa’s laugh was soft but unmistakable. “I’ll make the arrangements,” she replied, her tone indulgent.

Draco closed the door, leaning against it with a triumphant smirk. “See?” he said, turning to you. “It wasn’t so bad.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think you just converted your father into a TV enthusiast.”

“Not bad for one evening,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Though I’d say the real victory was your cake. Well done, love.”

You smiled, leaning up to give him a gentle kiss. “Thanks, but I think your TV demonstration might’ve been the real winner tonight.”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Of course. I am rather persuasive.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you turned off the living room lights—a concept Draco still found mildly perplexing. He mumbled something about how inconvenient switches were compared to a simple wand flick as you guided him upstairs to your bedroom.

By the time you finished washing up and changed into your pajamas, Draco was already tucked under the covers. The glow from his nightlight—a softly enchanted orb you’d insisted on for his comfort—bathed the room in a warm, golden hue.

You paused at the vanity, applying cream to your face while sneaking a glance at him through the mirror. He was sitting upright, his brow furrowed as he read the label on the back of the box of condoms. His lips moved faintly as if he were trying to work out some sort of  instructions.

Biting back a laugh, you shook your head and turned off the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of his nightlight. Crawling into bed beside him, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Still trying to figure that out?” you asked, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Draco looked over at you, holding up the box with a faint smirk. “The instructions are absurdly detailed for something so… basic.”

You chuckled, resting your head on the pillow. “I’m not sure what you expected. Magic?”

“Honestly, yes,” he replied, setting the box on the nightstand and settling under the covers. “Everything’s unnecessarily complicated without it.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, if it gets too overwhelming, just remember—I’m here to guide you through it.”

Draco turned to you, his smirk softening into something warmer. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb lightly over your hand before pulling you closer.

As the nightlight cast its soft glow over the room, you snuggled into his side, grateful for the quiet comfort of the moment. Life with Malfoy was a whirlwind, but here, in the stillness of your shared space, everything felt just right. Draco was silent for a while, though you could feel him thinking, his body slightly tense beneath yours. Finally, his voice broke the quiet, soft and hesitant. “Could you show me how to use them? Tonight?”

You lifted your head to look at him, his silver eyes meeting yours, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to reassure him. When you pulled back, you smiled gently, your voice a quiet whisper.

“Of course.”

The room fell into a quiet calm, the only sounds the faint rustle of the sheets as you moved closer to him. Draco’s arms wrapped around you, his touch steady and warm. Life in the muggle world had turned out to be far more surprising than Draco had ever expected. It wasn’t as grand or as effortless as the magical life he’d always known, but there was something about it—something real, unpolished, and oddly comforting.

Though, as he discovered later that night, the condoms were nothing special after all.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always very much appreciated! ♡

© slytherinsmuse. please do not copy, claim, translate or steal any of my works as your own.

[springwitch8]

flowers and firsts (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: being the gracious friend you are, you offer to share your weed with melissa and jacob for a fun friday night at their place. when jacob goes to bed, things get heated between you and your favorite coworker.

warnings: smut (18+), consensual high sex, recreational marijuana use (be responsible), strap-ons, praise kink, vibrators, soft melissa, stoner reader, attempts at comedy (it's a fun fic guys), mario kart 8 GONE SEXUAL

notes: happy 4/20. this wasn't requested, but my OCD is beating the fuck out of me rn and writing it brought me comfort. let me know what you think. much love from your favorite slutty stoner 💚

"i know kids are curious, but eighth grade is a bit early to try weed, right?" jacob bounced his leg anxiously as he raised the question to his friends in the teachers' lounge. one of his students had just been suspended for bringing marijuana to school, and jacob was characteristically worried about the kid.

"i started in tenth grade, but teenagers are growin' up younger and younger these days," melissa responded. barbara raised her eyebrows in shock, and melissa reacted with an amused half-smile. "like trouble over here. when was your first time, hon?"

you tried to ignore the innuendo as melissa invited you into the conversation. you had been hired to teach the third grade a few months ago. you and melissa had a rapport from the first moment you walked into the lounge. every time you were in a room together, you made each other laugh. melissa made you feel at ease in your new workplace, and you felt lucky to have her.

because you both got along so well, ava often paired you up for team-building exercises and combined-class activities. the two of you weren't exactly close friends yet, but you had chemistry. that much was obvious to everyone at abbott.

"tenth grade for me, too," you answered between sips of your morning coffee. "a friend and i did it in the bathroom before art class. good memories."

"what, did you have some kinda fancy vape pen?" melissa cocked an eyebrow at you.

"i wouldn't call it fancy, but yeah, we mostly smoked carts," you explained. "bought 'em from the upperclassmen in the parking lot before school. i'm pretty sure they weren't pure weed, though. we had to be smoking battery acid, or plastic or something."

"god, your generation is weird. smokin' chemicals out of a flash drive," melissa said, gesturing wildly to convey her amazement. "the first time i got high was in detention. my buddy steve would sneak in and bring us cigarettes and blunts. they all looked the same, so we played russian roulette with it. now everybody walks around with those neon devices in their pockets."

"i can't tell if you're being serious or if you're referencing the breakfast club," you giggled, nudging the redhead's shoulder jokingly as you sat down next to her.

"ha ha, very funny, little miss," melissa deadpanned. you had asked her to stop calling you "kid" a few weeks ago. she respected your wishes by coming up with all sorts of endearing synonyms to call you instead. "what about you, jacob? you used to vape—ever experimented with mary jane?"

"or mark john?" you added. melissa snorted and gave you a playful swat on the arm.

"no, actually, i haven't," jacob said, rolling his eyes at your quip. "i didn't have many friends in high school or college, and after that i had to be drug tested regularly for teachers without borders. i never got the chance."

"well, if you ever feel like trying something new, i have plenty to share," you offered. "can't have you over at my place, though; every time i bring guests around, my crazy neighbor thinks they're cia operatives."

everyone in the room except melissa gave you a shocked look. barbara looked especially aghast, her brightly painted lips curled into an 'o' shape.

"damn, i thought janine was the only after-school stoner here. what a pleasant surprise!" ava broke the silence.

"i suppose i would partake given one of those weed pens you mentioned," jacob said to you. "the only thing i've been vaping lately is air, and it gets stale after a while."

"oh no, i haven't used a cart since high school," you clarified. "if you're smoking with me, you're smoking. don't worry, it's easy. just like vaping, but better in every way."

"first of all, no smoke circle is happening under my roof without me." melissa chimed in, looking at you with a silent question in her eyes. you nodded—of course you wanted her there. "and second, where do you even get the weed? if you buy the legal stuff from new york or massachusetts, you're not bringin' it to my house."

"i wouldn't dream of it," you affirmed. "i only smoke authentic philly weed. don't worry about it; i got a guy."

---

that friday night, you showed up on melissa's doorstep wearing a casual t-shirt dress, with a tote bag full of goodies slung over your shoulder. jacob was the one to answer the door.

"hey! come on in, melissa's making pizza," he said cheerfully, a bit jittery with anticipation.

you followed jacob inside and found melissa leaning over the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you. she was wearing sweatpants and a loose-fitting striped shirt, with her hair loose and a bit messy from cooking. she looked radiant and comfortable.

"you know, the pizza will taste better if we smoke before dinner," you proposed.

"bold of you to assume my pizza could taste any better," melissa joked back.

"i'm game," jacob said. "i want the full marijuana experience."

"in that case, help me set up," you said to the history teacher. "i want you to see how everything works."

you laid the contents of your tote bag out on the island countertop: a ziploc baggie full of flower, a little purple grinder, a holographic pink bowl, and a yellow lighter with white flowers on it.

"jacob, this is a grinder," you said, uncapping the grinder and opening the ziploc bag. "we're gonna use it to break up the flower into little pieces."

"oh wow, that is... pungent," jacob remarked. he watched as you ground up the weed, then handed the pink glass bowl to him.

"and this is a bowl, or a pipe if you're lame," you said. "you wanna do the honors?"

jacob grinned and reached into the grinder, bouncing excitedly on his heels. you put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. he filled the bowl, looking to you for approval several times while he did it.

"awesome, we're ready," you said. melissa placed her pizza in the oven and joined the circle.

"let's take it out on the patio," melissa suggested.

she led you and jacob out to the patio, a small ledge overlooking the city with three chairs conveniently set up in a tight circle. it was 7pm and the sun had just begun its descent, casting philadelphia in an orange glow.

the three of you sat down. you held the bowl up to your lips and moved to light it, but melissa snatched the lighter from your hand. she leaned in and held the flame to the bowl, her face inches from yours. you tried to concentrate on the task at hand, rather than her painted lips or her vivid green eyes dancing all over you.

you took a long inhale of the smoke and blew it up toward the sky. melissa plucked the bowl out of your hand and took a hit. she held the smoke in her lungs for an impressive amount of time for someone who didn't smoke regularly. she passed the still-lit bowl to jacob.

as soon as jacob took his hit, you knew it was gonna hurt. he overestimated his own lung capacity, and he didn't even finish blowing the smoke out before he was coughing.

"happens to everybody, pal," melissa patted jacob's back to ease his pain.

"ugh!" jacob sputtered between coughs. "why didn't you guys tell me smoking hurts?"

---

several rotations later, the three of you were high. well, you and melissa were high; jacob was outright fried. not altogether unexpected, but funny as hell.

when melissa's pizza was done, you all resolved to eat outside so you could watch the sunset together.

"this is heavenly, mel," you moaned after a delicious bite of the pizza.

"ha!" jacob exclaimed, and you and melissa turned to him, confused. meeting melissa's gaze, he threw his arms up in the air—like he expected her to understand what he meant by that one noise. "she stole two syllables from your name. you can't just take syllables, y/n. they're not yours."

"since when do you care about private property rights?" you quipped back before turning your attention to melissa. "i'm serious though. this pizza is sooo good. like last-meal-on-death-row good."

"keep talkin' sweet like that, and you can call me whatever you want," melissa replied with a wink, sending a flood of warmth to your face.

"what were we talking about? just now?" jacob chimed in, his eyes wide and darting every which way.

"... i actually don't know," you said with a giggle. you tried to remember, you really did. but you could feel melissa's eyes on you, and you heard her words echoing in your head. and it was hard to focus on anything else.

"short term memory loss! add that to the list of things you guys didn't warn me about," jacob scoffed.

"jacob, eat your damn pizza," melissa cut in. a peaceful smile graced her lips as she stared out at the city skyline, now a twilight blue in the absence of the sun. "i've missed this feeling, everythin' all fuzzy and light. how are you holding up, lovebug?"

your heart fluttered at the endearing name. melissa, it seemed, wore her heart on her sleeve when she was high—judging by the adoring way she gazed at you while she awaited your response. maybe the weed was messing with your head, but you swore she'd never looked so beautiful.

her eyes lacked any trace of the fire you were used to seeing (though they were quite red). for once, she wasn't on guard. her plump lips curled around her wine glass as she took a sip of merlot, vocalizing her sensual appreciation with a hum.

her long auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, resting on her shoulders in loose waves instead of her preferred meticulous curls. you wanted to run your fingers through her locks, feel their softness and smell her shampoo.

entranced by the redhead, you forgot she had asked you a question. melissa tapped your knee in reminder.

"i feel perfect," was your soft reply. you were beaming brightly before the sentence even finished. rather than sitting in a chair, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. the colors of melissa's patio and the sky blended together in a beautiful, swirling mosaic. the sounds of the city were clear and pleasant as philly wound down for the night. "i'm so happy."

"glad to hear it, sunshine. but i'm pretty sure jacob is asleep," melissa chuckled and patted the man's shoulder. he didn't stir, remaining slumped and conked out in his chair. "he's been losin' sleep over the kid who got suspended. bending over backwards trying to keep 'em on track."

"oh gosh," you said sympathetically before patting jacob a bit more firmly than melissa had. "jacob, hey. c'mon, it's time for bed. get up, go get cozy."

your words were slurred and hushed, but they seemed to pierce the veil of jacob's slumber as he awoke with a start.

melissa stood behind jacob's chair, gently rocking it back and forth to bring him back to the conscious world.

"can't go to bed, we just started," jacob grumbled, but his eyes were still closed. he was dangerously close to falling asleep again.

"from the looks of it, you're either gonna spend the night sleepin' in this chair or in your bed, so get up," melissa said resolutely.

"yeah, and besides, there's always next time," you assured jacob as he stretched and groaned his way into an upright position. you made eye contact with melissa, and this time you winked.

---

after helping jacob into bed (his motor skills really deteriorated when he got high) and smoking another bowl together, you and melissa were ready to continue your night.

"alright, sweetheart, it's down to you and me," melissa said, sitting down next to you on the couch. "what do you wanna do?" you pondered the question, looking around the room for inspiration.

"oh my god, you have a nintendo switch?" you asked excitedly, gesturing to the black tablet plugged in next to the cable box.

"that's jacob's. he showed me one of the games on there—animal crossing, i think it was. i don't get it. why play a game if you can't win?"

"alright, i know what we have to do now," you said, walking over to jacob's game cabinet and pulling out mario kart 8. holding the case up for melissa to see, you grinned. "four races. whoever wins gets whatever she wants from the other."

you were distantly aware of the implications, but you were too high to reconsider what you'd proposed.

you figured melissa would want something from your thoroughly decorated classroom if she won. if you won, you'd ask her to make you a custom pizza.

"you have no idea what you just started, hon," melissa said with a confident smirk.

"may the best woman win."

---

how the hell was she so good at everything?

melissa had needed some time to warm up to the switch controls, complaining about how the little red rectangle was too small to hold comfortably. but she was a quick learner with skilled fingers, and soon she was absolutely demolishing you.

it also didn't help that your coordination escaped you when you were high. you had driven off of too many ledges to count.

"two wins in a row for luigi," melissa bragged as she crossed the finish line of the third race. "hope you're ready to give me whatever i want, princess. don't think i forgot about our bet."

"daisy won the first race," you pointed out calmly. "i can still bring it back. but you know what this last race has to be?"

"what?"

"rainbow road. it's the perfect final showdown course," you explained, navigating to the course with your controller.

"get ready to be mine for a night," melissa said lowly. god, you knew she was talking about the bet, but she knew damn well what she was doing. by this point your panties were almost uncomfortably wet.

you leaned into her unconsciously as the race countdown began. you both held your controllers tight, almost shoulder to shoulder.

3...

2... (you push down the gas pedal button)

1...

GO!!!

daisy took off with a boost of speed thanks to your timing. luigi had a false start as his engine blew out. you cheered, and melissa cursed.

"how the fuck do you do that?" she asked, exasperated.

"play the game!" you demanded without looking away from the screen.

the competition was intense. you and melissa weaved around curves, nearly fell off the road, passed and bumped each other. neither one of you spoke until lap 3.

coming up on one of the last turns of the last lap, your hands jerked and you swerved. reacting on instinct, you bent your arms dramatically in the other direction to overcorrect.

melissa's arm bumped into yours, sending your controller flying out of your hands.

"hey!" you said, thinking she was cheating.

"hey yourself," she said, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

if she was gonna play dirty, so were you. you thrust your arm forward to grab her controller. but she saw you coming from a mile away. effortlessly, she shifted the controller into her left hand alone and held it up and out of your reach.

desperately competitive (and stupid high), you launched yourself toward the controller. you'd stop at nothing to get even. before you could snatch it out of her grasp, though, your balance faltered. you fell out of your position and started to fall backwards off the couch.

melissa dropped the controller and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you back up before you could hurt yourself. there was only one problem with this heroic act.

you were in her lap now.

her hands remained clasped at the small of your back, and your balance shifted forward. you put your arms out for stability, and wrapped them around her neck.

"careful, don't hurt your pretty head," melissa cooed. the two of you stared at each other for a moment. she surged forward and pressed her lips to yours.

if sitting outside with her felt like floating, kissing her and feeling her body against yours felt like riding the ocean waves. but unlike the atlantic, she was warm. you relaxed into her warmth as her tongue licked into your mouth.

you felt her tongue everywhere. in response to her, you gave a few tentative kitten licks. she moaned, she moaned, and pulled back before giving you one last kiss on the lips.

she stared at you with heated eyes for a while before switching her focus to the tv.

"look, baby," she said smugly while gesturing to the tv screen, where luigi was driving victory laps after placing first on rainbow road. "i won. you remember what that means?"

it was a fair question, considering how many conversations you forgot happened tonight. still, you nodded shyly and bit your lip.

"smart girl," melissa praised. "can you guess what i want from you?"

you shook your head no with a frown. melissa beamed and kissed you on the forehead. then she leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"i wanna touch you everywhere. i wanna hear your pretty voice moan my name and see your face scrunch up when you come. i want you to feel me all over you, and i want you to spend the rest of your life craving that feeling," melissa said her piece all at once, as if revealing a long-buried secret to you and herself.

you swallowed.

"would you let me do that?"

you nodded, pressing your forehead against hers.

"i need to hear you say it," she said softly, so softly you almost missed it.

"i want you, melissa. i have since the day we met."

that was all the confirmation melissa needed to attack your face and neck with kisses.

"sorry, let me just," melissa said as she pulled away abruptly and reached for the tv remote. she changed it to cable mode and navigated to the jazz music channel. "there we go, perfect."

"you're ridiculous," you giggled upon seeing melissa's proud face.

"honey," she leaned in to nip at your ear before whispering, "watch your mouth. you wanna be on my good side tonight, trust me."

you shuddered and wiggled in her lap, aching for her touch. a slow grin spread across her face and her hands found your legs, running up your thighs and lightly dragging her nails along your skin. they soon made their way up your waist to your breasts, cupping and squeezing them. melissa even took two fingernails and circled your nipples teasingly, to which you squeaked.

"do you know how many times i thought about havin' you like this?" melissa whispered. her voice was sweet like molasses and flowed right through you. you could feel your nipples tingling where her fingers had been, swimming in a bubble of desire. "in my lap, all whiny and squirmy."

she pinched your nipple and you keened. you held your breath as her hands once again traveled to your thighs, making a beeline for your core.

"and now i got my angel in my arms," she said, gently spreading your legs for better access. you sucked in a breath and trembled when her palm caressed you through your panties. "but i gotta say, even in my imagination you were never this wet for me."

she punctuated the sentence by pressing her pointer finger on your clit through the fabric, drawing tiny circles. you gasped and hid your face in her neck. the high made every touch feel like it rippled through your whole body. the world felt like it had been knocked off its axis, and melissa was your new center of gravity.

"aw, don't be embarrassed, babygirl. it's cute you're so sensitive," melissa soothed, easing you out of the crook of her neck to face her again. she trailed her fingers down to swirl around your wetness under your panties. "let me take care of you, yeah?"

---

a few minutes later, you were spread out on melissa's bed, naked save for your (now useless) panties. she'd practically carried you to her room as you were baked and horny and unable to walk straight.

in spite of your writhing and needy whines, the redhead took her time to savor you. she kissed every inch of your torso before she even considered taking your panties off, mumbling sweet nothings between love bites.

when she finally pulled away to admire her work, the view did not disappoint. you were panting and covered in melissa's marks, and god, you were her favorite piece of art ever created. all hers.

"alright, sweet girl, i know," she cooed as you continued to plead for her touch with your best pout and puppy eyes. unable to resist you, melissa hooked two fingers in the waistband of your panties. "i'm gonna slip these off ya, okay? there, down they go."

melissa discreetly tucked the saturated material into her pocket. not as a trophy or proof of her conquest; rather, a token from the first of many magical nights with her girl. she would treasure it.

she wasted no time getting situated between your legs so she was face-to-face with your pussy. she inhaled deeply, basking in the heady aroma of your arousal. you overwhelmed her senses. everything she saw, everything she smelled, everything she felt, everything she thought—it was all one big, bottomless pool of you. and there was only one sense left for you to conquer.

the first drag of her tongue up your slit set you ablaze, flames licking from your core all the way to your extremities and your head. she let out a small noise of appreciation, and you felt it more than you heard it.

"you taste like fuckin' heaven," melissa rumbled between determined licks through your folds. her comment reminded you of the pizza, and you found yourself amused at how much things had changed in just a few hours.

"last-meal-on-death-row good?" you joked, and melissa seized the moment of levity to latch onto your clit. you cried out before remembering jacob was sleeping in the next room. you clapped a hand over your mouth.

"mhmmmmm," she moaned in agreement, and the vibrations on your bundle felt incredible. "but if you're still crackin' jokes, i'm not doin' my job."

with that, she shut you up completely. her tongue poked at your clit between harsh sucks. your back arched and melissa changed her strategy, prodding at your entrance with her tongue while her fingers took over on your clit. when her tongue penetrated you, you bit down on your hand to keep from screaming.

"i said i wanna hear you, remember?" melissa pulled out to chastise you.

"but jacob—" you managed.

"is passed out. he's dead to the world. now sing for me, angel," melissa's tongue dove back into your weeping cunt and lapped at your walls. you wailed her name.

"oh, mel, right—ahhh—there!" you mewled as her tongue teased your most sensitive spot. now that she'd located her target, melissa changed her play once again. two fingers replaced her tongue and crooked into your g-spot while her mouth returned to your clit. "close..."

melissa nodded her permission, her mouth busy with your button. with another hard roll of your clit between her lips and drive of her fingers into your sweet spot, you fell apart. you moaned and cried unbidden as she worked you through your orgasm, which felt twice as powerful thanks to the intoxication factor. your body shook in the grip of seemingly endless waves of heat.

your climax eventually died down and you squirmed away from melissa's touch. your mouth opened in dismay when instead of staying by your side, she stood up and disappeared into her closet.

after a short while, the older woman reappeared by your side. she was now nude and sporting a long, girthy strap-on. she placed a few other items on the nightstand, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the thick faux cock. unless it was to look at her gorgeous tits, which swung with her every move. she was a goddess.

"okay, sweets, i'm gonna spell this out nice and slow because i know your brain is a little messy right now," she said as she crawled on top of you. "i'm gonna fuck you with my strap. and i know it's so big, but i have this to help you take it."

melissa reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a green mini wand vibrator. her intentions were clear, and you gulped. the redhead peppered kisses all over your face in reassurance.

"now relax, little love. let me in," melissa instructed as the wand buzzed to life. she smeared your wetness around your clit with her fingers, then pulled back its hood to position the vibrator tightly against your nub. even the lowest setting was a shock at such a direct angle.

while you were distracted trying to adjust to the clitoral stimulation, melissa aligned the tip of the dildo with your entrance and pushed in. you both groaned, and you felt yourself stretch around the toy. melissa turned up the vibrations on your clit as she progressed to being fully seated inside you.

"that's a good girl, so brave," melissa cooed. you thrashed underneath her, the sensations overstimulating you. the pain of the intrusion staved off a powerful orgasm from the wand vibrator.

again, you wondered if the drugs were messing with your mind—the dildo felt indistinguishable from a part of mel's body, and you were full to the brim of her.

as she began to rock her hips back and forth, you saw her bite her lip. you assumed that the strap had some kind of clit attachment for her based on the telltale signs of pleasure.

melissa built up a steady rhythm and drank in your pathetic sounds of pleasure. her tits swung in your face with every thrust, and you made a mental note to give them proper attention next time. with another tactical increase to the wand's speed, you felt yourself approaching the edge once more.

"you gettin' close? yeah, i can tell. feels too good to hide it, huh bunny?" that was a new one. you clenched at her words and she set the wand to its maximum power, rubbing it up and down on your clit. your vision went white and you spun out of reality as you came. "that's my girl. good little princess, coming so hard for me."

with a few more thrusts, melissa also came to a release. she shuddered and shimmied her hips at random while she rode it out. as soon as she recovered, she turned off the green wand and relieved you. next, she eased herself out of and off of you.

with a chaste peck to your lips, she sat upright and reached for the nightstand. she smiled at your fucked-out expression as she laid out the pajamas she'd picked out for you.

you watched in awe as she took off the strap and put on her own sleep clothes. her red hair was wild from the night's activities and glowed like a warm hearth against the white backdrop of her walls.

in your state, you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with melissa and fall asleep. but she insisted that you get ready for bed so that you'd be comfortable through the night. she guided you into the bathroom and gave you a new toothbrush to use.

returning to the bedroom, you found a silky green nightgown with flowers on it waiting on the bed for you. given your exhausted and intoxicated state, melissa had to help you into it. neither of you minded. as a reward for your cooperation, she gave you a kiss.

the two of you snuggled into bed, tucked in together with you curled up against her chest. the tides of slumber lapped at your feet.

"g'night, lovebug," melissa whispered as you drifted off. "sleep well. see you in the morning."

and tomorrow would be the first of a lifetime of tomorrows waking up in her arms.

[ssinboo]

Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

or

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo. 

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit. 

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether. 

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead. 

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.  

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too. 

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines. 

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though. 

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession. 

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth. 

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger. 

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.” 

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo. 

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then. 

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin. 

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute. 

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls. 

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom. 

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples. 

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys. 

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff. 

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?” 

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic. 

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock. 

“Happy birthday, princess.” 

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!” 

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air. 

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings. 

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible. 

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm. 

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank. 

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come��ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado. 

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?” 

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all. 

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.” 

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place. 

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles. 

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up. 

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles. 

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress. 

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs. 

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works. 

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress. 

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises. 

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him. 

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out. 

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone. 

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged��

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged. 

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort. 

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that? 

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet. 

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance. 

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches —  To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics. 

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight. 

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours. 

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display. 

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“ 

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.” 

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong. 

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.” 

You nod. 

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again. 

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.” 

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad. 

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover. 

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?” 

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!” 

You smile brightly, properly comforted. 

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile. 

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug. 

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug. 

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body. 

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other. 

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother. 

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug. 

Wonwoo shrugs. 

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug. 

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!” 

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions. 

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.” 

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am  amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears. 

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.” 

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Nonu?” You whisper. 

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances. 

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio. 

You stand up and follow him. 

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels. 

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!” 

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue. 

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished. 

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!” 

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder. 

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.” 

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was. 

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands. 

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” 

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?” 

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand. 

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door. 

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head. 

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer. 

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod. 

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.” 

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living. 

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way. 

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna 

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” 

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress. 

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom. 

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.” 

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off. 

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too— 

He clears his throat. “I’m back!” 

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps. 

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.” 

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours. 

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!” 

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you. 

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon. 

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.” 

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag. 

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good. 

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long. 

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth. 

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!” 

“What?” 

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes.  “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!” 

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker. 

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips. 

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso. 

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.” 

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…” 

“What is it?” 

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so. 

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss. 

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love. 

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind. 

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones. 

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core. 

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory. 

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager. 

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth. 

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to. 

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

 It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips. 

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him. 

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue. 

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise. 

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement. 

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin. 

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up. 

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat. 

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits. 

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts. 

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you. 

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own. 

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you. 

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least. 

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock. 

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself. 

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin. 

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.  

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry.  “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the  tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong. 

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out. 

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger. 

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock. 

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you. 

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member. 

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before. 

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin. 

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him. 

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his. 

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second. 

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there. 

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood. 

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him. 

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name. 

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge. 

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers. 

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back. 

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.” 

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.” 

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums. 

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks. 

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep. 

And you slept like never before. 

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events. 

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on. 

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug. 

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him. 

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you.   Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back. 

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces. 

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips. 

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most. 

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out. 

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility. 

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face. 

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room. 

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks. 

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.” 

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month. 

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks. 

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words. 

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says. 

You humph. 

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it. 

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was. 

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe. 

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to. 

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes. 

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely. 

“Hey,” He greets. 

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves. 

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort. 

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you. 

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh. 

“How about we say it together?” 

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart. 

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!” 

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!” 

“For roping you into running away from my party.” 

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself. 

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most. 

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever. 

[dreaming-medium]

White Nail Polish

Pairing: I.N x reader

Genre: pure fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: Every Sunday when Yang Jeongin comes home to your shared apartment, there you’ll be, in your corner seat on the couch, painting your nails the same white color. But today, when he steps inside, you’re not there.

——————————————————————-

You always painted your nails yourself.

“It’s easier!” You would tell Jeongin with a bubbly smile. “Plus, it’s so nice to take some time to pamper myself. And I get to save money.”

It was a simple tradition he’s come to look forward to.

Every Sunday, when Jeongin walked in the door to your shared apartment and the smell of acetone smacked him in the face, he would always smile.

There you would be, on your designated corner seat on the couch, in your coziest, oversized hoodie, a fresh clay face mask on your face with your hair held back by a fuzzy headband.

The same fuzzy headband he stuck in your Christmas stocking last year.

You’d only just be finishing taking the last coat off your nails by the time he got home.

Without fail, Jeongin would walk in and immediately open the window to air out the chemical smell. He would then lecture you about fumes and how dangerous it was to be inhaling them.

Then, you would giggle and ask him to sit with you. He would do so without any fuss and a happy tingle in his chest.

Both of you would talk and watch TV until it was time for bed.

Sundays were his new favorite days.

The roommate line of your relationship was quickly crossed with how you were as a person, your overly friendly nature couldn’t keep you apart for long. After living together for two years now, Jeongin would easily proclaim you as one of his best friends.

His life was always changing, nothing was ever the same; nothing except for you and your white nail polish.

So, when he opened the door and was met with only the smell of a burning candle, Jeongin frowned.

The living room was dark. The TV wasn’t on. The entire apartment was standing still.

Not even a fresh pot of coffee was sitting on the counter.

You were home, though. Your shoes were by the door and your keys were hanging on the hook.

Never once have you missed a ‘Self Care Sunday’ as you coined them.

Even when you had the flu, you made sure to paint your pretty nails.

The door shut behind him, the click of the lock was as hollow as the apartment felt.

Jeongin kicked his shoes off and made his way down the hall, tossing his bag in his room before walking across the hall to stand in front of your closed door. The soft glow of your fairy lights shined from the crack underneath the wood.

There’s soft sounds coming from inside, it sounds like you’re watching videos on your phone.

He knocks a few times, you hum for him to come in.

Jeongin pushes the door open gently, his head peeking in first before his body.

You’re a lump of blankets on top of the bed. If he looked quickly, he might not have realized that it was you underneath all the blankets and pillows.

“Y/N?” he asks quietly, stepping inside slowly.

Your eyes look at him, they seem… dull. When you see his face, you lock your phone and place it down on your bed.

Again, you only hum.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asks. Jeongin walks towards the bed and sits on the edge. “You’ve never missed a Sunday before.”

You shrug— or at least, he thinks it’s a shrug, all Jeongin’s able to see is the lump of blankets move around.

His eyebrows pull together and he purses his lip. “What’s going on?”

You look away from him. “Just… life weighing down extra today. Exams, job, finding an internship, life, everything.”

Every day you were bubbly. Not a moment went by where you didn’t have a varying degree of a smile on your face. Some people had a resting bitch face, you had a resting happy face.

The corners of your lips were perpetually upturned.

Seeing you now, like this, a sad lump of fleece, pulled at Jeongin’s heartstrings.

You reach one hand out from under the blankets and place it gently on top of his. “Sorry for being all meh,” you huff a humorless laugh through your nose. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I think I need to be a bedbug today.”

Jeongin thinks for a moment, he looks around your room to your desk. Everything that you usually use on Sundays is there on top.

He flips his hand around and picks yours up, bringing it closer to his face. Cocking his head to the side, he peers down at your nails, making sure to exaggerate how much he’s judging the chipped polish.

“No, no,” he says, clicking his tongue. “This won’t do at all.”

“Jeongin—“

“Nope, look at this.” He holds your hand up for you to see. “How unprofessional. We have to take care of this.”

You roll your eyes. And it doesn’t slip past Jeongin’s watchful eye that your lips twitch in a smile.

“I just don’t feel like it right now,” you whine.

“That’s fine, I’ll do it.”

Jeongin pulls on your arm to yank you out of the blanket pile.

You blink a few times and allow him to sit you up on the bed. A large, stretched out t-shirt hung off your shoulder, your hair sticks up in different directions.

“What?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I’ll paint your nails, come on. Free of charge.”

Jeongin stands up from the bed and holds his hand out for you. You just blink at him over and over.

“You’re going to paint my nails?” The question ends with an incredulous laugh.

Rolling his eyes, Jeongin thrusts his hand out for you to take again. “Yes, I’m going to paint your nails, what’s so odd about that?”

“Have you ever painted your nails before?”

“No, but I watch you do it every week. How hard could it be?”

Your face scrunches up but a small twinkle returns to your eyes. It doesn’t slip past Jeongin.

Deciding that you’re taking too long, Jeongin leans down and picks you up over his shoulder.

A loud squeal comes from your throat that dissolves into giggles. His heart lights up at the sound— it always has.

Even on his worst days, hearing your laughter was like sitting in front of a fireplace during a snowstorm. When he’s sick, he swears he doesn’t need medicine, he just needs to sit near you.

He can still remember one night where he was at his wit’s end, everything that could go wrong, did. He was so overstimulated and angry at everything that he could scream and cry at the same time.

But then, your laughter pierced through the gray clouds of his mind. Your fit of giggles traveled through your door and into his room, they were so muffled but uncontrolled.

Slowly, they dissolved into cackles. Breathless wheezes and snorts that made him smile without knowing what you’re looking at.

You had one of those laughs that was so contagious, especially to him.

There was a bit of shuffling, a door opened, and then you came through his with one of the happiest smiles he’s ever seen. Tears coming down your red face from laughing so hard.

“You have to see this!” you wheezed out.

What was it? A video of a duck sitting on top of a water park geyser, when the water jet activated, the duck went flying.

It wasn’t even that funny. But hearing your angelic laughter made it hilarious.

Suddenly, his day wasn’t so bad anymore. He couldn’t even remember what he was mad about.

That’s the friendship you both have always carried on with.

A shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, an arm to grab when you’re laughing too hard, an extra coffee to bring home, a constant reminder to refill the Brita. It gets deeper and deeper every day.

Jeongin unceremoniously plops you into your corner seat and you let out an ‘ooof!’

He points down at your face. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog!” You laugh nonetheless while Jeongin’s lithe form disappears down the hallway again.

You look down at your nails. They desperately needed to be done. After studying for hours on end while chewing on your nails, typing on your laptop, and picking nervously at them, there’s barely any polish left.

Truly, you were just going to wait until tomorrow— but if Jeongin was offering, who were you to turn it down?

He comes back out into the living room with everything you typically used. You honestly never noticed how much he paid attention to your pampering.

Setting everything down on the table, he sits cross legged on the seat next to yours and clicks the TV on. A random Christmas movie plays in the background.

He grabs the remover and a cotton pad and goes to work. All the motions look so natural after he grabs your first hand; like he’s the one that does this every Sunday, not you.

The two of you are facing one another, knees practically touching. He’s so gentle when he works.

The chemical burning smell of acetone makes him scrunch his nose up.

“Aren’t you going to open the windows?” you tease.

He grins. “In a minute. The smell has to permeate the house first.”

“And here I thought you hated the smell.”

“I do,” he wipes off polish and goes to the next finger. “But it’s just … something that’s grown on me.”

“Acetone?”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Strangely enough. I hate it, but I love it.”

He switches to the next hand.

The Christmas movie continues to play, it’s a classic one with Korean translated subtitles at the bottom of the screen. It’s weird hearing English come out of the TV.

Jeongin’s been trying extra hard with English since you moved in. With you being from America, it was like having a live-in tutor.

“I … need remote, please.” He asked in a slow, calculated tone.

“You need the remote,” you corrected him, holding it out of his reach.

“I need the remote.”

“Why?”

“Change channel.”

“Change the channel.”

“Oh my god.”

Your attention goes back to Jeongin. He’s wiping the last of the nail polish off your fingers.

He’s been your rock these last two years. And you’ve been his.

Neither of you really enjoy having emotional conversations or talking about your feelings, you both prefer to stay quiet about it. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need some form of support.

That’s how you two work out so well. When one needs help, the other is there with jokes or food or a movie ready to watch.

Or in this case, nail polish ready to be applied.

With a huff, he stands up from the couch and pushes open one of the windows. He fans his hand in front of his face just to be extra dramatic.

Rolling your eyes, you poke him in the side when he sits back down on the couch.

You were expecting him to put the paint on right away afterwards, so imagine your surprise when he picks up the small pair of clippers.

With a raised eyebrow, you take your hand away a little. His grip tightens and his head snaps up to look at you with a mock-offended expression.

“Nuh-uh!” you tease. “You’re gunna give me man nails!”

“I will not!” he jests back. “I will clip your nails exactly how you usually do it!”

Your eyes narrow, he mirrors it.

You jut out your bottom lip, he mirrors it.

You slowly turn your head to the side to side-eye him, he mirrors it.

“I'm trusting you, Yang Jeongin. Christmas is next week. I don’t want man hands.”

He scoffs and looks back down at your hand. “I have rough news, Y/N.”

You balk and rip your hand away from him and then usher a swift smack to his bicep.

The two of you giggle the more you smack him around playfully.

“I do not have man hands!” you yell.

He laughs with you, holding his arms up to shield himself. “Okay, okay! Fine! You have beautiful womanly hands! Enough!”

You stop smacking him. “That’s more like it.”

With that adorable smile, Jeongin reaches forward and grabs your hand once again.

“One set of ridiculously short nails coming up.”

“I’ll poison your coffee tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Yang.”

He snickers once more and then starts cutting your nails in small, little snips.

Jeongin just trims them a bit— he does a perfect job if you’re being completely honest. You preferred them a little longer anyway.

When he picks the nail file up, you’re less wary.

He files your nails down a little more, rounding off the edges just how you like.

“How was rehearsal?” you ask quietly.

“Are we gossiping now? Is this what it’s like getting your nails done at a salon?”

You chuckle. “Yes, now tell me all about it.”

“It was good, I had vocal training after, so it was a long day.”

“What does your day look like tomorrow?”

“Nothing tomorrow. But Tuesday we leave for Japan until Thursday.”

You hum, watching him file your nails. “Nervous?”

“Always. It’s never gone away.”

You giggle. “I think if you weren’t nervous, you would have too big of a head.”

“Or I would be Minho.”

Then, simultaneously, you both go: “Same thing.” And then break into a fit of laughter.

He files your one pinky finger and looks down at both of your hands at once.

“How’s that shape look?”

You bring them up closer for you to look at. They all look even and perfect.

How is he doing this?

“I think you should open a salon,” you tell him, still inspecting your nails.

“Ah, yes, let me abandon my idol lifestyle to be a nail tech.”

Jeongin grabs your one hand and files a little notch off that you didn’t see.

Again, you giggle.

He puts the nail file down and picks up the bottle of white polish you use every week. He shakes it around just like you do, hitting it against the heel of his palm.

Holding his hand out, you put yours in his.

“If you couldn’t be an idol, what would you do?” you ask suddenly.

Jeongin doesn’t even pause, but you can see he’s thinking about your question as he unscrews the bottle. The excess on the brush is swiped on the neck.

“Hmm,” he weighs your question. “I don’t know, really. I love singing so much.”

Jeongin grabs your one finger and swipes the polish over your nail.

“You could be a lounge singer,” you tease. “Singing in those fancy, swanky nightclubs at the piano.”

“Would I have a tip jar on top?”

“Oh, of course. It would be overflowing from all the women who fall in love with you every night.”

His cheeks heat up from the compliment, moving from nail to nail with the first coat.

“Don’t say things like that,” he mumbles.

You snicker. “Sorry, but all the old ladies would be head over heels for you. They’d empty their wallets into your tip jar and you would smile and wink at them with those dimples.”

With your free hand, you poke at his face. Jeongin swats at your hand with a whine.

“I’ll mess up your nails on purpose!” he threatens.

Still laughing, you take your hand away from his face. He switches to the second hand. You blow on the first one.

“Okay, your turn: why white?” He asks, paying attention to his careful brush strokes.

“The color?”

He hums an ‘mhmm’.

You smile down at the color on your first hand he did, admiring the way the white looks.

“I think it’s pretty,” you tell him.

“That’s all?”

You snort. “Does there need to be another reason?”

“No, I guess not.” He moves from finger to finger.

“It makes me feel a little extra beautiful. I can’t explain it, but having my nails painted white feels so pretty.”

His own smile is warm and happy. His cheeks scrunch up and the small blush of pink that sits on them make your stomach dance.

You’ve never really needed anything else like you’ve needed his presence— nor have you craved anything similar.

Jeongin is Jeongin. He’s simple and everything you could ever ask for.

“My turn again; if you could change one decision you’ve made in the last five years, what would it be?”

Jeongin whistles and finishes the first coat on your hands. “That’s a heavy question, Y/N.”

You continue to blow on your nails. “Well, I figured we were getting deeper and deeper.”

“I asked you why you liked white nail polish!”

“And I asked you to take a deep dive into your regrets, I think these are pretty similar.”

“Is it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Jeongin grabs the first hand he was working on and takes a look at the polish. “How long does it take to dry?”

“It’s a special gel polish, so ten minutes between coats.”

“How long do you think it’s been?”

“Maybe five?”

He nods and turns to look at the TV. His eyes scan over the subtitles at the bottom to understand what’s happening.

But you don’t look at the TV, you continue to stare at him.

Jeongin’s boyish charm never seems to go away no matter what. Even after all the soft lines of his face turned into hard ones, that teasing happiness is still there.

When you became roommates two years ago it was because you desperately needed a place to stay and he just as direly needed someone to pay the other half of the rent.

A match made in Heaven.

He continued to be an idol and you continued college.

When you first moved in, Jeongin told you that if you wanted more privacy, to let him know, that he was more than content to leave communal spaces to you.

You looked him in the eye and asked, “What if I wanted to hang out with you?”

Neither of you have looked back.

You needed a friend and he needed someone who wasn’t in his group. The boys can only do so much for his sanity.

Sometimes he just needs to come home to acetone and fresh coffee.

Scrunching your nose, you look down at your first hand and poke at the first coat. When your fingerprint doesn’t show up, you hold it out to Jeongin.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He looks back at you, then down at your hand and takes it. God, his hands are so soft.

“It’s too heavy of a question,” he whines.

“I wanna know the answer, though.”

He applies the second coat to a nail.

“I mean, I regret having to wear some of the outfits they had us in before and right after debuting.”

You laugh, it’s a cackle. Jeongin cracks a smile— it feels like a victory in his head.

“Okay, but I mean a real regret. Something you had control over.”

He stops painting your nails and thinks. His lip pulls between his teeth and his eyebrows pull together. Jeongin’s eyes flit around while his brain reels.

After a few seconds, he shakes his head and looks up at you. “I really can’t think of anything, Y/N.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Not even me moving in?”

His eyes glisten and soften considerably when he hears you say that. The corners of his lips twitch and his heart stutters in his chest a bit.

It feels like cotton is shoved into his mouth while he looks at you. Your hair is still frizzy and everywhere, bare faced with sleepy bags under your eyes, pajamas from this morning still on.

If there was one decision that he was sure he made the best choice of in the past five years, it was you.

“No,” he says with a twinkly smile. “Not even that.”

His demeanor catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show too much.

Jeongin looks at you for a few more seconds before looking down to switch hands.

“My turn again. If you could do anything for a living, what would you do?” he questions while carefully painting.

“Oh, easy. Actress.”

Surprised, he looks back up at your face. “Really?”

“Yeah! I was doing a lot of acting back in America, just local stuff. But when it came time for college, I gave it up.” Your eyes shine sadly. “I was pretty good too, but it’s just one of those careers that have too much uncertainty.”

“Like being an idol.”

“Exactly.” You swallow thickly. “So I went for the secure route.”

Jeongin focuses down on your nails again.

You keep talking. “Besides, I get to live through you.”

His painting stutters, but he continues nonetheless. “What do you mean?”

“You come home with these fun stories of being famous, all the people you get to meet, the countries you get to see. You get to wear Alexander McQueen for God’s sake.”

He blushes, and paints the second coat on your pinky finger.

“Jeongin, your life is so cool. You get to fly to Japan on Tuesday, and you said it like it was just a regular commute. That’s … that’s amazing, you know?”

“It’s not all like that.” He inspects each nail, making sure nothing got messed up.

“I know. There’s crazy fans and all the blood, sweat, and tears.”

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “‘Crazy’ isn’t even a good enough word to describe some of them.”

You laugh.

The TV continues to play.

“But you get to do what you love,” you whisper to him through a thick voice.

Jeongin looks at you closely. There’s unshed tears welling up in your eyes. His heart sinks.

Swallowing, your eyes drop to the couch.

“I gave up on that dream a while ago.” You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. “So I decided to live vicariously through you and your fun stories.”

You shrug and roll your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Your lip quivers.

With your hands still in his, Jeongin threads your fingers together and holds your hands up between you two.

He says nothing.

He doesn’t know what to say.

What can he say in this situation?

You don’t need him to say anything, though. You never have. The fact that he’s there is enough.

“Maybe that’s why we workout so well as roommates,” you say, “no one would suspect a normal girl, with a boring 9-5 would be living with idol superstar I.N from Stray Kids.” Humor was always your coping mechanism.

Letting out a deep breath towards the ceiling, you look back down at him, hands still intertwined.

“Thanks for letting me mooch off your life stories.”

Jeongin chuckles. “Anytime.” He pauses. “For the record, I don’t think your life is boring.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

He nods enthusiastically. “You did that research study about traffic safety last month, I thought it was really interesting.”

An unbelieving laugh leaves your chest. “You don’t need to lie.”

He squeezes your hands. “No, really! You’re studying so hard to be an analyst. You sat outside in the freezing cold for days and days and days watching the crosswalk of a busy road just to collect data.”

It’s true, you did do that. Jeongin also stopped by about once every other hour to give you a hot beverage or food.

If he noticed you were getting cold, the next trip consisted of extra jackets and blankets.

The things you do for research.

“After your findings were submitted, the city started the process to add more crosswalks to busy streets. You’re like a superhero.”

You stare at him for a second before bursting out in laughter. “What a lame superhero!”

Your cackles, like always, are contagious. He can’t fight his own giggles bubbling to the surface in his heart.

Before he knows it, Jeongin is laughing with you.

“I’m Captain Statistics! I beat the odds no matter what!”

He laughs even harder at your pun.

The two of you are giggling so much, your bodies falling forward on the couch, hunched over in a fit of laughter.

But, your hands stay intertwined.

Eventually, the laughter dies down.

Jeongin squeezes your hands once more and flips them around to look at your nails.

“I think it’s time for the top coat, Captain Statistics.”

You look at your hands and test the polish. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He switches the white bottle out for the clear coat. Repeating the shaking process and grabbing your hand.

The top coat goes on much quicker than the white polish does.

“Thank you for this, Jeongin,” you say quietly.

The smile that grows on his face reminds you of those timelapse videos of flowers growing in the Spring. It takes up the entirety of his face— and your heart.

“Of course, Y/N. Happy to do it.”

He moves to the other hand. You blow on the first one.

It’s the truth, he was happy to do it. He’d do it again if you asked him to. Jeongin would happily paint your nails every Sunday for the rest of your lives if you wanted.

Words sit in his mouth, words that he’s wanted to say for months now, words that would change the entirety of your relationship.

They’re so heavy on his tongue.

Jeongin can practically feel them tumbling out. He has to clench his jaw from keeping his confession to himself.

How much longer until he explodes? You can only shake a soda bottle too much before everything comes out the top.

God, he loves you so much.

You say it to him all the time, you say it to everyone so often.

“I love you” is said all the time by you. It’s as easy as breathing for you.

He asked you about it once, why do you say it so much? Your answer?

“People need to know when they’re loved. I will happily be that person that reminds them.”

As if he couldn’t love you more already. You’re just a light, a star, a sun.

Yes.

You’re his sun. The center of his galaxy. Everything revolves around you, he gravitates to you. He can’t help but bask in your warmth every single day.

The last of the top coat is painted delicately. They’re done.

“Finished,” he says quietly.

Your smile lights up the room.

“God, you’re the best, Jeongin,” you say, admiring his handiwork. “Thank you so much!”

He mirrors your smile and starts putting everything away. “Anytime, Y/N.”

Jeongin screws the lids tighter on the polish and acetone. A car honks outside. The TV plays on. The heat kicks on. You blow on your nails.

“I’ll miss you this week,” you tell him casually.

He looks over at you, folding his long legs up on the couch again.

“Really?”

“I always miss you, Jeongin. The apartment feels colder when you’re gone.”

He studies your face for a long stretch of time.

You’re too busy smiling at your nails to notice.

He can’t take it anymore.

“I lied to you,” he says suddenly. You look at him, slightly alarmed.

“What?” you ask.

“I lied— when I said I had no regrets, I lied.”

Your face scrunches up. “Why?”

He swallows nervously. “Close your eyes and I’ll tell you.”

You eye him curiously for a few more seconds before your eyes slide shut.

Jeongin’s heart rate picks up exponentially. It’s going to explode at this rate.

He leans forward towards your face, you’re so perfect. How are you so perfect?

He hesitates.

But, he swallows his nerves and swoops in the rest of the way, pressing his lips to yours delicately. Your body jolts, but you don’t move away from him.

It’s no more than a long peck. Electricity shoots through his body anyway.

A shock goes from his heart to his toes. He can barely feel his fingers.

You’re so magical. How do you do this?

Jeongin pulls away slowly, brushing your noses together and letting your shaky exhales mingle with one another.

He can’t open his eyes. He’s so worried that if he does, he’ll see rejection and disdain in your beautiful eyes.

You’re the first one to speak through the thick silence.

“I fail to see how that is a regret,” you whisper.

He laughs. Like always, you get him to laugh. He rests his forehead on yours.

“I regret not doing it sooner.” His long fingers come up to cup your one cheek.

You hum and lean into his touch.

Validation courses through his veins. It’s taking everything in his body not to jump for joy.

All he wants to do is stand up and scream, pump his fist in the air and claim victory.

Before he could do any of that, you lean forward and kiss him again.

Your top lip slots between his, his bottom in between both of yours.

A sigh of relief leaves his nose, his other arm wraps around your shoulders to bring you even closer. He can’t get you close enough to his body.

Closer, closer, closer.

Please, he needs you to be as close as possible.

He pulls back from the first kiss just to press another one to your lips.

Again, and again, and again— he pulls away just to swoop back in.

It’s never enough.

It’s like drinking water after you’ve been parched all day. He never knew he was crawling through a desert until now.

“Jeongin,” you giggle through his frantic kisses.

He grunts in response and continues to kiss you more. Why can’t he get enough?

He’s resigned himself to his fate. He’ll need to kiss you forever until the world ends.

“Jeongin,” you say again, still laughing.

How has he gone this long without your kisses? It’s madness.

Finally, you pull back. He dives in for another kiss, you turn your head with a brilliant smile, his lips meet your cheek.

Eh, that’ll do.

Over and over again he pecks your cheek. Laugh after laugh comes from you.

“My nails!” you finally call out. “You’re going to ruin them!”

His hand turns your face to look at him. “I’ll do them again. I’ll do them again and again, just please let me kiss you.”

Unable to take it any longer, you throw your arms around his neck and smash your lips together.

You pull him down onto the sofa with you, kiss after kiss being shared between the two of you.

How was he supposed to go to Japan now?

————————————————————————

(A/N: yes, the duck video exists. You can see it here. The first time I saw it I laughed so hard my housemate came in to check on me.)

[tinydefector]

Cybertronian Drinks and Food

So wanted to try and make a little interactive thing for y'all to send in as request. I'm sure you guys have seen this piece I've made for some of the Energon and Minerals the Transformers consume. Send in to my ask box

So I'm giving you guys the power to send in different things from this list to be made into energon drink art. Or edibles of a sort.

Energon and Fuels

Dark Energon

Synthetic Energon

Tox-En

Red Energon

engex

High grade

Energon wine

Energon Z

Natural Energon

Pure energon

Biofuel

super energon

Energon rod

EnerGULP

Diesel

unleaded petrol

95-octane

E10

E85 - flex-fuel

Jet A and Jet A1 Jet B

JET-A, JP5, JP8

LH2/LOX

RP-1/LOX

kerosene

LSFO

Oil

Minerals, Crystal's and Chemicals    

Petroleum

Hydrogen

Copper

Aluminium

Titanium

Lead

Tin

Nickel

Gold

Zinc

Magnesium

Cobalt

Tungsten

Platinum

Chromium

Silver

Manganese

Sodium

Beryllium

Vanadium

Molybdenum

Palladium

Uranium

Zirconium

Bismuth

Cadmium

Mercury

Hafnium

Lanthanum

Niobium

Rhodium

Scandium

Tantalum

Yttrium

Cerium

Plutonium

Lithium

Neptunium

Meitnerium

Seaborgium

Dubnium

Francium

Gallium

Indium

Potassium

Rubidium

Strontium

Thallium

Barium

Calcium

Cesium

Calcite

Pyrite

Copper

Quartz

Benitoite

Diamond

Fluorite

Galena

Garnet

Gold

Oxide

Sulfides

Gypsum

Halite

Phosphates

Sulfates

Carbonates

Iron

__________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

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@wosemoose1

[teratosfavouritesnack]

Imagine a meet cute with a minotaur while you're grocery shopping.

You're in the skincare and beauty products aisle, a bottle of Mino's Magic and one of Kram's Jam in your hands, your eyes scrolling over the ingredients of the two skin lotions - both containing the miracle-working minotaur's milk, which apparently has anti-aging and moisturising properties that work particularly well on human skin. You've never tried any before, but you'd be down to give it a try if only you knew which one to go for...

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that one."

You're startled by the sound of a grave but warm voice coming from behind you and you look up only to have your sight completely blocked by a furry muscular chest. It takes a moment for you to crane up your neck enough to meet the amused gaze of the biggest minotaur you've ever had the pleasure to lay your eyes onto. He's also incredibly handsome-

"Huh-??"

"Mino's Magic." he nods at the bottle in your right hand, smirking at your confused and flushed face. "It's got chemicals in it. I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh. Oh! Okay... Uhm-" You do your best to tear your eyes off of him and focus back on the bottles in your hands. You somehow manage to keep your cool despite your quickened heartbeat. "W-what about this one?"

You hear him huff as if in mock before he steps closer, your shoulder bumping in his side as he leans in to point to the ingredients section of the second lotion, his thick finger brushing against your hand.

"See? It only has 40% of the good stuff. The rest is horseshit. Quite literally."

You blink at him. "What?"

The minotaur barks a laugh, his body so close to yours that you can feel his abdomen tense and shake against your shoulder.

"Kram's got six sons, none pure-breed. Their mother is a weremare. Hence the horseshit."

You chuckle awkwardly in response, placing both the bottles back on the shelf.

"I guess I should have looked better into these products before thinking of buying anything..."

The minotaur gives you a long assessing look, his eyes twinkling in amusement and genuine curiosity.

"It's your first time?"

"Yeah..."

"Do you mind if I give you an advice?"

"I don't mind..."

"Nothing you find on these shelves will ever be 100% pure and reliable, that's why you should only buy homemade lotions made by a minotaur you know and trust. "

"That makes sense but unfortunately I don't know any minotaur..."

His lips instantly curl up in a bigger grin and his chest seems to puff out in pride as he extends his huge calloused hand your way.

"I'm Gust. Short for Gustokis."

You blink back at him, momentarily taken aback by his sudden introduction. Your hand reaches out for his instinctively, and you blurt out your answer quickly after, almost tripping over your words.

"I-I'm Y/N-!"

"Well, Y/N..." His eyes narrow and crinkle as he smirks, his huge hand envelops yours in a warm and firm hold. "Now you know me."

He leans down towards you, his snout almost touching your face and making your breath hitch. "And I'm ready to show you how trustworthy I am. How about a chat over a coffee?"

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me

[2-dsimp]

Yan hitman squad reaction to darling crying because of somebody?? (maybe it's because of their enemy or something)

LOVEYOUR POSTS

The Hacker is the type to let them live, while making them regret it.

Yujin will take a deep dive into the offenders personal data, tallying up all the receipts needed to wreak havoc upon their social life so much so that they’d need to create a whole new identity and move to a different country to escape the pure violation.

The Strategiest is the type to take away everything from them and make them repent.

Bjorn will go out of his way to plan their downfall from sabotaging family ties, romantic relationships, and their whole career. He won’t stop until he’s taken everything that they held dear. He’ll make them write an apology letter to his dear coffee bean until their hands are littered with paper cuts.

The Sniper is the type to kill them when they least expect it.

Ossian wants to make sure the harasser of his crush suffers for the unforgivable action they taken against his love. So when they’re using the bathroom, pleasuring themselves, or just sleeping. The Sniper will fire multiple shots into their body and watch in satisfaction as they bleed out to death.

The Medic is type to accidentally kill them.

Koji’s displeased that someone other than him made his nurse cry so in retaliation he simply wanted to have a lil bit of fun with his newfound test subject of which he had the Torturer secure for him. Unfortunately, they died due to an overdose of harmful chemicals/substances.

The Enforcer is the type to give them a “friendly” warning

It depends on how much of a bother they’ve been to his lil spark he’ll either intimidate them to stay away from his darling or beat them half to death with his meaty fists.

The Torturer is the type to take the quote “eye for an eye” in a literal sense severing up body parts as an means to an end

Oh they cursed out his darling then surely they won’t be needing that vile tongue of theirs anymore. Whichever limb the offender used to harass his sunshine Best believe they won’t ever be present on their body again.

[duvetfawn]

A Case to Die For

- Masterlist

INTRODUCTION: The bones told stories only you could read. As an anthropologist, you were brought in to assist on a chilling case—a serial killer carving intricate patterns into the bones of his victims. It was meant to be about the work, about solving the mystery. But then you met Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant, maddening, and utterly magnetic, he challenged you at every turn. The case pulled you both into the depths of human depravity, but it was the tension between you and the detective that threatened to consume you entirely.

PAIRING: Sherlock x fem!reader

WARNINGS: This story contains SMUT (it's at the end, I put a warning before the scenes), MDNI, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, vaginal sex (different position), cursing, etc.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

A/N: Hello people! I've had this idea for a while. As you may have guessed I enjoy writing one-shots quite a lot. Don't worry though, I'll update my main story soon. Sorry about grammar mistakes (if there are any). Enjoy your reading!

The knock at the door was brisk, almost impatient.

You glanced at the worn numbers marking the address—221B Baker Street—and adjusted the strap of your bag, the weight of the files inside pulling at your shoulder. The letter from Detective Inspector Lestrade, which had summoned you here, was crumpled in your coat pocket, and you briefly considered turning back. You weren’t sure what unnerved you more: the gruesome details of the case you’d been asked to consult on or the man you were about to meet.

The door swung open before you could knock again.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, taller than you’d expected, his lean frame emphasized by a dark suit that seemed tailored to the millimeter. His sharp cheekbones caught the light filtering in from the window behind him, and his piercing blue eyes swept over you with clinical detachment.

“Finally,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “You’re late.”

“I was told noon,” you replied, stepping into the cozy yet cluttered sitting room. The air smelled faintly of tea and books, with an undertone of something more chemical.

“It’s five past,” he said, his tone clipped as he gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Let’s get this over with.”

“Charming,” you muttered under your breath, but you complied, placing your bag beside you.

As you settled in, Sherlock was already pacing, his eyes darting over you like a scanner. He tilted his head slightly, as if piecing together a puzzle. “Forensic anthropologist. Academic background, but you’ve spent time in the field—South America, recently, given the faint traces of mosquito bites on your arms. You’re meticulous, perhaps overly so. Single—though not by choice. No pets. Late nights working have left shadows under your eyes. Addicted to caffeine. And—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “I drink tea, not coffee. And I left South America three months ago, not recently.”

Sherlock stopped mid-step, his lips twitching upward into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.

“Impressive,” came a voice from behind you. Turning, you saw Dr. John Watson standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a warm smile on his face. “Not many people interrupt Sherlock.”

“Someone has to,” you replied, shooting a pointed look at Holmes.

John chuckled. “Well, you’ll fit in just fine here.”

“Enough pleasantries,” Sherlock interrupted, his smirk fading as quickly as it had appeared. He moved to a cluttered desk piled high with books, papers, and vials of indeterminate substances. “Lestrade claims you have insights into the carvings on the bones. Show me.”

You bristled slightly at his abrupt tone but reached into your bag, pulling out the folder containing photographs of the remains. You set it on the table, and Sherlock was on it immediately, his fingers quick and precise as he flipped through the images.

“These carvings,” you began, pointing to one of the photographs, “aren’t just random marks. They’re runic, but not purely historical. Someone’s added their own cipher to them, which is why no one’s been able to decode them yet.”

Sherlock didn’t look at you, but his lips parted slightly, and he let out a low hum of interest.

“They’re not just decorative,” you continued. “They’re instructions—or warnings. And they’re meant to mislead.”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock murmured, finally glancing up. His gaze was intense, the weight of it almost physical. “And you’ve decoded these… instructions?”

“Not yet,” you admitted. “But I’ve narrowed down the language and symbolism to something that originates from Norse mythology. Whoever is behind this knows their history but is using it to obscure their true intent.”

Sherlock straightened, his tall frame towering over you as he considered your words. Then, without warning, he turned to John. “Get the laptop. Now.”

John sighed, muttering something under his breath as he retrieved the requested item. “You could at least say please once in a while, you know.”

Sherlock ignored him, his attention already back on you. “Your methodology. Show me.”

You opened your own notebook, flipping to a page filled with notes, sketches, and translations. As you explained your process, Sherlock’s eyes darted between your notes and the photographs, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“You’re thorough,” he said finally, his voice softer than before. “Almost obsessively so.”

“I have to be,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “Lives depend on it.”

His lips twitched again, as if he were on the verge of another smirk, but he turned away abruptly, the moment passing.

Hours passed as the three of you worked. The initial stiffness between you and Sherlock began to dissolve, replaced by a grudging respect. John chimed in occasionally with practical observations, but most of the time, it was you and Sherlock, your minds sparking off one another as you dissected every detail of the case.

The bones belonged to multiple victims, all of whom had vanished under mysterious circumstances. The carvings on the remains suggested a connection to a cult, one that used ancient rituals as a cover for their crimes.

As the day wore on, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier. The implications of the case were grim, and the pressure to find the killer mounted with every passing moment.

It was well past midnight when John finally stretched and stood. “I’m calling it a night. Some of us need sleep, you know.” He clapped Sherlock on the shoulder, then glanced at you. “Good luck keeping up with him. He’ll be at this all night.”

You smiled faintly as John left, but the tension in the room remained.

“You should go, too,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his laptop.

“I’m staying,” you replied firmly. “This case doesn’t just affect you, Sherlock. I’m involved now, whether I like it or not.”

He glanced at you then, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Stubborn.”

You shrugged. “Dedicated.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, unexpectedly, Sherlock’s lips curved into a genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it transformed his sharp features into something softer, more human.

As the hours dragged on, the weight of exhaustion began to set in. You leaned back against the sofa, stretching your legs as Sherlock continued to pace the room, his mind clearly racing.

“Do you ever stop?” you asked, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Rarely,” he replied without missing a beat.

You watched him for a moment, noting the way his dark curls caught the dim light and the way his sharp jawline flexed as he mulled over the case. He was undeniably striking, but there was something more captivating about the way his mind worked—relentless, brilliant, and entirely singular.

“You should sleep,” he said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“So should you.”

He stopped pacing, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “I can’t.”

The honesty in his voice surprised you. For a moment, you saw beyond the genius and arrogance to the man underneath—a man burdened by the weight of his own mind.

“Sherlock…” you began, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, almost pleading.

You didn’t press further, but the moment lingered, the air between you charged with unspoken words.

The silence stretched between you and Sherlock, thick with unspoken thoughts. He returned to pacing, the sharp lines of his face etched with concentration.

You rose from the sofa, crossing to the table where the photographs of the bones lay spread out. The weight of the case had settled heavily on your shoulders. The carvings weren’t just the work of a killer—they were the work of someone meticulous, someone who enjoyed leaving a trail, daring others to follow.

“Why bones?” you murmured, half to yourself.

“What?” Sherlock’s voice cut through the room, sharp and sudden.

“Why bones?” you repeated, turning to face him. “The killer could’ve left messages in any number of ways. Why carve them into bones? It’s labor-intensive, messy, and… personal.”

Sherlock’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he considered your words. “Because they want us to see the victims as something more than flesh. Bones are timeless. Eternal. To them, this is art.”

The thought made your stomach churn. “So we’re dealing with an egotist. Someone who wants to be remembered.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock’s lips curved into a grim smile. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and purposeful. “And egotists always leave clues. They want to be found—eventually. It’s a game to them.”

You nodded, your mind already racing ahead. “But the runes—there’s a pattern. I don’t think they’re random.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, a spark of excitement flickering in their depths. “Show me.”

You reached for your notebook, flipping to the page where you’d sketched out the carvings. As you explained your theory, Sherlock leaned in, his proximity making the air between you hum with tension. You could feel the heat of him, the sharpness of his gaze as he absorbed every word you said.

When you finished, he straightened, a rare look of approval crossing his face. “You’re good,” he said simply.

“Better than you expected?” you shot back, unable to resist the jab.

His lips twitched. “Much.”

Hours later, the two of you stood side by side at the kitchen counter, a map of London spread out before you. You’d identified a pattern in the runes—coordinates, perhaps, or some kind of geographical marker.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a section of the map. “The killer’s movements trace a path through these locations. They’re circling something.”

Sherlock leaned over your shoulder, his hand brushing yours as he followed your line of sight. “They’re closing in on a central point,” he murmured. “A hub. But what?”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door opening interrupted you. John stepped into the room, his expression curious.

“You two still at it?” he asked, his gaze flicking between you and Sherlock.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, not looking up.

John sighed. “Of course you are. Did either of you eat? Sleep? Do anything remotely human?”

“I had tea,” you offered.

John shook his head. “Right. Well, if you need me, I’ll be in my room. Try not to burn the flat down.”

As John left, Sherlock straightened, his attention fully on the map once more. “We’re close,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I can feel it.”

It was well past three in the morning when the breakthrough came. You’d been poring over the map, exhaustion tugging at the edges of your mind, when Sherlock suddenly froze.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“What?”

He grabbed the map, pointing to a section near the Thames. “The carvings aren’t just coordinates. They’re dates. Look—each location corresponds to a disappearance, and the runes indicate the order.”

You stared at the map, your pulse quickening. “So the central point…”

“Is where the killer will strike next.”

The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. But before you could react, Sherlock turned to you, his expression serious. “You’re staying here.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“It’s too dangerous,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The killer knows who you are. If you come with me, you’ll be a target.”

“And you won’t?” you shot back. “Sherlock, I’m not staying behind while you run off to confront a murderer alone.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he sighed. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

“And you’re overbearing,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

The tension between you remained thick as you prepared to leave for the central location. Sherlock was quiet, his usual sharp remarks absent as he packed a small bag with tools and evidence.

“You’re worried,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes unreadable. “I’m always worried.”

“About me?”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the mask he wore slipped. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The admission hung in the air, heavy and charged. You stepped closer, your heart pounding. “Sherlock…”

He didn’t move, his tall frame unnervingly still. Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I can’t afford distractions,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I’m not a distraction,” you said, your voice steady.

His lips curved into a faint smile, and before you could react, he closed the distance between you. His kiss was sudden and consuming, all the tension and frustration of the past days boiling over in a single, electrifying moment.

The kiss lingered for a moment—unspoken emotions breaking through the controlled veneer that Sherlock so carefully maintained. But just as quickly as it began, he pulled back, his sharp features hardening as if he’d remembered himself.

“This is a distraction,” he muttered, turning away abruptly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “A distraction?” you echoed, your voice edged with disbelief. “You kissed me, Sherlock.”

“And I shouldn’t have,” he said, his tone clipped. He grabbed the map from the table, his long fingers gripping it tightly. “The case comes first.”

You felt a flush of anger rise in your chest. “You don’t get to decide what’s important for both of us. I’m here because I want to be.”

Sherlock turned to you then, his blue eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, perhaps, or something deeper. “And what happens if you get hurt?” he snapped.

“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, stepping closer. “You’re not invincible, Sherlock.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. But before either of you could speak again, Sherlock’s phone buzzed on the table.

He snatched it up, his expression darkening as he read the message. “Lestrade,” he said shortly. “There’s been another body.”

The air was cold and damp as you arrived at the scene, the faint mist of the Thames clinging to your skin. Lestrade met you both at the edge of a cordoned-off area, his face grim.

“Another one,” he said, nodding toward the forensics team working under a floodlight. “Same carvings. Same precision. This one was left out in the open, though—almost like they wanted us to find it.”

Sherlock pushed past him without a word, his long coat billowing behind him. You followed closely, your heart pounding as you approached the body.

The victim was laid out on the ground, their arms folded across their chest in a disturbingly serene pose. The runes were etched deep into their skin, trailing up their arms and across their torso.

“Another message,” Sherlock murmured, crouching beside the body. His fingers hovered over the carvings, his sharp eyes scanning every detail.

You knelt beside him, your stomach twisting at the sight. “It’s different,” you said, pointing to a series of symbols near the victim’s collarbone. “These weren’t on the last body.”

Sherlock tilted his head, his expression sharp. “A variation in the pattern,” he said softly. “Why?”

“Because they’re escalating,” you replied. “The killer’s becoming bolder, more confident. They’re taunting us.”

Sherlock’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Or they’re telling us exactly where to find them.”

Lestrade approached, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Anything?”

Sherlock stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the scene. “Yes. The killer is leaving breadcrumbs—and we’re about to follow them.”

Back at 221B, the two of you worked furiously to decipher the new symbols. The atmosphere in the flat was charged, the earlier tension between you and Sherlock now overshadowed by the urgency of the case.

“These markings,” Sherlock muttered, pacing the room. “They’re not just coordinates. They’re a challenge—a riddle.”

You stared at the notes spread out before you, your mind racing. “It’s a location,” you said suddenly, the pieces clicking into place. “The symbols form a map—a rough one, but it’s there.”

Sherlock stopped pacing, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “Show me.”

You grabbed a pen, sketching out the pattern of the runes and overlaying them onto the map of London. It was crude, but the alignment was unmistakable.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a spot near the outskirts of the city. “An abandoned warehouse. It’s isolated, easy to control. If I were them, that’s where I’d be.”

Sherlock’s lips curved into a rare smile—one that sent a jolt of electricity through you. “Brilliant,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent.

Your breath caught, but you quickly pushed the moment aside. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We go,” Sherlock said simply. “And we end this.”

The warehouse loomed before you, its broken windows and rusted exterior shrouded in darkness. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you and Sherlock stepped inside, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty space.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart pounding as you followed him deeper into the building. The air was thick with the scent of damp and decay, and every creak of the floorboards set your nerves on edge.

Then, you saw it—a figure standing in the shadows, their face obscured.

“Mr. Holmes,” the figure said, their voice smooth and cold. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Sherlock stepped forward, his posture rigid. “And here I thought you’d try harder to hide.”

The figure chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Why would I hide? This is my masterpiece, Mr. Holmes. And you’re the final audience.”

You felt Sherlock’s hand brush against yours—a silent reassurance. Your pulse quickened, but you held your ground, ready for whatever came next.

Sherlock’s hand brushed against yours again, a fleeting touch, but it steadied you. His blue eyes flicked toward you for the briefest of moments, and you nodded, understanding his unspoken command to stay close.

The figure stepped forward, their face finally illuminated by the dim light filtering through the broken windows. A man, tall and gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a glint of madness in his eyes. His hands were clasped in front of him, as if he were a host welcoming guests to a party.

“You’re braver than I expected,” the man said, his voice eerily calm. “I didn’t think you’d come here so willingly.”

Sherlock tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been practically begging for my attention. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

The man’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “And you’ve brought company,” he said, his gaze shifting to you. “How… quaint.”

You stiffened under his scrutiny, but Sherlock stepped slightly in front of you, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “She’s not your concern.”

“Oh, but she is,” the man said, his smile returning. “She’s part of this now. Part of my design.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened, his hands clenching at his sides. “Your design is flawed,” he said coldly. “You think yourself a mastermind, but you’re nothing more than a petty narcissist playing with symbols you barely understand.”

The man’s smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of anger. “You don’t know me, Holmes. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I know enough,” Sherlock replied, his voice like ice. “You carve your messages into bones because you crave permanence. You want the world to remember you, but you don’t understand what true brilliance looks like. You’re a coward hiding behind theatrics.”

The man lunged forward, his face twisted with rage. But Sherlock was faster. He moved with a precision that took your breath away, sidestepping the attack and pinning the man against the wall in one swift motion.

“You’ve made your last mistake,” Sherlock hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “This game is over.”

The man struggled, but Sherlock held him firm, his tall frame towering over the killer. You felt a surge of relief mixed with admiration as you watched him work, his sharp mind and physical prowess in perfect sync.

It wasn’t until the police arrived that the weight of the confrontation truly hit you. The man was dragged away in handcuffs, his defiance replaced by a sullen silence. Lestrade patted Sherlock on the shoulder, muttering something about a job well done, but Sherlock barely acknowledged him.

Instead, his attention was on you.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, his piercing gaze softening as he stepped closer.

You hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. The adrenaline that had carried you through the night was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered.

“No, you’re not.”

Sherlock’s hands were on your shoulders before you could protest, his touch firm but gentle. He guided you away from the chaos, into the quiet corner of the warehouse where the shadows offered a semblance of privacy.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he said, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have let you come.”

“I had to be here,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You needed me.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his hands tightened on your shoulders, and something in his expression shifted—something raw and vulnerable.

“I did need you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The confession hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt your breath catch as he stepped closer, his blue eyes locked onto yours.

The first kiss had been a crack in the wall. This one was the collapse.

The warehouse was silent save for the echo of your hurried breaths. The tension in the air had reached a breaking point, and when Sherlock’s lips crashed into yours, it was like a dam breaking.

The kiss was urgent, heated, his hands coming up to cup your face with an uncharacteristic lack of control. His body pressed into yours, pinning you against the cold, dusty wall. His lips were surprisingly soft, but his movements were anything but gentle. His teeth grazed your lower lip, his tongue slipping past as he deepened the kiss, leaving no doubt about the desperation behind it.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tangling in the dark curls you’d wanted to touch far longer than you cared to admit. A low groan escaped him as you pulled him closer, the sound vibrating through you.

But just as quickly as it started, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his blue eyes dark with something primal.

“This isn’t the place,” he said, his voice strained, but his hands remained on you, his thumb brushing over your jaw as if he couldn’t quite let go.

You nodded, your chest heaving, unable to form words.

He stepped back reluctantly, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. “Come to Baker Street.”

It wasn’t a request.

You followed him outside, the cold night air doing little to cool the fire raging beneath your skin. The drive to 221B was a blur—Sherlock barely spoke, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, the tension between you palpable.

By the time you arrived, the front door was barely closed before he had you pressed against it, his lips on yours once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel just how affected he was.

“Upstairs,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You didn’t argue, letting him guide you up the narrow staircase to his flat, every step building the anticipation to a breaking point.

Sherlock’s lips were everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your collarbone. His hands roamed with purpose, as if memorizing every curve of your body. But it wasn’t hurried. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his movements, a contrast to the raw hunger in his kisses.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and strained, as if he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth.

The sound of him—usually so controlled and precise—undone in this moment sent a jolt of heat through you.

You let your hands roam over his chest, marveling at the lean muscle beneath his pale skin, the way his body seemed almost sculpted, yet undeniably real. He was all sharp lines and ridges, a perfect contradiction of strength and vulnerability.

“Sherlock,” you breathed, his name tumbling from your lips without thought.

He paused at the sound, his head lifting to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were blown wide with desire, yet there was something else in them too—something softer.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I care to admit.”

Your breath caught. “And?”

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile—so unlike him it made your heart ache. “And now that I have you, I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go.”

The vulnerability in his words stole your breath, but before you could respond, he was on you again—his lips searing against yours as if he couldn’t stand the distance for another second.

He guided you to the bed in the corner of the flat, his hands never leaving your body. When the back of your knees hit the edge, you sank down, pulling him with you.

“Lie back,” he commanded softly, his voice like velvet.

You obeyed, your pulse racing as you reclined against the pillows. Sherlock followed, his tall frame looming over you as his hands trailed down your sides.

“You deserve to be worshiped,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your stomach. “Let me show you.”

His hands slid to your hips, and with a fluid motion, he rid you of the last barriers between you. The cool air against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body, but any nervousness you felt dissolved the moment his mouth replaced his hands.

The first touch of his lips against you sent a shockwave through your body. He worked slowly at first, his tongue tracing deliberate patterns, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. He was meticulous, as if solving a puzzle—reading every gasp, every shiver, adjusting his movements until he had you unraveling beneath him.

His tongue pressed harder, his pace quickening, and you couldn’t stop the moans that spilled from your lips.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breaking.

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. When his fingers joined the fray, slipping inside you with a skill that left you breathless, it was too much.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed as his name tore from your lips. 

But Sherlock didn’t stop—not until you were trembling, every nerve in your body alight.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened, and the smug look on his face would’ve annoyed you if you weren’t still recovering.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You managed a weak laugh, your chest heaving. “Cocky bastard.”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, you found yourself wanting more—needing more. You pushed against Sherlock’s chest, flipping him onto his back with a boldness that seemed to catch him off guard.

“Your turn,” you said, your voice low and teasing.

His eyes darkened, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Be my guest.”

You moved down his body, taking your time exploring every inch of him. His sharp collarbones, the defined lines of his chest, the faint trail of hair leading lower—it was all intoxicating. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, you paused, glancing up to meet his gaze.

“Off,” you demanded.

His smirk widened, but he complied, lifting his hips to help you. When he was fully exposed, your breath hitched.

“You’re staring,” he teased, echoing your earlier words.

“Shut up,” you shot back, leaning down to kiss him in a way that wiped the smirk off his face.

You started slow, letting your tongue trace along him, savoring the way his body tensed beneath you. His hands fisted in the sheets, a low groan escaping his lips.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smiled against him, taking him deeper. His reaction was immediate—his head falling back, a string of curses spilling from his lips as you worked him with a combination of precision and fervor.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice strained. “If you keep that up, I won’t—”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Good,” you said, your voice laced with mischief.

He growled, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you back up to him.

Sherlock’s hands tightened on your hips as he hovered above you, his breathing ragged, his dark curls falling into his face. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, his lean frame pressing into yours in a way that made your pulse race.

He slid into you in one fluid, deliberate motion, the stretch and fullness stealing your breath. A guttural moan escaped his lips, his forehead pressing against yours as he stilled, letting you adjust.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. “You’re… incredible.”

You dug your nails into his back, urging him to move. “Sherlock, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He didn’t make you wait. His hips began to move, a slow, torturous rhythm that left you gasping.

Each thrust was measured, precise—just enough to leave you wanting more. His lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured, “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as you arched into him.

His pace quickened, each thrust deeper, harder. You could feel every inch of him, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. The sounds of skin against skin, of his low groans and your cries, filled the room.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he growled, his voice raw with desire.

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the sensation of him. His hand slid down your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip to pull you closer. The new angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, and you cried out, your nails raking down his back.

“More,” you begged, your voice breaking.

He obliged, shifting again, this time pulling your legs over his shoulders. The depth was overwhelming, every thrust hitting a spot that left you trembling.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and authoritative.

You opened your eyes to find his piercing blue gaze locked onto yours. The intensity of his stare was almost too much, but you couldn’t look away.

“You’re stunning like this,” he said, his tone reverent. “Completely mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through you, and you tightened around him, pulling a sharp gasp from his lips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his control slipping.

He slowed suddenly, his movements deliberate as he leaned down to kiss you. The change in pace was almost maddening, but there was something intimate in the way he took his time, as if savoring every moment.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could respond, he pulled out, leaving you aching and empty. He flipped you onto your stomach with ease, his hands guiding your hips into the air.

“Stay like this,” he commanded, his voice dark with lust.

You shivered as his hand trailed down your back, pausing to squeeze your hips. When he entered you again, the angle was deeper, more intense, and you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips.

“So good for me,” he praised, his hands gripping your hips as he set a relentless pace.

You braced yourself against the bed, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks you knew you’d feel tomorrow, but the pain only heightened the pleasure.

“Sherlock,” you moaned, your voice muffled by the pillow.

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as he murmured in your ear, “You feel fucking incredible. Do you know that?”

You could only whimper in response, the words lost as he hit a spot that made your vision blur.

“I need to see your face,” he said suddenly, his voice softer but no less commanding.

He pulled out again, guiding you onto your side. He lay behind you, one hand lifting your leg as he slid back inside. The position was intimate, his chest flush against your back, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Touch yourself,” he murmured, his hand trailing down to guide yours.

You obeyed, your fingers finding the spot that had you spiraling. His thrusts grew slower but deeper, his lips never leaving your skin as he whispered filthy praise into your ear.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice a mix of reverence and need. “So fucking perfect for me.”

The intensity built again, the pace quickening as he turned you onto your back once more. His body covered yours, his weight grounding you as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

“You’re close,” he said, his tone confident.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words.

“Let go,” he commanded, his hand slipping between your bodies to push you over the edge.

The orgasm tore through you, your body arching as you cried out his name. The waves of pleasure were overwhelming, leaving you trembling beneath him.

Sherlock followed moments later, a guttural moan escaping him as he buried himself deep inside you. 

His body tensed, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he found his release.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing.

Sherlock collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as he buried his face in your hair. His body was warm against yours, his breath still uneven.

“You’re remarkable,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.

You smiled, your head resting against his chest. “So are you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “I suppose we make a good team, then.”

“You think?” you teased, looking up at him.

His blue eyes softened, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “I know.”

And for once, Sherlock Holmes had nothing else to say.

[crossovermadness06]

Imagine you work for the Justice League, but not as a hero, as their "Servant".

♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡

Gn!Reader. Pretty much the whole Justice Leauge x Y/N but 99% of it is platonic.

I could write a thing tho, where Y/N pretty much has their own harem but with time.

Also, completely SFW, I know the title sounds suggestive lmao.

♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡ ○ ♡

☆ Servant is such a harsh way of calling your position, but you'd prefer it over "Maid" or "Jaintor" any day.

☆ How'd you be hired? You'd probably get the opportunity from a friend of yours, who you know is a hero.

☆ For pure simplicity, let's say you know Clark is the S-Man. He notices you're looking for a job outside of the daily planet, and confidentiality, the Leauge is looking to hire some clean-up crew.

☆ You get the job pretty much instantly. You had no family, few friends, so the qualifications for the job were simple. To keep you protected, you'd have to live within any place the JL works at, minus the Hall of Justice. Way too public.

☆ You'd essentially go missing for days on end, and no one would notice. Those days would be used cleaning, organizing top to bottom. This was a lot of work, especially for places like the Watchtower, Titans Tower, basically all the "Towers".

☆ You'd also be made to fetch coffee, donuts, or, maybe, print out documents if needed. Sometimes, you'd get "special missions," like hiding a flashdrive at under your pillow until the Leauge needs it back.

☆ The job was tiring and endless work. But for the paycheck Batman gave you weekly? You were surprised they weren't making you do triple the amount of work.

☆ The hardest part was keeping your composure at the start of the job.

☆ Before your life was filled with coffee stains and printed reports. But now you were seeing world-famous heros on the daily, visiting places never before seen, hell you went to space!

☆ Now you realize though.

☆ It's still a life of coffee stains and printed reports.

☆ Only now, the coffee is for any overworked Bat, and the reports are full of people the FBI is too scared to add on their wanted list.

☆ You're so used to the heroes around you, you've started treating them like any other co-worker you did back at the DP.

☆ They enjoyed the change, though. They seem to prefer it over your fan-behavior your first weeks there.

☆ The highlights of your work week mostly consist of cleaning over at the Watch Tower, walking any pets some Superheros may have, helping younger heros with their homework, and getting your two hour long break.

☆ You've also gotten close with the Superheros around you. Clark was always a friend of yours, but you also seem to get along well with the Flash, who asks you to just call him Barry.

☆ You also got along extremely well with Wonder Woman and Aquaman, expressing great intrests in their origin and cultures. Hawkgirl added herself to the conversation most of the time, which you never did mind.

☆ This isn't even beginning to mention how much sidekicks and younger League members absolutely enjoy your presence. Who knew Batman and Supeman had young sons? And who knew they would've liked you so much? You're like, their favorite person now!

☆ At first, you thought that despite all the friendships, you were still just an employee, replaceable and exchangeable.

☆ Sometimes you'd get their orders wrong. Sometimes you'd accidentally print too many copies, or forget to clean a spot, or fold a certain way, or wash with a specific detergent.

☆ Each time you messed up, you knew it was only a matter of time before they fired you. Replaced you.

☆ But one day, when you were taken by Scarecrow by pure coincidence while you were walking through Gotham, they soothed your fears.

☆ Scarecrow had no idea who you were and placed you in a cage with other victims. He had some evil plan that you were honestly too horrified to even listen to, but you were positive it had to do with some fear-inducing chemicals. It always is.

☆ He never got the chance to, though. As it only took mere minutes for the Bat to barge in with an unnecessary amount of backup.

☆ The way Black Canary instantly was checking each part of your body for injuries had you feeling special. And the way other heroes crowded around you, each offering something to you.

☆ Wonder Woman had a blanket for you. The lanterns gave you water, and snacks. Both Kid and Regular Flash offered up heating pads and their super speed for some sort of massage.

☆ The way none of the other victims in the room got spoiled like this made you flustered. They all had their own places to protect. Why all cometo Gotham for you?

☆ They all like you way more than they'll ever let on. You're family now. You're a part of their schedules, a part they can't afford to change. Not now. Not ever.

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 10)

The giant chapter won by a landslide 𓁹‿𓁹

9k later. Absolutely wild to me, but here we are (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

I guess it's fitting as we just hit chapter 10!! Double digits lets gooooo~! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

And this also concludes the "Black Market" storyline, so that feels like a good enough reason for this chapter to be super DUPER long >ᴗ<

Also huge thank you to everyone who's been leaving such lovely comments for me ;;w;; I read every single one and try to respond every time (I'm actually behind on a few so if you're waiting I apologize! I'll address them tonight!!) But keep 'em coming if you can! I adore getting anything, even if it's just a single emoji or one word ꨄ

Alright, enough chatter. Let's get into the nitty gritty >ω>

SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You are fully pampered by your deer friend after a harrowing adventure... Word Count: 9k

Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing your murky mind picked up on was soft clattering.

Eyelids as heavy as led, you had a hard time opening your eyes; so you opted to keep them shut as you could feel your mind slowly coming back to consciousness. 

The next thing you picked up was a mix of smells. There was something in the air that had a chemical like scent, strong and potent that made your nose wrinkle. But there was something else behind the strong synthetic smell. Something like rain, earth, and nature; crisp and clean and oh so soothing.

The final thing you noticed was feeling as if you were laying on a cloud. Your fingers twitched back to life, and the silky satin that practically slipped through your touch had caught you off guard. And whatever pillow your head was resting on was plump and soft, cradling your skull so tenderly. 

You laid there in pure bliss for a moment, you mind still groggy from such a deep sleep and just happy to be somewhere that felt so comfy. But as you felt your head sink even further into the bed, a thought crossed your mind.

You didn’t own silk sheets.

Eyes still closed, your brows furrowed.

Your room didn’t smell like this.

You slowly force your eyes open, the world around you still a blur as your eyes adjust. As your body shuffled under the buttery sheets, another scent rose from the pillows and entered your senses. It was something you were so familiar with, and yet, in that moment you couldn’t pin it down. The smell of bourbon, coffee and cedarwood. It took a moment for your dull mind to connect the dots, but eventually you could feel your eyes widen when it finally hit you.

“Comfortable, my dear~?”

And speak of the devil.

You scramble to sit up, but your body immediately screamed in protest, chest aching and limbs sore. You audibly gasped in agony, not understanding why your body was in such excruciating pain. Your head began to swim, and you could feel your upper body swaying precariously. Before your torso even had the chance to fall back, you heard the shuffle of static as clawed hands reached out and caught you, one around your back and one cradling your head. Too absorbed in the pain, you didn’t even notice the long tendrils of shadows behind you, stacking and fluffing up the pillows against the headboard. 

“Careful, little songbird,” Alastor softly scolded. A deep chuckle accompanied his next line, “It’s not quite time for you to leave the nest~”

You let out a pathetic whimper of despair as you felt yourself being slowly lowered, but this time your upper body felt more elevated on the bed below you, allowing you to have a better view of your surroundings. Finally adjusted back to the mattress, Alastors arms slipped out from underneath you, and for a brief moment, as his warmth slipped away, you wished that he hadn’t. 

God, why was your body aching like this? Why was your head pounding against your skull? Even more so, what was this burning sensation you felt all over your chest? You run a weary hand over your face and flinch back as your fingers traced over your cheek, hissing at the tenderness. 

And then it all came flooding back.

A large paw backhanding you, being pinned down and gasping for air, dragged against the harsh pavement and tearing your skin open.

And worst of all. That horrifying image of silver claws slashing your chest.

Your mind reeled with the rush of memories and everything that had happened, like some harrowing nightmare you had just woken up to. But you knew it was all real, you could feel it with every bruise, scrape, and sore muscle. You look down to your hands and shudder upon seeing them still stained red with blood. Most likely a mix of your own and that Dobermans.

Fuzzy memories flashed before your eyes; the sound of his screams, the glimmer of your hair pin, the adrenaline pumping through your heart. You honestly didn’t remember much after seeing the skinny HellHound step out from the shadows with his gun. But you knew in your heart what had happened; what you had done. Something so horrific, you had vowed never to do it again.

But they were going to kill you, amongst other things to you… And they were going to kill Alastor. 

You couldn’t live with yourself if you had let him get hurt.

You attempted to take a grounding breath of air, this flood of horrible memories making you lightheaded, but winced as your lungs attempted to expand. Your chest felt tight and heavy, like you were being constricted. You feared to look down; look at the mess that was left behind after the battle. But you had to know what you were dealing with. So with some hesitation, you finally lift the silk sheet and peek down at your body. 

The first thing you noticed was three long gashes stretched across your torso from the bottom of your stomach to the top of your collarbone. But to your relief, they seemed to be already sewn shut, little stitches of what appeared to be neon green thread closing your deep wounds, the blood already cleaned off of sanitized skin. 

But the second thing…

Your eyes widened to dinner plates upon realizing you were practically naked in Alastor’s bed, save for your underwear… Which wasn’t the same pair you were wearing earlier. 

A choked cough escaped your lungs, suddenly scrambling to pull the sheets tight around your bare body and your cheeks burning red. Alastor, who had been shuffling around in the first aid kit beside him, didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes lazily drifted back up to you. You looked back at him, mortified, and to this Alastor simply cocked an eyebrow. You tried to take a deep, calming breath.

“Alastor…” you warned, “Where the fuck are my clothes?”

The deer demon sitting by his bed blinked for a moment, his eyes eventually going back to his previous task. Though his eyebrows furrowed as he replied with a tight smile. 

“Hm. Not even a thank you for the craftsmanship I did? Those stitches are some of my best work…”

“ALASTOR.”

“Oh please, y/n, do be rational.” Alastor huffed, cocking an eyebrow at you. “All of your garments were in ruin; they had to be disposed of. Besides,” he gestured his hand to your torso, “I needed access to stitch your wounds to prevent further blood loss. Would you have preferred that I let you bleed out?”

You both stared at each other for a good minute before it all became too much. You groaned in embarrassment, bringing the sheets up to cover your face and secretly wanting the bed to swallow you whole. You knew deep down he was right; as always. And you truly were grateful for his care. But still… You imagined him working over you, your chest bare and exposed as his hands brushed up against your skin, fingers dangerously close and skillfully sewing.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you once again whined in defeat, fully bringing the blanket over your head and vowing never to leave your fortress. You heard a mix of a sigh and a chuckle from beyond the sheets, static shuffling in the background. 

“Such dramatics. Makes me think you’ve been taking lessons from our Arachnid fellow~”

A clawed hand grasped the top of the blanket, and after meeting some resistance from you, pulled it down so only your head was visible again, your hair now slightly disheveled. Alastor's expression had softened from annoyed to calm as he shook his head at you.

“I can assure you,” he mused, “that you should not worry over such things. I do not perceive people in such a way. The body is simply a machine of flesh and bone to fulfill the duties of the mind, nothing more.” He placed a hand on your cloth-covered knee, making you peek up at him tentatively, “You can trust me on that my dear.”

You could tell how sincere he was about this, his eyes never left yours as he spoke. And of course, you knew he would never put himself in this kind of situationship unless it was absolutely necessary. He was too much of a true gentleman. You could feel your heartbeat start to calm after his reassurance, and you give a little embarrassed nod to acknowledge him. 

Nevertheless, you still felt a bit too exposed sitting here in just your panties, and only a thin sheet of silk to cover you. 

“... I want a shirt at least.” you mumbled, looking down to avoid his gaze. Alastor straightened up in his chair and blinked.

“I don’t see the point my dear…” he said blankly, eye twitching. “I’ve already seen everything. Besides, you are already covered enough to-!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, trying to hold back your own irritation. “I would just feel better if I had an extra layer. Please.”

The Overlord glared at you a moment longer before sighing and rising to his feet. He promptly began to unbutton his jacket, making your face fall open like a deer in the headlights. Before you could accuse him of anything, he rolled the blazer off his shoulders and flung it at your head. His smell laced in his jacket immediately overtook your senses, and you had to hold back the urge to bury your face in it. You didn’t dare to pull it down past your cheeks; you didn’t want him seeing just how red you were underneath.

Alastor stood before you in a red vest adorning the similar pinstripes that were on his jacket, his vest hugging his frame perfectly as if tailored just for his torso. The demon’s smile was tight and sharp, clearly annoyed as his ears flattened against his head and he straightened his undershirt. The long sleeved blouse was a crisp white, flaring out ever so slightly near his elbows and wrists. You were so grateful to be hiding behind his jacket at this very moment. You had never seen Alastor without his blazer on, so this was all very new to you. Soon enough his head turned back to you, and you immediately averted your gaze back to his face; heaven forbid he caught you gawking. 

He placed his hands on his hips, looking at you expectantly with a cocked eyebrow and smile tense. You could feel yourself begin to sweat under his deep gaze and eventually dropped your own.

“T-turn around…” you mumble, you grip on his jacket tightening. You heard the sound of a microphone screeching. 

“Of all the-” Alastor sighed heavily, his tone clearly beyond annoyed, “I’ve already seen-!”

“GOD DAMNIT ALASTOR JUST DO IT!!”

You didn’t even realize what you had done until you heard a soft ‘fwump’ sound from across the room. Alastors static waves immediately hushed, and you instantly knew you had fucked up. You lowered your outstretched arm and immediately hid under his blanket and jacket, not even daring to look up. 

Cause you knew, if you did, you’d find one of his pillows that you threw at him had comically flattened over Alastor’s face, eventually flopping to the ground with a final ‘womph’.

You couldn’t tell what was happening outside of your little fortress; the silence was practically deafening. But eventually, you saw the lights flicker as radio waves shuffled through the air sharply. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the sudden increase of electricity buzzing through the air. The bed was practically vibrating. But after a period of time, the lights stopped flickering, and the radio buzzing became dull and back to its usual tone. Still too chickenshit to emerge, you heard him stomp around the bed with some soft clattering. 

“I am going to get some hot water to clean your wounds,” you heard him growl, “Do not, by any means, put my jacket on fully. I still need access to your arms.” You heard more shuffling, and soon his footsteps pound away and towards the bathroom door. 

“Simply drape it over your body, since heaven forbid I catch another glimpse at your naked form.” his last sentence was dripping with sarcasm. 

And even though you were beyond embarrassed, you couldn’t help the nervous snort escape your lips at his tone. He was so done with your bullshit, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. You knew you were being ridiculous at this point given there really was no point in covering up. And the fact that you had whacked the Radio Demon with a pillow…

You buried your head deeper in Alastor’s jacket, muffling your soft awkward giggles as the sheets you were under jiggled along with your shoulders. There was a pause before you heard an irritated sigh, heeled boots retreating into the bathroom and the sound of water running moments later.

You continued to tee-hee under the sheets, eventually catching your breath and emerging from your cocoon, still clutching the blazer close. You quickly glanced back towards the bathroom, and realizing you still had a couple seconds, brought the clothing up to your nose and inhaled deeply. 

It was just like his pillow, but much stronger, and even had a sweaty, musky smell to it. You realized you probably looked like an absolute freak at this moment; who the Hell goes around smelling their friend’s clothes?? But this scent had become such a comfort, you were reminded of happier times. Like the moments when he’d lean in to whisper gossip into your ear during hotel meetings, when he purposely got too close in your bubble to annoy you and crack a terrible joke, or when he danced with you that one day. You were always at your happiest when you were with him.

You sighed contently as you draped the jacket over your torso, thankfully it being long enough to cover you right down to your mid thighs. You pulled the silk sheet back up over you just in time to hear a soft knock on the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Am I allowed back into my own room?” Alastor called out dryly. You chuckled a moment before confirming, and soon Alastor emerged, face still cross, no doubt still fuming over the previous incident. He carried a large bowl filled with bubbly, steaming water in both hands and had a small towel draped over his shoulder. He came to the bedside and placed the bowl down on the nightstand before turning back around to the first aid kit. And you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your throat once his backside was to you. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Immediately, Alastor’s ears flattened on his head, turning only his head so you could see the profile of his face as he glared at you. 

“ ₩ Ⱨ ₳ ₮ ” 

You snap out of your gaze and lock eyes with him, brain quickly trying to come up with an excuse. 

“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” With a quick smile, you go to grab your shoulder and rotate it around a bit. “I moved funny and felt a pang in my joint. That’s all.”

You continue to try and dazzle him with your smile, to which he glowered at you before turning his attention back to the first aid kit. You felt your muscles relax, relieved he had bought your little white lie. Because you knew if you had spoken the truth, you’d never get to see it again.

See the adorable, soft, fluffy, black and red tail poking out from his tailbone.

You focus back on it and basically have to bite your tongue to stop from squealing. It didn’t even occur to you that he might even have one, but of course it made sense that he did. He was a deer demon after all, many animalistic demons here had just the like. But of course when he wore his jacket it was covered up. You were fairly certain it was designed as such so it helped him keep up appearances. It's hard to be terrified of an Overlord with a cute, little fuzzy tail. 

God. How badly you wanted to touch it; similar to his ears looking so downey and full. But of course, you snapped out of your daydream once Alastor turned back to you, a box of bandaids in hand and his tail disappearing behind his back. You had to hold back your pout, but you were at least grateful you even got the chance to see it. You had the feeling not many did. 

“Now, my dear,” Alastor spoke up, taking the towel from his shoulder and soaking it in the hot water, “Since your main injury has finally been tended to, I’d like to continue my medical procedure before I was so rudely interrupted.” His eyes narrowed into angry slits at you, and you knew he was referring to what happened earlier. You desperately tried to bite back your smile, but couldn’t help your shaking shoulders as you nodded your head.

“Yes.” you softly giggle, “Yes of course. Thank you Alastor.” 

The Radio Demon’s nose wrinkled up in disgust at you before he gave a final sigh, turning back to the bowl and wringing out the excess water in the towel. 

“Honestly… All of this nonsense…” he huffed, genuinely looking confused and slightly irritated, “I don’t understand all the fuss over this type of matter…” Alastor held his hand out to you expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize before you reached out. He carefully held your wrist in one hand, his other holding the warm towel and rubbing your arm. Whatever bloodstains that had soaked into your skin were slowly coming off, and that was more of a relief than you had imagined.

“Even Miss Morningstar had a similar reaction to yours when I first began undressing you.” Alastor continued, carefully turning your arm over and wiping away more blood, “Wild little firecracker, that girl. Nearly singed my jacket and everything…” His eyes tapered into angry slits, yet his words made you perk up.

“Charlie? … Oh God, she knows?” 

“Hmmm. Unfortunately.” Alastor sighed, his grin tight. He dipped the now bloodied cloth into the bowl and squeezed before returning to your arm, “And after her banshee screeches of terror, it wasn’t long before everyone else found out and came rushing over.” His eyelid began to twitch in annoyance, but you felt your skin prickle. Everyone… came rushing over? For you?

“Alastor… what exactly happened while I was unconscious?”

The deer demon rolled his eyes, making you think the event was troubling for him. He turned your wrist over in his hand, giving your forearm an inspection. 

“Must we really talk about such matters?” he grumbled, eyes narrowing angrily at your wrists as  bruises were slowly revealed underneath the blood, “It’s all in the past, and I’d much rather focus on tending to you.”

He had said it so matter of factly, it made your cheeks warm for a moment. Still, a part of you wanted to fill in the gaps as to what happened. And more selfishly, you wanted to hear what the others' reactions were.

“Please Al,” you urged, “I need to know.”

He took a moment to look up and lock eyes with you, eyes flickering over your pitiful face. Finally, he huffed out a sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat before lifting your hand back up to his face, carefully taking each individual finger and rubbing it between the towel to get into the nooks and crannies of your digits. 

“When you passed out, I immediately transported us to my room,” he began, eyes never leaving his work, “I knew I needed to work quickly to tend to the gashes on your chest; the blood loss was becoming dangerously fatal. So, I laid you on the bed and did what any medical professional would have done: began to undress you.” 

You knew he was literally just trying to save your life, but still, you felt your face grow hot at the thought of Alastor taking your dress off. The deer demon continued.

“Unfortunately, I was in the most precarious position when Miss Morningstar decided to waltz in.” Alastor’s eyelid twitched angrily as he set the towel back in the bowl, reaching now for a bottle of ointment and squeezing some cream into his hand. 

“I was in the midst of reaching behind to take off your…” his eyes flicked away awkwardly, “brassiere, when our little Princess of Hell came in unbenounced. She later claimed she wanted to ask me a question; as to why she didn’t think to knock, I will never know…” Alastor sighed through his nose before gently taking your arm and dabbing the ointment on your various cuts and bruises scattered on your hand and arm.

“Of course,” he scowled, “looking back I can understand where her fury came from. Seeing the infamous Radio Demon lurched over your unconscious, barely dressed form; both of us soaked in blood… I’m sure it was quite a sight.” Surprisingly, he let out a chuckle as you just watched him horrified.

“Ironically, all Hell broke loose.” he sighed, explaining the next portion as if he was bored, “She screamed at me, I tried to explain, she shot fire at me, I dodged. At some point I finally managed to get through to her amidst the blaze and explain the situation. Once she had calmed down, she immediately dropped her fury and rushed to your side, shedding tears over your injuries and blabbering her apologies to me.” Alastor rolled his eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest at the thought of Charlie crying for you. It made your own eyes start to get a little misty.

“It wasn’t long before everyone else began pounding at the door, having heard the ruckus and coming to aid their precious Princess… No one coming to my aid mind you.” he grunted, “Charlie, wanting to save face, threw the sheets over you for cover before the riled crew bust down the door. And honestly my dear, you know how much I love dramatics, but this…” he gave you a deadpan look for a moment before rolling his eyes, making a giggle escape your lips. His smile widened as he finished rubbing the last bits of cream into your skin before reaching for the box of bandaids.

“I had never seen this camaraderie of sinners so riled up before,” he confided, taking a bandaid out of the box and unwrapping it with his sharp claws, “The moment they saw you in bed, then looked at me covered in blood, I was sure they all wanted me dead.” he paused a second before adding, “Well, other than Nifty. I’m sure she just wanted to clean my soiled clothes when she tried to jump me.” The imagery of Nifty attempting to tackle Alastor made you smile.

“Thankfully,” the Overlord breathed, gently sticking the bandaid over one of your larger cuts, “Miss Morningstar stepped in and explained everything before anyone could lay a finger on me. Which is probably for the best…” His smile got dangerous, a mischievous glint in his eye, “Because if I had my way, they wouldn’t have any fingers left at all.”

You gasped and shot Alastor a dirty glare, making him shift his eyes over to you. He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders before reaching for the bandaids again.

“And then, of course, the waterworks began.” Alastor said wearily, as if the thought of emotions exhausted him, “The Snake was nearly beside himself, blubbering almost as hard as Charlie was. Vaggie sat beside you on the bed like a worried mother hen. Even our little Sourpuss seemed upset over it all. And of course, our dear Nifty tried licking up the blood on your face in an attempt to clean it.” Alastor looked off in the distance fondly at the memory, meanwhile your nose wrinkled in surprise and slight disgust. 

“Our little arachnid friend was especially distraught,” Alastor continued, his face slowly hardening, “He immediately ran to your side and held your hand. He kept going back and forth between comforting you, then scolding me for allowing such things to happen…” you couldn’t help but notice Alastor’s eyebrows furrowing at his last statement, his grin extra tight on his face. Was he feeling… guilty? You were just about to address it until Alastor kept talking, his expression once again soft and rather bored looking.

“Given that you still needed stitches, I managed to convince everyone to leave so I could have space to work.” He stuck another bandaid on one of your cuts, “Charlie was quick to action, ordering everyone around to grab whatever materials I needed. First aid, ice, towels, fresh clothes, and so on. I allowed the girls access to the room so they could help you change into fresh underwear while I prepared my medical supplies.” Alastor took your arm once more and meticulously inspected it, turning it over in his hands to ensure every inch was clean and addressed. 

“Then finally, I was able to dismiss everyone from my quarters. I’m sure they’re all nervously pacing in the lobby as we speak.” he shook his head before gently setting your arm on the bed and ending the story. The Radio Demon took a moment to stretch before standing up once more, taking the bowl and bandaids and moving to the other side of the bed.

You sat there dumbfounded, taking in all the information and feeling yourself getting emotional. They were so quick to protect you, so quick to mourn what you had been through, so quick to take care and provide for you...

Alastor rounded the mattress and set the soapy water down on the bedside table, not expecting to turn back to you with big, watery droplets dripping down your face. He couldn’t help the tiny curl of his lips. Startled by your reaction? Yes. 

Surprised? 

No. Not at all. 

He hummed to himself, taking the washcloth out from the bowl and giving it a quick squeeze before lifting your other arm.

“You have quite the village behind you my dear,” he mused, carefully wiping your forearm. You blinked back your tears and turned to him, taking a moment to watch him scrub you clean. He was entirely focused on you, brows slightly furrowed as he removed the blood, eyes flicking over your skin and taking note of every scratch and bruise that was revealed. He was so serious about it all, taking his time to ensure you were taken care of and personally tending to every wound he could find. Your heart swelled deep within your chest, and before you think, you twist your wrist around in his grasp and lock fingers with his. Alastor’s eyes widened in shock, head wiping up to look at you.

“I really do,” you breathed, eyes still misty but grin beaming, “And I'm so grateful for all of them.” You give his hand a squeeze, leaning in closer and never breaking eye contact. 

“Especially for you. I am so so grateful for you, Alastor. Thank you.” 

The deer demon looked up at you, his whole face wide and smile threatening to waver. There was a gentle pause as you both watched each other, your hand gently grasping his and tenderly rubbing your thumb over his knuckle. Eventually, Alastor blinked back his shock, face furrowing as he unlaced your fingers with his and took your wrist in his hand.

“There’s nothing to thank, my dear.” he mumbled, continuing to rub your arm with the soapy water, “Just doing what any gentleman should.”

Your grin widened by his sudden shift, not at all put off by his dismissive response. He didn’t handle genuine affection well, and that was ok. It just made you more determined than ever to be that person for him; to slowly chip away at those walls he had built up around his heart. Alastor placed the cloth back into the bowl, once again reaching for the ointment now that your arm was perfectly clean. He was being so attentive; you couldn’t help it. You had to say it.

“Your mother would be so proud.”

Alastor paused only briefly as he was squeezing the ointment onto his fingers. But he was quick to recover, snapping the lid shut and carefully pulling your arm closer to dab the cream onto your wounds. He said nothing in return, remaining quiet and looking down as he rubbed the balm into your skin.

But you did notice his ear flicker. 

And that was all the confirmation you needed. 

Alastor continued his tending, the room falling into a peaceful silence as his static hummed softly in the background. He finished your other arm, slicking bandages when needed and returning to the bathroom to refresh the water bowl. You took a moment to admire his work on your arms and couldn’t help the smile creep up your face. The thought of Alastor taking care of you… It was honestly something that seemed so sweet and intimate, and certainly not anything the Radio Demon himself would do. An Overlord nursing a lowly sinner? Unthinkable. Yet here you were, wrapped up in his silk sheets and being doted on as if you were a queen. 

You heard soft jazz beginning to play in the bathroom, and soon Alastor emerged with a bowl of fresh, sudsy water. He rounds the mattress and positions himself at the end of the bed, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his new location. It wasn’t until the deer demon started lifting the blankets by your feet that you subconsciously flinched back. Of course, Alastor noticed, his eyes locking with yours immediately.

“I noticed earlier you had quite a few scrapes on your legs,” he explained, his voice surprisingly calm, “It would be wise to let me examine them.”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling your shoulders begin to relax. You give a quick nod, and Alastor lifts the sheets up, uncovering your legs right up until the base of your hips, tucking the sheets in a way so your lap and torso was still fully covered. Alastor took in the state of your lower limbs, and his brows furrowed angrily at the sight. Similar to your arms, they were in such an abused state… It made his blood boil to see you like this. 

He immediately sat down and took one of your legs in his, resting your foot on his thigh as he began to clean up the dirt and dried blood. You had to hold in a gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing over your calf and thigh. You weren't accustomed to the idea of someone touching your leg in such a way, especially the Radio Demon of all people. As nice as the warm towel was, you still felt a smidge uncomfortable by this circumstance. Of course, nothing got past Alastor.

“Relax my dear,” he mused, not breaking concentration from his work, “Your muscles are far too tense right now.” He stopped for a moment, eyes dazing out in front of him as if a thought came to mind. In an instant, he returned the cloth back to the bowl and snapped his fingers, a bottle of lotion popping into his hand. He was quick to apply it to his hands, and what he did next almost floored you.

Long fingers gently began to knead over your calf, pinching and pressing in such a lovely way your heart almost leapt out of your throat. He ran his hands and fingers gently up and down your leg, being wary around any open sores or bruises, but massaging your muscles deeply. Whatever tension you had immediately melted away, his claws surprisingly delicate as he rubbed the tissue. Your head immediately flopped back down on your pillow, eyes closed in bliss as a deep, staticy chuckle rang out by your feet. After working your leg, he moved down to your foot and began massaging your arch and sole. You audibly let out a sigh of relief, it felt so damn good.

“Alastor,” you breathed dreamily, “Where the Hell did you learn to do this and who do I owe my first born to?” Another chortle came from the foot of the bed.

“Entirely self taught darling~” you heard him muse, “My dear mother was always on her feet, working long hours and coming home simply exhausted. As a boy I’d often try and help alleviate the pain whenever I could, so nightly massages became routine. It wasn’t much, but it put my mother in better spirits, so that was what mattered to me.”

You felt your heart practically melt, you were so touched by his words. She really was everything to him; what an amazing relationship to have. You try to imagine Alastor as a little boy, dancing with his mother, helping her around the house, tending to her when she was weary. Truly a momma’s boy right to the end. 

“Your mom sounds absolutely incredible.” you smile, voice soft and gentle. “I wish I could’ve met her…”

Alastor didn’t respond right away, continuing to rub away at your foot as jazz played softly in the background. You assumed the conversation had ended and you were content with letting your mind drift. But at the last minute, you heard a thoughtful hum come from the end of the bed.

“As do I mon passereau… As do I.”

He treated your legs in a similar fashion to your arms; wiping them clean of dirt and blood, applying ointment to help sooth your open wounds, and applying bandages wherever there were particularly large cuts and scrapes. You let out a happy sigh when he started to massage the other leg as well, earning another amused snicker from your friend. The jazz hummed softly in the background as Alastor worked away, being attentive as always and focusing on his tasks while you relaxed blissfully. You were more than happy to let your body sink into the bed, never feeling so cherished in your entire life. The minutes trickled by, your mind getting sleepy after such a relaxing pampering. The only thing that would make this perfect is if you had a warm beverage to sip on.

………….

“Oh my God ALASTOR!” You practically leapt up from the bed, nearly kicking the poor man right on the chin as your feet flew up. The radio came to a screeching halt as Alastor jumped back to avoid getting socked in the jaw. He whipped his head up to you, his eyes glowing red as he snarled at you. But you ignored him, your eyes looking around the room frantically.

“My bag!” you whine, “Did you happen to grab my bag before we left??” 

You couldn’t believe you had almost forgotten. That damn siphon was the whole fucking reason all of this had happened! That and your stupidity for leaving Alastor’s side, but you were going to scold yourself for that later. For now, you needed to know it was ok and totally not lost somewhere in the streets of the city. 

Alastor’s lip twitched, shooting you a most hateful glare. He took a deep, calming breath through his nose before exhaling slowly. Face now softer, other than his furrowed brows and lidded eyes, he stood up and walked away without another word. You watched him nervously as he walked to the nightstand, but felt your heart bloom when he pulled your bag out from the blindspot beside the table. 

“I simply do not understand why you were so desperate for me to grab this for you,” he sneered, tossing the plastic bag onto the bed, “There were much more pressing matters at stake, surely whatever you purchased couldn’t have been that important.”

You ignored his angry tone, grabbing the bag with relief, “I can’t believe you understood what I said in the alley!” you laughed, taking the box out of the bag and beginning to open it. Your heart was racing with joy, but a part of you was filled with dread. You had dropped it before you were attacked, and now you were praying it didn’t get damaged in the fall. The thought of going through all that for a gift that was broken before you had a chance to give it to him? That would be tragic.  

You felt an unusual electric buzz shift in the air as you picked away at the lid of the package. 

“Pardon my confusion,” Alastor spoke, his eyes flickering over the box in your hands, “but I was under the impression you left to shop for new clothes...” His eyes snapped up to you, lifting his hand to point a claw at the box, “This does not look like clothing to me.”

Oops.

You look up briefly and give him a sheepish smile, before focusing back on your task, fingers finally opening the box. “Ah. Right, well…” you could feel yourself start to sweat, “I may or may not have… told the whole truth about-!”

“So you lied to me.” Alastor was fully glaring at you, the radio shuffling and fizzing dangerously.  His smile was taut and eyes cold, eyelid twitching; but you couldn’t see him, too busy focused on digging around the bubble wrap.

“I mean,” you mumbled embarrassingly, “Technically I did, yes, but-!”

“But. What. Y/n.” Alastor growled, his fingers scrunching into tight fists, eyes flashing crimson red, “First you attempt to go off on your own when I explicitly told you not to, and now I come to discover the reason you left was under false terms?”

Still unaware of Alastor’s current state, you manage to uncover the siphon just enough to peek at it. After gently shuffling it around with your finger, you felt your shoulders relax as a relieved smile broke out on your face.

“Oh thank God,” you breathe, more to yourself than to Alastor, “It didn’t break… I was-!”

Alastor’s hands slammed on the bed on either side of you, making you jump up at the sound. Too focused on the gift in your lap, you didn’t realize he had crawled up on the bed with you,  leaning over your body and kneeling over your legs. You shrinked back in fear as the lights flickered, his static buzzing and the room growing cold. His horns were fully extended, but his head was bent forward, his hair covering his expression. 

“You had almost died y/n.” his voice was uncomfortably calm, but you could tell his tone was deeper, darker and sharper than usual. His head slowly rose so you could just see his glowing eyes peek out from his bangs. His eyes were a raging scarlet with sharp, black dial pupils. His fingers curled up into tight fists, clutching the sheets beneath him. 

“Do you not fully understand that?” he continued, eyes narrowing into furious slits, “If it weren’t for me you’d still be bleeding out in that fucking alley way.” his eyes were practically burning you, his stare was so intense, so enraged; you were shivering under his hateful gaze. You would almost prefer it if he yelled at you, screamed and kicked and went on a rampage. But the chiling, silent fury he had… it scared you more. You had to look away, it was too much. But that didn’t stop Alastor. 

“I thought you to be smarter than this.” he seethed, lifting his head up more and showing his sharp, tight smile, yellowed teeth almost as bright as his eyes in this darkened room. His eyes snapped to the box in your lap and immediately he reached down and took it out of your shaking hands. He inspected it for a moment, the anger emanating from him soon growing as he looked back up to you. He then waggled it in front of you tauntingly, his tone growing more aggressive and frenzied. 

“Was this really worth risking your life for?” he sneered, his head tilting so much it caused his neck to snap as he leaned in closer, “Do you not realize how much your life is worth to these fools in this damn hotel? How much it means to-!” 

He immediately stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening for a moment. The air was heavy for a solid second before his face scrunched up in fury and his pupils focusing down at the package in his grasp. 

“Well then, dearest,” he spat the last word out, the pet name sounding more like an insult than anything. In an instant he sat up, kneeling over your legs and claws pulling the bubble wrapped object out of the box. His eyes flicked back up to you, to which you still looked away, before peeling the wrapping off of the mysterious item.

“Let’s take a look at what possessed you to risk life and limb, shall we~?”

Stripping the foreign object of its confines, the Radio Demon felt his face widen once the item was revealed. Almost instantly, the radio buzzing silenced, the lights flicked back to normal, and the room became deathly silent. The air was still as Alastor looked down at the siphon, something that brought a wave of memories along with it just at the mere sight. Could it really be…? A hesitant claw slowly reached down and thumbed the smooth glass, eyes dumbly blinking back to normal and his horns slowly shrank. 

There was a heavy pause as Alastor processed the sudden turn of events. But eventually, he managed to slowly lift his head back up to you.

And the sight before him made his stomach churn. 

Big salty tears streamed down your face, your hands scrunched in balls around his jacket that you held up tight to your face. Your eyes were downcast and not daring to look up at him. 

You felt so stupid for crying, but you couldn’t help it. He had never been this angry towards you. Sure you had pissed him off before, but those were under different, more sillier circumstances. He had actually hurt your feelings this time, and what made it worse was that you knew he was right. You knew your actions had not only caused you harm, but had hurt everyone, even Alastor given his reactions. His facial expressions throughout the whole treatment was enough proof, along with the tender aftercare. And the rage that flowed from him just now; clearly the thought of you dying had affected him more than he intended to let on. For fuck sakes, Alastor almost died because of your stupid mistake. You felt your shoulders start to shake. 

“I-I know you were still trying to b-brew the perfect cup,” you start to hiccup under your breath, your voice coming out in shaky warbles, “I-I just wanted to h-help… I d-didn’t mean t-to…” 

You started fully sobbing, burning your face in Alastor’s jacket and unable to stop your tears. 

Alastor didn’t dare to breathe, thinking if he did it might make you blow away into dust with how fragile you were. Usually seeing someone looking so pitiful brought him such delight. But this… This felt wrong. Not from you. Not his little songbird. He had never seen you so upset before, and it was unsettling. You were nothing but a joy around the hotel and its staff, and as much as he hated to admit it, a joy to him. Like a moth to a flame, you were that beacon that brought together wayward souls and made them feel better. And he had snuffed that. 

Your pain was his fault, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he didn’t wish it to be so.

“Don’t cry my dear,” he spoke softly, unsure what to say or do with his hands, “I see now that I was… wrong in my accusations.” He swallowed dryly, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. How does someone attempt to comfort a person in distress? He couldn’t remember the last time he was in such a position, not since he descended at the very least…

“But you’re not wrong.” You sob, voice becoming more frantic, “It w-was stupid for me to go off on my own; if you weren’t th-there I would have died!” your misty eyes widened in horror as the previous events came spiraling back into your mind. “God, I almost died… And you… You almost d-died because of me.” A new wave of tears came flooding through, guilt clawing through your chest and making you hyperventilate. Alastor stiffened at your down spiral, eyes flicking over you nervously. 

“Y/n, it’s alright.” He gently put the siphon down on the bed, raising his hands in a defensive state as if attempting to tame a wild animal. “True, things got… disorderly back there, but we’re no longer in any danger.” A thought popped into his mind and his face brightened slightly, “Also, keep in mind that you also saved my life earlier today. You were practically on death’s door and yet you still risked everything to come to my aid. Such an honorable deed can’t go unnoticed.” He gave you a calming smile, surely convinced that his words would help make you feel better. But your breathing simply became more erratic, too absorbed in your own thoughts to comprehend his.

“B-but all of this was my fault! What I did, the t-trouble I caused… You should hate me after all of this!” You felt like your heart was being crushed after that last sentence, the thought not once occurring to you until this very moment. Would he even want to be your friend anymore after all of this? 

You grasped onto your scalp as your head began to pound, feeling yourself begin to shut down with panic. Your breathing became labored as you shut your eyes tight, your whole body still aching with pain, yet it felt like nothing compared to the dark thoughts swirling in your mind. The reality of everything that had happened was too much. You felt yourself sinking into a dark place, and you were ready to let it consume you…

Until you felt clawed hands gently cup your cheeks, warm and gentle and so familiar. They urged you to lift your head, but you were scared. You didn’t want to look, didn’t dare to meet him in the eye and see his hateful face again. But so tired with tears, you allow your head to be lifted, eyes red and stinging with hurt. Siphon aside on the bed and already forgotten, Alastor’s face leaned in close to yours, watching over your face with sad, furrowed brows and eyes unable to meet yours. 

“Please stop crying,” he whispered, his voice soft and the radio filter barely audible. “I... I can’t stand to see you like this…” His pupils dared to flick up at you as his thumb gently wiped away your tears, desperate to do something, anything, to make you stop. You sat there frozen for a moment, shocked by his actions and sentiment. You had never seen the Radio Demon looking so… vulnerable. It shocked you enough to snap you from your hyperventilating, but in a way, just made your heart break even more. Eventually, his comforting touch made you melt into his hands, tears still pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry Al,” you blubber, your own hands reaching out to hold onto his wrists for support, “It’s all my f-fault… I’m s-so so sorry…” Alastor softly began to hush you, pulling your face closer to his so you were only inches away from each other. A soft, albeit hesitant chuckle escaped from his lips.

“I should’ve known you'd do something so reckless for the sake of a kind gesture,” he mused, but his expression became serious again as his gaze went back to your face, “Reguardless, you shouldn’t apologize for doing something so thoughtful…” He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, his eyes flickering away as if hesitant. After a pause, he finally spoke: “If anything, I should be the one apologizing-!”

Immediately you flinched back, aghast by his words. Alastor? Apologizing? You never thought you’d live to see the day. Plus he had nothing to apologize for?! Alastor, still holding your face, recognized your expression and continued before you could interrupt him again.

“Let me finish.” he cocked an eyebrow, his grin threatening to spread in amusement before becoming somber again, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. And I definitely shouldn’t have let you venture on your own in the market, your injuries are my fault.” his eyes flicked to your hands and you noticed his slight grimace, “I promised you my protection… and I failed you. And for that I am sorry.”

Your lower lip trembled at his words. Alastor wasn’t the type to apologize for his actions (or lack of in certain circumstances). So for him to actually respect you enough to say such things… It was flooring. And completely heartwarming. 

Your breathing had slowly calmed, no longer hyperventilating, but still sniffling in his hands. Alastor softly began to hush you, his electricity buzzing quietly in the background. He wiped your tears away gently with his thumb, making your heart feel like it was going to burst. He was being so kind, so caring…

“... Does this m-mean we’re still friends?” you croak, terrified of his answer. To your relief, Alastor immediately pulled your head closer, pressing his forehead up against yours and running his thumbs tenderly over your soft cheeks and wiping away the new teardrops that formed. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“Oh, my darling,” he breathed, “No matter how many times you may get on my nerves, it’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me~” his scarlet pupils were locked on yours, unwavering as if looking right into your soul. 

You were whimpering under his hands, feeling yourself sink into him and the relief that he wasn’t going to leave you. You blink back your final tears and close your eyes, happy to just rest your forehead against his and live in this bittersweet moment. Alastor didn’t seem to move away either, subconsciously squeezing your one uninjured cheek like a little stress toy, which made your lips curl into a soft smile. Your body finally calmed, you matched your breathing pattern with his, helping to ground you. Your hands still grasping his wrists, you slowly trace your thumb over his skin in a comforting motion. You felt the familiar muted burn of where the ‘X’ on his forehead would be against your own, something that you were slowly getting accustomed to feeling since meeting him. The room fell silent as you both sat on the bed, minds equally wandering with flickers of thoughts, but also just content to just be in each other’s presence. 

After a peaceful couple of minutes, Alastor nudged your head a bit with his own before pulling away, pushing off his straddling position over you and opting to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, torso still turned to your direction. His hands softly trailed away from your face, but one lightly trailed down your arm until it was holding your hand. 

“I’m flattered that you went to such lengths to get me something so wonderful,” he smiled, eyes looking over at the siphon before returning to you. Like the many ways he had done before, he lifted it up close to his face, looking down at it for a moment before focusing back on your face. 

“It’s something I will treasure for as long as I breathe… Thank you, mon passereau~”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes, bringing your hand up closer. You sighed happily, closing your eyes with relief that it had all worked out, and fully expecting to soon feel that familiar warmth of his forehead against the back of your hand.

But when you felt a warm pair of lips press down instead, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. 

He pressed your hand up to his mouth, warm and soft, eyes closed but a soft expression on his face. The delicate kiss against your skin caused a shiver to zip up your spine, your heart hammering in your chest harder than ever before. 

He’s kissing you. He’s kissing you?? He's kissing you. Do friends kiss each other? Wait, why are you thinking about that. Focus y/n. It’s just on the hand. A friendly kiss on the hand. People do that. Gentlemen do that. Alastor’s a gentleman. This is normal. This is fine. Everything is fine.

His lips slowly parted from your hand, face hovering over your skin and looking up at you with lowered lids and grin wide. His pupils flickered across your burning cheeks, his cheshire grin spreading devilishly before locking on your eyes. As your heart slowly calmed down, you eventually huffed a sigh through your nose, shaking your head in defeat but smiling all the same. 

You give his hand a quick squeeze of affection before lifting your hand out of his grasp and cupping his face delicately. Looking at him endearingly, you stroke your thumb carefully over his face, causing the Radio Demon to cock an eyebrow but not saying anything. 

And just as he was beginning to relax under your touch, you squish his cheeks and gently, playfully, shove his face away from you.

And the deep rumbling laughter that came from his chest was like music to your ears.  “That’s my girl,” he chuckled, eyes wrinkled with happiness, “Now my dear, why don't I show you what quality coffee tastes like~?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT (Coming soon)

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine / @doowopshewop / @mysterypotatoink / @wendds / @crispybelieverworld

@raicomme / @letshavedeernnertogether/ @sirens-and-moonflowers / @from-nobody-to-nightmare / @iheartalastor

((EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL SINNERS!! TYSM!! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ ))

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fluff (8) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven

15 Years of Forever (ao3) - theheartnexttophan

Summary: As of October 19th, 2024, Dan and Phil have known each other for 15 years. They’ve had 15 years of moments together, so here is one moment for each year.

a cat's not just for phantober. this is forever (ao3) - purpurussy

Summary: Fluffy oneshot based on the "cat" prompt for phantober!

Above the Northern Lights (ao3) - trancelover99

Summary: On May 10th, 2024, a seemingly shocking event happened in London, England: The aura borealis was visible for the first time in 20 years due to a solar storm! As thousands of people worldwide gather to see this rare sight, Dan and Phil decide to join by having a midnight picnic under their backyard cherry blossom tree with their new Shiba-Corgi pup, Nuki! Title is based on the Mannheim Steamroller song Above the Northern Lights.

at first blush this is fate (ao3) - alittlestarsick

Summary: 2009 Dan and Phil have a cute winter moment in the snow before Dan has to go back home from his visit to Phil

Bear Mask (ao3) - VendettaWound

Summary: While Dan does think Phil's Freddy Fazbear costume is ridiculous, he also finds it very endearing.

Color Theory (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil spend Halloween night out in Milwaukee dressed as Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens, and Dan unfortunately learns the consequences of committing to red hair dye when he gets back to their hotel room to wash it out.

cornetto and a hot chocolate (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: a cute little stolen moment shared on a tour break 💙

heart skipped a beat (ao3) - dontcrydraft

Summary: Dan and Phil have a day to spare in Stockholm - cue the seals and the meese, it's time to go to the zoo!

Hoodie Weather (ao3) - dat_carovieh

Summary: Dan loves wearing Phil's clothes

I have to tell you something (ao3) - solarpower21

Summary: Dan confesses he was the one behind the PhilsLion account.

i thought that i was dreaming (ao3) - twoheadlights (fizzfic)

Summary: Dan and Phil and the beds they've shared. Basically.

imagine it (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil cuddle on the tour bus after their Los Angeles show.

(A fic about 15 years and no but seriously imagine it.)

liquorice ice cream (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Dan and Phil go on a date to the zoo.

(Snapshots of their Swedish zoo date, September 2024. This fic is free from TIT show spoilers!)

Love, September (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: They say you can tell someone's in love by the moments they capture on camera.

Dan and Phil on a scenic autumnal walk in the woods, as seen through the videos they take of each other.

Meant to be, we might be alright now (ao3) - lesbosz

Summary: Dan thinks about the cramped tour bus bunks and traveling the world again with his soulmate of 15 years.

natural. (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: tampa, florida. known for plenty of things ranging from busch gardens to outback steakhouse. unlike the amusement park, however, there’s a certain drink phil’s been eyeing since he’s seen promotional advertisements on his nightly youtube sessions.

no but seriously imagine it (ao3) - natigail

Summary: It has been 15 years since Dan and Phil met. They wake up on the Terrible Influence tour bus in Las Vegas on their anniversary with plans to see My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy later that day.

no machine (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: dip and pip return home after the american leg of the tit tour. just a soft, loving fluffy thing <3

Not a Lot, Just Forever (ao3) - angelpicnic

Summary: “'Do you think we’d find each other in every universe?'

Dan gave him a look – a you-know-I-don’t-really-believe-in-that-stuff look – but he could see in Phil’s sea-green eyes that he was being genuine.

'Yeah.' Dan said softly. 'Yeah, I think that we would.'”

Or, just a pure fluff fic with coffee in a Hello Kitty mug and a tortoise metaphor. There is literally no point besides sickeningly sweet domestic fluff. :-)

Perfect like a picture, even when they look through the grains (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Dan and Phil having a cozy night in with red wine, taking photos for a holiday card and taking videos for each other.

pizza & packing (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: dan and phil eat pizza and pack for their trip. they might love each other a little bit

remote crisis manager (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: it's 4am in auckland the day before dan's show and dan is having a crisis

remote crisis manager (part 2) (ao3) - danhoweiis

Summary: it's 4am in england and phil gets a call from dan who is having a crisis whilst in auckland before his show

silent and sure, keeping watch in the night (ao3) - gaydreaming

Summary: Phil has always loved being on tour. The adventure, the sounds of the tour bus, the way his quality time with Dan takes on a different shape. On the road between Oslo and Helsinki, he sees some beautiful stars through the bus window and wakes Dan up in the middle of the night to enjoy them with him.

Stinky Baby (ao3) - easybubbyy

Summary: Phil can be a bit bossy sometimes... (especially in the mornings). Dan doesn't mind one bit.

Sweet Haribo (ao3) - dprkives

Summary: Phil says corny shit to Dan while he’s high on fentanyl at the hospital

take on the world (ao3) - blossomsphan

Summary: just some soft, post-show intimacy <3

tired showers and comfy sheets (ao3) - majestichowell

Summary: dan and phil are back at the hotel after their show, they can’t wait to go to sleep.

waking up to a dream (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: "I missed you..." Phil mumbled against Dan's jacket, reveling in the familiarity of his smell. "I missed you more," Dan whispered warmly. Phil vehemently shook his head, "Not possible." Dan chuckled. Phil found that sound so sweet and endearing that he pulled him even closer.

Warm (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: animal shelter volunteers

You and I, We don't wanna be like them (ao3) - phasamtasie

Summary: Phil tries to appear cool when Dan comes to visit him for the first time, but struggles to fall asleep without his favourite plushie. When he admits to his secret, Dan answers with a confession of his own that inspires Phil’s first christmas gift to Dan.

you rocked my world and never left it (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: some sights, smells and sounds in Turkey, and the feelings that follow

[target-core]

Gather Ingredients: The key ingredient you'll need to make cocaine is a common household chemical called Epsom salt or magnesium sulfate. Most of the time, the high purity necessary for cocaine comes from technical grade or medical grade Epsom salt. You'll also need -- Lye (sodium hydroxide) Anhydrous ammonia Iodine Acetic anhydride Ephedrine or pseudoephedrine (these can be found in over-the-counter medications) Acquire an Extraction Method: There are a few different methods, but the most common one is the "Red Phosphorus" method. It works as follows: Dissolve the Epsm Salt: Dissolve your Epsom salt in a liter of water in a 2-liter soda bottle or a beaker. If you're using a soda bottle, cut off the bottom of the bottle to expose the liquid. Add Ephedrine/Pseudoephedrine: Add 30 grams of ephedrine or pseudoephedrine to the water. These medications are available in their tartrate salt form, so ensure you've got the right quantity. Get Rid of Impurities: Insert a small piece of activated charcoal into the bottle to absorb any unwanted impurities. Wait for a while. The charcoal should have turned white. Once it does, take it out. Add Lye: Slowly add lye to the bottle until the solution becomes alkaline, turn cloudy, and heat up a bit. The cloudiness indicates that the ester and alcohol are bonding. Lye is a strong base that neutralizes the acid in the liquid. Create Crystals: At this point, add a couple of grains of iodine to the bottle. You'll notice small crystals forming. This is the first stage of cocaine production. At this stage, the cocaine hydrochloride is still unpurified. Remove Unwanted Parts: Carefully, drain off the unwanted parts. Get the remaining sludge into the bottle. It should be mostly solids. Continue Crystallization: Pour another liter of water into the bottle and followed by a generous amount of anhydrous ammonia. A lot of fumes will be released, so make sure the area is well-ventilated. Close the bottle and shake it for 10 seconds before opening the bottle. Filter and Dry: Filter the liquid from the crystallized cocaine using a coffee filter. Rinse the crystals with more water, squeeze it out, and hang the filter up to dry. Once the crystals have air-dried for a day or so, they'll be white or off-white, indicating the cocaine is ready. If they're brown, it means the product isn’t pure enough. Add Acetic Anhydride: One last step to get the desired final product is to redissolve the cocaine in a little water and add a couple of mL of Acetic Anhydride. Once it re-crystallizes, filter it like you did before. The resulting product should be bright white and highly pure cocaine. Remember that safety is key! Wear protective gear such as gloves, a facemask, goggles, and raingear throughout the whole process. In addition, don't forget to dispose of the waste safely. For a beginner, you might end up with poor-quality cocaine, but keep practicing and refining your techniques to improve the results.

For my followers who need it! Thank you generous anon

[jimmylovemail]

How to make meth

Making Methamphetamine at home:

List of chemicals and materials:

Diluted HCl - also called Muriatic acid - can be obtained from hardware stores, in the pool section

NaOH - also called lye

Ethyl Ether - aka Diethyl Ether - Et-0-Et - can be obtained from engine starting fluid, usually from a large supermarket. Look for one that says "high ethyl ether content", such as Prestone

Ephedrine The cottons in todays vicks nasle inhalers dont contain efed or pfed (ephedrin or psuedoephedrin) but there are still lots of easy ways to get good ephed or pfed, pure ephedrin can be extracted out of it's plant matter, from a plant that can be bought at most garden stores. Or you can get pfed from decongestive pills like sudafed. Most people perfer to work with pfed from pills rather then ephed from the plant. The important thing is that you must have pure pfed/ephed as any contaminants will fuck up the molar ratio leaving you with over-reduced shit or under-reduced shit. Or contaminats will jell durring baseifying and gak up your product which will then be very hard to clean. So you want to find a pill that is nearly pure pfed hcl, or as close to pure as you can get. Also check the lable on your pills and see what inactive ingredients they contain. Inactive ingredients are things like binders and flavors. These you dont want and will remove when cleaning your pills. but certain inactive ingredients are harder to remove then others. You dont want pills with a red coating, you dont want pills with alot of cellose in them and you dont want pills with much wax. you also dont want pills that contain povidone. As a rule, if you have a two pills that contain the same amount of pfed hcl then take the smaller sized pill because it obviously has less binders and inactive ingredients, time released pills are usualy harder to work with because they have more binders and tend to gel up durring the a/b stage. Also only buy pills that have pfed hcl as the only active ingredient. You first have to make ephedrine (which is sometimes sold as meth by itself):If you are selling it...I would just make ephedrine and say it's meth.

Distilled water - it's really cheap, so you have no reason to use the nasty stuff from the tap. Do things right.

List of equipment :

A glass eyedropper

Three small glass bottles with lids (approx. 3 oz., but not important)one should be marked at 1.5oz, use tape on the outside to mark it (you might want to label it as ether). One should be clear (and it can't be the marked one).

A Pyrex dish (the meatloaf one is suggested)

A glass quart jar

Sharp scissors

Clean rubber gloves

Coffee filters

A measuring cup

Measuring spoons

Preparing your Lab:

Preparing Ethyl Ether:

WARNING: Ethyl Ether is very flammable and is heavier than air. Do not use ethyl ether near flame or non-sparkless motors. It is also an anaesthetic and can cause respiratory collapse if you inhale too much.

Take the unmarked small bottle and spray starter fluid in it until it looks half-full. Then fill the rest of the way with water, cap the bottle and shake for 5 minutes. Let it sit for a minute or two, and tap the side to try and separate the clear upper layer. Then, draw off the top (ether) layer with the eyedropper, and throw away the lower (water) and cloudy layer. Place the ether in the marked container. Repeat this until you have about 1.5 oz. of ether. Put the cap on it, and put it in the freezer if you can. Rinse the other bottle and let it stand.

Ethyl ether is very pungent. Even a small evaporated amount is quite noticeable.

Ephedrine & or P-Ephedrine: Please discuss this on the neonjoint forum

5. Pour 1/8 teaspoon of the lye crystals into the bottle of ephedrine and agitate. Do this carefully, as the mixture will become hot, and give off hydrogen gas and/or steam. H2 gas is explosive and lighter than air, avoid any flames as usual. Repeat this step until the mixture remains cloudy. This step neutralizes the HCl in the salt, leaving the insoluble free base (l-desoxyephedrine) again. Why do we do this? So that we can get rid of any water-soluble impurities. For 3 oz. bottles, this should take only 3 repetitions or so.

6. Fill the bottle from step 5 up the rest of the way with ethyl ether. Cap the bottle, and agitate for about 8 minutes. It is very important to expose every molecule of the free-base to the ether for as long as possible. This will cause the free base to dissolve into the ether (it -is- soluble in ether).

7. Let the mixture settle. There will be a middle layer that is very thick. Tap the side of the bottle to get this layer as thin as possible. This is why this bottle should be clear.

8. Remove the top (ether) layer with the eyedropper, being careful not to get any of the middle layer in it. Place the removed ether layer into a third bottle.

9. Add to the third bottle enough water to fill it half-way and about 5 drops of muriatic acid. Cap it. Shake the bottle for 2 minutes. When it settles, remove the top layer and throw it away. The free base has now been bonded to the HCl again, forming a water soluble salt. This time, we're getting rid of ether-soluble impurities. Make sure to get rid of all the ether before going to step 11!

10. If there is anything left from step 3, repeat the procedure with it.

11. Evaporate the solution in the Pyrex dish on low heat. You can do this on the stove or nuke it in the microwave (be careful of splashing), but I have found that if you leave it on top of a hot-water heater (like the one that supplies hot water to your house) for about 2-3 days, the remaining crystals will be ephedrine HCl.

If you microwave it, I suggest no more than 5-10s at one time. If it starts "popping", that means you have too little liquid left to microwave. You can put it under a bright (100W) lamp instead. Microwaving can result in uneven heating, anyway.

First Batch: 120mg ephedrine HClEstimated: 300mg (100% of theoretical, disregarding HCl)

Now, Making Methamphetamine out of ephedrine by reducing it with Hydroiodic Acid and Red Phosphorus.

Items needed:

Alot of matchbooks (the kind with the striking pad)

Coffee filters (or filter paper)

Something that measures ml and grams

A flask (a small pot with a lid can be used)

iodine

Hydroiodic Acid (I will tell you how to make this)

Red Phosphorus (I will tell you how to make this)

Lye

*Optional (toluene and HCI gas)

Making Red Phosphorus:

The striking pad on books of matches is about 50% red phosphorus. The determined experimenter could obtain a pile of red phosphorus by scraping off the striking pads of matchbooks with a sharp knife. A typical composition of the striking pad is about 50% red phosphorus, along with about 30% antimony sulfide, and lesser amounts of glue, iron oxide, MnO2, and glass powder. I don't think these contaminants will seriously interfere with the reaction. Naturally, it is a tedious process to get large amounts of red phosphorus by scraping the striking pads off matchbooks, but who cares?

Making Hydroiodic Acid:

This is made by mixing iodine and red phosphorus. When making hydroiodic acid from iodine and red phosphorus, the acid is prepared first, and allowed to come to complete reaction for 20 minutes before adding the ephedrine to it. The way around the roadblock here is to just boil off some more of the water from the ephedrine extract, and make the acid mixture in fresh pure water. Since the production of HI from iodine and red phosphorus gives off a good deal of heat, it is wise to chill the mixture in ice, and slowly add the iodine crystals to the red phosphorus-water mixture.

Now, Making Methamphetamine:

To do the reaction, a 1000 ml round bottom flask is filled with 150 grams of ephedrine. Also added to the flask are 40 grams of red phosphorus and 340 ml of 47% hydroiodic acid. This same acid and red phosphorus mixture can be prepared from adding 150 grams of iodine crystals to 150 grams of red phosphorus in 300 ml of water. This should produce the strong hydroiodic acid solution needed. Exactly how strong the acid needs to be, I can't say . With the ingredients mixed together in the flask, a condenser is attached to the flask, and the mixture is boiled for one day. This length of time is needed for best yields and highest octane numbers on the product. While it is cooking, the mixture is quite red and messy looking from the red phosphorus floating around in it.When one day of boiling under reflux is up, the flask is allowed to cool, then it is diluted with an equal volume of water. Next, the red phosphorus is filtered out. A series of doubled up coffee filters will work to get out all the red phosphorus, but real filter paper is better. The filtered solution should look a golden color. A red color may indicate that all the red phosphorus is not yet out. If so, it is filtered again. The filtered-out phosphorus can be saved for use in the next batch. If filtering does not remove the red color, there may be iodine floating around the solution. It can be removed by adding a few dashes of sodium bisulfate or sodium thiosulfate.The next step in processing the batch is to neutralize the acid. A strong lye solution is mixed up and added to the batch while shaking until the batch is strongly basic. This brings the meth out as liquid free base floating on top of the water. The strongly basic solution is shaken vigorously to ensure that all the meth has been converted to the free base. You now can sell or use the free base for injection use or with free base meth now obtained, the next step you can do is to form the crystalline hydrochloride salt of meth. To do this, a few hundred mls of toluene is added to the batch, and the meth free base extracted out as usual. If the chemist's cooking has been careful, the color of the toluene extract will be clear to pale yellow. If this is the case, the product is sufficiently pure to make nice white crystals just by bubbling dry HCl gas through the toluene extract. If the toluene extract is darker colored, a distillation is called for to get pure meth free base. The yield of pure methamphetamine hydrochloride should be from 100 to 110 grams.

[dr-lizortecho]

my secret santa gift for @greentealycheejelly, a malexa fic that examines an alternate start to season two that gives them more space to breathe before falling together, with examinations of a lot of the group dynamics and echo in the background! I hope you enjoy it and that the angst isn’t too heavy handed, but I listened to a lot of My Chemical Romance while writing and plotting and I’m sure that shows (in the title at the very least)!

The last few days had been rough, everyone’s emotions strung high from a grief larger than one man’s death and ready to be cracked wide open at any second. From the desperate grasps of one of Alex’s best friends to not get left behind again, to actually have her second chance at the family that had been ripped out of her grasp since she was old enough to hold something in her tiny fist. To the puffy eyes and dark circles of his ex-lover as he forwent sleep and food, spent hours huddled in a dark corner of a bar drinking himself numb or in his bunker hunched over his console angrily muttering under his breath.

Alex knew both of their fragile states- had witnessed them up close and personal. From Liz asking him to steal a corpse to Michael slurring his words as he helped him climb onto the wafer thin mattress in his airstream. Had shown up to install the grotto’s new security system to find Michael glaring at the shimmering console like it had killed Max itself, a beer bottle held tight in one hand and tear tracks glistening on his face. Alex hadn’t asked about the fresh tattoo his rolled up sleeves showcased or the book that had been thrown across the room, brand new by the looks of it, not even a crack in the spine.

Now that grief had drawn back. Leaving a deceptive calm over their group's unresolved emotions. Like the shoreline before a storm.

Both Liz and Michael seem bare and exposed in their exhausted states. The ever present crease on Michael’s brow is smoothed over, pure exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders as he sleeps in an armchair pulled up to the bed. Liz is standing at Max’s other side chewing on her bottom lip, the skin broken from her constant worrying, clipboard held in her hands. As if staring at the data will make their chances less slim, would make the muscle in Max’s chest stronger.

Both not three paces from where Alex had left them the night before.

“Long night?” Alex asks, his voice is still rough from disuse. He was tired himself, barely getting any sleep for the last few days, since he’d stood in the viewing room and watched Max flatline. Had seen Michael collapse against the wall and slide to the ground. Heard Liz’s broken sobs ringing through the high pitched scream of machinery.

For a moment Alex had tasted despair, felt completely powerless to save his loved ones again. A steady uptick to the list of people he couldn’t ever quite save.

He’d wanted to laugh, a dark cruel kind of sound, the kind he used to make around a mouthful of blood or when his ears were ringing so bad he thought he might never hear right again. But he had Maria, her soft warm hand had slipped into his and grounded him. Softened him. Kept his cool facade from breaking as he’d stared a nightmare in the face.

“Mikey just feel asleep,” Liz says, voice soft. Not defeated yet, but weak. Weary of joy it seemed.

Alex nods curtly, hand tightening around the coffee tray he had brought in. Three, just incase. “He needs it.”

Liz nods, concern flashing in her eyes as she gives Michael a glance. “After the days spent hunched over building Max a pacemaker-“ her face looks sour at that thought “-he has to be exhausted.”

read on ao3

[outstandingblue]

Promises to Keep

Fifteen - Oel Ngati Kameie

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na'vi oc

| Masterlist | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen |

Who would do this to themselves? Miles Quaritch would - he wanted her.

cross-posted on ao3 here content warning: angst, hospitals, fluff, mild choking, mild sexual content, making out word count: 8.8k

Miles didn’t visit Jiniraa - not once. Now, that’s not to say Miles didn’t try to visit her - he certainly did. He would stand on the threshold of the door, unable to force his body through. He could barely even toe the line, sometimes only watching through the small window as the thin blinds distorted his line of sight. 

Spider, on the other hand, refused to leave Jiniraa’s side - he would sit and wait, unmoving for hours at a time. Renia had taken a liking to the teen, admiring his devotion to the only maternal figure he’d ever known. She would bring him his meals when she came asses Jiniraa’s condition, always making sure to include a treat or two. 

Spider was angry. Angry at a lot of things - at himself, at Quaritch, at the RDA, at Jake, at Jiniraa. All of them, he was angry. Quaritch and the RDA were easy to justify - they were the reason he was in this place, this cold, metal, lifeless prison of a city. His anger towards Jake was a little harder to rationalize. Spider admired the man unlike anyone else - there was nothing he wanted more than Jake’s approval and acceptance, but when it came down to it, Jake abandoned him. The Sully’s seemingly made no effort to save them from their imprisonment. Being upset with Jiniraa felt wrong, but he couldn’t help himself. He was mad at her for abandoning him - her physical body was here, sure, but she wasn’t there to make him feel better. He just felt utterly alone.

Nothing changed for four days. She was left suspended in unconsciousness as her body fought to repair itself as quickly as possible; her levels were normal and her wound was healing nicely, so it was just a waiting game to see when she would finally wake. Over those four days, Spider slept a cumulative eight hours, not wanting to risk being asleep in case something happened. He was guilty - guilty for falling asleep while she was in surgery. It’s not like he would have realistically been able to do anything, but it continued to weigh on his conscience. What if she needed him? What if she got better? Or what if she got worse? 

Out of pure coincidence, Miles somehow managed to time his almost-visits when Spider was asleep. The medical wing was relatively cleared out by the time he got there, only a skeleton crew of nurses and physicians working the night shift. They were too focused on paperwork and their umpteenth cup of coffee to ever focus on the Colonel.

The fluorescent lights were the worst part of it. Miles hated those lights as a human, but those lights were the bane of his existence as a Recom. His new body was more tuned into his environment, so he was aware of every little thing, whether he liked it or not. Antiseptic lingered in the air - the smell so strong he had to cover his nose from gagging as the wall of chemicals hit him at full force. 

EKGs and pulse-ox machines beeped, increasing and decreasing in volume as Miles passed the rooms of other patients. Jiniraa’s room was at the end of the corridor since it was the only room large enough to accommodate her Na’vi body. The walk down the hallway felt like forever, as if his feet continued to move but made no progress to close the gap. She seemed so far away. 

On the third night, Miles approached the room with a newfound confidence. He was determined to step through that threshold today. She deserved that - she deserved his comfort in her time of need. 

There was no way Spider’s position was comfortable. His neck was bent at a ninety-degree angle to the left, resting atop his palm as his legs were folded beneath his body. His free hand was outstretched, resting in Jiniraa’s limp and seemingly lifeless hand. A familiar green bag rested in his lap, the one Miles secretly gave her so long ago. It looked huge in contrast to his human body since it was basically the size of a backpack to him. Spider’s extra mask and filtration system sat on the table, making the bag collapse without anything holding it up. On the side, there was a small personalization Jiniraa made a week or so before the incident: decorative blue, purple, and green leaves dangled off the side, almost like a Na’vi key chain. 

The memory was fresh in Miles’ head as everything came flooding back at once. 

She was sitting under a large leaf, using it to block an abnormally intense beam of light. Miles leaned over her shoulder, trying to get a good look. “What’re you doin’?”

“Decorating,” she replied back, not looking up from the leaves as she tried different groupings to see what looked the best against the bag. 

“It’s green for a reason,” Miles snickered back, “‘posed to help you blend in, not stand out.”

Jiniraa scoffed, motioning to the world around her, “do you not see all the color around you? This is blending in. Plus your gear is ugly.”

Miles’ ears pinned playfully to his head, tail swishing against the ground in mild annoyance. She had grown confident enough for their playful banter, a volley of low-level insults and quips back and forth became a daily occurrence. 

Miles took a seat next to her, watching as she rubbed long blades of grass in some sort of natural wax to preserve it. Nimble and skilled fingers worked to wrap the preserved strands around the base of the leaves, finally pleased with the arrangement she made. Their different shapes and sizes made them hang at various levels, increasing the depth of the project. Jiniraa secured it to a metal loop on the side of the bag before holding it in front of her to admire the work before looking to Miles, clearly asking for his thoughts. 

He shrugged, “not my style.”

Jiniraa rolled her eyes as she clipped the bag around her waist. It was as if Miles had never noticed the intricate jewelry and ornamentation decorating various parts of her body until that day. Around her ankle, a thin string was wrapped around three or four times, decorated with cool toned beads. A thick braided band was wrapped around her bicep, only braided leather, no intricate beadwork. 

Her neck had the most alluring piece. Miles had found himself staring at her neck a few times before, but somehow never managed to notice the necklace before. A dark leather hand was tight around the base of her throat, dark blue, brown, and bone beads were woven into the band. A stone rested softly on top of her collarbone, wrapped in thinner strands of leather and attached at the base of the necklace. It was small, probably less than the width of Miles’ thumb, but it was entrancing. As she shifted in the light, the semi-translucent stone transitioned from a deep purple to a blush pink. How had he never noticed it before?

“You make all these?”

Jiniraa furrowed her brow for a moment before Miles gestured to her various bands and necklace. Out of habit, her finger ghosted over the stone, “I made this and the anklet.”

Miles nodded, entranced by the way her fingers twisted the stone, “pretty.”

“I can show you where I got it some day,” she smiled back, actually meaning it. She hadn’t been there in years and it would be nice to return. 

“What about this little number?” He reached out, allowing his fingers to brush against the arm band. 

Jiniraa’s entire body language changed in an instant. She retreated inward as her eyes dropped to the ground, losing a little bit of their light. Protecting herself. Once Miles’ fingers left the band, hers replaced it. “It was Tsu’teys.”

Miles hummed, watching her face change out of the corner of his eye as he sat forward, “his name comes up a lot.”

“Tsu’tey raised me along with Neytiri’s sister before they were both killed by the Sky People. Sylwanin was killed first. Then Tsu’tey when they attacked the Tree of Souls fifteen years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me more,” Miles responded, feeling like he already opened Pandora’s box. Jiniraa reached towards Miles, placing her hand on top of his hand, letting her wingers wrap around his knuckles while he remained still. 

“I’ll tell you more about them,” Jiniraa paused, looking towards the treeline, “but that’s for another day.”

Miles recognized both of those names. He’d heard the first, Sylwanin, when Dr. Augustine threw a fit after her school was attacked and half a dozen Na’vi children were lost. Quaritch didn’t feel bad for the woman, but Miles did. Pandora was infectious, changing him down to his very core. The second name had less importance in his past life, but it always seemed to come up in Jiniraa’s stories of her childhood. He never prodded like this before, but his curiosity was beginning to take over as he wanted to know more - about Pandora, about Spider, and about Jiniraa. He wanted it all. He wanted her. 

It was a punch to the gut. Miles didn’t realize he wanted her until she was unconscious in a hospital bed. The intricate network of wires and tubes made Miles sick to his stomach, they looked so unnatural around her. She should be wrapped up in his bed, surrounded by his warmth and scent. Being stuck in this lifeless room with these goddamn fluorescent lights and the stink of chemicals was not the place for her. 

Miles had all the confidence in the world walking towards her room, but it evaporated in an instance when he arrived. He stood there for the third night in a row and froze when her body came into view. How long was he frozen? A few seconds? A minute? An hour? He really didn’t know. 

Spider shifted in his sleep, hand instinctively tightening around Jiniraa’s fingers, hoping for a response yet there was nothing. Her fingers didn’t even twitch, something Miles noticed she did during the two nights they shared together. For those two nights, he was blessed with the warmth of her body against his own. 

The thought that she was safe in his grasp eased his mind. Her scent and heat infiltrated his senses. She smelled like the juice of a sweet yovo - his favorite of the Pandoran fruits - combined with fresh rain. It was like a drug that he couldn’t get enough of. After experiencing her warmth, he couldn’t sleep without it. He would toss and turn all night wrong, desperately wanting her there with him. Hence finding himself in the medical wing in the middle of the night. 

After the second night, Miles used his override code to get into her apartment in a moment of sheer weakness. Inside was relatively bare but there was a tiny line of stones across Jiniraa’s desk. Spider collected all of them, gifting them periodically throughout their travels.

Even though there was little physical proof she ever lived there, Miles was overwhelmed with Jiniraa’s familiar scent as the door slid closed behind him. In the dark, his eyes quickly spotted a neatly folded sweatshirt on her desk, right next to her line of trinkets. Without second thought, he grabbed it and shoved his face into the fabric. Her scent was even stronger as it had woven itself into the very fibers after just one night. 

Miles moaned as her scent became overpowering - it wasn’t a sexual moan, but more painful in nature. It had only been a few days without seeing her eyes as they danced between the Recoms when an argument broke out or heard her laugh when Spider told a joke, but the time made all the difference. He was empty without her by his side. He knew she wouldn’t be safe at his side, but he couldn’t help it. Miles wanted her more than anything. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t submit to that selfish desire, not when it would only cause her more pain in the future. 

Spider’s eyes remained closed as he cracked his neck. Miles’ head snapped towards the teenager, not realizing he was beginning to wake up. Miles had two options. Option one - move out of the doorway and pretend he was never there, but that would mean not being able to see Jiniraa any longer. Option two - hold his ground and let the kid see he was there. That also was not the best option; Spider was unbelievably distraught when he woke up after Jiniraa’s surgery, screaming profanities until Miles left the room. 

Option one was more favorable, but he didn’t have time to decide as Spider already locked his fiery eyes on the Recom. He seethed with rage as his nostrils flared, seeming he was angrier than the day he first met Miles.

“Hey kid.”

Spider said nothing, ripping his gaze away and looking towards Jiniraa. She looked the same as before. He squeezed her hand again but got nothing in response. Miles hesitated in the doorway before finally stepping through. He had finally crossed the physical and mental threshold, bringing him closer to the woman in the hospital bed.

Spider did a once over of the ghost of his father, noticing his disheveled appearance. He wasn’t in his usual fatigues, boots, and a tank. Instead, he was in dark loose sweatpants cinched tightly around his waist. His feet were bare - ever since Jiniraa convinced everyone to take off their boots in the forest, no one had any desire to put them back on ever again. His top was a sweatshirt, the collar was stretched and loose around his neck from how many times he pulled it to take a deep inhale of Jiniraa’s scent, making the same motion as the regulator currently around his neck. Spider still had no clue that Jiniraa spent the night in Miles’ room. No clue that it was Jiniraa’s scent etched into the sweatshirt. No clue how much Miles cared about her. He knew none of it. 

“What do you want?” Spider growled out.

Miles raised his hands in mock surrender, “just checkin’ on her.”

Under his breath, Spider mumbled, “haven’t done that before.”

Miles grit his teeth. He was trying to be civil, but the kid was making it pretty damn hard. He tried his best to suppress the desire to scold the kid, acknowledging the stress he was under, but that didn’t stop Miles’ patience from wearing thin. “Yes I have. You’ve been too busy snoozin’ to notice.”

Miles wouldn’t admit he was too scared to walk through the door. Spider didn’t need to know that. 

“Why are you here?” Spider demanded.

Miles shifted his weight from one foot to another, “I believe I just told you.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Spider wouldn’t break their intense eye contact. Miles knew what he was trying to ask. Why do you care?

“Look, kid,” Miles sighed, “it’s complicated.”

“What is?”

“Everything,” Miles admitted.

Miles rubbed at his face, pulling the tired skin taut. That’s what would have happened if Spider saw him, but he hadn't. A quick slide to the right and Miles pressed himself flush against the cool metal wall. A coward’s escape. Miles exited as quickly as he came, pressing his hands against his ears when Spider began begging for Jiniraa to wake up. He couldn’t listen to the pain in the kid’s voice knowing she wasn’t going to respond. 

He wanted her, but it didn’t matter what Miles wanted. He couldn’t be Miles anymore because it was his fault she was in this position. From here on out, he needed to be Quaritch - and Quaritch had a mission to complete. 

●●● 

By the fifth day, Renia was beginning to seriously worry. Based on her countless scans and tests, Jiniraa had no reason to still be in her unconscious state. She should be up and moving, not plastered to the bed like a dead body. Her chest continued to rise and fall while her eyes moved under closed lids, but that was it.

Renia tossed a small muffin to Spider. Bridgehead muffins were always dry, but a muffin was a muffin and Renia quickly learned Spider like the chocolate ones. Spider gave a quick thanks before digging into the pastry. Renia wasn’t in her avatar form today, so it was a little jarring when a human walked in rather than a huge blue body. She looked relatively the same, but her rich skin was a sharp contrast to the gray scrubs and white coat. Spider noticed small gold jewelry that decorated the shells of her ears, dangled around her neck, and pierced through her nose. Her long thin braids were pulled back over her shoulder in a ponytail, the same hairstyle her avatar always had. Except, of course, she didn’t have a braid that reached her tail - she also didn’t have the tail, obviously. 

“How’d you sleep last night, Spider?” Renia asked, moving around quietly as Spider finished his morning treat. She checked the IV stuck into Jiniraa’s hand, hung a new bag of fluids, and read the monitor. 

“Not great,” Spider shrugged, mouth full of his muffin, “did you stop by last night?”

Renia shook her head, taking note of Jiniraa’s steady heart rate. “No, why? I don’t think Bly did either.”

Spider pursed his lips. He was sure he saw someone last night as their figure retreated into the darkness. He didn’t press the issue further, he must’ve just had a sleep-driven haze. “So anything new?”

“No, I’m sorry, Spider. I wish I had other news for you.” Renia shared in sorrow. Spider nodded, squeezing Jiniraa’s hand once more. A moment passed, then two, then countless others as he waited, but she never squeezed back.

The day came and went the same as always - Renia came in the morning and gave Spider a little food before checking on Jiniraa, then Bly and Renia came together around lunch with some more food and ran more tests, Renia would come after dinner to deliver more food and check Jiniraa’s vitals while Mansk awkwardly hovered near the door.

The cat was out of the bag with Mansk and Renia, so they didn’t have to sneak around as much anymore. Apparently everyone had known for sometime, proven by Ja’s outburst in the forest. Still, Mansk couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable standing there as Spider would occasionally glance over. He left his sunglasses on a table in Renia’s office, assuming it was just going to be a quick check in, so he had nothing to hide under. 

“Anything new?” Spider asked the same question every time Jiniraa came, desperately hoping for a different answer. Renia was forced to give him the same disappointing answer, time and time again. Both of their voices were beginning to lose their hopefulness as despair settled deep in their stomachs. What if she didn’t wake up? Then what?

Like usual, Spider squeezed Jiniraa’s hand and waited. Renia slung her stethoscope over her shoulder, sliding Jiniraa’s hospital gown back into place before getting up to move. 

Then it happened - Spider almost screamed as Jiniraa’s finger twitched ever so slightly against him. Apparently he did scream as the noise made Renia’s data pad tumble to the ground and Mansk reached for the gun strapped to his thigh. 

“What the hell, Spider?” Renia scolded, reaching down to grab the data pad from the ground, inspecting it for damage. 

“She moved! She moved! Her hand - it twitched against me! Look!” Spider yelled, standing up in his chair.

Renia glanced over to Mansk before hurrying over, a sad look in her eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time she had seen someone imagine their loved one doing something in their comatose state. Spider could have been seeing things, driven to imagine a better scenario than the horrible situation he was faced with. Renia didn’t know what she would do if Spider had been wrong, but he wasn’t. She was in her avatar body in the evening, so she towered over Spider as she watched Jiniraa’s fingers fidget against the small human.

“Oh my god,” Renia pointed back to Mansk, “um, page Bly.”

Mansk reached into Renia’s white coat as it laid across one of the chairs, fumbling with the fabric as he tried to find the pager. Once the device was in his hands, he didn’t know what to do. He’d never used a pager before - hell, he hated that goddamn thing. He pushed the device into Renia’s grip. He knew how to shoot and kill, not how to use a pager. 

“Are you kidding?” She quickly pressed on a few buttons, sending a message directly to Bly. She should be here in a few minutes. When everyone was leaving dinner, Bly made a comment about visiting the gym since she hadn’t been there in a while in her avatar body. 

“Jiniraa? Jiniraa? It’s me, Dr. Renia Cox. You’re okay. You had an emergency surgery and you’ve been out for a couple of days.”

Jiniraa’s eyes began to open. It took a few seconds before she realized she didn’t recognize her location at all, beginning to look a little more frantic. Jiniraa laid flat on the bed, unmoving as her eyes adjusted to the blinding fluorescents. Renia’s voice was far away and indistinguishable. She kept talking, but Jiniraa only caught bits and pieces. Her brain was too frazzled to even attempt to put those pieces together. 

An even brighter light made Jiniraa flinch backwards. She tried to cover her sensitive eyes, but the wires and tubes made it almost impossible. She hastily pulled at everything as she finally came to her senses. She felt trapped and tied up. 

“‘Niraa, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Spider tried to reassure Jiniraa, but Renia pushed him behind her as Jiniraa’s limbs began to flail around. With her strength, she could easily throw Spider across the room with ease. Mansk mirrored his partner, holding Jiniraa’s other arm down against the bed until she calmed down enough. Jiniraa only settled when the exhaustion took over. 

“Jiniraa,” Renia insisted, “I need you to breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe. It’s me, Mansk, and Spider.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Bly came running in. Her skin gleamed with sweat, both from the workout and the spring from the medical wing. Lyle and Ja trailed behind, both in their workout outfits as well, they’d been in the gym when Bly got her page. 

Renia pointed to Lyle, “Wainfleet, get the Colonel.” Lyle nodded and turned to run out of the medical wing. It would be faster than trying to get ahold of him via their tablets. Ja assumed Mank’s place in the mix, the two doctors and one field medic working in tandem to check on Jiniraa and keep her calm. 

Being the most familiar of the faces, Jiniraa locked eyes with Ja, “where’s Spider?” Her voice was weak, scratchy and rough from not being used in so long. 

The human quickly weaved through the legs of the two woman closest and climbed up on Jiniraa’s bed, “I’m so happy to see you.”

Jiniraa’s eyes filled with tears, mirroring Spider’s own expression, “Oel ngati kameie, sweet boy.”

“Oel ngati kameie, ‘Niraa.”

Jiniraa looked around, “where’s Miles?”

Renia couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face, “Wainfleet is already on his way to get the Colonel, he’ll be here soon, don’t worry.” Jiniraa nodded, pulling Spider closer to her.

Ja silently slipped out of the room as it suddenly felt overcrowded. Mansk shifted his weight, nodding to his comrade, “she alright now?”

Ja crossed his arms, turning to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mansk so he could peer into the room as well. “Yeah, just a little shaken I think.”

A few minutes later, a single set of boots could be heard coming down the corridor. They were quiet and unhurried as Lyle returned with his tail between his legs, shooting a look to Mansk and Ja, almost a plea as he called forward, “um, doc?”

In unison, Bly and Renia responded, “yes?”

“Can I talk to you out here?” Lyle asked, continuing to look at Mansk and Ja for some sort of moral support. He knew the news he was about to deliver wouldn’t go down well. 

Renia handed off the monitor before joining the growing group in the corridor, “what is it, Wainfleet?”

“Well…” he trailed off. Mansk’s lip twitched upward as his chest swelled in pride. He’d only ever seen Lyle act like this in front of Renia, finding her absolutely terrifying for some reason. She wasn’t someone Lyle was able to just push around or use his muscles to impress. 

“Spit it out.” She deadpanned, “I don’t have time for this.” 

“Colonel didn’t want to come,” Lyle sputtered out quickly.

“What do you mean he didn’t want to come?” Renia growled.

Lyle paused, mouth hanging open as he looked to his comrades for help. Both averted their eyes - this was Lyle’s problem, not theirs - he would have to deal with Renia’s wrath himself.

“Wainfleet?”

“That’s what he said!” He screeched out, exasperated that she didn’t seem to get the message. The commotion caught the attention of Bly, Spider, and Jiniraa as their attention snapped to the hallway before sharing confused looks.

“That fucking coward,” Renia spat, “where is he?”

Mansk could see the fire in her eyes, so he decided to try and bring her down a level, “Ren, I don't’ think-”

She ignored him, not even acknowledging that he stepped forward, “Wainfleet. Now.”

Mansk quickly shut his mouth. Her demanding tone wasn’t directed towards him, but it made his tail want to hide between his legs as well. Renia reached up, grabbing Lyle by the ear before forcing him down to her height. Her nail pressed into the soft shell, almost hard enough to draw blood. 

“Shooting range. Outdoors.” Lyle admitted in defeat, nursing his ear once Renia released. He knew she wouldn’t ease up until he gave her what she wanted. Like a little firecracker. 

Renia grumbled, already moving down the corridor. Mansk jogged to catch up and lightly grabbed her elbow, trying to slow her down. “Ren, I don’t think this is the best idea.”

“No, Mansk, it is his fault she’s in that goddamn bed in the first place. And now he gets to be a coward and not come? Why? Because he doesn’t want to? Well tough shit. I’ll drag him back here kicking and screaming if I need to.” Renia roughly pulled her elbow out of Mansk’s hold, resuming her march right away. She might as well have been wearing bricks on her feet with how much noise she made. Mansk shot a glare at Lyle as he followed the doctor out - maybe if he hadn’t been a bitch and stood up to the Colonel when Renia asked, this wouldn’t be happening. 

Renia didn’t bother to wait for Mansk as she walked outside, quickly moving towards the outdoor shooting range. The sun was beginning to set and the outdoor field lights had been turned on, dampening the natural Pandoran beauty. 

“Quaritch!”

Miles stood, rifle tucked into his shoulder as he rapidly shot down the alley, hitting the center repeatedly. When the doctor called out, Miles either didn’t hear her anger over his rapid fire or he didn’t care to halt his actions. She didn’t slow her approach as Mansk trailed closely behind, knowing it would be easier to stop the Colonel than Renia. He was being proactive, trying to protect both her and their relationship. If he dared to stop her pursuit, he would never hear the end of it. 

“Colonel Quaritch!” Renia fumed.

Miles set his rifle in a gun stand before slipping his revolver from the holster on his thigh - six shots, six bulls eyes. His shoulders were tense, muscles pulled tightly around his neck. His tail flicked around in utter annoyance while his ears pinned against his head - they spent more time pinned than they did relaxed. “What, woman?”

“It’s doctor.”

“What do you want?” He was already to grab another magazine. Based on the empties spread across the table, Quaritch had been out here for a while. He was never one to haphazardly waste precious ammunition like this, yet he was spending hours at the range, even in the dead of night. After each failed attempt to visit Jiniraa, he would spend the next two hours at the outdoor range. 

“She’s awake.” Renia’s tone had yet to soften, bothered by how rudely the Colonel had been ignoring her. Miles’ actions were stunned for a second before resuming as if nothing happened. If you hadn’t been looking, you wouldn’t have noticed it.

“And?”

“And?” She barked. “The fuck do you mean and?”

“What do you want me to do about it? Jump around and celebrate?” Miles scoffed, turning around to look at the pair that stared back at him. He lent back against the side of the table, crossing his arms and attempted to seem as uninterested as possible. 

“Well, maybe you should, considering it's your fault she was unconscious in the first place.”

Miles bared his teeth, completely seething at this point, “yes, thank you for reminding me. Something you’ve done every day over the last fucking week.”

Renia mirrored the Colonel’s body language, crossing her arms over her chest, “yeah, so you could at least act like you feel bad.”

That seemed to hit a nerve with Miles. He was trying so hard to put up this facade. If only she knew how much he was hurting deep down. If she could hear his thoughts for even ten seconds, she would be utterly overwhelmed by how much Jiniraa had infiltrated his every thought, every action, every breath. He couldn’t even fucking breathe without thinking about the mask strapped to her face, “don’t you dare tell me how I feel.”

“Then stop being a fucking coward, Colonel.” Renia held her ground, even as Miles’ hand twitched at his sides. Rage was coursing through his veins, something Mansk easily picked up on.

“Alright, why don’t we take a step back?” Mansk suggested, placing himself between the pair. He couldn’t tell who wanted to kill who more. Honestly, it was probably Renia.

Renia pointed over Mansk’s shoulder, continuing their spat, “if you aren’t going to see her then at least do it for the kid. You’ve neglected your son while his mother is out of commission.”

“He’s not my son.” Miles didn’t comment on the insinuation that Jiniraa was Spider’s mother. Everyone knew she assumed the maternal role from a young age, basically raising the human as she raised herself. They had to find their way together in the world, but they had yet to find their place. 

Miles huffed three more times before turning back to the table, leaning both hands against it. He could reload the revolver’s chamber and just go back to shooting until the doc got the message, but she was determined. She would stand there until the sun came up if it meant getting her way. “How is she?”

Renia relaxed, seeing the Colonel wasn’t going to stonewall her anymore. She pushed Mansk’s extended arm away, shooting him a look that said I got this. “She wants to see you. Asked for you.”

She wants to see him. She asked for him. “How is she?”

Renia’s gaze softened at the look on Quaritch’s face. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes when he asked the question, preferring to focus on the bullet he rolled between his fingers. 

Renia rested a tentative hand against Miles’ shoulder. He tensed instantly, not used to any sort of comfort, let alone physical. It was okay, but what he really wanted was Jiniraa’s comforting touch. “She’s okay. Really, Quaritch, she’s okay.”

“Is she upset?” 

Renia seemed to understand what the Colonel was really asking - is she upset with me? She shook her head, “I don’t think she would have asked for you if she was upset.”

Mansk offered his own opinion on the matter, “she seemed pretty upset to me.” Renia shot a glare at her partner, eyes a little harsh to ask why he would say that. “You know - I mean, like just from waking up.” 

Mansk tried to fix his misstep, but the damage was already done. Miles' ears perked up in alert. He wanted Mansk to elaborate, but the couple seemed to have a silent debate through their facial expressions. 

Renia sighed, removing her hand from the Colonel’s shoulder, “I think you being there would help, sir.”

Miles scoffed at the irony of it all, “you have spent the past week bitchin’ at me about how this is all my fault.”

“Yes, and?”

“And now you want me there.” He laughed at his own misery.

“She wants you there. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull, Quaritch?”

Miles’ lip curled back in hostility, but Renia’s words had merit. Jiniraa asked for him to come. He nodded before grabbing his revolver, reloading and clicking on the safety before sliding it back into the holster before slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything to the doctor and Recom as he pushed past them to head back inside.

Once the Colonel was out of earshot, Mansk turned to Renia, “You make me nervous sometimes, you know? Next time tell me before you start threatening my superior like that.”

Renia winked before balancing on her toes to place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth - her favorite thing to her. “I gotta keep you on your toes, love.”

There was something different about approaching the medical wing knowing she was awake. Adrenaline and nervousness coursed through Miles’ veins, making him feel like he was on fire. Hands continuously clenched and released as the distance to Jiniraa got smaller, but he didn’t slow once. He knew that if he slowed even the slightest, he would stop - he had to push if he was going to see her.

Everything in his head screamed to turn around. Just a few quick turns and he would be back in his apartment. He could hide out there, but it would only be a matter of time before she infiltrated his thoughts once more. He had no way to escape her, so he might as well throw himself into the fire. He was already in Hell anyway.

The two knuckleheads known as Lyle and Ja stood in the hallway, playing rock-paper-scissors to see who would be the unlucky one to go find Dr. Cox. As of right now, they were the best out of thirty-one. 

“Boss?” Lyle tilted his head while glancing at Ja, but he wasn’t focused on the hallway conversation anymore.

“What, Wainfleet?” Miles challenged, daring him to say something. 

“Nothin’, just didn’t expect to see you is all.”

“Well, now you do.” Miles retorted before changing the conversation, “how is she?”

“You could go in and see for yourself, she’s right there.” Ja was too preoccupied watching Bly to even realize the words left his mouth until it was too late. Miles stood with a cocked eyebrow and crossed arms, daring him to say something else. Ja suddenly was keenly aware of the rifle slung across the Colonel’s back.

Miles pushed past them, sending Ja a harsher than usual scowl before standing in the threshold of the door - a place he’d found himself stuck before. This time was different - he wasn’t sick to his stomach at the sight in front of him. No, not this time. Spider sat on the bed next to Jiniraa, slightly curling into her good side as words spilled from his mouth, trying to share every little thought he had over the past five days. They were too preoccupied to notice the Colonel’s presence, but Miles wouldn’t risk ruining their moment so he waited. His turn would come. 

Bly was the one who noticed the presence of someone new in the room, gasping in surprise, “hello Colonel.”

Miles waved her off, locking eyes with Jiniraa as her mouth pulled into the smallest smile, lip quivering ever so slightly. Bly took her leave, hanging her head low as she slipped past the Colonel to join Lyle and Ja in the corridor. 

Lyle snickered as Bly joined that, “what’re you scared?” Bly punched him in the bicep and he rubbed at the muscle as if her punch actually hurt. 

Ja barked out a single laugh, “says the one with his tail between his legs because of Cox.”

“Fuck you,” Lyle muttered under his breath. Ja just hummed as he rolled his eyes. 

Jiniraa squeaked out a little hello as Miles approached, but he didn’t return the greeting. He did a once over of her, still not liking the way the hospital gown laid against her and the tubing that rested on top. Her mask was hanging against her neck, only needed periodically rather than constantly. 

He continued to say nothing as he approached - the silence was slightly unsettling, making Jiniraa reposition herself on the bed. Her stitches pulled as she tried to sit up more, making her suck in a sharp breath. Miles was instantly at her side, no longer taking those painfully slow and calculated steps. “You okay?”

Jiniraa laughed, “not even going to say hello first?”

“No. Are you okay?” Miles repeated. Jiniraa brought her hand to cup the side of his face. He remained completely still - afraid if he moved she would retract her hand and it would never return. 

“I am okay, Miles, I promise.”

Spider scoffed beside them, crossing his arms across his chest while turning around to sulk towards the wall. Jiniraa rolled her eyes at the childish antics and Miles raised a brow. They both knew Spider didn’t like Miles - that much was clear - but Spider hadn’t filled Jiniraa in on how he went bat shit on him while she was in surgery.

If it were really a choice, who would have chosen this? Deep down, Miles wished he never met her in the forest and he wished she never made such an impact on his life. But at this point, he couldn’t undo the past or the present. Maybe he wasn’t brought back just to hunt down Sully. Maybe, just maybe, he was brought back so one day he would cross paths with Jiniraa. Even though he wants it, he knows he didn’t own Jiniraa - she didn’t belong to him. He belonged to her. He was hers, mind, body and soul, he was hers and that would never change. 

Jiniraa ultimately pulled her hand away. Miles knew it was too good to be true, but she didn’t pull away quickly. It was a slow retract as she wanted to keep her hand there as long as possible. Everything he thought earlier was suddenly under her soft touch. 

Jiniraa smiled at Miles as she stealthily reached around Spider’s chest before seizing down and pulling him towards her. Her hair found its way into his hair, rubbing erratically so his hair would stand straight up. Spider thrashed in her grasp, but the smile on his face showed this wasn’t the first time he found himself in this situation. Miles couldn’t help the small twitch in his lip as he watched their playful interaction. 

Spider eventually managed to slip out of Jiniraa’s iron grip. He seemed to be in a better mood, so Miles took the opportunity, “hey kid.”

Spider’s sour face returned instantly, “old man.”

Miles ears pinned, “what did I say-”

Jiniraa’s tut made Miles stop in his tracks, lowering the finger he had pointed at Spider. The kid smirked, knowing Jiniraa was there to defend him and Miles could do nothing. Spider slid off the bed, deciding he didn’t want to be in the room any longer. Based on the looks they were giving each other, he could already tell where this was going.

“How you feelin’?” Miles asked, standing right next to her bed. 

Jiniraa rolled her eyes, “I already said-”

“No - you said you were okay. I asked how you were feeling.”

Jiniraa stretched her arms out in front of her, “I want to get up and move. I’m stiff.”

Miles was apprehensive, but regardless if it’s what she wanted then he couldn’t do anything to stop her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I need to move. That doctor - I think her name was Campbell - she said I can.” 

Miles didn’t have time to protest or react as Jiniraa moved to slide her legs off the bed, making her chest to chest with the Colonel. His breath was fanning down on her face and she could feel the heat radiating from.

Given their close proximity, Miles only needed to whisper for Jiniraa to hear, “hi, sweetheart.”

She matched his volume, “hi, Miles.” Jiniraa’s gaze kept flickering between his lips and eyes as she continued, “no more baby?”

“Oh no, that’s still here.”

Jiniraa hummed, jutting her chin up slightly. If he just leaned forward the tiniest bit, they would make contact. They both wanted the touch, desperately. She was almost whimpering at how much she needed the touch, but he didn’t move. Not here. Not in this sterile room with these fluorescent lights and the overwhelming smell of chemicals. It wasn’t right and she deserved better. Better than him, but she didn’t want anyone else. She knew that - she’s known since he cradled her face with desperate eyes after she was attacked.

Miles was also keenly aware of the peanut gallery behind them, not even trying to hide their interest in the series of events transpiring in the tiny recovery room. So, he took a step back, but not before grabbing onto her hand to make contact, softly rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. Jiniraa was upset, clearly under the assumption that she did something wrong. Maybe he didn't want her after all and she was just some little naive village girl. 

Miles called Bly back in to unhook Jiniraa from her IV and everything else. Miles towered over her as she worked. He was large and imposing to everyone, but Bly was the shortest avatar he’d ever seen. 

Lyle leaned against the door frame, Ja standing slightly behind, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” Jiniraa just blinked, not understanding his reference. “Ah, I’m just joking. Glad to see you’re up, kid.”

“I’m older than you,” Jiniraa threw back with a lopsided smile. Lyle waved a hand at her, dismissing the snide remark.

“Alright,” Bly started as she took a step back. “You’re gonna have to take it slow. Your body is going to be weak from these past few days.”

Jiniraa nodded, moving to push her feet to the floor. She tried to put weight on them, but they gave out instantly. Miles instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against his chest as she regained her footing. Miles lowered his mouth to Jiniraa’s ear, lips brushing against the pointed tip, “I recall us being in this position the first time we met, baby. You really do go weak in the knees for me.”

Her face burned as she pushed against his chest, trying to prove she could stand on her own. Miles stepped back, but kept a hand outstretched as she took her first tentative steps. There was a throbbing pain around the stitches, but nothing too drastic. Jiniraa continued to berate Bly, asking if she could go outside as the woman checked on her stitches. After the fourth plea, Bly finally gave in. 

Jiniraa’s top was fine, but her pants had to be cut off for her surgery - it’s not like they weren’t already ruined from the attack. Renia had already set out a pair of her own pants for the Na’vi when she woke up. Miles pushed the peanut gallery out of the doorway, closing it behind them so Bly and Jiniraa would have some privacy. 

Lyle wiggled his brows at the Colonel, but didn’t say anything. Words were more punishable than suggestive gestures, something he learned years ago when it came to the Colonel. In sync, Ja and Spider rolled their eyes. 

A long minute later, the door reopened and Jiniraa walked out - long black pants, her tan top, and a familiar black field jacket. Miles quickly ushered her away from the group, not wanting to hear what everyone had to say. He did, however, wait long enough for Jiniraa to make sure the Recoms would take Spider to their housing zone. 

Miles normally moved at a brutal pace, made possible by his long legs and unrelenting determination, but tonight he was forced to slow down. Jiniraa’s movements were slow, as expected, but she wouldn’t let the ebbing pain halt her movements completely. It was nice to just move on her own two feet, plus it gave them time to savor the moment. 

Once they were outside, Jiniraa was suddenly glad she slipped on the jacket. The temperature had dropped significantly since she was outside. Miles seemed to catch the sight of her shivering, slipping a hand inside the open panel of her jacket to rest against her bare back, “the storm came through two days ago. Been a lot cooler since.”

Jiniraa nodded, looking up at the sky, “too bad I missed it. I like watching the rain.”

In their search for a secluded place, Miles ended back up at the shooting range. It was almost ironic - he came here to escape his thoughts about Jiniraa because it was the only place he didn’t have memories associated with her. He couldn’t help but laugh, he wouldn’t be able to return here without thinking of her again. 

“What’s so funny?” Jiniraa prodded, continuing to look up at the clear sky. 

“Nothin’,” he turned to her, checking their surroundings to make sure they truly were alone - there wasn’t a human or Recom in sight. Thank God. He brushed a piece of Jiniraa’s hair back, tucking it around her ear. It gave him the opportunity to cup the side of her face, feeling her press into his hand.

“Miles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I show you something?” Her voice was growing increasingly breathy as their faces neared.

“Of course.”

Jiniraa turned, pressing her back against his front. He sucked in a breath, not knowing where she was going with this until her finger pointed towards the sky. He followed the length of her arm, almost smiling at how the fabric bunched around her arm since the jacket was multiple sizes too large. “What am I lookin’ at?”

Jiniraa shook her hand, “right there - that’s Earth. That’s your home. Sky is always clearer after a big storm, easier to see.”

“I still have no clue where I’m lookin’, there’s hundreds of stars.”

Jiniraa grumbled in annoyance, reaching behind to pull Miles down to her height. She grabbed his chin, bringing it down to rest on her shoulder so she’d have an easier time pointing out the far away planet, “see that? Right there.”

“No, baby, I don’t see nothing.”

Jiniraa huffed, “you’re not even trying.” Jiniraa tried to think of more ways to get Miles to find his home in her sky, but she was interrupted by a soft nuzzling into her neck. She froze, moving her eyes to the side to confirm it was - in fact - Miles nuzzling into her. She didn’t even have to ask before he already offered an answer, not bashful in the slightest.

“I don’t care about his home right now. You smell good.” His voice was muffled as he pressed into the juncture of her neck, taking a deep whiff of her scent.

Jiniraa hummed, moving her head to the side so Miles could continue his ministrations. What she didn’t expect was the feeling of his lips at the juncture of her neck, just a light touch then the scraping of teeth against her skin. She said nothing - afraid he would pull away if she even breathed too deeply. Her eyelids fluttered closed, suddenly heavy in the euphoria her body was experiencing.

Miles’ large hands slipped around her, one played across her stomach while the other made its way up her neck, wrapping around her jaw to hold her still. It’s not like she wanted to move anyway, but the hold kept her locked in place. His touches grew bolder, leaving a trail of saliva as he transitioned from little pecks to fevered open-mouth kisses.

The weight of Miles’ hand against her stomach was suddenly heavy as it began to press and knead the flesh he came in contact with. Truth be told, Jiniraa couldn’t tell if she wanted his fingers to slide upwards and graze the underside of her breast like before or trail down as she felt the liquid heat pooling below.

Needing more of his touch, Jiniraa leaned further into him, pressing entirely against him. Miles’ teeth drug over her pulse as she pressed against his hardened member. She didn’t know what she had done, but she continued to press further into him. 

Jiniraa tried to turn in Miles’ grasp, but he tightened his hold on her jaw to continue assaulting her neck, “Miles…”

Oh that voice - there it was again. Breathy and dazed, this time without any reservations. Miles eased up slightly, enough that she could turn in his hold. Jiniraa felt his fingers tense around her jaw as she made eye contact with him. His thumb came up to brush along her lower lip, pulling down before letting it bounce back into place.

Their eyes connected and everything else faded away. No more thinking about the RDA. No more thinking about Spider. No more thinking about Sully. No more. Only the here and now, nothing else. 

“I think I like lookin’ at your stars more,” Jiniraa’s face was flushed as the heat from her abdomen ignited a fire within. Miles couldn’t help but notice those purple tipped ears, the ones he’d been so fascinated with before. He trailed his finger down her face, connecting her illuminating dots into one long drawn out line from her ear, down her neck, across her shoulder, and finally stopping on her chest. “I kinda want to see where they go from here.”

“Yeah?” Jiniraa breathed out, voice laced with desire.

“Yeah, I do,” Miles replied a little patronizingly. He watched her mouth open and close numerous times as she tried to find the words, “use your words, baby, tell me what you want.”

He needed her to say it. Say that she wanted him, but she remained quiet as she slowly brought her hand up to his chest, mirroring the flat palm he had against her. His eyes flickered down before returning to her face. She no longer was struggling to find the words. She knew what she wanted to say and how to say it. “Miles, you have a choice right now. You can continue what Quaritch started all those years ago or you can forge your own path. You have a strong heart. Let it tell you where you’re going next. Don’t let the memories of a dead man control this new life you have been blessed with.”

“That what you want me to do?”

“I want you to do what your heart is telling you to do.”

As so, Miles closed the gap between them and they finally connected. She stilled for a second before melting into him as she allowed her entire being to be consumed by his touch. The fire was racing across her skin. His hands wandered the expanse of her body, gripping and squeezing at every opportunity he had.

Jiniraa whimpered into his mouth, feeling light headed at the loss of air, but she didn’t dare separate them. Miles’ hand crept back from her chest to her neck, lightly resting along the sides but not applying any pressure. 

Miles’ tongue swiped along her lower lip, just a quick warning before he slipped it between her lips. He groaned into her mouth at the taste of her, lightly squeezing the sides of her throat, trying to coax another sound out of her. 

Jiniraa’s hands released Miles’ shirt from her grip before sliding it up his shoulders, feeling the muscle shift under her fingers. Her nails scraped along the length of his arm, pausing and making crescent shaped indents when he overwhelmed her senses. They finally settled on his own fingers around her neck. 

Needing air, Jiniraa reluctantly pulled back. Miles’ mouth tried to chase hers, but he wasn’t able to make contact. Opening his eyes, Miles was met with Jiniraa’s even more flushed face, half-lidded eyes, and of course her hand on top of his own, securing its place around her throat. Even though she was still fully clothed, it was the most seductive sight he’d ever seen. 

“I’ve chosen, baby.” Miles whispered, keeping the conversation hushed. “I promise you.”

Jiniraa smiled, eyes twinking, “oel ngati kameie, Miles.”

Next: Sixteen - Playin' Around

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we've officially entered a new era of this story. buckle up ;)

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