#you ever wanted to know how I beta read? It's this but times 12

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 12

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 11 | Series Masterlist | Part 13

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.7k

Chapter Summary: Bucky gets under your skin when he takes you shopping.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, dirty talk, mild dubcon (kissing, touching), tension, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, gaslighting, manipulation, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and hope you enjoy! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You weren’t sure how much time passed with Bucky’s head resting in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly moving through his hair. While his body relaxed, you remained rigid. You tried to think of positive things. Your upcoming trip to the winery, Addison’s wedding. The images in your mind darkened though as if a cloud loomed over them. In a way, it did because you didn’t know what Bucky had planned for those events. Because even if Bucky really let you go to the winery alone, someone would be watching.

You forced the cloud in your mind to lift. Things could still be positive. You could still have a good day and have the best time with your friends.

“I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work,” you whispered.

“Of course,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your thigh and lifting his head with a smile. The darkness had left his eyes. How long until it returned? “Thank you for calming me down.”

“Of course,” you echoed because what else could you do?

Brushing his pants off once he got to his feet, he helped you up and didn’t let go of your hand. You didn’t attempt to pull away. He made sure to grab the money you left on the table before he paid the server and you tried to give the poor guy a smile when you thanked him. You just wanted to get on with your day.

As Bucky led you out of the cafe and back to the shop, you caught Ray’s gaze as he stood by the car and waited for his boss. Whatever concern he showed for you faded when he blinked. How did he deal with this life? Would he ever walk away from it?

“I’ll pick you up after work then?” Bucky asked.

“Sure,” you said. You didn’t tell him when your shift ended, but he knew, didn’t he? “Thanks for lunch.”

“It was my pleasure, but one more thing.” Bucky stopped you before you could enter the shop. “This regular customer you mentioned earlier. How often does he stop in?”

He asked as if he had no idea and maybe he didn’t in this case. That assumption didn’t ease your worries. “Once a month,” you said, your stomach turning slightly. “Listen, the roses he tried to give to me, I gave them to him first. They were his usual order and I thought it would be nice gesture and I was just-”

His brows pinched a little as his hands gently framed your cheeks. “Kotyonok, why do you sound so upset?” He asked, his thumbs moving in a soothing motion as you took a deep breath. “Wait, are you scared that I’d be mad at you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you said. You didn’t necessarily think he’d be upset with you, but after his mood swings at lunch and everything else so far you weren't sure what to expect. “I just don't know.”

“No, no, no, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad that you were kind to another person? That’s one of the things I love about you. It drew me to you,” he assured you. You oddly felt better by his assurance. “I don’t want you to stop doing kind things for others because you’re worried it might upset me.”

“So, it doesn’t upset you?”

“You being you would never upset me,” he smiled. He had said more than once that he loved you as a person, so maybe he was telling the truth. “A man trying to give flowers to you while going through a break-up is, at the very least, a little strange.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said, not wanting to admit that he had a point and that you were slightly put off when Clark tried to give the roses to you.

“I’m also well aware that you don’t hit on any guy who comes into your shop, so I wouldn’t view any act of kindness to a customer as trying to get their attention.”

“That’s true,” you agreed. Even Ray had pointed out to you that you didn’t give guys in the shop the time of day. Why would you when most of them were buying flowers for someone else? “But I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate you telling me, but you have nothing to worry about. Just have a good rest of the day.” With a kiss to the corner of your mouth, he whispered, “I’ll be thinking of you until I see you again.”

You weren’t sure why your heart fluttered. Relief that Bucky reacted calmly to what you said? You didn’t dwell on it as he held the door open and smiled after you as you went back into the shop. It was time to concentrate on work again.

Mrs. Crandle smiled and waved to Bucky through the door. “Oh, he is a looker,” she winked. “How was lunch, dear?”

“The food was good and Bucky and I got to talk a bit, which was… nice,” you answered, glancing around the shop and wondering if the place was bugged, too. Could he get access to the shop? Letting you continue to work seemed too good to be true, but he’d have nothing to worry about if he had eyes and ears there, too. “He’s taking me shopping tonight.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful! And don’t you dare be modest. Let him spoil you.”

“I have a feeling he’ll spoil me even if I don't ask him to,” you said.

Your whole experience with Bucky was whether you wanted it or not, so why would he stop now?

As expected, Bucky arrived back at the shop a few hours later to pick you up. Instead of giving him the chance to go inside and speak to Mrs. Crandle again, you grabbed your bag and rushed out the door to greet him. He caught you easily when you nearly collided with him, and for the first time, you felt like you were intruding in his space instead of the other way around.

“Eager to see me?” He smiled, his voice teasing as he kept a hand on your shoulder and helped you into the vehicle when you didn’t immediately answer. “How was the rest of your shift? I hope no one else bothered you.”

Just you.

“It was uneventful. I got a lot done,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you from the normalcy of your afternoon. “And no one bothered me.” Your gaze flickered to him and he was hanging onto your every word. He also looked much more relaxed, like the moodiness at lunch never happened. “How about you? How was your day?”

“Also uneventful. A couple of boring calls. Kept thinking about you though and it got me through the day,” he said, slipping an arm around you as the car door closed. The way you two were speaking to each other sounded almost normal. Checking in on each other, seeing how the other was doing. “Steve asked about that double date.”

“I’m sure he’s excited for that,” you said, wondering if that poor coat check girl had any idea.

“We both are. You can find a dress for that, too,” he smiled fondly. “In fact, what would you think of me getting you a new wardrobe when you move in? Your style, your choice on everything. You name it.”

You raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty washing over you. “Is there something wrong with my current wardrobe?” You hadn’t done anything to deserve a whole new set of clothes and you hoped he wasn’t suggesting it to mold you more to his liking.

“Nothing wrong with it at all. You have great taste and I just want to spoil you,” he said, running a finger down your side. This was the man who let you go into his exclusive club wearing a dressed down outfit simply because it was you, so he’d probably let you get away with any sort of wardrobe you wanted. “Do you know how ravishing you look right now?”

“I’m not ravishing. I’m in my work clothes,” you muttered.

“You are ravishing,” he said, moving his finger back up as you shivered. “We should get some stargazer lilies for your first night in our home. I could strip you down, lay you out on our bed, and brush one of the petals along your skin.”

You inhaled sharply and closed your eyes, trying not to picture him spreading you out on a luxurious bed. He would say something like that when he was right in your space and you had nowhere to go. The man went from zero to sixty in seconds. No doubt he could feel you tremble and knew your heart was racing.

“Bet it’ll feel soft against your nipples,” he whispered, exhaling against your ear. “And your pussy.”

Your next breath was shallow, but you managed not to whimper. “Where are we going shopping?” You asked evenly, hoping to get to the destination sooner rather than later.

You stubbornly kept your eyes shut when he chuckled. “You’re changing the topic because you’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Worried you’ll get your panties soaked before we get to the shop?” He questioned, your heart thudding. You didn’t want to think about it at all. You wanted out of the car so you could properly breathe again. “I’m sorry. I’m not playing nice, am I? We’re going to one of your favorite stores and you can pick out whatever you want.”

You’d no doubt look at the price tags out of habit since you shopped on a budget and bought your nicer pieces on sale. “Do you ever really play nice?” You asked, opening your eyes. “One moment you’re being vulnerable and talking about your family and the next time I see you you’re talking about sleeping with me. I’m shocked the whiplash hasn’t scrambled my brain.”

The image of him destroying the utensil at lunch like it was nothing flashed in your mind for some reason. And him and his gang beating up John. Just how strong was he? Was he a killer?

“Sometimes we’ll talk about something tough or serious and the next it may be something more fun or intimate. That’s part of being in a relationship,” he said. If only it were an authentic relationship. “I want that with you, telling you what’s on my mind and how I feel.”

If he cared about what was on your mind or how you felt, he’d back off and let you have a bit of space. “Relationships are built on mutual respect and trust,” you said. Did he not see that the mutual respect wasn't there since he pushed for things to be his way? And trust was something he couldn't force no matter how powerful he was.

“I understand that. You also said a first date was getting to know each other and seeing if there's a mutual connection. I'm opening up to you, letting you get to know me. I’m getting to know you, too, beyond the things I knew in advance,” he said. What was he learning about you that he didn’t already know? “And you can't tell me you don't feel something for me.”

“Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear, Bucky? That I want you and want to be with you?” You asked. Even if you did develop feelings for him, it would have to be classified as some form of stockholm syndrome. And even then, strong feelings wouldn’t be enough. He wanted everything from you. “That I don’t want anyone else?”

The hand along your side crept up to your neck, tension heightening when he gently squeezed. He loved putting his hand around your throat. “You do want me, you do want to be with me, you’ll never want anyone else once I have you and I know you love how much I want you,” he spoke with confidence, like he could make the words come true as you took your next breath. “Should I check your panties before we go inside and feel how wet they are?”

You needed to distract him. Fight him. Do something. “What’s your love language?” You blurted out. “Physical Touch?”

“What?” He whispered, your heart still pounding when he slowly moved his hand away from your throat.

“Your love language. You constantly touch me when I’m close to you, so I guessed Physical Touch,” you explained. He always had a hand on you.

He sat back with a pensive look. “No one has ever asked me that.”

“Oh,” you said as the car rolled to a stop. You blindly reached for the door handle. “Well, it’s something to think about if you don’t know.”

He held your arm when you tried to get out. “You express yourself through Acts of Service with loving gestures and helping with tasks, but what you crave is Quality Time because you value meaningful interactions and connecting with people on a more personal level.”

You nodded slowly. It was why you loved hanging out with your girlfriends. You cherished making memories with them.

“You also appreciate Words of Affirmation, even if compliments make you feel uncertain because you sometimes feel overlooked. The combination of those languages makes you feel seen and heard,” he continued, giving you a tender smile. “I can hear and see you if you let me.”

You found yourself unable to speak as he gauged your reaction, your throat tight as if gripped by an unseen force. He nailed it right on the head about your love languages, didn't he? “I need air,” you whispered, letting yourself out of the car once he let you go.

The tightness in your throat moved to your heart. Bucky saw and heard you in his own way, didn't he? Not just as a passing thought but because he genuinely believed he loved you, deeply and wholeheartedly. The more he sank his fangs in, the more venom he injected. You had to be your own antidote.

With a shake of your head, you glanced up at the shop. True to his word, it was one you loved. Another piece of yourself that would now be tied to him.

You jumped when Bucky appeared beside you and took your arm. “You okay?” He asked, studying your face with gentle eyes.

“Just fine,” you replied, smiling for his sake. “Let's go shopping.”

You walked into the boutique together, the air filled with a subtle mix of lavender and something sweet that made you feel right at home. The space was a blend of trendy and rustic, exuding charm and intimacy. Clothes lined the wooden shelves and vintage racks, showcasing a variety of styles that ranged from casual to bold. Delicate accessories sparkled in the soft light, inviting you to explore.

You could easily find the perfect dress for the winery here.

“Hello! Welcome to… Oh! Mr. Barnes,” the associate smiled, her heels clicking on the floor. She was a picture perfect example of style and beauty. “I have the back dressing room set up and I’ll be sure no one disturbs you or your girlfriend. It was sundresses you requested, correct?”

Bucky looked proud of himself. “Yes, the perfect sundress for my girl,” he smiled, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked at you. “And whatever dress you choose, you’ll need jewelry. Oh, and a clutch.”

“Girlfriend?” You asked. He must not have wanted a repeat of how the hostess treated the two of you at lunch. “Wait, you already have dresses selected for me to try on?”

“He called and gave us all the details. And we’ll make sure you have everything you need,” the associate promised as Bucky nudged you ahead of him to follow her. Was anyone else in the shop? “Would either of you like a water?”

“No thank you,” you said. You were never offered a water when you shopped there before, but you were never there with Bucky Barnes.

“Just let me know if you need anything at all,” she smiled, opening the dressing room door.

Bucky thanked her as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from the door, watching you expectantly. “If you don't like any of them, we can go somewhere else.”

“I’m sure they're fine,” you said, going into the room and shutting the door before he could say anything else.

Quickly slipping off your shoes, pants, and top, you turned your attention to a small rack with a range of sundresses. Checking each tag as you pushed through them, none of them on sale, it wasn't a surprise that they were all your size. And all something you'd consider wearing. After flipping through the dresses twice, you decided to try on a sleeveless white dress with small rosebuds. It would be nice for a vineyard.

Before you could put the dress on, the door opened. “Need any help?” Bucky asked as you spun around in your bra and underwear, his eyes slowly scanning your body before you had a chance to cover yourself.

“No. I…” you trailed off as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity before he breathed your name, want written all over his face. The dressing room felt small. Hot. You could hardly breathe as panic threatened to overwhelm you. And you couldn't do anything but step back as he stepped closer, a predator ready to capture his prey.

Your back hit the mirror when he brought a hand to your chin, your knees shaking as he leaned in. “You’re right about one thing,” he said in a husky tone. “I do crave Physical Touch. Yours.”

He pressed his lips to yours, keeping you still and giving you no chance to turn your head away. It was a light, feathering sort of kiss before his tongue flicked out to trace your lips. He teased you until you opened up for him and allowed his tongue to sweep into your mouth. You couldn't think as he groaned and continued his claim. It was only a matter of time until he claimed you completely.

Bucky pulled away a little, his free hand moving down your torso in a possessive path. “Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he rasped. You felt so small, your insides both frozen and melting from his touch. “Just wanna take you home and make you ride my face before I fuck you.”

You gasped when his knee moved between your legs, your hands flying up to hold his arms. He rocked his leg and you felt power in the motion, a promise of what was to come once he had you where he wanted you. “Bucky,” you whispered. The next word out of your mouth was smothered by his lips, but he didn't increase the urgency in his kisses. He took his time. Like the world could be burning around you and he’d let the flames take over as long as he was kissing you.

You bit back a whimper when he rocked his knee harder, the friction sending heat to your core. Another roll of his body and you were certain you felt the outline of his cock. Bringing a hand to his chest, you lightly pushed. It was already going too far. To your surprise, he broke the kiss. His eyes were still hungry though. “You said you want to hear me?” You asked breathlessly, your lip trembling when his thumb brushed it. “Then not here, please,” you whispered, praying he'd stop.

If he was going to have you, it wouldn't be in a dressing room.

“Right. Not for our first time.” He tipped his head back as he took a breath, no doubt trying to control himself. “Just one more kiss, Kotyonok. One more for me to dream about tonight,” he groaned, bringing his face back to yours for one more kiss with fervor. Just when you thought it would turn more ravenous, he shifted to something soft, tender. A feeling that had both of you shaking when it ended, but likely for different reasons.

You stayed upright when he stepped back and gave you space, but your legs still shook as he straightened up his clothes and looked you over once more. If he could devour you with a look... “Thank you.” He actually listened to you and didn't push it any further.

He glanced down as he adjusted his pants and you tried to avoid looking at the tent he began to sport. Horror filled you when your gaze went lower to the wet spot by his knee. He hadn't gotten you off, but you both knew he sparked some arousal within you. “Can’t wait ‘til you really make a mess on my pants,” he smirked, walking out just as quietly as he entered the tiny room.

Fighting back tears once he shut the door, you touched your lips. Bucky finally kissed you. Your mouth still tingled. You still felt him there.

Glancing at the rack of dresses, you wished he really was a sweet boyfriend trying to spoil you just because he could. But he hadn't given you a chance to pick them out yourself. He spoke for you, like you were a doll. It was just another piece he put in place for his twisted puzzle of your relationship.

What was wrong with you?

You pulled your clothes back on and flung the door open so hard it almost hit the wall. Bucky’s smug look immediately changed to concern when you walked out holding a sundress. “This one's fine,” you said in a flat tone.

“Are you sure?” He asked, sitting up more in his chair. “You didn't try it on, did you?”

“It’s the one I want,” you said, calling for the associate before Bucky had a chance to argue. You gave her a stiff smile when she joined you and handed over the garment, feeling Bucky’s eyes on you. “Whatever jewelry and handbag you think will go with this, I’ll take it. I trust your judgment.”

“Oh, this dress is lovely and we have the perfect accessories for this. Would you like to look at shoes as well? Or maybe something to go with any of the other dresses?” She asked, her eyes wide as you brushed past her. “Miss?”

“I’m sorry. I need to step outside,” you said, not wanting to be rude to her.

Bucky called after you, but you ignored him. You were furious with yourself. You let him kiss you and allowed some of his words to get under your skin. He didn't fuck you, but he still won, didn't he? And you were letting him. Just like with everything else.

You took two steps out of the shop before you felt a grip on your arm. “Woah. Slow down,” Bucky said, turning you to face him. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

“It doesn't matter, but if you really want to see and hear me, please, pay attention,” you said, yanking your arm away. “I want to go home.”

“Why? Is it because that kiss meant something to you and you don't want to admit it?” He asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “If you're embarrassed that it made you wet, don't be. I'm flattered. Besides, it got me hard.”

Heat filled your cheeks and you wanted to smack him. There was a fine line between the delusion he had in his head and the reality of the situation. The tightrope you were walking was close to snapping. “I’m not embarrassed. I can't breathe.” You stepped back, trying to give yourself space. Was Ray watching from the car? “Everything in my life recently has revolved around you or you being there. Say what you want about me being lonely, it doesn't give you an excuse to take over.”

Bucky’s smile slipped, like he was really seeing how bothered you were. “I told you I just want to love you. And you enjoy Quality Time.”

“Quality Time when we agree upon it. And love itself should be the thing to take my breath away, not you smothering me,” you gently stated.

“I’m not trying to smother you.” He shifted like he was the one uncomfortable, his gaze flicking to the ground. “I… I know you can't breathe,” he said, lifting a hand as if to reach out before he dropped it and took a deep breath. “That’s why I'm leaving you alone tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You're what?” You asked in disbelief, catching the hint of vulnerability in his eyes as his shoulders dropped. He hadn't left you alone since he broke in. Why in the world would he stop now?

“I was going to bring it up when I dropped you off.” His hand worked its way through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about it and talking and… I’m smothering you. I know I am. Rearranging your schedule, making you meet my friends, and everything else. So…” He reached for you this time and took your hand. “I’m giving you a breather and I’m not going to be around tomorrow. No surprise visits. No calls. Maybe a text, but nothing more.”

You blinked. “So, we won't see each other tomorrow?” You tried not to get too excited. It was only a day, but between that and the girls day that was still something. You had to go the cautiously optimistic route again and take what you got.

But you also couldn't help but wonder why he was really giving you that space. Did Ray or someone say something to him? Was this another ploy to keep you in line?

“You won't see me. God knows I’ll miss you, but it's just a day, right?” He squeezed your hand. “Maybe you’ll miss me, too.”

“I appreciate you giving me that space,” you said sincerely. He needed that space, too, even if he didn't believe it. “And maybe I will.”

“We won't have to miss each other much longer once we're together in the penthouse,” he said, his tone soft and your heart sinking. “Will you answer one thing: Did that kiss mean something to you?”

You didn't want to answer that. If you denied it, it would be a lie or he’d either see through it or snap. If you confirmed it, it would feed him more hope. You still had to examine your feelings because you were afraid and you couldn't think with him staring at you with those longing eyes.

“It meant something,” you answered, not expanding on what exactly it meant when he exhaled. It wasn't smart to let him decipher it how he wished because he could use it against you later.

He took your breath away once more when he pulled you close and brushed his lips against yours. Just as quickly as he started, he stopped and brushed his nose against yours. Any passerby would think it was a sweet moment between a couple making up from an argument. “Thank you,” he whispered, his thumb moving along the racing pulse in your wrist. “Come back inside, please? Pick out a few things for real and then I’ll take you home so you can relax.”

You remembered that the bugs were still in your apartment, which took some more of your enthusiasm away. But if Bucky was really going to leave you alone tomorrow, you’d have to appreciate the time to yourself. Maybe you could pack a bag and get out of the city even sooner than planned.

It wouldn't hurt to try, right? What was the worst that could happen? Making him freak out over your safety? That could be bad.

“Okay. A few things for real and then home,” you agreed.

“That’s my girl.” He turned and paused at the door with a smile. “Can I at least help you try on the dress? Or you can model it for me and I'll tell you how beautiful you are.”

You smiled back a little. “Don't push your luck,” you said, missing the pair of blue eyes that watched you and Bucky go back into the shop.

So, a little bit of action. 😏 Will it be enough to tide Bucky over? Is he really going to leave you alone for a day? Who was watching you? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[orchidyoonkook]

PG | KTH

Title: PG 

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point. 

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends. 

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother. 

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out. 

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too. 

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two. 

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay. 

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him. 

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long. 

Every time you could get it. 

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team. 

For four years. 

And then the university swim team.

For another four. 

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then. 

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would. 

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim. 

Thank god for sunglasses. 

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you. 

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet? 

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile. 

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong. 

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you. 

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung. 

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt. 

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that. 

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more. 

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught. 

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt. 

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually. 

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart. 

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water. 

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.  

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool. 

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days. 

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun. 

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really. 

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped. 

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking. 

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that. 

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches. 

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets. 

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?” 

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat. 

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes. 

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?” 

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him. 

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager. 

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit. 

And it works like a charm. 

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that. 

Definitely not.  

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again. 

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding. 

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air. 

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend. 

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say. 

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand. 

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end. 

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother. 

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction. 

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen. 

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool. 

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel. 

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins. 

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you. 

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch. 

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge. 

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell. 

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims. 

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven. 

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday. 

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for. 

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids. 

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you. 

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed. 

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break. 

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you. 

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually. 

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit. 

So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer. 

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks. 

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close. 

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you. 

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there. 

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed. 

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends. 

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays. 

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating. 

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother. 

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall. 

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent. 

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained. 

And yet. 

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot. 

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you. 

But you push him away. 

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t. 

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend. 

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’. 

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more. 

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment. 

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air. 

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages. 

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself. 

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did. 

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left. 

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist. 

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think. 

Because Fourteen isn't here. 

And old habits die hard. 

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising. 

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner. 

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him. 

Safe. 

You’re safe. 

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body. 

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous. 

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years. 

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung. 

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan. 

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety. 

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions. 

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight. 

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood. 

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor. 

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment. 

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by. 

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?” 

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now. 

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth. 

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth. 

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed. 

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back. 

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it. 

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him. 

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black. 

Oh you are so fucked.

 “As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like. 

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine. 

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point. 

My Girl.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once. 

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up. 

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth. 

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips. 

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does. 

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes. 

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck. 

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows,  the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing. 

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it. 

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine. 

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it. 

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night. 

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere. 

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you. 

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone. 

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part. 

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently. 

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end. 

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.” 

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders. 

It makes you smile wickedly. 

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw. 

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you. 

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick. 

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything. 

Yet.

 “Can you behave for that long?” 

You smirk. 

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe. 

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well. 

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby. 

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need. 

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs. 

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae. 

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky. 

Mesmerizing. 

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his. 

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him. 

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge. 

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat. 

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a  low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure. 

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you. 

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks. 

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips. 

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees. 

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it. 

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well. 

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you. 

Taehyung. 

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung. 

Wants you. 

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving. 

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned. 

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side. 

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming. 

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess. 

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis. 

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes. 

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body. 

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again. 

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time. 

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly  deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed. 

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again. 

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it. 

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out. 

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth. 

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time. 

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents. 

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact. 

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.” 

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine. 

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and  delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.” 

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled. 

Blissful. 

Then pushes back in, methodically. 

Torturous. 

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is. 

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over. 

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas. 

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well. 

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you. 

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough. 

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own. 

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless. 

It’s a great move but it’s exerting. 

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play. 

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone. 

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around. 

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass. 

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain. 

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance. 

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you. 

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care. 

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane. 

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be. 

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you. 

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion. 

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and  drown in once another’s embrace. 

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another. 

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect. 

Before consequences kick in and regrets form. 

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets. 

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning. 

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away. 

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning. 

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out. 

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies. 

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground. 

“All of it. Any of it.”

There. 

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him. 

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened. 

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts. 

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself. 

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion. 

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg. 

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place. 

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move. 

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right. 

An idea strikes. 

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door. 

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

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

Masterlist

[blueeyedgirll]

cuddles - emily prentiss x bau!reader

this fic includes: fluff, cuddling, only one bed trope (kind of?), vague descriptions of cm typical violence, no beta or proofread we die like emily’s fake death, penelope garcia being the best person to ever have graced the earth, no use of y/n, f!reader

a/n: guys i’m on season 7 now (^_-) also i don’t know how the fbi works SUE ME

“God, what a mess!” Emily exclaims, setting her bags down in the corner of the hotel room.

Unfortunately, due to the horrendously overcrowded convention going on nearby and your latest unsub’s comfort zone, you, JJ, Penelope, and Emily were forced to share a room.

“I can’t believe they could only give us two rooms. Couldn’t we have just stayed somewhere else?” JJ adds, removing her coat and hanging it in the room’s tiny closet.

“Unfortunately, my friends, our administration seems to love us enough to pay for our hotels, but not enough to move us into a company they don’t have a rapport with,” Penelope explains. She removes her hair accessories and piles them on the bathroom counter, her foot wedged in the bathroom door to stay in the conversation. “But it’s like a sleepover! Us girls get to share a room, and the boys have their own.”

“I haven’t had a sleepover since I was 12,” JJ says.

“Me neither,” you pipe up. “So who’s sleeping where tonight?”

Your eyes scan the room. Four girls, two beds, and eight eyes glancing at each other.

“I’m fine with sharing, but I do need to let you know I tend to steal blankets,” Penelope says, placing her accessories in a small box.

“Yeah, I’m fine with anything.” JJ says.

You and Emily briefly lock eyes. If you said sleeping in the same bed as Emily didn’t sound amazing, you’d be a liar. She’d been distracting you from your work and almost all your thoughts for the last few weeks; something about her demeanor, or her dark, sharp features, or that streak of playfulness she lets show on occasion. Whatever it is, it continues to drive you up a wall.

“Well, if none of you care, I want the bed closer to the AC unit because it is a stupidly warm night here.” Penelope steps over to the bed on the right side of the room, unpacking a fuzzy blanket and an extra pillow — how did she fit that in there? — from her bag.

“True that. If you two don’t mind, I’ll sleep closer to the AC too.” JJ says, looking between the two of you before moving.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You say, just a little bit too happy. You tell Emily to go ahead and get comfortable because you’re going to change. She nods as you shut yourself in the bathroom.

You use the bathroom to take a moment, take a breath. Part of you wonders what it will be like, sleeping in the same bed as Emily. The rest of you wonders how you’re going to keep your cool.

You change into your sleep clothes, a tank top and small shorts. The cool air of the room makes the hair on your body stand up.

You walk back out to a dark, silent room. The only light left on was the one to the left of Emily.

“Ready for bed?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing into bed and wrapping the soft covers around you. Emily clicks the light off and slides down in the bed.

Before you can even start relaxing, images of the day flash back into your mind. The things the unsub did to his victims. The distraught loved ones of the deceased. The endless papers, leading you to repeated dead ends.

It only feels like a few minutes, but over the course of time, you grow colder and more restless. You toss and turn, trying to get more comfortable, but to no avail. Sighing, you turn to check the time, trying to find an estimate of how much sleep you would get.

The clock reads 4:24. You start contemplating just waking up extra early, but before you can reach a conclusion, you hear a whisper.

“Hey, you alright?” Emily whispers, turning to face you.

You pause for a moment. How honest should you be?

“Yeah, just… cold,” you say.

Emily takes a moment. You think she’s going to get up to grab a blanket, or lend you a hoodie, or anything else, but she scoots over to where you are and wraps her warm arms around your body. She gives you a firm squeeze. You know she knows you’re not just cold.

She starts to move away like it was just a hug. Before you can make a better decision, your hands stop her.

“Do you want me to stay?” Emily whispers.

You nod. Even though the darkness, Emily understands. She moves back to you, tucking your head into her shoulder. She wraps her arms around your middle and pulls the blanket fully over you.

She smells like lotion and coffee and clean clothes. It’s addictive. You nuzzle your head deeper into her, earning a small laugh and her hand making its way into your hair. She runs her nails over your scalp, brushing the hair off your neck.

“Are you okay?” she asks. You just hum, making her laugh again. “Goodnight. Sleep well for me.”

And with her arms around you, hand in your hair, you drift off into a comforting sleep.

bonus — the next morning, you wake up to giggling, which is quickly hushed. the entire day you and emily are the victims of glances and hushed whispers. on the jet home, you finally decide to ask penelope what was up with it. she doesn’t verbally respond, just shows you a picture of you sleeping like a baby, tucked into emily’s chest. at that moment she comes over, smiles, and walks back to her seat.

[iliketopgun]

hi, my darling!! can i request “You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” with evan buckley?

i have been obsessed with him for so long (lmao as if it isn't obvious-) and i NEED more of him!!

"Honey Honey!"

Can I kiss your brain? I love this!!!!

🩷 "Nuestra Canción" send me some cute fluff prompts for characters that I write, x reader or my OCs are allowed.

Word count: 560

The prompt: "You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I've ever seen."

A/N: Never written for x reader before so here goes nothing. Legitimately don't know where this came from, deviated a bit from the prompt btw, I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: female!reader, tooth rotting fluff, I totally didn't have Mamma Mia! on repeat while writing this (I'm lying so much), domesticity, curls are here, reader is a part of the 118, a curse word or two, Buck and reader live together, Buck calls his S/O "Baby" and other pet names, Buck is shirtless (yes, suffer), reader's favorite food is grilled cheese (if it's not, I'm sorry), kissing does happen, not beta read

Banner belongs to @/cafekitsune

Do not repost anywhere else or use it to train AI! This is my work! My own brain created this. Don't be a plagiarizer!

Here we go! Safe under the cut!

Buck could've sworn he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world. His girlfriend was insanely good looking. And her music taste was impeccable. Buck could stare at her all day and never grow tired of her. Yeah, to say he was down bad was a major understatement. But who could blame him, when you looked like a goddess?

Buck was making dinner when you came in from a shift at the 118, it had been a simple 12 hour overtime shift for some extra money, but it had been so uneventful, it took a toll on you. The utter anxiety for the bell that never rang that entire shift. You kick off your work boots by the door, putting your keys in the dish by the door and putting your bag on the floor, you'll get it later. You unbutton your uniform shirt and tug it off, leaving you in a white undershirt. "I'm home!" You call out as you walk into the kitchen of the loft, watching your boyfriend cook. Buck turns around, in your tiredness, you didn't notice that Buck was shirtless and he hadn't gelled his curls back. Was he trying to kill you? Well even if he was you were sure, you'd die really happy. "Oh, hey baby, I'm making your favorite. Grilled cheese." Buck says with a smile, it was adorable. So attentive. "Mmmm, I love you. You're the best." You tell him with as much appreciation you could muster. Your nerves were shot to hell and you just wanted to eat and sleep. Buck takes notice of this and guides you to the couch, wraps you in a blanket and walks to the kitchen, leaving you confused. "Buck? What are you doing?" You ask between a laugh. Buck puts the grilled cheese on a plate and comes back into the living room with the plate and hands it to you. "Eat. Wanna watch Mamma Mia?" Buck asks you, knowing it was one of your favorites. You nod as you bite into the grilled cheese, moaning in appreciation. Buck smiles at you and kisses your forehead. Buck puts the movie on and sits beside you on the couch, placing you in his lap and cuddling you. He was like a personal space heater. But right now you don't care about anything except food and Buck. The movie starts and you finish your food up after a few minutes. You get up and place your dirty dishes in the dishwasher before running up the loft stairs to grab your pajamas. You were walking down the stairs while adjusting your Buck's shirt when the beach scene came on. No matter how many times you watched it, it still made you flush like a little girl. Buck picks up on that. "Are you blushing?" He teases and "N-no!" You stammer, before playfully tossing a pillow at him. "You wound me, darling!" Buck says dramatically while holding his hand over his heart. "Oh shush, you're fine. Plus you deserve it for walking around shirtless!" You reply before walking towards him. "You getting flustered is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen." Buck says as you stand in between his legs while he looks at you with those cerulean blue eyes and you try not to melt. "Oh shut up, Buckley!" You tell him before kissing him.

The end!

I hope you enjoyed it!

[tc-doherty]

TC's Practical Writing Tips

Like I said before, I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that I can teach anyone how to write – that's a level of hubris even I'm not capable of –but in honor of my rapidly approaching ~quarter century of writing original fiction anniversary~, I did figure I would share the tips that I live by when it comes to the act of writing.

So without further ado:

Write it now, fix it later

2. It is always permissible – and usually enjoyable – to write the stupidest possible version

3. "Inspiration" is great for poets, but poison for people who write prose

3.1: if you want to write often, you need to write often, and then you will find that you don't need to be "inspired" because you will have made a habit of it and it will come naturally 3.2: even one sentence a day is still one sentence a day. And even one sentence a week is still one sentence a week. It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop 3.3: believing in the concept that you need to be inspired to write will trap you into believing in the concept of writer's block 3.4: if you are having difficulty getting out words that satisfy you, lower your standards and keep writing (see point one)

4. A few months down the line you will not remember which words came easily and which words did not

5. It is always permissible to set a project aside for now, or forever, if you need a break

6. Read widely and often, both in your favorite genres and outside of them

6.1: pay special attention to both things that you love and things that you hate - study them, engage with them, learn what makes yourself tick and your writing can only get stronger

7. Never write for the lowest common denominator, via wise words I once heard: "if you open the window and make love to the world, your story will get pneumonia", have an audience in mind and the people who like what you write will find it

8. Never write for the bad faith critic, those people will always exist and you will need to deal with them at some point if you put your writing in the world, but they don't matter and you cannot live in fear of them

9. It's fine and normal to want engagement and praise, however you must find a way to make the act of writing joyful in and of itself – make the praise the cherry on top, not the entire sunday

9.1: writing is hard work, and it's a lot of work, if you lose the ability to enjoy the journey and are proceeding only for external rewards from others, you will gradually write less and less if the ratio of work to rewards is unsatisfying

10. For anything other than final copy editing, always write a new draft into a new document, or else the words you have already written will trap you from being able to make large, sweeping changes

10.1: any change you make will invariably snowball, and you must give space for that snowball to roll

11. If someone tells you that something doesn't work for them, believe them, because people know what they like. But if people try to tell you what to do to fix it, take that with an entire serving of salt because you are the author, not them

12. It is always morally correct to look at a critique that you received, even if you asked for opinions via beta reading, and decide that it's bullshit and doesn't apply to you

13. "write what you know" means "write what you're interested in"

14. "Show don't tell" applies to screenwriting, not novels. This is the thing that drives me the most insane every time I see it. Novels are words on a page, not images on a screen. They require a lot of telling. Not all telling, but a lot of telling. Become comfortable with that.

15. It is always, ALWAYS acceptable to use "said", do not listen to the lies of others

16. Have fun, do it out of love and you will never go astray

17. Become comfortable with who you are. Your work is always going to be yours and it is always going to sound like you wrote it, and this is a good thing! No one else is ever going to write exactly like you, and you should be proud of that

17.1: the concept of "originality" is vastly overrated, every culture has some version of Cinderella and we still love it. Your writing is yours because you wrote it, and it will always be unique because of that

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞wish you back

✰ pairings: ex!han x fem!reader

✰ genre: romance + angst with comfort ending

✰ warning: mentions of insecurities, deep talks, indirect mentions of miscommunications and getting back together

✰ request: If you’re taking requests or would like some ideas for your future writings then could I suggest/request an angsty fight but with a comfort ending with prompts 1, 10 and 12 with skz Han or it could even be an ot8 whichever is comfortable for you :)

✰ note: hi hi love! i hope you like it >< i made it exes to lovers and it hope it suits to what you requested for! thanks to @planetkiimchi for beta reading this and helping me with it 🤍

✰ word count: 2k + words

meeting him was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be your favourite. meeting him was like rewatching every movie you ever loved with your favourite flavour of popcorn. meeting him was truly beautiful.

then, suddenly, you didn’t like that song anymore. you hated those movies as well. and you didn’t even bother touching that last packet of popcorn kept in the cabinet of your kitchen. it had been a month precisely since you and jisung parted ways.

a month of half-heartedly listening to your best friend’s ‘not-getting-back-to-your-ex’ rules. you don’t even remember the last time you saw him. but all you could do was think of him. was he eating well? was his hair as long as before? or has he trimmed them? it was foolish, you knew that very well. but the way your heart belonged to him, you couldn’t help it.

your mind keeps replaying the evening of your breakup. that very evening, when the two of you would be completing two whole years as a couple. all of it—now shattered. it doesn’t matter what you do, or what he does, the deed is done. there’s no going back now. or is there?

you know you shouldn’t be doing this and instead sending someone else. despite this, you find yourself driving to his home. after his last text, which told you to go pick up your stuff. you nearly felt your heart burst out of your chest the moment you saw his name pop in your notifications, but all of it faded when you saw his text. you know it meant nothing, but you felt yourself tear apart when the thought that he's trying to erase you crosses your mind. that’s what the voices in your head said. he’s trying to remove you from his life. and you know it shouldn’t hurt that much– but it does.

you hated whenever he overworked himself. you hated the way he would always come home exhausted but would still manage to muster up a smile you knew was fake. and when the limit runs, it’s the two of you against each other– screaming at each other’s throats. the eyes that used to be filled with love and warmth, were replaced with tiredness and anger.

maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, but the words can’t be unsaid. the apartment that used to be filled with memories in each corner, just rests there in dust and dirt.

you lift your hand to knock on the door and not even a second later, the door opens wide allowing you to see the apartment once again, and jisung as well.

he looks almost the same, except for his hair that he has curled slightly. if it would’ve been a stranger, they wouldn’t have been able to pick on any difference. but knowing him for years, you know everything from the beat of his heart to the dip in his voice when he’s about to break down– you have lived it all as well.

“hi,” he manages to croak out when you enter the apartment. you let out a silent nod, but prevent yourself from getting into a long conversation with him. your friend advised you not to if you didn’t want to end up getting hurt.

“how have you been?” he asks, his voice no louder than a mutter.

“how do you expect me to be?” you chuckle dryly, rubbing salt onto his wounds without even sparing him a glance. you look around, eyes stopping on the fridge that has various fridge magnets which you stuck on. maybe it was just a you thing, but it marked as the evidence of your happy relationship. there’s a small magnet with a polaroid of you two sitting on a couch with a cake in your hand.

it almost makes you laugh, how quickly the memory rushes into your head. it was your birthday and jisung surprised you with homemade meals and handmade gifts. it was a simple meal with just the two of you, yet his sincerity never failed to amaze you.

“i’m trying to talk to you nicely,” he hisses back, frustration creeping its way into his tone. it makes you gulp. you pause to stare at him, for the second time of the day before sighing.

“where’s my stuff?” you whisper, not breaking eye contact, which makes him stare back at you just as fiercely.

there’s something in his expression that makes you want to run straight into his arms and embrace him, kiss him and tell him you love him. but you can’t. he was the main character in the movie called “you”, but now he seemed to play more of a side role. it seems discarded yet you will remember it forever.

he takes a long minute to reply and points to the bedroom, “it’s under the bed, in a box.”

you nod and make your way in the bedroom. the sight of the room itself makes your heart heavy. you look around, and where there used to be a brown heart couch, it’s now empty. the room takes you back to the days when the two of you first moved in. the two of you were so excited to bring in the new furniture and rearrange it according to your preference. it almost felt surreal at first. you still remember spending three weeks just to arrange the furniture. it was tiring, but you didn’t know that it was even more tiring to look at this now-almost-empty bedroom.

you crouch down and pull out a wooden box. it’s a bit dusty, so you carry it and keep it on the mattress. you blow away the dust as much as possible and open the box. it’s filled with photos, letters, gifts varying from sizes to colours and occasions. it’s a wonder how he kept all your stuff neatly arranged. even if there’s a few things missing, you don’t mention it when you return back to the living room.

he shoots up from his seat upon seeing you, and there’s a determined look on his face which you don’t quite like.

“can i know one thing before you go?” there’s fresh pain in his eyes which he no longer attempts to hide from you. when you take a look at him, you see the eyebags, the tiredness seeps through his eyes and it’s painful to see him that way.

when you don’t reply, he takes that as his cue to step towards you and hold both of your hands in his, the familiar warmth immediately soothing you and making you breathe in relief.

“do you still love me?” it’s just a question, you tell yourself. it’s just a normal question, just say no and you’ll be fine. instead, you stare down at your intertwined hands and slowly rub your thumb against his.

“what if i say yes? how would it change anything? remember, you left me first,” you look back at him with tears brimming your eyes. there’s a softness in his expression that almost makes you cry but you manage to hold it in.

“because you told me to! you told me how annoying i was and how i wasn’t giving you time. and i thought about it, i really did and i realised it was better for us this way.”

“you’ll decide that on your own? you could’ve talked to me once ji! i would have stopped you and told you just how much you mean to me!” you say while jabbing a finger at his chest in fury.

“how does that change it? you had that thought across your head. how could you even think of us separating? we were happy, weren’t we? and then suddenly you weren’t there when i returned. i didn’t call you because i thought… i thought that maybe you didn’t want me anymore,” he chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his unruly hair, impatiently waiting for a response.

“i… you’re the only one i want, ji. there’s not been a single day where i didn’t think of you. if you would’ve called me even in the middle of the night, i’d run back to you without hesitation,” there’s raw pain reflecting in his eyes that flick to your continuously.

“then… why?” you squeeze your eyes shut at his question. was it the way he was too blunt with it? or was it the way you knew that the truth would hurt?

“it’s easy for you to ask that because you’re not the one constantly thinking about whether you’re being controlling or not. you’re not the one who has to constantly keep yourself in check, wondering whether or not you’re overthinking! do you know how hard it was for me to not ask you anything every hour just because it will make you look pushy? i didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend that bugs you, or the one that has to call you a hundred times a day to remind you that i’ll be waiting! it’s a mess, jisung. i-i’m a mess.”

“do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes shining with determination with this new shift in him.

“no– don’t do this to me,” you shake your head and try to slip your hand out of his grasp, but he stays still.

“please don’t try to ignore me, my love. please don’t go… why do you keep shaking my whole world and then leaving like nothing ever happened? why? why are you so desperately trying to run away from me? did you forget that we promised to help each other with our problems? or do those promises mean nothing?”

“we broke up, jisung! we are not together anymore. there’s no us, it’s just you and i,” you look away to avoid his burning gaze.

“look at me, babe,” he whispers, his words are careful to not try and trigger you any more.

and when you do, he looks down at you with a soft gaze, “i want you to know one thing. there’s nothing in this world that will make me love you less. it’s okay to worry. you worry for the one you love and it’s normal. there is no such thing as worrying too much, okay? don’t you ever think that you are less or that you are more. you are just the perfect amount, like the sugar i need in my coffee,” he jokes a bit and it does indeed manage to make you chuckle through tears.

“there was a day where i almost knocked at your front door, but then i saw how happy you looked. and i feel like i was trying to snatch away your happiness, but then you told me how you felt and honestly, it just feels like we’re two dumb people who are scared to communicate. a talk was all we needed.”

“i’m sorry for hurting you that night, and for not even bothering to tell you that i’m was leaving.” after every word, he smiles wider, and it’s as if you’re seconds away from mending his broken heart along with yours. “is it too late to stop the shifting of the furniture?” he laughs, before shaking his head, and pulling you to his chest. his arms wrap around you and he embraces you tightly, cherishing every bit of you for as long as he can.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“i suppose i should call the guy before it gets too late,” he huffs in annoyance and you smile at his words.

“you should! it’s your fault you’re trying to give away our stuff,” you mock, with a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“putting the blame on me now?” he pouts before stealing a kiss from you and his fingers are already vigorously typing digits on his phone.

there’s something about this house that will never change; you and him. perhaps those magnets too.

PERM TAGLIST: @taeriffic 🥽 @hello-2-u-from-me 🥽 @ilychee08 🥽 @sleepyleeji 🥽 @spacegirlstuff

[littleplantfreak]

A Candle’s Memory

Pairing: Umemiya x Reader

Cw: Fluff and slight hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1782

I did this as an exercise that turned into me writing for longer than I was supposed to because I felt sad about leaving it unfinished. The Prompts were candle wick or an old flame rekindled (I did both) and the theme was : Preservation in preparation for the coming winter, we try to hold onto the last bit of warmth. Write about letting go, or not wanting to.

Oh! Thank you @birinboom, min skat and my lovely beta reader. I wouldn’t have posted it without you 😘

Thunk

Snow hitting your window snaps your mind out of the book you were reading and breaks the immersion completely, causing more anger than fear. You know the face that pops up outside the window immediately as you give him a bored look. For a 12 year old, Umemiya's more dependable than most adults, dragging himself out of bed at 6:00AM to shovel the older neighbors' sidewalks. His cheeks and nose are stained red, and his sniffling causes the window to fog up.

When you crack the window halfway, the warmth is sucked out of your room, the wind blowing the candle you were using as a reading light out. Dog earring the page of your book, you reach out as your hands cover his cheeks, hoping to bring him some form of warmth. You really have to pity his poor skin with the way he gives it no more care than to wrap a scarf around his neck and sometimes bury his face deep in it to keep away frostbite.

"Whatcha readin' this time?" He asks, feeling the blood return to his face now that there's warm skin over his own frigid cheeks. The candle blown out stares him down while the wax cools as if faulting him for its death.

"Treasure Island. You should read it after I'm done." Because he should. You know his taste, and this is something he can get behind. Pirates and adventure for a boy who's got an equally adventurous dream roiling in his bones. He never asks what it's about, and you never tell him, both content at the surprise.

"I'll pick it up on my way to school," Is all he says to that before taking the matches off the side of the table and relighting your candle. He hops down a little ways, setting out to do at least two more sidewalks before he has to go back home and get dressed.

This routine continues until it stops snowing. Or at least you would think it would. He doesn't have any real reason to come back once it's warm enough, you'd think, but when he shows up on a morning without snow, you're a bit confused.

"I saw the candle going again and decided to stop by." He says immediately. It's still cold, but his face is much less irritated by it without precipitation.

"Are you...on a walk?"

"Something like that!" He says leaning into the window, giving no concern over how close he gets to you or the burning candle he almost knocks over. It'd be silly to say you didn't have a crush on him, especially with his constant morning attention and how his smile seemed to light up your room more than your candle ever could.

His eyes go to the book you're reading once again. This time the cover reads Hamlet. When he meets your eyes again, you let out a breath you'd been holding.

"This one is a tragedy, so you might not like it as much." It's more than you've ever said about one of the books before.

"Do you like it?" He asks, gray eyes dancing between looking at your bedhead and the pretty eyes that caught his attention the first time he saw you through the window.

"I do."

"I'll give it a try." He shows a softer smile, less thousand-watt and more warm sunny day. You're not sure if he can tell just how breathless it makes you when he does that. Surely he has to know. The thought of him smiling like that makes your heart twist in an unpleasant way, but you'll be damned if you ever let that monster win against showing him nothing but the smile you return to him.

The one morning you wish he'd come, he doesn't. The dread you feel lays heavy like a rock in your throat as the moving van comes that afternoon, dragging you away from your window. Before you leave, you look from the outside where he'd stand, seeing from his point of view what it looked like sans burning candle. Surely it must look more comforting with the flame and its golden halo.

When you think about him coming back to the dark empty frame, no longer allowed access, the tears you thought would be so easy to hold back fall painfully. The bookmark you lay out on the windowsill that your parents bought you as a birthday present sits limp and dead, and you wonder if it'll blow away before he finds it.

It does not blow away before he finds it, luckily. The unlucky thing is that you're gone. He's been kept away by a fever he didn't think would get worse after the first day. Try as he might've to meet you, the room spun, and he quickly and often became accustomed to the toilet those three days he was bedridden. The bookmark had small pressed petals and a pink tassel to match them. He holds it tight, looking at the window and feeling like it was a closed door.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

When you move back to your hometown, you're well out of high school. The town has changed for the better as you walk through, seeing the community flourish with potted plants in front of stores no longer kicked and smashed, and kids walking together, no nervous glances to the alleyways anymore. You've got an inkling as to who's responsible for the change, but you brush aside thoughts of him even now, the nostalgia keeping you from reading any books you'd shared back then. You'd learned fast back then that rereading them only caused stormy waves to wash over you, soaking you in a delicate sadness.

There are plenty of books in the world. A few are off limits. If you saw him, though, would it allow you to read them again, the way you so desperately wish to? Sometimes you wonder if it's the books you miss or the interest Umemiya gave to both you and the pages.

You buy your old house from your parents, who never got around to selling it. It's run down and dusty, and the rooms are the same as ever. You can't bring yourself to take any room but your own from back then, setting it up differently except for the desk against the window.

The old scentless candle is now replaced with a sweet lemon one that you allow to burn while the window stays open well into the later evening. The lack of scent back then was only due to your parents who weren't pleased with your staying up past bedtime, hours into the next morning, and then sleeping when you got home from school until you started the cycle once more.

The house feels better now that you've got it clean, at least. There are carpets to rip out, and leaks to check. The backyard is overgrown, and the light in the shed refuses to work, but this is home. It feels more like home than the house you'd moved to all those years ago.

The next day, you walk back to your house from the library with a stack of three books nestled close to your chest. You can't help your eyes flickering to the large figure making his way to the door you've just come out of, and when you hold it for him, you're more sure than ever.

"Umemiya Hajime, is that you?" you ask, voice a little more enthused than you'd wanted it to be. He looks once, then to the door before he double takes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind, with the cutest pout you didn't know a grown man could make. Your name falls from his mouth like a question. "The one and only," you say, and your smile turns fond, remembering just how much tinier he used to be. You were always taller than him, at least from your seat at the desk, but now he towers above you.

"It's really you," he breathes for a moment, looking at the differences and picking them out easily. He feels like it was just yesterday that he leaned too close to your candle, singeing the end of his scarf by accident. He remembers the look of panic when you realized he was on fire and started smacking at him with your book. You'd ended up having to buy that one from the library due to the soot and small scorches to the cover from your rescue. He still has it on a shelf in his room, insisting he'd pay you back, but you said it'd be a late Christmas present despite it being closer to Valentine's day than anything. When he brought it up back then, you'd waved it off, stuttering something about how it was more about intention than actual calendar dates.

"Are you visiting?" He asks, not having heard that you were around from anyone, but you always were a bit more introverted.

"I bought my old house and moved back actually. There was a job with a 20-minute commute from here, so I figured it'd be great to be somewhere familiar. I didn't know Makochi changed this much." He sees the crinkle of your eyes and the smile you throw to him when you say the last sentence, knowing you've always been fully aware of his dreams. Seeing that was worth more than any praise. The look was praise itself, maybe, given how it filled his chest with a warmth that had him laying a hand there as his fingers played with the neck of his shirt as he tried hard not to fist the fabric.

"If I'd known, I would've stopped by sooner."

"You know now, so stop by whenever you want," you laugh, because years ago, he would never have been shy about it. The book you see he's holding has something pink attached. A memory surfaces, spanning over years of living in a separate, different place, only to settle right where a story ended. At least you thought it had ended, but maybe you'll have to crack it open again just to be sure.

"This time, you can come in through the door."  You walk off with a wave, thinking about lighting that lemon scented candle again when you get home. You let it burn long enough last time for the memory to shape the wax into a nice, even pool, which will help the wick burn slow and steady once you relight it.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions; Unplanned Pregnancy; Reader is a Mom Note: Written for day 12 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Unplanned Pregnancy" from Waitress. Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic 🥰 I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey Garcia always expected the greatest honor of his career would be when he was accepted into Top Gun. However, he never imagined he would be chosen to return as one of the best of the best a few years later. Yet he had done it! Selected along with his pilot and close friend, Payback, as one of the few to train for a top-secret mission. It was a dream come true.

He met most of the other aviators the night before at the Hard Deck, and with one possible exception, everyone seemed very nice and supportive. Then, after the debriefing this morning, he was excited—if a little nervous—about the next few weeks of training. He still can’t believe he was selected as a potential member of the mission. He doesn’t have high expectations for being chosen, but he is still going to try his very best.

After running back out to his car to grab some paperwork, he’s heading for the row of hangars so he can meet Payback to prep their plane for their first practice, a wide grin spread across his face. The fact he is about to fly in a training dogfight with Maverick—the Maverick—still feels like a dream to him. It feels like he’s being trained by Han Solo or Captain Kirk! He is a legend that other legends look up to and Mickey had never imagined he would get an opportunity like this. Could this day get any better?

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

As he reaches the tarmac, Mickey suddenly stumbles to a stop and his face drops as he catches sight of the ghost from his past standing in the way, almost as if waiting for him. But it’s impossible. He double-checked the roster ten times just to make sure there was no chance you were going to be here. 

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

“Falcon…” 

You worry your lip between your teeth just like you used to when you got nervous or were deep in thought, but your eyes shine brightly when your callsign slipped from his lips. “Hey there, Fanboy.” 

Oh, God… that voice. Instantly, a thousand memories flash through Mickey’s mind: the first time he laid eyes on you at boot camp with your brilliant smile and Death Star tattoo; flying with you as his pilot, and how he instantly knew he never wanted to fly with anyone else; you dubbing him Fanboy after seeing him nearly burst into tears after running into William Shatner in a coffee shop and him naming you Falcon after the iconic Star Wars ship; all the stolen, secret moments and rendezvous as your friendship blossomed into something deeper despite the risk of Command finding out; the morning he found your letter left on his bunk saying you had transferred and had already left without a warning or a goodbye.

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. I’ve been an instructor at Top Gun for the past two years.” Your leg is bouncing slightly and you keep clenching and unclenching your hands. “I guess you were in the class the year before I started, but I was so proud when I heard you made it. Of course, I always knew you could.”

Instructors. Mickey groans softly to himself. He had been so focused on what other aviators  had been recruited for the mission it never crossed his mind to check who the instructors would be. But it’s too late to do anything about it now. 

“So, does that mean you’ll be teaching me?” It’s hard enough seeing you standing before him. But if he has to see you on a daily basis, listen to your lessons, follow your orders…there is no way he’ll make it the next three weeks.

Luckily, you shake your head. “No, it’s all top secret and I don’t have the clearance. I’m not even sure what your mission is. All they’ve told us is that they need the best of the best in the hopes of completing it, so I wasn’t surprised to see your name on the list. I never flew better than with you in my backseat.”

Mickey silently sighs in relief before he jams his hands in his pockets and coldly asks, “If you don’t have anything to do with my mission, what do you want, Falcon? After you disappeared for almost six years, I don’t really have anything I want to say to you. I think it’s better if we keep things the way you wanted it and just pretend the other doesn’t exist.” 

He starts to walk around you, but you step in front of him, holding up your hand to block his retreat. “Is that really what you think I did? Left and never gave you another thought? Because you’re wrong. I think about you every single day, Mickey. And I haven’t been able to get into a plane without you in my head. No matter who I’m flying with, your voice is in my headset giving me directions, or doing systems checks, or failing to stump me with random trivia about another movie or tv show just like it used to be.” You take a deep breath as you let your hand drop to your side. “But maybe if I didn’t care, it would make all of this easier. I–”

You are close to tears as your voice trembles with every word, but Mickey is having none of it. “No! Uh uh. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you’re the one who was hurt here,” he says, jamming his finger accusingly at you. “You’re the one who put in for a transfer without even talking to me about it first, so don’t act like you’re the victim. One day, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, flying with the woman I love at the stick, and the next, I wake up to a note telling me you’d left to fly with another unit. No explanation. No nothing. I never even got to say goodbye! You just disappeared from my life and you took my heart with you. But you never gave a shit.”

“Yes, I did! I swear!” Tears now begin to flow freely down your cheeks. You try to close the distance between you, but when Mickey steps back, you stop. Clutching your arms across your chest, you beg, “Mickey, I loved you. If there had been another way, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to stay with you but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?” 

“Command. They heard from a few different people that we were ‘fraternizing’ outside of our duties. That we had started sleeping together a few months earlier and that it had evolved into an actual relationship.”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

Smiling warmly at him, you say, “I never doubted that. And just so you know, I didn’t either. But someone must have found some sort of evidence and turned us in. I tried to find out who, but I never had any luck. All I know is I got called into the discipline office and they said they were starting an investigation into our alleged relationship and if it were true…” 

You take a deep breath as your arms tighten around your chest. “I knew if they went looking, they’d find out about us so I did the only thing I could think of to save our careers. I told them it wasn’t true but if they were still concerned, I would voluntarily opt for a different WSO or even transfer to another unit if that would clear things up. And they took me up on my offer.”

Missing pieces of Mickey’s past suddenly start to click into place. While it was against regulation for pilots and their backseaters to “fraternize” with any kind of romantic or sexual relationship, the rule was hardly ever enforced. However, around the time you disappeared, a pilot in another unit almost botched a mission saving his injured WSO instead of carrying out his assignment. When it was discovered they were in a romantic relationship at the time, Command began taking the regulation very seriously. Mickey recalls the two of you even had a nervous conversation about it at one point but just agreed to be more discreet while on base. 

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“But why did you do it? Some anonymous jerk claims we were dating and that’s it? We could have fought it. If you had told me what was going on, we could have both denied everything and there was no way they could prove it.”

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

All the air is sucked from Mickey’s lungs. He feels like he’s doing barrel rolls in his jet as the world spins around him and an immense pressure weighs on his chest. “You… you were… what?”

You nod gently. “I had only found out a few days before and I was trying to figure out how to tell you. But then the investigation was brought up and it changed everything. All they had was the word of someone else we were dating, but if they knew I was pregnant with your baby, well, that’s pretty solid evidence. I didn’t know if you wanted kids. Hell, I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. So, I didn’t say anything and they transferred me two days later.”

“How could you not tell me?” Mickey whispers, trying to wrap his head around this life-changing revelation. “I would have been by your side for every minute. We could have figured it out together, we could have found a way to make it work. But even if we couldn’t, I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you. And if that meant giving up everything else, I would have done it.”

“I know you would have. And that’s why I couldn’t say anything.” You take a few steps towards him. This time, Mickey doesn’t move back, but you still keep a little space between you so you don’t overwhelm him. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t let me leave and it would be the end of both our careers. We’d both worked so hard to get where we were, I couldn’t let you throw everything away for a kid I still didn’t know if I even wanted. And by the time I had decided, it was too late to change what I’d done. So, when I reported to Command I was pregnant a few months later, I said it was from a nameless one-night stand I met at a bar right after I transferred.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…” 

It is the final straw. Stumbling over to the nearby wall, Mickey slides down it until he is sitting on the ground and rests his head on his knees. He has a son. A four- or five-year-old son that he never knew about. Someone who was already walking, and talking, and going to school. Who was his own person with his own personality and likes and dislikes. Who Mickey knows absolutely nothing about.

The two of you had never talked about whether you wanted kids or a family. Until the moment you disappeared, Mickey had never doubted you both loved each other deeply but your relationship had been too complicated by rules and regulations to face what might happen in the future. So, the two of you had lived in the moment and tried to enjoy what time you had together instead of talking about the future. But that didn’t mean Mickey hadn’t thought about it. He had known from a young age he wanted to be a father. He helped take care of his younger siblings growing up and he couldn’t wait to have a family of his own. 

So to find out now that he has a child is simultaneously exhilarating and devastating. He could have had everything he had always dreamed of, but you had taken all those early milestones, all those precious irreplaceable moments with his son, and Mickey doesn’t know how to accept that. What if his son never forgives him for not being there? Mickey might not have known he even existed until a few moments ago, but that doesn’t change the fact his son has had to grow up not knowing what it was like to have a father. To have a void in his life where others around him had a loving, supportive presence. Will his son even want him in his life at this point?

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye. 

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Mickey raises his head to glare up at you, all of his swirling emotions finding a much-needed target to explode at. “Even if I accept why you let them transfer you or that you didn’t tell me right then, why didn’t you tell me at any point during the last five years! Is it just because I’m here? If I hadn’t come back to Top Gun, would you ever have told me?”

You open your mouth to respond but then close it again as you try to find the best way to answer. “Those are all fair questions. I figured if I told you while I was still pregnant or right after I gave birth, we would still get in trouble. My superiors weren’t happy that I had just transferred to fly with one of their WSOs and this happened but they had to accept it. I flew for another month or two but then I was placed on desk duty until I got this job at Top Gun. I hated being grounded but at least I was someplace consistent where I could go home to my family every night.”

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

You seem confused for a moment but as soon as you realize what he is asking, you quickly clarify, “Oh, no, no, no! Nothing like that. My mom moved in a month before I gave birth and stayed so she could watch the kiddo while I was at work.” You duck your head to stare at the ground as you mutter, “But no, there, uh, there hasn’t been anyone like that since you. I’ve got one little man who has my whole heart, and between him and work, I don’t have the time or the energy to spend on anyone else.”

Mickey hates the way his heart warmed slightly at that. He should hate you right now, not be happy that you aren’t with someone. Quickly changing the topic before he lets himself dwell on that for too long, he says, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why now? Why are you telling me about him now?”

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“Well, not you specifically but he started asking about his dad. He doesn’t understand….” Your voice breaks as your lip begins to quiver. Mickey’s resolve wavers and he starts to reach for your hand but then he remembers the reason you are upset in the first place and lets his hand fall. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He’s too young to understand and I’m too selfish to admit it’s my fault you’re not there, so I just told him his dad was a Naval aviator like me and he’s off protecting everyone from danger. I was hoping…I don’t know what I was hoping, but it didn’t satisfy him like I thought it would. Two weeks ago, he told me all he wants for his birthday next month is to meet his dad.”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

You nod. “And I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea where in the world you were, if you had your own family by now, or if you would even want to meet him once you knew. But then a few days ago I saw you were coming here and…it seemed like fate. I knew telling you would be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t go home and look into our son’s eyes if I didn’t at least try. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“So this is just a way for you to clear your conscience?” Mickey asks. “You finally tell me I have a son, and that’s supposed to absolve you of everything? You took nearly five years I could have had with him away from me! I missed out on so many firsts!” Mickey suddenly freezes, all the anger evaporating in an instant as a sober realization sets in. “I still don’t even know his name….”

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.” 

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

You smile at the reverence on Mickey’s face. “It was the only name I ever considered.” Pulling out your phone and tapping the screen a few times, you offer it to him. “It turns out it was perfect. He’s the spitting image of his namesake.”

With shaking hands, Mickey takes the phone from you. Looking down, he sees a little boy staring back at him with a wide grin that’s too big for his face, a mess of dark curly hair, and rich brown eyes that make Mickey feel like he is looking into a mirror. You weren’t far off. Miguel looks almost exactly like the baby photos Mickey had seen of himself at that age. However, he can also see traces of you in the toddler’s face; in the shape of his lips and the cut of his jaw. There’s no way to deny it any longer. This was his kid. Yours and his together. 

Watching the waves of emotions washing across his face, you murmur, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you…either of you. I just didn’t know what to do and then, once I made a decision, I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. The longer I put it off, the more impossible it got to tell you. But you did nothing wrong and I just thought he should have another piece of you to carry with him, even if he doesn’t understand it yet.”

Mickey swipes his finger across the phone and the photo changes to one of you balancing Miguel on your hip as you point towards the camera. He looks younger here but the same joy is evident on his face as he clings to you with one arm and to a ratty-looking Spider-Man plush in the other. Another swipe shows Miguel blowing out a candle on a birthday cake shaped like a Stegosaurus. There is a big “4” balloon floating in the background next to a woman Mickey recognizes as your mother. He swipes again to see a picture of you fast asleep in a rocking chair with an infant Migual curled on your chest. He is so tiny that he could only have been a month or two old. You look disheveled and exhausted even in sleep, yet Mickey doesn’t think he can remember a time you were more breathtaking.

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply. 

There is a small framed drawing hanging on the wall just above Miguel’s crib. It’s of two stick people looking at each other with little hearts above their heads. He doubts a single other person would have ever noticed it, but he would recognize it anywhere. He had doodled it on a note he slipped you right after his friendship with you had developed into a romance. And you had kept it all of these years then hung it so it would watch over your son.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

“Okay, then yeah, of course you can,” you say eagerly as your face lights up. But then it dims slightly as you add, “But, um, I think it’s better if we wait just a few days.” Mickey starts to protest but you hold up your hand. “I know I’ve already made you wait far too long for this, but we need to figure out some things first and I’m sure once you’ve had time to process everything, you’ll have a million questions. I just want you to be as prepared for this as possible so you both feel comfortable. It’s a big deal and Miguel is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, but he is pretty shy around new people and I don’t want to just spring this on him without talking to him first.”

Mickey can’t help smiling to himself. He was the exact same way when he was little. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I already have a thousand questions and I’m sure by tomorrow, I’ll have a thousand more. How ‘bout we say Friday after training? I could come over or meet you guys somewhere or whatever you think is best.”

You hesitate for a minute. “I have an appointment Friday afternoon and I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Why don’t we do Saturday morning? We could meet for pancakes. That’ll definitely get you on Miguel’s good side.”

“Pancakes it is.” Mickey climbs to his feet and holds out your phone to you. But just as you are about to take it, he pulls it back slightly. “Um…do you think…could you send me some photos of Miguel?”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

You duck your head. “I couldn’t delete it. I stared at it countless nights with my finger hovering over the call button, but I always chickened out. However, I knew one day I’d find the strength to tell you everything, and when that happened, I’d need a way to contact you so I kept it. I’m still just so sorry it took me this long.”

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

“Yeah…” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself once again. “I felt like I was in my own personal Kobayashi Maru except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out how to cheat the system.”

Oh God. The ease at which that perfect Star Trek metaphor slips from your lips once again has Mickey flashing back to all the little reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. However, after the secrets you revealed today, he can’t let himself fall back into what was. 

“That might be true, but another part of me doesn’t know if I can ever forgive you for stealing these last five years I could have had with my son.” He scrubs his hand over his closely buzzed hair. “Right now, I just don’t know how to feel about you or what you did. However, I do know that I can be pleasant and get along when we’re around Miguel, though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back to a point where we’re friends again.”

You bob your head, tears dampening your eyes even as a small smile spreads across your face. “That’s fair. That’s more than fair. Honestly, I half expected you never to want to see me again after I told you, so I’ll take pleasant. Thank you, Mickey.”

He nods and holds out your phone. As you take it, your fingers brush against his and Mickey feels a jolt run up his arm as he touches you for the first time in almost six years. And based on the way your eyes widened, you felt it too. The two of you gaze at each other, your hands still both holding the phone between you. Mickey feels his heart start to race slightly in his chest, and he wonders if maybe he’s wrong and forgiving you won’t be as difficult as he thinks it is. 

But then you pull the phone from his hand and slip it into your pocket. Taking a few steps back, you mutter, “I’ll send you those pictures. And please do text me any questions you have this week. Otherwise, I’ll call you Friday to figure out the details for breakfast Saturday.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

For several minutes, Mickey continues to stare at where you had been standing, still half wondering if anything that just happened was real or not. He always knew returning to Top Gun would be life-changing, but he had never expected this in a million years. 

Still in a daze, he stumbles off towards the hangar where his plane is housed. As he approaches, he sees Payback already dressed in his flight suit and busy checking out the plane. He looks up when he hears Mickey approaching.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

“Yeah, guess I have.” Just then, Mickey’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see you have sent him a link to a folder filled with hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel. Just a brief scan of them makes tears begin to well up in his eyes once more. But when he looks back up at Payback, the smile on his face is so wide it hurts. “But it’s all good. In fact… It’s never been better.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @blue-aconite, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld, @wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @roosterforme, @clancycucumber230, @mamachasesmayhem, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989, @ohtobeleah, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

[reidsaurora]

"Hot Chocolate, White Lies" ~ A. Hotchner

Summary: Aaron might be a pain in the ass to shop for, but at least he's cute.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader (Reader does wear makeup)

Word Count: 1,444

Content Warning: mild swearing, mentions of food, i think that's it!

Extra Notes: i took creative liberties with the things featured in this fic, sue me (also sorry for the sh!tty summary, it will happen again) // icon in collage is by @catsadams

Beta Read By: @theghouligan 🫶🏻

Originally Written: 10/12/2023 through 10/19/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

There were many things you were unsure of, but one thing you did know was that autumn was your absolute favorite time of the whole year.

The mornings when you were both home from cases usually started slow and sweet. You'd wake up ten minutes past your alarm, Aaron's chapped lips the only thing strong enough to awaken you from your slumber. You'd press to know why he allowed you to be late, but he'd just insist, "We have nowhere important to be. Besides, you just looked so peaceful. How could I ever wake you?"

When you finally rolled out of bed, his hands would be on your waist, his lips trailing soft kisses down your neck as the two of you made your way into the kitchen. You'd start on a pan of French toast while Aaron put on the coffee, stealing quick kisses as the two of you glided around the space, each of you already anticipating the other's every move.

Then, you'd eat together in the breakfast nook, the sunlight glowing all around him, somehow making his five-o'clock shadow and bedhead seem ethereal. The conversation would flow from topic to topic as easily as water flowed downstream. But this particular day, there was one topic Aaron seemed to be actively avoiding.

It was a week from his birthday, and while he knew better than to tell you not to get him anything, he would still put his foot down about making a big deal out of the situation. If one person found out, then they'd all find out, and truly, his only wish every year was to spend his birthday with the person he loved most, not the entirety of the FBI. He'd much rather have take-out and a cheap bottle of wine in the comfort of his own home than hors d'oeuvres and expensive champagne with people he hardly knew.

Still, you'd tried all morning to get him to crack and tell you what he wanted for his birthday. But his response was always the same: "You're the only thing I need, my love."

One somewhat pointless conversation and a plate of French toast later, the two of you were headed back to the bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. He'd head into the bathroom to shave, and you'd steal glances of him as you got dressed in the bedroom. Then he'd do the same, eyeing you with absolute love and adoration as you applied layers of makeup he still insisted you didn't need, even after years of marriage.

Soon enough, you'd arrive at your favorite little bookstore and cafe. Any onlooker would immediately be able to tell just how in love Aaron was with you, sporting a matching sweater you'd clearly picked out and his hand only parting from yours to open the door, which he insisted on doing any time you went anywhere together.

"Alright, I'm setting you free," he joked, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Don't cause too much chaos in the romance aisle, okay?"

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him on the lips for once. "I'll only squeal if they have anything signed by my favorite author."

And with that, he was headed off to the cafe side of the building, going to collect a cup of your favorite hot chocolate. Most people preferred to drink coffee while they shopped, but to you, nothing beat curling the sleeves of your sweater around your hands and sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Even after years of coming to this place, you still hadn't figured out how they made it taste infinitely better than other hot chocolate you'd ever had.

Once you were absolutely sure Aaron was in line at the cafe, you were bee-lining in the opposite direction of the romance aisle and over to the literary fiction section.

While you'd originally told Aaron you wanted to go to the bookstore under the guise of wanting to see if they had a copy of a new release you'd been excited about, you secretly had other plans. If he wasn't going to tell you what he wanted, you'd take matters into your own hands.

You peered around one of the shelves to make sure he wasn't looking, letting out a quick sigh of relief as you spotted him reading something on his phone.

You had all of about three minutes to find a couple books that he hadn't read, which was no small feat. Nearly every second of Aaron's free time was spent devouring a novel, and while you loved that he had found a hobby he truly enjoyed, it also made it devastatingly hard to buy him new books.

In roughly two and a half minutes, you'd managed to find three books that you were sure Aaron would love. Then, you were all but sprinting over to the romance section and grabbing the first book you saw, reading the back cover nonchalantly as your husband walked up.

You were reading the back of some novel about two rival scientists falling in love when Aaron got back with two cups of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie the size of your face. "Your drink, my dear," he said, holding out one of the cups.

You took the cup from him, inhaling that first anticipated sip of the warm liquid. "Thank you."

"You found anything interesting yet?" he asked, a hand meeting the small of your back.

You shook your head, placing the scientist romance novel back on the shelf and picking up another book with a beautiful pink cover. "Nothing much. No signed copies so you'll be glad to know I won't be disturbing the other readers with my squeals."

He chuckled, a deep sound that made butterflies go off in your stomach every time you heard it. "Thank you, I'm sure it's appreciated," he kidded. He took the tote from your shoulder, immediately registering the weight of the bag. "Nothing much?" he inquired.

Before he could open the bag to look inside, you were swatting his hand and snatching it away. "It's… an encyclopedia I promised Reid I'd get for him if I saw it."

Aaron cocked an eyebrow at you. "Since when do you go shopping for Reid?" he inquired, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue.

You wracked your brain for some kind of response that sounded at least halfway truthful. "He hasn't been able to find it anywhere and he knew we liked coming here, so he asked me to check next time we came."

That skeptical brow of his only raised itself higher. "Well, there's one flaw with your story and that's that I'm a profiler and I know when you're lying to me."

Before you could form a rebuttal, he was taking the bag out of your hands again. "Aaron, don't-" you barely got out the words before he was holding up the copy of The Midnight Library.

His brows furrowed as he held up the book, examining the cover for a moment. "This isn't a romance."

You let out an exasperated breath at his examination. "That's kind of the point, Aaron."

"Well, I thought we came to find a copy of that new book you've been looking for."

You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a small huff of amusement. "I suppose I should come clean. I did lie to you."

Aaron's mouth flew open in fake shock. "No! I never would've guessed."

"Not about that," you grumbled, slapping his arm. "About why we're here in the first place. I wanted to find you something for your birthday."

His features wrinkled in embarrassment, a small sigh escaping between his lips. "Well, now I look like an ass."

You were inclined to agree, he did kind of look like an ass. But he was a cute ass and you wouldn't want him any other way. Hands flying up to his cheeks, you pulled him down for a long and soft kiss. His wrinkles of slight mortification melted away as he settled into your touch, the scents of hot chocolate and new books taking over each of your senses.

Aaron was the first to pull away, moving his kiss from your lips to your forehead, before meeting you with an expression filled with admiration. "You-"

"-'Didn't have to get me anything.' I know," you finished for him. "But these ones seem really interesting and I thought that maybe we could read them together."

His mouth curved upward into that smile of his that was so sweet, so loving, so… Aaron. "If I'm going to share a book, I'm always going to hope it's with you."

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @the-lucky-ones311 @mercuryvapours @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @paintlavillered @lavhoes @rhyanishere @namorswhore @danielle143 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @ah-blossom @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @bbbbbbbbbbbbbbl @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahargrove @cwritesforfun @maelartasch @lover-of-books-and-tea @juismissing @captainchris-pike

[emeritusemeritus]

Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 8.

[Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, p in v sex, 69’ing, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used. Not beta-read nor spell checked, we die like Sirius ❤️

The Freddie smut train isn’t stopping 🌹

George returned a little while later, taking a suspiciously long time in the shower which you didn't doubt had been organised by Fred.

"Are you both decent?" He asked as he crept in, smiling at seeing that you were both now clothed and sat on the bed laughing.

"Reckon tea will be ready soon," George says, hopping onto the bed, now clean and redressed. He immediately pulls you into his arms, getting the cuddles you'd promised earlier as you absently draw shapes onto the skin of his arm with your finger as you all chat until Molly calls you for tea.

You all sit and chat as you eat, Fred, Harry and Ron all celebrating their win from earlier in the day. Molly has made a heap of mashed potato, steak and onion pies and veg which you excitedly tuck into, knowing how much you'll miss her cooking when the week comes to an end. It was Hermione's last day at the burrow tomorrow before she went home to her parents and so you were all trying to think of something you could do tomorrow, gathering ideas or group activities but not quite deciding anything.

Fred looks increasingly fidgety throughout dinner, which made you glance at him questioningly a few times. It wasn't entirely uncharacteristic for him to be squirmy and hyper but this seemed different, like he couldn't wait to get away from the table. Once the meal had been had, you and both twins make your way up to their bedroom with Fred immediately fluttering round the room grabbing random things and slinging them into a little shopping bag he'd knicked from Molly.

"You'll probably need a sweater princess, want one of mine?" He asks as he delves into the drawers, not waiting for an answer as he pulls out a green knitted jumper with a big 'F' on the front in gold lettering. You gladly accept and look down at what you're wearing, suddenly wondering if they're suitable.

"Fred, do I need to get changed?" You ask, making him pause briefly as he looks at you up and down.

"No princess, though if you want to wear less I'd have no qualms," he smirks before returning to his digging. You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to George who is lay on the bed reading. You slink into bed beside him and without ever taking his gaze off the page, he opens up his arm for you to cuddle into his side.

"Gonna miss you," you whisper in his ear, quiet enough so Fred wouldn't hear. You see him smile and turn to you as his hand creeps down to reach your bum, giving it a little pat.

"You already know I'll miss you," he smiles, pressing a kiss to your head.

"Right! Princess if you would like to follow me," Fred says, standing beside the bed and offering his elbow to you like a man in an old fashioned movie. You giggle and stand to grab his elbow, casting one last glance back at George before you slip out of the door and down the stairs, following Fred until he leads you out of the house.

"Where are we going?" You ask, your arms still gripping his arm as he guides you. He looks over at you with a smirk and winks, not disclosing anything.

You follow the familiar path up to the back field, praying that he wasn't going to make you play quidditch.

When you got to the field, he pulled the bag off his wide shoulders and pulled out a large picnic blanket and laid it on the floor as he knelt down, gesturing for you to take a seat.

"Okay my princess, we have a blanket, some candles, some beer and."

"Where did you get that?" You interject, laughing as he pulls out two bottles of beer from the bag, no doubt stolen from Arthur's stash. He gives you a wicked smile and leans in to pull you into a kiss, both of you giggling as your lips meet. He then lights the candles around you and reaches into the bag to pull out a little box.

"Okay we have Weasley's whizzbangs, whizzfire bangs, whammy rockets and miraculous mystic mayhem makers," Fred smiles as he pulls out a selection of fireworks from the bag, all tried and tested Weasley products they'd been developing.

"Putting on a show for me handsome?" You flirt, looking at the selection of explosives in front of you.

"Sweetheart, I'm constantly putting on a show for you, have been since second year," he admits with a little chuckle, making you laugh.

You actually end up sitting and talking for the majority of the night, reminiscing about previous pranks you'd all pulled and memories together over the years as you sip on stolen beer. You were both lay on the blanket, your head on his chest as you looked up towards the stars, feeling at peace.

"You're so beautiful," Fred says suddenly, making you turn to face him. Instead of a teasing smirk that you'd expected, he actually looks a little bashful with a smile tugging at his lips. You blush at the sudden intimacy and lean up to kiss him. The kiss starts off slowly and playfully but in no time you are beginning to rut against each other, hands wandering and little breathless gasps falling between your lips in between the passionate kisses.

Something changes in you immediately like a switch had been flicked and you needed to feel him on you, in you, however you could get him, surrendering to the intense desire that Fred always seemed to pull from you.

You began tugging at his sweater, needing to get it off his body to feel him. As he sat up slightly, you immediately began attacking his brown, woven belt to get to what you really wanted.

"What's your rush princess? You need me?" He asks, his hand coming up to grab the side of your face, long fingers tangling into your hair as he feverishly kisses you. You nod and a little whimper falls from your throat without realising as you carry on trying to undress him, the lust you felt becoming a burning need.

Fred pulled off his sweater and T-shirt, leaving him in just his trousers which were quickly pulled down as soon as you'd worked his belt.

"A little unfair don't you think sweetheart?" He smirks, pulling your body to his, your hips meeting as you feel the growing bulge in his underwear against your thigh. He immediately pulls off the sweater and top you're wearing, gasping and growling as he realises that you aren't wearing a bra, your naked breasts spilling out. He immediately latches onto your nipple with his mouth, feasting on the feverish skin as his other hand grabs hold of your neglected breast and toys with the nipple. Your hips chase his at the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation as he sucks and nips at your pebbled nipples.

"Fred," you groan, throwing your head back as he sucks little lovebites into the side of your breast, never neglecting the nipple as his tongue switches back and forth, devouring your aching breasts.

"That's it princess, tell me who makes you feel this good," Fred smirks, pushing your breasts together to pay attention to them both. "Such perfect tits," he mumbles as he dives right back in.

Your hands begin to wander on his body, running down his smooth abdomen until you reach the little fuzz of his happy trail and the waistband of his boxers. You slip your hand into his underwear and immediately reach for his big, swollen length earning a loud growl from Fred as you wrap your hand around him. He breaks apart from your breast just for a second to pull down his underwear, exposing his perfect cock and balls to you, allowing you to toy with him without restriction.

You slowly begin to move your hand on his cock, tugging and gliding gently just how he likes, causing a broken moan of your name to fall from his lips. He bends his neck to reach down and kiss you, slipping his tongue into your mouth as it wrestles with your own, the sensual glide making you squeeze your legs together to relieve some tension. Fred misses nothing and immediately moves his hands to your jeans to tug them off. You reluctantly let go of his length to let him pull off your jeans and panties in one go. He then pulls off his boxers the rest of the way and slings them away, leaving you both completely naked and exposed.

A single moment passes as you look at each other, your eyes wandering all over his perfect body, really trying to commit it to memory as you look at him with sheer adoration.

He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, smirking against them as his hand begins to trail up your thigh with teasingly delicate touches which only fuel the fire within you further.

His hand meets your wet folds as his fingers slip beneath them, earning a groan from him as he discovers just how wet you are.

"Is all of this for me princess?" He smirks.

You nod, desperately trying to buck your hips so he'll touch you more, chest heaving already at the sensation.

"Have you been thinking about this sweetheart? About how my big cock is going to stretch you out? Filling you up just right."

"Fuck, Fred yes!" You moan as his long, talented fingers slip inside you, curling up to hit that special spot that makes you keen.

"There it is princess, fuck you're so hot, can't wait to get my cock in you," he says as he leans back down, attacking your breasts once again as he works his fingers in and out of you. You immediately reach for his cock and begin pumping him, making deliciously lewd noises fall from his mouth.

"Come here sweetheart," he suddenly says pulling away, gesturing for you to sit up. He moves you and positions you into a similar fashion to what you'd done that afternoon but instead of being on top of him, you are laid on the blanket in opposite directions whilst facing each other.

His cock is right in front of your face, flushed pink and leaking precum already, just begging to be sucked. Fred parts your legs with his big hands and moves to rest his head on your thigh, wrapping the other one over his shoulder as he kisses your pussy lips, teasing you. You buck your hips, trying to get more than just butterfly kisses and he immediately reaches up to spank your ass, causing you to let out a gasping moan.

His hand comes up to spread your little lips and he begins giving little kisses to your sensitive clit, swirling his tongue teasingly around the exposed nub as you gasp.

You can't hold back any longer and grab hold of his cock at the base, squeezing gently before wrapping your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue devilishly around the fat head, licking up all the little beads of precum. Fred immediately moans out your name and begins feasting on your cunt perfectly, both of you trying your hardest to please the other. Your paces are slow and unhurried, trying to tease and please the other to give the most pleasure you can.

You can feel your orgasm building as your hips undulate over his face. He moans, sensing your impending release and strokes your thighs as he begins wildly sucking on your clit, tugging gently and licking over the spot repeatedly as his pace increases, keeping perfect rhythm until you cum.

You have to pull off his cock as a loud moan erupts from you, your body completely at the mercy of his as your climax takes over, the white hot flames burning you from the inside out as you shout if his name.

"Fucking hell princess," he gasps, stroking your thighs as you come down from your high, a blissful smile plastered on your face. "So hot when you cum."

Fred leans up and moves to lie beside you again, smiling and kissing you as he sees your little blissful, fucked out smile and heavy eyelids.

"Want you Freddie, please," you moan, reaching for his cock again.

"One time not enough sweetheart? Or do you need my big cock?"

"Need it Freddie, please," you beg, completely overwhelmed by the emptiness you felt, needing to be filled by him.

"I've got you sweetheart," he cooes, pulling you closer to him so that your bodies are directly facing each other. He kissed you passionately, hands wandering as they slip down to your ass again. He squeezes and massages the skin of your ass before reaching down to grab your leg and hitch it over his hip. You gasp at the sudden feel of his heavy length pressed against your pussy, just begging for entry.

You reach down and hold his cock steady at the base before rolling your hips just right so that he sinks into your wet heat, both of you gasping and moaning in sync as the bliss of him stretching you out.

"Oh princess, so tight for me," he gasps, thrusting deeper inside of you until every inch of him was buried inside, making you breathless. "Oh you feel perfect princess, so fucking good."

He begins to thrust in and out and you have to hold back your loud moans which you're sure could be heard all the way back at Hogwarts.

You begin to roll your hips in time with his thrusts and you both immediately cry out at the sensation as you fuck yourself on his cock. His hands come up to grab at your ass, guiding your movements, helping you to roll your ass back and forth as he fucks you deep.

"Fuck Freddie, so good, you're so deep," you moan out as the angle of his cock presses hard against your g-spot with each harsh thrust.

"Princess, y/n," he moans, "not gonna last, you feel so fucking good."

"Cum Freddie, please, want you to cum inside me!"

He begins brutally thrusting into you, abandoning your hip movements as his hands dig deliciously into the skin as he grips you hard. His groans and moans mix with yours as he sets a brutal pace, fucking into you with abandon as he nears his end. He suddenly grips you bruisingly hard and slams your hips down onto him one last time, holding your body tight to him as he buries himself as deep as he can. His face scrunches up deliciously as he cums, the blistering hot cum shooting deep into you as his hands keep you firmly in place as your walls clench around him, another orgasm surprising you and taking over your senses.

As the climax slowly begins to wear off, Fred's grip loosens and he slowly rubs the skin where his hands have been to soothe it. He looks up at you with a wide smile and leans down to press a sweet and gentle kiss to your lips as your hands run over his chest.

"Didn't even need the fireworks," he quips as he leans his forehead on yours. You laugh, causing your muscles to contract around him where he's still inside you and you hear him let out a little gasp of over sensitivity. He slowly pulls out, limp cock now resting between you in his thigh as you both take a few moments to catch your breath before untangling yourselves .

"You never needed fireworks to get me into bed... or the ground I guess," you laugh, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. He smiles, watching you dress with a tenderness that made butterflies spread within you.

"You know, it would be a shame to waste these," he says, sitting up and fiddling with the magical fireworks.

"Alright big boy, clothes on first though," you laugh, chucking his T-shirt towards him. You were surprisingly warm and so opted not to wear the sweater, staying in a T-shirt and your jeans as Fred quickly dressed and started preparing the whizz bangs.

You couldn't help but watch him as he moved with proficiently, seeing him in his element of causing mischief as he lined up the whizzbangs.

Moments later, the enchanted fireworks erupted in the sky with a resounding bang, illuminating the entire sky with a prism of colour. One of the particular fireworks turned into a dragon midair and began circling around the rest of the explosions in the most spectacular sight you'd ever seen.

You sneaked a look at Fred's face seeing him smiling in utter delight which made you feel so proud of him and George at their incredible inventions, forever thankful that you could always get a firsthand show.

When the ash settled, the familiar scent of gunpowder and settling smoke overwhelmed your senses and took you back to the potions classroom, smelling the Amortentia. The scent was so unmistakable, like the smell of an extinguished candle with a little more dry smokiness and a lingering musky that was entirely Weasley's wizzbangs.

"Y/n?" Fred asks, bringing your attention back to him. You realised that whilst you had been spaced out, he'd tied away the leftovers from the fireworks and was now lay back on his elbows with his long legs crossed at the ankle, watching you. "Where did you go pretty girl?"

"Nowhere important," you smiled, lying down with him as you looked back at the Burrow, seeing a couple of lights still on throughout the house. A sense of dread suddenly overwhelmed you. "No one can see us right?"

He laughed and shook his head, "only window that looks out back here is mine and George's," he explains with a smirk, "think he was watching?"

"Fred!" You laughed, hitting his chest at the thought.

"Think he was taking notes on how to please a woman?" He laughs and you nudge him again, throwing him off balance of his elbows, forcing him down. "You didn't argue it, he really that bad?"

"Merlin no, just didn't think you'd want to know all the details about how your twin brother pleases me and how he likes when I-"

""Alright I get the point," he says quickly, pulling a disgusted face at the idea. You had to chuckle as you settled back onto the blanket, sprawling your legs back as you looked up at the stars.

You sneaked a glance over at Fred who was doing the same as you with his eyes closed as he relaxed and thought back to all the times you'd tried to sneak glances at him over the years without him noticing. It was one of those moments when you realised how incredibly lucky you were to have not only Fred but George too, for however long you could have them.

The whizzbang smoke had brought back memories of the Amortentia incident and had stirred something up inside you which was eating away at your happiness, never truly knowing who it was you desired more.

When you and Fred were alone together, it was easy. You'd liked him for years, daydreamed and fantasised about him every chance you could, even so much as scribbling his initials in little notebooks in your younger years like any good schoolgirl would. You'd fantasised of your life together if he ever reciprocated your feelings, your wedding, your future children, all a distant but hopeful thought. It should be easy really, he liked you back and for that you were eternally grateful.

You'd been best friends for years, even closer than you and George had been and it was constantly exciting and passionate, like everyday was a new relationship but without all the awkwardness of learning about each other. Your mischievous best friend turned boyfriend, the constant prank master and joker, always the ringleader; he kept you on your toes at all times, bringing joy and laughter to your life like no other. Your relationship was filled with teasing and witty banter that you hope never faded and you were almost certain that you loved him, and had for a long time.

But then there was George. A prankster and joker at heart but with a stronger conscience and greater moral compass. He was sensitive and kind, at-least more often than Fred tended to be and he was comforting, above all else. George made you feel secure and loved. He was the personification of that feeling after a long, stressful day when you finally got home and could relax, putting on your cosiest, comfiest clothes and shutting out the world as you sought comfort. You'd never anticipated falling for him so hard and just like his brother, you were near certain that you were falling in love with him, if you weren’t already fully there. How were you ever going to chose between them?

"Your thoughts are loud," Fred says and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Sorry," you say, turning your attention back to him, "I think I'm just tired."

"Want to go to bed sweetheart?" He asks tenderly, placing his hand on your thigh. You had to admit that going to bed did sound very appealing right now, but you didn't want to cut the cut your little date short.

"Not just yet Freddie," you say, leaning back against him. He hums and extends his arm out to you so that you can lean on it.

"Love when you call me that," he says bashfully, touching the braids on your head as he brushes away the little wisps in your face. You smile up at him and immediately your mind, filled with problems and negative thoughts is calmed and quiet again.

You decide to head in not too long after, throwing everything back into the shopping bag and walked back to the house. You managed to sneak in undetected and immediately head up to the twins' shared bedroom, carefully avoiding the creaking stairs whilst trying not to wake anyone, if they'd been able to sleep through the fireworks at least.

Upon entering the room, you noticed that George had in fact made himself scarce and wouldn't be sleeping here tonight, his pillows gone from the bed. You briefly thought of asking Fred but it was his night with you and you didn't want to bring up any potential conflict. Fred had gone to the toilet and so you took the opportunity to take off your makeup with a wipe and get dressed.

You tossed the jumper in your arms over to the washing hamper and shimmied out of your jeans, replacing them with your sleep shorts. Your T-shirt was switched out to one of Fred's old ones that you kept and you dragged yourself into bed, your tiredness from the night before hitting you like the hogwarts express.

When Fred strolled back into the room, he smiled at seeing you in bed. He tore off his clothes, opting to just sleep in his boxers and climbed into bed behind you. It was strange sleeping without George but you didn't fixate on it, you just hoped that wherever he was, he didn't feel pushed out or alone.

Fred's arm immediately falls over your waist, falling just underneath your breasts as he pulls you tightly to him so that his body is directly connected to your back.

"How do you fit so perfectly in my arms?" He whispers into your ear, musing at the near perfect fit of your body in his. It was true; you suspected that his height versus yours had a lot to do with it but you fit neatly into the plains of his body. Your ass was pressed against his crotch whilst his arm reached perfectly with the curve of your waist, your head slotted right under his head to rest against his chest whilst his arms encased you.

"Maybe you just fit perfectly around me," you smiled into the dark room, feeling him squeeze you tighter at your words.

"Did you have a good time tonight princess?" He asks quietly and you can sense a slight hint of vulnerability in his tone.

"The best Freddie," you answer honestly, "atleast, the fireworks were great." He immediately grabs you and begins tickling your ribs as you fight back, squirming and struggling to hold in your squeals at the horrendous sensation.

"Oh I see how it is, I give you some of my best work and all she remembers is the bloody pyrotechnics," he says dramatically, causing you to roll your eyes.

"It was perfect Fred, every bit," you say quietly, no longer playing around. You twist slightly in his arms to seek out his lips, placing a kiss of sheer gratitude on him.

"This is really nice," Fred says after a few moments of comfortable silence. You hum in agreement, enjoying the peace and the feeling of his arms securely wrapped around you. "One day we'll be able to do this every night," he says, sounding as if he's narrating his thoughts. "When school is over and me and George have opened the shop, you can move in with us and every single night I'll kiss you goodnight and hold you until you fall asleep."

"That sounds perfect," you say with a yawn, feeling as if you could fall asleep within mere seconds.

"And every morning I'll bring you a cup of tea in bed and kiss you before I leave for work," he adds, clearly daydreaming though he sounds increasingly more tired with each word. "You can help me pick out my tie, checking that it matches with my suit. Did I tell you me and George decided we'd wear full suits at the shop? Like real businessmen. Anyway, you'd pick out my tie and straighten it for me before I leave because you know I always leave it wonky."

He tiredly mumbles out more of his dreams and secrets to you in the still, dark room but you don't hear them, having fallen sound asleep, comforted by the sound of his voice as it acts like your own personal lullaby.

[kiestrokes]

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below. 

Seonghwa 

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung 

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[cliophilyra]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @firehose118 - thank you Sam! 😊

How many works on AO3? 62

What’s your total AO3 word count? 228215

What fandoms do you write for? At the moment only 911 but in the past I’ve written for Supernatural, Sandman, Spiderman, Deadpool, other Marvel stuff & Sherlock.

What are you top 5 fics by kudos? Implausible Deniability (Spideypool) Put you mouth where your money is (Spideypool) Sex, Lies & Arguing About Chores (Spideypool WIP) Accidentally On Purpose (Spideypool) Sensing a theme here? The Other Shoe (Destiel)

Do you respond to comments? Yes! Always if I can.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably either When you’re tasting’ what he’s drinking (Saltommy - link below) or Therefore Love Moderately (Deanbenny SPN - link below) but I have a few.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably - If it comes back (Saltommy - link below) - but most of my one shots have fairly happy endings.

Do you get hate on fics? Touch wood - No

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Yessss. Only M/M so far. I think I’m best at it when I don’t over think it and just write what I think is hot. I’m probably not good at the kind of smut that drives plot/character etc. Definitely want to try my hand at more kink stuff soon.

Do you write crossovers? Never have - I like reading some of them but I’m very picky :-/

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, by the dreaded Wattpad 🙄

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Two as far as I remember - one into Russian and one into Chinese.

Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Not properly, I have worked with Betas pretty closely in past but I would love to have a go at properly writing something with someone else!

What’s your all time favourite ship? I know there’s probably a bit of recency bias here but it’s genuinely a tie between Bucktommy & Saltommy. Obviously in total I have written more for Destiel and they will always be super important to me but there is something about the upwelling of ideas and inspiration for these two ships that has been amazing. I basically had writers block for about 5 years. In that time I wrote about 15 fics - almost all of which were super short. In the last 6 months that I’ve had 911 I’ve written 12!

What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Sex, Lies and Arguing About Chores - that was the one that brought on the writers block I think. I wrote myself into a sort of corner and got all stuck on peoples expectations of it and just froze up.

What are your writing strengths? I think I’m good at smut when I’m in the right mood and I like creating a sense of place and atmosphere and also I usually like my dialogue.

What are you writing weaknesses? PLOT. I suck at anything that requires a complicated plot or planning. Hence I don’t have many multi chapter things. Also character analysis - I always think other people are much better at this than me.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I haven’t done it much. Definitely wouldn’t attempt more than a couple of words without checking with a native speaker. I do not put it in italics lol

First fandom you wrote for? Sherlock (BBC)

Favourite fics you’ve written? Oh god this changes all the time, but today my top 6 would be: If It Comes Back - Saltommy second-chance reunion fic. When you’re tasting what he’s drinkin’ (are you thinkin’ bout me?) - angry jealous past-saltommy angst Calendar Boy - light hearted bucktommy fire calender PWP Like A Circus Wheel - saltommy secret relationship PWP Therefore Love Moderately - SPN Dean/Benny angsty PWP Implausible Deniability - silly smutty & occasionally angsty Spideypool adventure thing that I wrote as I posted it and was really happy with how it came out.

Also honourable mention to I’m Wasted (and I can’t find my way home) - Destiel endverse WIP which may never be finished but I really like what I have so far.

Tagging: @rdng1230 @thecarrott @rcmclachlan @alchemistc @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15

@marvelousbuckley @bangpop91 @racerchix21 @girlwonder-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

[soongyeopsal]

Who Wants to be a Dumbass?

Summary: Seungkwan wins the olympic gold medal in overthinking in under an hour and Jeonghan wins some money on the side.

▸ Pairing: Seungkwan x AFAB!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+, humor, f2? Minors / Ageless accounts DO NOT INTERACT. You will be blocked.

▸ Warnings: suggestive dialogue

▸ Word Count: 961

▸ A/N: More for KBCS’s Bon Voyage Bingo event! Prompt: Sunscreen (yes again but different lol) Kisses for @shuadotcom my forever-beta!

Seungkwan has been pacing for the last 20 minutes trying to make sense of this, but the longer he thinks the more he works himself up. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He spies his phone light up on the coffee table in his periphery, reminding him of the unread message waiting for him. Really deep breath in, ok? 

Finally, he grabs the device, bracing himself as he reads over the preview of your texts.

Y/N💐: i wanna go to the pool tomorrow, but… 11:23pm Y/N💐: Attachment: 1 Image 11:25pm Y/N💐: Kwannie :( 11:35pm

The attachment is dangerous. When he saw the preview come in 20 minutes ago, he glimpsed your bottom lip, quirked up just slightly. And from what else he could see in the minimized image, it also included your chin, neck, and the suspiciously bare expanse of the top of your chest. You’ve sent Seungkwan plenty of selfies, but something was different about this - he just knew it. But different how? What would he see when he actually opened his messages and saw the photo in its entirety? What if you sent something by accident? What if…what if you sent something on purpose? Seungkwan lives a moderately stressful life, but this is definitely the most stressed he’s ever been. The thought of seeing his crush - seeing what he’s pretty sure could be the love of his life, actually - indecently shoots equal parts excitement and terror through his veins. It’s that excitement that pushes him to unlock pandora’s box.

He enters his password and holds his breath. Y/N💐: i wanna go to the pool tomorrow, but there’s no one to help me put my sunscreen on! will you help me? 11:23pm The image beneath the message is better than anything Seungkwan’s imagination could have conjured up. You’re smirking, chin up and confident. His eyes stroll down your neck, past your collarbones to your exposed upper chest, image cut off just at the top of your cleavage. White sunscreen is smeared everywhere - oh. Oh. It looks a lot like cum. Like Seungkwan's wettest dream that he has on a regular basis at this point. As if you’ve never applied anything to your skin in your life. As if your hands suddenly stopped working. As if you specifically wanted Seungkwan’s hands to do the work instead. 

When he eventually does remember how to breathe, he reaches out to a lifeline. In times such as these, it’s helpful to phone a friend. “It’s midnight, loser, what do you want?”

“Y/N sent me a bunch of stuff and I’m freaking out,” Seungkwan cries, numb to Jeonghan’s (typical) greeting.

Jeonghan sighs dramatically on the other line. “You’re always freaking out. What’d she say?” “She sent me a photo.”

There’s rustling and suddenly Jeonghan’s voice is so much clearer in the receiver. “What kind of photo?”

“Y-You know. Like, a photo.”

“Like, a photo-photo?”

Seungkwan is still reeling from the image of you in such a suggestive pose. “I guess? Maybe? I don’t know.” Shit, what if he’s blowing this out of proportion? What if he just saw what he wanted to see?

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? Did she send nudes or what?”

“No!” Even though he was literally just imagining you naked, hearing anyone else talk about you like that makes Seungkwan almost offended on your behalf. “It’s just her chest and–”

“Tits count as nudes.” 

“It’s not her-” why is he whispering? - “boobs, it’s just, like, the top of them, you know?”

“I don’t know because I can’t see the pic and you’re being a bitch.”

Y/N💐: hey Seungkwan the read receipts are on i’m sorry can… 12:03am

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Jeonghan tries again, “Just try to describe it.”

“There’s, um, sunscreen? I think? All over the top of her chest. It looks kind of like… Her face isn’t even in it. But she said she’s going to the pool tomorrow and needs–”

“Yyyes!” Jeonghan claps. “I called it!”

“Pardon?”

“Shua and I were betting on who’d confess first. I was right, naturally.”

This guy.

Wait, is this a confession though? Seungkwan really needs to check his messages. What if he wasn’t supposed to look? No, that text was for someone else. Oh no. He shouldn’t have looked. He’s such a fucking creep. You’re never going to talk to him again. “Seungkwan!”

“Yeah? Sorry, man. What if she’s not into me like that?”

“Are you dumb?”

“Jeonghan, shut up. It’s just that - what if it was a butt dial?”

“Oh my god, you are dumb!”

“Look, I’m just–”

Y/N💐: Facetime Video

“Fuck, Han, she’s facetimeing me!”

Another clap from Jeonghan. A condescending sendoff wrapped with love. “Break a leg! Just tell her the truth!” The line clicks dead and Seungkwan is left staring at your incoming call with seconds left to pick up. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no rrreally deep breath in no no no no no exhale through the mouth no no no no no. “Y/N?”

“Seungkwan, listen, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just misinterpreted–”

“I-I’d love to rub sunscreen on your tits!” Seungkwan gasps loudly and covers his own mouth, mortified. What was that? Now he’s definitely a creep and this will be the fumble that haunts him to his grave. 

You’re not saying anything. Did you hang up? No, you’re still on, but you’re not saying anything. Phoning a friend right in such a critical moment was the absolute stupidest–

“Actually, there’s something else you could rub all over my tits if you want?”

“...Pardon?”

[divineintervention-comics]

When did you first read the myth of Ganymede? And why did you chose to make a comic for this myth?

its a long and convoluted story but im happy to share. in 2015, i was in middle school, i made horror character designs based on the zodiac signs and those later became OCs (i have never read homestuck, everything i know about it was forced upon me by my friends in school). i used the myths as backstories for the characters when they are living constellations. i wanted to make a RPG and they were stars that fell to earth when the gods got too caught up in their bullshit and neglected humanity and the earth and now they have to save the world.

i was immediately attached to Aquarius (who is now Ganymede), he was always an androgynous perpetually dissociated character even before i knew the backstory. i was a teenager myself at this point when i really got into it, and i found the Zeus and Ganymede myth to be disturbing since i was his age. it stuck with me, to the point where i struggled to find the other constellations myths less compelling.

i dont know how to code and didnt know how to make games, i already felt like i was losing it bc its been in production hell since i was 12 and i was 17 at the time. i felt like before i make the game, i should make backstory comics for ALL 12 CHARACTERS (how i thought i would be able to do that when i only cared about 2-3 of the characters in the series who knows). i couldnt stop thinking about Ganymede, i couldnt stop thinking about a story where he is a character and not just an object in the narrative.

in 2020-2021, i made my first draft beta version, it wasnt called "Cupbearers", it was "Divine Intervention: Cupbearer". i just found the myth so compelling in a "i need to make a horror story out of this" way, i needed to cope with my own fears of kidnapping, sexual abuse, human trafficking, loss of bodily autonomy, transformations, immortality, and being stuck through this myth inspired comic.

Ganymede, even as Aquarius, has always been a cathartic character for me, both as a 12 year old and now as a 21 year old. i grow up but he is cursed with immortality, cursed with eternal youth, the world keeps moving on and he will never be able to catch up. stuck in the same spot, never moving forward, never moving backwards, just stuck working for the man who stole his life until the end of time, eternal punishment viewed as a gift by those who bestowed it upon him. how could you be so ungrateful? we gave you a gift. we took you away from everything you've ever known, we've taken away ownership of your body, we've turned you into a beast like us, being tortured by me is a gift, it is a privilege that i chose you, you ungrateful meat-thing.

but he is just a kid, i want to protect him, i want to draw him having fun, i want to draw him enjoying a good meal, i want to see him find any comfort in the horror that is immortality. he's only a kid. just a baby, barely even though puberty, his brain isnt done developing, he had a future, he could have grown up and chose his own life. i think about that a lot.

i just generally have a lot of thoughts, everything i write and draw for this project has a point, it has a purpose, its not just needless suffering i dont write despair. (some zeus x ganymede shipper vagueposted about cupbearers being needless wallowing without purpose bc i dont write fluff fics between a grown man and his child slave)

i really appreciate this ask!!! thanks for asking me about my thought process, i have so much going on in my head and i need to get it out somehow

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 12/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

If you guys see any changes when re-reading a chapter, means that I'm just proofreading and editing it haha

I proofread after I post something. Anyone interested in being a beta reader/proofreader?

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

Lucifer is anxious.

After his no more than 10 minute nap was interrupted by the arrival of Belphegor, they were the only 2 in the room. The Sin of Sloth all but ordered that no one enters Lucifer's quarters until she is has looked him over and deemed fine and safe.

He didn't even get to see Charlie but Belphegor in doctor mode is someone he doesn't want to be difficult with.

He could hear the rest of the Sins beyond the door, probably pushing each other to try and sneak a peak or hear something. It reminds him of the time when the Sins first came into existence and acted like clingy children to him and Lilith.

With all the experience he had with them, he still managed to fuck up with Charlie.

Belphegor: -head?

Oh, Bel was talking.

Lucifer: Hmm?

She purses her lips at his inattentiveness and type something on her tablet. This can't be good.

Belphegor: I asked how is your head?

Lucifer: Still attached to me.

Bel gave him a deadpan look.

Belphegor: Very funny.

Lucifer: I am a clown.

Belphegor: Do not let Mammon hear you say that, he might include you as one of his trademark jesters.

Bel fired a few more standard questions and despite her doubts, he was honestly feeling fine. His body and mind is just craving sleep right now but he's in not any sort of pain. Plus, it's not like Bel can cure his problem no matter how good she and her meds are.

Belphegor: Charlie mentioned stuff came out of you? Like dark smoke?

Lucifer: You have to take her word for it because I have no idea what was happening. I was basically asleep the whole time. You should check on her too though. She looks worse than I did.

Belphegor: Yes. Maybe next time, inform one of us of your whereabouts so that the princess doesn't have a mental breakdown when she finds you near dead.

Lucifer: Yeah yeah. But I was only there for a nap. Honest! You know how these Heaven trips are always so tiring, Bel.

Belphegor: Which brings me to my next question, how long have you been coming and going into Heaven?

Lucifer: Uhhh I don't know what you're talking about.

Belphegor: Don't think I did not get that slip of tongue. You said trips.

Lucifer: Did I? I meant trip. Cos this is the first time I've come back there. Yep.

Belphegor: You are supposed to be the father of lies yet you cannot even make up a good enough excuse when the situation calls for it.

Lucifer: Ouch.

Belphegor: So, how long have you been making your secret Heavenly trips without us knowing…… Your Majesty.

Ahhh ever so respectful, even when she's scolding him.

Lucifer: It looks like you already had your suspicions even before I fucked it up.

Belphegor: Opening a portal to a place that is obviously not the entrance to Heaven, having a key to open said portal to a private quarters, not one message above for a permission. It's not rocket science.

Lucifer: Jeez. I didn't even know you were watching that intently.

Belphegor: What servant would I be if I did not keep an eye on my King.

Lucifer: Ain't a good servant supposed to follow their King with no questions asked? This is feeling a lot like an interrogation.

Belphegor: You are correct. And you have mine and the Sins' unyielding loyalty. But.. it does appear like you've forgotten a simple detail.

Lucifer: Oh yeah? And what's that?

Belphegor: You are our big brother. We value you as our family, not simply as royalty.

Lucifer doesn't know what to say to that. Instead he opts to steer the subject.

Lucifer: Do the others know?

Belphegor: I do not think so. And I have half a mind to let them loose on you but.. no. I have a very good inkling you don't want anyone to know of your endeavours.

Lucifer: Just don't tell them. Not yet.

He know Bel won't but he still wants to ask anyway.

Belphegor: Very well. But you are not answering my question. How. Long?

Lucifer can't help but gulp. There's really no getting out of this one. He's a bit glad it's Bel and not anyone else. If there's anyone of the Sins who knows how to keep something to themselves, it's the Sin of Sloth.

Thankfully, she's also too focused on the fact that he's having secret meetings in Heaven than what happened back at the palace.

Lucifer: ….More or less 5000 years ago. It was Michael who reached out first. No one else knows except my siblings up there.

Belphegor: Not even the head Seraphim?

Lucifer: As far as Sera is concerned, I am still banned from setting foot beyond the pearly gates.

Belphegor: Why would the Archangel Michael take that risk then? If found out, would that not affect his standing in Heaven?

Lucifer: At first it was just to stay up to date. He said that he didn't fully trust the council but I think that's just an excuse to have me alone with no one hovering. It's not frequent enough that anyone in Heaven will be able to sense me. But I stopped going when the extermination was proposed.

He took Bel's silence as a cue to continue.

Lucifer: Long before the Fall, Michael and I promised never to lie to each other. And during those secret meetings, I still thought that. I told him everything. But he never told me about the extermination so I guess it was just me upholding that promise. I'm such a fool.

He buries his face in his hands because the he really is a fool. Michael wasn't the only one pretending everything was okay; that anything barely changed. Lucifer hopes that Belphegor doesn't take his secrecy the wrong way.

He just wanted to be the little brother again.

Belphegor: You are a fool.

He can't help but shot Belphegor a pitying look but she puts up a hand before he could say something.

Belphegor: But so was I when I kept that secret that almost destroyed all of Hell. So was Satan for antagonizing the Son of God on Earth which consequently made them think it was you. So was Asmodeus for making his crystals and allowing illegal travels on the human world. So was Mammon when he tried to sue you for the first time and sent you to one of your self-isolation punishments. So was Leviathan for picking a fight with Lilith when you were already in distress. So was Beelzebub for almost letting you drink yourself to death. And so was Lilith for leaving.

The Sin of Sloth moves in front of him so their knees are touching. Bel had never been a touchy person. Much like Alastor, small gestures of touch are her way of shouting her love for you.

He'll forever be honored to be on the receiving end of those kinds of affection because he knows that those gifts given only to people who they think they deserve.

Belphegor: We're fools and we must learn from it. Was it not you who gave humanity the gift of knowledge? Who gave us life? Who gave us free will? So now you have the free will to choose if you'll remain one.

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

I don't know why but I love writing Belphegor so much. It's the way she talks that is just easy to keep writing.

Anyway, continuation of this is tomorrow!

I only wanted a Bel and Luci chapter again, you'll see the rest of the Sins and Charlie again tomorrow!

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated!

[frenchmina]

You were good

Hellooo ! I actually don't know if this will reach anyone but anyway, I just had to start somewhere. This is my first ever fanfic work, it's angsty af and not beta-ed, also, english is not my first langage. I've been reading a lot of Joel Miller fanfic recently and wanted to try my hand at it, I had not planned it to be this sad but I still wanted to post it. We'll see what happens !

Pairing : Jackson era Joel Miller x gender neutral!reader

WC : 1.4k

Warnings : angst, so much angst, allusion to mental instability.

Summary : You and Joel have a lot in common, which is what drew you to one another but also what dooms the relationship.

You see so much of yourself in him. The way he never truly meets someone’s eyes unless it’s with rage, the way he flexes his hand at his side to calm his heart. It actually helped you understand, to see someone walking around with the same weight on their shoulders. As much of an out-of-body experience as you would be able to get in this life, you thought. It helped you figure out where your anger laid.

It was right there, just below your ribcage, below your heart, this fire that felt like a stone. You didn’t even know how it got there or why. It was so clear for him, so understandable. Everyone knew why he was violent, everyone tolerated it. He could expose his rage to the world, but you couldn’t. Didn’t have a valid reason. Nothing had happened to you that was out of the ordinary. Sure, you had lost people, you had had to go through violent situations and had smelled your fair share of blood. But all in all, you were lucky. And so you dug a grave for your rage. You dug it in hard ground, so that no one would stumble upon it. Hands scorched, sweat following the path your tears had made down your face, mouth full of spit, your whole body working tirelessly towards burying that screaming and sickly monster that was your anger. No one would know, no one could know, how inherently angry and spiteful your were.

You had done a great job, although for everyone in Jackson, something about you was off. It didn’t disrupt your relationship with people, didn’t make you an outcast, you were even kind of useful to the community. But no one felt truly safe around you. The fear you felt when someone was getting closer did not help. The closer they were, the worst you would be able to hurt them. You didn’t know what would push you over the edge, and so to avoid the fall, you avoided the edge all together.

The moment you met him, him and his rage so openly walking beside each other, it was like the tiny monster you had buried suddenly appeared out of the corner of your eye, covered in mud and moss, whining to be let loose. And for the first time since you were 12, you actually looked at it. Watching Joel Miller was like watching a mirror in which that tiny monster held your hand, finally included.

As a moth to a flame, you had kept looking. And as you kept looking, you started to care for your monster, to allow it to exist. You watched its eyes so similar to yours, its teeth that could cut through metal, its annoying whimpers slowly turning into words. It had no reason to be here, to be alive, to be yours, but for the first time you stopped pretending it wasn’t there. It felt like nothing before. It felt like freedom.

You swallow back the lump in your throat as you come back to the present. You see so much of yourself in him, but you also see him, see the hand that sometimes caressed you cheek, which is now clenched on the table.

“Is there somethin’ you wanna say ?“ His voice isn’t harsh, as it sometimes is, it’s not cold either, but it doesn’t make it sound less like a goodbye.

“I don’t know.“ You avert your eyes and take a small sharp breath, you try to ignore the tiny monster crying at your side. It doesn’t have words anymore, it just screams at Joel like a child being abandoned. You think about what you truly want to say — there are a million things I still want to say to you, to discuss with you, I never want to not say something to you — but you swallow this clumsy attempt at tenderness. Instead you just look at him. His hazel eyes, the way his brows furrow under your gaze. And at first you don’t feel the tear escaping your eye. He sees it though, catches the reflection of the light on the tiny droplet of salted sadness.

“I…“ he starts, but his head falls, defeated. “I’m sorry.“

You can’t stop a small laugh from coming out of your mouth.

“You never promised me anything Joel. You never made me believe this —“ you gesture between him and you “— was anything other than what it started out to be. I was a commodity, I get that, I’m not mad —“ the monster beside you claws at you skin “— I’m not… I’m not…“

The words seem futile now. You just know he will never hold you again, never kiss the crown of your head again, you’ll never run your hand through his greying curls again, he’ll just go back to being a stranger. It’s not complicated, it’s easy, it’s clean, he’ll just go back to being what he was three months ago. That’s not that hard to do. 

You don’t manage to foul yourself. It hurts so much you want to run into a fire, to set all the rage free and destroy everything that is good around you. You start with him, with what felt like the only true connection in your life. You know if you destroy it, and all memory of it, the monster will be fed, it will take over and let you curl yourself in the grave in its place. It will allow you to rest while it gets both of you through life.

“I’m not surprised. It had to happen sooner or later. We’re too alike, you need… good. You need goodness in your life.“ There is so much irony in your voice, but you don’t mean too.

“Don’t talk like that, like you’re not good enough.“

“Clearly I’m not.“ He tries to answer but you cut him. “No ! No, you don’t get to say I’m great and it was simply never in the stars for us when in reality you just never planned on loving me.“

He’s silent for a while, and the admission is worse than anything. Good. Soon there will be nothing tender left for you to reminisce about.

“It’s my fault for depending on you so much, for allowing your presence to soothe me when you didn’t want to be that for me. I’ll get over it don’t worry, I won’t cause you any problem…“

“That ain’t what I’m concerned about, y’ know that I cared…“

You laugh.

“I know you liked it.“

He sighs, and you see the frustration creeping up in his eyes. Maybe if you push further he’ll say something that’ll finally break you completely.

“I know I’m what you needed at that time, that this helped you settle, helped you get your shit under control. I’m glad I could at least do that for you.“ You can’t contain the pained smirk that creeps on your face, you try to pass it as disdain for the whole situation. “… glad I could be of service.“

“Don’t you think you need good in your life too ?“

His eyes have softened, he knows this disdain is only aimed at yourself, he knows it because he’s felt it too. And yes, he hates to admit it, but being with you helped so much with that, you helped him realize he doesn’t want to be this way anymore. And you’re not there yet. He hates that he sees himself in you; a younger, less broken but more desperate version of himself. A version that wants the anger to get out, when he’s just now figuring out he wants to let go of his. He’s seen you become less quiet, more affirmed, he’s felt your monster taking its place at your side. He’s terrified of what he might have unleashed in you, of how similar to him this relationship has made you. 

You feel the frontier he just put up between both of you, how he looks at you not as he did, as an equal, but as if he knows better. You know now he doesn’t understand what he is to you. The realization sets in : what he was. And there, in the smallest of movement his face makes, you see it. Pity. Fucking pity. He looks at you like everyone else does, and you’ve never felt so alone. 

In a matter of seconds, he has gone back to being a stranger, and that pushes you over the edge. 

Your monster suddenly goes quiet. It doesn’t start breathing fire as you thought it would, it doesn’t spew out every hurtful thing that ever crossed you mind. It just stares at you from within. And when you speak, it’s its voice you hear, rough as it speaks for the first time, broke as it might be the last. 

“Joel, you were good.“