#woke up at six in the morning gasping for air because of how much it hurt all of sudden

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part five)

warnings ; talk of blood and injuries (kinda?) but that’s it!

prompt : in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; guys why am i depressed about part six being the last part. i will miss my pookie so badddd :((

also, why did I get turned on writing about injured jk…girl. anywho — it’s crazy to me that this story has amassed over 3000 notes like… i love u all!! (make sure to listen to snow on the beach by taylor for the first part of this chapter ;’))

playlist here

series masterlist here

A few days pass.

Yet the man hasn’t left your mind. You’ve tried to shake it off, tried to go about your days like normal, but the problem is: nothing feels normal anymore. Not since Maya’s party, not since that night in his car, not since he told you not like this. Not since you woke up the next morning, lips tingling with the ghost of a kiss that never happened.

You’re so screwed.

It’s a crush — a full-blown, heart-thudding, stomach-flipping, ridiculous kind of crush.

The kind that makes you overly aware of every little thing he does. The way he texts you throughout the day, the way he always waits for your reaction when he says something funny, the way he watches you sometimes, really watches you, like he’s waiting for something.

And the worst part? Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed.

Jungkook still invites you over like he always does, still texts you pictures of puzzles he’s working on, still shows up at your door with a bottle of wine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Today is just another one of those days.

It’s raining outside, the steady hum of water against the windows filling his home. The air smells like fresh coffee and buttered popcorn, and a half-played movie flickers dimly on the screen as you curl up in the corner of his couch, knees tucked under you.

It’s comfortable. Familiar.

Unfortunately, to your dismay, his stupid, soft, obnoxiously pink lips, the ones you almost felt against your own, the ones that hovered so close to yours that night in his car, the ones that have been torturing you for days now.

It’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.

Ever since that night, you haven’t been able to stop. Not during work, not during your commute, not even in the silent moments before you fall asleep because your brain won’t let you. It replays everything, like some cruel, never-ending loop. His voice, his gaze, the way he held you so gently as he carried you up your apartment stairs.

You’re obsessed with the almost, with the what if, with the thought of how it would’ve felt if he hadn’t stopped.

Maybe it’s the way he’s sitting beside you, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, his other hand absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on his sweatpants. Maybe it’s the way his knee brushes against yours every so often, something almost deliberate in the way he doesn’t move away. Maybe it’s just you.

Your heart is doing too much, your body feels too warm, and suddenly, sitting next to him feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly, trying to act normal. “This movie sucks.”

Jungkook glances at you, one brow lifting. “You picked it.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I know. But I thought it would be one of those so bad it’s good movies.”

He smirks, sinking lower into the couch, arms stretching wider. “It’s just bad.”

You peek at him through your fingers, m lips twitching. “I regret everything.”

Jungkook hums, tilting his head like he’s thinking. “I could save you from your suffering.”

You blink. “How?”

His smirk deepens. “Turn it into a drinking game.”

You gasp, scandalized. “It’s literally three in the afternoon.”

Jungkook shrugs. “And?”

You glare. “You’re a bad influence.”

“And you’re boring,” he teases, nudging your knee with his. “Live a little.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I do live.”

Jungkook snorts, eyes glinting with amusement. “Do you?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping, taunting. “Then prove it.”

Your face heats. “I—”

Then you realize. This isn’t about the movie. This isn’t about anything you’re saying at all. This is about the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice dips low whenever he talks to you, the way his eyes flicker to your lips more often than they should. This is about the other night, you’re almost certain of it (and that holds weight, considering you may be as clueless as a child.)

Your breath hitches, pulse hammering beneath your skin, and you scramble for something to pull yourself back. “I live,” you blurt out.

Jungkook grins, watching you squirm. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod too quickly, too obviously. “Yes. I—I do things. Fun things.”

His smirk widens. “Like what?”

You freeze.

Your mind goes completely blank.

Jungkook laughs, tipping his head back, the sound rich, deeper than it should be. “Oh my god.”

You groan, hiding in your hoodie, absolutely mortified. Yet, a hand tugs your sleeve down, fingers brushing against your wrist, warm and gentle. Suddenly, you’re so aware of him again. Of how close he is. Of how the teasing is still there, but the energy has shifted, gone heavier, quieter, something else creeping into his expression, something that makes your stomach twist.

You swallow, throat tight. “What?”

Jungkook’s gaze lingers, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “You always get shy when I look at you like this," he murmurs, voice low and careful.

You open your mouth, speechless, but he tilts his head slightly, gaze never leaving yours.

"It’s cute," he continues, soft but deliberate.

This doesn’t feel mundane at all. Your stomach twists and turns like those pretzels you used to get at the mall as a kid. You know what he’s doing — knows he sees right through you, knows he’s teasing you for the way your pulse stumbles and your fingers twitch whenever he gets too close. It works every time.

You clear your throat, eyes flickering away, trying to shake the warmth creeping up your neck. “Stop that.”

Jungkook grins, all lazy amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s thoroughly enjoying your embarrassment.

“Stop what?” he muses, tilting his head, fingers drumming against the couch.

Your eyes narrow. “Looking at me like that.”

He hums, pretending to think. “Like what?”

“Like—” You wave a hand at him, flustered. “Like that.”

Jungkook laughs, head tilting back,“You are so bad at this.”

You glare, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him. “Shut up.”

It hits him square in the chest, and his laughter dies instantly.

You freeze. He blinks in response.

“Oh,” Jungkook murmurs, fingers curling around the pillow like he’s just now realizing the power he holds. “That’s how we’re playing this?”

You scramble backward, suddenly regretting everything. “Wait—”

Too late.

The pillow collides with your face, and you squeal, grabbing it before swinging back twice as hard, and suddenly it’s a war zone.

Feathers fly. Laughter erupts, breathless and wild, pillows smacking into shoulders, arms, legs. Jungkook is relentless, attacking without mercy, and you can barely breathe between your giggles, between the way he’s so unfairly quick at dodging your swings.

“You’re cheating!” you gasp, ducking as he swings again.

Jungkook grins, dodging another one of your feeble attempts. “How?”

“You just—” You lunge, shoving a pillow against his chest, pushing him back.

Somehow you both lose balance, and now, you’re too close. His weight shifts, his arm reaching out to steady himself, and then his face is inches from yours.

Your laughter dies, breath stalls.

The room feels too quiet, warm, suddenly too cramped.

Your fingers are still curled around the pillow, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook doesn’t either.

His lips part slightly, chest rising and falling too slow, too deep, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s waiting for something.

The thudding pulse in your ears, the heat coiling low in your stomach, the way his breath mixes with yours, close enough that if you just—

No.

Your brain kicks in, and you move first. A sharp inhale, a jerk away, a desperate scramble to the opposite end of the couch.

Distance. You need space.

Jungkook blinks, like he’s coming back to himself. Like he wasn’t just about to… He wouldn’t.. right? You can’t think about it.

So you do what you’ve done since you were young enough to comprehend basic human emotions. You deflect.

You grab another pillow and toss it at his face, laughing too quickly, too forced. “Truce?”

Jungkook catches it midair, gaze still unreadable. He smirks.

But this time, it’s not smug. It’s something else entirely.Something that makes your stomach flip, your chest tighten, your skin burn.

The pillow fight dies down, the last of your laughter melting into the air, breathless and warm. You’re both a little flushed, a little too aware of each other, but neither of you acknowledge it.

No, he doesn’t dare speak on the way his hands almost brushed against your waist. Or, the way you caught yourself staring at his lips when you landed too close. Or, the way you ran to the other side of the couch like your life depended on it.

Instead, you’re both acting worse than two petulant children who are trying to hide the candy supply in the classroom.

Jungkook shifts, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, sinking into the cushions like the last few minutes hadn’t completely ruined you (or him, for that matter.)

You do the same, try to focus on the movie flickering across the screen, try to calm your pulse, try to not think about the heat radiating from his body just inches from yours.

Now, as the glow of the screen casts soft shadows over his face, you’re even more hyper-aware of everything. You watch way his fingers tap idly against his knee. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The effortless, maddening way he exists beside you.

You hate him. You really, really hate him.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your gaze forward, gripping the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. Focus. It’s just a movie.

A terrible movie, but still, a movie nonetheless—

“Do you remember what you said when you were drunk?”

Your body locks up, fingers tightening against the fabric of the blanket as your heart skips a beat. Slowly, too slowly, you turn your head.

Jungkook isn’t looking at the movie anymore.

He’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze presses into you, steady, unreadable, dark eyes flickering.

You try to play dumb. “What?”

Jungkook tilts his head slightly, expression too neutral. Like he’s just making conversation. Like he’s not throwing you into complete chaos right now.

"You said you wanted to kiss me."

Silence.

Your stomach twists into knots. Heat floods your face, your entire body suddenly warm, stiff, undeniably trapped in this moment with him.

He’s watching you so carefully, giving you a chance to deny it. You know you can’t.

You remember. You remember too well. It’s actually the only part of the night that replays in your head like a broken record. You clear your throat, swallowing past the dryness, voice barely above a whisper. “..Yeah.”

Jungkook exhales, just slightly, just enough for his lips to part again, and you make the mistake of looking at them.

The word hangs between you, fragile, dangerous, like it might shatter if you move too fast.

He doesn’t speak right away, doesn’t shift, doesn’t react. He just watches you, gaze heavy, dark, unreadable. And the way he’s looking at you, like he’s waiting, like he’s already bracing himself for what happens next makes your stomach flip.

“You think about it?” His voice is quiet, deep, deliberate.

You should lie. You should play it off, should laugh, should look away and act like he’s reading too much into this.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, throat too dry, pulse hammering against your ribs. “… Do you?”

His jaw tenses, his body too still, too controlled, like he’s holding something back. His voice is low when he finally answers. “All the time.”

There it is.

No teasing. No playful smirks.

Just the truth.

Your nails dig into the couch cushion, your body frozen between running away and leaning in. “Jungkook…”

He exhales slowly, eyes flickering between yours, something like hesitation, like restraint flickering behind them. You blurt out “You’re looking at me like you want me to kiss you.”

“…Would you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “If I let you?”

The words slip out before you can stop them, soft, unguarded, trembling at the edges. And the moment they do, time seems to slow, wrapping itself around the weight of what you’ve just said. You are not the kind of person who speaks without thinking. You measure your words, tuck your feelings away where no one can reach them. But here, now, in this fleeting second where everything feels just right, your heart betrays you. Your pulse pounds in your throat, heat crawling up your neck, a slow, aching bloom of realization. You shouldn’t have said it. You don’t say things like this.

Jungkook’s face tightens, jaw clenching, something dangerous and desperate flashing across his face. “Don’t test me.” His voice is low, strained, warning.

That is what does it for you. And maybe you should back away. Maybe you should slow down. Maybe you should stop pretending this isn’t going to happen.

His fingers move. Not in a rush. Not deliberate. Just… easy. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his thumb brushes along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, just enough to make you look at him. His touch is barely there, but it’s everywhere, searing into you, sending sparks down your spine.

“You still want me to kiss you?" His voice is soft. Careful. But the way his thumb lingers against your skin, the way his eyes darken just slightly, the way his breath mixes with yours, it’s not careful at all.

Your body betrays you before your brain can catch up, leaning into his touch, tilting your chin just slightly closer. You don’t even know if you’re breathing.

For a moment—just a moment—he gives you the chance to back out.

He lingers there, breath uneven, fingers still holding you in place, his body too still, like he’s waiting, waiting for you to come to your senses, to pull away, to break whatever this is before it fully unravels between you.

You won’t. Right now, every single thought, every ounce of hesitation, every reason you had to keep your distance, it is floating in the wind with the rest of your fucks, because all you can think about is him.

His lips are right there, warm, soft, barely a whisper away from yours.

You close the distance. Jungkook reacts instantly.

The moment your lips touch, his restraint shatters completely.

A sharp inhale, a slight hitch in his breath, and then he’s on you. His fingers tighten against your jaw, tilting your face up exactly how he wants it, his other hand gripping the couch beside you, caging you in, keeping you there.

God, it’s everything.

Slow, deep, hungry, like he’s been waiting for this for so long it’s physically painful. Your lips part, and he takes full advantage, kissing you deeper, harder, letting his lips move with so much purpose you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel everything he’s pouring into this moment.

It is as if, in that single, breathtaking moment, every fear and every hesitation is washed away by the warmth of his embrace. His desire for you is evident in every nuance: the way his eyes close a little tighter, the way his hand lingers a moment longer, as if trying to memorize every curve of your face. You feel him wanting you, wanting you so badly it hurts, and that longing wraps around you like a promise.

The cool metal of his lip ring brushes against your mouth, contrasting the heat of his kiss, making you dizzy, making you press closer without meaning to. Jungkook groans into your mouth, a sound low, rough, completely wrecked, like he’s feeling every second of this as intensely as you are.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

You sigh into him, letting yourself melt, letting yourself give in, and the moment you do, his fingers twitch against your skin, like he feels you surrender, like he knows exactly what this means.

It’s more than just a kiss. It’s him wanting you. Not just now, not just tonight—but always, like he’s said a thousand times over.

You feel it, in the way his lips move against yours, in the way he devours you slowly, in the way his hands never leave your skin, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

No man has ever kissed you like this. No man has ever wanted you like this. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, undoing you completely.

And when you finally pull back—just barely, just enough to breathe—he chases you.

His lips brush against yours again, soft but desperate, like he can’t stand the distance.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first.

Your fingers drift upward, brushing lightly against his jaw, and then the cool metal of his lip ring, pressed so perfectly against his lower lip, catching slightly where your mouths meet.

It’s distracting, fascinating, and without thinking, your tongue flicks against it, curious, experimental, testing the feel of it against your own lips.

Jungkook nearly combusts in his own home.

He makes a sound that is low, deep, something that rumbles through his chest, and his fingers tighten against your skin, like he’s holding himself back from something much worse.

He pulls back, just barely, lips still brushing against yours, his breath hot, heavy, uneven.

His eyes are half-lidded, dark, hold yours with something so intense it makes your stomach flip.

"This is really hot, you know," he murmurs, voice raspy, ruined, like he wasn’t expecting this, like you’ve completely wrecked him without even realizing it.

Before you can even think of responding, before you can feel even an ounce of embarrassment, Jungkook pulls you back in.

He’s done pretending, done holding back, done waiting for permission.

The kiss is hungry, dizzying, lips parting, bodies pressing, fingers gripping, heat pooling low in your stomach as he devours you whole. Your shy giggle breaks between kisses, flustered and light, but Jungkook doesn’t stop, doesn’t even give you a chance to catch your breath.

He just grins against your lips, barely pulling back, murmuring something soft, something teasing, before diving back in.

You finally pull away, giggly, breathless, completely undone. Your skin is flushed, burning, your lips tingling with the ghost of his, and you can’t stop the embarrassed little laugh that escapes you as you tuck your face into your hands.

Jungkook?

Jungkook looks so smug, grinning like he just won first place at a national race, his head tilting as he watches you absolutely dissolve in front of him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble into your hands, mortified.

He chuckles, voice warm, teasing, endlessly amused. “What?”

You peek at him through your fingers, face burning, and he’s too close, too gorgeous, too smug about how easily he wrecks you.

“That was—” You pause, flustered, shaking your head before hiding your face again.

Jungkook laughs, tilting his head back against the couch.

“That was…?” he prompts, mischievous, completely entertained by your suffering.

You shake your head faster, burying yourself deeper into your hands. “Shut up.”

Jungkook grins. “Not a chance.”

You peek at him again, still horribly, painfully shy, but his smile is so warm, so easy, and you can’t help but laugh, your own nervous energy spilling over.

For a few seconds, neither of you speak, just sitting there, drunk off each other, off this moment, off the fact that you actually kissed him and survived it.

You let out a small breath, playing with the hem of your sweater, still so painfully shy when you murmur, “…I really like kissing you.”

The words are barely there, so soft he almost misses them, but the second they register, Jungkook freezes. Then, his grin widens, eyes lighting up with something dangerous and smug and pleased. “Oh, yeah?”

You instantly regret everything. God, why were you given the right to speak? Your face erupts in heat, and you bury your head into his shoulder, groaning into his hoodie. “Stop.”

Jungkook laughs, giddy, boyish, his chest shaking beneath you. “Say it again.”

You shove at his arm. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re annoying.”

He’s beaming, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on. You liked it. You just said so.”

You try to glare at him, but your lips betray you, twitching up at the corners, and Jungkook knows he’s won.

“So…” His voice is lighter now, careful, curious. “Are we friends who kiss?”

The air shifts, just slightly, just enough to remind you that this isn’t just teasing anymore. You really don’t know what to say to that, because the truth is, you have no idea what you are anymore.

And from the way Jungkook is looking at you, like he’s waiting for an answer, like he actually wants to know, you think maybe he doesn’t, either.

“…Do you kiss all your friends like that?” It’s quiet, barely above a whisper, but you feel the way it hits him instantly.

Jungkook exhales, a slow, measured breath, his fingers tapping against his knee like he’s thinking, debating, deciding what to say next. “Only the cute ones,” he murmurs.

Your breath stumbles, heart stammering, warmth spreading down your spine as you scramble for composure. You roll your eyes, shoving at his arm, playing it off even as your fingers tremble slightly. “You’re impossible.”

Jungkook chuckles, tilting his head at you, his expression so unbearably fond it makes your chest ache.

“So…” he continues, smirking. “That’s a yes, then?”

Your brows furrow. “A yes to what?”

“To us being friends who kiss.”

The teasing is back in his tone, light and playful, but there’s something else underneath it, something hesitant, something that feels too careful, too deliberate.

If you agree to this, to whatever this is, then what happens when it’s not enough anymore? What happens when you wake up one day and realize that being his friend isn’t enough anymore?

You swallow hard, pulse pounding, lips parting before you even realize you’re speaking. “..Maybe, I—I don’t...”

It’s softer than you mean for it to be, quieter, almost like an admission you shouldn’t be making.

Jungkook hears it. You see the way his smirk falters just slightly, the way his fingers flex against the couch like he’s reining himself in, like he’s forcing himself to keep this playful, to keep this from turning into something real.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice lower now, gentler. “It’s just a question.”

It’s not just a question. Not to you. Not to him.

But instead of pushing, instead of pressing, instead of forcing you to define something you’re still too scared to name, Jungkook just smiles, nudging your knee with his. “Don’t think too hard about it, okay?”

Somehow, that makes it worse. He’s giving you an out, he’s letting you pretend. That should make you feel relieved. Instead, it just makes your stomach twist.

Because if Jungkook is willing to pretend, if he’s willing to let you call this nothing, then why does it feel like everything?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You and Jungkook still talk every day. Still text constantly, still tease each other like you always have. He still calls you at random hours, voice warm, casual, like he just likes knowing what you’re doing. You still pretend it doesn’t make your stomach flip when he tells you about his day, when he asks about yours, when he remembers the smallest details you barely remember telling him. You still spend time together, still find yourselves in each other’s spaces like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But now, there’s something undeniable sitting between you. A weight to every glance, a meaning to every touch, a charge in the air whenever you get too close.

You feel it in the way his hand lingers on your back when he walks beside you, in the way his knee brushes yours when you sit too close on his couch. In the way he looks at you like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s waiting for you to admit what you both already know.

And maybe that’s why this time, when he tells you to come to another race, it feels different.

Before, he invited you.

But this time?

This time, it’s a demand, not a request.

"You’re coming to my race this weekend."

Not if you want to. Not if you’re free. Just come, like there was never a chance you’d say no. There really wasn’t.

When you get there, when you arrive at the track expecting to be in the stands with the rest of the civilians, expecting to be just another face in the crowd, you realize this time, he’s put you somewhere else. Somewhere closer. Somewhere that means something. You’re no longer in the stands.You’re with his crew, his manager, with the people who are part of his world, part of him.

And as you stand there, watching the way his team moves around you like you belong, wearing the NASCAR jacket with his last name on it that he draped over your shoulders without a word, you realize: You’re not just a spectator anymore. You’re fitting into his life. He is making you space for you. It’s a statement, intentional or not—he’s treating you like someone important. He’s branding you as his.

So it’s not surprising when Jungkook walks over to you, where his manager stands, and his eyes are gleaming with happiness. You see him before he even reaches you, his racing suit already zipped up, sleek black and red, fitted perfectly to his frame, the number on his chest stark against the fabric.

It’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his favorite part of this whole damn day.

"Well," he grins, voice warm, breathless with excitement as he reaches you. "You ready to watch me be incredible?"

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway.

"You’re already insufferable, and the race hasn’t even started," you murmur, pretending like his presence isn’t throwing you completely off balance.

Jungkook laughs, tilting his head at you, gaze flickering down to the VIP lanyard resting against your chest before meeting your eyes again.

"Looks good on you," he muses.

You blink, confused. "What does?"

"My name."

Your breath stalls. And it’s only then that you realize, printed in bold across your lanyard, just below the race’s credentials, are the words: Guest of Jeon Jungkook.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the weight of the jacket he lent you, the way his team has already accepted your presence without question, the way he’s so clearly staking his claim without actually saying it.

So you just huff, crossing your arms. "You’re the worst."

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. "Heard that before.”

Before you can argue, before you can figure out a response, he leans in slightly, voice lower now, teasing.

"Anyway," he murmurs, "I think you forgot something."

You blink. "…What?"

Jungkook tilts his head, feigning deep thought. "I mean, I could be wrong, but I swear I heard that a good luck kiss is mandatory."

Your brain short-circuits, entire face igniting. Jungkook just smirks, thoroughly enjoying your visible meltdown.

"I—" Your voice betrays you, barely there, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. "You’re making that up."

He gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "You think I’d lie to you?"

You give him the flattest look possible.

Jungkook grins wider, eyes twinkling with mischief, waiting, because he knows you, knows exactly how to get under your skin, knows exactly how flustered you are right now.

The worst part? He’s right. Because now you can’t not think about it. The idea of kissing him, the thought of pressing your lips to his, even if just for a second.

Your hands curl at your sides, nerves running wild, and you glance away, feeling impossibly warm under his gaze.

"Fine," you mumble.

Jungkook stills. "Wait, really?"

You roll your eyes, stepping forward, standing on your tiptoes before you can psych yourself out, before your heart makes you back down.

You lean in, pressing the softest, tiniest, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it peck to his cheek. It’s barely anything, just a whisper of warmth against his skin, a brush of your lips that ends before it even starts.

When you pull back, Jungkook is frozen.

"Oh, come on," he groans, whining like a child, tilting his head dramatically. "That was barely a kiss!"

Your cheeks burn. "You didn’t say how long it had to be, or where!"

Jungkook pouts. "That’s cheating."

"It’s not cheating!"

"It is," he argues, grinning now, eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "But I’ll let it slide for now."

You huff, but before you can fire back, his team starts calling him over, signaling that it’s time. Jungkook lingers, just for a second, then tilts his head at you, so effortlessly charming it’s infuriating.

"Wish me luck?"

You sigh, but smile despite yourself. "Good luck, Jungkook."

His grin widens, but before he turns to leave, he reaches out, fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket on your shoulders.

"You look good in this, too," he says, softer now.

And then he’s gone, walking toward his car, leaving you completely ruined in his wake.

One moment, Jungkook is standing in front of you, all teasing grins and warm eyes. The next, he’s walking toward the starting grid, toward his car, toward the adrenaline-fueled world that belongs to him in a way you’ll never fully understand.

The pre-race ritual begins like clockwork.

The track is a beast of its own, surrounded by a sea of flashing cameras, roaring fans, and the pulsing hum of engines warming up. Crew members move with quick precision, adjusting final setups, checking tires, fueling the machines that are about to push beyond human limits.

The announcers’ voices boom through the speakers, a mix of excited commentary and statistical breakdowns, analyzing lap times, weather conditions, and strategies for the coming race.

Jungkook steps onto the grid like he was born for this moment.

His racing suit fits like a second skin, sleek black and red, his name embroidered over his chest, sponsor logos lining the fabric. His gloved hands adjust the collar before he rolls his shoulders, his signature pre-race routine.

He waves to the crowd and the stands erupt.A deafening roar of cheers, whistles, and screams fills the air, the sound vibrating through the track, through the very ground beneath your feet. His name is on thousands of signs, chanted by fans in unison, a presence so overwhelming that it sends a chill down your spine.

Yet, Jungkook is calm. He grins, tipping his head toward the cameras, radiating a confidence that seems almost effortless. He acknowledges the love with a quick lift of his gloved hand before turning toward his car.

Your heart skips as he moves. Because while everyone else sees a world-class driver, a champion at the peak of his game, you truly see him. The man who just asked you for a good luck kiss like it was nothing. The man who threw his jacket over your shoulders without a second thought. The man who made sure you weren’t just in the crowd this time but standing with his people.

Your fingers tighten around the lanyard at your chest. And then, he finds you. Even in the chaos, even as the pit crews move, even as his race engineer talks into his earpiece, giving him last-minute data, his gaze lands on you.

For a brief second, the noise fades. Jungkook doesn’t wave this time. He just smirks, cocky, knowing, completely at ease with the fact that you’re watching him like you can’t help it.

You can’t find yourself to look away, not as he slips into the cockpit of his car, pulling down his visor. Not as the five red lights illuminate above the track, signaling the countdown. Not as the entire world seems to hold its breath.

Lights out.

Jungkook disappears in a blur of speed.

Somehow, you swear you’re screaming louder than anyone else. Your hands are clutched together, heart hammering against your ribs, breath shallow with anticipation as you watch him maneuver the track like he was born for this, his car weaving through turns, slicing through air with an ease that is almost inhuman.

You’ve watched enough races now to understand what’s happening, to know how to read the screen displaying his lap times, to recognize the strategic braking, the calculated risks he takes with each hairpin turn.

He’s flying.

The crowd is a blur of screams and chants, his name echoing through the stadium like a heartbeat, like a pulse. His manager and crew are behind you, murmuring low, speaking in code—numbers, tire wear, fuel calculations—but none of it registers.

All you can see is him.

Lap 47.

Only a few more to go.

Your grip tightens on the lanyard around your neck, the one with his name on it, the one that shouldn’t mean anything but suddenly means everything.

Before you can even recognize it, your nightmare, something you hadn’t dared let yourself think of as a possibility, happens. A flash of movement, a miscalculated overtake, a split-second misjudgment. Another car veers too close and clips into Jungkook’s left side.

The impact is instant.

His car jerks violently, spinning, tires screeching, rubber burning against asphalt and all you really see is his car disappear into the wall.

A sickening crunch of metal, the screech of carbon fiber against steel, and the entire stadium gasps as his car slams into the barrier.

Your breath vanishes. Your vision tunnels, ears ringing with static, with silence, with nothing.

No.

No, no, no.

Your body moves before your mind can catch up, hands clutching at the railing, eyes wild, scanning the wreckage, searching for movement, for a sign, for anything.

He’s not moving.

He’s not getting out.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, but your voice is lost, drowned out by the deafening roar of the stadium, the panic crackling through the radios, the blur of pit crews surging forward.

Your stomach twists, a horrible, gut-wrenching nausea that makes your knees weak, makes your hands tremble as you try to breathe, think, stay calm.

He’s in that car, in that wreckage, in that moment that feels like it will never end.

And for the first time, it truly hits you. This isn’t just a game. This isn’t just fast cars and roaring crowds and celebratory champagne. This is danger. This is risk. This is him—the boy who steals your breath with his teasing, who ruins you with his smiles, who kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough—and you can’t lose him.

Not like this, not ever.

A hand grips your arm. You think it’s his manager, trying to pull you back, saying something, but you’re already shaking your head, panic clawing at your throat.

“No,” you gasp, barely hearing yourself over the screams, the commotion, the static of the radios going off in every direction. “No, I—I have to—”

His manager tightens his grip, voice sharp. “You can’t go down there.”

But you don’t care. It’s a madhouse. Crew members are shouting, paramedics are sprinting, cameras are flashing, the entire stadium is a blur of chaos and noise and fear, and you’re inconsolable.

The second you saw that car slam into the wall, the second he stopped moving, the second the world seemed to hold its breath, something inside you snapped.

Tears stream down your face, hot and endless, your breath ragged, uneven, your entire body trembling so hard you can barely stand upright.

The grip on your arm tightens, grounding you just enough to hear his manager’s voice, low but firm, “They’re getting him out, do you hear me? They’re getting him out.”

You blink, vision blurred, pulse pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else—

At first, it’s barely anything.

A shift, a stretch, a stir. But then, you see it.

His legs move as they left him onto the stretcher. You squint further, and see his mouth move. He’s talking.

Your body lurches forward before you even realize what you’re doing, instincts overriding logic, pure desperation taking control.

You don’t care about the barricades, about security, about the fact that you’re not supposed to be on the track, you just need to get to him. Need to see him, touch him, hear him, know that he’s okay.

The grip on your arm yanks you back, pulling you against a solid chest, holding you in place.

“Let me go,” you sob, struggling, trying to break free. “Let me go, I have to—I have to—”

Your head whips around so fast it makes you dizzy, breath catching as your eyes find him, arms slung over two paramedics, legs shaky but strong, face bruised but alive.

He’s alive.

A broken, helpless sob escapes you, your hand flying to your mouth as you watch them carry him out, watch the way he winces slightly.

Something in your chest completely shatters.

You try to run to him again, try to close the distance, but his manager’s grip is ironclad, shaking his head.

“Come on,” he mutters. “We’re going with him.”

And that’s the only reason you stop fighting.

The world moves in a blur. You barely register the security leading you out of the pit lane, barely hear the frantic voices of the racing officials as they try to control the chaos.

The only thing that matters is the sight of Jungkook being loaded into the ambulance.

And suddenly, you’re moving again, faster this time, pushing past people as his manager guides you forward, urgency burning in your veins like wildfire.

By the time you reach the ambulance, the doors are thrown open, paramedics working around him, barking orders at each other, checking vitals, assessing injuries.

You lose it.

Jungkook looks worse up close.

His racing suit is partially unzipped, revealing a deepening bruise along his collarbone, a few scrapes on his arm where his glove had torn. There’s a gash on his brow, blood trickling sluggishly down his temple, his lip slightly split.

His eyes are lidded, drowsy, like he’s trying to fight the weight of exhaustion pulling at him.

“No, no, no—” Your voice bursts out before you can stop it, frantic, borderline hysterical. “What the hell are you guys doing? Are you checking for concussions? What about internal bleeding? What if he has a brain injury?”

The paramedics barely have time to respond before you whirl on his manager, eyes wild. “Why the hell did it take so long to get him out of the car?”

His manager blinks, startled, before sighing. “He was conscious the whole time—”

“And you let him sit there?!” you shriek. “He crashed into a fucking wall!”

Jungkook groans, head rolling slightly toward you, voice raspy.

“[Y/N], baby,” he murmurs. “Breathe.”

The pet name should throw you off, should have you collapsing and needing medical assistance with him. Your whole body is on fire. But you can’t.

He’s sitting there—bruised, bloody, hurt—and yet no one is doing enough.

You turn back to the paramedics, furious, pointing at the one nearest to Jungkook’s head. “Are you even checking for neurological symptoms? Do you have the equipment for that? Are you taking him to the hospital?”

The paramedic blinks at you, mildly alarmed. “Uh—”

“She’s, uh, kind of scary,” one of them mutters under his breath.

Another laughs, shaking his head. “Damn, Jungkook, you got your girl all worried.”

Jungkook smirks like this isn’t a life-threatening situation, his voice light despite the exhaustion.

“Hmph” His gaze is half-lidded but amused, his lips curling just slightly. “They think you’re my girl.”

Your face burns. Now is not the time for this.

You ignore him, refuse to entertain the teasing, focusing instead on the medics fumbling around him like they aren’t treating the most important person in the world. Or, well, maybe your world.

“You need to check his pupils,” you cross your arms over your chest. “Monitor his speech patterns, make sure he isn’t concussed.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re really going hard for this whole crazy girlfriend thing, huh?”

That is what makes you snap.

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice rises, eyes blazing as you step closer, nearly climbing into the ambulance. “You just crashed into a wall at almost 200 miles per hour, Jungkook. You could have died.”

The teasing disappears from his expression. The laughter fades. He’s just looking at you, eyes flickering over your face, taking in the panic still vibrating under your skin, the unfiltered fear in your eyes.

His throat bobs. For a moment, neither of you speak.

One of the paramedics snickers, cutting through the heavy silence. “She looks ready to throw hands with us.”

Jungkook huffs a quiet laugh, still staring at you, expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs, tilting his head toward you, voice softer now.

“[Y/N],” he murmurs, low and tired His gaze holds yours, dark and unwavering, “I’m okay.”

The words barely leave his lips before you snap back, voice firm, unwavering, “I’m coming with you."

Jungkook blinks.

His manager sighs.

The paramedics exchange glances, one of them stepping forward with a practiced, professional tone. “Ma’am, we need to get him to the hospital—”

“I know,” you cut in, eyes sharp, stance unshakable. “That’s why I’m going, too.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, a moment where the paramedics clearly debate pushing back, but they know they don’t stand a chance.

Your hands are already clenched into fists, your jaw is set, and your eyes are daring anyone to challenge you.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook just stares at you, completely stunned.

Because you’re not backing down.

Because his shy girl—the one who stumbles over words, the one who avoids attention, the one who blushes when he teases her—is gone. Instead, in her place is someone fierce, unwavering, absolutely insane about him.

He’s never been more obsessed in his life.

“Fine,” the paramedic relents, throwing his hands up, stepping aside. “Get in.”

You don’t waste a second.

Jungkook just grins, a shit-eating one that nearly splits his face in half.

The sirens wail above you, the vehicle rocking slightly with each turn, but you don’t care. You’re sitting on the tiny bench next to Jungkook, his fingers wrapped around yours, and you can’t stop staring at him.

Even like this—bruised, banged up, a small cut on his lip—he’s still beautiful. His eyes, despite the exhaustion, watch you closely, dark and soft, filled with adoration. His fingers squeeze yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles, his voice lower now, teasing but so warm it makes your chest ache.

“So,” he murmurs, grinning despite his split lip, “you always manhandle paramedics, or is that just for me?”

Your jaw drops.

Jungkook laughs, the sound low, husky, completely unaffected by the fact that he’s in a damn ambulance right now.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble, squeezing his hand just a little too hard, trying to cover up the warmth spreading through your cheeks.

Jungkook hums, tilting his head at you. “You know what would make me feel better?”

You roll your eyes, already knowing where this is going. “What?”

“A good luck kiss,” he murmurs, boyish and smug, despite everything. “Almost worked last time.”

“You’re insane.”

“So is that a no?”

You scoff, but your free hand moves before you can stop it, fingers gently brushing through his hair, sweeping the dark strands away from his face.

His eyes flicker, lips parting slightly, gaze locked onto yours like he can’t look anywhere else.

And suddenly, you’re both silent. Your hand is still in his hair, your fingers lightly tracing along his temple, and it feels so natural, so easy, so dangerous in a way you don’t know how to control.

His breath is slow, deliberate, his thumb still moving against your knuckles, and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s falling just a little harder every second you touch him, it’s all too much.

So, before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean in and press the softest, lightest peck against his lips. When you pull back, Jungkook just stares at you, completely still.

“Damn,” he breathes, grinning despite the slight wince. “I think I feel better already.”

You shove him gently, but enough to make him laugh, enough to make your heart stumble over itself. The fear from before feels a little further away. He’s here. He’s okay, and you aren’t leaving his side.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The hospital room is too quiet. Too white, too sterile, too suffocating with the smell of antiseptic and latex gloves. It should be calming. It’s not.

Jungkook is laid up in a hospital bed, his racing suit unzipped down to his waist, revealing the bandages wrapped around his torso. His head is tilted slightly back against the pillows, eyes closed, looking far too relaxed for someone who just crashed a car going nearly 200 miles per hour.

You, however, are pacing. Restless, jittery, hands shaking at your sides, heart still lodged somewhere in your throat.

The beeping of the monitors grates against your ears, the fluorescent lighting buzzing faintly overhead, and the room feels smaller and smaller the longer you stand in it.

Jungkook watches you, lazy and amused, arms resting behind his head as if he’s just lounging in his house.

"[Y/N]," he drawls while a nurse takes his blood pressure, voice a little hoarse but annoyingly soft, "you’re making me dizzy."

You stop. Turn. Glare.

How is he acting like this is nothing?

The moment the doctors had cleared him—minor bruising, nothing serious, no concussion—he had just shrugged, completely unaffected.

Meanwhile, you are still reeling. Still wearing his racing jacket, oversized on your frame, still breathing too fast, still feeling the phantom terror of watching his car spin out.

When the doctors finally leave, when it’s just the two of you alone in this cold, clinical room, everything boils over.

"You scared the hell out of me, Jungkook."

The words fly out of you before you can stop them, sharp and unsteady, laced with too much emotion, too much panic that you can’t shove down anymore.

Jungkook’s head tilts slightly. He grins, cocky, infuriating, like he’s enjoying this way too much.

"What," he muses, "worried about me?"

Your hands curl into fists. He’s playing with you, still joking, still smirking, still being so goddamn Jungkook while you almost lost him today.

Your breath shudders, uneven and shaky, and the fight drains from your body before you can even respond.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see what this did to you. Soon enough, his grin fades. Because he does see it now. The way your voice had wobbled. The way your hands are still shaking at your sides. The way you are still trying to breathe through the terror of watching him crash, of watching him not move for those excruciating seconds that felt like eternity.

Something in his expression shifts. Something softer. More serious. More real. He doesn’t tease you this time. He just watches you, quiet now, unreadable.

And the tension lingers—thick, heavy, crackling in the space between you, filling the silence. Because this is not just friendship anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time.

“Of course, I was worried about you!" The words burst out of you before you can stop them, voice sharp, breaking, raw.

Jungkook’s brows lift slightly, taken aback.

"Do you think this is funny?" Your voice is rising now, fingers digging into your own arms, nails biting into skin just to ground yourself. "Do you think it’s normal for people to watch their friends crash into a wall and just be fine?"

Jungkook tilts his head, gaze unreadable. "Friends?"

Your stomach twists.

You freeze, realizing what you said. Jungkook doesn’t let you run from it. Instead, he shifts forward, leaning slightly.

"You tell me," he murmurs. "Is that all we are?"

And damn him, because he’s still doing this.

Still making you feel every little thing you don’t want to name. Still looking at you like he already knows the answer.

You can’t do this right now.

You shake your head, refusing to take the bait, refusing to engage, but your voice wavers when you speak again. “Do you have any idea what I would’ve done if something happened to you?"

Jungkook pauses.

"No." A beat. A step closer. "Why don’t you tell me?"

"God, Jungkook!" You explode, voice high, breathless, filled with frustration and something dangerously close to grief. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"You could have died!" you continue, voice rising, cracking, hands trembling at your sides. "Do you understand that?! Do you understand what it felt like watching that happen?!"

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

"You think I’d just be fine?" you push, voice shaking, unsteady, unraveling completely. "You think I’d just—just move on and go back to my life like you weren’t—like you didn’t—"

You stop. Swallow. Your throat burns.

"You think I wouldn’t care?"

Jungkook is staring at you now, jaw tight, hands curled into fists against the hospital sheets. His Adam’s apple bobs, throat working as he swallows hard.

You can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t believe you, or because he does. That is the part that terrifies you the most.

He just stares at you, his lips parted slightly, his breath slow, controlled, like he’s afraid to move too fast, trying to understand what’s happening. This is not the version of you he’s used to. You, with your hands trembling at your sides. You, with your voice breaking in ways that make his chest ache. You, standing in front of him in his jacket, looking like you’re on the verge of completely shattering.

Your voice is a whisper. Small. Unsteady. he hates it. He finally gets it now. It’s not just about the crash, the fear, the hospital, the bruises on his skin. It’s about him and you and everything that’s been building between you for far too long.

Jungkook exhales, chest rising and falling, his hands gripping the sheets beside him, and for a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—he looks like he wants to say something.

You don’t give him the chance. You move first. Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you step forward and collapse into his arms.

His body tenses in surprise, but only for a second. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in, holding you tight. Your face presses into his shoulder, your fingers clutch at the fabric of his driver suit, and you break completely.

You sob and shake, and Jungkook just holds you through it.

"Hey," he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, his hands moving slowly, soothingly, one pressed against the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. "I’m right here."

You shake your head against him, your grip tightening, words muffled against his shoulder. "You can’t just say it like that, like it wasn’t—like you didn’t—"

Jungkook exhales, understanding without needing you to finish.

"I know," he says quietly. "I know, baby."

You just breathe him in. The warmth of him. The feeling of his heartbeat under your fingertips. The knowledge that he’s here, alive, safe.

"I don’t—" You sniffle, voice unsteady, body still trembling against his. "I don’t know how you do this. How do you just walk away from something like that?"

Jungkook chuckles softly, but there’s no teasing in it this time.

"It’s part of the sport," he murmurs, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your back. "Crashes happen. Risks happen. But I swear I’ll do my best to make sure it never happens again."

And when you finally pull back, just enough to look at him, his hands still rest on your waist, warm and steady.

His eyes flicker over your face, gentle and searching, and when he lifts a hand, fingers brushing away the stray tears from your cheek, you don’t stop him. You just let him touch you. Let yourself feel all of it. You blink, caught off guard, before his next words completely ruin you.

"You know," he muses, eyes twinkling, "you were kinda terrifying back there with those paramedics."

Your jaw drops.

Jungkook laughs, fully and unapologetically, his fingers still on your waist, his body still warm against yours, his presence still grounding you even as he makes fun of you.

"Shut up," you mumble, wiping at your face, still sniffling, still recovering from all of this. “I swear they weren’t even trying to do their job right.”

Jungkook just smirks.

"I like the idea of you as a crazy girlfriend."

The worst part? You do too.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Ever since the hospital, things have been different. Not drastically. Not in a way that anyone else would notice.

But it’s all that makes a home in your brain now.

Jungkook has always been in your life in ways you never expected, but now, it feels permanent, like the space he takes up in your world is so much bigger than before.

You don’t even question why you’re here, in his house, day after day, fussing over him like it’s second nature.

He absolutely lets you. Despite his half-hearted protests, or his feeble attempts to act like he’s fine, he lets you take care of him.

More accurately, he loves every second of it.

“[Y/N], sweetheart,” Jungkook groans from the couch, throwing his head back dramatically as you set a glass of water and his next round of painkillers on the coffee table. “You’re smothering me.”

You ignore him, plopping down on the other end of the couch as you pull your legs up, phone in hand. “You need to stay on schedule with your meds.”

“I barely feel anything anymore.”

You glance at him, unimpressed. “That’s because of the meds.”

Jungkook grins, shifting slightly so he’s facing you more, his arm draping lazily over the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You know,” he drawls, “I think you just like having an excuse to take care of me.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’m just being a decent human being.”

“Oh, come on. Admit it.” He smirks, tilting his head. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

You scoff, shaking your head, but your next words betray you: “You’re so annoying.”

Jungkook’s grin widens.

You don’t even see it coming.

His leg suddenly stretches out, toes nudging against your thigh, pushing you just enough to make you wobble slightly on the couch.

You yelp, slapping his knee. “Stop! You’re injured!”

He laughs, full and completely unbothered, before leaning back against the cushions.

“See?” he muses, eyes closing. “My personal nurse. Fussing over me every second of the day.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I could just leave, you know.”

Jungkook peeks one eye open, eyebrow arching.

“Oh?” he challenges, voice too smug for his own good. “Go on, then.”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

Because his grin turns downright devilish as he leans his head back again, completely at ease.

“That’s what I thought.”

You despise him. You really do. Except you don’t, not even the tiniest bit.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics @outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr @tatamicc @seokout @ashslight @avawants2havefun @bjoriis @jjeonjjk7 @mar-lo-pap @parkinglot-nights @coletaehyung @mellyyyyyyx @magicalnachocreator @royalguk

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Lean On Me (Part 7/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

The morning after and being honest with Frank

Warnings: 18+ only MDNI, explicit sexual content, P in V sex and oral (female receiving)

(a/n: I just really want to say thank you to everyone for the love I have received from this story! I haven't really written anything in years and this was a lovely reminder of how much I love it, so thank you!)

part six

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab, antisocialfiore, eugene-emt-roe @andabuttonnose @nosebeers @qardasngan

You wake up, bundled in your doona, alone. The other side of your bed is long gone cold as you reach out in search of Michael.

You were not unfamiliar with waking up to an empty bed after a night of passion but somehow you had thought last night had been different.

You feel the tears starting to well as you throw your head back into your pillow but a loud crash from your kitchen has you up and out of bed in a flash. 

You grab your doona and wrap it around yourself before grabbing the closest thing you can as a weapon, your ring holder that you had bought on a whim but never really used.

First Michael has left you after a night you can only describe as earth shattering,  and now probably because he left the front door unlocked you were getting robbed.

With your ceramic ring stacker in one hand and the other holding the doona tight around your naked body to give you some modesty you sneak into the kitchen.

You bring your arm up ready to stab at the intruder when they turn, your oven mitts in their hands and a hot fry pan in the other.

Michael.

He was still here.

In your kitchen.

In your kitchen, wearing your dressing gown, making eggs.

“Good morning…” He said looking wearily at the very sharp cone you still had in your hands.

“I thought you left?” You said weakly, putting the cone on the counter and wrapping the doona tighter around yourself.

His face immediately drops and the pan is back on the off stove as he wraps himself around you, his warm hands slipping through the doona and resting against your bare back.

“I woke up early so I walked Dog and wanted to make you breakfast.” he said against your neck as he kissed his way up and to your lips. 

“You walked Dog?” You said between gasps as his fingers, found your core under the doona, you were naked underneath and he slipped your covering off exposing you to the cool morning air.

“I made eggs.” he said as he slipped a finger inside you, dragging it slowly, painfully slowly, back out and in, just leaving you on the edge of arousal.

“I don’t have eggs.” you breath out, gasping for him as he adds a second finger. His thumb now resting against your clit, not moving but the pressure is enough for you to buck into him, trying to seek an end to the treacherous torture you feel as he holds you on just the edge of climax.

“You need to look after yourself.” he says as he removes his touch from you entirely, stepping away and looking down at you. You whimper as your body tries to follow him but he has his hands on your waist and lifts you onto the counter before you can protest further.

“Michea-” you start but he settles on the floor, he puts the doona against his knees for comfort which makes you laugh. 

“Let me look after you.” he practically pleaded as he snapped open your legs, his hands tight against your thighs as your laughter disappeared, replaced with a moan as his tongue swipes at your clit.

You pull your hips forward chasing his ministrations but the hands holding your thighs move higher and pin your hips to the cold counter. 

His tongue teases you, focusing on the stop that has you crying out his name but then he would stop, smirking up at you from between your legs.

“Please-” you pleaded as he moved his attention from the perfect spot moments before your orgasm took over.

“Shhhh!” he said as moved away slightly, groaning as he got to his feet. You wince slightly as his knees pop.

You want to make an old man joke, but it dies on your tongue as he leans over you, his chest grazing yours and picks up the brown paper bag that hadn’t been there last night.

“I went shopping this morning, while you slept.” he said as he watched you watch him, smirking as you tried to rub your aching core against his leg, still wrapped in your dressing gown.

“I got food, because you and Dog seem to be living off cheese toasties,” You shrugged but didn’t deny that it had been your main food group, “You also had no real coffee, only coffee syrup,” another truth, “and a lack of condoms anywhere in this place.”

“Haven’t needed them.” you tell him, a blush creeping up your neck and cheeks, “Not since I got home.”

His smirk turned feral as your words settled and his fingers almost bruised as he pulled you closer to him with one hand, the other grabbed a box from the bag and ripped it open all while keeping eye contact. 

He slips himself out of the dressing gown, but doesn’t remove it, you wrap your legs around his body, shivering as the warmth of the material is a vast contrast to the cool of the apartment and the hard counter under you.

“Look at me.” he purrs as he notices you have looked away, you do as you're told and look directly at him, his brown eyes lidded slightly as he looks into your soul. You can’t move even if you wanted to.

You had had lovers before, you had had nights of passion being either naughty weekends or one night stands. You had ever had moments that you had repeatedly thought about when alone.

But none of those moments were anything close to this, keeping eye contact with this man as he wraps himself, after ripping the package open with his teeth, before he pushes into you. His hand now on your chin forcing you to stay looking at him instead of throwing yourself back in ecstasy. 

“Michael-” you cry out as his hips snap against you, your body full and drowning in need and want. He removes his hand from your chin but you don’t look away, his brown eyes a fire as he leans in and kisses you, it's a battle of teeth and bruising as you both take what you need. His hand slips between you and rubs at your clit. 

The world erupts around you, you feel like you're free falling as you cry out against his lips as your long awaited climax rips through you. Michael pounds in harder, his body tight against yours as you cling to him, with clawed hands you drag your nails down your back and as another orgasm builds you bite down on his lip, holding him to you as he holds you up, your body spasming through the aftershocks. 

Michael comes quickly after that, his actions calming as he kisses you softly, his lips soothing against your own bruised lips.

He pulls out and throws the condom away as you lay down on the counter, your legs swinging off the edge, your mind completely blank as he puts the long forgotten doona over your lap.

You hear him laugh and turn slightly to look at him, the dressing gown still open, he's standing awkwardly by the stove top.

“What?”

“The eggs went cold.” he whined, looking very put out at the frypan filled with now cold scrambled eggs.

You sit up, groaning as your body creaked in protest, a night of fucking and then a morning of counter sex was not good for your back.

“Pancakes?” You say hopefully, your tummy is now rumbling.

“Frank then pancakes? Or Pancakes then Frank?” Michael asks and your stomach drops.

Frank.

You had just had a night of sex and passion with your brother's boss.

Fuck.

You jump from the counter and go to your room, you hear Michael calling after you but you slam the door and lean against it, sliding down to the ground.

Frank is your priority, you remind yourself, over and over again.

Frank.

Frank.

Frank.

Frank whose life was falling apart and his entire support system was you and Michael and now you two had blurred yourselves together in an inseparable way.

“Sweetheart?” Michael asks through the door, you can hear the fear in his voice.

“I think we made a mistake.” you whisper, tears falling as you hit your head against the closed door.

“What?”

“Frank-”

You feel more than hear Michael rest against the closed door, his weight pushing the door against your back and you lean further into it.

“Frank is a big boy-”

“He’s in rehab-”

“Sweetheart, I care about Frank. Believe me I do, but he’s a grown up and he can’t choose who you like or who likes you.”

Despite it all you can’t help but smile at what Michael said.

“You like me?”

He laughs and it makes your toes curl as you feel a little of the weight rise off your shoulders.

“Sweetheart, I just ate you out on your kitchen counter, of course I like you.”

“Am I being ridiculous?”

“Maybe, but I like you anyway.”

“Can we not tell Frank yet?” you barely whisper it but Michael confirms immediately and your heart soars at his kindness and understanding. Another man might have argued, demanded to not be hidden but Michael was confident enough in himself to know that it wasn’t about him. 

“Can you open this door so we can get pancakes?” he begs, a little whine lacing his words.

You finally laugh and get off the floor and open the door.

“I say we see Frank and then get pancakes.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had walked in together but separately, not holding hands or kissing (which you had done for the whole walk from the apartment). 

You had even sat down on separate couches, not even talking to each other, just letting Frank do the talking.

He had been excited to talk about the visit he had had the day before with the kids, and that he had spoken with the Hospital Board about a return to work (with lots of restrictions).

But in a moment to relieve a silence in the conversation, you retold a funny story about Dog, who had escaped just as you had tried to leave this morning.

“She got out and just stood there in the hallway, daring me to chase her so I did because I’m an idiot, then the moment I got close to her she just ran straight back into the apartment, straight through my legs and everything! Then Michael tried to grab her and she ran back into the hallway. This went on for like fifteen minutes before we realised we could just close the front room when she ran to Mich-”

“Why were you there?” Frank asks, a small smile tugging on his face as he looks between the both of you, Michael suddenly finds the floor very interesting and your stomach is doing somersaults after you realised you had misspoken.

You want to lie to your brother, to keep your relationship private, but you were also terrible at lying to Frank about anything (except work related lies) so as Michael blurted out his answer you blurted out yours.

“I just offered to walk here with her.” 

“We had sex on your couch!”

The silence that came after that was awkward as Michael’s face was flushed red and he started to stutter something.

“You what?”

“Sex on your couch- we’re having sex.” 

“Sweeth-”

“You are sleeping with Dr Robby?”

“Yeah- I wasn’t going to tell you but it kind of slipped out.”

“Why were you not going to tell me?”

“Because you’re in rehab and you don’t need this kind of thing and I don’t know where we are going but it's fun and it's good and he knows what I do for a living and he's okay with it and it's good, oh my god Frank it is soooo good!”

STOP! For fucks sake stop talking you scream at yourself but the word vomit keeps on coming no matter how loud you scream.

“And Dog likes him, she lets him rub her belly which is rare and he made me eggs! I don’t think anyones made me eggs before! I mean we didn’t eat them because then we had se-”

“I beg you, please stop!” Frank says, his own face now as red as Michaels. Both men look like they want the world to crack open and swallow them whole.

You stop and focus on your hands resting on your lap and wait, the silence as Frank processes and Michael mutters something under his breath, is stifling but you stay quiet.

“You know my sister’s a stripper?” Frank says matter of factly to his boss, his whole body and attention focused on the older man.

“You know your sister’s a stripper?” Michael returns the question and you watch like it's the weirdest game of tennis.

“I do.”

“And you never stopped her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I made note of every dollar she spent on me from high school to graduation, I had every intention of paying her back.”

“But you never stopped the stripping?”

“I couldn’t have stopped her- have you met my sister, once her mind was made up that's it. I could have demanded she stop, I could have fought her about it but it wouldn’t have stopped her. It would have just made her feel wrong about trying to make a living.”

“That's true!” you cut in, and remind them both you are still in the room, “Michael, I was always going to do what I had to, which includes stripping, and no one could have stopped me, not even Frank.”

Frank nodded and you jabbed him in the knee, “And you are not paying me back, I don’t care about money, I cared about getting you through school.”

Frank smiled and then turned to Michael, an evil glint dancing across his face.

“If you’ve slept with my sister, does that now mean I’m your best friend?”

Michael laughs and you lean across the space between your and Frank's chairs and slap his shoulder.

“Sleeping with your sister doesn’t mean he’s your best friend!”

“It does make him my best resident though!” Michael said, a serious look on his face which lasted all of two seconds before he and Frank were both laughing.

“I hate you both!” you say, lying through your teeth.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dating Doctor Michael Robinavitch is not an easy task. Between your hours and him back on the day shift you are ships passing in the night most days. With stolen moments in an ambulance bay as you bring him lunch or in the back alley of the club as you take Dog out for a toilet break. 

But Frank finishes rehab after five weeks; he had chosen to stay a little longer to clear his head. He moves back in and you love every moment of spending time with him. You make breakfast for him when you get home in the mornings, as you eat dinner and then you wake in the evenings to get ready for work he's made your breakfast alongside his dinner. 

Your weekends are filled with your nieces who you adore, and Frank spoils them rotten as he tries to make up for lost time. You catch up with his wife some mornings and enjoy the comfortable familiarity of a friend who's been there for years.

You spend nights and days at Michaels when he's off work, enjoying the time you're taking to get to know each other. You learnt that he was raised by his grandparents and that he’s deathly allergic to bees. In return you talk about Europe, about really specific moulding on a church from Romania you are dying to see.

Being with Michael is the happiest you think you may have ever been. And you can’t really work out when it happened but you slowly start reducing your shifts at the club, Holly quits and then so did Joe, and with Frank sharing the costs of the apartment after taking a couple of tutoring jobs you find your credit card payments up to date and close the ones that are done. 

You let yourself into Michael's apartment one day, a few months into dating, Franks due back at the Hospital in a week and you need to leave him alone because his panic studying is driving you both mental. So you head to Michaels with the intention of surprising him with a home cooked dinner and wine (something you don’t keep at Franks anymore). 

But as you walk into his kitchen you're surprised by Michael already there, his kitchen counter, which is normally clear of all things, is covered in leaflets and brochures.

“Hey?” You say standing in the doorway, arms filled with shopping that now has nowhere to put them.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” he says, trying to grab all the leaflets and brochures and hide them behind his back. 

You place the groceries on the floor and grab one.

It’s for an online college, specialising in art history.

You snatch another one, another online course for historical architecture. 

“What?” You say, lost for words.

Michael rounds the counter and holds the rest of them out for you to grab.

“Don’t be mad-”

“Great way to start a sentence!” You say, as you flick through each and every leaflet. All of them for online courses or courses at the University of Pittsburgh and all of them somehow related to History or Art or both.

“You told me a few weeks ago you got your GED a few years back and I thought that since everythings starting to settle down, maybe you would want to do something with it.” Michael talks fast and starts grabbing random leaflets from your hand and explaining each course.

But you don’t really listen, you can’t hear him through the roar of blood rushing to your head. Each and every one of these courses cost more than you could afford, you would be back at the club working every night to cover the costs of a class, you wouldn’t be able to cover anything else other than the courses, no rent, no food, no vet bills for Dog.

“Michael, I can’t afford these.” you whisper before putting everything back on the counter and stepping away, “It’s a lovely thought, but I can’t afford college and bills and life. I’ve just pulled myself out of debt.”

“Frank and I have already worked that out! There’s scholarships for mature aged students,” you scoff at that term, which makes him laugh, “and Frank is going to settle your books and rent now that he's back at work or you move in here and I don’t take any rent from you.”

“Michael-”

“Just think about it okay, take these home and look through them. If you don’t want to study I won’t talk you into it but don’t think about the costs.”

“I can-”

“Sweetheart let someone else take care of you, for once.” he curls into you and you melt into his touch. Everything felt right when you were in his arms, and all the problems and arguments that had been on your tongue melted away as you clung tightly to him.

“How about this?” You say against his chest, “You make dinner and I’ll have a look at these.”

He kisses your forehead, his beard tickling your skin as he lets go and grabs the long forgotten groceries.

“What am I making?”

“Eggplant parm with crispy potatoes!”

“Your favourite?”

“No.”

“I thought it was your favourite?” confusion etched on his face, his beautiful face.

“No- you’re my favourite.” you say as cornily as possible as he gently throws a potato at you.

You had truly never been as happy as you were at this moment, throwing back baby potatoes at the man you love. 

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Obvious Santa — Nygmobblepot in December (Gotham Secret Santa 2024)

Dedication: Hi, @out-there-tmblr, I'm your @gotham-secret-santa this year 🤗🎅 From your posts & reblogs I deduced that you're more of a what-they-have-is-wonderful-but-they-should-keep-anyone-else-out-of-it Nygmobblepot shipper, so I wrote my first ever Nygmobblepot fanfic without a reader ❤️ It got soooooo much longer than I thought it would be, from headcanons to a big one shot (at least for me, advice for my future self: don't do this again because you might get ill and then be stressed becauae the story needs to be finished 🫣😂). I hope you enjoy it 🤗

Also, if you prefer to read it on AO3, it's there too :)

Plot: Noticing how often Oswald dreads getting up in the morning and knowing how lonely the time before Christmas can be, Ed wants to bring more joy into his boyfriend's December with lots of love and an advent calendar. Spoilers: for season 3 episode 5 (what Oswald & Ed's positions are) Warnings: the main characters thinking of murdering someone, slight insecurity (Ed's after years of loneliness), a bit of grief (Oswald about his mother), physical pain (Oswald's leg), Oswald being grumpy in the morning. This is very fluffy though 🥰 Word count: 4209 ❄️🌨🎅💚💜❄️🌨🎅💚💜❄️🌨🎅❄️

It was a cold November morning and both Ed and Oswald lay close together in bed when their alarm woke them at six p.m., making Ed cover his ears at the volume, careful to keep them under the cozy warmth over both their bodies.

Meanwhile Oswald shuffled in the bed, pulling the blanket towards him, making cool air hit his boyfriend's sensitive arms in the process. "Osw—" Ed stopped himself, realizing that Oswald was still asleep. There was no use trying to get back under the blanket, he figured, looking at the time and mentally going though today's schedule.

Carefully, so as not to scare the sleeping figure next to him, he brushed a black hair strand to its correct place, admiring the adorably scrunched-up face of his dangerous friend and boyfriend, and whispered, "Wake up, sleepyhead."

"Ah!" Oswald shot up and closed his eyes again. "What is the matter with you?" "What?" Ed's hands sunk to his sides. "I'm wishing you a good m—" "Why would you wake me up?" He must be confused. "We need to work today. The alarm already—" "I don't care whether I need to get out of bed, don't ever wake me like that again. Being kidnapped once is enough." "Kidnapped?" Ed was confused. "I saved you. Your wounds were—I needed you to lie still." Oswald huffed, out of habit, then remembered. "Whatever." He lay back down.

With Ed having gotten out of bed, the sheets weren't as warm as expected and he quickly got up again, wincing as he felt how cold the house was this morning. He glared at the window for a few seconds, not ready for the day.

"Here's your shirt." Ed stood before him, holding the piece of clothing, a puzzled expression on his face but keeping quiet. "Ready for the day?" Perhaps Oswald just needed an hour or more to wake up. "No, Ed, but it will have to do." "Okay." He was still curious but let Oswald be for the moment.

The day wouldn't bring him any clarity, by noon Oswald had seemingly already forgotten about this morning, and Ed didn't want to bring his mood down, loving to see his partner happy again.

❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️ The next day, Ed tried tried a different approach, getting up before Oswald and pointing out the falling snow once the other had sat up in bed. "Look, Oswald, isn't it wonderful, snow this early? According to the weather report from yesterday, all of it will be gone by seven." "Ah." Oswald barely threw the snow a glance. Okay. Well. That was...what did Oswald want? Something to look forward to? "Everything okay, Ed?" Well, at least he was as perceptive as usual. "With me, yes." Oswald gasped. "What? Did I—" But his boyfriend had already gotten up and turned his back. "AHh." "Oswald?" The black-haired man was clutching his leg and Ed suddenly realized what the problem was, "Is the cold hurting your leg more?" All he got was a nod. "I'll get you something warm—" "No time! I mean, thank you, Ed, but it's better to go early and return early."

Okay. At least Ed knew more now. That was a start.

❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️ The first time Oswald woke up the next morning, he was too tired to think about whether the alarm clock had truly rang or not. If it had, he was sure Ed would let him know.

When Oswald awoke the second time, he found the other side of the bed empty, and buried himself under the blanket until Ed came into the room and sat down next to him.

"I have something for your leg." He held out two pillows of sorts, far from the cushioned things he preferred to put under his leg. "No offence, Ed, but those don't look comfortable. But there's no time anyways. We've gotta get ready." He sighed. "Which is why," Ed proclaimed proudly, "I set the alarm so that you'd have..." he checked the time, "five minutes more than usually, and you usually already stay in bed a bit before getting up.

He set the cushions down. "Oh! And these are cherry pit cushions, an alternative for hot-water bottles. They're leak-proof — obviously — and can fit more snugly around your ankle and knee. You could also try longer hot-water bottle ones and if that doesn't work, it was just an idea I had, that-that—"

Oswald held up a hand. "Enough talking for now. You said we had five extra minutes?" He pulled on Ed's hand. "Y-yes, plus the usual time. I thought I'd start with this amount so I wouldn't disrupt your sleeping pattern." "Thank you, dear." He began to arrange the cushions." Now come back to bed."

Ed did so, making sure they were both under the blanket while Oswald was still awake. He rested his head, looking at Ozzie, who'd closed his eyes again, hand to the side with his palm open. Ed took it in his and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I hope it helps." "Mhm, already does."

❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️ Ed sat to the side of the long table, tapping his fingers on a pen and admiring Oswald's energetic speech about electricity, how simple he made the facts Ed had explained to him sound, how much passion he put into chosen words to keep his audience's attention.

"But Mayor Cobblepot, wouldn't it be better for the economy if we let them be cold?" Oswald's head snapped around. "Did you even listen to what I just said? What was the last topic I was on?" "Boss, I'm sorry, I-I, the stress, my-my..." "Shush." Oswald turned to Ed. "My chief of staff has made some notes on this topic. Could you send them to this...stressed men?" Ed straightened his back, "Of course." He'd need to sum it up in simpler terms. Much simpler ones.

"Good. Now, could we move forward to the topic of Christmas robberies?" The same man from before spoke up, "But it's November." Ed fixed him with a glare. He'd happily get rid of him for Oswald. Contrary to his expectations, the secret kingpin only huffed. "Please learn about prevention versus damage control. I'm sure you'll find a good example in Gotham's electricity and heating problem."

Not that Oswald himself wouldn't order any robberies in that time, it was just good to keep up appearances, and criminal or not, he wanted small businesses to be able to build something for themselves while bigger stores could...become a bit more grateful for the power they had.

"Meeting dismissed." The people at the table started to leave quickly, with one of them being exceptionally fast. Ed called him back when he reached the door, "Wait." The man turned around. "The mayor meant what he said. You can collect my summary..." He thought of a time the man wouldn't normally come here, "the day after tomorrow." "O-okay. Thank you, Mr. Nygma." He almost hastened out but stopped himself in time to nod at Oswald.

"Well, that was an idiotic pick by the governemnt", Ed remarked after closing the door. "As opposed to my chief of staff." Oswald pulled him closer by the waist. "Because you are the most suitable, intelligent, thoughtful man who could be in this position." He put his hands to either side of Ed's face and the taller man quickly understood, leaning down to meet his lips, a gentle mix of affection and a strong admiration for each other, with Oswald holding Ed close tightly while the latter made little sighs, overjoyed at being appreciated.

"Now let's get to work on our other job. My leg is feeling much better today. I may even take your shortcut up the stairs." When Oswald walked through the corridor, Ed almost had to keep up with him.

❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️ Compared to the government's people, the crime families and other members of the underworld showed much more respect for Oswald, Ed observed happily.

The King of Gotham could speak freely in their presence and despite the fact that they obviously knew what he might do to them should they anger him, their attention was more genuine.

Ed was in awe too, listening intently to all his partner had to say, "...whis is why, I of course understand the importance of family, especially nearing winter and the festivities often taking place then." One woman turned her head away from Oswald, looking touched, angry?

Ed could understand her well: before meeting Oswald, December had been a lonely time for him too many years in a row. The former forensic scientist had tried to start various conversations with what he thought were easy topics: the new season, baking, plans for the holidays. Yet it seemed that whatever he chose, his colleagues would rather have conversations with anyone else, no matter the topic.

Now he had Oswald, though...except that if he was honest with himself, the other man had done most of the talking, had earned the most successes. He was still speaking now, at least twenty minutes after Ed's last comment Ed.

"...after that, you two will call your people and follow my plan exactly, which—" When Oswald saw Ed, he paused, "which you already have, so no need to go over it again. Everything clear?" "Yes, boss."

What happened to the rest of Oswald's speech? Was he exhausted? He was already limping towards his car —so as to not make it too obvious that he and Ed lived together—, seemingly not much different than usual.

On their ride home, Oswald noticed how quiet Ed was in comparison to his usual talkative self. "What's wrong, dear?" Ed was startled out of his thoughts. "How did you—nothing." Oswald rolled his eyes. "Be honest, Ed." "I won't bite", he added with a chuckle and after some silence, a press of his boyfriend's hands.

He was right: Ed shouldn't have to fear rejection, not after Oswald making it clear that he treasured him. "You did almost all the talking this day and it made me wonder... How important am I really, Oswald? I-in your business. And the government." Oswald blinked. "Whatever do you mean? You're a valuable asset in the office and concerning matters of the crime world. We need intelligent people like you, who can do things like...quote that study I brought up today." Ed snuffled. "But I merely read a meta study!" Oswald handed him his handkerchief, his initials stitched into a corner in black. "See, I don't even know what that is." "It's a study summoning up other studies and often judging them. So, I didn't even sum them up myself."

The King of Gotham shook his head. "Oh, Ed, you can be so smart but when something concerns you..." He put his hand to Ed's chest. "...you can be too critical. You don't need to read studies or sum them up, you've got other things to do. Didn't you write today's schedule?" "I did." "And didn't you help me prepare my pitch?" "That too, but Oswald, I barely did any of the talking. Wh-which is fine but compared to you..." He gripped onto Oswald's fingers, afraid that he might retract them.

"Also, I might be good at making speeches but one woman turned around in annoyance, so, nobody's perfect." "What? I thought she was just reminded of a lonely December. The time leading up to Christmas can be so lonely..."

He slumped back in the car, the rigid posture from the day gone. Oswald joined him in letting his guard down and leaned close. "I love you, Ed. You're so precious to me and should you ever want to speak more in meetings, you'll be free to do so." "I love you too, Oswald."

They stayed nestled together, seatbelts still on, until the car came to a stop in front of the Van Dahl mansion. As soon as they were inside with no one around, they embraced each other, glad to finally have complete privacy. Oswald meant to kiss Ed silly and whether that succeeded in fully cheering him up or not, he hoped to show Ed his worth with a gift sometime. Ed's eyes lit up with his boyfriend's attention. Multiple gifts. There was still time until Christmas.

❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️🌨❄️ Of course Oswald's leg didn't simply stop hurting. One day in late November, he called for a quick discussion break in the midst of a meeting while clutching his leg, alerting Ed, who scrambled to fetch painkillers for him and asked whether he wanted something warm to help combat the pain. "I could fasten it around your leg." Oswald refused. "I can't afford to show weakness in here." He huffed. "I thought you knew that." "O-of course." The word 'sweetheart' died right on his tongue. "Thanks", Oswald at least managed to say before putting a pill into his mouth and washing it down with water.

Even hours after he swallowed it, his mood wasn't up again, instead seeming worse. It went as far as ignoring Ed! He didn't seem ill, no, if Ed had to guess, he'd say he was sad.

"Oswald," Ed started carefully when they were at home again, "What's wrong?" He approached his partner and immediately noticed the tears in his eyes, as well as the black smears of make-up underneath them.

"It's almost December," he began shakily, "which was...when—when my mother would bake us special things and—" He broke into sobs.

Ed sat down next to him and held one of his hands, letting his friend gesticulate with the other in search for words.

"I miss her so so much. As a kid, I used to look forward to the baked goods and the meals but...now I wish she was here on a boring day, even if just for a few minutes. That I may come back from work to find her here, welcoming me with a hug."

Ed kept holding onto him but rummaged in his pockets for a tissue and gave it to Oswald, who blew his nose loudly through more crying.

"I-I know that that can't happen, though. People return from the dead but she's been too long gone for that." He blew his nose again, then looked up at Ed with teary eyes. "At least I know I'll have you with me, Ed, even if my mother isn't here to pass December with me. You won't die too, right? Promise me to be careful." Ed nodded sincerely. "You have my word."

He crept closer until he could put his arms around Oswald and they stayed like this for a while, until he looked to their joined hands and consequently to Oswald's knee, which might hurt after staying in the same position until now.

They went to bed earlier than usual that night, Oswald cuddling up to Ed and assuring himself that he'd stay there with a tight grip on his arm. Meanwhile, Ed started to think of ways to make Oswald's first December without his mother more bearable.

🎅💚💜🎅💚💜🎅 When Oswald awoke on December 1st, he confidently ignored the date. For all he knew, it could still be November, after all. He sighed. Ed was still asleep and squinting at the clock confirmed that it was too early to get out of bed.

Maybe he could warm those blanket things. He rolled to the side and felt Ed's warmth through their pajamas. Ah, or he could simply inch closer and forget his worries in the warmth. Ed made a small noise. Yes, he'd do that. Oswald huddled against the warmer man and closed his eyes.

The beginning of a new month didn't go unnoticed to him: with mayoral duties came stays in government buildings and decorations. Small trees, twigs and whatnot were already in too many corners.

Oswald gripped his cane tightly. "So this is what they do with money lacking in areas like electricity. I really hope they take our proposals seriously." "So do I." Ed clapped his hands. "Oswald, do you have time for a minute?" That made him wary, "Why, what is it?" "Just a surprise." Ed nearly tugged on Oswald's sleeve but let it be. The suit was much too elegant.

They went to an empty room together, Ed's eyes gleaming with something akin to mischief. "I have multiple doors—" "Seriously, darling?" Ed nodded and Oswald sighed, ready to attempt to solve the riddle his dear chief of staff would throw at him.

"I have multiple doors you can open but only once a day. I last longer than Christmas but end days before New Year's Eve. What am I?" Oswald blinked. "A building, house, uh...gingerbread house!" He laughed. "You want to make one together? When I was younger, it would've been too expensive and we were only two people anyways..."

He caught Ed's amazed look. "Did I solve it?" His boyfriend laughed softly. "Your answer is smart: a gingerbread house is usually made before Christmas and often kept until then but often already eaten up by New Year's Eve. But no: it wasn't my answer." "It isn't?" "No. The real answer is 'an advent calendar'." "A calendar?" "With gifts. One each day from today until Christmas. Or Christmas Eve. It's supposed to be something to look forward to each day. I thought I could make one for you. So that, well—you deserve the best."

Oswald couldn't believe what he was hearing for a moment. Him, receiving gifts each day and because he deseved them? The next moment, he was already hugging Ed's middle, overjoyed. "You're so good to me, Ed." "I just want to be helpful." "Oh, you are and so much more! The thing with the heating cushions too."

Ed checked the time: they had to be in another room in three minutes. "Do you want today's gift right now? I didn't know whether you'd want it here or at home. I guess either are fine but maybe you should tell me in advance so I can make sure it's there."

Oswald thought about it. "We don't have much time left, do we?" "Two minutes now." "Then I say I admire the best gift of them all: you." He cupped Ed's cheeks and brought their lips together, feeling him breathe in deeply and snake a hand to his back in return.

They pulled apart in time, both very aware that they couldn't look suspicious. Yet when they entered the meeting room, both bore a strong sparkle in their eyes.

🎅💚💜🎅💚💜🎅 "They're leg warmers", Ed explained, after Oswald had fished for his gift in the velvet satchel he was given at home.

To Oswald's relief, they were black, harder to spot under dress pants. "Thank you." He stroked over the knitted fabric. "I didn't know I'd receive something this big on one day." He shrugged. "I was more expecting a picture slowly revealing each part of itself." Ed tilted his head. "Positively surprising", he concluded. "Come here!"

When they hugged, Ed smiled against Oswald's shoulder, a warm feeling of accomplishment spreading in him. "I planned them for the first day so that you can profit from them from the start." Oswald caressed his back. "Thinking everything through as you so often do." Ed was positively glowing. "Everything for you." He kissed him on the top of his head.

The following days Oswald continued to receive thoughtful or interesting things. One day it was a nice tie, another day an apron (Ed insisted that everyone could become a good cook), then a special blend of tea. Ed disliked when celebration was strongly associated with alcohol and Oswald didn't complain, treasuring each gift and making a point of trying each item the same day or afterwards when Ed could see him.

"Oh, darling, these things are all wonderful! If we weren't already together, mother would have to give you her blessing by now." His eyes watered. "I'm glad you see it this way. Most people haven't exactly liked my December-themed gifts." Ed wiped a tear away and caressed Oswald's face. "You're different. She would be so proud of you. Of your work as mayor, of our relationship, I hope." "She'd be glad to be the only woman in my life", Oswald mused. "Though you'd definitely cook together, hopefully without that rivalry you and Olga have going on."

Oswald raised a finger. "Seriously, Ed, it's not even Christmas yet and she's already asked me where you'll be spending the holidays! In very broken English but not with any less importance." Ed crossed his arms. "Well, you can tell her I'll be spending them in the kitchen." They broke into laughter, Oswald leaning against Ed and spilling a few tears as a result of the movement, but all together happy.

"Who was mean to you in Devember?" Ed stopped laughing. "Can I tell you some other time? This seems like enough sadness for a day." "Okay. Anytime."

🎅💚💜🎅💚💜🎅 The door to the Van Dahl mansion closed behind them and both sighed, stressed from today's activities. "If I have to explain the need for more sewerage filters one more time," Ed complained while taking off his scarf, "I'll make sure they're sleeping with the fishes. Dead fishes." "I could have them killed for you, dearest." "Won't be necessary, sweatheart. Let's just relax for now."

Oswald nodded. Too many people bored Ed with their stupidity and unwilligness to inform themselves about subjects they ought to understand.

"Wanna open your gift?" "Oh, yes, absolutely." "Today it doesn't come in a satchel. Do you want me to lead you to it with closed eyes instead?" "You know what: no! I actually—" He wanted Ed to have fun too, "Would you like to make a riddle out of it?" "A riddle?" Ed smiled widely. Oswald chuckled. "Yes. You have my permission for at least today. My brain could use an intellectual change from the people in City Hall." "That it could. Alright." He rubbed his hands, happy about the opportunity of making a riddle for his love, about being asked to.

"I am a shelter for many, yet no real man could live or bake under my roof despite me being made of things that can nourish." "A...you're a house", Oswald tried, "or building but not—gingerbread house! A gingerbread house. Did you buy us one?" Ed stepped to the side. "See for yourself. It's in the kitchen."

He took Oswald's arm and held it like a proper gentleman, leading him there. Once there, the giftee set his eyes on planes of gingerbread cookies and multiple types of decoration, all layed out on top of a cleaned surface.

"We'll make them ourselves. Oh, Ed this is wonderful!" He eyed the table. There was enough for two houses. "Do we build them today?" "If you want to." "Well then, let's make them right now." "Wait. If you want to, you can wear the apron you got." "No way! You planned this perfectly and I didn't even see it. I'll get it right away."

After they'd washed their hands, they set to work, both wearing aprons and happy expressions. Ed couldn't help but stare at Oswald occasionally, so immersed in his task but without any stiffness in his shoulders.

"This is more difficult than I thought it would be", Oswald remarked, trying to glue one part of a roof to the rest of his house for the third time. "I know, you have to wait for longer than I expected. Maybe there's too much water in the mixture. Let me hold the other roof part, that way it'll be done sooner." "Thanks."

Ed coated two sides of a matching gingerbread piece with the mix of powdered sugar and water and held it to Oswald's, their fingers brushing. To their joy, neither pulled away as haters would've once claimed would happen, that no everyone would recoil from their touch. Instead, they positioned their hands in a way that made them rest against each other.

Oswald looked around the room. "How long do we have to wait?" Ed laughed. "Of course you'd grow impatient." "Well, I'm a very busy man." "Oh, are you,....Mr. Mayor?" "Why, Mr. Chief of Staff, what do you suggest we do? I can be ready in...how long do we have to hold this for again?" He giggled. "I think we can let go now." They did, though still not wanting to be apart.

"What would you say if I told you that I'd gotten you a green bathrobe?" Oswald teased. "Really?" "Yes. I couldn't resist getting you a gift and you should feel more at home." He shrugged. "I can't very well install a neon sign on the facade. Or can I?" He turned his gingerbread house around, revealing a sign made by glueing green pearls onto the surface.

"How...when did you make this? How did I not notice?" "You were too busy staring at my face, dear." Ed mock-defended himself, "That time was thoughtfully invested." He countered Oswald's stare. "At least...if it payed off." He winked at him and in seconds Oswald leaned over to kiss him. What a wonderful time December would be this year.

🎅💚💜🎅💚💜🎅 Author's note: Happy holidays/vacations, everyone! 🤗🎅🧑‍🎄🤶🎄 As always, I love receiving comments, and have a good time ❤️

[monstrous-existences]

A Thank You Letter to the Ocean

1,635 words

Dear Ocean,

My father used to call me a fish because I swam so much. Every chance I could get to flap my little limbs around in the water, I would take. Lakes, rivers, oceans, the local YMCA���all of it was a place for me to find myself. The water was like a second home to me, wrapping me in an embrace that was all encompassing.

One week a year, in the middle of summer, me and my siblings and parents and grandparents rent a house in Maine for a week. When I was younger, it was a house called Neph. The house was huge, with six bedrooms and a connected living-kitchen-dining-room. I always got to sleep in my favorite room, The Crow’s Nest, because it was a small room tucked in between the stairwell and the second story balcony. I don’t remember a lot about the room, but I do remember that I would stay in there for hours on end, reading books to my heart's content and listening to the waves outside. The ocean was so close, it was like a friend whispering to me during the day and a soothing lullaby at night.

To get down to the ocean, we had to go down a long path. It took about five minutes, and there were three ‘stages’ to go through. The first was a stone path, surrounded by larger rocks. It would scratch against my feet as I stumbled down, leaving small white marks against the pads of my toes and pebbles in my heels. The second was what I could only consider a tiny jungle. There were trees that seemed to stretch forever upwards, leaves covering the ground and pine needles everywhere. I think I saw a snake there once, and I saw more than a few small mammals in the underbrush. I loved soaking in the dappled sunlight, smelling the slightly damp air even though it hadn’t rained in days.It was more of a passing stage, connecting the first and third.  The third stage was sandy, with prickly grasses growing out of the shallow soil, stinging against my ankles as I waded through it. I hated how my feet would sink in and I would have to shake them out, staying wary of the leg-biting weeds.

Finally I would end up at the beach, the real beach. Chasing the waves became a favorite activity, playing tag with the surf and pretending every small disruption in the water was enough to send a boat crashing over. I would lay on my stomach and let the water wash over me, closing my eyes even though I had insisted on wearing goggles. I would gasp and cheer when I survived, like that was a surprise. 

When I was a child, I fell in love with the ocean and her glittering surface and her salty tears and her gorgeous teal horizon. When I was a child, before I knew what love was, I had succumbed to it, riptide dragging me under all at once. When I was a child, I created crab claw staffs and seashell jewelry and pretended that I was going to live there forever, that I would die on the white sands while the sea washed over my waning body. 

My final year there was when I was nine. I left the house on a Thursday, waving goodbye. My parents had already told me it was getting too expensive to come back, so I waved knowing I wouldn’t see it again for a long while, if ever. I can picture the peeling white walls and squeaking door, but even those memories are decaying with time. 

The next year we went to a different house. I have one distinct memory from that place. It was a few days before we left, and I woke up extremely early. Fog hung low over the lake we bordered, and the smell of pine and dew drifted through the air. I sat in an armchair on the open air porch, blanket draped lazily over my shoulders. The book in my lap was halfway done when I started reading, and I finished it that morning. My grandfather cooked us all breakfast and me and him ate while I read the finishing pages, waiting for anyone else to wake up and join us.

I think about that a lot, even though we didn’t go back to that place. It seemed so simple, to sit on the porch in silence and fall into another world. I wish I could go back and do it again sometimes. I swam less that year, opting to stay in the house. Lakes and oceans were different, one was a mystery filled with weeds and small fish while the other, a haven. 

The next place was a few years later, a small cottage called the Sea Witch. I liked it there, even if the doors creaked too loudly and the bathroom was freezing at night. The beach was rocky and I was obsessed with finding the perfect stones, ones smoothed by the spray so they wouldn’t poke at my palms when I picked up too many. Stones speckled with dark freckles, striped brown and red, soft cyan and green sea glass that I willed not to cut me when I held it.

It was a week I only have snippets of. I read the Hunger Games for the first time, swam little, and walked a lot. My sister and mom would lay in the hammock outside and I would take their pictures. It was a whirl of Candy Crush and mud sculptures and scratchy blankets. Most of my family didn’t like the house, for different reasons, but I remember it fondly. Something about the small cottage made me happy in a way I can’t describe, and leaving was melancholy.

I didn’t swim much that summer. I couldn’t find joy in it anymore, for whatever reason. The sea went from inviting to scornful. I didn’t like the way the bathing suits hugged my body, showing off every curve and extra flab. I think it was that summer I cut my hair short, just above my ears and tickling the back of my neck. I rejected invitations to return to the water, huddling up in the small bedroom I had once again claimed as my own and turning page after page after page. Waves of words passed through my mind, distracting me from the horrors in the world I had learned about. I would listen to the words at night to help me fall asleep, constantly forcing myself to be somewhere else.

The past four summers, I have changed. We have gone to the same house every time, somewhere we had all settled into. The house is simple and small. I sleep on the upstairs daybed, above the blankets, because it gets hot during the summer. In the morning I eat horrendous cereal, disgusting flavors advertised throughout stores. I don’t mind that much. I find the hammock outside—a different hammock, but a hammock all the same—and I lay in it. I walk in the sand and the woods and the grass and anywhere I want. I pretend I am not who I am, if merely for a moment. I pretend I am happy. If I try hard enough, the pretending fades away. 

I return a new person every time, with new experiences and new friends and even a new name. I learned to love and hate myself, one more than the other. I learned to climb cliffs and leave footprints in the woods and roast marshmallows and play D&D. I learned that I can be anyone I want to be, and the world will accept me as I am. I learned that I don’t need to cling to the person I once was, because he is not me, and I am not him.

It is being sold this year. Next year I will go somewhere else, somewhere I need to reintroduce myself to the knotted wood and the sand. I will sleep under unfamiliar blankets. There will be a different way to get to the beach, whether it be through a grassy lawn or a wooded jungle. The kids I played with for four years will not be there, the silence just another inconsistency. But the water will be there, the same as before, looking for the love that was there so many years ago.

I swam once at the house that doesn’t belong to me anymore. The water was too cold, and I grew disdainful. It’s not a joy to wrap myself in the embrace of the sea anymore. I have fallen out of love with the sea, and reposed the feelings somewhere that makes me feel guilty. I strive for the days where I could lie in the spray and waves and just be, create the smaller version of myself once more and become him again. Become the small child who would wear a bathing suit in the car and rush through the rocks and the jungle and the itchy weeds to the beach.

Sometimes we feel like two different people. We don’t share a name, a body, or a brain. We don’t share wants and needs and friends. I don’t know him anymore, but he exists somewhere inside me.

I let the ocean swallow me and hope it rubs away at the edges, smoothing me out like sea glass and making something I can handle without fear of cuts. I let my feet collect sand in hopes it reminds me of shells and crab claws. I listen to the waves crash and fear that I will never be who I was again, and a small part of me, soft as the faint smell of dew, tells me that’s okay.

Thank you.

[polkadotsocks1993]

Family Matters

Modern Aemond x Reader, Modern Aegon (platonic) x Reader

Summary: You have a predicament. In desperation, you turn to your brother-in-law, Aegon. Hilarity ensues.

Going back to King's Landing for Christmas was always an event.

Your mother in law, Alicent, and your sister in law, Rhaenyra, went all out with Christmas; there was always tons of food, lots of games, and, thanks to Aegon, usually a lot of alcohol.

You and Aemond had eloped six months ago, much to the family's chagrin, but you had never been one for big weddings, and because you didn't have a good relationship with your family, you had never wanted a big wedding in the first place. You and Aemond had decided to go to Colorado and elope in the Rockies, and despite his families protests (for some reason, all of them love weddings), they welcomed you with open arms.

The first few days of your trip, however, something was just off. You woke up with a pounding headache, completely nauseous. That first morning, sleeping in Aemond's childhood bedroom, you gasped in pain as he tried to grab your breast from behind you. Then, the most damning suspicion of all came when the two of you went down for breakfast, and the smell of Alicent and Helaena's cinnamon rolls (your favorite thing in the world), made you sick enough that you ran to the powder room and violently got sick.

Then, you mentally calculated the last period you had.

No. Oh, no.

You had to be discreet about this. Aemond was a fantastic husband, but neither of you had talked about pregnancy much. Sure, you knew you wanted kids eventually, but you two were newlyweds.

You slipped out of the bathroom, thinking you'd managed to compose yourself, until Aegon came up behind you.

"How much egg nog did you drink? You can't possibly be hungover are you?"

You froze. He'd heard you. He'd heard that undignified display. You mentally cursed.

"Aegon, I need you to do something for me, but you have to promise me, like really promise, that you won't tell anyone." You pleaded.

He grinned before looking at you more seriously. "Wait, you aren't kidding."

"No, Aegon, I'm not. Keep your voice down." You whispered. You grabbed Aegon and drug him into Viserys' office.

You sighed. "I need you to take me to the store."

"Why? Why can't I tell anyone?" Aegon asked.

"Because, I don't need anyone to know... Even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer." You replied.

"The answer to what?" Aegon was curious now, you could see it.

"I think I'm pregnant." You said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Aegon's eyes widened, his mouth agape in surprise.

"And you thought I would be the best person to come to?" Aegon asked.

"No, but you heard that whole display and I don't need too many people asking questions unless I'm sure." You replied.

"Fair enough, that tracks. Go get your coat, I'll come up with some weird excuse." Aegon said.

You managed to get your coat and sneak out the front door, since everyone was in the kitchen. You sent a quick text to Aemond telling him that Aegon had wanted to go get more alcohol to play a drinking game that night, and he needed an extra hand. You hoped that he'd buy it, since it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to be drug along on whatever weird side quest Aegon had. The ride to the store was mostly silent, until Aegon turned and asked.

"So, you know you can't prevent this kind of thing, right?"

"Yes, Aegon! I know!" You huffed.

"Well, how did it happen?" He asked.

"I don't know. If I can guess, probably that vacation Aemond and I took to New Orleans. The time frame fits, and I forgot my birth control, and we both got so drunk..." You trailed off.

Aegon burst out laughing. "Aemond got drunk? Like, actually drunk?"

"We both did." You said.

"And you forgot to take your birth control?" Aegon asked.

"I thought I'd be fine!" You exclaimed.

"And he didn't bother to pull out?" You hated when Aegon made sense.

"WE WERE DRUNK!" You said, throwing your hands in the air.

Aegon was laughing hysterically. "I don't know whether to laugh hysterically at this whole blunder, or be excited."

"We messed up." You said.

"Or, counterpoint, you have a cool vacation souvenir." Aegon replied.

--------------

Upon going to the store, you grabbed three different pregnancy test boxes. You had to be sure, and Aegon could not stifle his laugh as you demanded he sneak you around to the guest house in the back of the main house when you arrived back to your in-laws' home. You went into the bathroom, following the directions, and laid four tests out on the counter, pacing back and forth.

"The pacing isn't going to change your result." Aegon said, leaning against the door frame.

"I know, but I'm nervous. What if Aemond isn't happy about it?" You asked.

Aegon sighed, and in a rare moment of seriousness, grabbed your shoulders.

"Y/N, whatever happens, my brother loves you. And you love him. And this crazy family you married into... We're going to support you. Aemond has wanted a family since he was a little kid. He's gonna be thrilled." He said.

You hugged him, taking a deep breath.

"I'm too nervous. Please read them for me." You said, shaking hands.

Aegon nodded, taking the first test, flipping it over. Then the other three.

You closed your eyes. "Well?"

"Those are the most positive pregnancy tests I've ever seen." Aegon said, "You're definitely pregnant."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, until a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You're pregnant?"

You and Aegon both turned to see Luke standing there, mouth agape.

"What are you doing here?" You asked.

"Mom sent me in here to go grab her sweater." Luke said.

"Luke, you cannot tell anyone yet." You said grabbing him by the arms.

"Are you kidding me? I can't keep a secret like that! You know one look from Aemond and I'm done. I can't lie!" He exclaimed.

"Luke, as your uncle, I'm telling you right now, if you tell Aemond, I will hang you upside down from the balcony." Aegon said.

"I'll try. I can't promise, but I'll try, okay?" Luke said.

You sighed. "At least, until tonight. Can you make it till then?"

You looked at the boy's face and knew he probably couldn't. Luke was nearly incapable of lying and it was actually quite funny in most circumstances.

Except, right now.

You threw the pregnancy tests in the trash, hoping to hide them. The three of you walked out, hoping you could keep the secret.

-----------

Turns out, keeping the secret was way, way harder than you thought.

Every time you walked into the kitchen, you felt bile rise in your throat. The charcuterie board that Rhaenyra laid out every year made you nearly turn green. The smell of the refrigerator was almost too much.

And every single moment you got alone with Aemond, you had to pretend like it didn't hurt when he stuck a hand under your shirt.

"Are you alright?" Aemond asked, "you seem really preoccupied."

"I'm fine, I promise." You lied.

You had to pretend like the movements Aemond made during the afternoon quickie in his childhood bathroom didn't make you sick, like the smell of his cologne (one you loved) didn't turn your stomach.

Poor Luke had scrambled to the basement with Joffrey and the younger kids, hoping that he could keep a lid on the secret until you gave the okay. The poor kid was avoiding Aemond at every turn.

---------------

At dinner, all hell broke loose.

Everyone was there: Rhaenyra and her husband, Harwin, Daemon and his wife, Laena, and their two girls. Alicent, Viserys, Otto, Helaena, Aegon, and all the other cousins.

To top it off, just looking at the food in front of you sent you running to the bathroom. Aegon stood outside the bathroom, offering you a cool drink of water to quell the nausea seeping into your bones.

You went back to your seat on the table, feeling Aemond's glance on you.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I had a gas station hot dog while I was out with Aegon and it didn't agree with me." You lied. You hated lying, but then you noticed Aemond notice Luke's constant fidgeting, and his eye narrowed.

"Luke? What's the matter with you?"

Luke looked white as a ghost, blinking heavily. "Nothing at all."

You knew Aemond's expression. He knew something was up, but he wasn't sure what. Aemond turned to you, then to Luke, and then, to Aegon. He was connecting pieces, but he didn't have the full picture yet.

"Now that everyone is here." Daemon interrupts the conversation, "I feel like I need to ask a question. I was in the guest house earlier, and I found something interesting in the garbage."

Oh, no. You looked to Aegon, who was chugging his wine, and to Luke who looked about as nauseous as you did.

"I'm gonna come out with it: Laena, are you pregnant?"

Laena choked on her water, looking at her husband. "No, no I am not, Daemon."

Daemon looked around, "Rhaenyra?"

"That's oddly invasive, Daemon, but no I am not."

Daemon turns to Helaena, who cannot hold back laughter.

"Uncle do you really think I'd be able to hide that?"

"Alright, then who the hell is pregnant?" Daemon asked.

You turned to Luke, then to Aegon, and then to Aemond, who had gotten the final piece in the puzzle and the realization dawned on him.

"It's mine!" You exclaimed.

Everyone looked at you, mouths agape.

"It's mine. Aemond, I was going to tell you, but I wanted it to be a little more quiet when I did." You said sheepishly, "I hope you're not upset."

"Why would I be upset?" Aemond asked. You could see panic on his features, but he stayed remarkably calm.

"We've just never talked about it, and I just wasn't sure..."

"Y/N, this is the best news. Really. You didn't have to hide it from me." Aemond says, but then he looks to Luke and Aegon.

"You two knew, didn't you?"

"Yes." Luke says, without hesitation, "she said she wanted to tell you first, so I avoided you."

"You know, Aemond, you can pull out, it's an option." Aegon says.

"Oh, Aegon, really? Now?" Alicent huffs, "But, this is great news. I am so excited for you two!"

"This is wonderful!" Viserys exclaims.

You nervously sat back, but then got a whiff of the Christmas roast on the table. You took a swallow, nausea creeping up again.

"Would you like to sit somewhere else, love?" Aemond asks.

"Yes. Yes I would." You said.

-------

Christmas with Aemond's family was always a little wild, and a little bit crazy, but you knew that with Aemond, your child would be loved.

As you went to bed that night, Aemond's arm wrapped around you, you felt your nerves dissipate and you couldn't help but smile.

You had a wonderful family now. It was going to be wonderful.

--------

Eight months later, as everyone crowded in your hospital room, to meet the newest family member.

"This, is Aela." Aemond said, "She's named after her uncle, the first person to know about her."

Aegon's eyes grew wide. He came close, studying the newborn, a genuine smile across his features.

"We are going to have so much fun when you're older." Aegon said, "Just you wait."

He took the new baby in his arms, smiling widely at you and Aemond. And you knew.

Aemond's family might be big, and they might be a little crazy, but there was a lot of love there. And little Aela would never be alone.

[earlgreydream]

pregnant.

| loki x reader | fluff |

anon requested. Loki x pregnant reader

You woke up with terrible nausea, feeling like the world was flipping you upside down. You laid back, breathing deeply and telling yourself that you were fine. The moment you started to sit up, you felt immensely ill, your stomach churning.

You ran into your en-suite and knelt on the cold tile, getting violently sick and emptying your stomach. You felt hands pull your hair back out of your face, and you were blinded with tears.

Your throat and eyes burned, and you were embarrassed to be throwing up in front of Loki. He held your hair in one hand, rubbing your back with the other, and softly telling you that you were going to be fine.

“I think I’m okay,” you said to Loki, grabbing his forearm as he helped you stand.

“Are you certain?”

You nodded and went to the sink, cleaning yourself up and brushing your teeth. You looked in the mirror and saw Loki start a shower for you, insisting you’d feel better. You felt too weak to argue, and you managed to keep upright and wash your skin and hair.

“I’m exhausted.”

“You can rest soon, my darling,” Loki promised as you slipped on clean pajamas.

You started toward your bed, but Loki lifted you up off your feet. He carried you out of your bedroom, but you were too weak to protest. Your fingers tightened around his soft cloak as you recognized Banner’s lab, a place you hated to end up.

“No,” you shook your head weakly, and Loki consoled you as he set you down on an exam table. Banner walked over, looking at his watch.

“You’re up early. What’s going on?” he asked kindly, and you sighed, explaining that you’d woken up sick that last couple of mornings. He frowned, checking your vitals. Loki sat beside you, holding your hand and gently kissing your knuckles as Banner took a blood sample from your arm. 

You snuggled against Loki’s side as he ran some tests, consoled by the young god. He kissed the top of your head and traced tiny shapes on your arms, making you smile. 

“Y/N!” Banner gasped, scaring you.

“What?! Am I dying?!” Your eyes widened and he shook his head. 

“Quite the opposite actually. Were you aware that you’re pregnant?” 

Silence fell over the room, and you turned to Loki with wide eyes. You were anxious to see how he would react to the news. You’d talked about possibly having a kid at some point, but not soon. 

“My darling, we’re going to have baby!” Loki gasped, excitement bursting in his blue eyes. 

Relief flooded over you at his positive reaction, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“You’re going to be great parents. We can get you started on some prenatal care, and I can give you something for the morning sickness,” Banner smiled at you. 

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, still trying to process the fact there was a baby in your belly. 

A grin stayed on Loki’s face the entire day, and he told everyone in Stark Tower. You giggled at how overjoyed he was, and it helped you feel grounded, settling your worries. 

“We are going to have the most beautiful baby,” Loki grinned, kissing your lips before kneeling down and kissing your belly. You carded your fingers through his black curls, and he laid his hands on your stomach, as if he could feel the tiny fetus that was only two months along. 

The more pregnant you got, the more overprotective Loki became. He was extremely attentive, and he didn’t let you do anything that required effort. You insisted to him that you were fine, even as you started to need his help standing up, off-balance with your baby bump. 

“How far along are you now?” Parker asked as you sat helping him with his homework one evening. 

“About eight months. Not too much longer,” you smiled. 

“Then I won’t be the youngest here!” he grinned and you shook your head, ruffling his brown hair. 

“I know, you won’t be my little baby spider anymore,” you teased, and he pouted, pretending to be offended.

“I’ll always be your baby spider.”

“Finish up this page of your essay, and I’ll help you edit it, okay?” 

Parker nodded, and you stood up from the table, walking to the kitchen island to start baking the cookies you’d been craving. Loki walked in, squeezing Parker’s shoulder in greeting as he passed the boy. 

“Hi,” you whispered, kissing Loki’s mouth. 

“We could’ve had one of Stark’s chefs make cookies. You can rest, my darling.”

“I want to make them.”

Loki hummed, stealing some of the chocolate chips from your bowl. You appeased him by letting the god put them in the oven, protecting you from the possibility of burning yourself. He pulled your back against his chest, laying his hands over your stomach. Your tiny daughter kicked, making Loki smile into your hair. 

“She loves you already,” you whispered, making Loki grin. 

“I hope so.” 

Parker called your name, and you walked over to him and looked over his essay. He stayed for cookies after, hanging around you and Loki for the evening. 

“I got you something, Y/N,” Parker said finally, reaching into his bag and pulling out a box. You smiled, gently taking it from him. 

“What is it?”

“It’s for baby Freyja, for the nursery” he explained, and you opened the box, grinning at the Brooklyn snow globe inside. 

“Oh, Parker, I love it. Thank you.”

You handed it to Loki and pulled your friend into a hug, squeezing him tightly. 

“You’re welcome.”

Everyone had gone to bed, but the insomnia was keeping you up. You stood in the nursery that was attached to your suite, decorated and ready for your baby girl. You placed the snow globe on a shelf, watching the little flakes fall over the tiny city. 

Your fingers smoothed over the crib blankets that were patterned with silver moons and stars, everything faintly reminiscent of Asgard, the home that Loki desperately missed. You picked up a stuffed yellow rabbit that Bucky had given you, along with a blanket. 

“Are you nervous?” Loki asked softly, leaning in the doorway. 

“A little bit. What if I’m a terrible mother?” you confessed, watching magic patterns move and twist on the wooden bars of the crib. 

“Come here, my darling.”

Loki sat down on your rocking chair, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re going to be amazing, and perfect, and I will be here every step of the way. You’re not alone anymore, you don’t have to handle parenting by yourself.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, gently kissing him before laying your head down on his shoulder.

- six months later -

You heard Freyja cry from the nursery, and you sat up drowsily. It was nearly four in the morning, and you were so exhausted you could’ve wept. 

“I’ve got her, go back to sleep, beautiful.” Loki kissed your cheek and slipped out of bed. You laid back down, but your body wouldn’t let you sleep with your child awake. 

You wrapped Loki’s green cloak around you and walked into your nursery. Loki was gently rocking Freya in his arms, her black curls unruly on her head and her wide blue eyes the same shade as his. He soothed her with little green seidr stars that flickered and glittered above her face, before twisting into flowers and blooming in the air. 

He looked up when you entered, giving you a small smile. 

“Look, Freyja, it’s your lovely mum,” he kissed her cheek, and the tiny girl gazed at you, reaching out with her delicate hand. 

“Hungry?” you asked her, sitting down in your rocking chair and letting Loki set her in your arms. You slipped the top of your dress down and got her settled and feeding on your chest. Her fingers rested on your skin, and she relaxed as she drank from you. 

Loki knelt on the floor beside you, gazing up at you with admiration in his eyes. Your free hand went to his hair, and he leaned into your touch. 

“Motherhood suits you,” he noted, and you smiled. 

“You’re just happy because you get to see me shirtless more often,” you teased, making him laugh. 

“Freyja is lucky,” he grinned, kissing her head. 

“She looks like you,” you commented, and he nodded.

“But she has your sweet face.”

“It’s easy now, but wait until she starts performing magic, and she turns your hair gray,” you commented. 

“I’ll teach her to use her magic, and never against her mother.”

You smiled at Loki, then down at your daughter.

“I love you both, endlessly.”

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[ilici]

gentle.

Summary: After bring with George for years you’re ready for the next big part in your relationship.

Female Reader

NSFW MINORS DNI

Warnings: Fingering, oral (female receiving), virginity taken

Word Count: 2838

Y/N sighed, as she was scrolling through Twitter, seeing a lot of people celebrating Easter together. She envied the people who got to celebrate Easter with their loved ones and significant other. Yet here she was, miles away from her significant other, although they’ve been together for 5 years, she moved away to study abroad leaving her boyfriend behind in Brighton. Y/N was a well known fashion designer, and she was also known for her ongoing YouTube channel that she has had for 8 years. “This sucks.” She whined to her roommate, Lily, who only gave her an annoyed look, “You’ve been complaining for the past six fucking hours, you’re literally leaving to go see him in two hours. Shut up.” She said, while Y/N threw a pillow at her, mumbling incoherent words under her breath. “Shut up, let me mope.” She said, with a dramatic eye roll.

Getting up and off the couch, going into her room to finish packing, she grabbed her phone. “Hey Siri, call Karl.” She said to her phone, which replied with, “Calling Karl..” Hearing the ringing sound, she waited till her friend picked up, and she soon heard the ringing stop and Karl’s voice speak up. Clicking the speaker button she smiled, “Hi Karl!” She greeted him kindly, “Hey Y/N! What’s up?” He asked, and Y/N looked around grabbing some extra clothes and stuffing them into her suitcase. “I am going to go see George tomorrow, but my flight leaves tonight. I want to have a special night with him, and I don’t know what to wear. I called you because you have good fashion sense.” She explained to him, and Karl smiled, as he clicked the FaceTime option, and Y/N quickly accepted it. Karl’s face soon popped up on her screen, and he waved vigorously, “Okay, help me choose.” She said getting up from her floor and walking towards her bed.

On her bed was three outfits, all lingerie sets. “Which one do you think would be good?” She asked, and Karl examined the clothes, “Well the violet set looks like you would wear it for a kinky night, the red seems too predictable, and the blue, well I think it’s the only color he can truly see. Plus it looks the most fanciest out of them all.” He admitted, and Y/N nodded her head, “Okay, I am truly surprised you aren’t embarrassed at the fact that I just showed you lingerie.” She said to him truthfully, as she grabbed the blue lingerie set, putting it in the suitcase. Karl just laughed, “I am but a friend is in dire need of help. I also find it ironic that you are a fashion designer and couldn’t choose between them.” He said, laughing once again and Y/N just scoffed, “I got indecisive, leave me be.” She groaned, and Karl just put his hands up in defense. “Okay okay.” He said, before he looked at her, “Wait, did you design those?” He asked, and Y/N just smiled a bit.

“Yeah I haven’t released them yet, I am dropping them on the first of May.” She informed him, and he nodded, “All your designs look so cool, look I am even wearing your hoodie you made for George’s merch.” He said, panning his phone camera down to show the hoodie. Y/N smiled, and shook her head, “Looks great, well I gotta go now. I will speak to you later, bye Karl.” She said, waving to him, and he waved back bidding her goodbye as well. Now that she was all packed, she sighed to herself a little nervous about how he would react to her outfit. Shaking her thoughts away, she got dressed in a comfortable outfit to wear on the plane ride there, an oversized jumper and sweat pants that she stole from George last time she had visited him. Texting him, she told him she was about to head out to the airport. “I can not believe I will be arriving at 4 in the morning, that’s just awful.” She whispered to herself, walking into the living room.

“Are you ready?” Lily asked, and she nodded her head, a little nervous. “Sorta.” She told her, and her roommate just patted her shoulder, “You’ve got this.” She told her, and the two walked out of their shared house getting inside the car. “The drive to the airport is about an hour, are you hungry?” Y/N asked, and Lily nodded, “A bit yeah.” She said, and Y/N nodded, “We can get fast food on the way there.” She told her, and the two were now driving. “Have you told George that you are moving back to Brighton yet?” She asked, starting up a conversation and Y/N shook her head, “No, I haven’t yet. I want to tell him in person, you know?” Y/N said, and the other just nodded in understanding. “I still can’t believe you’re just giving me the house.” Lily said, still in disbelief that Y/N is signing the house in her name, “You deserve it, you’ve helped me so much when I first moved here. You really deserve it Lily.” She told her smiling at her softly.

After a much longer drive than anticipated from traffic, Y/N was now at the airport, “I’ll miss you.” Lily said, and Y/N frowned, “I’ll come and visit when I can, and please make sure to keep safe. I’m having my stuff shipped to my house in two days, please make sure that the people I hired are careful with my stuff.” She asked, and Lily just nodded smiling a bit, before she hugged her friend, waving goodbye to her. “I’ll see you whenever I come back to visit.” Y/N said, as her flight was called. “Bye Lils.” She said, and soon walked with her luggage towards her plane. Shooting George a quick text, she boarded the plane and was not ready for the long plane ride. She luckily got first class, and got her own section to herself. Getting in her pod, she settled in and quickly drifted off to sleep. Shortly after, she was awoken by a voice through the speakers telling the passengers they were landing. Groggily she looked at her phone, seeing that it was 3:57 in the morning.

Getting up she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, stretching a bit as she was in a uncomfortable chair for hours, slowly she walked out, and sleepily walked to the baggage claim. Waiting for her suitcase to appear, she grabbed it and turned around, looking for George. Not seeing him, she turned her phone off airplane mode, and saw that George texted her and said he was waiting outside of her exit. Walking out, she nearly gasped as the cold bitter air struck her face, “Sleepy?” She heard the all familiar voice from beside of her. Smiling she turned and saw George standing there, “Hi baby.” He said, wrapping her into a hug, “Here let me get this for you, the car is warm and waiting.” He said, taking her luggage from her. Y/N smiled at his kind gesture, and walked with him, their fingers interlaced. “How was the flight?” He asked, as he put her suitcase in the back, Y/N just shrugged as she got into the passenger seat, “I don’t know, I slept the entire time.” She sheepishly admitted, smiling when George got in the driver side seat.

“Well, when we get to my house, I will let you sleep as long as you want. You must be jet lagged.” He said, pulling out and onto the main road, driving to his house. Y/N smiled warmly at him, “Sounds good to me.” She said to him, reaching over and patting his thigh. “Your glasses are really cute you know.” She said, and George just laughed a bit, “They help me see colors, hush.” He mumbled, and Y/N just nodded giggling a bit, “I know baby.” She said, before grabbing one of his hands, interlocking their fingers together. “I have missed you.” She said softly, and George’s heart melted, “I missed you too.” He said, pulling her hand over and kissing the top of her hand. Not long after, they pulled into his house, which was in a gated community. “Let’s go rest sleepy head.” He said, getting out and grabbing her suitcase. The two walked into his house, both immediately falling onto his bed, letting the comfortable mattress welcome them.

Finally, George woke up and decided he would unpack for her, as he quietly did so, his eyes widened and he felt himself blush when he picked up the blue lingerie set. Blushing madly, he placed it neatly in one of the drawers she was using, and shook her awake. “Baby, wake up, it’s one in the afternoon.” He said, and Y/N woke up and smiled at him. “Good-morning.” She said, her voice was quiet with an undertone of raspiness. “Go take a shower, I will fix breakfast.” He told her, and Y/N smiled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she slowly got out of bed, thankful that his house was warm. Grabbing one of his shirts, and a pair of her underwear, she walked to his bathroom which was open and had a window that had a view of the forest behind the house. Taking a quick shower, she got out, and walked into the kitchen in the clothes she got. “Feel better?” George asked, once he saw her enter the kitchen, and Y/N nodded her head, “I always feel so gross on planes.” She mumbled, sitting down and eating.

➽───────────────❥

“I wanted to ask you something.” Y/N spoke up, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt, as George and her were now sitting on his bed. “Yeah what is it?” He asked, looking over at her, “I think I am ready.” She whispered shyly, and George smiled at her, grabbing her hips pulling her onto his lap. “Are you sure baby?” He asked, and Y/N nodded her head slowly, after she thought about it. “Yes, I am ready.” She told him, and George softly kissed her lips, laying her down on her back. “I want you to just lay there, I will do all the work okay baby?” He told her, and Y/N blushed while nodding her head, chewing on her lip in somewhat nervousness and anticipation. George looked at her for permission as he grabbed the hem of his own shirt that was covering her body, nodding slowly Y/N licked her lips, looking away. “No baby, none of that, you have to be watching me, and use your words okay?” He said softly, and Y/N let out a small embarrassed whine, “Yes sir.” she said, looking at him as he pulled her shirt off.

George’s eyes widened when he saw the lingerie on her body, looking up at her in shock, Y/N just flushed fidgeting with her fingers. “When did you put this on?” He asked, and Y/N giggled slightly, “After the shower.” She explained, and George just nodded looking at how beautiful she was like this. Slowly, he put his hands around her back, pulling her back up so she was arching her back. “Stay like this really quickly.” He whispered to her, and Y/N nodded as she felt her lingerie set being unhooked. Slowly pulling it off her body, leaving her bare, Y/N closed her legs and covered her breasts shyly. George melted at her shyness, and gave her a reassuring kiss on her neck before he slowly pulled her arms away. “You don’t need to cover up baby, you’re absolutely beautiful.” He told her truthfully, as he also opened her legs. Letting the image of her like this soak into his brain, he hooked her legs over his shoulders as he kissed her inner thigh.

Feeling herself get chills from this, she watched him, as he scattering kisses on the inside of her thighs. “If it get’s too much, your safe word is ‘red’ okay?” He told her, and Y/N nodded, and he softly tapped her thigh, “Okay.” She said, with her words knowing that’s what he wanted. Slowly, he dipped his head down all the way, softly kissing her clit, feeling her body jump at the new feeling. George, then licked her clit, before sucking on it. Y/N gasped, and arched her back slightly, letting out a surprised moan. Reaching down, Y/N tangled her fingers into his hair, tugging at it a bit, as George ate her out as gently as he could, afraid he’d overstimulate her. Grabbing her hips, he kept them down, as she tried to grind her hips into him. Pulling one hand away, he slowly inserted a finger, and Y/N winced a bit at the pain it brought.

Stopping since he realized she was in pain, he waited till she adjusted, “You can go.” She whispered, and George slowly started thrusting his finger in and out of her. Y/N bit her bottom lip, now feeling more pleasure than pain, noticing she was ready for another, he slowly inserted another finger, now scissoring her. Y/N was now a moaning mess, she was highly sensitive to the newfound pleasure she was receiving and felt something tighten in her stomach. “Feels weird.” She mumbled, motioning to her stomach as she felt it growing. “You’re close baby, it’s okay.” He told her, “Just relax.” He said, rubbing circles on her hip, with his free hand while the other worked on her. Nodding, Y/N closed her eyes tightly as she felt an overwhelming pleasure rake through her entire body. Letting out a loud moan, she arched her back, as George felt her walls clamping around his fingers. Pulling them out, he licked them clean and let her come down from her high.

He pulled away, taking his shirt off, along with his remaining clothes, and grabbed a condom slipping it on. “This will be painful, let me know if I need to stop.” He told her, aligning himself with her entrance. “I’ll be okay.” She said, giving him a reassuring smile. George reached forward, and interlaced their fingers together, as he entered into her. Wincing Y/N dug her nails into the back of George’s hand, and he took that as a signal to stop. Taking in a deep breath, Y/N looked up at him with teary eyes, and George leaned down kissing her passionately. Pulling away from the kiss, Y/N looked at him, “Okay, you can continue.” She whispered, and George leaned down pecking her neck. Finally he bottomed out, groaning at how tight she was around him. Staying still, letting her adjust to his size, soon Y/N squeezed his hands, “Words baby.” He said, and Y/N blushed biting her lip at him, “Move.” She mumbled shyly, and George slowly rocked his hips.

Arching her back, their chests now touching, Y/N let out a strained moan. Keeping at a steady pace, George kissed along her neck, keeping their hands locked together. “Faster.” Y/N moaned out, and George complied speeding up his thrusts. He wanted to make sure her first time was passionate and not sloppy, so he kept his speed but was gentle with her. Moaning loudly, Y/N leaned her head back, clenching around him. George hissed at this, “Don’t do that.” He told her, and Y/N blushed not knowing what she did. Leaving marks all over her neck with the new access, he scattered them along her jawline as well. “I think I’m close.” Y/N said in between moans, and George nodded speeding up just a bit feeling himself growing close as well. “Cum with me baby.” He whispered into her ear, whining Y/N felt herself cum, and George soon after. Pulling out he took the condom off and threw it away, gently grabbing her he walked into the bathroom.

“Let’s take a bath.” He said, setting her on the toilet, turning on the bath. “How warm do you want it?” He asked, her and Y/N looked over still a bit in a haze, “Like, hot tub warm.” She mumbled, and George lightly laughed turning the cold down a bit. Picking her up, he slowly sank down into the tub with her, letting her lean against his chest. Now out of her haze, Y/N relaxed in the water as it kept raising, “George.” She said, and George hummed, “I’m living in Brighton again.” She told him, and George smiled brightly, “That’s great news baby, I’ll get to see you more often, and sooner or later you can move in.” He said, washing her body since she had already washed her hair earlier that day. “I can’t wait for that day.” He continued, kissing her shoulder, smiling. 

[quillsanddaydreams]

teddy bear

fred weasley x reader

—author’s note: I really have no explanation for this except that I saw an old fic of mine and the idea just struck. This is a re-imagined version of 'don't say goodbye' from my main i.e. @with-love-anu Fred had been spending lesser and lesser time with you every day and you couldn't take it anymore.

—warning(s): mentions of food and drinks, break up, angst but it's hurt and comfort, low-key descriptions of anxiety attack. gender neutral!reader (pronouns haven't been used throughout the story) 

—wordcount: 2,190

The fire crackled orange and gold, painting the dark walls. You were sitting right beside the mantle looking at the wall ticking. It was 11:35pm. Fred should’ve been home hours ago.

Tilting your head, you ran your thumb through the sharp edge’s of the photo frame. Friendly— happy faces smiled back at you. It was you and Fred from your 6th year. He had an arm around you, kissing your cheek before winking at the camera. Oh you remembered that day. Vividly. The two of you had just started dating after months of pining. Fred had been an absolute sweetheart. One date led to the next and you didn’t realise you two had spent years together. From graduating from hogwarts, to working your way up on your jobs, moving in together… You were madly in love and nothing else seemed to have mattered.

Everything looked great. Looked. Your parents often told you about ichs. A common rash. Ignore it and it will go away. Scratch it, and it will make your life hell. They never told you however, how long it takes. And you had been shutting your eyes to this one far too long. Fred was never there. Never. Both of you had jobs. Demanding jobs. Yet it seemed Fred was the only one without a moment to spare.

Your morning began with you getting up and ready for your day. Freshening up, making breakfast for the two of you— storing Fred’s with a quick warming spell and a note because you knew you’ll be gone by the time he woke up. Never having the heart to rouse him you simply smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, apprating to the ministry. When you came back, he would still be at the shop, working late into the night. Exhaustion caught you, you were unable to keep yourself from falling asleep after 12.

Heaving a sigh, you pushed your head back staring at the ceiling above. The thing was that you missed him. Terribly. You couldn’t even remember the time he held you, let alone ask about your day— it had been months. There had been a hundred times, sitting alone having dinner or seeing his side of the bed empty. Loneliness caught with you reminisened all the times he would pull you over his lap, pressing kisses all over your face. Telling you about the newest invention at his shop. All confrontations with him about the same had ended the same way. With him promising he would try. He never did.

Glancing at the clock again, you felt your body grow hot with anger. It was nearly midnight. You had left him a note to come home early that day. Promotion at work had flashed like the perfect occasion to catch up. Happiness had been bubbling through you all day. Although as time passed, your excitement dulled. The food turned cold and ice in the firewhiskey bucket had melted. Your eyes pricked with tears as you felt your stomach churn. There was a pop as the door opened to reveal a disheveled Fred. He gave you a small smile before moving straight towards the bedroom.

“Fred,” you called out, clearing your throat and wiping away the tears. Did he really not notice? “Did you get my note?”

“Hmm?” he said, shuffling through his drawer. “Oh! Yes I did, sorry but work came up love, couldn’t make it.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Work?” you asked, agitated. “What work keeps you out until midnight Fred?”

His answering sigh infuriated you further.

“You need to change your work schedule, Fred,” you said, crossing your arms. “George comes back to Angelina before 8. I’m sure you can manage before 9. I don't see you Fred. I don't get to talk to you or spend a moment with you. It's like I'm living alone— I spent more time with you before we moved in!”

Fred squeezed his eyes shut, tired.

“I’ll try, I promise,” he said after a minute. “Let’s eat first, shall we?”

“No, Fred. You promise me that every time,” you hissed. “I want you to tell me you’ll be home tomorrow before 9. Like a normal person.”

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Fred snapped. “I thought you would be more supportive of me and my business.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you threatened. “I’ve been there for you every step of the way. What I am asking you is for you to take out some time for me. I need you to be there for me too!”

“Well excuse me for wanting to earn enough money for our future. For wishing you didn’t have to work to live a happy life.”

“Fred,” you said, your voice a dangerous whisper. “You know exactly how much I love my job. I’ve always been happy working. What has gotten into you? You were always so supportive of me!”

Something crossed Fred’s eye and he took a step back, shaking himself. He took a deep breath.

“Listen,” Fred said calmly. “It’s late now, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“When, Fred? When? In the morning, when you are asleep or at night which is the time right now?”

Fred remained silent. It felt like you were bursting. All the frustration, sadness and disappointment poured in.

“It hurts, Fred. It hurts and it feels like I’m alone in this. People ask me how we are doing and I don’t know what to tell them. I have no idea what’s going on with the person I live with. I don’t even know where our relationship is goin—”

“You know what?” Fred said, finally losing his cool, throwing his hands in the air. “If you feel so alone, maybe you wouldn’t find a difference if we even separate.”

You gasped.

“I’m going to give you a moment to take that back,” you hushed. Fred crossed his arms. “Think about it before telling me you meant it.”

“Listen, you know I put my work above anything else,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I’ve always wanted to be rich enough so people like Malfoy wouldn’t dare to insult me or my family. That shop. It’s my life. It’s everything that lets me afford the things I never could.”

“So the shop’s more important to you than having me stay?” you said, your throat heavy. Digging your nails into the palm of your hand you searched Fred’s face. The face you had fallen in love with, the one that didn’t quite meet your eyes now which forebode tears. No you couldn’t cry now. Not when he disregarded your job you had been so passionate about, not when his status in life was more important to him. When Fred didn’t say anything, you let out a dry laugh. Shaking your head you moved towards your wardrobe, your head thumping. You took out a couple of your clothes, money and some documents, packing up a bag. Fred stared at you wide eyed as you went for the door.

“What are you doing?” he demanded as you opened the door moving out.

“Well, since you don’t care if we separate and your shop is the only thing you’re living for; it only seems fair that I leave,” you said, furiously rubbing away the tear that fell down your cheek. “Oh and Weasley? I hope you become the wealthiest wizard in the country.”

The last thing you saw was Fred’s shook form before a familiar house came into view. Knocking on your best friend’s door, you wondered whether you should have taken a hotel. It was very late after all. Before you could turn back and leave, Ruhaan opened up. He looked sleepy but his expression changed on seeing you.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s the—”

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted. “I’ll crash on the couch... ”

Ruhaan wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leading you in.

“Of course you can,” he said as your throat felt heavy. “You’re always welcome here, what happened?”

“I… we broke up,” you croaked. Admitting things aloud often made things real. Stating your breakup to Ruhaan made you really assess the situation. Blood rushed to your head as you realised you really just left back someone you had loved for six long years. Still did. Your legs wobbled making you lose your balance but Ruhaan held you steady.

“I can’t believe it… I… love him…” you gulped.

“Let me first get you some tea,” he said, rubbing your sides.

-♡♡♡-

Fred was a mess. He fell on the floor with a thump, realising what happened moments ago. You left. The person he had loved all his life had left him. And it was his fault. All those months he had been trying to get the latest product to work. George had given up on it long ago knowing well how dangerous it was to work on. Yet he stood back, working extra hours determined to get it done. It made him lose sight of what was important, you. His heart constricted as he felt like he couldn’t breath. Hot tears fell down his cheeks as he let out a frustrated shout. He had finally lost everything.

For the next few days, Fred worked as an auto pilot. Numbness had caught up to him. He couldn’t bring himself to eat or sleep. Your thoughts plagued him. It was like he was watching your face fall as you moved out over and over again. The apartment felt devoid of spirit— dark and cold. Fred missed you, your smile as he sleepily joined you in bed, pulling you closer; your notes with little doodles telling him to take care… George vaguely knew about what happened, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. Visits to your best friend’s place have always gone the same. Ruhaan told him you weren’t there.

Fred wanted— needed you. He loved you. Always did. And he would be damned if he failed to show you. Again. Washing his face, he apparated to Ruhaan���s door again. Biting the inside of his cheek, he waited as a familiar face came into view sighing on spotting him.

“Fred,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve told you…”

“Please,” he said, cutting him off. “Please, I know what I’ve done. Terrible won’t start to describe it. Just give me a chance to talk. I won’t push. I won’t. I am really ashamed of the things I did. At least let me make it right…”

Ruhaan searched his face, mentally debating with himself. Fred was pleading, begging. He would do anything to make this right.

“Alright, don’t screw this up,” Ruhaan said, ushering him in directing him towards your room. “The first door on the right.”

Fred nodded, moving briskly to where he indicated. Heart pounding, he knocked. Your voice came throaty, calling him in. When he saw you, his breath caught up. You looked terrible. Dark circles under red puffy eyes, nestled up in blankets. Noticing him, you sat up straighter.

“I told Ruhaan I didn’t want to see you,” you muttered. Fred moved to sit beside you. You looked away.

“I…” he began, not finding the correct words. “I brought this for you…”

He fished out a small box out of his pocket, handing it to you. It transformed into a teddy bear as the pack touched you, splaying itself over your hand like a rock. You narrowed your eyes at Fred.

“I’ve been working on this in secret for the last six months,” he rasped. “A teddy bear for blue days. The more I worked on it, the stiffer it became. I could not imagine what exactly I was doing wrong. I tried charming it, transforming it, twisting and twerking it around...”

“Fred,” you said, cutting him off. He blinked as streaks of heavy tears fell down his cheek.

“I was so fucking angry and determined to make it work that I couldn’t see anything else than that,” he sobbed. “I’ve said and done things that I couldn’t forgive myself for. I’ve made promises I never followed and I’ve let you go. I… I know that there is no reason for you to even hear me out right now. But I can’t lose you. I can’t… I can’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you back but I don’t want to say goodbye to the best thing in my life. Please. You don’t have to excuse me but give me one opportunity to make it up to you.”

You inhaled sharply.

“You’ll come home before 9?” you asked.

“At seven everyday.”

“You’ll spare time for me?”

“Dates every other weekend.”

“You’ll cook everything for the next 3 weeks?” you said as Fred let out a breathy chuckle.

“Only your favourites.”

You looked at his face, wet from crying. Eyes praying for your answer.

“You’ll kiss me right now?” you said as a dull surprise crossed his face. He cradled your face, kissing you softly. You closed your eyes, body relaxing for the first time in days.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice low. You held his hand, squeezing it.

“I know.”

—as for the taglist: I don’t make taglists, I have a blog @from-my-quill ​ which is updated whenever I post fanfiction. You could have the notifications on for it and it will work just like me tagging you.

⟨⟨REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED⟩⟩

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

quick note: i wrote this back in 2018 after meeting sebastian in greece but i redited it now, so if you see any mistakes or typos please tell me :)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

part: 2/6

(other parts)  (masterlist)

It’s Monday when they come back from their small trip to the south. You’re watering the jasmine in your balcony when you hear the engine of Argyris’ car slowly shut down and see two figures getting out of the back seats.

It’s him and a blonde woman. You remember meeting her that night in the terrace. You’ve learnt that she’s a great actress and will play the other main character in the film.

When she notices you looking at them, she waves.

“Hey, Sebastian it’s your friend there.” She gives his shoulder a soft nudge.

We’re not friends. That’s what you almost yell back at her.

His head shots up, smiling.

He’s always smiling. It’s getting annoying.

You can see him going through his bag as he calls your name.

“Look, I brought you some traditional sweets.” He’s holding a small wrapped up package. He starts wiggling it in the air.

He looks so jolly and proud of himself. It makes your throat dry.

And before you can control it, you laugh. You can’t see it from where you’re standing but he bites his bottom lip at the sound.

/

Two hours later he’s sitting in your kitchen devouring half of the pastries he got you.

“These are actually so good, how can you not like them?” He says and it comes out all garbled. His mouth is full of sugary dough.

You do like them. But he does too. And you can find them anytime you want here. You doubt it’s the same in New York.

“They’re just not my favorite,” he nods “but thank you anyway.”

“Well let’s say you owe me,” you furrow your brows in confusion “and will repay me by sending me some of those once I’m gone.”

He laughs before taking another bite.

And as you stare at him, you notice that he’s different. His gaze is tranquil, his voice is soft and he has some cream at the corner of his lips.

Like that, he looks more like a guy you met at college than a well known actor.

Like that, we could be friends, you think.

You talk a lot. He tells you about his time in Romania and his first audition. It makes you realize you are far more interested in acting than what you thought. You tell him how you think team Iron Man is the superior team. He gasps, as if he is hurt.

He doesn’t mention his girlfriend. You don’t ask about her. It’s easier for both of you this way.

/

A stifling heat rises to your body as you walk under the burning sun. You don’t realize how Argyris gets you to give Sebastian a tour around the city, but you can remember a pair of light eyes pleading you.

You can easily hear him humming to himself. You turn to look at him. He’s wearing a hat and his forehead is sweating. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re in a very good mood today.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well I’m stuck with you for the day so what choice do I have?” You shrug.

He makes a face at you. You crack and a huge smile forms in your face.

He leans closer, mouth to ear and then he speaks.

“You know, I can’t tell if you hate me or just like me too much.”

His breath hits your cheek.  

You try not to blink at the sudden foreign touch.

His words find your skin and they’re so clear and powerful. Suddenly you’re an open page to him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for an answer, a nod, a glance.

You are still standing close, the city sounds doing nothing to ease the heated silence between you two.

He realizes you’re not going to give him any response so he lowers his eyes.

And then, when he looks up again, it almost feels like he gives you mercy and agrees to let you get away with it this time.

He smiles.

“So where is Acropolis?”

/

When he’s lying on your couch after six hours of being a tourist and under the summer sun he looks exhausted. Still he’s his typical talkative self.

“You are always so pumped.”

“And you rarely are.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” you ask each other at the same time. It seems like you are two different sides of the exact same coin. One body. One heart.

“Today was nice.” He stretches his arms. “Thank you.”

You open the window. There is barely any wind out there. The air smells of hot cement and flowers.

The man on your couch has closed his eyes, breathing softly.

You try to ignore him over and over for the last days. Until you cannot ignore him anymore; your world has come to an end.

So many people know who Sebastian Stan is.

Only few will ever know him like this; falling asleep on a cheap brown couch with his hair messy, his chest rising and falling and his mind empty of thoughts.

These are photographs of your memories now.

An involuntary smile spreads across your face at the thought.

You see him swift and his hand clenches tightly around a throw pillow.

“Stop looking at me like that you creep,” he says.

“Come closer,” he means.

/

The sun is long gone and he’s still asleep when there’s a knock on your door. It’s Argyris.

“Please tell me he’s here.”

You nod and motion towards Sebastian’s drifted away body.

“When I left you this morning, I didn’t actually think you’d last this long together.” He tells you the moment he sees him.

The words fall out of his mouth too easily for your liking. “But I should have known better.”

You don’t understand much. You take a step out of your door. You don’t want to wake him up.

“Do you know how many times he mentioned you while we were away?’

Everything stops and falls quiet in the hall.

The words choke you. You shake your head.

“I need you to be smarter than him.” He says and touches your shoulder. “His world moves too fast for people like us.”

It’s effortless not to look at the man in front of you. It’s hard not to shallow his saying.

/

He wakes up an hour later. He looks at you and it feels sacred. His eyes are still red and the pillow has left a mark on his left cheek.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep here.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it was rude, you should have yelled at me to wake up or something.”

“But you looked tired.”

You carry on with doing the dishes and you hear the couch squeak as he stands up and steps towards you.

The water is refreshingly cold on your skin and the soap smells like lemon.

His hands find your waist and his touch is burning. You wish he disappears. You wish he stays for the night. You don’t even know what you’re wishing for anymore. He comes closer and rests his head on top of yours.

And then he wraps his arms around you and you get flashes of days and nights where there was not enough air for you to breath and your ribs ached.

His action is not so noble. It feels like his body steals all the rationality you have. But it gives you this feeling that there will be no more starless skies at night. And that’s enough for now, so you don’t complain.

His skin feels soft and he smells of sweat and vanilla. Somehow you find that alluring.

He looks at you for a second, like he’s trying to memorize your face. And then he pulls away completely silent.

You try to understand what he’s thinking but he gives nothing away. You were never good at reading people.

You blink and he’s almost out of your apartment.

“Goodnight” he shouts.

“Goodnight” you whisper.

/

You close the window. You wonder how he will spend the night. He probably won’t sleep soon. He just woke up.

But you can’t sleep either.  You just move around in your bed. You sink into the sheets and try to close your eyes.

Your phone buzzes.

He follows you on Instagram.

I need you to be smarter than him.

You go through his profile. You want to think he’s doing the same. You want him to do the same.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

You sigh. Perhaps there could have been a time when you would have stayed away from him, but you can’t pretend to ignore it for much longer. And you’re scared of it. And you’re scared of him.

But you’re more scared of how hard it’s for loneliness to fade. And you wish this doesn’t end like a greek tragedy.

/

One day of the following week you go out for coffee. The curly haired woman comes with you. You don’t understand why. And while you’re adding more sugar to your espresso, she tells him she loves his acting. She uses all kinds of adjectives to describe it; hopeful and poignant, celestial.

You like the way she talks. She sounds beautiful. You almost envy her abundance of words.

But Sebastian stops listening.

He watches the way your fingers wrap around the sugar box. He can see your nerves and your synapses move underneath your skin and he thinks he’s watching a dance show.

He will never tell you, but it’s then; under the morning sun and with sugar in your hands, that he feels his heart beat with the power of cymbals for the first time.

He thinks you don’t have to know.

He’s wrong.

You learn the girl is an actress herself. They’ll be in the movie together. They look stellar together.

Looking at them, gives you a violent feeling that wrenches your stomach around.

You can’t hate her for that. You feel like it’s more your fault than hers. That feeling however, grabs you by the shoulders and doesn’t let go. You try not to let it show.

But for some reason when Sebastian almost touches your palm, you look at her and you’re certain this is entirely mutual.

You make a silent agreement to not include him in any of this.

/

“You were extremely quiet earlier.” He says as you reach the building you call home.

He wants to spend time together until his scheduled shooting. You don’t complain.

“You always say that.” You try to joke. He looks right at you.

And then you notice that his eyes aren’t the color of the sea. They’re more grayish blue. They’re like a frozen lake in December.

“I know,” he starts messing with his hair “But you can’t deny you barely talked back there.”

When you enter your apartment, he immediately throws himself on your couch. These last few days it feels like he owns that right spot there in front of your big window.

“I’ve told you, I talk when I have something to say.”

He smiles at your words.

“Then I must be lucky you talk to me.” He whispers softly.

You sit next to him. If you move a little closer you could touch him, feel his warmth. You don’t.

You never thought of how easy it has become to talk to him. You don’t keep your thoughts locked and your teeth clenched around him. And that’s a novice feeling for you.

You let your eyelids fall close and lay back.

There’s a language between you two. It starts with secret glances and whispers and now it contains words that build and ruin bodies and souls.

Sometimes you want to say them all together. Sometimes you just want to open your mouth and let everything flow out but then you’re scared you’ll make him mad. Or you’ll make him love you.

You can’t decide which is worse and that’s enough to stop you.

“What is this thing between us?” He sounds all tender-like, but his blood feels heavy at the moment. He’s not sure if he can keep breathing. He regrets the words that leave his lips, when it’s already too late.

You have the answer figured out long time before he asks. But you’re not ready to give it to him.

“I don’t know” you open your eyes “I don’t know.” You repeat.

/

He doesn’t tell anyone but sometimes he feels nauseous before a shooting. You can clearly see that now. His pacing up and down the room and his roaming eyes give him away.

You are surprised. You never thought he could be nervous. He looks so confident and radiant all the time; you sometimes forget he is still a regular human being.

“You have no reason to worry.” His lips twitch.

“I know.”

“But you still worry.”  You grin and catch his arm to stop him from moving.

The look he gives you is acute.

“You have no reason to be sad,” he starts, without breaking eye contact “but you still are.”

You feel naked and hug yourself close.

It’s very strange to have someone scratch everything from you and see your raw truth. You’re not certain it’s something you enjoy. You wish it didn’t make you quiver.

Sebastian wishes he could scratch deeper under your dermis and your fingernails and slither there between your muscles and your heart where blood runs thick and melancholy hasn’t conquered yet.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.

“You didn’t say anything hurtful.”

You worry your words may come out bitter. You don’t want that.

“It won’t last forever.” he says and then your name appears in his tongue. You like the way he says it. It almost sounds like poetry. “You won’t be sad forever.”

You smile and, in that moment, you aren’t a worldwide known celebrity and a girl in her early twenties. You are just two people seeking comfort.

/

The same night there’s a party for the first day of shooting. You don’t feel like going, but he doesn’t let you stay home.

What did you do last night?

Went to a party with Sebastian Stan, typical Thursday night.

You can picture the look on everyone’s face. It makes your lips turn upward just a little.

“I told you to be careful.” The voice sounds almost far away but your neighbor is standing right next to you as he mutters.

“I am.” You say with a laugh. He crosses his arms.

“No, you are here, watching him starry-eyed.”

Your fingers start playing with the rough fabric of your dress.

“I don’t know how to stop it.” You whisper.

He tells you to not entail yourself in something you don’t know the way out of. But what does he know about solitude and rushed breaths?

What does he know about a pair of eyes that look like a frozen lake?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

/

He’s watching you from afar while you talk with Argyris. He notices how your chest moves along with your breathing in a way it looks like it’s made of pure glass.

For a while he thinks of staying there and keep observing you but then Argyris leaves and you’re all alone. And he starts walking closer to you.

All eyes are on him as he goes through the main dance floor. The curly haired actress stops moving to the beat and follows him with her gaze.

They both reach you.

And you know he’s moving towards you before you can see him. It’s like your body is aware of his presence madly fast.

His eyes seem darker under the hazy light.

He grabs your hand.

You almost heave.

“Let’s get out of here.” He breaths.

/

You walk for some time. It’s late and Athens is quiet around that time. There is only a soft broken sound of cars and you think about that time you saw a car crash happen in front of your eyes.

You sit close in an old dirty staircase in a forgotten back alley. The city has a lot of those, but people don’t notice. They just walk past them, always in a hurry.

Sebastian sighs heavily. He looks at you in a way it makes you think he’s trying to memorize everything. The way midnight air caresses your body, the way red lighting falls in your hair from that street lamp. He looks at you for an indefinite and long period of time and it feels exquisite.

You place your fingers on his palm and the world flickers. He’s still wearing the rings they gave him for the movie and they feel cold against your skin.

“Do you ever miss Romania?”

The question startles him.

“Every day.”

You nod. Maybe he knows more about sorrow than you give him credit for.

“I remember the dog fence and our neighbors’ daughter and the orange sky through my window, minutes before sun set.”

Your hand locks around his and you stay silent for a while.

“This is the Lyra constellation.”  His eyes light up as he looks up.

You remember reading about how much he’s into space. It’s intriguing.

“Where?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead he picks it up and guides it with his own. His body moves closer. There’s no cold in the air.

As your eyes search for the stars that your hands point at, he watches you and he’s certain that one day he’d love to lay on his back, with you on his side and show you all the little dead planets in the sky. Show you the secrets of the universe.

And he feels like this is the type of beauty that musicians try to write songs about.

“Ah!” Your grip becomes tighter and you smile. “I can see it!”

He laughs at your childish enthusiasm.

You laugh too.

And then you let your head fall on his shoulder, your hair touching his bare skin. You don’t blame them for making him wear sleeveless shirts for the film.

You can him feel shudder at your sudden motion, but then he exhales and his muscles relax.

He observes the features of your face from this angle. He almost traces them with his fingers.

“They’re probably going to kill me for stealing you away from the party.” You whisper.

“I think I was the one who grabbed your hand and left.” He laughs again and you can feel his chest pounding.

His phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at it. He closes his eyes.

“Δείξε μου όλα τα αστέρια. ”

He doesn’t understand a word but your voice sounds too close. You feel too close. And that’s almost tearing him apart.

“What does that mean?”

You turn to look at him. The neon sign on the old building behind him keeps trembling.

“It means, show me the stars.”

And he does. And he feels like he could burn alive.

And you will never tell him; but you still think of him when you catch a glimpse of burning stars.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

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[stiltonbasket]

how my love springs deep

by stiltonbasket

(read here on AO3!)

Summary:

My Lan Zhan, his husband calls him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.

Or, the one where Wei Wuxian feeds rabbits, and Lan Wangji reads a love letter.

(brief a/n: this fic was inspired by this heartbreaking work of beauty by @pakhnokh--I had to write Lan Wangji getting adored after witnessing it, come join me on the angst parade T~T)

____

My Lan Zhan, 

    It has been two years and more since I last wrote you a letter, for marriage has joined us both at the hip, and ensured that we are never more than a touch or a cry away from one another. I have you by me always, in every hour of every day; and every love-word that crosses my mind finds its way to my lips in the very moment of its birth, and reaches your ears just as quickly, for I could no more keep silent in my devotion to you than swim the full length of the Songhuajiang against the current. And so I go about my days hence, calling “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan” all the while: but today I have woken before chenshi, and you are still asleep beside me with Xiao-Yu in your arms, and though my every nerve and vein is aching for love of my husband, I cannot bear to wake you to say so. 

    Lan Zhan, sweetheart—when we were first married, you told me once that I colored the world for you the instant we met, and brought every shade of the rainbow with me from Yunmeng to make the Cloud Recesses beautiful. You said that the air that touched me at the gate smelt as if lightning had passed through it, and that the very stones I knelt on in the lanshi’s courtyard began to glitter after I departed, though they had never done such a thing before—and that the Cloud Recesses itself, having been a place of peace and reflection before my arrival, was filled with delight and warmth after my coming, as if that first day was the dawn after a long, long night, and I the sun who gifted it to you. 

    Heaven knows I had no equal words with which to worship you then, my darling, for I was young and still bewildered to know that you loved me. But I have been your husband for nearly three years now, and so I must tell you this—you have driven me mad for love of you, Lan Zhan, and it has been so since we first crossed swords on the rooftop gate when we were eighteen. 

    How mad, you ask? The classics say that love is a proper, courtly thing, to be shown with modesty before others and in its full force only in confidence. But I have never been proper, and so I must tell you that if you were a flint and steel, seeking only to light a flame and a tinder-heap to light it in, I would take form as a sun-parched forest, and set myself afire at your touch so that I might be beside you thus. If you were a god, roaming the heavenly kingdoms while my mortal flesh kept me constrained below, I would take the habit of a priest and devote myself to your prayer; and if you were a grain of sand in the Gebi desert, and I a traveler sick with thirst, I would fall to my knees and sift through every dune and basin to find you before drinking even a drop of water. 

    If I were freezing in the great mountains above Gusu, whose peaks are lush in the springtime but shrouded in snow in the winter, I would be well and happy if I had the warmth of your hand in mine; and when I am in my jishi, with the doors thrown open to let in the wind, I drop my knives and tools at the sound of your voice and stand there enraptured until you fall silent again. My heart nearly beats out of my body with everything you say, and everything you do; and when you look at me I lose all knowledge of speech and reason, recalling nothing but your name and your smiles unless some show of wit is necessary—which it very well might be, with you and I being what we are, and all our doings riddled with puzzles that would have bewildered even the scholars who founded our clan. 

    Lan Zhan, I love you so desperately that to be away from you is torment, and to be with you has always been paradise, even when you were sitting on one side of the library pavilion and reading Lan An’s poetry, and I was on the other with my brush and parchment, pretending to copy lines while I sketched a portrait of you and painted flowers into your hair. You have made me more your own with every passing day, though in every moment I fully belong to you, and there is no strangeness in it—as if new pieces of my spirit are formed shichen by shichen, and bound unto you before drawing their first breaths.

    I could go on endlessly, xingan, and exhaust even the lanshi’s stocks of paper in my adoration—but it will soon be breakfast time, and the hens have not been fed, nor the eggs collected, and neither have the rabbits been given their greens. I must go and tend to them now; only wait for me, and I will be back at your side again before you have time to miss me. 

    Ever yours, my husband—

        Wei Ying.

    P.S.—I left a pot of ginger porridge on the table by the bed, if you should wake and be hungry before I return. There is only a little, since the rest is still cooking in the kitchen, and you and A-Yu will still have an appetite for breakfast if you finish it all. 

_____

After Lan Wangji wakes and reads the folded letter on his bedside table, he scarcely glances at the tiny blue pot of ginger congee before stumbling out of bed and putting his shoes on. He is dressed in nothing but a thin white undergown, since he gave up dressing warmly at night when he first began sleeping beside Wei Ying; but he does not bother putting on a coat, and pauses only long enough to tuck a sleepy Xiao-Yu back under the covers before bounding out of the jingshi and hurrying downhill in his nightshirt. 

“Wei Ying!” he calls, when he passes the tidy chicken pen—home to ten brown hens, which Lan Wangji brought to the Cloud Recesses as a gift for Wei Ying before they were married—and finds the chickens pecking away in the yard, eating grains of fresh corn that had clearly just been thrown out by Wei Ying’s dear hands. But Wei Ying must have finished collecting the eggs, and gone on towards the warded field on the fringes of the bamboo forest to scatter vegetables for the rabbits; so Lan Wangji presses on, running with the wind at his back and the sharp pebbles underfoot almost piercing through his slippers. He reaches the rabbit field in less than a minute, careening between stalks of bamboo like a man possessed, and throws himself at Wei Ying so forcefully that he knocks his husband backwards into the soft grass at their feet. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, as his lettuce basket flies out of his hand and lands near the entrance to a burrow: mercifully, the basket of eggs must have been set aside somewhere else before Wei Ying arrived to feed the rabbits. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is Xiao-Yu—?”

“Do not worry. Xiaohui is still asleep,” Lan Wangji assures him, bringing Wei Ying’s sun-warmed hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I came to find you because I read your letter.”

Wei Ying smiles, beaming from ear until Lan Wangji finds himself gasping for breath at the beauty of the sight before him. “I thought you must have. You were cuddled up against me when I woke up, and you were holding Xiao-Yu between us to keep him warm...and I couldn’t help it, Lan Zhan! You were so sweet that my heart could scarcely bear it, so of course I had to write it down for you.”

“Perhaps I should take up the habit of writing you love letters,” muses Lan Wangji, kissing Wei Ying’s delighted grin straight from his lips. “What do you think, xingan?”

“I think that waking to find you beside me every morning already brings me so much joy I could burst, darling. If you really did start leaving love letters for me to find, I would fold myself into your arms and never come out again.”

“Mm, perhaps you would. But that would please me greatly, so I suppose I will have to do it.”

His husband pinches his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”

“I am listening, beloved. With all my heart.”

Wei Ying covers his face and tries to roll out of Lan Wangji’s grasp, wriggling about six inches away before Lan Wangji takes him by the waist and draws him back. “Lan Zhan,” he wails, as a couple of baby rabbits hop up onto Lan Wangji’s back. “You can���t say such things, you silly man! See how my face is burning, look!”

“I’m looking,” Lan Wangji teases, tracing Wei Ying’s red cheeks with the pads of his own pale fingers. “I am always looking. I love my husband dearly, and he is very beautiful to look at.”

“Well, my husband is not so young as he used to be. Perhaps he is mistaken.”

“Oh?” He punctuates the inquiry with another searing kiss, pulling Wei Ying up into his arms and holding him so close that he can feel the stutter of his breathing, and his pulse beating quickly against Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Do you really think so?”

But the only reply Wei Ying gives him is a tender look that shakes Lan Wangji down to his jindan, and leaves him struggling for air all over again as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him. 

In the end, they do not leave the clearing until nearly half an hour later; the grass is as comfortable a cushion as two sweethearts could want, and the rabbits keep leaping around them and making Wei Ying laugh, so they lie there, cheek to cheek and chest to chest until they remember Xiao-Yu, all by himself in the jingshi with no one to hear him cry if he wakes up frightened to find himself alone. 

The thought of their son has Lan Wangji leaping to his feet with Wei Ying’s hand in his, and then they bolt back towards the house and retrieve the basket of eggs on the way, running nearly fast enough to outstrip Wen Ning at his swiftest before Wei Ying throws the doors open and barrels into the bedroom. 

“A-Yu!” he calls, letting out a shout of laughter as Lan Wangji comes jogging up behind him. “Xiao-Yu, baobei, what are you doing?”

“I’m eating ginger porridge,” Xiao-Yu chirps. The little lotus-shaped pot of congee is nestled snugly in his arms, and A-Yu is eating out of it with the large spoon Wei Ying left behind for Lan Wangji. “Papa and A-Niang went out, so Xiao-Yu is having breakfast.”

“Aiyah, Xiao-Yu,” Wei Ying groans, taking the pot away from A-Yu and wiping his dirty face with a handkerchief. “That was for you and Papa, sweetheart, since I was going to be late back. How will you eat your breakfast properly now?”

“But A-Yu is still hungry,” the little boy insists, trying to grab the spoon. “A-Niang, let me finish?”

“Wait a little longer,” scolds Wei Ying. “I still have to cook the rest of the porridge with steamed dan, and make chicken soup to go with it. Now be a good child and go with Papa to take your bath, and breakfast will be ready when you finish dressing.”

Xiao-Yu nods and jumps off the bed, scurrying off towards the washroom on the other side of the house, and leaves his parents to embrace each other once again before they part to attend to their own duties. 

“What do you want this afternoon, qinai?” Lan Wangji murmurs, as Wei Ying’s head falls onto his shoulder. “The tradesmen ought to have sent up the day’s groceries by now, so I will make lunch while you teach your talisman class.”

Wei Ying blinks, very slowly, and then he stands up on his toes and plants one last, lingering kiss between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. 

“Teach my talisman class with me,” he entreats. “When we get back, we can make lunch together.”

(And so they do, and just like all the other dishes Lan Wangji has shared with Wei Ying, that afternoon’s luncheon tastes fresher and sweeter than every meal before it.)

[ohheyitsokay]

idyllic

Pairing: Din Djarin x (f) reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+, explicit, uhhh lots of praise and body worship, tons of fluffy smut, p in v sex

Summary: waking up with Din is best when you have nowhere to be.

This is porn... without a plot because I wanted to see if I could do it? Or more that I wanted to practice for when I need to do both.

>>

A perfect morning always started with Din's warm chest pressed against your back. Most days, he would have to roll out of bed painfully early, whispering apologies and pressing them into your skin with kisses. He would don his helmet and get to work, and if you were lucky you’d see his eyes again that evening.

Today, though, the Crest was still in motion and you wouldn’t reach your course for another six, gloriously uneventful hours. As an additional blessing, the little one had been fussy the night before, and from previous experience, you knew he’d sleep well into lunchtime.

This meant you were full of excitement even before you were fully awake. “Well rested” was one of your favorite versions of Din, and you were hoping you’d convince him to stay in your cot, and let you bring him breakfast.

It seemed, however, he had plans of his own for the morning.

One of his arms had been stretched out under your pillow, hand hanging off the edge of the cot. Slowly it shifted, bending so his fingers could gently trace over your shoulder and arm, leaving thin, electric lines even through the light fabric of your sleep shirt.

Din didn’t know you were awake, making this moment even sweeter – he had woken but stayed, caressing you in awe, like he had all the time in the world. Your eyes were closed, but you were fully aware, enjoying the moment before you whispered, “Good morning, riduur,” and he rumbled happily behind you.

“Good morning, mesh'la,” Din's voice was thick with sleep and something that almost sounded like determination. You wondered at it only a moment before his fingers made their way to your chest, brushing over your clothed breast.

Inhaling sharply, you stiffened, slightly, enough against him to realize how hard he was.

“I woke up from dreams of you,” he murmured into you skin, in-between placing hot kisses on the curve of you neck. It was rude of him to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he asked, “Is this alright?”. As if you could deny him when you were already half lost to his touches.

“Of course, Din,” you breathed, unfocused as he shifted behind you, both of his hands trying to find a position to remove your shirt. His movements were a touch frustrated, and you smiled, sitting up to remove it for him. Turning, your hands reached just as eagerly for him before he stopped you.

“No,” he said simply, with authority, and you understood immediately. This was a rare chance for him to draw out the pleasure, and he wanted to take it. The way he took charge was natural, adoring, as though his being in control was his way of showing you how completely dedicated he was to you, and your pleasure.

Your hands sank into the sheets, instead, as he turned you away from him again, and gently pushed one of his legs between yours.

With confidence and only little warning, he rolled onto his back, using his leg’s position to pull you half on top of him, and open your legs embarrassingly wide.

Your squeak was loud and you could feel his chest shaking with quet laughter as he briefly covered your mouth with his hand. His fingers felt you smile, and he moved it away again, satisfied that you remembered that he was in control. The position he’d put you in gave him full access to you, one of his favorite ways to work, and you were clay in his hands.

It was sensational, how quickly his touches made you yearn for him, and he knew it. Hot breaths across your skin sent tingles down your spine – your only indicator that he was watching his hands on your chest, over your shoulder. It was a little awkward, but you’d learned to lean into it, and trust him.

“How did you sleep, cyar'ika?” he asked, his voice deep and playful.

“I – ah! – I slept w… well,” you were playing right into his game, but you couldn’t help yourself. The time for you to return the favor would come eventually, for now you enjoyed the amusement in his voice as he watched the pleasure he gave you override your self control. Warm palms slid down your sides, across your stomach before dipping under your waistband to gently stroke your inner thighs.

“Tell me what you dreamed of,” he commanded, eager and insistent, amusing himself with deliberate touches along your folds, making you stutter and gasp as you tried to tell him.

When his rough fingers made their way to your clit, you all but forgot what his last question was. You were already well wet enough to make his movement smooth and slick, and his touches were as intense as the very first time .

Din was more than proud of himself, feeling his beautiful riduur pressed against him, and seeing your body submit to his. It was satisfying, mesmerizing, how he was the one who got to bring you pleasure, making your thoughts cut out, and he would be the only one. You’d only been his, fully his, for a few weeks, and already he was familiar with how you sounded as he pulled you closer and closer to satisfaction. And already he knew just when to slow down, change up his strokes to draw out your pleasure. If he could spend each morning with you like this, taking his time, fully in awe of you, he would.

A small whine left your lips as he slowed, but you would never complain. Din moved again, sliding you off him and relinquishing his control enough that your hands could find him as he rolled onto his knees over you.

He was taking deep breaths, and insistently pressing his forehead to yours, even as you both awkwardly moved into a comfortable position. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, for him to allow himself to be overwhelmed by having you in his arms, letting him love you as he’d dreamed of.

“You are beautiful, riduur,” he said, reverently, and you whispered that he was, too, as you waited. In this sweet, quiet moments, you learned to wait it out, hands wandering across his torso, instead of taking advantage.

Gently, he began to press into you again, your eyes closing as his mouth molded into yours. Din over you, more than ever, was all-encompassing, filling each of your senses, warming every inch of you.

There was a low, grumbling moan as the tips of your fingers slip along the waist of his pants, and he gently pinned your hands in between your bodies. You tried again, and you felt his eyebrows draw together as he narrowed his eyes at you. Again, he shifted so you couldn’t move anywhere he didn’t want you to.

“Din,” you laughed, trying to reason with him with just a touch of pleading in your tone.

“Not yet,” he murmured, kissing you again, and guiding your hands above your head. Once he was satisfied that you were gripping the pillow for now, he began kissing down your neck, hands tugging of your remaining clothes.

Between the heat of his hands squeezing at your breasts and his deliberate touches your nipples, you hazily realized that he had pulled the blanket up arranging it so the cool air of the room was still at bay. Din was nothing if not attentive to your needs, even as you came undone under him.

With purpose, he began to touch your core again, determined to watch as much of you as he could while he sunk a finger into you. Gentle thrusts accompanied the practiced press of his thumb on your clit and your mind was blissfully empty before it filled with him. He added another finger, slick with your arousal, and both of you groaned at the feeling, a sound that only encouraged his movements

And then you remembered if you let him, he would pour every ounce of his energy into making love to you, every fiber of himself completely dedicated to your mutual ecstasy.

“Din, handsome, wait,” you said, propping yourself up on an elbow as he froze to look at you. You could almost cry you were so close, but you couldn’t allow him to only give. He loved it, you knew that, but it wasn’t what felt right this morning.

“I want you, please,” you professed, and he blushed, considering. Fingers buried to the knuckle inside you, his muscular body pressing you into the sheets, and yet maker, he was adorable.

“There’s so many good uses for this morning,” you said, your meaning clear. A quiet morning was precious, and there were too many ways you wanted to use it to spend it all in just one realm of intimacy. Of course, you knew him well enough to know he wanted that too, and he relented. His hands left you, and you watched him, almost mesmerized as he used the moisture to coat the tip of himself.

Then you shook your head, laughing.

“I don’t even know when you took your clothes off,” you explained when he looked at you. Din grinned proudly, confidence in his eyes.

“Guess I was doing a good job, then,” he said as he positioned himself over you, pleased and teasing. Breathlessly, you nodded, but that was as far you got because then he was pushing into you and it was amazing.

Once Din was sure you were comfortable, he set your hands back to their previous position, shooting you a look that meant don’t move them again. And then he set a pace that had you seeing stars, as if he were trying to make sure you knew that this was for you.

He was fighting not to get overwhelmed again, trying not to focus to much on just how well you fit together, or the soft skin under his hands or the intensity of intimacy or… instead he tried to tell you with every thrust how much you meant to him. Each touch was full of promises of his endless dedication to you, of your worth to him, and of the love you’d built together.

As you came he thought momentarily that you had never looked more beautiful, trembling, clinging to him for dear life. He was overcome again with the reminder that he gave you that, of all the people and all the galaxies, he was the one. And then he was following you, surprised he lasted as long as he had, and filled with pride and joy.

Dins head had planted itself above your shoulder, and you relished the feeling of his breaths as he groaned. You could never take it for granted - you were still in awe that you were the one who got to see him, feel him, have him like this, without the helmet.

Slowly, the air cleared, and you regained your ability to think and breath, although not to move, fully. Your arms felt the least like they were pudding, so you moved them to tug on the man above you. It took almost nothing, Din gently pulled out of you with a slow exhale, and lowered his weight onto you. He was large enough, he slid to the side, but it was delightful and comforting nonetheless.

The stickiness was ignored for long moments as you basked together, half the joy in knowing you had nowhere better to be, even now.

As always, your strong, caring lover moved to get up first, pressing a deep kiss to you before sitting, no doubt with the intention of cleaning you.

Shaking your head, you sat up, too, palm gentle on his chest.

“Let me, riduur,” you said and his head tilted to the side. You kissed him again before saying, “You always take care of me.”

His eyes were happy but his tone was practical as he explained, “I like to.” They were even more so, if that was possible, when you shot back, “Then you know how I feel!” and he stopped arguing with you.

Situated against the pillows, he watched as you went to soak a rag in warm water. It took you longer to return than he expected and Din had to resist the urge to follow you, or clean himself. But when you did, clean, breakfast in tow, his heart ached.

There was a lot you could do with a quiet morning, and now he could see each possibility was better than the next. It was perfect.

>>

taglist: 

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[ilove-cedricdiggory]

'M not going anywhere.

Remus x Reader

Requested? - It's part 3!

Summary - After leaving Remus, you found yourself with family in the horribly hot state of Texas. What can come of you now? With friends with worries the size of the state and a heart almost as broken as they come, what on earth can you do with yourself with the man shows up - only, in his werewolf state?

Trigger Warning - cursing, mentions of abortion

Guide - (y/m/n) - Your middle name

This one has a lot of backstory in it, fair warning! It's not super action filled, but the next chapter will be up soon!

When you met Remus, you were in school with him. You had known all about the infamous Maurauders and their love for trouble, but didn't really see much of them. Well, you thought you hadn't. You had seen each of them separately, James was in potions with you, Sirius had been in Care of Magical Creatures with you, Peter in Transfiguration, but Remus, well, you didn't think you had him in anything until 4th year. Separately, you thought they were all good people, kind to you in classes, funny when the lesson was droning on, and calm enough to let you get your notes finished within reasonable time.

By fourth year, you had gotten used to each of the three boys separately. When you met Remus in Charms, hanging out with him as a Prefect while walking through the hallways, then outside of your duties together and with the rest of your friends, it came as a surprise at how different he acted with the three boys.

He was always so incredibly kind, so beautiful with his words to you, so when your feelings for him grew substantially, it didn't seem to surprise you. But, when he actually asked you out in fifth year, with the major confirmation of his friends that, yes, Moony, she's crazy for you! Everyone besides you can see it! Just ask her!, You found yourself speechless.

The Remus Lupin liked you back, and was asking you to your own date this Saturday. Then another one in the Astronomy tower on Tuesday night while everyone else was at dinner. Then Friday at the quidditch game, he asked if you'd sit next to him during the game where he actually held your hand.

Date after date after date had you grinning from ear to ear when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. Kiss after kiss after kiss had you falling in love with him a little bit more each time you pulled apart and opened your eyes just a second before he did, seeing his face in pure bliss.

When you both finally did admit your love for each other was the day you admitted you had known about Moony long before he told you - which had been on your fourth date on the quidditch pitch, laying on a blanket under the stars.

"I love the stars. Something so far away can still shine that bright." You mumbled, cuddling closer to his warm frame. He was always so warm.

"I don't care much for the night." He admitted, his voice a mumble.

"Remus John Lupin, why on earth do you not like the night? It's so peaceful and breathtaking. The night gives you unlimited possibilities." You had now turned to your side, your elbow propping your head up as you tangled your legs with his.

"You wanna know the truth?" he asked you, which had honestly surprised you. Of course you wanted to know the truth. "Well, why would I want you to lie to me, Rem? Especially about something that you don't care for." Your right hand lifted to run through his hair, fluffing it and leaving it sticking up slightly.

"I don't like the moon." You nodded, showing you were listening to him. "It controls me." He whispered, closing his eyes.

"How does the moon control you?" You knew the answer to your own question, having put two and two together in your fourth year, the night he had swapped prefect duties with the Ravenclaw boy he was just telling you he didn't trust the week before. When you had arrived back in your room, feeling a little hurt at his actions, you looked out your window to see the full moon shining down on the earth, it's glow filling up a bit of the forbidden forest enough for you to see a few creatures running along the sides. A stag, a dog, and a rat? Then you heard it, the long howl filling the quiet. Somehow, you're not sure exactly how, but it all clicked in you faster than you could have blinked.

Prongs - A stag. Padfoot - A dog. Wormtail - A rat. And most importantly, Moony - A werewolf.

You didn't ever bring it up, but with each month, pieces fell right into place. Now, you laid with the man himself, holding his deepest secret in your heart without him even knowing you held it.

"Y/n, as much as I wish I didn't have to tell you this, if I want our relationship to get anywhere, I know I have to." He sighed, his eyes staying closed, refusing to see your reaction. "I'm a werewolf." You let out a fake gasp, your hand leaving his hair to trace one of the scars on his forehead.

"I- I'm sorry." You whispered, your eyes staying on his. "You're sorry you don't wanna date me anymore?" He quizzed you, finally opening his eyes to face you. This caused you to let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. "Rem, why on earth would I not wanna date you anymore?" Your hand moved back to his hair, your nails scratching softly at his scalp. "I could hurt you, y/n." He spoke, his voice soft and full of fear.

"Remus, you've known me for a year now. You could have hurt me any other full moon, what would us dating change? It's not like I'm going to follow you out into the woods when you shift. It's not like I'm going to go out searching for you when you are out in your wolf form. It means I'd get to kiss each wound when you come back. It means I'd get to hold you in my arms and read to you every once in a while. It means I'd get to go on cute dates and make you bake with me in the kitchens. You being a wolf doesn't change anything." You shrugged nonchalantly, smiling up at him.

That night, Remus kissed you. He kissed you almost a thousand times. He kissed you so much that, when you woke up the next morning, your lips were still swollen.

After you and Remus had really been a couple for a while, you had realized how much he loved to sniff you. You didn't know if it was the Remus in him, or the Moony in him, but it didn't really bother you. You loved smelling him, why would it be so weird if he smelled you? If you were cuddling, his nose would burry in your hair, or your neck, or your chest, and he'd slowly inhale your scent to calm himself down.

If you were walking down the hallways, he bring your intertwined hands to lay a soft kiss on it before inhaling your scent, kissing it once more, then bringing them back down to sway as you walked.

If he had a horrible day, a bad full moon, or just felt off, he'd search the entire grounds until he found you, look your right in your eyes as he walked right to you, grab you by your waist, and pull you into him to hug you as tightly as he could, inhaling your intoxicating scent for himself.

This had caused you to start leaving a piece of your clothing in the bag they took with them when he turned, so he'd have something with him he could smell that reminded him of you. You were never sure if it helped or not, you never asked him and he never brought it up, but it gave you a sense of comfort each full moon.

But now, standing in front of the wolf himself, watching as his snout lifted into the air and took a deep inhale, well, it didn't exactly comfort you.

Which is why, with your eyes set on him, you reached down and into your boot, gripping onto the end of your wand, before pulling up and sending out two purple balls of light, each of them shooting into both of the houses around you.

This hadn't fazed him, for his eyes were still set on you, as he took a step closer. Before you had time to react, a dog had shot infront of you, growling at the creature before you. Right as he stepped, Moony bent down and growled at Sirius, but his a tone deeper and dripping with a warning.

It must have surprised Sirius, for he whimpered and stepped backwards, closer to your frame, which didn't help his case for Moony then snapped at him, stepping closer to him.

"Sirius, get behind Y/n." Your grandfather had stepped out his face door in a rush, his eyes taking in the scene before him. "Sirius, get behind Y/n and get into the house." Sirius whined at the older man, not wanting to leave you alone.

"Lily is in labor." You called to the man, watching him nod. "Sirius, if you run six blocks east, there is a small cottage. It's blue with white shutters on the left side. That's the healer closest to us. She'll come." This got Sirius to move, quickly rushing out of the gated yards.

"Now, y/n, he's not going to hurt you. I've only ever seen this once, but he recognizes your scent and the scent of your kids. It's kinda like he's sensing a mate with you because of your kids. Just stay calm. I'm surprised he hasn't already tackled you to the ground. Just, slowly sit down and let him come to you."

The last thing you expected of this night was the situation at hand, but now, you were sitting on the cold rocks, slightly shivering, your best friend in labor in the house behind you, watching your financé (?) slowly walk towards you, almost like Moony was afraid to frighten you.

He leaned down on all fours before he lowered his head into your lap, inhaling your scent deeply before letting it rest fully on your legs. His nose rested right at your belly bump, rubbing it slightly on your clothed stomach before letting out a sigh of relief.

You looked up at your grandfather, seeing him watching you intently. "Don't move, not that he'll let you. I will bring out a few pillows and a blanket for you. I'll make sure the healer helps Lily." You nodded, your eyes now moving to look down at Moony.

You hadn't ever seen him in his wolf state, but he somehow still looked handsome. His eyes were now closed, his body relaxed as he soaked in your scent.

"What do you mean, you're not joining the Order?" Remus yelled at you, his face red with fury. There were very few times Remus was this angry with you, usually when you had been neglecting yourself of necessities. But, this time, he was raging in fury with your absolute denial to join the war.

"Remus, I'm just saying I'm not going to go out and fight! Molly doesn't! I'm going to stay back and help where I'm needed. There are tons of you going to fight, I'm staying back to take care of everyone that doesn't go on the missions! What do you want from me?! I wasn't good at defensive spells, I wasn't good at duels! Do you want me to go out there and fucking die?" This caused him to quiet down, your fury having grown substantially.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, allowing you both to calm down. "I don't want you to die. I would kill myself if you ended up dying on one of the missions." Remus' voice was soft and full of fear now. "Then why do you want me to go out there and fight, Rem? You are the one that saw me up past midnight trying to learn the defensive spells so often. You're the one I made duel with me night after night to try to improve. You of all people know that I couldn't properly protect myself or anyone else if I went."

He nodded, hating to admit that you were right. He had even told you, seventh year, "Baby, I love you, but you're definitely not getting your excellent mark on this. You'll pass, but barely." You had been much more skilled in potions and herbology, not in the defensive skills.

"I just, I can't stand the idea of you being back home if the order gets attacked. I know that's stupid, I know that's irrational, it's much more dangerous to actually be out there, I'm just scared." It hurt your heart to hear him admit how scared he was, but, you all were scared. You were growing up in a war that shouldn't be yours to fight.

"Remus, while I stink at my defensive skills, have you seen Molly Weasley? The woman survives on defensive skills, all her kids figuring out how to moderately work their magic. I think I'm safer with her than with you." This caused him to break into a small smile, but wrap you up tightly in his arms. "You're not safer with anyone else but me. I'd murder Voldemort himself before he touched you." You gasped at the use of his name, turning to eye the love of your life. "You said his name." You whispered, your eyes wide. "Well, I'd use his name to his face if it kept you out of harm's way."

You had dozed off a bit, your head laying back on the pillow Sirius had brought you, having gawked at the wolf fast asleep in your hold. "We always knew your scent calmed him, it always did when you gave him some of your clothes, but this? I'd never thought I'd live to see the day Moony didn't try to attack whoever was in front of him."

You had only been awoken by James, tapping on your shoulder. You jerked awake, seeing Moony still asleep in your hold. "Lily had the baby, a girl. They're both up in our room, but she wanted me to come tell you and check up on you." He eyed Moony warily, fear still evident in his body, worried the wolf would awake and tear you to shreds. "I'm so glad. Did everything go okay?" Your voice was a whisper, not wanting to wake the wolf either.

"Yeah, the healer said she did great. Hardly needed the help." James sat down beside you, but scooted a foot away from you when Moony growled in his sleep, the foreign scent mixing with yours. "It's weird, seeing him like this. All the nights we were out there with him, trying to keep him from tearing into Hogwarts and keep him away from you when it's apparently all he needed." James shook his head, attempting to remove the shock from his head.

"I don't think he needs me anymore." You whispered. While it hurt you to say, you honestly believed it. The man let you leave without a sliver of doubt. He watched you walk out of the home you built together, taking his kids with you.

"Y/n, he searched the world until he found you, of course he needs you." James didn't say anything about you needing to forgive him, about you needing to hear him out, because he didn't think Remus deserved that. He just knew that Remus did need you. "He should be shifting back soon. I brought out some of his clothes I found in your stuff." He gestured to the pile of clothes beside the both of you before standing up.

"When you guys get inside, Lily would love for you to come in and meet her." You smiled at that, nodding. "It would be my honor."

You laid back down, listening to the morning sounds slowly begin, until you felt the movement under you, watching for your own eyes as Remus shifted back into himself. He groaned, the pain filling his frame once more within 12 hours, the sounds of his groans bringing tears to your eyes.

Once he was fully to himself, his eyes opened and met yours, widening. "What?" He asked softly, his gaze not leaving yours. You reached over, grabbing the clothes brought out for him before dropping them on his chest. He sat up without another word, removing his body from yours and beginning to get dressed.

He stood, pulling the boxers and pants on as you stood yourself. You grabbed the pillows and blankets, waiting until he began to pull on the sweater before rushing inside, hoping to escape the looming conversation.

You set the things down in the living room before slowly creeping up the stairs and towards the room with Lily and James, hearing a soft and small cry emitting from it. You knocked softly, hearing the "come in" before you creaked open the door. "Hey you four." You whispered, seeing Harry fast asleep on James' chest.

"Y/n, thank Merlin." Lily spoke, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of you. "I was so worried. I didn't know what happened." You smiled, walking closer to the woman. "It's all okay, it's a long story, but it's all okay." You walked closer until you were at the edge of the bed, looking down at Lily and the beautiful baby girl.

"Take her." Lily whispered, looking up at you. "What?" you asked, your eyes wide. "You're gonna need the practice, take her." You nodded, slowly grabbing the baby from Lily, coddling her to your chest.

"Y/n!" You heard Remus call before turning into the room, staring at you holding the baby. "You had her?" Remus now asked Lily, smiling widely. "Mhm, last night. Looks like two people decided to make an entrance." Lily laughed, smiling at you.

"She's beautiful." You whispered, your eyes having stayed on the baby in yours arms. "What's her name?" You looked down at Lily, now seeing James awake and looking at you. "Well, we wanted to confirm with you, but we wanted to name her Harley y/m/n Potter." You gasped softly, looking down at the two parents.

"Are you sure?" They both nodded before you finished speaking, "More than sure." Your tears fell freely as you looked down at the baby, seeing her now asleep in your warm hold. "I'd be honored."

Remus had now walked to you, standing behind you as he looked down, his eyes set on you holding the baby girl, pregnant with his own kids. His gaze moved to the ceiling, holding in tears before he glanced at the bed, seeing James glaring daggers into his frame.

"Here, I'm gonna go freshen up. She's absolutely beautiful, guys." You carefully handed Harley back to her mom before quickly walking out of their room, but stopping a few steps away to hear James speak.

"Fucking prat, there the fuck you are! Where have you been?!" His voice was harsh, angry at his best mate. "Looking for her, what else! The second she left Molly's, I've been looking!" Remus' voice was scratchy like it was every morning after a turn.

"Yeah, well, you're a dick." Lily spoke up, still looking down at her baby girl. "I still think Sirius should have punched you harder." Remus nodded, looking at the floor.

"I can't believe I said that to her, guys. What the fuck kind of person am I?" His voice was growing rougher, his eyes swelling with tears. "Don't go on about this with us, mate. You're in the same house as her, go tell her." That caused you to walk off quickly, moving to your room, shutting the door and leaning against it.

Your hands wrapped around your belly, bringing you back to the day you apparated out of Molly's living room, having held your stomach the same way, protecting your children. What on earth do you say to him? What did you want from him?

You weren't sure what the answer was to either of those questions, which is why you quickly left your room and slipped into the bathroom. He couldn't talk to you if you were in the shower. You confirmed you had your bathroom items before jumping into the shower, taking the longest shower you had ever taken in your life.

While you stood, shampoo in your hair, you thought.

What if he still doesn't want them? I'd have to stay here. I'd move in fully and live in Texas. Texas, really? It's so fucking hot and I'd miss snow. Then I'd move in with Molly. Nope, no way, there are already 7 kids there, she does not need two more. Then, James and Lily? Nope. She just had another newborn, there was no way you'd bug them with this. Sirius. That's where you'd go. He had tons of space and you're sure he'd be more than okay with you there.

But, what if he changed his mind? What if he did want them? How could you trust that? How could you possibly believe he'd want them after immediately suggesting they be gotten rid of?

As you applied the conditioner, you wished you could just go back to the easier things. The happier things. The things that had you almost thinking you lived in a world not plagued with pending war.

Five years after graduation. You were sitting in Remus' lap at James and Lily's place, still getting used to Peter not being around. Harry now being two had you all more than happy, listening to his vocabulary grow.

The football game was on, the muggle TV playing as Lily still attempted to explain it to Sirius and James. Remus had his arms around you, his gaze no longer on the TV, but on Harry as he played on the floor with his stuffed dragon. "I can't believe you got him a muggle toy." He laughed in your ear, the smile evident on his face. "Well, he loves Dragons! I couldn't not buy it." You smiled at your boyfriend, kissing his nose softly. The night carried on, the five of you playing a few games of sharades, but you exiting the room to grab the next plate of sliders to bring into the room.

As you sat back down, Harry walked up to you, sat in your lap, and grabbed your face. "Mawwy me." He giggled softly, your eyebrows furrowing as Lily quickly yanked him from your lap, nervously chuckling. "Hah, sorry, don't know where that came from" You looked around the room, all four faces refusing to look at you, all of them nervously laughing along with Lily.

"Did Harry just ask me to marry him?" You watched as they glanced around nervously before breaking out, talking over each other. "What, psh, no way." "Where would he have learned how to do that?" "I didn't hear that, did you hear that?" "No, but I did." All talked stopped, everyone looking at Remus. "What did you just say?"

Remus took a deep breath, moving off the couch and turning to look at you, before bending down onto one knee. "I've been talking to them a lot about how I was going to ask you, but seeing as how Harry beat me to the punch, let's do it right now. Y/n, right in front of our friends and a little boy who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut." James tickled Harry, causing him to giggle as you all smiled. "I'm asking the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my entire life, the girl who showed me that being something you can't control doesn't make you a monster, the girl who makes me smile with just a single giggle, to marry me. You have shown me a happiness I thought everyone was faking, a love that I didn't think existed outside of James and Lily and Molly and Arthur, and a kindness I thought had left the world.

"So, in the living room of our best friends, surrounded by food I think Harry might have stuck his fingers in, I ask you to marry me. Make me the happiest man in the world and marry me."

You thought his proposal had been so incredibly beautiful, better than any you ever could have imagined. As you rinsed off the extra shaving cream from your legs, you sighed deeply. How did your love life come to this?

Eventually, you had exited the shower, tying the bathrobe around your bump before opening the bathroom door, walking out and jumping at the sight of Remus sitting on your bed.

"Fuck, you scared me." You clutched your belly, looking at the man. "Oh, shoot, sorry." You pulled the robe tighter, seeing his eyes flutter down to his legs. It hurt your heart to think you needed to cover up from him, but you attempted to cover the large bump behind the robe.

"Let me, uh, let me change really quick." You grabbed your underwear from your dresser before rushing into the closet, shutting the door and dressing in a shirt and a baggier set of overalls, hoping it didn't show your belly too much. When you walked out, Remus was now pacing the floor, his hands gripping his hair tightly.

"Rem, stop, it's fine." you quickly walked to him, pulling his hands from his hair. "I'm glad you're okay." You mumbled the words, taking a step back from him. He inhaled deeply, his eyes shutting.

"I can still smell the change in your scent. Really, Moony can, but I can still tell." You nodded, stepping back once more.

"Y/n, we need to talk." You laughed bitterly, a mix of anger and sadness filling your body. "You think we need to talk, Remus? You think so? You think we should talk about the fact that, the second you got back from being on a mission you could have died on, you yelled at me for something I couldn't control? You think we should talk about the fact that you basically told me to abort our kids? You think we should talk about the fact that you let me walk out of our home without trying to stop me? You think we should talk about that?"

Your hands were shaking in anger, your eyes swelling up with tears. Damn, how much can one person cry? Your hands gripped your own hair now, pulling it in anger. "How can I cry this much? How does this happen?" You shouted in anger, now at yourself. "Fucking hormones!" Your hands fell to your sides, your eyes squeezed shut before your felt yourself in the hold of him.

His scent filled you, filled you up until your body relaxed involuntarily. "'S okay, I'm right here. I'm right here." One hand went up to smooth the hair that you yanked, the other firmly holding you to him. Your hands wrapped around him, grasping onto the fabric of his shirt at his back. "I'm so fucking mad at you, Remus. So fucking mad." Your tears slowed, your eyes closing as you finally felt safe.

He had been your safe place for so long and going without him for this long had kept your body weak. Now, relaxed in his hold, your body begged for decent sleep. You allowed yourself to go limp in his hold, feeling him pick you up bridal style and walk to both to the bed, curling up with you in his arms. "'M right here, love. Right here and I'm not going anywhere." You drifted to sleep, holding him with as much strength as you could as you slept.

~

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[barbenheimer-core]

AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part two — 1.7k words

TURN.

The lights in the shop lowered in their intensity, and Ahyeong gasped, drawing in heavy breaths of air as her limbs finally moved of her own accord, bending low to clutch her knees and balance herself when she slightly stumbled.

"Are you okay?" Wangja the Shop Owner asked, concerned about the sudden change in demeanor.

"I,"— Ahyeong found herself at a loss for words, what was happening to her?— "I don't know."

An abnormal lucid dream, she thought, that was what she was experiencing. One in which she was aware of her made-up fantasy world but couldn't control her speech and actions at times.

It was like the dream itself had a script of its own.

Huh. Maybe that was it. She just had to follow the script.

"Umm... I think I should get going," she mumbled, hoping her hunch was right.

Wangja looked a bit disappointed that he couldn't carry on the conversation, but nodded in agreement. The sleek black car outside that he had spotted while coming in was probably her driver waiting on her.

Suho was still coughing on their way out, and upon the two shooting concerned looks at him he merely ignored them, gaining his composure and zooming past them and into the dimly lit night in his mildly flustered state.

As Ahyeong stepped into the cold night air, she saw her family's personal car, finding Driver Kwon sitting in front of the wheel through the tinted windows.

Her family and acquaintances must be the same as before then.

"Well, do come by often," Wangja said, handing her the copy of Shiver that she had been sifting through previously, and when Ahyeong looked at him confusedly, he winked, "as an insurance that you do visit, I'm letting you borrow it. Remember, the shop's policy only lets you borrow items for two weeks. Any more and you'll have to compensate."

The girl tucked the comic under her elbow, amused at his antics as if she'd known him for a long time, and said without thinking, "Does ramyeon work as compensation?"

The shop owner grinned, "Aye, you know me so well. Now go. Your driver is giving me the creeps with his glare."

Ahyeong chuckled at that. Driver Kwon was rather overprotective over the Song siblings and got suspicious of anyone who got within six feet of them, even the people the two kids had explicitly stated were their friends.

Bidding Wangja goodbye, Ahyeong slipped into the leather seats of the car, fastening the seatbelt around herself as was the clearly stated rule by the person in front of her who turned the key as soon as she got in, revving the engine before taking off into the night and to, presumably, her home.

Ahyeong paused at the front door, looking at the front lawn with puzzled eyes.

Why did it look even more extravagant than it was on a usual day?

The flowers were in full bloom despite spring having passed months ago, the garden lights were still switched on, illuminating the finely-trimmed shrubs and foliage, and the cars were displayed out in the open instead of being in the garage.

It was as if someone was trying to make a drawing of a picturesque rich household, perfect in every aspect with next to no flaws in its design.

The mahogany doors opened abruptly, halting her thoughts, and the housemaid, Eunjung, hurriedly ushered her in, putting slippers in front of the girl's feet as she toed her shoes off.

"Why were you out so late? It's past curfew. Thank goodness Mrs. Song hasn't returned from work yet, or you would've been in trouble," she fussed.

Trouble with her mother? That was odd. That never happened because Ahyeong usually informed Eunjung of where she was going, and her mother didn't really mind if she was out past curfew as long as she had alerted someone of coming in late.

"I'll prepare your dinner while you wash up. Do you want to eat at the table or should I bring it to your room upstairs?"

"My room, if it's not too much trouble."

Eunjung waved her hands, dismissing her, and scurried off to the kitchen while Ahyeong headed up the stairs to the West Wing of the house where her bedroom resided.

Contrary to what she thought, her room had not been what she expected.

It was littered with cardboard boxes and suitcases, most of them unpacked and organized but there still being enough to do that the floor looked messy.

Ahyeong remembered her involuntary words back at Prince Comics.

So her family moved to Seoul in this dream?

From where though? She's never lived anywhere else other than this city.

Oh well, too bad. There was no use dwelling on it. Her dream would end as soon as she would go to sleep and wake up anyway.

But her nagging mind urged her to clean her room up, and despite knowing that her efforts may be in vain she obliged, and by the end of the hour, her room looked just as it had been in real life.

Setting her towel by the bathroom rack to dry, Ahyeong sat down in front of her desk in her pajamas, where the maid had spread out a variety of steaming dishes on fine china while she had been tidying up.

Leave it to Eunjung to make mouth-watering food for any time of the day.

Just as she raised her spoon to eat the seaweed soup, her door swung open.

Gilyeong stood by the threshold, racing to her and shoving his phone in her face, a rather horrible picture of a mangled body on its screen.

"What the-" Ahyeong dropped her utensils with a clang, pushing the device away from her face with a disgusted expression and glaring at her brother, who giggled mischievously, "I'm trying to eat, you gremlin. Don't make me lose my appetite."

"It's payback for the time you showed me a clip of a gutted person when I was trying to eat pat-bingsu. Now get a taste of your own medicine, grinch," Gilyeong laughed evilly, shoving his phone into Ahyeong's eyesight as she tried to stop him from ruining her eyes in front of her food.

Even in dreams, her brother was as nasty as they came.

"You evil little-" Ahyeong wrestled the phone out of his hands, making the younger Song frown and whine at her to give it back to him, and got an idea as she glanced at the shelf on top of her desk.

"If you promise to behave yourself this week, I'll let you borrow that," she said, pointing at the Junji Ito comic that Wangja had let her borrow.

Gilyeong looked up, and his eyes glimmered in anticipation as he jumped up to grab it from the shelf.

"Woah, where did you get this from?" He exclaimed as he started to peruse the pages, "It was out of stock in every bookstore I dragged you to."

"I got it from a hippie who starred in a drama," she smirked at her brother's puzzled face , "so, do we have a deal?"

She raised her hands as she said so.

Her brother looked up at her suspiciously, eyes narrowed in contemplation, then nodded briefly, "deal."

He raised his palms, meeting Ahyeong's halfway as they did their Handshake of Temporary Truce.

Yes, they had different handshakes for a whole list of situations.

"But you still have to pay up for your flinches from yesterday and now," he drawled while walking out of her room.

Wait, yesterday?

"What do you mean the flinch from yesterday?"

Gilyeong stopped midway and turned around, confused.

"Don't tell me you've been getting amnesia too. We were at the restaurant yesterday with Mum and Dad's investors, remember?"

With that ominous comment, he stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

Sunlight peeked through the half-open blinds, beaming on Ahyeong's face as she woke up and looked around her room, same as ever.

What a crazy dream.

She remembered it as clear as day.

But it was over and done with, and she was in reality now.

For a moment she pondered how she had gotten into her bed, but then trashed the thought. One of her parents had probably carried her here when she had fallen into a deep sleep in the lobby of the restaurant.

She got up, picking up her phone to look at the day and time.

It was around 8 on a Sunday morning, and Ahyeong yawned, kicking off her blanket to freshen up. She woke up too early for a weekend.

Deciding to explore the city for the day, she changed into a button-up and denim trousers, picking up a set of Doc Martens on her way out for breakfast.

"What's new this mornin', gremlin," she greeted Gilyeong while running down the stairs, who sat by the couch reading something, its cover blocked out of her eyesight.

She slightly tripped on the last two steps and hit her knee on the railing, hissing in pain and lightly hopping towards the dining table.

"Good morning, Eunjung-ssi," Ahyeong smiled through her discomfort at the maid, in complete contrast to the way she greeted her brother, and he scowled at her from his spot but didn't say anything.

Eunjung rolled her eyes in good nature at the sibling's antics, all too used to it, "Good morning to you too."

She set down two servings of rice, soup, and a variety of side dishes for breakfast, and the siblings came to sit at the dining table.

As Ahyeong scooped up a spoonful of rice, she saw Gilyeong putting down his book, finally spotting its cover.

She paused.

"Hey, dongsaeng, how did you get that?" She said as she pointed at the copy of Shiver.

The young Song stopped eating, pointing a fake grin at her.

"From the grinch who got it from a hippie who starred in a drama."

This was not a dream.

masterlist

© 2021 Alfia Sheikh, All Rights Reserved

[creativeashproductions]

Shattered Hearts // Luke Patterson

Summary: The teenage years are supposed to the best time of life but not when fate has other plans for Sunset Curve. Not feeling well reader stays home while Luke prepares for the performance of his life at The Orpheum. Shit hits the fan hard and the fallout ensues.

Warnings: Swearing, death, hospital, cancer (type is not detailed) angst, and fluff.

Words: 2.3k

Requested: @lolychu​

A/N: I didn’t go into detail about the kind of cancer because I didn’t want to, I want it to be as general as it could. I’ve never gone through it or had someone close go through it so it could be wrong and I apologize for that. Broken heart syndrome is REAL by the way.

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1995

There are articles of some medical mysteries that can’t fully be scientifically explained, such as when someone dies in excellent health following the death of a loved one. The scientific term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, but the world knows it merely by Broken Heart Syndrome. It was a day that was supposed to be the greatest of your teenage years, but the day couldn’t have gone any worse.

First, you woke up with an incredibly high fever and newfound bruises. Pain in a wrist out of nowhere but you wrote it off. You had plans, and illness wasn’t scheduled for the day. Your boyfriend and his band had gotten their big break, well their almost big break. Today was the day Sunset Curve would perform at The Orpheum, and you were gonna be backstage cheering them on.

Luke made his appearance at your house in the morning before early rehearsal, and you managed to convince him you were feeling okay. He went on to their studio, and your mother drove you to the hospital in fear.

Life was an asshole. While you waited for test results pale against the hospital sheets, an ambulance rolled in. Carrying three bodies that would go to the morgue for positive confirmation of death. You wouldn’t know for a full day, Luke’s parents too grief-stricken to call you and that’s okay. 

“Mom?” You asked as her form caved in on the floor near your hospital bed, “Mom!”

Her eyes filled with so much pain brought you fear and concern. With a struggle, she came closer to hold your hand tightly and spoke brokenly the fate that would snatch you.

“Baby, you don’t have the flu.”

“That’s good? So just meds and we can go home?” You asked heart clenching as her eyes closed tight and you knew whatever the doctor had told her after pulling her out of the room wasn’t good.

Couldn’t be good with the slump in her shoulders, the pain in her eyes and the guilt coating her every word. Mom wasn’t a housewife; she wasn’t a flower in need of protection, but she never kept something from you. Always said it straight and as it is.

“Sweetheart, they’re gonna move you to another ward.” You knew deep in your heart the news had to be the worst because Mom wasn’t telling you the whole story. Finally, she broke down, “The doctors got the results back as soon as they could. The fever, the bruises, and the broken wrist have a reason. You have cancer.”

Cancer. A word that sealed your fate. It left you reeling in shock. It shattered your dream with just one single name. Couldn’t be seen but made its presence known. The coming hour was spent with the specialist detailing the type and a tentative treatment plan he wanted to initiate immediately.

A nurse escorted your mother out as the orderlies and nurses prepped you to be moved to a new room. Knowing you were in good hands, your mom walked to the main doors for fresh air only to be astounded at the sight of Mitch and Emily Patterson. Equally shocked, they came together.

“Emily?” Your mom spoke, looking carefully at the parents of your boyfriend. She wondered how the Patterson’s had found out, “Did someone call you?”

“No.” Emily spoke with a numb voice. Your mom took a step back, understanding that one could only react that way for one thing. Something had happened to the Patterson teenager.

 “Luke isn’t here, is he?” Your mom asked, turning to look up at the tall building of the hospital, “Y/N, hasn’t had a phone. She only found out, but Luke hasn’t been with you-“

“The cops came,” Mitch spoke tucking his upset wife into his arms. He was equally as grief-stricken and bitter, but he had to be calm for his wife. They wouldn’t get anywhere if one of them couldn’t get answers.

Your mom gasped, “No.”

“I always knew that band-“Emily’s own sob cut her words off as her knees threatened to buckle. Your mom helped lead Emily into the emergency room before she jogged off to join you but not before turning to the Patterson parents.

“We’ll meet up. Discuss why we’re all here.” 

Being told you had cancer and then informed your boyfriend died all in one night was the most painful thing you had to live through. It was weeks of screaming, invasive procedures and therapy sessions. Your father came from his business trip to Dubai as soon as he could and didn’t leave your side.

A painful six months rolled with cancer stealing your hopes and a fucking bad hotdog taking your dreams away. Nothing made you curious. Nothing felt worth living for.

Not the realistic watercolour tattoo your parents let you get of Luke’s blue guitar you loved so much. It seemed to have a terminally sick child made it practically impossible to say no to, so you got a tattoo of your favourite lyrics of Sunset Curve.

In pretty font, it said ‘When all the days felt black and white. Those were the best shades of my life’ just like it said in Now or Never. One of your favourite songs, you got the privilege of watching Luke create.

“Mom, can I have a popsicle?” You asked from your bed. Eyes barely open as she nodded off her chair, “My mouth is dry.”

“Of course.” She nodded, leaving the room with a kiss on your forehead. Both of you mumbling I love you just in case. You felt like your clock was close to the end, so every word had meaning.

It was a good day so far; you hadn’t had to press for more pain medication like the last couple of weeks. You had managed to turn to stare out the window at the pretty sky. Your eyes fluttered shut completely content that this was it.

Your mom returned to a room with doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate you with your father screaming. No one could figure out if it was the cancer or the broken heart syndrome that killed you first. Your death was a double blow to Luke’s parents the most, along with Reggie and Alex’s own parents. 

Los Angeles, 2020

So much had changed since you died in 1995. Phones had changed, and buildings were torn down. You changed as well too. In relief physically, you had changed from the gaunt, skinny, pale patient to the girl you had been before the diagnosis.

Your hair now looked as healthy as it had been before you had cancer and you weren’t gaunt looking. You were looked just like you did a few months before you got diagnosed and you hoped so since you were dead. It would have sucked to be dead and beyond ugly.

“Do you think she went on to have a family?”

You kept your attention on the waves crashing the beach content to watch the waves doing the same movement they had since the beginning. You paid no attention to the group walking by. Not until one tripped over you landing in an awkward heap.

“Ouch!” The voice hissed. Your eyes flicked down to Reginald fucking Hastings’s blue eyes in pure shock. You scrambled away from the teenager with a sharp scream that pierced the ghoul group.

“Jesus.” You grumbled pushing the little sand that had stuck somehow to your body made of air.

“Oh my god. I think I just summoned Luke’s girlfriend.” Reggie hissed towards the equally astounded members of former Sunset Curve and current Julie and the Phantoms bandmates.

“No, you idiot we’re dead.” You spoke, taking a deep breath in, “After not seeing you for five years I thought you passed on. I’ve been travelling around America and Canada. Something felt like I needed to come home.”

“When did you die?” Alex questioned sadly when you were quiet. His sad blue eyes unable to leave your expressive face, he hoped somehow you had lived to your 90s and died to come back youthful.

“It’s wasn’t harm-“

“No, Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever positively know what happened, but the night you guys died my life ended as well.” You revealed sitting back, letting the three boys join you for an intriguing story to them. Luke wasn’t hesitant in grasping your hand in his, “Funny enough your bodies were being unloaded in the morgue while I was being told by my Mom, I had cancer. The battle was hard but short.”

“Cancer?”

“Our love story was destined to be tragic, whether it be cancer or a hotdog.” You told the teenage guitarist to experience in the afterlife to be gentle about it. The three boys flinched from the indifference, “Have you visited your parents yet? My parents are home for a few weeks.”

“My neighbourhood was torn down. Alex doesn’t know about his and-“ 

“-I’ve seen my folks once so far.” Luke finished playing with your fingers, “You say our love story was tragic, I say it would be tragic if we hadn’t had the chance in life that we did.”

You nodded your head, “Where have you guys been?”

All three boys took their chaotic turn in describing their last meal to Reggie tripping over you with the belief of walking through you. They were in a band with a lifer who made them visible to the public when playing music together. You told them that your parents would choose a destination from your dream travel journal; you would follow them on the adventures.

Slowly you met Julie who put up a distance as she acclimated to having the girlfriend of her crush around always. Julie couldn’t help the feeling of jealously when Luke focused on the teen ghost girl. She couldn’t even hate you! You were so lovely and welcoming to the girl with respect for boundaries, in fact, you were exactly the girl she would have been friends with. Julie loved Flynn, but she could be over the top and dramatic sometimes.

“Good rehearsal. I’ll meet you outside.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You nodded before walking through the white, painted barn doors.

Everything put away properly; Luke was quick to meet up with his girlfriend for their date. Alex noticed the stare by Julie. He had seen it for the past few weeks since you were introduced to the passionate musician with a beautiful voice.

“I’m really sorry, Julie.” Alex softly told the sad Puerto Rican girl yearning to hug the teenager but alas his ghostly body couldn’t allow it.

“Did I have an honest chance before she came back?” Julie asked. Her doe brown eyes bringing Reggie’s attention to the conversation at hand. 

“No.” Reggie answered this time solemn with his blue eyes holding no mirth or childlike glee, “Luke’s been in love with her for years. She’s his all or nothing.”

“I didn’t have a chance between them, and I don’t want you between them either. It’s not a nice place to be even if I was mutually breaking up with his as well.” Alex soothed the live girl yearning to physically comfort her but alas that damn hotdog ruined everything.

“Luke also said when the first big payment came, he would marry her. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Reggie unintentionally rubbed the salt in Julie’s wound on the topic of her tragic love story.

Julie learnt to deal with the pain of seeing Luke, so in love and happier than before you had reconnected. In her fashion, she had hidden a new box for her thoughts that was so well hidden the boys would never find it. It was filled with papers that progressively got less romance angst.

“I’m just saying,” Alex spoke, raising his hands in the air after another one of Luke’s emotional rants on the loss of things in death. Such as marrying you.

“Dude, we’re dead, and our ghost connections happen to either be our band, Willie or a very questionable sketchy vintage magician.” Luke snapped slouching on his couch sulking as you were spending time with your family no matter how oblivious they were to your presence.

“I’m ordained.” Willie supplied sitting next to the blonde drummer who had easily swayed from Caleb to the good side again. At the group’s looks of disbelief, he continued, “I was bored! Took some art classes too. It won’t be the average wedding, but you could still call each other spouse.”

“I can check local clubs for wedding dresses. Flynn can easily put together music and Alex can find a venue.” Julie piped up, avoiding the sympathetic look from Reggie, who still thought the teenager had feelings for his bandmate. She no longer did. 

“You can use one of your rings on a chain as well. Maybe hold off on getting a ring until we get money from the band.” Reggie gave his input, earning himself a proud expression from Alex; an expression the drummer rarely was able to give his friend.

“I guess I’m proposing.” Luke beamed already thinking of ways to make his proposal special, not like being ghosts wasn’t already impressive enough. 

It wasn’t the ideal wedding, but it honestly didn’t matter as long as the two of you were able to vow yourself to each other. It no longer mattered on the details other than you two.

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[hawkinsindiana]

i don’t want you to worry

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER ONE OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: six months later, here’s part three! i’m not gonna lie to y’all, i have no idea how many chapters there are gonna be or if it’ll get updated regularly, but fuck it. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and figured we could use a bit of levity! thank you for your patience! hope you enjoy! lmao i didn’t feel like making a gif pls forgive me

masterlist

Fog is hovering just above the ground; you can practically feel how thick and wet it is against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck all stand as a gust of wind flows through the air - the freezing temperature makes you shiver.

The ground is wet, squelching underneath your sneakers as you move forward, still uncertain of where you are; the environment’s been completely coated in the dense fog. When your surroundings finally begin to clear a bit, your heart starts to race in fear once you recognize where you are. 

It’s the junkyard.

“Stay close, yeah?” 

The voice sounds like it’s right inside your ear, but at least he’s here - you’d recognize him anywhere.

Steve’s to your left, bat slung effortlessly over his shoulder, and his presence helps calm your nerves. You won’t have to face this alone. 

You want to thank him before the situation gets any worse, but your mouth won’t cooperate. All you’re able to reply with is a nod. 

Suddenly, the palm of your hand feels heavy with the weight of your weapon; Steve presses on, moving through the space to approach the threat that lurks beyond. A form begins to take shape behind the grey clouds, hunched down on all fours as it stalks towards your position. Your fingers tense as you prepare to fight and adrenaline begins to overtake you, until the silhouette rises onto two legs. It’s not supernatural, it’s human. 

You want to call out to Steve, tell him to fall back because it’s too dangerous but your voice still doesn’t work - you can’t warn him what’s coming. The soles of your shoes dig into the ground as you run to catch up with him, fingers extended out to grab and yank him away. 

But it’s too late. One moment he’s right there in front of you, the next he’s gone, vanished right before your eyes. You blink.

On the ground, Steve’s in the dirt, blood spilling from his face; Billy Hargrove quickly approaches.

And then, it’s just like that night. You’re unable to move, unable to save him as Steve tries to fight back but Billy’s too quick. His crimson colored fists are tearing skin with each impact until the brunette boy on the ground is lifeless, as if all warmth was drained right from him. Billy’s twisted grin never falters as he relishes in your pain, tears streaming down your face until-

You wake with a gasp, body jolting, hands shaking. 

God, it feels so real, like you’re still there; your nose can smell the disgusting metallic scent from the blood, skin still chilled from the temperature, veins still threaded with adrenaline. 

That was only a dream… right?

As soon as that thought is introduced to your worried mind, you throw off the covers before grabbing the nearest hoodie off the bed post. Tugging it over your head, your bare feet skid across the hardwood floor as you rush to the phone in the living room. 

Your fingers are trembling as you press the buttons of the number; you have to know if he’s okay. You have to confirm it was just a dream.

“Fuck, Steve,” You start to mutter to yourself, counting the rings to attempt to steady your breathing, “Come on, pick up, pick up.” 

The longer it takes, the more nervous you become. The darkness that surrounds you starts to close in, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, the image of him bloodied and lying dead in the dirt haunts you. 

“I swear to Christ - Dustin, if that’s you and those bozos again, I’ll come kick your ass myself,” Steve’s voice, tired and very irritated, comes through the speaker.

“Steve! Oh my god-” The back of your throat starts to burn at the feeling of tears welling up; the relief crashes over you in a wave, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“What? Jesus-” He pauses, his tone softens once he hears it’s you, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s nearly-”

Steve stops again; you reckon it’s to glance at the time.

“Shit, sweetheart it’s nearly two in the morning, what’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, finally realizing that you must’ve awoken him, “Fuck I just-”

The phone is gripped tighter in your hands as you speak, “I really just needed to know that you're okay. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry-“

“No, no it’s okay-”

“But I-”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” Steve’s reassurance helps to slow your pounding heart; he’s okay. He’s safe at home. 

There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

You repeat that to yourself multiple times, whispering it to yourself under your breath. At this point, you think that you’d do anything to forget that night. 

Your back slides down the wall as your body grows exhausted from the severe reaction; Steve’s voice continues through the phone, “Did something happen?”

“I had-” You force a deep breath through your lungs, face scrunching in fear at the memory, “I had a really bad dream, Steve.”

Your arm wraps around your knees to pull them into your chest, forehead coming down to meet them and dig into the soft material of your pants, “I woke up and fuck, I was so scared. I was so scared and all I could think to do was call you. And I’m all alone. I’m all by myself tonight and I hate that I can’t be alone anymore. And I haven’t slept through the night in weeks-”

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I mean - I knew you weren’t sleeping well right after, but Christ it’s been nearly two months!”

You curse at yourself for rambling, words suddenly escaping your mind as you hesitate to respond. With your silence, Steve huffs; you can imagine the disappointment and worry over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite down on your lip before answering, only letting up on the pressure when the taste of blood touches your tongue; you’re ashamed of the answer, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, Steve.”

All you feel is guilt in the moments that follow. Something like this… dreams about him dying in front of your eyes isn’t something that should be kept from him. 

“Hey,” Steve’s soft tone reels you back in, “You call me whenever you have to. I’ll always pick up, okay?”

You exhale as you nod, before remembering that he can’t see your reaction through the phone, “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, anytime. Are you okay?” 

You weave the phone cord between your fingers, “I’m better now. Uh, I’ll let you go then.”

“Okay. Try to get some rest, for my sake,” Steve pleads. You twist the cord tighter, “I will.” 

He sighs at your oath, finally able to relax a bit more, “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if it’s too much. Or if you’re tired… ” 

You hum at his words, head leaning back against the wall. A smile creeps over your lips at his consideration, wishing that you could thank him in person for his words, “No, no let’s do something. It’ll be good for me.” 

He laughs a bit; even with how horrible the quality might be through the receiver, it still makes your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Okay, good. I’ll see you tonight. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try, Steve.”

After wishing him a good night, you place the phone back onto it’s base. Standing up on wobbly legs, a shaky exhale leaves your lungs when your fingers remove themselves from the smooth plastic. The image of him is still there when you blink.

Fuck - you should’ve told him.

—

Three taps against the window pane startle you awake. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up, you check the time - you were only able to finally fall asleep twenty minutes ago. Anxiety starts to creep over the back of your neck - until you see the culprit. 

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself. You can’t help the small smile that erupts over your face at the sight of Steve, fingers nervously drumming on the window sill. His expression relaxes a bit once you come over, and you’re already rolling your eyes as you move to pull it open.

“You know that I’m the only one home, right?” 

Steve nods, not following your logic, “Yeah? And?”

“You could’ve just come to the door, Steve.”

The boy in front of you shifts at your words; his retort stutters as he tries to come up with an excuse, “Okay, alright. But you know, I didn’t want to scare you or anything!”

You step back to cross your arms over your chest, “And coming to my window while I sleep seems a whole lot better to you?”

“Alright whatever, Henderson,” He answers quickly, waving off your tone, “Will you just let me in already?”

You gesture for Steve to enter, laughing quietly to yourself as he does. As soon as he’s crawled his way through the opening, you latch and lock the window closed. He huffs, “You have no idea how thrilled I am that your house only has one floor.”

“Did you drive across the neighborhood just to scare me?” You ignore him, pulling the cord on the lamp by your bedside. The light illuminates the worry on his face.

“No, I just-” Steve pauses as he fiddles with his keys, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I had to know you were okay.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest once again, “Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve’s brow raises at your deflection, “Um, did we not have the same conversation over the phone?”

“We did,” Your answer is laced with a bit of aggression, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here, okay? I’m fine now-”

“But are you?” Steve interrupts. His voice is genuine, soft, and you want to spill everything because he has that look in his eye; you’re not sure you can push him away forever.

“Of course, Steve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve puts more force behind his words - it’s like a demand. He takes a few steps closer, “Please don’t lie to me.”

Hearing Steve plead with you like that makes your heart shatter. It’s killing him to watch you stand before him like this. He’s known you long enough to know when something’s not right, and he’s gotten especially good at reading you over the past few weeks. And by the way your jaw clenches, Steve knows you’re about to crack.

A shaky inhale comes through your lips; you have to tell him something. But how much?

“I just… I don’t want you to worry,” You mutter. Your voice is just above a whisper, although it doesn’t matter; it’s not like there’s anyone home to overhear. You’re scared to admit there’s something wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this for you.

Steve almost laughs. He runs his free hand through his hair, “It’s like, a year too late for that, you know.” 

You sigh, realizing that he’s absolutely right. Of course he should worry, especially with how vague the conversation over the phone was. Letting him in is something that you’ll have to get used to.

Even though you’d been friends for a while, it was always more about him than you. You always wanted to be there for him, if he ever needed anything, how he was doing. It’s something neither of you understood was happening until your relationship became more; it was no one’s fault. 

All of a sudden, Steve realized just how much you’ve done for him - he’s wanted to return the favor. And this… is all new to you; you’re not used to someone checking in. 

“Oh god, you’re right,” You mumble under your breath. Your hands come up to cover your eyes in shame as you continue, “I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Witnessing your sudden change in mood, Steve moves towards you; he sets his keys down on your nightstand as he does. He goes to reach for you, pulling your body into his, “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s fine.”

He wishes he could come up with something better to say. You’ve always been better with words than him. You’re better at a lot of things than him. But he’s trying - he’s trying to be better to be worthy of you.

Your arms wrap tightly around him once Steve’s pressed against you. He smells like freshly washed cotton, like pulling sheets from the dryer when they’re still warm.

It’s all so overwhelming, it makes you want to cry. You feel like you should, but the familiar burn behind your eyes never comes. Instead, you resume speaking.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, wanting to give him a reason - he deserves one.

Your fist knots the fabric of his tee; Steve’s palm slides up over your back, “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help. I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Sometimes it’s okay,” Steve’s reply is muffled by your hair. He ponders what to add, lips pressed into a firm line as he thinks, “Sometimes you gotta do stuff on your own and sometimes you need somebody else. That’s just how life works.”

Your chest heaves as you sigh at the weight of his words, this moment cements a single fact inside your brain - you won’t plan on hiding anything from him.

Well, except for that one thing. You’re still not ready to admit that to him yet. 

You wish that pulling away didn’t mean losing his warmth; but his gentle eyes meeting yours mimics a feeling like it that fills your chest. 

“You can lean on me, you know,” Steve says, and the smile that was already pulling at your lips widens even farther. And then he nudges you - his mouth curls into that stupid smirk of his, “However you want.”

You crack a laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Yes, I know. Sometimes I just need a little reminder."

Suddenly, you remember just how lucky you are to have him. How fortunate you are to have him there to brighten your darkest moments, even if he’s sometimes battling his own demons at the same time. 

“Thank you,” You say, bringing your gaze back to meet Steve’s again. He nods slightly, tone genuine and soft as he answers, “Of course. Anytime.”

The pads of your fingers graze over his cheekbone before tucking a strand of brunette hair behind his ear; Steve shivers a bit at the gentle touch before you meet his lips in a kiss.

He still gets a bit nervous each time, only because this feels so much more different than the others. The level of comfort and security he feels when you’re in the room was never there before he met you. Like really met you.

And you - well, you’re still so overwhelmed that you finally, after all that time, get to be with the one you love - you feel like you could jump out of your skin with joy. You’ve treasured every single moment, because it’s never been lost on you how it all could be taken away in an instant.

The brilliant grin you two share after pulling away shakes it all from your mind. Your fingers move to grip his hands in yours; you just like being able to do it, even if it is in the privacy of your own bedroom.

But then that feeling settles in your stomach, the one that doesn’t go away until morning. The dread that something’s going to happen. Steve can sense your growing anxiety - it’s almost like the air surrounding you changes. Leaving you now, something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

“I’ll uh, stay if you want.”

He mentions the idea quietly because, well, you’re not officially together. But to be fair, he hasn’t asked - but neither have you. Even though your hands are still in his, pressing into his skin, Steve finds it important to ask and make sure you’re on the same page.

You can’t lie - the idea of Steve spending the night makes you a little nervous. Although, knowing that you’re safe with each other might just be the push you need to relax. And with that thought, you’re stepping away from him, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

The doorknob is so cold against your skin as you exit to grab an extra pillow from the closet in the hallway. The darkness of the living room seems to go on forever; it almost feels like something’s creeping up your neck once your back is turned to it.

After quickly shutting the door once you’re back inside, you turn around to see Steve, perched silently on top of your comforter - his presence warms the entire room, bringing life and love into it.

He hasn’t spent that much time in this space; he’s trying to take everything in, because it’s very reflective of you. There are neat piles of VHS tapes and comics on top of the dresser, a closet dominated with dark colors and sneakers, and some of your well worn denim tossed over the desk chair.

But his eye catches on a stack of photographs on the desk’s surface, and he’s halfway across the room before you can interject. You clutch the pillow a little tighter to your chest as Steve flips through them, laughing at one of you and Dustin from a few years ago at Christmas wearing matching pajamas.

He spins to show it to you, “I’m never gonna let him live this down.”

You approach his side when he finds another one of you as a child, playing with a cake battered spatula in your previous house. Baby curls framed your face, and your eyes were wide with adventure and wonder, “Holy shit, look at you!”

“I don’t know why I remember that day so much,” You mutter.

Steve’s silence pushes you to continue, “It was Mom’s birthday, and my grandparents baked her a cake - double chocolate I think. I wasn’t tall enough to reach but I wanted to help so badly. So they sat me on top of the counter and let me mix everything. They even let me tell her that I made it.”

You laugh quietly before the memory turns cold in your mind, and your wistful smile turns to a slight frown, “I haven’t seen them since we moved here.”

Steve isn’t even looking at the picture anymore. He listened to every word that left your mouth; you don’t speak much about the rest of your family. Instead of trying to probe further, he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, a gentle and silent reminder of his support.

This feels strange. Opening up to him like that, making yourself that vulnerable - that’s a level of intimacy you haven’t explored quite yet. At least not with him… or anyone really.

Thankfully, it hasn’t seemed to scare him off. If anything, Steve’s more relaxed. He likes knowing how you feel.

Steve flips through the others while you rest your chin on his shoulder, your eyes intently watch his reaction to each one - you think you could stay in this moment forever.

And then he comes across one - an image of you and the kids on Halloween a few years back all dressed like Jedi. He pauses on it, “When do you think we should tell them?”

A sharp inhale comes through your nostrils at his comment; you hadn’t thought about that.

In all your bliss, you had completely forgotten - no one else knows. Not even your brother.

“Oh God, Steve-” You start, removing yourself from him, “I don’t even know how we would do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve replies, turning back to meet your gaze, “We just… tell them. It’s not rocket science.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you answer, clenching the pillow a bit tighter in your grasp, “It’s really not that simple with them, Steve. You know that. And honestly, I still feel like I’m trying to figure out how to do all this.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, knowing just how messy involving the kids could make your relationship, “I’ve kinda liked it just being about us. You know, we’re together because we wanna be, it’s not for anyone else. And trust me, they’ll have so many opinions-”

“So let’s keep it to ourselves then,” Steve interjects, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers, “We’ll tell ‘em when we think it’s right, when we’re sure if this is serious or not.”

You hated keeping your feelings for him a secret. You hated that you were never able to tell him, but this is different. The idea sends a rush of excitement through your veins, you can’t deny it.

He smiles a bit and sets the photos down before continuing, “I know it might be too early to tell, but I feel like this could last, you know.”

You feel blood rise into your cheeks when he looks at you like that - irises filled to the brim with admiration. His hands come up to cup your face as you reply, “Me too.”

Steve leans in to drink a slow kiss from your lips, the kind that leaves you breathless when it’s over.

“Good,” He mutters, earning a small grin from you. Steve takes the pillow out of your grasp, “What do you say we try and get a couple hours of sleep in? I guess Dustin wants to go to the arcade before lunch.”

You laugh, pushing your hair back away from your face as you answer, “I will never be able to get used to that, I’m sorry.”

Steve tosses the pillow onto the empty spot on the mattress while you pull back the comforter. The bed dips as you both settle under the covers; Steve’s arm starts to slide over your waist before stopping abruptly, “Is this okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

The darkness washes over the room after you pull the cord to the lamp; it doesn’t feel as scary with Steve lying behind you. His touch stops your mind from wandering as it so often does - it can’t concoct anything to torment you with.

That being said, the sight from the earlier nightmare does appear behind your eyelids when you blink.

“It was about you,” You mutter, “The dream.”

It’s spoken before you can stop yourself. You instantly regret it, due to the lack of a reply that follows.

But then Steve tugs you closer, and you feel like you could melt against him. He tucks his nose right underneath the base of your hairline, deeply inhaling as you relax into him.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your skin; your fingers curl around his as a quiet thank you.

Steve thinks that this is probably what home is supposed to feel like - warm clothes, the scent of your shampoo, a comfortable silence to lull you both to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, the pair of you have finally found a bit of peace.

—

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