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sluttywonwoo · 3 years

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high-rise || k.sy x reader

Summary: (ceo!au… ish) walking around your apartment naked has never been a problem, since you live in a high-rise and no one can see in, at least that’s what you thought…

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 9.1k

a/n: reworked this piece originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, spanking, choking, degradation, sir kink if you squint

Your scarf was the first thing to hit the floor, followed shortly by your blazer. You toed off your heels as you simultaneously fumbled with the zipper on the back of your skirt, cursing when the fabric snagged the metal teeth. You were sweating with effort by the time you started rolling off your tights, making the task at hand that much more difficult. You kept your button-down on and kicked the rest of the clothes to the side, making a mental note to add them to the laundry later.

One of the (admittedly many) perks of living in a New York City penthouse was the view. Your apartment was ninety percent windows, which were a bitch to clean, but the sights you were privy to made it all worth it.

Manhattan was beautiful at any time of day, but you especially enjoyed it in the evenings. By the time you got home from work the late afternoon sun had begun to set, and you got to watch the soft pinks and oranges of the sunset fade into dusk. Rainy days and snowy days were up there on the list too. You were so high up that your apartment sometimes found itself submerged in the middle of a cloud. You could watch the rain fall onto the city below, or try to make out the horizon through the fog.

Even though your apartment was practically a glass box, being so high up offered you the luxury of privacy, which was why you usually didn’t bother with clothes. The only reason you were still wearing your shirt now was to shake off the chill from outside, but it would soon join the pile by the door.

You turned on the gas fireplace in the living room before making your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of the white wine you had opened earlier that week. It was a gift from a client, and not something you would have picked for yourself, but alcohol was alcohol and you wouldn’t dream of letting it go to waste.

You knew you should probably eat something before diving back into the paperwork you had brought home with you, but you were itching to get to it. You would never admit it, but your relationship with your job wasn’t the healthiest. All of your friends knew you were married to your work. Your colleagues and bosses knew it too. And deep down so did you. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t been on a date in... a while. It’s what you told yourself.

Even as you were perusing the options of takeout containers full of leftovers in your fridge you couldn’t stop thinking about the files waiting for you in your briefcase. You had to go over resumès and applications for an open position in your company to familiarize yourself with the candidates before you interviewed them in-person tomorrow.

Your fridge beeped at you, letting you know its door was still open as if you had walked away and forgotten to close it, unaware that you were still standing right in front of it.

“I know, I know,” you sighed and grabbed the styrofoam box of half-eaten sarme from your favorite Albanian restaurant down the street.

As the food warmed in the microwave, you gave in to the urge and retrieved your briefcase from by the door, discarding your shirt with your other clothes while you were over there.

You were just in your panties now, a thong if you were being specific. As much as you hated wearing them, they were the only underwear that wouldn’t show through your skirts and slacks.

You settled on the floor in front of the coffee table with your glass of wine and folder full of documents. The fire burned steadily as you flipped through them and made notes in the margins. Your cabbage rolls were lukewarm around the edges and cold in the middle, but still good nonetheless and you finished the rest. You had been hungrier than you thought.

“Mark Wescott... graduated from Georgetown University in 2013, nice! With a degree in... business admin... real fucking original,” you muttered to yourself, “but he’s got good references and decent experience... so... maybe?”

You uncapped the yellow highlighter in your hand with your teeth and ran it over his name and info at the top. You had a color-coded system for applicants. Pink for top priority, yellow for mid, and orange for low.

“None of these are impressive,” you decided after combing through all of the applications. You shook your head at the stack of papers and pushed them to the side. “Maybe they’ll be better in-person.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but it was getting late and you knew you should get at least a little bit of sleep before tomorrow. You had a lot riding on this hire, so you knew you needed to be coherent enough to sit through eight hours of interviews.

You brought your glass of wine to your lips and downed the last of it. “Here’s to hoping we’ll find the one.”

Soonyoung ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. He was already overwhelmed just looking at the stacks of cardboard boxes in front of him, he couldn’t even think about unpacking them yet.

He needed to find the box with all of his suits, at the very least. He couldn’t roll up to his interview tomorrow in the gray sweats and t-shirt he was wearing now, not if he actually wanted the job.

Moving into his new place the day before an interview had been a good idea in theory. But as he grabbed the box cutter from the counter and started slicing open random boxes with no sense of direction Soonyoung was beginning to rethink his decision.

“Why didn’t I label any of these?” he muttered to himself, cursing at yet another box full of DVDs.

It didn’t help that everything was wrapped in newspaper and impossible to identify at first glance. He knew it helped protect things from breaking and shifting around during travel, but it was already making the task at hand twice as long. He had planned to route the walk from the subway station to the office that evening. He wanted to practice the commute and time it so that he wouldn’t be late in the morning, but as the sunlight began to dwindle from the room he knew he wouldn’t have time. He would just have to get up extra early tomorrow.

At least the new apartment was nice. His last job back in Seoul had set him up nicely to be able to afford a place in the heart of Manhattan. It was on the small side compared to what he was used to, but he didn’t need much space since it was just him living there.

Everything was up to date and all of the appliances were brand new. There was an in-unit washer and dryer tucked away in one of the closets, and the dining area had real exposed brick walls. Soonyoung didn’t know what those things meant, but his realtor had told him they were good.

The sun had set completely by the time Soonyoung finally found his suits. He’d had to plug in one of his table lamps and set it on the floor in the middle of searching just to be able to see what he was looking at.

He hung a few options up in his new closet, hoping some of the wrinkles would ease from the fabric overnight.

With that done, Soonyoung figured he might as well unpack some of the boxes he’d already opened. It wasn’t efficient work, seeing as he had neglected to label anything, but Soonyoung managed to put away some dishes, shoes, and miscellaneous sheets and towels before he finally checked the clock again and realized how late it was.

Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings had already gone dark for the night, except for those of the apartment directly across from his. It was in the only other high-rise that was as tall as his, making the illuminated unit at the top stick out even more.

It was then that Soonyoung realized he could see directly into the apartment. He smiled to himself, taking comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone in being up at such a late hour. He wondered who his night-owl of a neighbor might be. His question was answered moments later when a shadow of movement caught his attention.

A woman who looked to be about his age emerged from a hallway carrying a stack of papers. He couldn’t make out the details of her face from where he was, but as she stepped into the light he could tell that she was naked.

Soonyoung immediately averted his gaze, snapping his head in the opposite direction so fast that he heard his neck crack. He gave it a second or two before looking back, assuming she was gone annnd nope. He squeezed his eyes shut a second time and turned his entire body away from the window. Now she was just... sitting in her living room? Completely naked? He wasn’t one to judge, but the knowledge alone was enough to make being a gentleman harder... amongst other things.

“Focus,” he told himself, resisting the urge to glance at the window. “Don’t be a creep.”

He attempted to resume his unpacking, only to find himself distracted every few minutes, sneaking glances at the window unconsciously. Every time he caught himself looking he was doused in a fresh wave of guilt. He knew it was wrong, but for whatever reason he couldn’t stop himself. The irony of being a peeping tom was not lost on him.

Soonyoung watched as the girl in the window stood from her spot on the floor and stretched, watched as her muscles tensed and relaxed when she raised her arms above her head. A mix of shame and arousal burned in his stomach as his eyes traced the outline of her curves.

All of the sudden it occurred to him that she could also probably see into his apartment. If she were to look over right now she’d see him standing like an idiot in the window practically gawking at her from fifty feet away. He panicked and lunged to turn off the lamp that was still sitting on the floor so that the whole room went dark.

That night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep, Soonyoung thought about the stranger across the way. He wondered if there was a reason for her state of undress. If she had been waiting for someone, or if that someone had just left. Was that why she was up as late as he was? At least she was getting some. He wished he could say the same for himself.

“This is starting to get sad,” he mumbled and buried his face in his hands. ‘Starting to’ was being generous and he knew it.

He wished the morning would come, wished he was on his way to his job interview already, but every time he checked the time only a few minutes had gone by. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway, at least if it was morning he’d be able to do something productive and get his mind off the girl in the window.

Soonyoung rolled over away from his bedroom window and pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders. He could hear ambulance sirens and car horns from the street down below, the ambience of the traffic lulling the city to sleep.

Your morning started like any other. Your alarm went off at six-thirty and you snoozed it until seven, groaning when you finally dragged yourself out of bed. You turned on the shower and brewed a pot of coffee while you waited for the water to heat up.

You had been trying to get into tea recently, slowly working on cutting coffee out of your life completely and making the switch to the much healthier alternative. Tea had less caffeine and offered a whole range of health benefits that coffee didn’t. You’d read endless articles about how much better it was for you, but it wasn’t as coffee

The switch would be going a lot better if you didn’t let yourself make excuses to keep drinking coffee every morning. It would probably also be going a lot better if you weren’t guilt-chugging that cup (or two) of coffee before leaving your apartment six minutes earlier than usual to catch the 8:00 train instead of the 8:10 train just so you could grab a to-go cup of earl gray from the tea shop down the street from your office and drink that as you walked into work so that you could continue to keep up the charade that your tea-drinking endeavors were going well in front of your coworkers.

The glass was already foggy when you returned to take your shower. You wanted to be at the office early today to set up for the interviews so you tied up your hair and quickly rinsed off. The soapy water hadn’t even finished draining from the tile floor before you were out and wrapping yourself up in a towel.

You dried yourself off and dropped the towel in your hamper, not bothering with clothes yet. You walked back into the kitchen and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

You sipped it as you turned on the stove and cracked an egg into a pan. You usually liked to have a bagel or a quick granola bar before work, but when you were feeling fancy you liked to make yourself a couple slices of avocado toast for breakfast. You had decided that today was a fancy day.

You popped the bread in the toaster as the eggs fried and sliced a ripe avocado in the meantime. As soon as you were done with that, it was time to flip the eggs and put the toast on a plate.

You finished your first cup of coffee and went to pour yourself a second, but thought better of it. You’d be sitting in one place for a majority of the day and too much caffeine would make you fidgety and anxious if you didn’t have a way to diffuse the energy.

You ate your breakfast at the bar in your kitchen, looking over the stack of resumes one last time as you did.

“Are you ready for today?” one of your supervisors, Carolina, asked as soon as she saw you walk in the door.

You took a sip of tea from the paper cup in your hand and grimaced. “I’ve been dreading it all week.”

“At least it’ll be over by tonight.”

“Sure, this round will be over, but then there’s still follow-up interviews and training and-”

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is the worst part, and we’ve just got to take it one thing at a time.”

You sighed. “You’re right, sorry.”

Carolina smiled and nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “Conference Room B is all set up for you when you’re ready. Page me to let me know when I can send the candidates in.”

“Got it, thanks.”

You set yourself up with your laptop and paperwork at one end of the table, and left the seat across from you open for the interviewee.

The morning dragged by at an agonizingly slow pace. Each potential hire seemed determined to bore you to death with their graduate school anecdotes and corporate buzzwords. They were all the same. Too stiff, too self-absorbed, too-

“Y/n, we’ve got your next one ready for you.”

You cleared your throat before pressing the speak button on the intercom, having been lost in thought when Carolina’s voice began echoing throughout the room.

“Sounds good, you can send them over to me.”

You sat up a little straighter in your chair and brushed yourself off. You’d been interviewing for a couple hours straight already, but you still wanted to look fresh-faced for everyone who came in. You were representing the company, after all, and interviews were just as much about trying to impress the candidates as it was about them trying to impress you.

You reached for your cup of tea before remembering it had probably long since gone cold and grimaced, perking up when you heard the familiar squeak of the door.

The young man offered you his hand before settling in the chair opposite yours with a polite smile.

“Mr.... Kwon,” you said, reading his name off of his resume in front of you. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he agreed. “And you can call me Soonyoung.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but nodded. Straight past his last name and right to Soonyoung, interesting you mused to yourself as you scanned his profile again.

“Nice to meet you, Soonyoung. I’m y/n y/l/n. I’m a Senior Associate here and I’m just going to ask you a few questions about yourself, your work, typical interview stuff. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You paused and pretended to organize the papers in front of you while you discreetly gave him a once-over, making mental notes to yourself. He wore a Rolex on his left wrist. That told you that his last job had paid well enough to be able to afford one- either that or his parents came from money. You had a lot of trust-fund kids wasting your time today, you hoped he wasn’t another. Your office already reeked of nepotism and you just wanted this new hire to be on your side of things.

He was rather handsome too. Smartly dressed, sharp jawline, hair that was just barely tamed by gel, warm brown eyes that crinkled up in the corners when he smiled- you had to remind yourself not to stare.

“Alright, Soonyoung, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?” The question always tasted bitter when you asked it and it was hard not to cringe. It was the most basic question in the book, but it was a good way to get to know what kind of an employee someone was.

“Uh, well, I just moved here from Seoul. I got in yesterday afternoon and still have loads to unpack, but I’m hoping to adjust quick. I was an Executive Consultant for five years at my last firm, and had just been promoted to Executive Manager last spring.” He paused to think. “What else... I really love to golf on my days off, and if I’m not golfing I’m usually at home watching movies.”

“A lot of our clients like to golf,” you commented off-handedly. “Are you any good?”

Soonyoung shrugged, smiling humbly. “I’m decent. I haven’t had the chance to play for real in a while.”

“Why’s that?” you were aware you were moving away from interview territory, but you told yourself it was relevant enough to pursue.

“Most of my recent games were taking clients out to golf at my old firm. I had to play like shit on purpose so they’d win and we’d close a deal.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe they were just better than you?” you asked.

Soonyoung narrowed his eyes the tiniest bit, but kept a polite smile on his face. “Trust me, I had to try very hard to lose.”

“So you had a pretty successful closing rate?”

“About twenty-six percent.”

You tried to hide your surprise, nodding as if that was a completely normal closing rate for your company.

“May I ask why you moved?” you continued.

“I’ve lived in Seoul my entire life. I wanted a change of scenery, I suppose.”

“Moving across the globe without the security of a job? That seems like quite a big risk.”

He gave another shrug. “What’s life without a few risks?”

You nodded, writing what he’d said down on the yellow notepad in front of you. Soonyoung shifted in his seat, subtly craning his neck to see across the table at what you were jotting down.

“Moving on,” you said and flipped the notebook over abruptly. The slap of the movement startled Soonyoung momentarily and he only let the deer-in-the-headlights look cross his features for a second before recomposing himself. “Do you consider yourself to be a leader or a follower?”

“I’m a switch,” he answered easily, eyes only widening in realization once the sentence left his mouth. “I mean, I can switch. I was in a management position at my last job, but I still had plenty of superiors to answer to. I started at an entry level in that company and worked my way up, so I have experience with both.”

“And do you have any qualms with being a subordinate to a woman? I ask because if you’re offered the position I would be your boss.”

Soonyoung shook his head in response, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Like I said.”

The rest of the interview passed by smoothly, and you didn’t realize how much time had passed until you glanced up at the clock above the door. You straightened the stack of papers in front of you to indicate that you were wrapping things up and stood from your chair to shake Soonyoung’s hand again.

“To be completely candid, Mr. Kwon- Soonyoung, you are overqualified for this position. However, our company offers plenty of mobility and your starting salary would be almost equal to your previous one. If you’re interested, I’d like to set up a follow-up interview with you tomorrow.”

Soonyoung smiled, and there went the crinkles of his eyes again, softening the sharpness of his features and making him look a couple years younger. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

“Great. On your way out you can schedule a time to meet with Carolina.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he assured you. “Thank you again.”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?” you hoped the question didn’t sound too hopeful.

“See you tomorrow.”

You went home feeling a thousand times better than you had that morning. The rest of the interviews had been a blur, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Soonyoung. He surpassed all of the other candidates in almost every aspect, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

You knew your attraction to him was a problem. You couldn’t hire someone just because you thought they were hot. It was insanely biased, and extremely inappropriate, yet you couldn’t shake the thought of him from your mind. You would be crossing every line in the existence of lines by sleeping with him- that was, if he even felt the same way about you. It would be an unethical use of power, and totally unprofessional so you resolved not to even think about him in that way. Because there was no way around it. He was the best candidate for the job and a perfect addition to your team. You couldn’t not hire him.

The route home usually took about half an hour, but you walked at a faster pace this time because you were supposed to have dinner with a colleague at your apartment and you needed time to cook so there’d be food on the table when he got there.

You made it home in half the time, and kicked off your shoes by the door like you usually did, but kept your work clothes on.

To say you were unprepared for this dinner was an understatement. You barely had anything in your pantry and your cooking skills were subpar at best. Add the time crunch into the equation and it was a recipe for disaster. You could only throw a pot of water on the stove and crack open a jar of marinara sauce and hope for the best.

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide as he walked out of the interview. He needed to remind himself that the job wasn’t his yet. He still had another interview to get through. Still, he figured a follow-up to be somewhat of a success and a good enough reason to treat himself to pizza.

By the time he made it back to his apartment it was almost dark out. His interview had been in the morning, but after walking two miles to get to the pizzeria he’d found on Yelp, getting on the wrong train twice and missing his stop, it was well into the afternoon. He was glad he’d ordered a whole pizza so he could have the leftovers for dinner, and wouldn’t have to venture out into the city again.

The cardboard boxes sprawled across his living room floor were an unwelcome sight, taunting him with their unlabeled contents, but he tried not to think about it. He deserved at least an hour of rest before he started unpacking again.

He pushed one of the heavier ones into the center of the room to use as a table and set the pizza box on top of it. After changing back into a t-shirt and sweats he settled on the floor with a grunt, twisting the cap off a bottle of beer with the hem of his shirt. He took a sip and let the bubbles soothe his throat.

He stared off out the window, attention snapping to the apartment across from his. Soonyoung realized he hadn’t thought about the girl in the window all day, and silently patted himself on the back for it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to live with, and he wouldn’t have to spiral into a pattern of self-loathing every time he found himself looking. As long as he kept himself in check.

He let himself look for a little longer, promising himself that he would look away if he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to. The lights were on, like they had been last night, but he didn’t see the woman. He scanned the array of windows until he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. She wasn’t alone tonight. There was another person at the table with her, a man.

Soonyoung bit his lip and tried to ignore the way his heart sank. He didn’t even know this person, didn’t even know what her face looked like and here he was getting jealous of another person he didn’t know.

He tore his gaze away from the window and stared down at the floor.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself and took another bite of his pizza even though he had lost his appetite.

People had crushes on strangers all the time. His would fade and soon he wouldn’t even be thinking of whoever it was in that apartment across the way. And if things went well with tomorrow’s interview, he had you. He hadn’t expected to be interviewed by someone his age, let alone someone as pretty as you. It had caught him off guard in the best way possible, and he found himself hanging onto every word you said.

But he wouldn’t be able to act on his feelings with you either, because if he was hired you would be his boss. And it would be completely inappropriate to harbor feelings like that for a colleague. He’d only lived here for a day. He would meet someone eventually. He just needed to give it time.

Joshua Hong wasn’t in town for long. He never was. You wondered why he bothered flying all the way to New York for a few conferences when he could just join them online, but he insisted that having face-to-face interactions were important for interpersonal connections and relationship building and so on.

Secretly, you believed the real reason to be that he missed you and your colleagues on the east coast and used business as an excuse to see you. He had lived in New York for a few years before moving to the LA division of your company. The shift in the dynamic of your team had taken a toll, and it took you months to forgive him for leaving. The first few times he came back to visit were nearly impossible to endure. Everyone was happy to see him, but you. You faked a smile and played along, but your relationship had never fully recovered.

Maybe it was because you’d always had a little crush on him, or because no one was there to take his place, leaving your team dividing his workload amongst yourselves with no additional compensation. The position you were currently hiring for actually used to be Joshua’s. It had taken nine months to convince the CEO to finally fill it, and he only agreed after one of your coworkers threatened to sue over breach of contract.

Even though you were certain that you and Joshua would never be as close as you had once been again, he still had you wrapped around his finger in some ways because you could never say no to him. When he’d asked to have dinner with you under the guise of work, you’d agreed on instinct, not considering how tired you would be or how strenuous it would be to see him again.

“This is really good,” Joshua complimented, twirling spaghetti around on his fork.

“You’re just saying that,” you countered and rolled your eyes as you sipped your wine.

“I’m not!”

“Please, I know LA has ruined you and turned you into a food snob. I watch your Instagram stories.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love a good classic.”

“You and I both know this marinara is from a jar.”

He chuckled. “So? That doesn’t change the fact that it’s good.”

“Whatever.”

Joshua gave you an amused smile from across the table and placed his fork back down on his plate. “So I hear they’re finally replacing me?”

You nodded. “They are. ‘They’ being me.”

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Anyone promising?”

“There’s this guy, Soonyoung, who might fit.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s Korean, actually just moved here. He’s pretty charismatic too, but not in a sleazy salesman way. Kind of like you.”

“Is he better than me?” Joshua pressed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“You know there’s no way to tell that yet,” you chided. “But he shows promise.”

“Let me see his profile.”

You shook your head. “Sorry, but you don’t have the clearance to see it.”

Joshua’s eyes widened like he couldn’t believe you were saying no to him, probably because he rarely heard it from you. “What, do we work in a government agency all of the sudden?”

“I have a lot riding on this hire, Joshua. I can’t let anything screw it up.” He seemed to surrender at that, nodding in understanding. “Did you ask me to dinner just to grill me about the new guy?”

“No! I wanted to see you,” he paused, “and make sure that you wouldn’t forget about me when I was replaced.”

You sighed, giving him a tired, perhaps wistful look. “Trust me, I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Joshua left around eleven, after several glasses of wine and helping you with the dishes. As much as you hated to admit it, you missed him. But you needed to move on, in more ways than one.

You stripped as soon as you locked the door behind him and threw your work clothes into the laundry basket.

You were a little tipsy from the wine, but you still had work to do before you could go to sleep. There was paperwork to finalize, and you still had to draft a rejection email for all of the candidates who weren’t moving on in the interviewing process.

You grabbed your briefcase and returned to the kitchen table, rolling your neck as you realized you had another long night ahead of you.

Soonyoung wasn’t aware that he was staring until the man stood from his seat and took the dishes from the table to the sink. The sudden motion pulled him back to reality and reminded him that he was sitting alone in the dark once again. He cursed under his breath and chugged the rest of his beer.

His pizza had gone cold in the time he’d spent trying to determine the relationship between the man and the woman in the apartment across from his. He couldn’t tell what they were, and not being able to read their facial expressions made it even harder.

He watched as they washed dishes shoulder to shoulder, telling himself that it was no different from people watching, which was untrue since the people in question weren’t in public, but he ignored the guilt twisting in his stomach and continued to watch. At least no one was naked this time.

The woman’s shoulders moved up and down in laughter, suggesting the man had said something funny. But then she was walking him to the door and letting him out, and that was it. Show was over.

So they weren’t together. At least, not yet. Soonyoung hated himself for the conclusion he’d just drawn, and he hated himself even more for feeling relieved.

Soonyoung leaned back to reach the lamp that was still on the floor and flicked it on so that he could see. He shoved the leftover pizza into the back of his fridge and returned to the living room to try and get a little more unpacking done.

He started with one of the boxes he’d opened the day before when he had been in search of his suits, and began sorting through its contents. He allowed himself another glance at the window to check if the man had returned, only to see the woman completely naked. Again.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he groaned and forcefully turned his eyes to the floor. He needed to buy some curtains as soon as possible because there was no way he would be able to be a respectful neighbor otherwise.

He blinked the image of her silhouette from his mind, trying not to dwell on the thought of her sitting at her kitchen table with nothing between her thighs and the chair.

He couldn’t focus. Every time he tried to get back to the task at hand his thoughts went to her. It was getting pathetic.

One more look. One more and then never again.

It seemed like a simple enough resolution and he promised God he would go to confession at the end of the week- even though it had been years since he’d been to mass.

He gave in to his curiosity and gave the window one final, longing glance. The woman was still at the table, concentrating on something in front of her. But something else caught Soonyoung’s attention this time. It was a snakeskin briefcase that sat on the table next to her. He had only noticed it because of the gold details on the bag that reflected the light, just like the one you-

A thousand different emotions flooded Soonyoung’s senses as the realization set in. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. There was no way-

It had to be a coincidence. Had to be. Two people could have the same briefcase... and the same body... and the same hair. As he thought back to his interview earlier that day he saw more and more similarities between you and the girl in the window.

He definitely needed to go to confession now. Not only had he been staring in the window of some naked woman, the woman might just be his future boss.

He felt sick, and despite it all he felt the familiar burn of arousal flicker to life in his stomach. There was no way he’d be getting any sleep tonight.

Soonyoung seemed different. Yesterday he had been confident, charming, and on top of every question you threw at him. Today, he seemed nervous. He was fidgety and distracted. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. He kept his gaze trained on your briefcase instead, refusing to take his eyes off of it.

You had been so sure that he was the one, but now you were thinking you might have to start from scratch.

“Soonyoung, are you okay?” you asked, your frustration turning into concern when he failed to answer your question for the third time. “Do you need me to repeat the question again?”

He looked up at you finally, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“No, I- I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- fuck,” he paused to take a deep breath and shook his head. “I don’t know how to put this, but I think... we’re neighbors.”

“Oh, you live in my building?”

You didn’t see a problem with that. You weren’t sure why it was something he would be tearing himself up over either.

“No, I don’t.”

“So... then how would we be neighbors?”

He averted his gaze again and swallowed harshly. “I live in the high-rise across from yours.”

You raised your eyebrows in question, feeling your pulse jump in warning. Your fingers inched toward the phone, ready to call security at a moment’s notice.

“And fuck, I really wanted this job, but um, I only know that because my apartment is literally right across from yours. And you have a lot of windows... that I can see into.”

You let his words sink in, hand retreating from the phone. “Oh my god.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to look or anything, I promise. Your windows are just so big. I didn’t even want to come in today because I felt so bad about it, but I figured you should know that it was possible to see into your apartment. Like other people might also be able to see you too. I just came to tell you that because I don’t think I’d be able to live my life just knowing that information and not telling you.” Soonyoung stopped talking finally, giving you an opportunity to respond. The tips of his ears were red with embarrassment and he looked like he wanted to jump out the window.

You were covering your mouth with shock by now, absolutely mortified. “I am so sorry,” you yelped. “I had no idea, oh my god. I hope you don’t feel... violated or anything.”

“Oh, not at all,” he assured you. “I felt the opposite, actually- I mean, I hope you don’t feel violated.” He stood from his chair before you could say anything else. “Anyway, thank you for your time.”

Soonyoung kicked himself the whole way to the subway station. That job had been the best opportunity he had at breaking into the industry here in New York and he’d fucked it. He could’ve kept his big mouth shut and pretended like everything was normal- but just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of his throat.

No, he was glad he had been honest. It just sucked that he’d lost such a good position, and ruined whatever nonexistent chance he had with you.

When he got home he threw all of his energy into unpacking. He was determined to make a real dent in the pile of boxes this time, and then maybe afterward fill out some job applications.

His apartment was actually starting to look livable by the time he took a break to eat leftover pizza for dinner. He’d unwrapped the plastic covering and bubble wrap from his couch so that he actually had a place to sit now, and he’d found a standing lamp to replace the table lamp sitting on the floor.

He was about to move on to a box full of clothes when he risked taking a look over at your apartment. To his surprise, you were standing in your living room, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. He furrowed his eyes in confusion, wondering why you were still choosing to walk around your apartment undressed with the knowledge that he could see you. But before he could look away his phone started buzzing in his pocket. It was an unsaved number, but he suddenly had the feeling he knew who it was.

“Hello?”

“Soonyoung?”

He recognized the voice immediately, and snapped his attention back over to the windows where he could see you looking back this time, phone pressed to your ear.

“Y/n.” He realized he had never called you by your first name before, and hoped you weren’t offended by it.

“The job’s yours if you want it.”

He blinked, staring right at you. “What?”

“The position. It’s yours if you want it. You were the best candidate by far and I think you’d make a great addition to the team.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am.” He heard you take a breath before continuing. “You have time to think it over, of course. Let me know by the weekend.”

“I don’t need time to think,” he heard himself say.

“No?”

“No. I’ll take it.” “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked, reaching behind you and unclipping your bra. You caught the fabric and pressed it against your chest so that it wouldn’t slip down.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me if I’m overstepping.”

“You’re not overstepping,” he breathed, hand already traveling down to the waistband of his shorts.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He watched with a slack jaw as you let the bra fall to the floor. You moved to the couch and draped yourself over it, opening your legs to give him a view of your whole body, from your pussy up to your neck. He pulled off his shirt and shimmied out of his shorts quickly so that you were on an even playing field. It was still uneven in his opinion. You were so beautiful, he felt inadequate in comparison. But the moan you let out upon seeing him shirtless boosted his ego the tiniest bit.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured quietly into the phone.

“I don’t want to stop,” Soonyoung admitted.

“Me either.”

His breath caught in his throat as you pulled your panties down and let them join your bra on the floor. He was too far away to see anything in detail, but he could imagine. You brought a hand down in between your legs, spreading your wetness around with your fingers.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He was hard. He was so hard that it was starting to hurt, and all he could think about was running his cock through your folds. Being the one to make your back arch off the couch like it was now.

He spat into his palm and began working his hand up and down his cock, sighing in relief.

“You sound so pretty,” you echoed, and Soonyoung straight up whimpered in response. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “God, I wish I had your fingers instead of mine. They’re so much longer.”

“Guess you’ll just have to imagine them,” Soonyoung said, finding his voice out of nowhere. It was your turn to whimper. “Picture them working you open, stretching you for my cock.”

“Soonyoung?” you asked hoarsely.

“Yeah?”

“Come over.”

“Fuck, right now?”

“Yes right now. I need you,” you whined. “Fiftieth floor, the door code is 0716.”

He heard the phone click as you hung up and that was all it took. He scrambled for his pants and shirt that he’d thrown somewhere in the room, tripping when he tried to jump into both legs of his shorts at the same time. He rushed out into the hallway and pressed the down button on the elevator repeatedly, like it would make it come any faster.

He tried to act like he wasn’t out of breath and held his hands together in front of his crotch in an attempt to hide his erection. The other people on the elevator ignored him, only addressing him to ask which floor he was going to.

Soonyoung swore he’d never run so fast in his entire life. He dodged taxis, bikers, and pedestrians as he crossed the street illegally and made it to the elevator of your building right before the doors shut.

You had put on a sheer robe while you waited for Soonyoung, not wanting to open the door completely naked, but you were beginning to have second thoughts. You were officially Soonyoung’s boss now, which meant that having sex with him was at the very top of the list of things you shouldn’t do. It would no doubt be considered a gross misuse of power, and to make matters worse he had literally just been hired. His first experience with you shouldn’t be in bed-

You heard the lock click and turned around to see Soonyoung standing in your doorway. He was breathing hard and practically dripping with sweat. All doubts about crossing the line vanished when you looked into his eyes and saw how dark they were. He hadn’t even said anything, yet you knew how much he wanted you.

Even more evident was the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric of his sweat shorts. You tried not to stare, but you figured it was only fair, given how he was staring at you.

Soonyoung let the door shut behind him before approaching you. His hands trembled as he brought them up to your shoulders, like he was unsure of where to start. He slipped his thumbs under the hem of your robe finally and you shivered at the contact. You bit your lip and nodded at him to keep going.

He pulled the fabric down off your shoulders and let the robe pool at your feet. You looked down at it and then back up at him expectantly. He took the cue to follow and yanked his shirt off over his head, followed by his shorts so that he was in his underwear.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. His voice sounded an octave lower than it had been over the phone and it made your knees weak.

“Please,” you choked out.

He placed one hand on your cheek and tilted your head to the side, pressing his lips to yours. It was needy and desperate, strung with promises of what was to follow. His peppermint chapstick made your lips tingle and you leaned in, deepening the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist as he took control, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Soonyoung’s hands made their way down to your ass and squeezed, making you yelp in surprise. He chuckled against your mouth and broke away from the kiss.

“Should we move this to my bedroom?” you asked, breathless.

Soonyoung shook his head. “I want to take you here.”

“Where?”

“Here,” he repeated and nodded toward the windows.

“O-okay,” you agreed, a little unsure on the mechanics of how it would work. But Soonyoung seemed confident, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand.

“C’mere,” he said. “I know you said you wanted my fingers, but I’m dying for a taste of you,” he admitted. “Is that okay?”

You nodded desperately as you watched Soonyoung sink to his knees in front of you. He pushed his hair back with his hand and used the other to hike your leg up over his shoulder. You felt his breath on your clit before anything else, felt the way he was hovering inches in front of your cunt like a goddamn tease.

“Soonyoung, please,” you begged.

You jolted when he suddenly buried his face in between your thighs, letting out a strangled moan as his tongue circled your clit. It was all too much and you had to pull on his hair to maintain your balance. Soonyoung didn’t seem to mind too much, in fact it only spurred him on as he moved even further down and began to tongue fuck you.

His nose bumped against your clit as he worked his tongue in and out of you and it was all you could do not to black out from the pleasure. You braced yourself against the window with one hand, trying to hold off the orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

“Soonyoung, wait,” you cried and tugged him away from your pussy by his hair.

He jutted his lip out in a pout and frowned like he was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to finish you off. His chin was glistening in your arousal and his lips were pink and swollen from sucking on your clit.

“I want you inside of me,” you pleaded. “Please, Soonyoung?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rose from his knees, smirking as he took the advantage of height back.

“Of course, angel,” he said, pulling you closer so that he could kiss you again. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue, ignoring the way he laughed at your neediness. “Turn around for me, love,” he instructed as he pushed his boxers down. “Hands on the window.”

You did as you were told and bent over. Soonyoung’s hand made contact with your ass just once, the harsh smack echoing throughout the room. You cried out, body shaking even when he ran a hand over the mark to soothe it.

He took his time lining himself up with you, wanting to tease you as much as possible before he finally gave you what you wanted. You tried pushing yourself back against him, but he was having none of it and put you back in your place every time.

“I didn’t take you for a brat,” he mused.

“I didn’t take you for a tease,” you bit back through gritted teeth.

“Yes you did.”

“Fine, but I didn’t take you for someone who was all talk and no follow-through.”

That seemed to work because Soonyoung pushed himself inside you as soon as the sentence left your mouth. You lurched forward, hands on the window slipping as you cursed him out.

“What were you saying?” he taunted, running a hand down your exposed back.

“N-nothing!”

“That’s what I thought.”

He gave you a few moments to adjust to his size, but you were too impatient to wait and began fucking yourself on his cock, desperate for the release that had built up when he was going down on you. Soonyoung brought his hand down against your ass again and stilled your hips.

“Did I say you could move?” he demanded. “Answer me.”

“No!”

“Then why did you?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your cock-” you choked out, “felt so good. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, darling. You’re going to be a good girl for me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He seemed satisfied with your answer and thrust into you once, then again, slowly building up to a steady rhythm.

For a moment or two all that could be heard was the slapping of skin and your shaky gasps. Soonyoung’s cock was bigger than you expected, and each time he hit your g-spot you couldn’t help but let your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure.

You weren’t even trying to hold back your moans at this point, too fucked out to care. Soonyoung let a hand wrap around the front of your body and travel up to your throat. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, pressing it against your lips for you to suck on.

You took it into your mouth eagerly, letting him push it further and further until you were practically gagging on it. When he was satisfied with your work he took his finger out of your mouth and wrapped the same hand around your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Fuck,” you whined.

“Are you close?” Soonyoung asked, likely because he was also teetering on the edge.

“Yes, so close.”

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he pressed, tightening his grip on your neck. “Think anyone watching you get fucked like a slut against the window deserves to see you cum?”

“No one can see me,” you insisted. “It was only you.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, feeling like the invisible string inside of you would snap at any second.

“You could have a whole audience and not even know it, y/n. What do you think, should we give them a show?”

All you could do was nod as he continued to pound into you from behind, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Soonyoung, please let me cum I can’t hold it-” you gasped as you tipped over the edge before he could respond, clenching around his cock harder than you knew you were capable of. It felt as if you were falling from the window of your apartment, hurtling toward the ground some fifty stories below.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Soonyoung muttered, his hips faltering.

“Cum inside me, please cum inside me,” you begged. “I’m on the pill you can cum inside me.”

He came with a groan of your name, pumping his cum further into you with every thrust. “So fucking tight,” he sighed as he continued to lazily rock his hips into yours. “Is your poor cunt so sensitive now?” he asked, voice dripping with fake sympathy.

“Yes,” you answered quietly, feeling tears prick in the corners of your eyes at the overstimulation.

Soonyoung pulled out of you finally, making you whimper at the empty feeling. He chuckled and helped you stand up straight, ready to catch you if your legs gave out.

“That’s what you get for cumming without permission,” he said.

“You’re an asshole,” you mumbled, eyes only half open. “I’m your boss. You should let me cum whenever I want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Soonyoung assured you.

You watched as he picked up his clothes from around your living room and wondered if you had just ruined everything. Once he was dressed he made his way back over to you and kissed you chastely on the lips. The kiss didn’t help you relax at all. It only confused your feelings for him even more.

“See you monday?” you asked hopefully. If nothing else, you hoped he would still accept the position for the sake of your team, even if things between you were awkward and he never wanted to sleep with you again-

“See you monday,” he repeated in confirmation. “And next round’s at my place.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

forever tags: @hotgirlmingyu @hotgirlvernon @myunghoehoehoe

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#high-rise #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut #hoshi x reader #hoshi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Note

What is August going to do if his little decides to play with his forbidden knife collection? :3

Omg so this took a while and i'm sorry but im sooo happy with this! It got a little long so im hidig it under a cut but i hope you enjoy! @littlefreya @viking-raider

August swore vehemently looking around for the blades he'd sharpened specifically for his next assignment.

This needed to be silent and precise, he'd sharpened each blade twice! Not once but twice!

He wouldnt even attempt his 'arm hair' shave test this time knowing he may have gone over board with the sharpening.

But he couldnt help it, he found it therapeutic running his hands over the blades again and again, it was like medatation for him.

But they were no where to be seen! Hed placed them each delicatly in the rolled travelling leather holster, useing the small poppers to lock each dangerous blade in place and then hid it in the small safe in the wardrobe.

"Baby girl! LITTLE ONE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THE SAFE?!" He shouted down the stairs only not to get an answer, the radio on the kitchen drowning him out.

You were baking, well 'bakeing' he had bought a 'unicorn gingerbread box kit' for you both to make today.

It was a small treat he would spend the day with you doing anything your little heart desires befor setting off onto his week long mission.

You were currently rolling out the gingrbread and he had decided to sneak his weapons into his bag while you were preoccupied.

August never liked rubbing innhis occupation with you, never liked faceing the awkward questions, he wont lie to you but in being truthfull he can sometimes frighten you.

In the bedroom he was as ruthless and rough and demanding as he was at work.

But like this when you were little, you drew out a softer side. Well as soft as he was capable of, he was a stern man in everything he did, even in daddying you.

August huffed and zipped his case violently stressing out he needed to go down and pversee ou before you did something foolish, like tried to put the gingerbread in the oven.

Your panicked hyperventilating and bitten 9ff screams drew his attention immediatly!

He bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, so panicked by the cries and screams from the kitchen he raced through the housestomping and crashing with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

Oh hell.

He froze, face paling mouth agape as he took in the scene.

Then he roared in a way you'd never heard.

You cowered holding your hand tightly as it bled profusely red life blood poured all over the white counter ruining the sheet pan dusted with what was once pure white flour.

The blood was also over the rolled out gingerbread, along with a very familiar knife.

You cried and staggered over you august holding your wound tightly tripping over your feet to him, wandering blindly unable to see much through your tears. Or hear past your frantic crying and yelps of "daddy!?"

August quickly decended on you grasping a teatowel from the laundry basket on the counter and tookover holding your offered wounded hand whislts snappjng at you in worry fueled anger.

"What the fuck are you dojng with that!? They are daddies special knives! You know not to touch thwm you silly little girl!"

"I'm s-so-rry! OUCH, NO-OO DAD-DY IT HURTS!" You cried out complaining as he dabbed the wound inspecting it.

It wasnt to deep just long, across the whole of your palm. He could tell your slipped and probably didnt evwn notice youd cut yourself untill it'd sliced fully across.

He'd sharpened them that much.

"You will be! By god little lady you will ne so very very sorry when im done woth you!"

"Come on sit down before you pass out and bleed all over the kitchen" he said tying a knot in two corners ot the teatowle making a triangle like a sling and looped it around your palm then fetched a wooden spoon slotting it in the large opening and began twisting it tight making a tourniquet.

You hissed as he pulled the clother thighter and tighter then slipped the wooden spoon into your fingers holding the teatowel still, before raising your hand high letting gravityhelp slow the bleeding.

"Now hold that there, dont you move, w need to stop the bleeding so i can mend it" he snipped grunting to himself. He wasnt worried as such, it looked worse than it was he had tended to worse on himself.

"Y-you can fix it da-ddy?" You sobbed tryi g to be brave but you were shaking like a leaf, youd never bled that much before.

"Yes daddy can fix it poppet, daddy can always fix it" he said quickly pulling out his... vast medic kit that was fully stocked to deal with everything from burns and cuts to bullet woulds and decapitated fingers. Because ou never know.

"A-are you mad da-addy?!" You whined eyes wide as he huffed and sighed dragging his hands through hos hair irritated

"Im not angry im very very disappointed. And you can bet your little ass is gonna be meeting that spoon shortly!" He said vehemently trying to calm himself and remind himself it wasnt too serious and he could deal with this cut.

You didnt even argue just looked down, dropping your watery eyes to the floor like a kicked puppy, and it wasnt even to soften him either.

"Why were you touching daddies private things?" He spoke tyring to take both his and your mind off your wound as he located everything he needed from the box.

"A'cos i wa-nted to see...they were shiney after you were polishin'em" you explained hicupping slowly weeping still as the pain and throbbing set in.

"I was sharpening them poppet, not polishing" he uttered quickly with a sigh trying to find a quaze big enough to wrap in a bandage.

"I just wanted to see... Never gon' touch" you sobbed bijng your lip eyes flickingnup the the now red teatowel, your figers were going a ittle numb from the tight tourniquet.

"And then?" He asked quirking a brow as you before waling to the kitchen sink washing and rinsing the washing up bowl thoroughly befpre filling with fresh warm water and a new clean cloth.

"Then the box said cut round the unicorns with a knife... And I already got it out to look at" you said shrugging a little as he moveed down your hand. Luckily the bleedig had stopped.

"I also says let and adult do it" your daddy chided as he slowly and gwntly unwrapped your hand making our fingers sting a little at the renewed bloodflow

"Im an-adult" you argued weakly then hissed as he begancleani g the wound dabbig it ever so lightly knowig he had to use clean water instead of antiseptic that could slow the healing of the delicate skin.

"Your a baby" he said with a roll of his eyes 'a spoilt baby' he added as an after thought to himself.

"...but im carful never cut myself with my big girl knives!" You agrued then gasped giving a small 'uh oh' you mouth had run away with you again.

"You mean the kitchen knives?" August asked quickly coming down on the new information like a... well hammer on a land mine.

"No... my saftey knives daddy" you uttered under your breath hissing as he moved on to the next stage of tending to your wound pressing the gauze to it.

"What do you mean your safety onives little one?" He said paying close attention to the bandages he was unravling over your hand trying to keep it firm but comfortable.

"My safety knives... i-in my purse?... Incase of baddies" you whispered slowly praying he wouldnt hear you. But his fingers paused for a second before quickly tying off the bandage in a knot and gave you a fierce look.

"You have knives in your?- wait hold-" august frowned and held a hand up singnalling you to stay then left the kitchen.

He returned moments later and emptied your pjrse only to growl shaking his had as a plethora of 'cute' weapons fell out. Hello kitty switch blades, rainbow blades, pink pocket knives and suspicious looking comb, key knives, pen knives you name it! There was even a ... cat keyring obviously meant to be some sort of pointy eared knuckle duster.

"Really poppet? Knives and... knuckle dusters- these are" he began scolding you but you cut him off

"I know i know daddy im sorry-" your apology was halted as your daddy spoke over you in a warning to e, he didnt like being interrupted.

"No where near good enough! These are all close range! If your close enough to use these then your already fucked! No you need pepperspray and a tazer!" He growled quickly picking up the feeble knives that had no grip to them, and wasnt ever sharp!

"T-tazer?" You stuttered tiltinnyour head cradling your injured hand to your chest.

"Yes, they are close range but will stop any attacker in their tracks! You can get away whilst your attacker is convulsing and laying in a pool of his own piss!" August growled becoming more and more aggravated as he realised you had now real way of protecting yourself when he wasnt around, big or little!

"Im getting you a tazer- today! Before i leave" he decided nodding to himself as he binned the now soiled teatowel and wash cloth.

"...can i have a pink one daddy?" You asked not being the slightest bit against having a tazer, it would make you feel alot safer then a knife.

Knives needed a proper opening and some brute force to protect you and could really really hurt someone!

A tazer was just a button and could work nomatter where ou hit the baddy and would kill them just make em gall over and pee.

"You can have a pink one princess... or a lipstick one or a tampon one?" Auguast suggested trying to thinl of the best one for you... he was sure a smaller discreet one whould be better than a law enforcement grade.

"That sounds uncomfortable daddy..." you uttered shuddering at the thought of that... being mistaken.

"Its not really a- fuck it... Right come on lets get in the living room you can go pick a tazer online" he said beginni g to pack up the first aid kitpillig everthing neatly into the box.

"O-okay... but no spankies daddy... I'm hurt" you warned cautiously waving your bandaged hand

"Yes spankies! Absolutly spankies! You take this spoon with you and you can pop it on the table as a reminder!" He ordered holding you with a level gaze blue eyes warning you to do as you were told.

"But my hand-" you said sniffling cradling it.

"Will be the least of your problems when I'm tanning your naughty butt! Now go or else" he threataned clipping the first aid box shut still watching you, staring unblinkingly.

"Or else what-" you started but your daddy was havig none of it and cut you off again.

"There is a silicone butter icing spreader in this kitchen that will be much worse than thw wooden spoon! Now get in the living room befpre i make you find it" he growled not about to let you throw a paddy about getting your ass blistered after the stunt you pulled.

Your lower lip wobbled but yu nodded giving up, plucking the wooden spoon and turning around leaing the kitchen in a walk of shame muttering a tiny 'yes daddy, sorry daddy'

Auguast watched with a stern face, before turning his attention to the bloody kitchen he will clean before coming to deal with you.

A good fifteen mineut wait will let you have time to reflect before he comes in and tans you hide.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #august walker x reader #august walker x little reader #oh for fic sake headcannon #oh for fic sake ask

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squiggledrop · 3 years

Text

Day 25: Proposing on Christmas - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Ficmas 2020

Listen to my Christmas Playlist!

Summary: Ficmas Day 25

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Snow fell outside as a thin layer of frost formed on the cold window. You rolled over, taking in a deep breath as you curled into Spencer. You felt his arms tighten around you and a thin smile graced your lips.

“Merry Christmas”, you whispered, placing a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. Spencer hummed, kissing your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, baby”, he smiled. You looked up at him, his warm chestnut eyes holding your gaze. “You want to get up, or cuddle for a bit longer?”, he asked. He looked at you with a smile and a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Just a few more minutes”, you sighed, pulling the covers up further. Spencer gave the tip of your nose a quick kiss before closing his eyes and snuggling back into you. Resting your head on his chest, you could hear his steady heartbeat through his grey t-shirt. You closed your eyes, calmed by the feeling of being so close to Spencer.

After about a half-hour of cuddles, you began to hear Spencer’s stomach grumble, eliciting a slight giggle from you. Spencer smiled, rubbing your back, as he looked down at you.

“Alright, let’s get you some food mister”. You gently patted Spencer’s chest as you sat up in the bed.

“Can we have some of the stollen?”, he asked, eyes lighting up. Every year you made a loaf of your grandmother’s stollen for Christmas morning, and it was Spencer’s favorite. He, of course, liked to drown in it powdered sugar, claiming it made it more festive.

“Of course”, you said, leaning into him. You placed a chaste kiss on his lips, which he eagerly melted into. You pulled back and smiled, placing a gentle peck on his cheek before standing up.

As you made your way to the kitchen, Spencer followed behind with his arms wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. You giggled, wrapping your arms across his as you waddled down the hall together.

When you made it into the kitchen, you got out a cutting board and knife as Spencer put on a pot of coffee. As you cut the stollen, he came and stood behind you, enveloping you in his embrace again.

“Careful”, you giggled, the sharp knife wavering in your hand slightly at the contact.

“Sorry”, he mumbled shyly into your shoulder, pressing light kisses along your back. When you had finished cutting a slice for you both, you set the knife down and turned around. You placed your arms on his shoulder, running your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck. Spencer relaxed into your soft touch and began rubbing his hands up and down your back. You sighed, closing your eyes and basking in his touch. Spencer pulled you closer, your head slotting underneath his chin. He pressed a kiss onto your head before resting his chin on your shoulder and pulling you in for a proper hug. You both stayed there for a moment, letting the scent of coffee and the other’s shampoo fill your lungs.

Upon hearing Spencer’s stomach rumble again, you let out a soft chuckle before giving him a tight squeeze. Spencer let out a mumbled whine you pulled apart, but you shook your head playfully as you handed him the plates of food.

“Here”, you smiled, “take these in and I’ll follow with the coffee”. Spencer nodded, eagerly eying the food in front of him.

“Don’t forget the powdered sugar”, he smirked as he walked towards the couch.

“I won’t”, you teased. You poured two cups of coffee into the holiday mugs you picked up at the inn you stayed at. Each one had a snowy scenery with a horse-drawn carriage, and upon the top, in red script, it read ‘the best part of Christmas is spending it with you’. As you stirred in a Spencer appropriate amount of sugar into his mug, you smiled, memories of the previous days replaying in your head. When you finished, you made your way into the living room and smiled as the glowing Christmas tree came into view.

“Here, babe”, you said, handing Spencer his cup of coffee.

“Mmm, thank you”, he hummed, taking a sip. He handed you your plate and you gave him the bag of powdered sugar. A wide grin grew on his face as he lathered it onto his stollen. You watched as took a bite, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips at the taste.

“This is so good,” he complimented through mumbled chews, “You did a really good job”. You chuckled slightly, noticing he had some powdered sugar on his chin.

“Thanks, baby”, you smiled, bringing your hand to his face and gently dusting off the excess sugar. Spencer blushed at the intimacy of your kind gesture and came to sit right next to you. He leaned his head on your shoulder, pressing your sides together. You both sat there, eating and sipping on your coffee as you enjoyed the other’s presence.

“I love you”, Spencer said softly between bites. You looked down at him and smiled, hoping that three words could compensate for the multitude of love you held for him.

“I love you too”, you gleamed. Spencer looked up at you for a moment and gave you a sincere smile before turning back to his stollen. He knew everything would be fine, perfect even, but that didn’t stop him from hoping you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

When you had both finished eating, you began opening the presents that sat under the tree. With every gift that was opened, Spencer could feel his heart rate increase. As you were opening your last gift, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his flannel pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

You, however, were also a profiler and knew something was up by the way he was nervously playing with his lip. As you unwrapped the gift, you watched Spencer’s sporadic eyes dart from your face, to the present in your hand, to the back of the tree, and then down to the floor beside him.

“Spence are you okay?”, you asked, slightly worried. Spencer felt his throat go dry at your words, and he nodded, trying to form a sentence. “You sure?”, you asked, comfortingly placing your hand on his arm. Spencer sighed at the contact, looking down at your joined skin. He took in a deep breath and a small smile played on his lips.

“Yeah”, he said, nodding at you. He took your hand in his and ran his thumb across the back of your palm. “I um, I think there is one last present behind the tree”, he said softly, motioning to the tree. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked.

“Spence I don’t think so”, you giggled, looking at him quizzically.

“No, I’m pretty sure there is”, he insisted. “Um, why don’t you go check”. You were about to say something, but you closed your mouth and let out a soft sigh. You chuckled slightly and got up, figuring it would be easier to just check.

Spencer watched as you stood up and walked towards the tree. You bent over, looking behind it, making sure there was nothing there. And, to your suspicions, there wasn’t.

“Spence, babe, I told you”, you said, turning around, “there wasn’t any-”. You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. When you turned around, you were met with Spencer on one knee in front of you, holding a tiny velvet box in his hand. Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of him, and it took everything in you to will your shaking legs to keep you standing.

“(Y/n)”, Spencer started, trying to hold back tears, “Italian composer, Giuseppe Verdi, once wrote ‘I saw you and fell in love, and you smiled because you knew’. From the first day I saw you and your contagious smile and heard your enchanting laugh, I knew you were it for me”. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you dropped to your knees, holding onto every word that came out of Spencer’s mouth.

“I love you so much, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you. I love you because you are my best friend, in the truest sense of the word. You are the person I want to wake up to every morning and the person I want to come home to every night. With one look, you know exactly how I am feeling, and you always know how to make my day better. For the past month, I’ve been trying to fathom how I could condense my love for you into the finite constraints of the English language, and with every attempt, it doesn’t fully capture the extraordinary phenomena that is you”. You watched as Spencer took in a shaky breath, so you reached out your hand, which he gratefully held onto. You smiled at him, and he nodded a silent thank you before continuing.

“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much, but every day you prove me wrong time and time again. And I never want you to stop proving me wrong. I love the way you challenge me and how you’ve turned my world upside down, and I love that you let me see the world through your unique point of view, and I hope you always let me because it’s beautiful”. He stopped for a moment, blinking away some tears. He swallowed before looking back up at you, his amber eyes looking deep into yours.

“You are beautiful. You are the most radiant, caring, stubborn, sarcastic person I know. And because of that, you are also the most beautiful person in the world. I want to have kids with you, and I want to raise them in a gingerbread house with you”. You both let out a giggle through your tears at his words. You smiled at Spencer as if he held the whole universe in his palm, because to you, he did.

“I want to grow old with you and sit in a nursing home while I read and you ramble about random things while we hold hands”.

“Hey”, you sobbed through a smile, “that’s our regular Friday night”. Spencer giggled, shaking his head before he continued.

“I want to travel the world with you, and take every nap with you in my arms. When I say you are my whole world, I mean it literally”. He looked deep into your eyes, holding your hand. “You are my whole world. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. No matter where I am or what I am doing, you are always on my mind, not consuming every thought, but rather always in the background, giving me words of encouragement when I need it or just a silly comment when I need to smile. You never fail to make me smile, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m the cause for yours”. He paused again, taking a deep breath. He looked at you through blurry eyes and smiled, “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), will you marry me?”

“Yes”, you cried, nodding as you flung yourself into Spencer’s arms, “Of course I’ll marry you, Spence”. Spencer clung onto you, happy tears rolling down his cheeks. He had never felt so elated in his entire life.

“I love you so much (Y/n)”, he whispered into your hair, “so, so much”. He placed a kiss on your neck, as you felt your own tears leaving a stain on his shoulder.

“I love you too”, you whimpered. You lifted your head slightly so that you could see his face, and you promptly attached your lips. Spencer sighed into the kiss, neither of you caring about the salty tears mixing in your mouths because it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Spencer took the ring out of the box and took your hand in his. He gently slid the ring onto your finger and placed a tender kiss on it. He pulled you back into a tight hug, relishing in the way it felt to hold his fiancé.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n)”, Spencer spoke as he sniffed. You let out a faint laugh, your heart never having felt this full.

“Merry Christmas, Spence”, you whispered back. You held onto each other tightly, grateful that you had forever to spend smiling in each other’s arms.

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atlafan · 4 years

Text

The Boys Next Door

a/n: I have no idea where this came from. enjoy some smut and some other college!Harry.

You lived in a college town, and your parents were landlords for many college students. They owned a few different properties along one of the street close to campus. You were twenty-one and going into your senior year. You didn’t mind going to school where you grew up. You went somewhere else your first year, just to get out of town for a while, but eventually coming home was the best choice. Plus, you got to live off campus in one of your parent’s apartments with your friends. You were having a great time.

They wanted to go on vacation, do a little traveling this summer, so they put you in charge of one of their smaller properties. The home you were in this summer was converted into two apartments, side by side. Your parents had someone else to run the larger properties, but they had a great deal of trust in you. You happily accepted, especially since you could take a cut of the rent as pay. You also weren’t too upset because the boys moving in next door were really cute. Soon to be seniors as well. They were international students, and as much as they liked going home, they were still college students. It was easier to save up the airfare for the holidays, rather than to fly home for the summer.

You’d be in your apartment alone. Your friends all had to go home to their families and jobs, not that you minded. You loved being crazy with them, but the alone time would be great. You put the keys to the other apartment outside under the mat, and emailed them to let them know. You also left instructions on rules for living there. Your parents weren’t in the business of dealing with idiots.

It was a beautiful day out, so you decide to set up the small inflatable pool out back, and throw on a two piece to sunbathe in. You get your lawn chair, put some sunscreen on, and dip your feet into the pool. You crack a hard seltzer open and throw your shades on. You sigh with happiness and relaxation.

The boys, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, and Louis Tomlinson, all show up to the apartment. They find the keys and head inside. They get all their things moved in and wheel their grill out back. There was no fence between the two sides, but it was still clear that it wasn’t an overly shared space.

“Oh shit!” Niall says, pointing to you. “Is that our landlord?”

“I think so.” Louis says.

“We should go introduce ourselves then.” Harry says. “After all, she could be hungry for somethin’ off the grill.”

The three walk over to you. You had your headphones in and you had fallen asleep.

“Excuse us.” Louis says. You don’t move. “Think she’s asleep…”

Harry rolls his eyes and nudges your shoulder.

“Huh?!” Your eyes snap open and you flinch when you see three very good looking men standing above you. “Um…can I help you?” You stand up and look for your cover up, but you never brought it out. Your two piece was strapless, and a little revealing.

“Sorry to wake yeh, I’m Harry.” You shake his hand. “This is Niall and Louis, we’re your tenants.”

“Oh!” You laugh. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you guys. I’ve seen you around though, you’re all on the soccer team, right?”

“That’s right.” Niall says.

“We were just about to fire up the grill, wanna join?” Louis asks.

“Sure! I actually have some fresh lemonade in the fridge inside, I’ll bring it over.”

“Sounds good.” Harry says.

They go back over to the grill and you go inside. You grab a large t-shirt to throw on, and the jug of lemonade out of the fridge. You grab some solo cups as well, and you head over to their side.

“I don’t wanna be a Debby Downer, but my parents wanted me to remind you guys that you’re getting a discounted rate because you agreed to mow the lawn, and shovel once winter comes. Everything you need is in the shed.” You point to it. “The keys for it are inside a combination box. The combo’s on the paper I left in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, yeah, we found that. No worries, the lawn will look perfect.” Niall assures you and you smile at him.

“Any other official business? I’d like to add some vodka to this lemonade.” Harry says, shaking the cold bottle in his hand.

“Nope, that’s it for now. Please, make the drinks.” You say.

“What can I make yeh, love?” Louis asks.

“I’d love a cheeseburger, please and thank you.” He nods to you and Harry hands you your drink. “Thanks.”

“So, you’re all alone in there this summer?” Niall asks.

“Mhm. My friends will come up for a weekend here and there, but I don’t mind it. This is my favorite apartment of the ones my parents own, I’m excited to be alone in it for a bit.”

“Well, if you ever get lonely, just give us a call.” Harry winks and you blush as you bite the rim of your cup.

You all enjoy mini BBQ and get to know each other more. You all talk about your majors and how excited you all were to be seniors.

“We’re gonna head down to the pub later if you’d like to join us.” Niall says.

“That sounds great!”

“What’s your number, we can text you when we’re ready.” Harry says. You hand him your phone and he puts his number in.

You head into your apartment to shower and wash all the sunscreen off. You throw on a crop top and pair of shorts, and do your make up. Harry texts you when it’s time, and you walk downtown with them to the bar. You all find a booth, and he happens to be the one to sit next to you. Niall grabs the first round of beers.

“What do I owe you?”

“As if I would ever make a girl pay for her drinks.” Niall scoffs. “You don’t ever have to worry about that with us, Y/N.”

“Oh! That’s really nice of you.”

You all clink your glasses, and take a swig of your drinks. They ask you questions about what it was like growing up in the area, and you talk about what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Eventually, you get a pretty good buzz going, and it makes you want to dance to the music playing. There were plenty of people out on the dance floor already.

“Do you guys wanna dance?”

“Sure!” They all say at the same time.

The four of you make your way to the dance floor, and you start dancing. You all giggle and have a great time. You got a little more drunk than you thought, and it hit you like a ton of bricks when you left the bar at closing.

“I’ll never understand how these places close at one in the morning. We’d just be gettin’ started back home.” Louis laughs.

Harry looks at you and sees you sort of struggling to walk.

“Want a piggy back ride?” He offers.

“Seriously?” You slur.

“Sure, come on.”

You hope onto his back and you giggle as your eyes start to droop. Yup, way too drunk.

“M’just gonna get her settled, I’ll be home in a minute.” He tells the two of them as he takes your key.

“My room’s upstairs.” You mumble and he hums his response. He pushes the door open and sets you down on your bed.

“Thanks.” You smile at him. “Tonight was fun. This’ll be a great summer.” You yawn.

“Yeah, it will be.”

Harry goes down to your kitchen to get you a glass of water. When he returns you’re passed out on your stomach. He leaves the water on your nightstand, and heads out. Niall and Louis were on the couch, eating some cold pizza, when he got back.

“She alright?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, passed out already. I left her some water.” Harry grabs a slice of pizza and sits down with them. “She’s cute, I like her.” He says with a full mouth.

“You should ask her out then.” Niall says. “She’s a lot of fun so far.”

“Too soon for that. I need to play it cool.”

“You’re too shy for your own good.” Louis says.

You spend a lot of time with the guys over the next couple of weeks. You go out with them to the bar quite a bit, and you all share many meals. Your favorite thing to do was happen to be outside when Harry mowed the lawn. He would do it shirtless, and he loved when you’d bring him out something cold to drink. You also liked watching them get into little games of soccer.

Sometimes at night you would go over there and watch them play video games, or maybe they’d come over to watch a movie. You found yourself to have gotten the closest with Harry.

Harry: too hot in my room…2:02AM

You: no fan? 2:10AM

Harry: it broke :( 2:12AM

You: I have ac…2:13AM

Harry: is that an invitation? ;p 2:14AM

You: if you want it to be ;p 2:15AM

You slip out of bed, and stop to look at yourself in the mirror. You usually slept naked…you sigh and throw on a large bed shirt, but that’s it. It covered everything just fine. You go downstairs and open the back door for Harry. He was only wearing shorts.

“Hi.” He smiles.

“Hi.” You smile back. “What are Niall and Louis doing?”

“Oh, both of their fans work just fine. I’ve been too lazy to go to the store, but I suppose suffering in sweat just isn’t worth it anymore.”

“Well, my room’s nice and cool, so come on up.”

You and Harry go up the stairs up to your room, and you close the door behind you.

“Oh my god.” He moans as he stands in front of the A/C. “Now this is livin’.” You can’t help but giggle at him. He watches as you reach into your dresser for a pair of shorts. You wiggle them up your body. “Were you not wearin’ anything under that before?”

“Nope.” You grin and sit on your bed. You pat the spot next to you.

“I can just sleep on the floor…”

“Don’t be silly, bed’s plenty big for the both of us.”

He nods and gets on with you. You both lay and face each other.

“Comfy.” He says.

“Mhm.” You push some hair away from his face. “You have nicest hair, have I ever told you that?”

“No. In fact, you could stand to compliment me a lot more.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s the least you could do in exchange for all the free alcohol we give yeh.”

“Very true, okay, well, I also like your tattoos.” Your fingertips lightly graze his arm.

“You do?”

“Yeah, they’re cool.”

“What else do you like about me?” His leg gentle slides between yours.

“You have a great sense of humor, and you’re just really nice.”

“You’re nice too, and you’re really pretty.” Your cheeks flush, you were thankful it was dark. His leg inches up a little further between yours. “Sexy, actually.”

“God, I think you’re hot as fuck, Harry.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” You adjust yourself on his leg, and move closer to him, your faces only inches apart now.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

He cups your cheek and pulls you into him, his mouth slotting over yours. Your eyes flutter closed as you sink further into the kiss. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste any time getting his tongue on yours. You groan against him, and grind yourself on his thigh.

“I wanna fuck you so bad.” He groans.

“Okay.”

“What?” He pulls away. “Really? Just like that?”

“Sure, why not? I want it, can’t you tell?”

“Sometimes it’s not about bein’ able to tell…you wanna have sex with me?”

“Yes, I do.” You turn and reach into your night table to grab a condom. You place it on top of the table for when you need it. “I’m on the pill too, but I think using a condom is for the best.”

“Agreed.”

He moves to hover over you, and starts kissing you again.

“How long, ngh, how long have you wanted to fuck me for?”

“Since we met.” He mumbles as he starts to suck on your neck.

“Fuck, why didn’t you?”

“I was tryin’ to play it cool.” He chuckles against you.

He motions to have you sit up to take your shirt off, and he marvels at your breasts. He cups both of them in his large hands. He tweaks your nipples and leans in to suck on one of them. Your head rolls back as he kneads the other one.

“Harry…I wanna, I want you to…”

“Need my mouth somewhere else, angel?”

“Please.”

He gets between your legs and tugs your shorts down. You were glistening. He licks his lips and dives in. He licks a flat stripe from your center up to your clit, and circles the tip of his tongue around you before sucking on it. You gasp when he does so, and your hands fly to his hair to grip on. Your hips buck up when you feel two of his fingers slip inside you. He pumps in and out as he continues to work your clit with his mouth. You were panting, your body had never felt so good before.

“Holy fuck! Oh my god, don’t stop, Harry!” You moan out.

He pumps fast, brushing your g-spot. It was all too much, and you release around his fingers. He retracts them sucks them into his mouth.

“Tastes even better than I thought it would.”

“Get the condom on, now.”

He smirks and grabs the foil packet. He gets it open with his teeth, slides his shorts down. His hard clock slaps against his stomach and your jaw drops.

“Oh my god.” You say under your breath. “Harry, you’re so…big.”

“I know.” He mumbles as he slides the condom down his shaft. “Don’t be nervous, I won’t hurt you.”

“M’not worried about that.”

He leans in and lines himself up with you and slowly pushes inside. Your head rolls back into the pillow as you feel him stretch you out. Your nails press into his shoulders. Once he’s all the way in he gives you some time to adjust.

“Alright?”

“Mhm, you can move.”

He starts with slow thrusts, rocking in and out of you. You can’t help the moans that leave your lips. You had never felt so good before. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“Go harder, Harry. I want you to make the bed shake.”

“Fuck.” He groans, and does as you say.

He grips your legs and puts them over his shoulders. He thrusts in hard and fast, and the bed does start to shake. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs it furiously.

“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s it, oh my god!” He had you screaming. “Harry!” You cry out as you come around his cock.

He fucks you through it and comes to his own release, spilling into the condom. He collapses on top of you, and you kiss his neck over and over. He pulls himself up and gives you a kiss on the lips before pulling out.

“Where’s your trash, angel?”

“In that corner, next to my desk.”

He hums his response and gets up to throw it out. He hears you get off the bed and turns to look at you.

“Just going to use the bathroom, get comfy.” You smile.

He gets back on your bed and waits for you. When you come back you don’t even both with a shirt.

“I like to sleep naked, that okay?”

“You don’t see me wearin’ anything do you?” He smirks.

You get on the bed and lay your head on his chest. He puts his arm around you and rubs your back.

“That was, uh, really something.”

“Felt good?”

“Really good.”

“You took it really well. You were so wet, felt good for me too.” He kisses your hair line.

“You can come here to beat the heat any time you want.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #college!Harry #stay cool everyone!

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Photo

In Over His Headboard

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 7560

This is a submission for the first day of Thotumn, organized by @spideysmjs!!! Today’s prompt: Dirty Talk.

Summary: MJ learns that Ned's best friend went through a lot of backpacks as a teenager. And a lot of headboards as an adult.

MJ is very observant.

But that’s old news.

The other O-word she lives her life by is ‘organized’. In kindergarten, she rearranged everyone’s cubby during naptime (without permission) to suit her precepts. As an adult, she keeps her books sorted by topic and, within that, by size. The handles of her measuring cups are perfectly aligned. The apartment that houses both the books and the measuring cups is tidy, full of furniture with secret built-in storage spaces, and fewer than five miles from the house in which she grew up. MJ has organized and reorganized her own space so many times that, even though her few good friends think it’s crazy, it explains why one of her passions is helping people move.

Packing boxes is a delight. Laying down rugs so that their straight edges are perfectly parallel to the walls thrills her. Helping someone determine exactly the correct lineup of toiletries in the cabinet under their bathroom sink is a religious experience. She doesn’t express her joy in smiles or shrieks of excitement, but in her diligence. She’ll be tucked quietly in the closet, ordering jeans by shade of blue, while the rest of the volunteer movers crack open a beer in the kitchen, calling it time for a well-earned break.

Lately, everyone in MJ’s life has gotten disappointingly settled: her brother and his wife upsizing in suburbia for the baby on the way, her parents (who are finally coming down hard on not letting her shift their knickknacks around anymore), and Betty. Betty’s engaged—so engaged—and simply made space for her fiancé to move in with her, so MJ didn’t get to assemble a single cardboard box. She still feels slightly betrayed.

When Betty calls and starts in about schedules and plans and photographer, MJ assumes they’re about to go over more wedding details. But no, her friend informs her, the schedule involves the timed renting of a moving truck and the access date for a storage unit, the plans are who’s lending a hand and with what, and the photographer is Ned’s friend and future best man, some guy named Peter. MJ forgets the name (and asks Betty for it again later—day-of, as they’re driving to the guy’s apartment building). It’s a dull speck on the metaphorical diamond Betty has just held up to the light for her to inspect—whatshisname needs people to help him move.

Before the pleasure of putting someone’s possessions in just the right spot can commence, there’s the grunt work. MJ understands and accepts this as a necessary evil. On the day of Ned’s friend’s move-in, she dresses in overalls—multiple pockets for micro-organization on the fly—with a cropped t-shirt underneath because there will, inevitably, be stairs and it’s July. She’s trying not to begin sweating too far in advance, limiting her anticipation to a foot jumping on the immaculate rubber foot mat of the passenger seat of Betty’s car and a series of probing questions.

“Doesn’t this guy have any friends?”

“He has friends,” Betty assures her, being a responsible driver and keeping her eyes on the road, “just not a lot of super close friends.”

“And the close friends he does have weren’t available?”

“Umm…” She concentrates on watching the pedestrian countdown light as they cross an intersection. “I think a bunch of them went with him to the storage unit to load up the truck. I guess they don’t have the whole day off.”

“Oh, unlike me, who has nothing better to do.”

“Don’t get snippy. And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have begged to help if you’d heard me mention what I was doing today.”

MJ plays with the seatbelt strapped across her chest, feeling defensive. It’s her go-to reaction whenever Betty reveals how clearly she sees her.

“I was just trying to figure out why I was asked.”

“Ned’s his friend, I’m Ned’s fiancée, and you’re my friend.”

“The six degrees of Michelle Jones,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. He lives in Queens?”

“Yeah, Peter’s local. He and Ned went to school together. Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy that you can travel the world and end up with a fiancé and a circle of friends from your hometown,” MJ agrees. Today, Betty’s in jean shorts and a beachy shirt that ties in a knot at the end of its row of iridescent buttons, but MJ mostly sees her on the news, looking as prim and expensive as a collectible doll. She’s a foreign correspondent for CNN, though she’s reining in the foreign part now that she’s living with Ned and about to get married.

“Crazy,” Betty repeats distractedly, making a perfect, tight turn into the belowground carpark next to the building bearing the address MJ wrote down two weeks ago. This is where the magic will happen.

The pile out and her friend beeps her fob to lock the car. She wants to take the elevator that’ll bring them up to the lobby, but MJ insists on trekking back up the ramp they drove down. It stretches her legs, a good warm up. As they emerge from the darkness of the lot and sun slices across their faces, she feels like she’s walking into Disney World. They stand on the sidewalk and right as she’s about to ask Betty when they guys are supposed to make an appearance, a U-Haul pulls up to the curb.

She sees the driver’s side door open and slam shut without seeing the driver, but Ned comes bounding down from the passenger’s side to hold his fiancée’s hands and give her a quick kiss on the forehead (they’re so engaged), then three more guys fold themselves out of the tight back of the cab and hustle around to the rear of the truck. The couple’s display of affection distracted MJ; she can only assume it’s the driver out of sight in the back, passing belongings down to his helpers, who swiftly stack them on the sidewalk near the front doors of the apartment building. There’s an array of boxes, then staggering steps as the guys navigate couches and mattresses out of the truck, racing against the inflexibility of the No Parking and No Idling signs on this street. If a bylaw stooge comes along, they’re screwed. New York’s street signs exist for the city to make money, not for the ease of citizens needing to unload their furniture.

The guy’s—Peter’s—friends are surprisingly quick, so MJ lets the speech she was mentally writing to argue in favour of his right to park the truck in front of the building he’s moving into dissolve in her head. Peter hops down from the back of the truck. From where she and Betty are standing, she can only see his legs and hear the clang of the rear door closing. The trio of extra helpers clamber back into the U-Haul with the intent and discipline of clowns into a clown car and wheel off to return the truck. MJ finally sees the man she’s come to help as he brushes his hands together and steps quickly onto the curb to avoid another car angling into the carpark. He shakes hair off his forehead and squints towards them, sun in his eyes, already smiling.

“Um, hello,” MJ hisses at Betty, quickly turning to her. “Were you going to mention that your fiancé is best friends with Spider-Man? That’s Peter fucking Parker.”

“And I’m Betty fucking Brant,” she counters breezily. She’s looking past MJ, waving at Peter. “I’m on the news more than he is and you don’t freak out when you see me.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Hey!”

MJ spins to look into the eyes of a municipal—no, a national—no, an international hero. She doesn’t say anything fast enough, so he moves past her to hug Betty before coming back to her with eyebrows raised in what looks like a mixture of inquiry, politeness, and gratitude.

“Michelle?”

“But my friends call me—”

“MJ,” he finishes for her, and normally that would be irritating, but Peter Parker is endearingly boyish close-up. He’s shorter than she is. He’s freckled. He does look like somebody she could’ve gone to school with and had a low-key crush on for years and years. The fame can’t touch that, which is why, she figures, his hero-next-door schtick works so well for him. He’s local, like Betty said. Every bit of him sells that and it’s obvious that he’s not trying.

“And yours call you Spider-Man?”

Might as well get that out in the open—that she recognizes him. He laughs easily and glances down.

“Nah, pretty much just ‘Peter’. ‘Petey’ if they either really want to make me suffer or they really like me.”

He gives her a look and it’s brief, but there’s a lot to it. The propositioning tilt of the head, the wolfish curl of the smile, the assessing cut of his eyes to catch her from the corner of his vision. MJ gets a strong sense that ‘really like me’ is a euphemism for ‘enjoy me sexually.’

“We’ll see how I feel once we’ve moved all your shit upstairs, I guess,” she responds flatly.

“That sounds fair.” His voice is bright now, no lurking depravity. “I hope I don’t have enough boxes to make you hate me.”

“Please. Boxes are nothing. I’d be more worried about that dresser turning me against you. What is that thing made of?”

“Solid oak,” he brags, then grimaces. “It sucked just lifting it onto the truck.”

“Can’t you just…” MJ mimes the motion Spider-Man does when he shoots that gunk at people and buildings.

“Lift the furniture up to my building with web fluid?” Peter crosses his arms and looks like he’s really calculating it in his head. “Wouldn’t be graceful. I’d probably smash some windows if I tried to do it from outside, and doing it from inside wouldn’t be that much easier than just carrying it up the stairs. Also, that’d attract a lot of attention and everything I do doesn’t need to make the news, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” she agrees dryly. “I hate it when I’m just grocery shopping and there’s a whole camera crew right in my face.”

He laughs at her sarcasm. Appealing.

“Right?”

And then they have to scurry to catch up because Ned and Betty have already started moving everything into the lobby.

After it’s all inside and not available to be swiped by anyone walking or driving down the street, they decide to take turns carrying stuff up to the fourth floor. (Fourth? MJ could swear she was told second.) One person stays with the remainder of Peter’s stuff while the other three lug boxes and chairs and, eventually, the dreaded oak dresser. She’s too focused on maintaining a brisk pace to really check out his apartment—beyond noting the large windows and protruding edge of the kitchen countertop (that catches her in the stomach while she’s squeezing around a box Ned left too close to the front door). It wouldn’t matter. Layout and organization haven’t been much on her mind since Peter Parker stepped out from behind that truck.

This process isn’t supposed to be a spectacle, but people notice Peter, and Peter, ever the neighbourhood Spider-Man, notices people.

A man exiting through the lobby nods towards Peter’s desk and starts a conversation about materials and quality. MJ almost trips up the stairs with a box in her arms as she hears him say, “Yeah, I’ve got more wood than I know what to do with.” Betty, on her way down, catches her eye and gives her a funny look.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot,” she fires back.

Ned’s above, guiding one end of the couch, and Peter and MJ are heaving the other (mostly Peter) when a different dude narrowly gets past them on a landing, only to turn around and remark on the wonder of them being able to maneuver it. “It’s long,” Peter agrees, “but I’ve fit this thing into some pretty tight places.” Right after, he asks MJ if she needs a break. She’s fine. She only almost dropped her corner of the couch because her hand cramped.

As she’s taking a final box through the door of his apartment, she overhears, “I’ll let him choose the position. What do I know? I’m happy to put it anywhere. The only thing I can be trusted to be in charge of is making sure it’s well-hung.” Stumbling forward, she sees that Peter (who just spoke) and Betty are admiring a large, framed print of him and Ned in cap and gown, clutching diplomas. MJ grabs a bottle of water from the case they carried up here at the beginning—it’s lukewarm, but practically glacial compared to the temperature of her face right now—and asks her friend if she wants to step outside to get a little air before they continue.

Leaning against the wall of the building, MJ chugs some of her water, then hands it off to Betty. While her friend’s drinking, she says, “So, he’s gay, right?”

Betty catches the water that slops down onto her chin.

“What?”

“Peter. He’s gay.”

“I’ve seen him with guys when we’ve all gone to the bar together—”

MJ breathes deeply in relief. She needs him to be gay; the knowledge will quell how she feels when he utters these outrageous, completely explainable sentences, or when he walks ahead of her up the stairs and she’s forced to stare at his ass for four floors, or when she remembers that look he gave her before they started moving everything.

“—but Ned mentioned a serious girlfriend Peter had in high school, so I think he’s bi. Oh my god,” Betty adds in a tone of realization that scares the hell out of MJ. “You want him.”

It takes rapid backtracking and a convincing presentation of the facts (those being every suggestive thing Peter’s said today and leaving out the part about his ass) to wipe the excited look off her friend’s face.

“So, you’ve just been misunderstanding him. And eavesdropping.”

“Can we call it eavesdropping if he has nothing to hide?”

“Fine,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not eavesdropping because he has nothing to hide. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Ned and, yeah, he might have an entire second identity, but the guy’s an open book. Peter couldn’t be sly if his life depended on it. He’s a goof, MJ. He’d never say that kind of stuff for real.”

Except that they hike back up to the apartment together and Peter’s voice drifts into the kitchen from one of the rooms down the hall, making the women halt and lock eyes.

“Remember how many backpacks May bought you in high school?” Ned chuckles. “This reminds me of that.”

“I do go through a lot of headboards. I’m not trying to break them, but I always put my legs into it too much and I just go so deep.”

“The room,” Betty babbles next to her, gripping her wrist. “I’m sure he’s talking about the depth of the room, coming in through the window too quickly from patrol.”

“It’s easy for you to tell yourself that,” MJ points out. “You’re engaged. You have no reason to think about Peter like that.”

Ned emerges and heads straight for Betty. These two are so gross together that neither of them protests against being hugged, though they’re sweaty from labour. With his arm around her friend’s waist, Ned turns to address MJ.

“Are you hanging around for a while?”

“Yeah, definitely. I can help unpack,” she pledges.

“Great. I know Peter’d like to get curtains put up for privacy today too, because, you know, being Spider-Man and having all these windows don’t really go well together, and you’re the tallest. He’ll probably want your help.”

She’d rather be assigned the task of choosing which kitchen cupboard will hold his plates, his glasses, the cans of premade soup she imagines Spider-Man relies on when he’s always darting around at night, too busy to devote a lot of time to making dinner. But she’s here to help. It’s not her apartment; she’ll go where she can be useful (any maybe do some sneaky rearranging later if he makes dumb organizational choices).

“Babe,” Ned says to Betty, “I’m going on a beer run—and maybe tacos, do you feel like tacos?—do you wanna come with me?”

“Of course, babe, but I don’t want…”

She looks at MJ, who’s trying to be inconspicuous, sorting the boxes labelled ‘KITCHEN’ from those labelled ‘LIVING ROOM’.

“One sec,” Betty tells her fiancé, walking over to MJ. “Will you be alright here if we go out for food?”

“Mhmm.”

Without glancing over, she plucks the X-Acto knife from her overall pocket and slices through packing tape to reveal nested pans, cloaked in mismatched dishtowels to prevent scraping during transport. The combination of careful and slapdash makes her smile to herself.

“It’s rush hour now, so I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Betty warns.

“That’s fine.”

“I think we all need a little fuel before we settle in to unpack.”

“Yeah.”

“MJ,” her friend says sharply.

“What?”

“Are you ok being alone with Peter for a while?”

“Yes,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “He’s Ned’s best friend and he’s Spider-Man, not some random creep. I’m not afraid he’s going to jump me. Anyway, I have this.” She waggles the knife.

“I’m more worried about you jumping him.”

She narrows her eyes at Betty.

“Have a little respect for my self-control.”

Her friend just shrugs.

“I’d understand. There’s the allure of him being a superhero and, more importantly, the fact that Ned and I can both vouch for him being a genuinely great guy.”

MJ narrows her eyes even more, this time in suspicion.

“Is this a moving day or a blind date?”

“Oh please.”

“That’s not an answer. Betty,” she presses, but her friend turns and grabs Ned’s hand. The wave as they leave the apartment is mockingly innocent.

Alone, MJ darts a glance down the hall, where she knows Peter is still doing whatever in the bedroom. She’s not going to race in there like some glassy-eyed fangirl. Even if Betty does endorse him so warmly, and he does seem so down-to-earth, and his ass does look like that in his jeans. She lifts his cookware out, one piece at a time, then moves on to the tangled jumble of utensils in the next box, trying to separate a pair of tongs from a warped spatula. She doesn’t hear Peter walk into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says suddenly from behind her.

MJ jumps and holds up the tongs threateningly, but her hand falls as she stares at him. He’s wiping sweat from his neck with the hem of his navy t-shirt. There are his abs and the taut skin below his navel.

“If you have a minute, could you give me a hand with this rod? I can’t get it up on my own.”

Her gaze springs up to his face and she stares at him.

“Huh?”

“The… curtain rod?” Peter says. “I can stand on a chair to do the one end, but I can’t do both ends at once. Do you think you could—”

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile is pleasant and relieved and MJ follows him into the bedroom like he hit her with some sort of magic spell, not just artless, unintentional dirty talk. She sets the tongs down on the floor by the wall; whoops.

“Warm in here,” she notes as she sidesteps a clear plastic tote of Peter’s clothes.

“Yeah, I was gonna open the window, but I didn’t know if the humidity would only make it worse.”

MJ watches as he gestures with one hand and props the other on his hip, hiking up his t-shirt to hook his thumb in the waist of his jeans. She encourages him to go ahead and risk it. The space is unbearable without at least the illusion of fresh air. She redoes her drooping ponytail, feeling new sweat slide down the nape of her neck as Peter crouches and jerks the window up from its sticky sill. Her gaze, and possibly her mind, gets lost somewhere in the breadth of his shoulders. His triceps look as hard and as perfectly rounded as the rolling pin that was still in the box when she left the kitchen. Emptying her chest pocket of odds and ends—knife, scissors, permanent marker, Allen key—MJ unbuckles her overalls, letting the straps and the bib hang down. The buttons on the hips keep the pants part up, but she can’t stand to have the whole thing closing her in any longer. She can’t breathe.

They each take an end of the curtain rod and Peter uses his knees to climb onto his nightstand, already positioned against the wall. It’s overkill because he’s not that much shorter and MJ can hook her end into the bracket without even having to get up on her toes. She’s done first and turns to look at Peter, kneeling on the nightstand with his thighs apart. She pictures joining him on that narrow surface, straddling his lap. God. How long have Betty and Ned been gone?

Then again, why fight it?

“Having some trouble getting it in?” she asks.

The rod clunks against the wall as Peter whips his head around to look slightly down at her.

“Your rod,” MJ clarifies. “You want me to take over? I can handle it.” At his continued dumbstruck silence, she goes on. “Or I can just direct you from here. You could try working it back and forth a little until you get the perfect angle. Then I’m sure it’ll ease right in.”

He hardly seems aware when the curtain rod falls into place. After a few extra moments of immobility, he dismounts and swishes the semi-sheer curtain across the window. She can feel his eyes on her, tracing the strip of stomach between the bottom of her crop-top and the folded-over denim of her overalls.

“What’s next?” she asks. “Maybe go into the bathroom and investigate the plumbing? Or, you know what, I didn’t finish unpacking your utensils. Would you rather go back to the kitchen and get your hands on my box?”

“What are you doing?”

It sounds like his chest is tight, like he’s forcing the words out. MJ smiles gently at the real-life superhero into whose apartment she has miraculously been deposited for today and perhaps only today.

“Helping.”

“Did you have to call it handling my rod?”

“Did you have to tell me you couldn’t get it up without me?” she challenges.

Peter’s mouth falls open and he makes a choked sound of protest, but she raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to argue.

“You asked me for a hand with your rod,” MJ presses. “That was you. You started it. And it wasn’t even then, it was hours ago. What is there in this apartment that you haven’t made some sort of phallic reference to?!”

“I… did I? I’ve been doing that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Spidey. Own it or don’t, but don’t pretend you haven’t heard some of the shit you’ve said today.”

“Are you offended?” he asks, avoiding her eyes, but not her body; he takes his time staring at that.

“I might be if you don’t do anything about it,” she huffs. “I’d hate to think that Spider-Man’s all words and no action.”

“I’m off-duty.” A sly smile.

“We can just talk,” MJ says casually, thinking that she’ll possibly die of heat exhaustion and unresolved sexual tension if they stand around chatting. “Why don’t you tell me how Spider-Man’s managed to crack so many headboards?”

He shoots her the same kind of look he gave her on the sidewalk.

“It wasn’t always Spider-Man.”

She smirks and gives him a look of her own.

“Then why don’t you show me?”

It’s the honesty in his expression that she appreciates as Peter surges towards her, grabbing her face between both hands and kissing her urgently. She grips his waist and scrunches his t-shirt in her hands. At the first little pause they take to snatch a breath, she peels the shirt up and he yanks it off the rest of the way.

“Nice,” she breathes, stroking his torso with her gaze before adding her hands.

He gives her a jerky nod of acknowledgement and goes for her shirt. Tugging it off screws up her ponytail again, but she doesn’t have time to care; Peter’s kissing her, wet and demanding, while he reaches around and fumbles to unhook her bra. When he nudges his hips against her, she feels him. He’s been making sideways insinuations about his dick all day (whether he admits it to her or not), and here’s the real deal at last. MJ presses her tongue slickly into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering at the urge to open her eyes and see what kind of face he’s making to accompany the groan he lets out as she deepens the kiss. As he draws the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms, she regretfully takes her hands off his chest, swiftly unbuttoning her overalls. Left side buttons, then right. Peter hampers her by grabbing her ass and rolling his hips forward as she’s trying to get her pants down. She doesn’t discourage him. It’s thrilling that he’s handsy.

The room’s a mess—not dirty, thankfully, and she assumes he must’ve come on another day to vacuum and clean, but with a short, uneven stack of boxes in one corner, the container of clothing, the box spring and mattress leaning together against the wall, and the headboard, poking out of the closet because he hasn’t put his bedframe together yet. MJ hates disorganization, especially when it fucks with the logistics of what has all the promising tempo and quick chemistry of a fantastic hookup.

“We could just…” He huffs, lifting his mouth off her neck where he’s started licking and sucking. “…tip the mattress onto the floor?”

She’s taken aback by the idea of fucking Spider-Man on a mattress in the middle of his mess of a bedroom. With the curtain as the only thing to show they made any progress in this room before giving in to their libidos. But she’s in her underwear, overalls ringing her ankles, and the man beneath the famous mask looks hot as hell when he’s been kissed hard and riled into an expectant erection. How else are they going to pass the time before their friends return? Fanning out magazines on his coffee table?

“Let’s do that,” she agrees.

They work as a team to control its fall. The room’s carpeted, so the mattress doesn’t make much of a sound beyond a soft thump when it hits the floor. MJ frowns at it thoughtfully. “You don’t have sheets.”

“Fuck sheets,” Peter says, half declaration, half laugh, and walks across the mattress to get to her.

She smiles against his mouth because it’s funny that he’s momentarily taller, standing on the mattress while her feet are still on the floor. Good thing he’s already taken his shoes off. MJ pulls away and drops to unlace her own sneakers, very, very aware of the rasp of Peter unzipping his jeans right above her head. She steps out of her shoes and overalls, then frees her hair of the elastic, flinging it spontaneously across the room, tousling her hair in her hands to fight the tingling of her scalp as she straightens up.

Oh. He’s already stripped his boxers off.

If her mouth actually does fall open as dramatically as it feels like it just has, it’s fine. MJ forgives herself. You’re supposed to be embarrassed after meeting a celebrity, wincing over every rambling sentence you blurted at them and every awkward twitch in your high-strung body language. Only you will ever recall your spastic behaviour. The celebrity forgot you the moment you exited their line of sight. Wait, will Peter mark her down as a horny fan and forget her? She hasn’t known him long enough to separate the man from the heroic icon, but she hopes neither side of his identity involves treating a partner like that. But no. Doesn’t matter. She can overanalyze later. Peter takes her hands and guides her onto the mattress where they make out standing up for a few minutes—him hot and rigid against her stomach, her not quite naked—before things get so heated that they collapse with roaming hands (Peter) and trembling knees (MJ).

For such a wholesome figure, Spider-Man curses wildly as he slides her underwear off, nose skimming down her skin from between her breasts to below her bellybutton while he works.

“You… you look…” he pants, propping himself up on his hands just to admire her. She has to confess, to herself alone, that it’s flattering, that it’s already making her want more of this: reckless afternoon sex in her friend’s fiancé’s best man’s new apartment. “God, I’m so glad you—”

“Called your bluff?” she suggests wryly.

“And everything before that. I’m so glad you were standing on the sidewalk when I got out of that truck.”

Well. That’s a little earnest. Then again, the man is hovering over her in the nude, so they’re in the heat-of-the-moment realm, during which time, comments of disconcerting earnestness do not count, or can be retracted later with no fault to either party.

To counteract it, MJ teases, “Are you saying you’re glad I came?”

“I’m glad you didn’t immediately leave when I said that thing about my wood,” he confides, kissing swiftly back up to her chest and using nothing but his tongue to toy with her breasts. She gasps at the sudden pull of his teeth, then laughs.

“So you were saying that shit on purpose.”

“Don’t be mad that I was too intimidated by your hotness to flirt with you to your face.”

His tone is playfully giddy and she likes this guy, she really does. She gets a good grip on his soft brown curls and tows him up for more kissing. Her knees bump his bare hips as she forms a cradle for him to drop into. Hint, hint.

Luckily, Spider-Man knows his cue.

He rocks between her legs and her chest rises and falls like breathing is a massive exertion. His angle is almost just right, so MJ shuffles and shifts and he’s endlessly patient as she rubs against him from below, testing. Well, not endlessly patient. The instant she moans in satisfaction, he’s got a hand wrapped desperately around her hip as he grinds down with tenacity. Right. This isn’t just any hookup, any guy. This is the guy who makes a career out of not backing down. Heat flows through her at the sudden thought of being handled with the intensity of one of Spider-Man’s mission.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says as she feels the head of him slip lower, skipping across her entrance. “Condom.”

Intense, and kind of a lustful dumbass.

“Right,” he agrees, flushed when he raises his face from where he’s been breathing in the scent of her hair. “I have one, uh, in my wallet.”

And then he doesn’t break away from her for a good ten seconds, like he’s hoping she’ll let him slide in bare. Horny motherfucker. MJ wants to screw Spider-Man, not birth his crime-fighting offspring. She tucks her chin and gives him a look that promises, as much as it would pain her, this thing is shutting down here and now if he doesn’t wrap it up. With a resigned exhalation (and a little smile implying he knows what he was trying to get away with), Peter pushes off of her and goes to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. She rolls onto her stomach to study the ropy musculature of his thighs. When he extracts the condom with a triumphant burst of sound, she flips onto her back again and watches him trip over the jeans he just dropped. There’s a charming contrast between this unexpected klutziness and her assumption that he could pull anybody with a pulse using those trusting brown eyes and his Avengers status.

He crouches beside MJ and doesn’t take his eyes off her, flapping the condom between his fingers.

“Should I put this on or do you wanna put it on me?”

She presents her palm.

“Give me that. You can’t even be trusted to install a curtain rod.”

“Oh, I’m extremely ready to install a rod,” he says eagerly, watching her tear the condom open and reach for his waiting cock.

“You know, you’re a real dork for a guy with those commitments and that ass.”

“Thank you?”

Before his uncertainty can swell to self-congratulations, MJ rolls the condom roughly down his dick, making him heave and shake, hips bucking into her perfunctory hold. Smirking, she closes her fist and pumps him quickly, eyes on the blank bliss on his face, his slack jaw. After a brisk minute of this, he begs her to slow down, then, still kneeling at her side, cups between her legs and starts fondling her at an even more vigorous pace than she was using on him. Her breaths come in hiccups and she can’t point out how unfair this is. Just as she’s arching for more, thinking she’s about to come faster than she ever has in her life, Peter stops cold.

“Are you ready to—”

MJ glares and knocks him back onto his ass, then scrambles onto his lap, continuing to push him down until his shoulders touch the mattress. His expression is cheerily confused.

“I was this close,” she says, pinching her fingers together until they nearly touch. When her complaint brings an impish smile to Peter’s face, she pinches those fingers around his nipple, so he hisses and curls into himself. Shaking her head at him, she takes hold of his erection and eases down onto his lap. His ecstatic chant of, “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” is moderately distracting, but MJ persists. It’s just who she is: stoic.

“God,” he groans beneath her as she begins swaying forward and back, “this is almost as good as catching the midnight opening of a new Star Wars.”

She covers his mouth with her hand and he laughs behind it.

“I was just trying to lean into your perception of me. I’m kidding.”

“Are you though?”

But she frees him for the noises he makes. Some of these grunts and whimpers scale her spine like a ladder, raising goosebumps as they go, until the whole sensation comes shivering back down and she finds herself riding him harder.

“Firm mattress,” she huffs.

“’S new. The last one was awful on my back and—ughhhhhhhohfuuuck—with the hazards of my line of work, I figured I gotta start taking care of myself.”

“If you won’t, I will,” MJ mumbles, curving forward to lick his chest, charting it all under her tongue, as she continues to shove back against him.

“Fuck,” he says, short and sharp. He seizes her hips and rolls her beneath him. “You should know, you taking control is a big turn on for me.”

“Clearly.”

She’s not sure how much sarcasm comes across in her gasp because his manhandling has knocked the wind out of her. Actually, she’s happy to let him steer things; being on top was starting to remind her legs of every step she’s walked up and down in this apartment building today, carrying Peter’s shit. He kneads some of the tightness away when he grasps her thigh and digs in with a roll of his fingers. Her moan is as much in relief as arousal. Then he starts thrusting so fast and deep that he has to pull her back towards him every so often so she isn’t forced off the mattress. The hum leaving her mouth is somewhere between breathing and moaning, one note that drags on and on, jumping and breaking when he catches her mouth in sloppy, ravenous kisses.

He’s still doing his damnedest to make out with her when her lips part with a genuine shriek. The tickle of Peter’s tongue against the roof of her mouth somehow adds to the sensation, like a high vibration over the low thrum of him drilling in and out of her. MJ comes seconds into the beginning of her scream; Peter comes with a crack. The sheer force of her orgasm—Spider-Man is clearly not without finesse, he simply does not choose to employ it in favour of fucking like he’s a sportscar running a red on a highspeed chase—has her too stunned to figure out why the sound accompanying his was wrong.

“What was that?” she asks hazily as Peter slumps over her body, breathing hard and still gently thrusting. He’s sweaty, but so is she. With something like pride, she realizes he’ll have to go to sleep tonight with his mattress soaked in her scent.

“Leg slipped,” he says.

MJ does vaguely recall that. In the midst of her climax, he’d moved. It wasn’t enough to distract her, so she’d focused on the feeling, as well as the resolution to not let him get her that close to the edge a second time without going over it.

“And hit what?”

“Uhhh…”

He doesn’t appear to know either, with his bleary, punch-drunk expression that’s unfortunately pretty adorable. No, no, no. A hand with moving, a hasty fuck, and she’s out. The whole day’s been extremely worth her while. She tells herself she doesn’t need more.

But Peter rolls off and she misses his weight and warmth, his shape and soft eyes. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress with his knees folded high when he goes, “Shit,” under his breath.

Because he also happens to be handling condom-removing at the time, MJ sits up fast, in a panic.

“Did it break?”

His posture inflates with a deep breath, then sags.

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s any way to salvage it.”

Salvage it? That’s a weird fucking thing to say in the situation, like it could possibly matter whether or not they were able to repair the condom after he’s already come inside her. Still, MJ’s skeptic nature makes her grab Peter’s shoulder and wrench it back, only to see the tied-off condom dangling between his fingers. It looks intact. She grips his chin and turns him to look at her.

“What do you mean it’s broken? It’s not in tatters. It’s not leaking.”

“What?” He squints at her, then follows her gaze to the condom. “Oh, not the condom. My headboard.”

Sure enough, she looks up and there’s his headboard, still protruding from the closet, but now in two pieces. The closest is on a slow, sad slide to the floor. He must’ve kicked it. MJ laughs breathlessly.

“Oh, thank god.” Abruptly, she’s pissed. “I thought you were talking about the condom! You don’t scare a woman like that!”

“You thought the condom broke?”

“You had it in your hands and said ‘shit’ in this horrible way and I thought…” She sighs.

“We could’ve made it work,” Peter argues, making her nostrils flare as she puts her underwear back on. “Our baby would be super cute.”

“Our baby?! We met hours ago.”

“I’ve developed stronger bonds in less time,” he says with a shrug, leisurely getting up and sliding his boxers up his legs. Nice ass. No. “You’d be surprised how soon after meeting me some of the villains in this city get themselves so worked up that they wanna kill me.”

She yanks her t-shirt over her head with silent ire. Then has to take it off again because she forgot to put her bra on first.

“Quit looking like that. Nothing happened to you.” Peter’s mouth turns down as he glances over to the wreckage of his headboard. “I have to replace that. Again.”

MJ’s seriously about to snap at this idiot for his insane priorities when he straights up stiffly as he’s stepping into the legs of his jeans.

“They’re back.”

“Who? Betty.”

“And Ned,” he says, now moving faster, doing the fly, throwing his own t-shirt on.

“Inside out,” she says. Not to be helpful, just so that Peter doesn’t give away exactly what they’ve been doing with their time since their friends left.

She goes to swat him when he comes towards her, but then his fingers are buttoning one side of her overalls while she does the other. MJ’s just clicked the straps back into place when the front door opens and closes. Sourness fading, she gives Peter a grateful nod for his help.

“Wait,” she hisses. “Where’s the condom?”

On the instruction of some bizarre reflex, he grabs it from the floor and whips it clear across the room, sending it sailing out the window. Her jaw drops in horror.

“I can’t believe you just—"

“Guys?” Betty calls. “The Mexican place up the street was closed, so we just hit the liquor store for now. How’s the bedroom coming?”

MJ and Peter race to the door; she pulls it closed so fast that it smacks him in the ass, but then he gives her this stupid look like he liked it. And here’s Betty.

“You’re sweaty,” she notes. “Been working hard? You guys get the curtain up?”

“Yep,” MJ says honestly. “No problem.”

Her friend beams in satisfaction, but her expression shifts to conspiratorial as she links her arm through MJ’s and starts to guide her towards the kitchen, likely wanting to know if Peter said anything else colourful during her absence. Except that moron decides to pipe up from right behind them.

“And when we finished with the curtain, we moved on to the bed.”

“You did what?” Ned demands from the kitchen, then comes hurtling around the corner.

“No,” Peter gasps. He flings himself back to the bedroom door and blocks it, holding both hands out to keep his best friend back.

“MJ?” Betty questions with a growing grin.

She glances between the three of them for a moment and realizes there’s no way Peter’s keeping this secret. Time to go on the defensive.

“You brought me here,” MJ argues. “I can’t be blamed for my weakness for organizing—”

“Oh,” Betty shoots back. “For organizing and not for—”

“—apartments. All I—”

“—Peter, who you were so clearly attracted to from the instant you saw him?”

“—wanted to do was—”

“Me?” Peter says, taking a hopeful stab in answer to MJ’s explanation.

She glares at him.

“You flirted shamelessly with me all day—”

“You didn’t even realize I was flirting.”

“—so how am I supposed to help it if— Oh,” MJ says, catching the end of that comment, “and is that supposed to negate the effect it had?”

“I loved the effect it had. I have nothing to say against it.”

“How did you two go from shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other to an old married couple within the last half-hour?” Ned asks, jubilant.

“You’d have to ask my new neighbours,” Peter says calmly. “I think the scream they overheard is probably enough of an explanation.”

“That scream was on you,” MJ protests.

“And the noise complaint I’ll probably get is on you!”

“Sounds like you two should exchange numbers,” Betty suggests brightly. “In case you need to follow up for that noise complaint.” They both look at her. Then, MJ withdraws her phone from the back pocket of her overalls and pushes it into Peter’s hand.

“Fine,” she says.

He agrees with a shrug, eyes on the screen as he taps out his information.

“Come on, you crazy kids,” Ned coos, “let’s grab a beer while they’re still hot from the walk back.”

Betty giggles at this and twines her fingers through her fiancé’s.

In the kitchen, she pulls MJ aside right as MJ’s contemplating squeezing past Peter a second time on the pretext of getting ice. (The first time, she pressed her ass to his groin and felt him rub against her in response.) She didn’t even need the ice; she dumped it straight into the sink.

“So, how was that?” Betty asks, searching MJ’s face keenly for approval and recognition of a job well done.

“Perfect,” MJ has to grant her. “He did something incredibly irritating right before you guys got back, so I’m sure he found my annoyance entirely organic.”

“Method number sixty-three for getting a guy’s number still works like a charm. Though you know you could’ve just asked me for it.”

“Yeah, but messing with him was more fun.”

Her friend smiles against the lip of her bottle.

“Do you feel bad?”

“Nah. He’s been messing with me all day.”

“Hey, MJ,” Peter calls to her from where he and Ned have started emptying another box marked ‘KITCHEN’. “You wanna help me screw something to the wall later?” Smiling broadly, he waves a magnetic wall-mounted knife holder.

“Like that,” MJ stresses to Betty, then tosses her bottle cap so it bounces off Peter Parker’s stupid, smug, handsome face.

#thotumn #peter parker is a thot #my writing #spideychelle #peter parker #michelle jones

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

Chess. Chapter 5

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

(Fair warning, this is about to get even darker. We are moving towards a much deeper connection between Chess and Rick; but I find a deep connection needs a backstory. Also; let me know if you want to be added to my tag list. I’m still new at this, but I love knowing that people are actually reading my dribble.)

TW: sexual harassment/assault, torture, sexual themes, violence

I rubbed my neck, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

“Did you just microchip me, like some animal?”, I asked. “Something like that”, Flag said, and pulled a radio from his belt. “GQ, get the crate”, he spoke into it, and walked towards the door.

Diablo went to get a t-shirt, hanging over a chair, and put it on. “They got us rigged with some dynamite shit”, he said, and started stretching his shoulders. “Big boom”, Digger said, emulating an explosion coming from his neck. “Knocked String Boys head clean of”. “Slipknot”, Diablo corrected him. “Whatever”, was the answer, as Digger went to lay down on a bench, covering his eyes with his arm; apparently preparing to take a nap.

“Welcome to the family”, Diablo said, smirked at me, and went for a set of dumbbells in his corner.

Croc had pulled a slice of what looked like day-old pizza, from his hoodies pocket, and was eating it with a terrifyingly pleased face.

Harley – motherfucking Harley Quinn – was muttering quietly to herself, before lighting up in a big smile, exclaiming: “Ants!”, and skipping away to do whatever it is psychopathic criminal overladies do, when no one is watching.

The door behind me opened, and Edwards, whose acquaintance I’d made the day before, came into the gym. Behind him, the Tweedles were dragging a large box. Edwards and Flag exchanged a few hushed words; and Flag gazed over his shoulder to meet my eyes, before looking back at his subordinate. “… hope they’re ready”, was all I could make out from their conversation; and chills ran down my spine.

They put the box on the floor in front of me. Flag bent to unlock it, and his t-shirt rode up a bit, revealing some bruises and scratches on his lower back and hip. “Get into a fight?”, I smirked. “Just a feral cat”, he answered, smiling over his shoulder. Apparently, I’d gotten in enough punches, to make him feel it even now, quite a while later.

He opened the lid. “Here’s your shit. If you want to change, there’s a bathroom through that door”, he said, nodding towards the door Harley and Digger had come through. “Just be careful; you might get an audience. Which reminds me”. He walked over to where Digger lay; and kicked at the bench, making the peeping tom fall of it. “Hey jackass! Stop being creepy, and let people shit in peace”. Digger scrambled onto his legs, and made a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”, he boomed, and laid back down, muttering curses under his breath.

“Ladies don’t shit, colonel. We powder our noses”, Harleys voice came from somewhere. Looking up, I saw that she was hanging upside down from a rope, one leg intertwined with it. Twirling her ponytails, she winked at me, before blowing a large bubble with the pink gum in her mouth.

Croc had pulled out a second slice from his pocket, and was chewing away. His enjoyment of the snack was almost obscene. He nodded towards the box in front of me. “What you got in there?”, he asked. I rifled through the things, recognizing some of my own belongings. It was now I realized that none of the crew were wearing all prison garb. Diablo had a bluish varsity jacket hanging from a chair, and Deadshots sneakers were definitely not prison grade; I could tell from the high-end label on the side.

The other three were also wearing some sort of personal addition to the orange pants and tank top, provided by Belle Reve. For Croc, it was his brown velvet hoodie; and Digger had on a coat that looked like it desperately needed a washing. Harley had on a pair of striped pink and blue shorts, held up by suspenders. The shorts barely covered her ass, and showed of the many tattoos on her legs.

Taking my favorite band t-shirt out of the box, I noticed it still had some cat hair stuck to it, from my beloved babies at home. Selina, I’m trusting you to take good care of them, I thought. I put the shirt on the floor beside me, and continued to go through the box. A polaroid of me on stage, my first night at Sammy’s; my copy of Alice In Wonderland; a pair of hot pink socks, I’d knitted myself; an oversized greyish flannel shirt, I’d stolen from an ex; some makeup and black nail polish, in a black purse; and a pair of broken, furry handcuffs – Ahh, Vegas, I smiled. Finally, I pulled out a small stuffed bunny, I’d won at a travelling fair, a few weeks before I’d been taken by Hatter. I stroked its tiny face, and discretely kissed its head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Digger looking at me, sending me a friendly smirk and nod. I smiled back.

I kept searching through the box. “Looking for something?”, Flag said from behind me. “Where are my smokes?”, I sighed. “There were no cigarettes in the box when it arrived”, Flag answered me. He’d already gone through it.

A large scaly hand offered me a pack of Marlboro Lights, and looking up at Croc with a thankful smile; I took one of the cigarettes, and popped it in my mouth. “Anyone have a light?”. Diablos hand appeared in front of my face; pinky stretched. A tiny flame burned from it, taking me by surprise; and I half laughed, half guffawed, as I lit the cigarette.

“I knew you could do that!”, Harleys shrill voice sounded. Her head appeared next to mine, and she rested her chin on my shoulder. She smelled like bubblegum and cotton candy, and for a hot second I was tempted to turn my head and lick her face.

“Who the hell gave Croc access to cigarettes?”, Flag muttered to Deadshot. “You know how he gets when he runs out, and goes cold turkey!”. “You’re telling me, man. There’s still a hole in the wall between his and my cell, from when he ran his fist through it”, Deadshot smirked.

“Ooh! What’s that?”, Harley asked, and reached in to the box, revealing a false bottom. I removed the thin board of metal.

There you are!

Surrounded by the whole crew – a curious Digger having joined us – I picked up a black, cropped and hooded faux leather jacket. The pleather was undamaged still, and putting it on, I pulled up the hood, and closed the zipper. With the help of the hood and the large collar, my face disappeared into shadows. Flag looked at me, lifting his chin; staring me down. His gaze made me slightly uncomfortable – or was it stirred? – and I took off the jacket again.

A loose purple, off the shoulder crop top; and a pair of black, high waist, lycra and mesh leggings completed the outfit. Finding my favorite combat boots in the box, I only needed one thing.

I moved around rope, a crowbar, some lockpicks, and a hammer and chisel. There they were. My claws.

“Cute mittens”, Harley giggled, and grabbed for the black fingerless gloves. “Careful!”, I gasped, and quickly grasped them. Harley pouted. “What? You don’t like sharing your toys?”.

I put on the gloves, made a fist; and from my knuckles sprang 4 curved knives. Edwards and the twins quickly raised their guns at me, prepared to shot, if I tried anything. I rolled my eyes, and noticed Flag trying to hide a smile.

Picking up an old sock, I demonstrated the blades sharpness, by cutting through it. The knives went through the fabric like butter; and Harleys eyes widened. “Oh”, was all she said, after which she took a step back; and went to stand behind Deadshot. “Lady, you got some sharp nails there”, he said, and chuckled.

“You still know how to use them?”, Flag asked, not removing his eyes from the blades on my hands. I just smirked.

I went to stand by the wall. I could feel eyes on my back from my audience. I bent my knees; and then leaped. I grasped the wall with the claws, and started climbing upwards. At the top of the wall was a row of tiny windows. “Don’t do it, Y/N!”, Flag called, as I heard the soldiers cock their guns. I looked over my shoulder, winked at him; and smiled.

I quickly moved laterally on the wall. Gunshots sounded, and the wall beside me suddenly was full of holes. “Hold your fire! Hold your goddamn fire!”, Flag yelled desperately. The gunfire stopped, and I made myself reappear; hanging by my claws from the basketball hoop on the opposite wall. One of the Tweedles cocked his gun again; and everything after that happened in slow motion.

The soldier took aim at me; looking pissed. From out of nowhere, Flag jumped at him; knocking him to the ground. The gun went off; bullet narrowly missing my head – and I fell.

---

I landed on my back; the wind knocked out of me. I closed my eyes, and heard people running towards me. I felt a strong arm under my back, and a hand behind my head. “Y/N”, Flags shaking voice called out. “Come on kitten, wake up”, he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my neck.

I opened my eyes, seeing his face inches from mine, mouth slightly opened to speak again. I suddenly noticed there were specks of green in his brown eyes.

I blinked once. “Are you gonna kiss me now?”, I asked, and smiled crookedly.

Flag let go of me, and pulled back, lips now in a thin line. He stood up, and stormed towards the shooting twin. He grabbed his collar; and slammed him against the wall. “What the fuck is your problem? Do you not know how to follow an order?”. The soldier put his hands up. “Sir, she was going awol!”. “She is an asset. Wallers asset!”. Flag punched Tweedle in the gut; making him double over. “Get this asshole out of here”, he called to Edwards and the other twin; who dragged the panting soldier out of the room, Flag following them to the door, still cursing.

Deadshot crouched in front of me, holding his hand in front of my face, a couple of fingers raised. “How many fingers am I holding up?”, he asked. “What are fingers?”, I joked; making him chuckle again.

He helped me onto my feet. “You are a hard one to kill, Chess”. “Nah”, I answered. “I can die plenty. I think my secret is, I just really don’t want to”, I said, and stretched my arms into the air, feeling my bones pop.

“Why didn’t you run? You could have made it through the window”, Diablo asked from behind Deadshot. “I wouldn’t have made it half a mile. I’m spent”, I answered. “I need energy to smile, and they’ve had me living on cat food for a month. Only just had a real meal yesterday”. “Que cabrón”, Diablo spat.

Politely refusing one of Crocs pocket-pizza slices; I went back to my box of belongings. Kneeling beside it, I quickly changed into the band t-shirt. It had been a snug fit once; but my kibble-diet had made it quite a bit looser.

Flag crouched next to me. “You good?”. He didn’t look at me, but kept his eyes on the ground. “That wasn’t supposed to happen”. I scoffed. “I’m fine. Just a few more bruises to add to the collection”. Flag exhaled. “You can keep the civilian clothes, and three items from the top layer of the box. Your combat equipment will be stored for you, until you need it”. He stood back up. “The rest will be destroyed”.

I scowled at him, and stood up, putting my hands on my hips; swaying back and forth a bit, deciding; then bent over, and started gathering the things I’d chosen. I felt his eyes on me. “Checking out the asset?”, I teased.

“Could you just for a second stop that shit? Stop flirting, and start being serious about the situation you are in!”, he growled at me. “Why? Am I getting in to your head?”, I twirled around, and pouted at him innocently.

He shook his head, and furrowed his brow, scoffing at me. “Just quit it, and do the job we brought you here to do”.

I stepped up to him, and looked him square in the face. “I’ll quit it, when you quit that good soldier bullshit”, I spat. “You had no right to go after me, and no right to keep me here”.

“I have every right”, he said calmly, staring down his nose at me. “You’re a scumbag. A criminal. The world would be better if you just disappeared”. “Oh?”, I asked; not breaking eye contact. “Tell me, what’s the difference between me and the Bat? That asshole is beating up people left and right; no badge, no warrant… He decides who he thinks is a bad guy, and drags them to the front step of Arkham, or airdrops them in to this shithole”.

I stomped away to grab the sack that had been over my head earlier. I stuffed the book, the makeup-purse, and finally the rabbit into it. I saw Deadshot and the others huddled in a corner; obviously trying to give me some space; and pretending not to be staring at the scene.

Flag stormed after me, grabbed my arm, and spun me around; holding me in place, as I struggled. “You are nothing like him. He brings down criminals. You kidnap judges, and torture them”. His face was inches from mine. “He has never stolen money from anyone”. “Maybe that’s because he is already the richest man in the goddamn country!”, I hissed at him. I looked at the squad in the corner. They didn’t seem to have heard.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”, Flag asked, and let go of my arm. I rubbed the spot he’d been holding on to. “Never mind”, I quietly answered, not wanting to get into it. The papers I’d seen in Lucius Fox’ safe, had made me put two and two together; but as I’d told Deadshot before, I really didn’t want to die – so mr. holier-than-thou Waynes secret, was safe with me. That was one wasps nest I was not putting my hand into.

Flags face had softened. “What happened with judge Kelper?”. “Your read the file”, I answered, not looking at him. “I kicked his ass”. “Before that”, he demanded. “What made you do it? If you’re not a bad guy, you must have had a reason”. I closed the box, and sat down on it. “Truth?”, I asked. He nodded.

“Kelper would show up at the club sometimes – slumming it. I knew who he was, because he was the judge at an arraignment, where I was charged with pickpocketing for the Hatter”. I folded my hands in my lap. “Someone caught you pickpocketing?”, he smirked, a slight warmth returning to his eyes. “Tetch hadn’t fed me in a couple of days. When my bloodsugar is low, and my energy is down, it’s difficult to keep up the mirage”, I admitted. “Anyway, Kelper would bring in whoever he was paying off, to further his political career, and wave money around; getting the performers to join them at their table. I was stupid enough to take some of it myself”. I winced; remembering how I’d sat on his lap, and played the part of willing participant in his little erotic adventure. Flag looked down. “I never let it go any further than a lapdance”, I said, actually worried he’d think even less of me than he already did.

“So, then what?”, he asked. I bit my lip. “Did you know he’s married? He’s got a beautiful trophy wife, and two teenage daughters, almost out of high school. Cheerleaders, blonde. Ditsy as fuck, but on their way to bright futures, due to daddys money, and mommys good looks”. “But?...”, he probed.

I sighed. “There was a girl at the club, Sarah, just turned 18; poor family, desperately trying to scrape up some money for college. One night, he invited her to join him and his friends in their limo. He said he’d give her a ride home, and maybe a recommendation for college”. Flags eyes turned cold again. I continued. “He kept calling her Stephanie, even when she tried to correct him”. I looked up at him. He was looking more and more aggravated. “She didn’t show up for work the next day, so I went to her place”. I ground my teeth together, before continuing. “Her mom told me she was in the hospital. When Sarah had refused to put out willingly, Kelper had held her down... When he was finished with her, he’d let his friends have the leftovers”.

I looked at my feet. “His youngest daughters name is Stephanie”.

I was jolted, when Flag kicked the box I was sitting on; clenching his fist, and cursing quietly. “Sorry”, he said, looking at me. I was unsure what the apology was for; the kick, or my story.

I stood up. “So, now you know. I beat that shitheads face into a pulp, clawed his skin; and made sure he’d never be able to do that to another person again”. Flag stayed quiet.

I picked up my sack of belongings, and went to face him again. “And just for the record, that last 13.000 dollars… Sarahs mom couldn’t afford the hospital bill, and became behind on the payments. They almost got kicked out of their apartment the week before I raided that safe”.

We stood there for a little while, staring each other down.

“I’m sorry that happened”, Flag said. He sighed. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the situation you’re in. You’re going to have to be a part of this team, if you want to ever get your life back”. He was almost apologetic. “I know”, I admitted. “And for the record; I am a bad guy”, I said. “A really good bad guy”. Flag smirked at me, and moved to the middle of the room. Apparently, our conversation was over.

---

“Alright people! Unfortunately, we won’t have a lot of time to get acquainted with our newest team member”, he called, grabbing the attention of the rest of the squad. “We have a new mission”. “That was fast”, Deadshot said. “Sorry, Floyd. You’re going to have to take a rest from the ball, and reacquaint yourself with your guns”, Flag answered.

“So. Here’s the brief…”.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r

@hyp-oh-critical

#rick flag x reader #rick flag #rick flag fic #rick flag imagine #suicide squad fic #suicide squad imagine #harley quinn #deadshot

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hrhduchessoflancaster · 3 years

Text

Chapter Ninety-Four: The New Elizabethan Era

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: Almost at the end now, everyone. Just one more chapter and epilogue to go. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you. xx Bea

_____________________________________________

September, 2020

Harry and Elle had remained in Sussex for a month after Philip’s death but duties over the UK had made them return to London. Elle’s parent’s and occasionally Charles and Camilla as well were more than happy to babysit the youngsters. Charles had taken the Sussexes to Highgrove and much like he had done with Arthur when he was a baby, the proud grandfather introduced his littlest grandchild to the all the animals and plants at the estate, going into much detail about the care of each one of them. Owen, like his older brother, enjoyed seeing the animals the most and even tried to pet a few of them.

“ He’s a curious little boy, isn’t he?”, said Charles as Owen stretched out his arms trying to grab a hold of the sheep’s ear.

“ He most certainly is! Arthur was more of an observant baby. Owen is the opposite. Acts first. Think later. Something we’ll have to be more careful about in the near future.”, said Elle. They said their farewells to the animals and walked along the path towards the house.

“ Have you heard from Will and Kate? We’ve been so busy lately with engagements and meetings that we’ve barely had time to breathe.”, asked Harry.

“ I have. They’ve been visiting mama every weekend, keeping her company.”, said Charles with a sad smile.

“ And how is she?”, asked Elle, balancing Owen on her arms. Charles sighed and shook his head.

“ Hanging in there. But we fear she’s losing her will to live.”, he replied.

As Harry had predicted, the Queen quite never recovered from her husband’s death. She resumed her public activities after three months in Sandringham. While there, she had often received visits from her children and grandchildren, as well as her great grandchildren, which seemed to bring back a bit of light and laughter into her life. Her animals were also a source of joy for her. She had traveled to Balmoral for the summer and enjoyed having the family around but it also brought many memories from Prince Philip that left her shaken up.

Once the summer was over, instead of returning to London she decided to reside at Windsor and remain there, where she could continue her duties but be away from the public eye. And even though she had put on a brave façade, they all knew she was suffering. A loss such as hers leaves deep marks on the heart and soul and takes a toll on the body. And little by little the family saw the spark she once had, fade away.

**********

By mid September they returned to Sussex for an extended stay. There, they took the time to take their sons to the Ashdown Forest and played Pooh sticks with them and explored bits of the forest itself, much to the enjoyment of the children. Arthur, now three, had taken up to running while Owen, who was still tumbling on his feet at almost nine months old, tried to follow suit. While there, they also took the time to improve their vegetable garden and farming, started renovations two of the three cottages at the property into a guest houses for visitors who wished more privacy as well as the rooms at the end of the first floor and the second floor into more suitable bedroom and a playroom for the children. They had a hired a full-time staff to work at the property with a housekeep living on site in one of the cottages while the remaining workers lived in the village, which was a short distance from the house.

Elle had taken the time she had with Charles at Highgrove to get some tips into what and how to plant at the property. In addition to the herb and vegetable garden, she also wanted to grow a few fruit trees such as apple, mulberry, raspberry, peach and pomegranate as well as some strawberries in the field next to the vegetables. She also wanted to plant a few flowers and start beekeeping. In a few years, she imagined, the property would have sufficient food to stock up their pantry and sell it in the farmer’s market at the village. Arthur loved helping her out when she was planting, helping put in seeds for the flowers and some other edible plants. He’d giggle and smile when he got his hands dirty but was ever so gentle with how he handled the plants, following the gentle guidance of his mother.

On Harry’s birthday, they kept it low key and decided to have a small celebration, just the four of them. Elle had baked a caked and the boys ‘helped’ decorate it with some fruits they had picked while in the village. She had also prepared their shared favourite pudding ‘Eton Mess’ so they could have as a side dish to the cake. They gathered around Harry, laughing and cheering as they sang Happy Birthday and he blew the candles.

“ Thirty-six huh, Major? You’re getting old…”, joked Elle, kissing his cheek. He chuckled and shook his head, cutting a piece of the cake which he divided into three parts so he could give the first piece to them. Harry helped Arthur eat small pieces of the slice while Elle crumbled a bit of the cake to give Owen a taste. In a light and loving mood, the small family enjoyed their food

“ Boys! Should we give Dada his gifts?”, she asked her sons and they cheered once again. Elle then handed each of them a parcel which they handed without ceremony to their father. Opening Arthur’s first he smiled as he saw the the little card with a doodle made by his eldest son and Elle’s calligraphy written at the bottom which read: “ To Dada. You make me happy and I love you.”. Below it, a pair of grey tracksuit trousers that he’d been needing for a few months. Smiling, touched with the gift, he hugged his eldest son and kissed his cheek.

“ Thank you, little cub. I loved it.”, he said and the boy grinned at his father then sat down beside him. He then took the one Owen had practically thrown at him and unwrapped it. Inside, there was a white t-shirt with an impression of his tiny hands in forest green, with his name and age printed below it. He chuckled and put it on, smiling at his youngest son and family, once again touched by the simple yet meaningful gifts he had received.

“ Thank you, little warrior.”, he said, hugging Owen and also kissing his cheek. “ Thank you all. I loved my gifts. The boys seemed satisfied with their father’s reply but soon lost interest in him and amused themselves with the wrappers, tearing it to pieces. Elle smiled, watching her sons and quietly approached her husband.

“ You have one more, Major.”, she said, handing him a small rectangular box. He eyed her suspiciously while opening it. Inside, placed in tissue paper was a familiar bracelet design: a leather string, and a metal plate with numbers and letters in it.

“ Let’s see if you can guess this one.”, she said. Smiling, he took a closer look. 52° 49′ 47″ N, 0° 30′ 50″ E.

“ Well… assuming you’re following the same pattern, are those the coordinates to Sandringham?”, he asked.

“ Yes. Owen needed his own personal bracelet, too.”, said Elle, putting it on his wrist.

“ Thank you, love.”, he replied, kissing her softly. “ Maybe we can get someone to put them all together in a single bracelet, so I can wear them all at once.”, he said to her.

“ I think that’s a great idea! She said, playing with the infinity band encrusted with diamonds that Harry had given her after Owen’s birth.

“ And leave room for more… for I’m sure we’ll have more memorable moments to add to the collection.”, continued Harry. She smiled, nodding her head and pulled him towards her, hooking her arms around him and pressing their lips together for a more passionate kiss.

“ Easy there, love. The little ones are still up.”, whispered Harry, his lips still dangerously close to hers. Elle smirked and bit her bottom lip.

“ In an hour we’ll remedy that.”, she said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

**********

On the following week, the couple travelled to Stratford-upon-Avon for Elle’s second official visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company, which she had become a patron after Arthur’s birth. She had been to a few plays and been in touch with the directors but this was the first time she’d visit them after she and Harry had stepped up their duties. The children stayed with nanny Jackie who had been hired again once they had Owen and their workload increased. That way, the children could travel with them and the nanny would come along to take care of the boys while they were at work.

They had taken the helicopter and descended on Warwick that morning which was a 15 minute drive to Shakespeare’s birthplace. This time around, they’d be shown some landmarks in the city as well as attending a performance of Henry V later that same evening. They’d be staying overnight at Warwick Castle at their own expense just so they could enjoy the visit properly. At Warwick, Lisa and Daniel took care of settling their thing in the castle and Nanny Jackie took the children with her as well while Elle, Harry, Ronald, Ingrid, Alfred and Leo drove to Stratford. The couple was met with a crowd surrounding the main street, waving little English flags on their hands. Dressed in a black, long sleeved shirt and a burgundy knee high skirt, Elle waved at the people and Harry followed beside her as they walked at the entrance of the school where Shakespeare studied.

“ Your Royal Highnesses, it’s a pleasure to have you here at Stratford.”, greeted the Mayor of the town, shaking their hands.

“ Thank very much for having us. My husband and I are very happy to be here.”, said Elle, smiling. They proceeded to be taken inside the school, where they were given a private tour, followed by other landmarks such as Shakespeare’s home, Anne Hathaway’s cottage and Trinity Church where he’s buried. After the tours, they returned to the castle to rest and change for the evening.

At the castle, they enjoyed some quality time with the boys during the afternoon by privately walking around the main building and grounds, trying to shoot a few arrows, meeting the actors and actresses dressed up as knights and ladies. Elle took upon herself to explain a few bit and pieces of medieval history to her children who seemed to enjoy being entertained by her mother as she made faces and sounds when telling particularly interesting moments of the Middle Ages.

Once the sun started to go down, they returned to their suite, took care of the children and left them in the care of nanny Jackie while they dressed up for the night. Harry put on his suit while Elle put on a black dress with soft purple flowers in a mesh fabric draped over the base, giving it a shimmer. Before they left, they kissed the boys goodnight and departed for the theatre. Upon arrival at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, they were met with a line up of photographers and a few o the board members and directors from the RSC, whom Elle had previously met.

“ Welcome, Your Royal Highnesses!”, greeted by Gregory Doran, the artistic director of the company.

“ It’s a pleasure to be here. I’ve been longing to watch of the historical productions here at Stratford for a few years now and now I finally can!”, joked Elle, and they both chuckled.

“ You cannot believe how excited she is for this.”, said Harry, grinning.

“ I hope we can meet the expectations and deliver a performance to remember.”, said the director.

“ I have no doubt it’ll be wonderful.”, said Elle.

Moving inside the theatre, they were directed to their box and received with a trumpet sound and applauses from the public. They smiled and acknowledged the audience before taking their seats. During the play Elle smiled, cheered, cried and got emotional as the story she knew — both historically and culturally — so well. At the end of the play, they were taken to the backstage, where they met and talked to the actors and actresses.

“ I actually enjoyed it!”, said Harry smiling at Elle, as they rode back to Warwick.

“ I had a feeling you would. It’d a war play after all.”, Elle replied chuckling.

“ Yes, I enjoyed that. But the speeches were also very good. Very inspiring.”, said Harry.

“ Oh absolutely! So much so that during World War Two the BBC recorded a film of Henry V to be broadcasted at home and internationally to the soldiers as a way to boost moral.”, said Elle.

“ Really? Didn’t know that. Makes sense though.”, replied Harry. The short ride to the castle was enough to bring their adrenaline down, which made them jump to bed as quick as they could and fall soundly asleep in each other’s arms.

***********

October 2020

Back in London, Elle met up with her friends for lunch and tea at Kensington Palace while Harry, Richard and Edward were out together at polo training for the match they had coming up. Melissa and Trevor had yet to meet Owen and were delighted to see him and how much Arthur had grown. Valerie and Mary were also delighted to see their friend and children.

“ Look at you! A mother of two!”, said Melissa, smiling sweetly as they watched the children play. Rose, who was a bit older than the boys, coerced them into playing her favourite games which the boys welcomed as a distraction to their own playtime games.

“ Arthur looks so much like you…”, commented Trevor, who in the past year had gotten engaged and remained his bubbly self. “ Owen, however, looks a bit more like Harry.”, he continued, earning agreements all around.

“ Hmmm… I don’t really see it but I guess I’m used to seeing the the bits that are mine and the ones that are Harry’s in both of them.”, replied Elle.

“ Speaking of children, how are Blair and Jeremy, Mel?”, Elle asked.

“ Oh, Blair started uni this term. History of Art and I’m entirely guilty and proud of her choice.”, said the older woman and they all chuckled.

“ Jeremy is having the time of his life at school ever since he started playing rugby. François thinks he has a genuine future in it.”, she continued.

“ That’s amazing! I’m really happy for them.”, said Elle. “ Oh how time passes quickly… yesterday they were little children!”, she continued and the mothers agreed.

“ They do grow up in front of our eyes, don’t they?”, said Mary.

“ They do. I’ve caught myself crying a few times while folding their clothes. Owen’s already wearing size one year old. He’s growing up too fast!”, said Elle.

“ Speaking of babies… I have something to tell you.” Said Mary smiling coyly. Elle’s and Victoria’s eyes widened.

“ No! You are? You are!”, said Victoria and Mary nodded her head, chuckling. “ I’m gonna be an aunt again!”, she said happily.

“ Congratulations! I’m so happy for you and Rick. I’m sure Rose will love having another sibling.”, said Elle, hugging her friend.

“ We’ve been trying for so long, you know? I’m only a couple of weeks along but I wanted to share the news with people I know wish me well.”, said Mary.

“ Of course we do and we’re ecstatic for you.”, said Valerie encouragingly.

That afternoon was filled with joy and laughter that Elle had missed severely int he past months after they had lost the Duke of Edinburgh. It felt good to be surrounded by people who could make her smiled and forget for a few moments, the sorrow, sadness and loss that had permeated their lives in the last couple of months. Those sad days, however, would soon return.

On the 9th of October, near 8 am, they received a phone call from Charles asking them to meet with him immediately at Clarence House. Their staff was alerted by his staff and were already set in motion to take them there. They rushed to the familiar home, barely greeting Greyson on their way to the Drawing Room. They were slightly shocked to see not only Charles and Camilla there, but also Andrew and Edward. All of them looking visibly shocked and red in the face as if they’d been crying.

“ Oh good, you’re here.”, said Camilla. “ Charles, they are here.”, said Camilla to her husband who had been talking in rushed tones to his siblings and senior advisor.

“ Harry, Eleanor.”, said Charles, hugging them both and sniffing on their shoulders.

“ Pa, you’re scaring us. What’s wrong?”, said Harry, cautiously.

“ It’s your grandmother. Anne has just called. I’m afraid… I’m afraid she’s passed away.”, said Charles, sobbing. Their eyes widened and tears began falling from their cheeks, which triggered the rest of the family to also cry in their shared grief. They hugged Charles while he cried at the same time as they held themselves amidst such tragic news.

“ How?”, asked Elle, turning to the people in the room, still in disbelief.

“ Heart failure, in her sleep. According to what Anne has told us.”, replied Edward. Gulping and sniffing, Elle nodded her head.

“ At least it was peaceful.”, she replied and they all nodded their head. Charles composed himself and dried his face with his fingers.

“ Operation London Bridge is on the way. The Private Secretary and Prime Minister have already been informed. I imagine the rest of the government will soon receive the news as well.”, said Charles, visibly shaken.

And so they did. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office were also communicated and passed down the news to the other fifteen countries of which Her Majesty was the head of state and also the governments of the Commonwealth. The news vehicles were also alerted and all schedules programmes were interrupted. Soon, the news had reached the world that this most beloved Queen had passed away, age 94. A footman pinned a dark-edged notice to the gates of Buckingham Palace, much like her own father’s death had been notified. But unlike during her father’s reign, the staff of all royal households took to social media to address the public and keep them updated about a book of condolence and other way they could share take part in the ceremonies around the the UK and abroad to celebrate Queen Elizabeth.

That morning, the Prime Minister, Mr. Christopher Simmons recalled the Parliament and it would meet within the first hours of the news being shared. There, he addressed the House of Commons. Soon after, all government building were flying their flags at half-mast and all ceremonial ornaments were placed in black purses as a sign of mourning for the past monarch.

That same day, her body was moved, and placed at St. George’s Chapel, with the royal standard draped over her coffin. The first funeral rites were given at the by the Windsor chaplain and the guards stationed at the castle mounted a guard of honour inside the building and would remain there for the next two days before he body was transported by by car to London, where it would remain at Buckingham Palace’s Throne Room for a day.

In the afternoon, the Prime Minister came around Clarence House to meet with Charles who was now the Head of State. The family’s engagements were cancelled for the rest of the month and Elle and Harry remained at Clarence House overnight, their children had been brought to them by their staff, so they could support Charles and be close as a family. On the following day, they drove with Charles and Camilla to St. James’s Palace for the Accession Council meeting.

“ Your Majesty, Your Royal highnesses, we’re very sorry for your loss.”, said a councillor as the family entered the building side by side. Inside it, members of the Privy Council, officers of the State, members of the House of Lords — which included Elle’s father and uncle, the Archbishop of Canterbury and other senior members of the Church of England, the mayor of London, high commissioners and representatives of the Commonwealth realms.

As Charles took his place at the front of the room, with the people surrounding him, Charles made his Oath of Allegiance to the Council, the Church of England and Church of Scotland. Then, Charles seated on the Sovereign’s Chair and one by one, the members of government present as well as Harry, Elle and Camilla made their oaths of allegiance which would be repeated in a more ceremonial manner during his coronation in a few months. Afterwards, they moved to the Proclamation Gallery outside the court of the palace where the proclamation was read out-loud by the Garter King of Arms.

“Whereas it has pleased Almighty God to call to His Mercy our late Sovereign Lady Queen Elizabeth II of Blessed and Glorious memory, by whose Decease the Crown is solely and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Prince Charles Philip Arthur George. We, therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this Realm, being here assisted with these Her late Majesty's Privy Council, with representatives of other Members of the Commonwealth, with other Principal Gentlemen of Quality, with the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens of London, do now hereby with one voice and Consent of Tongue and Heart publish and proclaim that the High and Mighty Prince Charles Philip Arthur George is now, by the death of our late Sovereign of happy memory, become King Charles the Third, by the Grace of God King of this Realm and of all His other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, to whom His lieges do acknowledge all Faith and constant Obedience with hearty and humble Affection, beseeching God by whom Kings and Queens do reign, to bless the Royal Prince Charles the Third with long and happy Years to reign over us.”

“ The Queen is dead. Long live the King!”, he shouted.

“ Long live the King!”, was repeated by all.

#phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction

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flamencodiva · 4 years

Text

Who Do You Think You Are? 5 - Mutual Pining

Description: Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester seem to bump into each other quite frequently. What happens when these two hunters rub each other the wrong way?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Bingo Square: Mutual Pining

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Drug Abuse.

A/N: For SPN Dean Bingo Round One

Divider by @talesmaniac89

“7” a voice called out as the sounds of slicing filled the warehouse.

“10,” a female voice called back. “You’re getting slow in your old age Dean.”

Y/N laughed as she turned and sliced the head of a vampire ready to charge at her.

“11,” she sang.

“You’re cheating!” Dean called as he sliced two vamps back to back.

“Could you two not turn things into a competition?!” Sam’s annoyed voice called back. “Seriously I think I liked it better when you guys were angry at each other.”

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean and Y/N shouted.

The trio moved their way around the warehouse. Once they determined that the warehouse was clear they cleaned up the chaos and made their way out. Y/N and Dean leaned against the Impala drinking beer as Sam watched them. He could see the stolen glances between them and the lingering touches. But he could also see where Y/N pushed Dean away, and Dean allowed it.

“I so, beat you,” Y/n smiled as she took a big gulp of her beer.

“No way sweetheart,” Dean shook his head and nudged her. “I chopped off more heads than you.”

“Oh Geez,” Sam sighed. “Are you guys really going to do this?”

“Sam,” Y/N shook her head. “You just need to get laid.”

“So do you,” Sam retorted.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced over at Y/N, she looked more relaxed now than she had in months. Since that time in the motel room where they relaxed and started their friendship over. She didn’t talk much about what happened, but he heard her crying some nights. Whatever it was he wanted to hurt whoever hurt her.

“Trust me, Sam,” She gave him a wink. “I get plenty. Especially with the battery-operated ones.”

“Oh, geez Y/N come on!” Sam groaned. “I mean you and Dean were--”

Sam was interrupted by the familiar sounds of Ozzy’s ‘Crazy Train’ coming from Y/N’s pocket.

“Uncle T?” Y/N straightened her back. “Calm down, what’s going on?”

In California, around five hours earlier.

Nikki Sixx was returning home from his day at physical therapy. His shoulder was healing nicely and he was working hard to make sure he could get back to work. His wife, Courtney, was in charge of giving him his medications and keeping them out of reach. As a recovering addict, Nikki trusted her to keep him safe. Walking into the foyer, he found his youngest daughter, Frankie Sixx, waiting for him.

“Hey, Frankie,” He gave her a hug. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah!” She returned his hug. “I came to drop off something I bought at an antique store!” Frankie took her Father’s hand and led him to the living room.

There on the coffee table sat a rosewood and jade jewelry box. It gave Nikki a weird feeling that there was something wrong with it. Walking up to it he used his good arm to let his fingers dance along the wood. He studied the small doors on the box with the jade paneling.

“I-- It’s,” Nikki rubbed his chin as he studied the jewelry box. “Where did you find it?”

“There was this antique store on the strip and I just thought it would look cool in the living room.” Frankie shrugged as she made her way towards the couch.

“Thank You,” Nikki chuckled.

The two of them talked for about an hour before Frankie decided it was time to head to her apartment. Being a freshman in college was hard work. And Nikki was proud of all his kids, even the one who didn’t want him. Once Frankie had left, Nikki found himself alone in the house. Cortney was doing a photoshoot and wouldn’t be home until later. He decided to make himself a sandwich and settle in with a movie.

As Nikki was watching the movie, the lights began to flicker slightly. Rolling his eyes he gave a small huff.

“Must be an earthquake messing with the power,” he looked at his dog Houdini. The dog gave a small whine, almost as if he was afraid of something. “What’s wrong Houdini?”

The dog let out a small whine before padding off out of the room. Nikki looked around wondering if something was amiss. With a heavy sigh, he settled back and concentrated on the movie. Not a minute later and he was shivering. The room began to feel cold.

‘Thief,’ A voice called.

“What?” Nikki said as he winced, sitting up straighter and looking around. “Who’s there?”

Nikki shivered and let out a breath. His eyes furrowed together as he saw his own breath.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. “When did the temperature drop?” getting up from the couch he made his way to the thermostat and tilted his head in confusion. “It’s at 75°,” he scratched his head and grumbled.

‘Drunken murderer, and thief!’ the voice wailed again.

Nikki turned to see a woman dressed in what he could only describe as a Victorian era dress, hair pinned up and her eyes glared at him.

“Holy shit,” he breathed as he stood frozen in fear.

‘Thief!’ it screeched before charging at Nikki and knocking him backwards.

He winced in pain and held on to his repaired shoulder. Scrambling for his keys he didn’t want to stay and figure out what was going on. But he needed to get out of his house. Rushing to his car. He drove as fast and carefully as he could to Tommy's house.

“He said it was a ghost?” Y/N asked slowly as she looked at Dean and Sam.

Rolling her eyes she let out a small huff as she heard her uncle explain everything that her father had told him.

“And why would he want to call me?” she huffed and froze at whatever her uncle had said. “Mom? He mentioned my mother?”

Dean watched as she scrunched her face up in confusion. He could tell she was trying to digest whatever her uncle was telling her. When she hung up, she looked to Sam and Dean and sighed.

“Do you guys think you can help me out with a case?” she asked. “But I know it’s probably nothing. Last time I got a call like this, my brother tried to trick me with an EMF generator.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, immediately earning a glare from Sam. “Sam and I can go as FBI or as some Detectives if you want?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” She made her way to her car before turning to them, “Just don’t use your Motley Crue aliases, or any of the rock aliases.”

“Any reason why?” Sam asked as he raised his eyebrow at her.

“Let’s just say that my dad and uncle are die hard rock fans and will tell right away when something is up,” she reasoned.

“Sounds fair,” Sam said with a smile. “What’s the address?”

After Y/N gave them the location, Sam and Dean couldn’t help but look at one another.

“Is it me,” Dean let out in a huff. “Or did she seem nervous about us meeting her family?”

“I mean, she’s told us plenty of times that her dad hasn’t been the best,” Sam reasoned. “Could be that she’s doing it as a favor to her uncle. She seems to get along with him.”

Dean hummed softly as he nodded, “Yeah, maybe.” He stayed closely behind Y/N’s car as they made their way to their next hunt.

“California,” Sam breathed. “We were last there…”

“Was that ghost case on that movie set?” Dean breathed.

“Yeah, you banged that movie star,” Sam let out a chuckle.

“Those were good times,” Dean sighed as he reminisced.

“So you and Y/N are just friends?” Sam let out as he flipped through his book.

“Yes, Sam, just friends. Can you drop it?” Dean growled.

“I mean, you guys were pretty hot and heavy for a while and then--” he trailed off. “Did something happen?”

“We’re better off as just friends, that’s all. It’s no big deal.” Dean brushed him off.

“Dean--” Sam began.

“Don’t,” Dean spat. “We tried the benefits thing and it didn’t work. We decided being friends is better.”

“That’s why you keep giving her the puppy dog look,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“I do not!” Dean said as he looked at Sam. “one, I don’t have to give her the puppy dog look. And B, we’re just friends!”

“You keep telling yourself that Dean,” Sam chuckled. “Besides, you guys keep sneaking glances at each other. I think it’s cute.”

“We do not!” Dean scoffed. “I mean sure she can’t keep her eyes off me, but I do not sneak glances at her.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said as he lifted his hands up in defeat. “Just saying. You two are good together. So what’s the harm?”

“You know the harm Sam.” Dean sighed. “We tried and it failed.”

“No,” Sam argued. “You had an agreement and it failed. It is not the same as a relationship.”

“Look can we drop it please?” Dean mumbled.

Sam nodded and sat back in his chair. The drive to California and to Y/N’s uncle’s house was not too long, but it wasn’t a short ride either. Dean and Sam both whistled as Y/N’s car pulled up to a gate leading to a mansion. Slowly following behind Y/N, Dean wondered what kind of family Y/N came from. He knew her mom was a hunter, but she never talked about her dad being rich. Parking the cars, Dean watched as Y/N grabbed her bags and made her way towards them.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“Why would we--” the question that was on Dean’s lips was answered the minute the door to the house opened and a tall skinny man with short black hair and a beard came running down the steps.

“Booger!” he called out as he enveloped Y/N in his arms. “Glad you came when I called. Your dad is shaken up. I mean he keeps talking about a ghost and I figured you could talk some sense into him.”

“You could have called Gunner, Storm, Decker, or Frankie,” Y/N grumbled. “Why me?”

“He insisted,” her uncle sighed. “Said that it had to do with your mom and that you would believe him.”

Dean watched as Y/N nodded and motioned for him and Sam to get closer.

“These are some detective friends of mine,” she said with a smile.

“Detectives Smith and Smith,” Sam said with a smile. “No relation.”

“Tommy Lee,” Dean let out in a high pitched choke. “You’re Tommy Lee. Your uncle is Tommy Fuckin Lee, Y/N!”

“Yeah I noticed,” she smiled. “Unless he was taken over by aliens.”

“Wait,” Dean pulled her back. “Your dad. You kept calling him--” the realization hit Dean like a ton of bricks. “You kept calling him Nick, holy shit your dad is Nikki Sixx!”

“Please don’t remind me,” she breathed. “Look let’s get inside, deem it a hoax and that he’s on his pain meds and call it a day, okay?”

Sam and Dean walked behind Y/N and Tommy making their way inside the drummers house. Dean couldn’t help but feel giddy at meeting some legends of rock. He was in Tommy Lee’s house! He was going to meet Nikki Sixx. Fuck, Y/N was Nikki Sixx’s daughter? He wasn’t sure how he should feel. On one hand, he loved the bassist. There was no doubt that his songs were hits. But then, there was the way Y/N talked about him and how she grew up. Dean stood back as he watched Y/N standing in front of her father, Nikki Sixx! But the look on Y/N’s face told Dean she wasn’t happy to be here.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” she sighed and looked to Dean and Sam. “Sixx, these are some friends of mine, Dean Smith and Sam Smith, no relation. They deal with this kind of thing.”

“Y/N I was hoping that--”

“Talk to them,” she snapped, “Whatever drug induced hallucination you got yourself into I want no part of it,” She spat.

“Y/N your dad has been sober for years now! Trust me, this isn’t a drug induced hallucination,” Tommy said as he tried to plead with her.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Nikki sighed as he waved him off with his good arm, “This is my punishment for what I did to her during her childhood.”

“Excuse us, Mr. Sixx,” Sam interrupted as he cleared his throat, “As your daughter said we are experts and we’d like to help,” he held out his hand for Nikki to shake.

The bassist raised an eyebrow at him before reluctantly shaking Sam’s hand. “You can call me Nikki, Mr. Sixx makes me sound old,” the bassist joked, “How do you two know my daughter?”

“Not your daughter! Only someone who shares your DNA,” Y/N huffed.

“We work closely with her on certain projects,” Dean explained, “I gotta say, I love you band! I mean Kickstart My Heart is the ultimate get pumped song to really start your day. Also Take Me To The Top is a classic!”

“Yeah,” Nikki shook Dean’s hand while looking at him curiously, “good to know you’re a fan. So… about my situation?”

“Yes!” Sam said as he nudged Dean with his elbow, “Is there a place we could all sit to talk about what you experienced?”

“Yeah, You guys can use my living room,” Tommy announced as he smiled at them, “Nikki can lead the way.”

Y/N watched as Nikki led Sam towards the living room while Dean stayed behind. She couldn’t help but notice the look of concern over the hunters face as Tommy walked towards her.

“Y/N, you okay?” Dean asked as he made his way towards her.

“Fine,” she huffed, “you got follow after them, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay if you’re sure,” Dean gave her a reassuring smile before turning around and following after Sam and Nikki.

“He likes you,” Tommy spoke up, “And you are so crushing on him.”

“Shut up,” Y/N scoffed, “We had a thing, it got complicated so I stopped it.”

“Your dad is really spooked, Kid,” Tommy said running a hand across his face, “He really thinks he saw a --”

“Ghost?” Y/N let out a small huff, “Please, Gunner got me back during his surgery and said the same thing only for me to figure out it was all fake. This is just another attempt to get me to talk to him and forgive him.”

“Holding in all that anger isn’t good for you, and your mom--”

“My mom died because of him,” she hissed, “He couldn’t protect me and she dumped his junkie ass!”

“Hey--”

“No! I brought my friends to help him and that’s it,” She growled, “I’m not here to make up with him, or be his daughter,” she clarified, “He never wanted me in the first place, and the guy you claim I’m crushing on? I’m not the type of girl he would go for in a relationship anyways.”

Before her uncle said another word, Y/N stormed off towards his living room. She passed Dean who had squished himself against the wall having heard everything she said. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath before following behind her. Reminding himself that while she was wrong in not being his type, she was right about them trying. But then again, they didn’t really try to begin with.

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Who Do You Think You Are?

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#FlamencoDiva #Who Do You Think You Are?#SPNDeanBingo #Dean Bingo 2019-2020 #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester Fic #Supernatural #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Dean Angst #Angry Dean #FlamencoDiva Writes

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

based on the prompt: “when I was five, I was hunting shark teeth on Miami Beach and just kept finding tooth after tooth with my little plastic sleuce. I was so proud of my collection. Only 20 years later did I find out that my mom’s boyfriend had bought a bag of shark teeth at the gift shop and scattered them around while I was distracted.”

@shireness-says is the queen of finding posts and then having me write words based off of them, even more so if I can somehow make those words involve some captain cobra and then, of course, my favorite thing: all of the banter and romance ❤️

This little thing is also fully my way to give a little bit of happiness since I know 70% of you are mad at me for the last few chapters of What a Wicked Game . it gets better very soon.

found on ao3 | here | ; rating: for everyone ; ~4400 words

-/-

Emma’s forgetting something.

She knows that she is. She’s practically always forgetting something, and since she’s making the effort to drive across town to the beach with Henry, she just knows that there’s something that she’s going to forget. Then she’ll have to go into one of those tourist shops and spend fifty bucks on the smallest bottle of sunscreen known to mankind all because she forgot the sunscreen.

Did she pack the sunscreen?

She had to have done that. That was in the top five things she needed to pack.

Towels, extra clothes, food, water, sunscreen.

And then beach toys, medicine, a comb, band-aids for when Henry inevitably figures out a way to get a cut…oh, an umbrella. She needs an umbrella.

Wait, Killian was in charge of getting that, wasn’t he?

Shit. She doesn’t remember what exactly she told Killian to bring, and she definitely should have paid more attention to that.

She has to be more put together than this, doesn’t she? She usually is, she swears, but this whole Henry spending the day with Killian is freaking her out more than it should. They’ve met, several times actually, and it’s always gone well. Henry’s six. He doesn’t really get the whole concept of his mom dating someone because he’s never really seen it before. There was almost that time with Walsh, but Emma chickened out at the last minute. Then Walsh got pissed that she wouldn’t let him meet her kid, like she owed him something, and that was the end of that.

But they’ve met. It went well.

Why is she freaking out?

“Because you really like him, you idiot,” she whispers to herself, which kind of makes her even more of an idiot.

That’s all just par for the course right now.

“Who are you talking to?” Henry asks as he walks into the kitchen. The kid is wearing a pair of jeans, no shirt, one sock, and a hat that she knows isn’t hers and is far too big for his head.

“No one,” Emma tells him. “What are you wearing, kid?”

“You told me to get dressed for the beach.”

“Why do you think jeans are what you’re supposed to wear to the beach? Is that what you wear to the pool?”

“No, but the beach has sand.”

“So you have to wear jeans?”

“Yep.” He climbs up onto the kitchen stool and sits down, wide, toothy grin on his face. “So, can we go? I packed all of my toys.”

What an adorable kid. How did she get so lucky for him to be hers?

…wait. All of his toys?

“Henry Swan,” Emma sighs, “go to your room and put every toy that is not allowed in the shower back, and take those jeans off and put on your swimsuit with the anchors on it. Also, ditch the socks.”

“Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to smell like a wet dog, yes.”

“I like dogs.”

Emma huffs and shakes her before pointing her finger down the hall. “Go. We’ve still got to make our sandwiches.”

Henry grumbles something that she probably doesn’t want to hear, but then he’s climbing down off the stool and walking down the hallway. She has no faith in him to actually manage to put on the right clothes and not bring everything he owns, but she’ll let that be the last thing she does so that way he doesn’t manage to change everything up before they leave.

There’s a knock on the apartment door, and Emma glances toward it, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

This is not a big deal, she reminds herself. This is not a big deal at all.

Swallowing her nerves, she puts down the knife she was going to use to cut bread up and heads toward the door. Emma takes a deep breath, her stomach fluttering, but that’s not unfamiliar as of late. It’s aching familiar, actually, and she’s not sure if she loves it or hates it.

Hates it because she’s not that kind of girl.

Loves it because maybe she wants to be.

“Hey,” she says in greeting as she opens the door to Killian.

He, unlike Henry, was able to dress himself in a pair of black trunks that are maybe a little too tight on his thighs for public and a gray t-shirt, baseball cap that actually fits his head pulled down low so that she can’t see the wisps of long hair that usually fall on his forehead. When they met, he had short hair that was nearly cropped to his scalp, but now that he’s retired from the Navy, he’s letting it grow out. She likes it. It falls off his forehead and over the nape of his neck in a slight wave, but she does kind of miss when it was short but long enough for him to style with gel. It’d all come undone when she’d run her hands through it, and she has this vivid memory of one piece falling on his forehead and making him look so young that she could scarcely believe it.

“Hello, love,” he greets before dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers. It’s dirty but surprisingly quick, and she knows that’s just because he’s aware that Henry is around. When she meets him at his place, he kisses her differently, and really, she shouldn’t be noticing these things and categorizing them into her little boxes. “Am I allowed to say that I am very interested in what you have underneath this shirt of yours or are there young ears listening?”

Emma rolls her eyes and presses up on her toes to kiss him again, much slower this time so she can savor the hint of coffee on his lips. “He’s getting dressed again.”

“Again?”

“He was wearing jeans, no shirt, and a hat that I think must be yours.”

“Was it a Pirates cap?”

“It was.”

“Damn, I knew I’d left that somewhere.”

Emma chuckles and backs away from him, trailing her hand down his arm. “You’re not even from Pittsburg. Why are you a Pirates fan?”

“Because my best mate was when we were kids, and it stuck.”

“And your loyalties are too deep now?”

“Absolutely.” Killian closes the door behind him and saunters – and she’s not exaggerating when she uses that word – over to her small kitchen and picks up the knife she was using. “Do you need help making lunch?”

“No, I can do it.”

“Turkey, lettuce, cheese for the boy,” Killian hums as he starts placing slices of turkey on a piece of bread, “and no crust, aye? You want the same thing but with tomatoes, and do you want any condiments? I don’t think they’ll travel well. Maybe we can bring them separately.”

“Killian, seriously. I can make us lunch.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” He waves her away with a flash of his teeth. “Go see if Henry needs help getting dressed. I feel like he should be finished by now.”

“I’m sure he’s destroying his room.”

Killian winks. “That’s why you need to go and check, Swan.”

Henry isn’t destroying his room, surprisingly. He’s dressed in exactly what he’s supposed to be dressed in, and he’s sitting on the floor surrounded by all of his toys that he must have emptied out of his bag. Emma walks into his room and settles down beside him. “What are we thinking about, kid?”

“If I want to find buried treasure, I need one of those coin things.”

“Coin things?”

“Yeah, those things that Mrs. Klein uses to look for coins and it makes all that noise like when you set food on fire.”

Emma laughs and pushes her shoulder into Henry. “A metal detector?”

“Yeah!” he says excitedly, “but all I have are my shovels, and how am I supposed to find shark teeth with those?”

“Wait. I thought we were looking for buried treasure. When did we switch to shark teeth?”

“Avery found a shark tooth, and I want one.”

She sighs and nods before leaning forward and grabbing Henry’s plastic shovels and sandcastle molds and putting them in his bag. “You know, Killian used to look for hidden things with his job.” It’s only a half truth, but Henry doesn’t need to know the intricacies. “I bet he’d be really good at looking for buried treasure and shark teeth with you.”

“Why can’t you help?”

“Oh, I can, kid. I just thought maybe you’d like Killian to help you.”

He shrugs and then wraps his arms around Emma’s middle, squeezing her so tightly she’s not sure if her ribs are still in place. “I want you.”

“Of course,” she whispers, brushing her hand over Henry’s back before kissing his forehead. She doesn’t know what just came over him, but she doesn’t like it. She also has no idea how she’s supposed to be approaching this. “Henry, do you not want Killian to come with us today?”

He shakes his head into her stomach. “I don’t like it when you kiss him.”

Emma has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

Okay, maybe this isn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Shit could still hit the fan, but that’s one crisis averted.

“If I promise not to let him kiss me, can he come with us to the beach?”

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

Emma nudges Henry off of her and holds out his pinky. He wraps his own smaller one around it, and she has a vivid flashback of his tiny hand grabbing onto her pinky right after he was born. It’s a reflex. She’s fully aware of that, but it’s also what made her decide to keep him instead of put him up for adoption.

Pinky promises are a big deal.

“Pinky promise I won’t kiss Killian.” He smiles, and Emma takes the opportunity to lean forward and press her lips against Henry’s cheek once, twice, three times. She keeps kissing him as he giggles and squirms and falls back. “But I never promised not to kiss you.”

“M-mom,” he laughs, “s-stop.”

“Nope, not gonna stop.”

“You have cooties.”

“No such thing, kid,” she mumbles before finally pulling back. Henry’s cheeks are flushed red, and she lets out a contented sigh. He’s happy and healthy. That’s all that matters. “Now, come on, the beach is waiting for us.”

-/-

Emma can’t find the sunscreen.

Like, she legitimately cannot find it, and she knows that she packed it. She freaking triple-checked, had Killian check, and it’s nowhere to be found in her bag or in the bug. Now she has to spend a ridiculous amount of money on a brand she probably won’t even like.

“I’ll go, love,” Killian tells her when he finishes setting up the big umbrella they’ve got stationed in the sand. “You stay with the lad and help him build the sand fortress he’s already started on. Do we need anything else?”

“I’ll text you if I think of anything.”

He salutes and then leans down, and Emma has to swerve away at the last minute as Henry gives them some kind of side-eye that she knows he got from her.

“Something the matter, Swan?”

She tilts her head to the side and then gets up off her towel, grabbing Killian’s hand and tugging him a few feet away from Henry. He looks highly amused, eyebrows raised to his hairline, and she just knows he’s going to love this.

“You can’t kiss me today.”

His eyebrows somehow go higher. “What now?”

“Henry is upset about us kissing, and I pinky promised that we wouldn’t.”

She hears a small laugh, and he’s trying to keep a straight face. She can tell. But the corners of his lips are poking up, and she knows he can’t resist it.

“A pinky promise, huh?”

“It’s the most serious of promises.”

Killian reaches his hand forward, holding out his pinky. She takes it and wonders how every part of him is so impossibly warm. “I pinky promise that you will not kiss me today.”

“Killian.”

“What?”

“I see your loophole, and that is not going to fly.”

“I won’t kiss you, darling,” he whispers, leaning in so close that she thinks he just might be cocky enough to do it. “That’s a pinky promise.”

And then he’s pulling away and walking up toward the overpriced beach shack that must make a killing here every day for the amount of people that are always flocking to the beach. At least it’s kind of quiet today, but it’s still early enough that most people won’t be here for a few hours.

“Alright, kid,” Emma sighs, “let’s build a sandcastle.”

-/-

Emma has a thing about being in the ocean.

She knows how to swim. There was a foster parent who was a swimming coach at the local high school, and she made sure all of the kids knew how. The thing is that she also let them all watch Jaws, and while logically Emma knows the likelihood of her getting eaten by a shark is low, she’s not really fond of going into any kind of water that isn’t extremely clear.

The beaches of Storybrooke are not so clear that she can see the ground, so she’s definitely staying just at the edge where the waves crest and wash over her feet. Killian and Henry, however, are chest deep, and Emma’s not nervous watching them.

Nope.

Not at all.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, “you chase bad guys for a living. The ocean isn’t going to bring you down.”

“The bad guys stay above water.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, “come on!”

“Nope. You have to stay out there with Killian. I’m not coming in.”

Henry flops back into the water, and she just knows he’s groaning. Why is he so dramatic?

But then he’s coming back up to the surface, and she sees Killian’s lips move before he holds his hand up to cover his mouth so she can’t see what he’s saying. Henry nods along, a smile carving itself a place, and Emma leans back into the sand and sighs. That’s good. They’re getting along, and she can worry about that a little, tiny bit less.

She really, desperately wants Henry to like Killian.

Because she really, desperately likes Killian, and it’s been a long time since she felt like she could have something besides Henry be good.

Emma draws her hand through the damp sand, picking up small broken pieces of shells, and when she looks up, she sees both Henry and Killian swimming to the shore. They’re in a public place and she’s around her kid, so she tries not to be distracted by the sight of Killian coming up out of the water. She’s only a woman though, and there’s only so much she can do.

“Hey, love,” Killian says as he stands above her, holding his hand out, “can I talk to you for a second?”

“I’m listening.”

He cocks his head. “In private.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I have to share a secret.”

“Okay,” Emma laughs, taking his hand and letting him pull her up. He drags her a few feet over as Henry stands right in her eye-line, and she’s not sure which of them she’s supposed to keep her eye on. “What kind of secret do you have?”

Killian’s brows waggle in that way they do, and he dips his head down before wrapping his other arm around Emma’s back and tugging her closer so that the front of her suit gets wet.

“I need you to distract Henry.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he mentioned wanting to find shark teeth, and I found a bag of them at the shack. I need to scatter them around while he’s not looking.”

A lump collects in Emma’s throat, and she tries to swallow it down. She really does, but she can’t quite get it to go away. She needs air, though, and for the stinging of tears behind her eyes to go away because she’s not going to cry. She doesn’t cry. Nope. Not at all.

(She is a liar. She cries all of the time.)

But she doesn’t want to cry about this because that would be ridiculous.

“You bought him shark teeth?”

“What? Is that not okay? I figured it’d be fun for him and I – ”

“If I hadn’t made a pinky promise, I would kiss you right now.”

Killian chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and he leans that much closer in. “Later. I have other plans for you right now.”

“Really?”

Emma quickly glances over at Henry, and he’s biting his bottom lip, obviously trying to hide a smile. He gets that from her. And that’s when she gets what’s happening. That’s also when she feels her feet lift off the ground so that she’s half hanging over Killian’s shoulder.

“Jones,” she warns as he turns and slowly starts walking toward the ocean, “I can do horrible things to you.”

“That sounds like a promise and not a threat.”

“I’m serious,” she says, her heart rate ticking up as the water keeps getting deeper. It’s to Killian’s knees now, and she can feel it ghost over the bottom of her feet.

“You and I both know that if you wanted down, you could get down.”

“You’ve got a pretty tight grip.”

“And if I didn’t want to scar your boy for life, that grip would be on your ass.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Most definitely, but this was also Henry’s idea.”

“What?” Emma laughs, suddenly not so irritated with Killian. “It was not.”

“Oh, no, it most definitely was.” Killian shifts her around until her legs are wrapping around his waist and her shoulders are hanging onto his neck. She can feel the way he breathes, the steadiness of it, and for a moment she’s distracted by that and the way the background of the ocean brings out the blue in his eyes. “Look at him and see.”

Sure enough, when she twists around to look back at the beach, Henry is standing there bouncing on his toes, watching them with rapt, excited attention.

“That little mastermind.”

“He’s certainly something else.” Killian’s hands adjust underneath her, this time landing on her ass, but she knows he’ll claim it’s only for support. She definitely doesn’t mind. “I won’t let your feet touch the ground, love, and you’ll never leave my arms. I’m simply going to make it a show for Henry.”

“For Henry,” she repeats back while taking a deep breath to try to calm her nerves.

“Yeah,” he smiles, nodding. “For Henry. Now, on the count of three. One, two – ”

And then Killian is very literally tossing her up before pulling her down with him. She closes her eyes out of instinct, nerves bubbling back up and making her heart race, but even under the shock of the cold salty water, she can feel Killian’s arms around her, holding her up when she should be totally submerged. He didn’t lie. Her feet never touch the ground. They stay suspended in the water before wrapping around his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck. Being submerged isn’t all that bad, but it’s because she knows she doesn’t have to touch the ground and that if something is going to come and attack them, it might get Killian instead of her.

She’s a fantastic girlfriend, obviously.

When she finally adjusts to being under the water, she can feel Killian moving, and then they’re above water and she’s gasping for air and opening her eyes to see Killian still right in front of her. She’s distracted by the way that water trickles down his face and how his hair is pushed back off his forehead except for these few strands are dangling forward. His smile is bright and wide, and the feel of him pressed up against her body feels as warm as the sun shining down on her back.

And really, she nearly forgets about her pinky promise and leans forward to slide her lips over his until she hears Henry’s raucous laughter back on the shore.

“Careful, love,” Killian whispers, “wouldn’t want to spoil the kid’s mood.”

“Later,” Emma promises, echoing their words from earlier, “now let’s get me back to dry land so I can distract him and let you hide those shark teeth.”

“I’ll try to make it as natural as possible.”

“He’s six. I don’t think he’ll notice.”

“But he’s a smart lad, Swan. Wouldn’t want him to catch onto our devious plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

She and Killian quickly get back to the shore, and Henry is still laughing, all of his teeth showing and his eyes nearly closed from how he can’t seem to stop. Emma immediately chases after him, wrapping him in a hug and swaying him back and forth as she jokingly gets onto him for conspiring with Killian to throw her in the water. He apologizes, but Emma’s not mad, not at this.

Looking over her shoulder, she can see Killian shuffling through the tote bag, and Emma turns back to Henry with her own bright smile.

“Race you down to that pink umbrella?”

“What do I win?”

“Who says you’re going to win, kid?”

And then she’s sprinting away, and Henry is sprinting after her. She can easily beat him, even with the magical energy and speed that a six-year-old has, but since that would take the joy out of everything, she keeps managing to trip up or slow down until Henry is running past her and beating her to the pink umbrella.

When she joins him, she fakes being tired, resting her hands on her knees and exaggerating her breathing. “When did you get so fast?”

“Since I got my new shoes.”

“You’re not even wearing any shoes.”

He shrugs. “I guess they still make me fast.”

Emma laughs and leans down to kiss Henry’s cheek. “C’mon, we need to go put more sunscreen back on you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.

Henry mumbles and grumbles the entire walk back, and Emma leads him back to their own umbrella, where she dries him off before reapplying his sunscreen. He continuously squirms, but she eventually gets him all covered to the point where she sends him off to go get Killian, who is casually sitting in the sand running his hand over the same place.

Smooth.

She watches as Killian waits for Henry to get near him. Henry plops down next to him, and they talk for a minute or two before Killian pulls something up from the sand and shows it to Henry, who is more excited than she thinks anyone should be to find a shark tooth. But this is what he wanted, even if Killian had to fudge the truth a little to get there, and Emma’s not going to question it as they keep walking around with Henry’s little plastic shovel discovering more and more teeth.

Emma grabs her phone and takes a picture of the two of them examining one they found, and she tries not to examine it too much as her heart beats a little faster and her cheeks heat. It has absolutely nothing to do with the sunshine.

This is good.

This is really damn good, and she lets herself hope that maybe this is going to be the time where it all works out.

-/-

Killian pulls into her apartment complex and puts the car in park before turning the key. He looks back before patting her leg. “He’s asleep.”

“He was out the moment we got in the car. He had a long day.”

“Well, should I let you two go? I – ”

“Do you want to come inside?” Emma interrupts. “It won’t take me long to put him to bed and then we can see what’s on Netflix.”

He nods, and smiles, almost shy. She likes when his smile is tentative like that, likes that he cares not to overstep with her. “I’d love that, Swan.”

Emma gets out of the car and opens the back door to get Henry as Killian gets all of their bags from the trunk. She’s thankful now that she made him get in the outdoor shower at the pier and change clothes after dinner, so now she doesn’t have to worry about getting him in the bath before bed. She picks him up and lets him wrap himself around her, and then they walk upstairs, careful to stay quiet so that he doesn’t wake.

She thinks she’s in the clear when she’s got him in bed, but then his eyes flutter open.

“Shhh, go back to sleep, kid.”

He nods and opens his eyes a little wider. “Mom?”

“Yeah?” she asks, smoothing his hair over his forehead.

“I like Killian.”

Emma swallows and then nods, trying to hold in her smile. “Me too.”

“You can kiss him now, but only a little.”

Emma laughs and leans down to press her lips against Henry’s forehead. “Goodnight, Henry. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed again.

She waits until she knows that he’s asleep, and then she stands from his bed and walks out of Henry’s bedroom. Killian’s sitting on the couch when she gets to the living room, their bags all put away and the mess in the kitchen cleaned, and Emma walks toward him until she’s sitting down next to him and curling into his side, resting her elbow on his shoulder as his arm wraps around her. waits

“Hey.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Emma ducks her head and smiles before looking back up at him. “I have some good news for you.”

His brow arches. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. You’ve gotten the Henry Swan seal of approval. He said you could kiss me…but only a little.”

“Oh, well, if the lad insists, I guess I have to listen.” His mouth lingers over hers, tantalizingly close and tempting, “but only a little.”

And then he kisses her, and Emma melts into it and him and how damn good this day was.

Mostly, though, she’s happy that there’s going to be more of them.

#pinky promises #cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

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youllneverknowrac · 4 years

Text

Oscar Diaz- Playing House

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Life has been treating you better than you could imagine. Having moved in with Oscar after your parents kicked you out not too long ago was the best thing that’s ever happened, considering the circumstances, your boyfriend keeping his word and taking care of you. He was making sure you had everything you needed and then some.

School had just let out for the day, you and your group of friends walking out of the building together chitchatting away until you spot Oscar’s famous red car. You give a quick goodbye to each of them, hurrying over to the car and sliding in all the way to the middle of the large seat to be up against him,”Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss on his cheek,”Are we picking up Cesar today?” You ask him after he greets you back with a kiss of his own, opting for your lips instead. The engine starting up, Oscar wasting no time in speeding down the road.

“Nah, he wanted to walk home today with his friends.” He answers, keeping one hand on the wheel, his other arm snaking around your shoulders,”So did your mom call you today?”

You sigh and nod solemnly,”Just for a few minutes before first period started. It’s still kind of awkward between us, she also said my dads mood is just getting worse everyday.” You inform him, getting quiet for a few moments before continuing,”I’m glad we’re attempting to talk more though...I do miss her.” You admit,”I know she said some horrible things about you in the past, so I’d understand if you’re upset that I’m talking to her again.”

“I’m not upset Y/N, she’s your mom so I understand. If you feel the need to have her in your life I’m not going to stop you or be angry about it.” He defends,”You do what you feel is best for you mami.” He answers truthfully, causing your heart to swell with how amazing he is and how he cared so much about your happiness.

“Thank you...for being so understanding. I love you.” You grin and scoot yourself on to his lap. Your feet on the seat and your back now leaning against the drivers side door, Oscar protesting for you to stop,”You can’t be sweet and expect me not to love on you.” You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck,as he strains to see the road. You playfully place quick sloppy kisses on the side of his face, ear, and neck, Oscar finally caving in and laughing at your antics.

“We’re going to crash and your going to fly through my windshield and then I’m not going to be so sweet any more.” He chuckles as you continue your assault on his face, his free hand gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter.

“Fine, fine.” You laugh moments later and carefully remove yourself from him, sitting back down in your original position,”I can’t help myself baby, you’re just so cute.” You tease and lightly pinch his cheeks, Oscar rolling his eyes and stopping your actions with his hands.

“Aye nena, por que estas asi conmigo?”(Aye babygirl, why are you like this with me?)

“Shut up, you love it.” You say with your own eye roll and playful scoff.

“Hmh, you think I love it.” He says, glancing at you before shaking his head and chuckling in defeat as he turns on to your guy’s street.

“See? I was right.” You smile, Oscar not replying, a smile of his own resting on his face.

After pulling into the driveway minutes later, you pick up your bag and head inside, going straight into the bedroom to get out of your clothes.

“Can we order pizza tonight babe? A meat supreme with extra cheese from Giovanni’s sounds so good right now.” You suggest to Oscar who followed you in,”Please.” You add, pulling off your jeans and tossing them into the hamper.

“Yeah, we can do that.” He agrees as he leans against the doorframe with crossed arms,”You wanna go ahead and order it? Cesar can pick it up on his way home.” He says watching as you tug on a pair of shorts.

“Yeah, I’ll call right now.” You agree, pulling on one of Oscar’s too big t-shirts. Feeling comfortable you grab your phone and call the familiar number that you order from all the time,”Hey Dina! It’s Y/N...yeah our usual order.” You laugh as she cuts you off,”15 minutes? That’s fine, Cesar is going to swing by and grab it. Just use the card on file and charge it since I’m not sure if he has any cash on him...Okay, thanks!” You say and hang up excitedly,”Oh my god I can’t wait, it’s going to be so amazing.” You squeal and clap your hands in delight.

“Chill out baby. It’s just food.” Oscar laughs amusingly as you walk by to head into the living room, giving your butt a hard smack.

“You, chill out.” Jumping in surprise when you feel his hand land against you, a squeeze followed after.

“I just can’t help it, you’re so cute.” He says smugly, copying your words from earlier as he pulls out his phone to text Cesar about the food.

“You’re so hilarious.” You reply dryly, your butt slightly stinging as you plop your self down on to the couch to lay in front of the squeaking fan. If there was one thing you missed about your house it would surely be central ac. It wasn’t so bad here, the small widow units helping out to keep the house from turning into a sauna.

“Don’t be greedy with the fan.” Oscar says as he picks up your feet and sits down, letting them fall into his lap.

“It’s not being greedy if I was here first.” You say softly hitting him with your foot.

“Exactly, you were here first so you decided to hog up the whole fucking couch and air.” He replies pulling on your toe in return.

“Ow!” You yelp,”You know I hate when you do that.” You complain and pull your feet back quickly.

“Then don’t hit me with your big ass feet.” He laughs and grabs your legs to place them back on top of his,”Fair is fair mamas.”

The playful banter doesn’t stop until Cesar comes in with the food a bit later,”Sorry! There is a piece already missing. I ran into one of my classmates on the way back. She was going on and on about Ruby and helped herself.” He explains and puts the box on top of the coffee table in front of you and Oscar.

“That’s kind of weird but whatever...was it that Jasmine chick you told us about last time?” You ask curiously as you sit up and reach forward to open the box, Cesar nodding yes to your question as you grab a slice.

“You just let her take it?”Oscar laughs and grabs his own slice,”Man up hermano.”(brother)

“Leave him alone, what was he going to do? Steal it back? It’s a slice of pizza. Not that big of a deal.” You defend the younger Diaz brother, folding the cheesy goodness before taking a bite.

“I would have.” Oscar shrugs, beginning to eat his own slice, Cesar offering you a sad smile,”Ain’t no one taking shit off my plate.”

“Trust me, we know you would Spooooooky.” You smirk, drawing out his name in a amusing tone, trying to ease the bad vibe that formed.

“I’m just gonna take this to my room. I gotta finish up my homework. That cool?” Cesar asks, standing up with two pieces of pizza in his hand. Oscar nods and waves him off, not bothering to look up as he eats.

“He’s not like you, and you know that.” You sigh softly,”It’s okay for Cesar to be the ‘nice’ boy. He doesn’t have to be hard or tough.” You tell Oscar before taking another bite.

“Nice boy ain’t going to get him anything around these parts except for beat up. He’s lucky he’s still a kid, but all that’s going to change in a couple of years when he starts growing up.” Oscar says, putting down his slice to look at you,”Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong but just let him be a kid. Let him be the nice little boy that he is. Let him hang out with his little misfit friends and let a random girl take a slice of pizza from him. Freeridge is going to make him grow up soon enough, that’s inevitable, but don’t help speed up the process.” You explain,”That’s all I’m trying to say baby. I get it, he’s your brother and your trying to do what you think is best for him in the long run but just try to see my point of view.” You explain to him, finishing off your slice before going over to straddle his lap,”You’re a good brother and you’re so good to me and the people you care about, but you had to grow up way to fast Ozzy. I just want him to be him for a little while longer.” You say, looking deep into his eyes as you wrap your arms around him,”I know I don’t have much of a say here but I just wanted to give my input.”

“As long as you’re my girl, which will be always mamas, you’re always going to have a say in what goes on in this house. You are a part of this family.” Oscar tells you with a deep sigh,”I get what your saying, but I still can’t help but worry. What if something happens to me? I’m not going to be around to protect him or even you.”

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t say stuff like that, nothing is going to happen to you.” You say interjecting,”Ever.” Wrapping your arms around him tighter and burying your face into his neck.

“I’m not trying to make you upset Y/N...we just gotta be real here. We both know what I do and what it can lead too.”

“Stop. Please. This is about Cesar, not you and what if’s.” You mumble into his skin.

“Aight, let’s just move on from both subjects completely. Yeah?” He says, his hands moving up and down your back comfortingly.

You sniffle and blink back a few tears that wanted to fall, not moving from your position as you nod your head in agreement.

“I promise that I won’t let anything take me away from you bebé.” Oscar says, even though he knew deep down that his words were likely going to be broken, he just wanted to comfort you right now.

You don’t respond and just let him hold you for a while until you regain your composure,”I’m gonna finish eating.” You tell him with a deep breath,”Go talk to Cesar.”

Oscar nods and scoots you off his lap before leaning down to press his lips to yours lovingly,”Be right back.”

You smile and give him one final peck before reaching for a new slice, it was a bit cold by now but you didn’t mind. As you sit there and eat, all these thoughts run through your head about how today went. Your phone call with your mom, loving moments with Oscar, the playful fighting, the whole conversation about Cesar which led to Oscar’s lifestyle choices. It was just crazy to think that this would be your new normal for forever now. You couldn’t even be a real teenager yourself, because you had grew this strong attachment to both Diaz brother’s causing you to become a mom, wife, and girlfriend all in one. In all honestly you kind of liked it this way, because no matter what the day brung you would always have this house and two boys to come home to.

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elisela · 4 years

Text

echo oscar mike buck x eddie, 1.9k, vermont verse @extasiswings wanted eddie to have a cat in vermont and I wasn’t gonna do it but then .... well, it’s chapel so.

Eddie learned, very shortly after moving to Vermont, that he likes routine. He thrives off it—blame his parents and their strict schedule when he was growing up, blame the military, or maybe just blame his personality—but he finds comfort in knowing what his day is going to look like when he wakes up in the morning.

And he has a good one, has had a good one since he met Buck and fell into an easy(ish) life with him, waking up in the morning to kick a seventy-five pound dog off his bed so he can have sex with his husband, said husband making him breakfast every morning, filling up his days with workouts, running the youth center a few days a week, taking classes at the community college just because he hates being bored, and being home by the time his kid and Buck are both back just to spend the rest of the day with them.

(Less Chris these days, now that he’s sixteen and more interested in girls, trying to convince Eddie to take him in for an exam so he can be cleared to drive, and spending every waking minute out of the house and with his friends. Eddie’s mom had said he was too permissive last time she called and Chris hadn’t been home, but Chris is happy, Buck is happy, and Eddie is certainly happy, so he tried not to let it get to him.)

So Eddie’s in the middle of his Tuesday routine—breakfast with Bobby, Combat to Classroom lecture at a community college in Burlington, and a run around the University of Vermont campus before he heads home to clean up before opening the youth center—when he passes the Delta Tau Delta house and stops.

He’s not sure why the cardboard box catches his eye, but it does, and laying inside is one tiny kitten, eyes closed against the soft rain that’s falling.

Eddie’s parents were not big on pets growing up. His dad was never home, and he can still hear his mother saying, “when you’re mature enough to take care of a pet on your own, then we’ll talk.” Christopher had been born before Eddie was ever deemed mature enough for a pet, so it wasn’t until he’d found Ox out on the trail that he had gotten any experience. But Ox was a monster, a beast of a dog who took up so much room that he and Buck had gotten new furniture just to accommodate him.

So this—this tiny tan and black kitten that might fit in Buck’s palm—he’s not sure what to do, so he does what he always does when he has a question, and he calls Hen.

“Eddie, being a surgeon is not the same as being a vet,” she sighs when he fills her in. “Is the cat warm?”

He bends down and strokes a finger over its fur and down to its paws. “Not really,” he says, “but her eyes opened so she’s still alive. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Hen says, and Eddie grins even though she can’t see him. “Yes, take the cat to the vet. But you know you’re gonna have to keep it for awhile, don’t you? The shelters have been full for months, that always happens when it starts getting colder.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, leave her to die?” he says—

—which is the same thing he says that night to Buck, when Buck takes three steps inside the door, looks at Eddie bottle-feeding the cat, and says, “no.”

“No,” Buck says again, shaking his head as he toes off his untied boots and kicks them under the bench. “You already—” he leans down and kisses Eddie, a soft press of lips at the corner of his mouth, “—brought this beast into our—get off me Ox, let me get my jacket off first—into our house without asking.”

“She was in a wet cardboard box,” he says, looking down and tilting the bottle to get the last drops out. “What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“Leave her at the vet,” Buck says, scratching Ox on the head and moving towards the kitchen, talking as he disappears through the doorway. “I put chicken in the fridge to thaw this morning but I think I want—Eddie!”

“I think he saw the litter box,” Eddie whispers to the little bundle in his hands, setting the bottle down and sliding her back into his hoodie pocket to keep warm. He stands up, sliding a hand into his pocket to make sure she’s secure, and goes to console his husband. Buck might be upset, but he’ll get over it. “The vet wouldn’t take her,” he says, leaning against the doorway and watching as Buck looks over the bags on the kitchen table.

Eddie’s never had a cat; he had no clue what to buy, so he just … bought one of everything.

There’s something—off, about it though; when he’d brought Ox home, Buck had sighed and complained about it, but he hadn’t looked—mad.

Like he does now.

“I named her Echo,” Eddie offers, expecting to be laughed at, for Buck to roll his eyes and finally crack a smile, but he just lets out a breath and allows the bag to fall from his hand. “Buck,” he tries again, “really, the vet wouldn’t take her and—”

“And did you try anywhere else?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie skeptically. “Because the seven bags from The Dog and Cat tell me that you didn’t.”

“Hen said the shelters were all full,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should have talk to you first, but you were busy—”

“Funny, you’ve never thought I was too busy working when you want me to come home in the middle of the day because you want me to fuck you—”

“—and you love cats,” Eddie says over him, because he can’t exactly argue with that. He’s definitely taken advantage of Buck working for himself now, not having a set schedule or time-frame unless it’s his own making, the couch out in the workshop getting so much use that Buck had joked about finally just bringing a bed in. “You volunteer at an animal shelter, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“I walk the dogs,” Buck says, “and you didn’t think that, you thought if I came home and saw the cat that I’d just accept it like I did with Ox.”

Eddie opens his mouth to keep arguing, but Buck crosses his arms over his chest, and he closes it again. Buck doesn’t get closed off like this often, and although he still thinks he had a good reason—he’s not leaving any animal outside, exposed to the rain that’s now pouring down—but he’s also aware that Buck is … entirely right. Somehow, Eddie had fallen in love with Echo in between jogging back to his car with her wrapped in his hoodie and walking into the veterinarian’s office, and he really didn’t intend to look for a home for her anywhere else.

They haven’t fought in a long time, he thinks suddenly, because he has no clue what to do right now.

“I’m gonna go out to the workshop,” Buck says, “can you take care of dinner?” and leaves without waiting for the answer, motioning for Ox to follow him.

Ox goes, the traitor.

---

Eddie gives it an hour, calls the little italian restaurant that’s on the way to the ski resort—where Eddie had taken him on their first date—and orders Buck’s favorite dishes and a slice of peanut butter pie, because if he’s going to pull out all the stops he might as well get the dessert they’d shared that night. He checks in with Chris, who sends a picture of himself with three of his friends at Pizza Putt, grinning widely and holding up mini-golf clubs, and shuffles around the house cleaning up to kill time until the food is ready.

With just a few minutes left, he realizes suddenly that taking Echo with him is not a great idea, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone in the house, which means—

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the workshop. “I—are you okay?”

Buck’s laying on the couch, hand against his rib cage; he winces when he sits up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going in the house and I kinda ran into a dresser that May was bringing in,” he says quietly, and lifts his shirt. There’s a large bruise blooming under his skin, spreading across his side.

Eddie crouches down beside him, careful not to jostle Echo in his pocket, and rests his hand against the spot, pushing gently. “You want to go to the hospital? I don’t think it’s anything serious—”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Buck says, pulling his shirt down before Eddie withdraws his hand. “Dinner ready?”

“I gotta go pick it up,” he says, “but—I’m sorry. I should have called you, and I’ll call around tomorrow to see if there’s a shelter that can take her or someone who wants her. I’ll find a home for her.” Buck nods, but his gaze is on Eddie’s pocket, where Echo is poking her head out. “Would you watch her while I get the food?”

“Sure,” he says, and when Eddie sets her in his hand, Buck curls his arm to his stomach to hold her, and uses the other hand to pull Eddie down for a kiss.

---

There’s a fire going in the living room when he gets home, the first of the year; October is wetter than normal and Eddie makes a mental note to buy firewood over the weekend, because he has a feeling they’re going to need it more often this winter. Buck’s not on the couch, though, and there’s no trashy reality show playing on the television, so he goes through to the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

Buck’s not there either, but all of the bags from the pet store have been cleared away, so he starts setting out dinner—transferring it onto plates instead of leaving it in the boxes like they normally do—and is wondering if they even own candles for a candlelight dinner when Buck comes around the corner, hair damp and wavy, clearly just out of the shower with his joggers and t-shirt on.

In the stretched out chest pocket of his blue shirt is Echo, curled into a half circle, eyes closed. One paw sticks out, and Eddie feels such a sudden pressure in his chest that he thinks he may be having a heart attack.

“Don’t say a word,” Buck says, fitting a hand around Eddie’s hip and kissing him. “Is this from Trattoria?”

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Buck,” he says, staring down at Echo’s fuzzy ears.

Buck kisses him again, his lips pressed sweetly against Eddie’s, and Eddie has to force himself not to press up against him, mindful of the tiny kitten residing in his husband’s shirt pocket. “Shut up, Eddie,” he says, but it’s soft, gentle.

“And he said we had to give you away,” Eddie says to Echo when he pulls back, stroking one of her ears with the side of his pinky. “Looks like you went and found yourself a home.”

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #911fic #vermont verse #i just write everything chapel wants i have no more control over anything #ps oscar mike mean on mission according to the internet #eli writes

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Don't Need a Flight to Get to Paradise (Crystal x Gigi) - A-tresia

Gigi methodically slices the tape open and digs inside. Her eyes widen and her face is suddenly hot and red. And even though there’s an obvious look of embarrassment seen on her face, she’s still thankful that the camera is focused on her and not on the contents of the package.

A/N: Some non-AU smut because (don’t deny it!) we want this and we absolutely deserve this. This is probably the filthiest thing I will ever attempt to put into words. Enjoy!

Gigi sets her phone on the table and presses the button to start her Live. She fixes her hair while she waits. “Hey, everyone!” she says still combing her fingers through her freshly curled hair. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone Live and I thought,” she emphasizes the last syllable with a nod, “since I have a little bit of free time that I could go do an unboxing for you guys.” She squints and reads through the comments as she waits for more people to join.

She picks up her phone and flips the camera to pan across the pile in front of her. “Okay, so, I’ve got quite a bit to open. There’s a couple of PR boxes and some merch from my season 12 sisters,” she explains, pointing to the boxes.

Struggling to open boxes with one hand, she decides to prop her phone against the wall and sit in front of it as she goes through the rest of the boxes. She’s already opened two make up PR boxes when she sees a familiar name on one of them, deciding this is what she’s opening next.

“Look, you guys! I have a package from my girlfriend,” she says playing up the Crygi clout. No one has to know the real tea, they can guess all they want.

Gigi holds up the box to the camera to point to the Crystal Methyd sticker plastered on the top. The comments are suddenly wild. “I wonder what’s inside,” she says, shaking the box. It sounds solid but it might just be packaging. “It’s probably new merch. Thanks, Crystal!”

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuck.

She smiles slyly at the camera and quickly grabs a new box to open, trying to cover up the internal panic she’s currently experiencing. “Sorry, you guys. It looks like it’s unreleased merch. Let’s wait for Crystal to release it before I share. Okay?”

The comments are even crazier than before. Asking what’s inside the box. And why she’s suddenly so red in the face. She knows her socials will be flooded with this.

Gigi ignores the comments and even though she only planned to be on Live to open maybe two boxes, she proceeds to open three more make up boxes and merch packages from Jan and Nicky. She’s hoping people will forget. But who is she kidding? Stans never forget.

“Thanks for keeping me company for the last, uh,” she looks over at her clock, “for the last hour and a half. I’ll catch you guys again soon!” Gigi winks and ends the Live.

Not even five minutes after she ends the Live, she gets a FaceTime call and Crystal’s fully-painted face floods her screen. “Gigi Goode, why are people tagging me in screenshots of your Live and asking me what I sent you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you sent me,” Gigi glares.

Crystal raises a brow at her. “You don’t like it?”

“I mean, I haven’t gotten the chance to fully look at it yet.” She reaches into the box to pull out the contents — a bottle of lubricant, and… Gigi holds it up to the camera. “You got me a dildo.” Like it isn’t obvious what’s in her hand.

Crystal leans in closer to the camera. “Not just any dildo,” she smirks like she’s so proud of herself. “It’s a clone-a-willy.”

“A what?”

“A clone-a-willy,” Crystal repeats slowly.

Gigi’s eyes widen in realization. She takes a good look at the dildo in her hand. The length. The girth. The slight curve. The vein underneath. They all feel right. And real. But it’s cold and made of silicone and the person it’s supposed to be attached to is 1,600 miles away. She looks back at Crystal. “So you mean this is —”

“Mmhmm, balls included!” She definitely looks like she’s proud of herself, like she did the most groundbreaking thing on earth. “It’s even really close to my skin tone.”

Gigi laughs. “Were there other options?”

“Oh, I definitely thought of making it in an obnoxious glow-in-the-dark hot pink. I could make you one in pink if you want that, I still have the mold.” Crystal snorts as Gigi proceeds to inspect her new toy. “There’s a suction cup so you could use it on any flat surface,” she says this so very seriously you’d think she’s selling the product.

Gigi finds a button at the bottom. “Oh my god, Crystal. It’s a vibrator too?”

“Only the best for Gigi Goode.” They both snort. But clearly, Crystal is more amused. “Also, Geege, unreleased merch? Should we make a profit out of my dick? Am I a genius or am I a genius?”

“Hey, your dick is awesome. But I’m not sharing. I barely get any of it.” Crystal hasn’t stopped laughing since she suggested making multiple models to sell. Gigi thinks back to the last time they saw each other and realizes how long ago it’s been. With all the touring they’ve been doing, there just hasn’t been time to see each other in between. “Long-distance sucks,” she pouts.

“I know, baby,” Crystal sighs. Underneath her full clown makeup, Gigi knows she’s pouting too. “But we’re seeing each other in like two weeks so that’s something to look forward to, right?”

Gigi whines like a child. “But the last time I saw you was six weeks ago!”

“That’s why I cloned my dick for you. So you can fuck yourself with it and I can watch over FaceTime and you don’t have to miss me as much.”

“That does sound hot,” she considers. Gigi cocks her head to the side and bites her lower lip and looks up at Crystal from underneath her lashes. “Can we use it now?”

Crystal wiggles her brows at Gigi. “Do you want to?”

“I do,” she nods. She takes in Crystal’s face that’s taking up her screen and scrunches her nose. “But your mug really isn’t doing it for me.”

“Later, then?”

“For sure,” Gigi winks. “No, but seriously. I appreciate the sentiment. I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Should I send you a replica of my dick too?”

Crystal perks up at the suggestion, deciding then and there that she’ll send Gigi a kit — in maybe neon purple. “But it’s messy to make. It was like a science experiment!”

“Crystal. Elizabeth. Methyd,” she says, feigning shock. “Did you stick your dingaling in any of the science experiments you did in school?” Gigi can’t stop laughing at the mental image of Crystal sticking her erect penis into a model volcano.

“Shut up! It was hard to stay hard.”

—

Gigi couldn’t get anything else done for the rest of the day with the anticipation of what’s to come. Besides, she’s maintained a semi since they hung up and it didn’t really help with her already short attention span. She considered rubbing one out just for a little relief but decided to wait it out. It’s going to be better this way.

She’s already in bed, still semi-hard and freshly showered, with Crystal’s penis replica and a bottle of lube within arms reach when her phone buzzes in her hand.

Crystal: 2 mins. Get your laptop set up.

She doesn’t even bother to reply. She arranges her laptop, puts on her earphones (which, for a bit, she thinks of forgoing since her roommates are sure to hear her anyway), and positions herself on the bed checking to make sure that Crystal will be able to see everything.

In exactly two minutes, Crystal’s smiling face (void of makeup, thank god) fills her laptop screen. “Hey,” they both say at the same time. Gigi feels herself harden further at the look on Crystal’s face as she stares back at her.

“Geege, you shouldn’t have bothered with clothes. I didn’t!” Crystal moves back against her pillows as she pushes her laptop a little bit further from her to give Gigi the full view of her already hard penis. “Come on, I couldn’t be the only one naked here!”

“Sorry.” Gigi shakes herself out of her stupor at seeing Crystal naked, thumbing around the tip of her dick and quickly pulls her tank top over her head. She grips herself through the fabric of her underwear with a groan.

“Gigi,” Crystal breathes.

She slowly pulls her underwear down her legs, watching Crystals breath hitch. It makes her feel flushed and hot all over. “Happy?”

“Very.” She looks straight into Gigi’s eyes and wraps her hand around her cock, slowly stroking herself for Gigi to watch. “You look so good.” There isn’t a need for long introductions, they both know they’re on this call for one thing.

Gigi’s mouth feels dry. So instead of answering, she starts stroking, matching her pace with Crystal. They stroke in tandem for a while, eyes not leaving each other, before Crystal tells Gigi to get the lube. She watches Gigi squeeze a generous amount onto her fingers. “Ready?”

“Can’t wait,” she says as she shifts to spread her legs wider so Crystal has a better view. “Can’t wait to stretch myself out so I can take your cock.” Gigi fucking hates dirty talk but she just misses Crystal so much she doesn’t even have the energy to cringe at herself; instead, she reaches down to rub her fingers over her hole with warmed up lube.

Crystal stops touching herself. Instead she focuses on Gigi’s movements. She watches Gigi slowly slip a finger in, whimpering quietly at the sensation of a single digit sliding in and out of her.

“Go on,” Crystal urges.

Gigi adds another finger and feels herself stretch and clench around her fingers. “Feels so good,” she breathes out. It’s been three days since she’s masturbated and fucked herself and six weeks since she’s had Crystal’s actual dick. She pulls one knee up for more space and moves her fingers in and out, gradually increasing her pace, going deeper each time. Her other hand wraps around her cock and strokes in time with her fingers.

A third finger slips alongside the first two and Gigi feels fuller. “Crystal,” she moans.

Crystal’s cock jumps at the sound. She’s so painfully hard she firmly wraps her hand around the base of her cock, delaying getting even more worked up until Gigi has her Crystal dildo up in her ass. “You’re doing so well, Geege,” she encourages. “Get yourself nice and stretched.”

Gigi can’t wait to get Crystal’s fake cock inside her. She shudders in anticipation. “C-can — Crys, I need —“ She sounds wrecked. Gigi is easy to work up; so easy to get all wet and open and desperate.

“Fuck, Gigi. You have no idea what you fucking look like.” She watches Gigi’s hips jerk. “Are you ready for my cock, baby?” Gigi couldn’t even form a sentence. Her jaw is slack and she just nods in agreement. “Look at yourself, so slick and open, I could just slide right in.”

“I want you to.”

“Do your fingers feel good?”

“I-I, y-yes, yeah. I like yours better, though.”

Gigi removes her hand from her throbbing cock and pulls her fingers out. She reaches out for her dildo, licks up one side of it and winks at Crystal.

“Torture,” Crystal groans.

“I would much prefer if this were actually you.”

Gigi pulls her laptop closer and rolls over on her stomach, finding a little relief by rubbing herself against her sheets. She tilts her screen down and positions her new toy and herself so Crystal has full view of her mouth.

“You’re gonna want to start touching yourself,” she says before licking the tip of the dildo slowly. Crystal’s mouth hangs open, practically drooling at the sight, and just nods as she tries her best to mimic the movement of Gigi’s mouth and hands with her own hands.

Gigi maintains eye contact with Crystal while she wraps her lips around the toy and starts giving it a very enthusiastic blow job, easing her mouth down and coating it with saliva. She strokes her hand up and down the way she knows Crystal likes as she moves her lips up and down, stopping every so often to lick the shaft and head. At the back of her head, she knows how ridiculous she might look giving a cold silicone toy a blowjob but it feels so much like Crystal she doesn’t even give it another thought.

Crystal is stroking herself with her right hand in a regular fluid motion, matching Gigi’s pace. The fingers on her left hand pinches at her nipple piercing.

“So hot,” Gigi comments.

“Feels good,” Crystal whispers as she watches Gigi take all of it into her mouth, closing her eyes as she relaxes her throat and swallows around it. It’s obscene but Crystal can’t look away. “Fuck, need to be inside you.”

Gigi draws off the dildo with a smirk, pressing a kiss to the tip of the toy. She quickly gets up from the bed, taking the laptop, the bottle of lube, and the very wet toy with her.

“Where are you going?” Crystal asks.

She sets her laptop down. “This will be easier on the floor,” she explains.

Gigi reaches for the dildo and squirts extra lube onto the already saliva-slick surface. She gets on her knees and sticks the suction of the dildo directly on the floor underneath her.

“Wanna ride you,” she says positioning herself. Crystal not able to take her eyes away from Gigi’s hard dick pointing straight at her.

“Yeah, okay.” Crystal leans forward to get a better look at Gigi rising up a little bit on her knees, grabbing the shaft, and slowly lowering herself down on the silicone cock. “This is so hot, fuck.”

She doesn’t realize that she has her eyes closed until she feels the base of the toy pressed up against her and she slightly stumbles forward at the fullness. Gigi moans at the realization that she’s got it all in; so lewd that Crystal thinks Gigi just came right then.

“You okay, babe?”

“Fucking awesome,” Gigi breathes out. “Feels exactly like you. Not that the dildo is as good as the original, but still.“

Crystal laughs and this sets Gigi’s laughter off too. How very fitting for them to be laughing while doing this.

She waits for Gigi to calm down and adjust to the intrusion and only starts to touch herself again when Gigi starts moving.

Gigi begins to rock herself up and down on the shaft, encouraging Crystal to touch herself. She thinks she could come just like this — not touching herself, just fucking herself on the perfect replica of Crystal’s cock. She lets her own dick bounce against her body as she rides the toy in little short motions.

Gigi moans and whimpers as she watches Crystal languidly work a generously lubed hand over herself.

“I feel like I’m watching a porno,” Crystal comments as her hand starts to work faster on her own cock. Gigi tries to laugh but it quickly turns into an obscene moan. “Touch yourself, Gee,” Crystal encourages.

"Oh, fuck! Baby, I love your dick so much.” Gigi grips her own dick and pumps along with Crystal. She sets a steady pace bouncing on the dildo making her thighs burn. But that’s the least of her concerns. The burn just intensifies everything.

"Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she answers, biting her lower lip.

Crystal strokes her cock slowly, trying to make the sensation last, but the sight and sounds of Gigi pleasuring herself was just too much.

“G-Gigi,” Crystal stutters, struggling to find words. “I c-can’t —“

“Go on, baby. I want to see you come.” Crystal gasps out a breath and instinctively closes her eyes. “Eyes on me, babe,” Gigi croons, syncing her movement on the toy to Crystal’s hands.

She watches Crystal work herself over the edge, listening to her shaky breaths and pitchy moans. She didn’t know she could feel pleasure just by listening to Crystal moan like this, listening to her cry, and try to hold in her whines.

“Oohhh, fu-fuuuuck me,” Crystal moans. Suddenly her hand is moving so fast, Gigi doesn’t know where to focus her eyes — her face contorting with pleasure, her hand pinching her pierced nipple, her hips jerking upward, or the cum shooting over her spasming abdomen.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Crystal says as she pushes back hair that’s stuck to the sweat on her forehead, still panting. She looks back at Gigi who’s waiting for her to recover, still moving her hands over her still hard and throbbing dick with long strokes. “Your turn.”

Gigi leans back against her calves and bottoms out on the dildo. She wraps her hand firmly around her cock and thrusts up into her fist. “Fuck, it’s really — ah — i-it’s really too much. I’m really so — I can’t —” She’s no longer stroking but thrusting uncontrollably up into her hand. “S-so close,” she moans. “Gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna —” Gigi cries out, eyes rolling back, as thick ropes of cum splatter all the way up her torso, some reaching all the way up to her chin.

Her orgasm is so intense, there’s a deep sense of calm that spreads throughout her body. She slowly lifts herself from the dildo and collapses on the floor, panting and jerking and not even bothering to clean up. She’ll deal with the sticky mess later.

She opens her eyes to see Crystal staring back at her in a daze. Gigi’s never felt the distance between them as sharply as she does now. All she wants is to hold Crystal and be held.

“Wow,” Crystal whispers. Gigi just nods, still too overwhelmed to speak.

For a moment they just stay there, a moment frozen in time, watching each other and drinking it all in.

“Crystal, I —“

“I know. I feel bad that I’m not there to do anything about it.”

“Two weeks.” Crystal nods in agreement. “I’m sticky,” Gigi points out.

“We should probably both clean up.”

“I’ll call you again in 15, yes?”

“Take your time.” Gigi nods.

They wave and blow kisses at each other before Crystal ends the call with a love you lingering in the air. Gigi sighs, equally satiated and sad. Two weeks.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #crygi #canon compliant #smut #facetime sex #atresia #s12

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aquaminwrites · 5 years

Text

Paper Cranes | Kim Taehyung (M)

PAIRING: Kim Taehyung x F!Reader

GENRE: Fluff, smut, angst. Non idol AU. College AU. Best friends to lovers. Slice of life.

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (stay safe!), so much fluff you might pass out

WORD COUNT: 18.3k

DESCRIPTION: It is said that if someone folds 1000 paper cranes, they will receive one wish. Kim Taehyung has been folding you paper cranes since he was six years old. He won’t tell you what he’s going to wish for once he reaches his goal, but even into your twenties, all you know is that he’s been wishing for the same thing every time.

You’re six years old when you receive your first paper crane from Kim Taehyung.

Your first year of elementary school is almost over—there’s only two months left until summer break, and you’ve been counting down the days until you are finally free to wake up as late as you want and play with your friends until the sun goes down.

That’s also why it strikes you as odd that there’s a new transfer student, his newly assigned seat right beside yours, being introduced to the class. His eyes are big and wide underneath a fringe of dark brown hair, and he’s cute in the way that all kids are cute—with rosy cheeks, big ears, and a shy demeanour that tells you that he would most likely rather have stayed at his previous school.

After a brief introduction of Hello, I’m Kim Taehyung, he shuffles over and takes his seat. He doesn’t really look at you, keeping his head down as he pulls his notebooks from his backpack. You see that the margins are covered in doodles, little cartoons and make-believe stories etched onto every far corner of the page.

You open your mouth to introduce yourself, but the sound of your teacher’s voice has you facing the blackboard once more. You try not to think too hard about the new boy sitting beside you, gently humming to himself as he doodles butterflies in an open meadow.

At recess, you’re playing with a few friends, doing cartwheels and rolling around on the grass. You’re giggling with your friend, Chaeyoung, when you hear a ruckus happening not too far away.

“Hey! Please, no, give it back!”

You glance over and see a group of three known playground bullies who have circled Taehyung, holding his notebook up above his head, so high that he can’t reach.

“What’s so special that’s in here, anyway?” One of the bullies taunts, as he starts to leaf through the pages. “This your diary or something?”

“Please, just give it back,” Taehyung begs, trying to jump up to grab his book.

Another bully places his hand on Taehyung’s chest and shoves him back, and the suddenness of the motion has the smaller boy falling and landing hard on his tailbone.

It’s when you see tears pricking his eyes that you begin to fume. You distantly hear Chaeyoung hissing at you to get back here, you’re gonna get in trouble! as you stomp your way over to the group of boys, ones that you know are in a grade higher than yours. So why are they picking on little kids anyway?.

“Hey,” you bark, tiny fists with white knuckles at your sides. “Leave him alone!”

The bully holding the book swivels in your direction and snorts. “Or what?”

Not one to back away from a challenge or a fight (to Chaeyoung’s dismay—you hear her groaning as she catches up with you), you defiantly stare him right in the eye before you wind back your foot and kick him in the shin—hard.

He yelps and drops the book, and you’re quick to snatch it back. “My big cousin is thirteen and he does judo,” you warn, venom dripping from your voice. “So I suggest you leave both of us alone if you know what’s good for you.”

Having recovered from the kick, the bully glares at you with flared nostrils, and he takes a step forward as if he’s ready to continue this fight. You just lift your chin and cross your arms over your chest, one eyebrow raised. When he sees that you’re not about to back down, he lets out a grunt and mutters, “Ain’t worth it. C’mon, guys.”

And just like that, they turn around and leave.

You hand the book wordlessly back to Taehyung with a trembling hand as Chaeyoung runs over and basically tackles you with a hug. The boy is still on the ground when he accepts the book from your grasp, looking up at you with shiny, doe eyes.

Chaeyoung can’t help but gush in her excitement. “You are so cool! And so tough! Wow! Wait—are you shaking?”

“Oh my gosh, Chae-Chae, I was so scared!” You wail, dramatically collapsing into your friend’s arms as the adrenaline bred from confrontation finally starts to slow. “I thought I was gonna get punched in the face for sure!”

Chaeyoung gasps. “You really think they would hit a girl?”

You roll your eyes. “Dummies with no brains will hit anyone.” You sigh and then turn to ask Taehyung if he’s alright, but when you glance over, he’s already gone. The only evidence that he’d been there in the first place was the patch matted grass where he landed from the fall.

After recess, you and Chaeyoung file back into your classroom, and you wander back over to your desk. To your surprise, there’s something resting atop it, though you had cleared it before going outside.

You get closer and notice that it’s a paper crane, folded with a ripped out page of a notebook that has doodles of butterflies in an open meadow on it. You glance at Taehyung, and he meets your eyes and offers up the tiniest of smiles.

“Is this for me?” You have to ask.

His smile widens, boxy and adorable. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

You cradle the paper sculpture in your hands and examine it carefully. Along the top of one of the wings, in surprisingly neat penmanship, he’d written, “Because you stuck up for me.”

“What they did to you was wrong,” you reply quietly, thumb running along one of the creases. “I hate bullies. I always have.”

Taehyung looks at you with something you can’t quite pinpoint dancing in his vision. After a beat, he gently says, “Don’t throw it away, promise?”

“I would never!” You gasp with mock-indignation. Taehyung just patiently waits for the response he wants to hear, his heart-shaped lips settling in a neutral line. You sigh, and then sincerely respond, “I promise.”

His boxy smile returns, and you can’t help but grin as well.

Maybe the new kid isn’t so bad after all.

—

You’re ten years old when you finally ask why he’s folding all those cranes.

It turns out that the Kim family had moved walking distance from your house. Their home is a little more isolated, with Taehyung’s parents owning a small strawberry farm with a decent amount of property. It’s ten minutes away by foot, and only a few minutes if you take your bike.

After that first meeting, you and Taehyung become the best of friends. He makes you laugh with his silly but innocent way of speaking, often acting out skits and things he’d seen on television for you because he knows it makes you giggle when you hear his girly falsetto.

It soon becomes routine for the two of you to go to and from school together, since your house is on Taehyung’s way. Every morning for the last four years, he’s either walked or biked to your house to pick you up. Sometimes when he shows up early, your mother ushers him inside for a post-breakfast snack. Other times, he brings your family baskets of strawberries from the farm, just because he knows how much you like them.

All the while, Taehyung still gifts you with paper cranes.

You think you’ve amassed around a hundred by now. Taehyung likes to make them for you on your birthday and special holidays, interspersed with random ones when he finds an interesting piece of paper he think you’d like, or even newspaper clippings, and his own doodles on lined paper. You keep every single one pressed flat and placed in a shoe box under your bed.

They’re all different sizes, and some of them were made with pieces of scrap paper. But they always have a message written on the wings, and you always cherish them because Taehyung took the time to make them for you.

On the day of your tenth birthday, you throw a party in your backyard. It’s the end of summer, just before school is meant to start up again, and you’re finally an age that has two numbers in it. You feel older, more mature.

And as an older, more mature version of yourself, in your pursuit of knowledge, you can’t help but ask Taehyung as he digs into a second slice of cake, “Why do you fold so many paper cranes?”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide, as if he thought you knew already. “You mean you haven’t heard of the legend?”

You narrow your eyes at him. Taehyung is a few months younger than you, so he’s still nine, a child.

“No?”

Taehyung shovels more cake into his mouth while he speaks, clearly ignoring Chaeyoung’s look of both disgust and fascination from where she’s been snacking on popcorn not three feet away.

“They say that if you make a thousand paper cranes, you get one wish,” he says simply without offering up much else in terms of explanations.

You wait for a beat in case he’s just taking a dramatic pause, as he’s known to do. When he contentedly licks the icing off his fork, you can’t help but regard him curiously. “What are you wishing for?”

Taehyung only offers you a wink in reply. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Taehyung ends up getting you a charm bracelet with your birthstone on it, as well as a charm with the letter “T” that dangles down from one of the beads. Your mother tells you later that night, after the party has cleared out, that Taehyung saved up all his allowance to buy that for you. She heard so from his mother. You feel warmth rise up to your cheeks as you think of your best friend and his kind, boxy smile and the ten paper cranes he’d neatly stuffed into an envelope in lieu of a card.

This time, the message on the wings says, “You’re finally double digits! Happy birthday! Love, your best friend, Tae-Tae.”

—

You’re thirteen when you start to look at him differently.

“You want me to what?”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to act flippant, though the hands worrying at the hem of your shirt give you away. “Come on, Tae, it isn’t that big of a deal.”

“Sorry,” he holds up his hand, his eyes still squinted in confusion. “But you want me to what? Why me? Why now?”

You groan, already embarrassed by the question you’d posed in the first place. At the insistence of him repeating your request, you fear you might actually spontaneously combust. The two of you are in your room, sitting on your bed, and Taehyung is staring at you as if you’ve grown a second head from the top of your shoulder.

“It’s just a kiss, Tae. I don’t want to start high school without having kissed anyone before. And you’re my best friend, I trust you.”

“Chaeyoung’s also your best friend,” Taehyung grumbles, his shoulders slumped as he glances anywhere but you. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“I’m not attracted to her, you dummy,” you huff, arms crossed over your chest.

Taehyung, a budding flirt, cannot help but quip, “So, you’re saying that you find me attractive?”

You roll your eyes again so hard that you’re fairly certain that you just saw the back of your skull. “Don’t be stupid. Are you going to help me out or not? Because if not, I’ll ask Jimin or something, he probably wouldn’t ask as many dumb questions—”

“Jimin?” Taehyung gawks. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

You don’t know why, but you’re surprised when he agrees. You asked, after all. What had you expected? Taehyung is a lot of things, but he has never once let you down in the seven years you’ve been friends. The weight of the verbal contract starts to sit on your shoulders, not to mention the act in question that is about to take place. You wipe your damp palms against your shorts and scoot a little closer to Taehyung, who is staring intently at you with his big, beautiful brown eyes.

You’re so close to him now that you can feel the body heat he radiates. Your eyes scan all over his face, and you think to yourself that he’s grown up a lot since you met him all those years ago. He still hasn’t quite grown into his ears, and he still has the scrawny gangly quality that all early adolescents have in their limbs. But you suppose he’s objectively cute, and not a bad face to kiss for your first.

When you get close enough, you let your eyelids close and you tilt your head just slightly in anticipation. Taehyung meets you halfway, and you feel your heart hammering against your chest as soft, gentle lips press lightly to your own.

You’re expecting a quick peck, for it to happen and then be over. What you’re not expecting is for Taehyung’s hand to reach up and cup your cheek when he senses you trying to pull away, thumb grazing over your skin as you allow yourself to sink into him just a little more.

After a few seconds, Taehyung drops his hand from your jawline and you slowly pull apart. You instinctively run your tongue along your lower lip before nibbling on it slightly, too shy to look at Taehyung in the eye as he scratches the back of his head.

After a thick silence, full of something you can’t quite explain, Taehyung clears his throat.

“So, uh,” he begins, his voice cracking just slightly at the end. “Was it okay?”

You finally look at him, his eyes warm but also apprehensive. You can tell by the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch, and he curls inward as if to make himself smaller. You hate when he does that.

“It was perfect,” you say honestly, sending him the tiniest of smiles, if only so that his worried frown would go away. “Thank you, Tae. Really.”

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, no problem. Hey, look, I have to head back home, I promised my parents I’d help with some stuff on the farm tonight. So I’ll see you at school on Monday?”

You watch dumbly as Taehyung is already up and off your bed, straightening out his clothes before making a beeline for your bedroom door. You barely have the chance to say a proper goodbye before he makes himself scarce, slipping out of your room, barreling down the stairs, and out the front door.

Your hand rests upon the warm indent of where Taehyung had just been sitting moments before, and you furrow your eyebrows in an attempt to understand what just happened. You were the one that asked him if the two of you could kiss, so why do you feel so weird about it now? Why did Taehyung touch you like that, like he really wanted you to be in his arms?

You raise your fingertips to softly run along the edge of your lower lip as you replay the kiss in your mind. A thought threatens to weasel its way into your consciousness, but you shove it down and pretend as if the butterflies in your stomach are only a result of being kissed for the first time. You tell yourself it isn’t because of Kim Taehyung, and that you’ll see him at school on Monday and everything will go back to how it was.

Although, you find it harder and harder to keep those thoughts at bay when you discover the paper crane folded in your locker with a small, single heart etched onto one of the wings.

—

You’re seventeen when everything changes.

You and Taehyung pretend the kiss never happened. You never talk about it after, and part of you wonders if Taehyung wants to talk, but is just too shy or nervous to say anything. Either way, as soon as high school starts, there’s no time to think about such silly things as a preteen kiss.

Everything feels the same, but also different. Your friends start to worry about things like popularity, something that wasn’t that big of a deal just a few years ago. Friend groups split up and people move on to different cliques, girls start wearing tighter clothes and the hallway by the boy’s locker room always smells like cheap body spray.

The one constant in your life, though, is Taehyung.

The two of you share a good number of classes together, and you still walk to school side by side every day. You always sit together at lunch in the cafeteria, and are always speaking in stupid inside jokes that make your other friends roll their eyes at you. You know there are rumours about you and Taehyung, but both of you constantly squash them down.

But it does’t help that neither of you have dated over the past four years since entering proper adolescence. You both just tell people that you don’t have the time, or that you just haven’t met anyone worth being with. And besides, you’re happy with how things are. Why would you want them to change?

You’re best friends, and you always will be. That’s all.

You’re in your senior year and it’s right around the time that everyone is receiving their admission packages for university. You had worked really hard the year previous to get good grades, and you just hope and pray that it’s enough to warrant an acceptance to your dream school.

When your mother hands you a thick, large envelope with the university’s header in the upper corner, you practically rip it from her hands and tear into it right in front of her. Happy tears blur your vision as you squeal upon reading the first line.

Dear Y/N,

We are pleased to offer you early admission to Seoul National University…

The first person that you want to tell is Taehyung.

You grab your heavy winter coat, tug on your boots and mittens, and run as fast as you can down the street towards the Kim’s farm. It had snowed the night before, so it takes you a little longer than usual as your boots crunch through the freshly fallen tufts of white. Because Taehyung’s area is a little more rural, the plows have a harder time getting there to clear everything away. But you pay no mind, overjoyed at the news you can’t wait to share.

When you get to the house, you knock on the door before peering into the side window. You wave at Taehyung as he comes down the stairs, a look of surprise on his face at your sudden appearance.

“Hey,” he greets, opening the door for you. You step inside and he offers to take your coat. He’s grown tall, you realize, as he easily moves around you to hang your things in the hall closet before ushering you further into the warmth of his house.

“Are your parents home?” You query, poking your head around the corner into the empty living room.

“No, they had to go run some errands,” Taehyung shrugs. “Winter’s pretty slow for us here, anyway.” He leads you upstairs to his room, a place where you’ve been thousands of times, and he plops down on his bed as you take a seat next to him. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You try to ignore how Taehyung man-spreads across his duvet, and how thick his thighs have become since he started working out with that sophomore friend of his, Jungkook.

Finally, you blurt out with the biggest smile across your face, “I got in.”

Taehyung immediately sits up, pin-straight. “You did?”

Your smile somehow gets wider as pride and joy spread across his face. “I did.”

“Y/N!” He beams, jumping up and gathering you in his arms. “That’s amazing! You did it! I’m so fucking proud of you!”

You wrap your arms around his neck as his find your waist and you bask in the feeling of being held by your best friend. He’s always been so warm, and on a cold day like today, you welcome his embrace and his love for you.

Finally, you remember to stop thinking of yourself for five seconds and ask, “What about you?”

Taehyung suddenly goes still, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. “I…I’m not going.”

You pull away and look up at him. He’s dejected, eyes downcast and his face angled away from you as if he thinks you’ll be disappointed in him. You’re not, though. You never could be.

Sighing and running your hands along his shoulders in comfort, you say, “I’m sorry, Tae. I’m sure you got offers from other schools though, yeah? You worked just as hard as I did last year to get your grades up.”

“It’s not that,” Taehyung sighs, a crease forming between his brows. “I got in.”

You’re officially confused, taking a step back to purposely put yourself in his line of vision. “You got in? So what do you mean you’re not going? I thought the plan was that we were going to go to Seoul National University together.”

Taehyung exhales hard through his nose and scrunches his face, his eyes closing. It’s the face he gets when he’s overwhelmed with stress, unsure of how to articulate his words. You wait for him to be ready, smoothing out the collar of his sweater to keep yourself occupied. His hands grip tighter on your waist, and it takes you a second to realize that he’s still holding you.

“My parents need help with the farm,” he says quietly. “I declined my offer of admission.”

At those words, your heart breaks and your mind starts to race. Every thought you have at first is selfish—what will you do without Taehyung? The two of you have spent over a decade together, seeing each other damn near every day. Will your friendship survive the distance between Daegu and Seoul? The plan was to always stick together, to experience college milestones side by side.

You force yourself to push those thoughts aside so that you can focus on Taehyung. You know that SNU is his dream school, too. And not only did he get in, but he had to turn them down. You know that it wasn’t an easy decision for him to make, but he’s always been selfless like that—he’s always put you first and taken care of you, so it’s no surprise that he would do the same for his blood family.

“But it’s not forever, yeah?” You ask gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. “I’m sure that since you got in already, they can hold your admission until you’re ready.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he nods, but you can tell that he’s done talking about it. He doesn’t want to think of a reality where he’s stuck on his parents’ strawberry farm laying down fertilizer while you’re off in the big city making new friends and having new experiences. You see it in his eyes when he finally meets yours. He’s scared. Terrified of a future without you.

Always able to read his mind, you pull him in for another hug, nuzzling into his neck as you murmur, “You’re my best friend, Tae-Tae. Just because we won’t live down the street from each other anymore doesn’t mean I’m just going to forget about you.”

His inhale is shaky, and it takes all of your willpower not to cry, too. “Promise?”

You don’t know what possesses you, but you rise to your tip toes and press a soft kiss against his cheek. He whips his head to face you with wide eyes, but you just send him a tiny smile and reply, “I promise.”

The rest of senior year, you and Taehyung are practically inseparable—even more so than before. You find out that Chaeyoung also got into SNU, and the two of you manage to work it out so that you two can be roommates when you move into the dorms. You find solace that you at least won’t be completely alone in a different city, though your heart still hurts at the thought of Taehyung missing out on his opportunity.

The two of you spend as much time together as possible, almost as if the clock is ticking down on your friendship with your imminent move coming up. Summer is full of laughter and long nights by the river, reminiscing about simpler times when you were kids. When things didn’t seem so complicated, and distance was never an issue.

Your moving day rolls around faster than you could have ever anticipated. You’ve loaded the last of your things into the back of your parents’ van when you see Taehyung jogging down the street towards your house.

You’d texted him earlier that morning to let him know that you were leaving soon. Of course, he’d known that it was going to be today, but he still wanted to make sure he got to say goodbye to you before you drove to Seoul and out of his life.

When he reaches you, his eyes are misty and red and you’re sure you look just like him. It feels like the end of a chapter, like a pivotal moment where you’re stepping away from your childhood and moving into life as an adult.

Taehyung stops at your feet and just stares at you for a second, his eyes darting all over your face. You look up at him, doing the same, until a tear slips from the corner of your eye and then suddenly you’re sobbing into his chest and he’s holding you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re going to do great,” he promises, rubbing small circles on your back. “You’re going to make so many new friends, because it’s impossible for people not to love you. You’re going to become the city girl that I know you’ve always dreamed of being, and you’re going to make Seoul your bitch.”

You laugh at the last comment, pulling away to look at him again. “Thank you, Tae,” you hiccup.

He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you’ll call and FaceTime me all the time, right?”

You sniffle, giving a nod. “Of course.”

Taehyung reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Promise?”

You exhale shakily, but meet his gaze head-on. “I promise.”

He looks down and something in his line of vision glints. He notices the charm bracelet on your wrist, and he can’t help but chuckle. “I can’t believe you still have that.”

“Of course I still have it,” you say with the tiniest hint of a smile. “It reminds me of you.”

You hear your mother calling you from the passenger’s seat of the van, ushering you that it’s a long drive and you need to leave now.

Taehyung clears his throat a few times, trying to be strong for the both of you. He takes your hands and presses something into your palm, and from the feel of it, you already know what it is. The paper crane in your hand makes you cry more, and Taehyung presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Go on, Y/N. Go find your future.”

Your lower lip trembles as you speak. “I don’t want to leave you.”

This time, when he smiles, the warmth is back in his eyes. “You’re not,” he swears. “We’re best friends, remember? Wherever you go, I won’t be far behind. Just wait for me, okay?”

You promise him again, because how could you not?

“Okay.”

Once you’re in the car, you put your headphones on and select the playlist that Taehyung made you of all his favourite songs. It reminds you of him, anchors your heart in Daegu, where he remains on his parents’ farm until it’s his turn to pursue his dreams. You look at the crane that you hold like a precious gem in your palms, and the tears start welling up again as you read the message written on one of the wings.

“Don’t forget about me while you’re off at university. I know you’ll do great things.”

—

You’re nineteen when you meet Park Jinyoung.

You notice him immediately when you walk into one of your tutorials—an elective on music history that you take because you’ve heard that the professor gives great lectures.

Also, because Taehyung was the one who introduced music to you all those years ago, and you’ve grown to love it too. He also loves hearing about what you’ve learned in lecture when you do get the chance to talk, which, as the years go on, becomes less and less.

It’s no one’s fault, really. Distance makes things hard, as do the responsibilities that come along with being a university student. You have paper after paper due, and Taehyung tells you that he doesn’t want to bother you when you’re in the middle of your studies. Your schedules also just don’t align, with him still helping on the farm and having to be up at the crack of dawn and going to bed early, and with you opting for afternoon and evening classes so that you can get a little more shut eye to start your day.

He still mails you paper cranes every now and then. Not as often as he used to, but it still makes you smile when you get to add another one to your growing collection. You must have close to five or six hundred by now, and you’ve had to start a second shoebox to make sure everything fits.

But Park Jinyoung is different. And he’s here.

For one, he looks like a Disney prince. Like someone had pulled him from a designer fashion catalogue and plopped him in the middle of your tutorial. You’re nearly late, so the only remaining seat is next to him. He smiles shyly at you when you sit down, and you try to hide the blush dusting your cheeks behind the length of your hair.

You dig into your bag for your laptop and flip it open as your TA walks into the room, prepared to take notes. But then you check the battery on your computer and notice that there is definitely not enough of a charge to keep it alive for the duration of your class.

Cursing yourself for not charging it overnight, you notice that the man sitting beside you has the same model. You muster up all your courage, turn to him and ask, “I’m really sorry about this, and I’m usually not this unprepared, but do you happen to have a laptop charger I can borrow? We have the same one, so I figured—”

He smiles at you and your stomach does flips. “Of course.” He pulls the charger from his backpack and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it and plug in your computer. “I’m Jinyoung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you introduce, shaking his offered hand.

“You know,” he says after a beat, a drawl in his voice that has a tiny hint of mischief in it. “Letting you borrow my charger is a pretty big favour, considering that we’re basically strangers. I think I might need some kind of repayment.”

You raise an eyebrow at him curiously. “Oh? Like what?”

“A cup of coffee,” he states. “After class?”

There’s no use in hiding your blush now. You smile, biting your lip. “I can do that.”

It doesn’t take long for Park Jinyoung to become your boyfriend. You and Chaeyoung move into the off-campus apartments after your freshman year, and it turns out that Jinyoung lives in the building next to yours. He’s as sweet as they come, the perfect, doting partner, someone that loves you and isn’t shy about it, either.

He holds your hand in public, guides you by the small of your back through large crowds, brings you flowers just because he feels like it, and proudly shows you off to his friends when you’ve hit the six month mark of your relationship.

His only thing is that he thinks the charm bracelet you’re wearing is weird. So he asks you to take it off. And so you do, and sits in your jewelry box, pretty much forgotten.

Things are good. Really, really good.

But of course, life always likes to throw curve balls your way.

One afternoon, you’re sitting on the couch with Jinyoung in his apartment, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you watch some true crime documentary on Netflix after an early dinner. It’s just starting to get good when your phone rings on the coffee table, the loud buzzing startling you as you take a look at the screen.

You pick up and in a confused tone, answer with, “Mom?”

“Hi, sweetie,” she replies, sounding tired.

You sit up straight, suddenly on high alert. Your mother doesn’t really like phone calls, much prefers texts for some reason (she’s partial to emojis, and you almost regret downloading the keyboard onto her phone), so the fact that she’s calling at all is unusual.

“Is everything okay?”

She’s quiet for a second, and you can hear your pulse in your ears. Jinyoung pauses the movie and adjusts how he’s sitting so that he can fully face you. He gives you a curious look but you just shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Finally, your mother sighs and says, “Taehyung’s grandmother passed away two nights ago.”

You suddenly feel cold all over. Why are you only hearing about this now, from your mom of all people? Why hadn’t Taehyung told you himself? You try to think of the last time you spoke to him, and you realize that it’s been months. Ever since you and Jinyoung started dating, you’ve completely neglected him. And the realization that you promised you wouldn’t starts to weigh on you, and you’re crying before you know what’s happening.

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow,” she responds. You immediately stand up and swipe at your eyes, grabbing your coat from the front hall of Jinyoung’s apartment. He rises to his feet and pads after you, confusion plain as day on his face.

“I’m getting on the next bus,” you say. “See you soon.”

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” Jinyoung asks in a minor panic as you grab your things and already have a hand on the doorknob.

“Family emergency,” you say, already weary. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for class on Monday.” You rise to your tip toes and press a lingering kiss to his lips, to reassure him more than anything that you’re going to be okay. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he murmurs against your mouth, stealing another peck. “Text me when you get to your parents’ house, okay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

You manage to catch a late bus to Daegu, and you make it home just before midnight. You text Taehyung to let him know you’re coming home, and you just get a heart emoji in response. You know how close Taehyung and his grandmother were. She practically raised him while his parents were busy making ends meet. She was always so kind and so warm, a precious soul who treated you like you were also her grandchild. She used to braid your hair and make you flower crowns when you were small, and the world is a little less bright without her.

It feels weird being back home. Since Seoul is so far, you don’t get to visit as often as you’d like. You really only make it home for the holidays, and even then, you don’t stay very long. But now that you’re here, everything seems so small. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and it’s just not like that in the city. Everyone there is too busy focusing on achieving the next goal to worry about the trivialities of others. There it’s so loud, with cars and buses and drunken college students in the streets every weekend.

Here, it’s quiet. And in your neighbourhood too, it’s dark. Living on the border between rural farmland and suburbia means that there aren’t as many street lights to illuminate the roads. You haul your overnight bag over your shoulder and make your way up the driveway to your front door.

Your mom is there before you can even knock, pulling you into her arms in a tight hug. You can tell she’s been crying. Taehyung’s family is your family too, after all.

“You must be exhausted,” she says, kissing your crown. “Why don’t you wash up and get some rest?”

You can’t help but agree, your back stiff from sitting on a coach bus for three and a half hours. But once you’re all settled into your old room and lying in your childhood bed, you find yourself unable to fall asleep. You toss and turn for about fifteen minutes before you rest flat on your back and sigh loudly.

Turning your head, you see the framed photo of you and Taehyung from his birthday the year you turned eight. It was winter wonderland themed, and you and the other kids were allowed to make snow forts in the big field behind their house. The photo was of you and Taehyung cheek-to-cheek with rosy cheeks and noses from playing in the snow. It makes your heart ache thinking of the pain he must be in. So you send him a text.

[Sent 12:31am] Y/N: Hey. Can I call?

[Received 12:33am] Tae-Tae: Ok.

You tap the phone icon beside his name and wait as it rings. Taehyung picks up almost immediately, but he’s quiet on the other end.

You take the opportunity to speak first. “Hi.”

After a second, Taehyung responds, voice heavy with melancholy. “Hey.” He lets out a derisive laugh with no joy behind it whatsoever. “It’s good to hear your voice again. I was starting to think you forgot all about me.”

You don’t know how to address your absence in his life, and you don’t think you’re ready right this second to tell him about Jinyoung. So you deflect.

“How are you holding up, Tae-Tae?”

He’s quiet again, and you hate it when he gets like this. When he doesn’t know what to say, or how to process what he’s feeling aside from crushing despair, so he just stays quiet because he knows how much you hate to see or hear him cry.

Finally, he croaks out, “I’m not.”

You feel a tear slide from the corner of your eye down your cheek as you sit up in bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He laughs again, hollow and empty. “What would be the point? She’s gone.”

“Tae…”

“I’m really sorry,” he cuts you off. “But I just…” He sighs hard on the other line and you play with a loose thread on your comforter as you wait for him to be ready. “Is it okay if we talk tomorrow? I just…have some stuff I want to say that I can’t do over the phone.”

You bite your lip, exhaustion just now beginning to settle into your bones. “Y-Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Okay,” he repeats, more to himself than anything. There’s another long stretch of silence, and then quietly, he adds, “I miss you.”

Miss. Not past tense. Present tense. His choice of words doesn’t escape your notice, and guilt starts to weigh heavily on you. Taehyung is supposed to be your best friend in the whole world, the person you’d spent every day with from ages six to seventeen. You love him, and he loves you, and you’re supposed to tell each other everything.

So why is it that he couldn’t tell you about his grandmother? And why is it that you feel like you can’t talk to him right now?

You realize you’ve gone quiet on your end and respond, “I miss you too, Tae. Try to get some rest, alright? I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

He takes in a shaky breath and lets it out slow. “Okay. Goodnight.”

And then he hangs up.

The funeral takes place on a dreary Saturday. It isn’t raining, but it’s overcast. Taehyung stands with his family as he grips his mother’s hand. You stand with your own at their side, though you can’t quite see Taehyung when he’s flanked by both his parents. You hear him though, the quiet words of encouragement he sends to his mom, his voice thick as he works through the tightening of this throat to offer her comfort.

Other people in the neighbourhood, aside from just Taehyung’s family, also show up for the funeral. His grandmother was loved by many, and it at least warms your heart to know that she lived a long, happy life.

After the burial is over, Taehyung’s family hosts a reception at their home. You smooth out the fabric of your black dress after one of Taehyung’s cousins offers to take your coat. Gazing into the living room that is packed with friends and family, you try to spot Taehyung, but can’t seem to find him.

You wonder if maybe he’s in his room, just wanting to be away from all the noise for a second. You know that he wants to talk to you, to tell you something. But you can’t help but be a little worried, especially after how he’d ended the call last night. You know he’s hurting, and all you want to do is help.

So you slip past the crowd huddled around the refreshment table and tiptoe upstairs and down the hall, towards his bedroom.

You notice his door is slightly ajar, and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. You knock gently so as not to startle him, and he turns to look at you before rising to his feet.

He’s taller now, you notice. Broader too. He’s grown into his ears, his hair getting long with his fringe obscuring his eyes. His heart-shaped lips are pressed tightly together in a worried frown, and there’s a crease forming between his brows that you want to smooth out with the pad of your thumb. He looks…handsome. Different, but he’s still Taehyung. Your Taehyung.

You hate how breathless you sound as you say, “Hi.”

Taehyung doesn’t move at first. He just looks at you, eyes darting all over your face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You can’t stand the thick tension that settles between the two of you, so you boldly stride over to him and loop your arms around his middle, burying your face in his chest. He stiffens at your touch, but after a second, you finally feel him embrace you back.

You squeeze him a little tighter and that’s when the dam breaks.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, leaning his weight on you as you feel tears hitting your shoulder. You rub small circles against his back as he cries, his body wracked with sobs. You guide him back towards the bed and help him sit once his breathing evens out, and you fetch him some tissues from his desk so that he can blow his nose.

You sit beside him, still rubbing his back with your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t really make any move to touch you or hold your hand like he used to when you were kids and one of you was having a hard time. The thought of it makes your heart sink. Have you two really grown so far apart?

The silence is long and awkward. Something you’re not used to with Taehyung. But you suppose, it’s been two years since you’ve properly seen him in person. Even when you’d come home for winter break, things with your family are always so hectic that you never really get to see anyone outside of your extended relatives before you have to go back to school. There are so many things that are different now. You aren’t children and life stops for no one.

“How’s Jinyoung?”

You whip your head to face him, eyes wide. You never told Taehyung about him. Not for any particular reason, it just…never came up.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat. “How did you—”

“Your tagged photos on Instagram,” he replies quietly, staring at the floor. “I saw it last night before you called. And,” he notes, gesturing to your bare wrist. “You’re not wearing your bracelet anymore.”

Your hand immediately stills.

“Why didn’t…” He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. You move your hand away from his back, settling it into your lap to nervously fiddle with your fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

You search for words, but come up short. “I…”

“You what?” Taehyung spits. “You get your first boyfriend, and then what? I don’t exist anymore?”

It’s your turn to sigh. “Taehyung, you’re not being fair.”

“No, you know what, fuck that,” he seethes, getting up from the bed so that he can pace back and forth in front of you. You look up at him helplessly, wringing your wrists as he fists at his hair. “You promised me, Y/N. You fucking promised.”

You’ve made so many promises to Taehyung in the past that your brain short circuits trying to figure out which one he means. Frustrated, you challenge, “Promised what?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your parted lips. Taehyung stops, his hands now hanging limply at his sides. His hair is a disheveled mess, and you swear you catch a glimpse of a falling tear as the light catches it on its way to the ground. When he answers, it’s barely above a whisper.

“That you’d wait for me.”

You feel your heart fall into your stomach, and you stand up, reaching for him. “Tae, I—”

He moves away from you, and you retract your hand as if you’d been burned. He reaches for something on his desk, and you can’t help the shaky exhale that leaves your lungs when you see that it’s another paper crane. This time, it’s made with black paper, and you can see the inscription done with silver ink.

“Here,” he mumbles, holding it out for you to take. “I made it for you yesterday when my mom told me you’d be coming back.”

You accept it, because how could you not? Wave after wave of guilt washes over you. It shouldn’t feel like this, you think, with Taehyung. This is your best friend in the whole world, the one you share everything with. Guilt isn’t something you should feel for having met someone, for accepting love from someone else. It isn’t fair that he’s making you feel guilty for being happy. For living your life. Nothing about anything makes sense anymore, and when you look back up, Taehyung is already halfway out the door.

“Tae,” you call out one last time. He turns, and his face doesn’t suit the sadness that mars it. You don’t know what to say, so you settle on, “I’m really sorry.”

He offers you a solemn half nod. “Thank you for coming. Grandma would have been happy to see you.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the solitude of his empty bedroom.

You look down at the paper crane, heavy in your palms. You read the words etched onto the wing and it makes you hate yourself just a little bit more.

“Thank you for not forgetting about me.”

You allow yourself just one minute to cry. One minute to face the fact that you feel like you’re losing the most important person in your life, and you don’t know what to do to fix things. You let yourself break down from the sadness of being all alone in a house that used to feel like an extension of your home. But now…it’s just a house. It’s just a house in a small town that has nothing left for you.

So after your sixty seconds are up, you muster up all your energy and do the only thing you can.

You go back to Seoul.

—

You’re twenty when the shift happens.

It’s also when things start to fall apart.

You haven’t spoken to Taehyung since his grandmother’s funeral. It’s been months. Your birthday came and went without a text from him, and it was the first time you cried yourself to sleep since you were in high school.

You feel like a piece of your soul has been ripped from your body. And what’s worse is that you know that if you were to give Taehyung a call, he would answer. Regardless of whatever fight you two are having, no matter how angry or frustrated or confused you are with how you feel, you know that if you need him, he will be there for you no matter what.

But you don’t call.

Because you’re scared.

Scared of what, you aren’t entirely sure. But after returning to Seoul from Daegu, something changed. You’d started isolating yourself more, focusing only on school and not spending time with any of your other friends or going out like you used to.

Jinyoung notices as well—notices that you don’t invite him over as often as you used to, that he needs to coax affection from you when you used to give it so openly. He definitely notices when you fake an orgasm just to be done with sex. Your mind has just been so preoccupied, and part of you had believed that being intimate with your boyfriend would snap you out of it.

But the entire time, your mind is elsewhere. And you don’t know how to ask him to stop, so you squeeze down on him and moan like you know he wants to hear, arching your back off the bed just so that he’ll hurry up and get off of you.

Once he’s finished, Jinyoung rolls back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Your room is dead silent, save for the sound of the both of you catching your breaths. You take your blanket and tug it up so that it’s covering your nose and mouth, hoping that he won’t notice your obvious discomfort at just lying in bed beside him.

Jinyoung exhales hard through his nose. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

You bite your bottom lip so hard, you’re sure you’ve broken skin. “Nothing’s on my mind.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jinyoung remarks, sitting up and running a hand through his dark hair. He leans his elbows against his bent knees and stares off into the distance. “I know you’re in love with someone else.”

His remark shocks you so much that you sit up and scoot away from him, sheets clutched tight to your body. “What are you talking about?”

Jinyoung observes your body language and snorts, but it’s not one full of mirth. It sounds sad, like he’s finally coming to terms with something he’s been wrestling with for months.

“Even now,” he notes, lightly gesturing to your posture. “I just told you that I know you’re in love with another man, and instead of reassuring me and telling me that I’m crazy, you’re hiding. You’re hiding because you know I’m right.”

Your mouth feels so dry. You try to squeak out, “Jinyoung, that’s not true, I just—”

“Don’t,” he says with a tone of finality to it. He reaches down and grabs his boxers first, then slips out of your bed to gather the rest of his clothes. “I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know you’re not happy. Fuck, I’m not happy. And that’s not what a relationship is supposed to be. It’s supposed to be two people in love, not one person in love and the other pining over some guy from back in Daegu.”

Your blood runs cold. “W-what did you say?”

He exhales slowly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. His face is scrunched in regret, as if he’s just revealed something he wasn’t supposed to know.

“When you came back from Daegu after you had that family emergency,” Jinyoung explains, “You seemed…different. Sadder. You wouldn’t talk to me about it, so I spoke to Chaeyoung. She told me about that friend of yours, Taehyung? The one who would always send you the paper cranes in the mail?” He chuckles derisively. “Best friends since age six. How am I supposed to compare to that?”

Your lower lip starts to tremble. By now, he’s fully dressed. “Jinyoung, you’re being unfair.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “I’m being unfair?” He scoffs. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. We’re supposed to be partners. If you’re having a hard time, you’re supposed to be able to come to me. I’m the one who has been here through everything, and yet I’m the one being tossed aside like I don’t matter.”

“But you do matter,” you insist, shifting to rise to your feet. Tears are blurring your vision now, but through the mist, you can see Jinyoung holding out a hand to stop you.

“I get it, you know,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “Really, I should have seen it coming. You used to talk about him all the time. Your friend from Daegu. You never told me his name because you wanted to protect me, right? Didn’t want me to know that you were only dating me so that you could get over him?”

You’re more confused than ever. “No, Jinyoung, that’s not it, you have it all wrong, I love you, I—”

“Please,” he cuts you off, voice strained. “Please just…let me talk, okay?”

You hiccup through a quiet sob as you hug your knees to your chest under the blanket. You nod. You can see in his eyes that he’s really hurting. And so if he needs to say his piece, you will let him. He deserves as much.

“I should have known right from the beginning when I found those boxes of paper cranes under your bed.”

Your heart stops dead in your chest and suddenly you’re furious. Wave after wave of confusion, anger, and betrayal wash over you as he continues to speak. Jinyoung was snooping around your things? Had he read all the messages that Taehyung had written for you over the years? Those were meant for the two of you only, not for anyone else.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your mind. You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to get out, to leave, to never speak to you again. But then you open your eyes, and you see him standing by your bedroom door, eyes full of tears, heartbreak weighing his shoulders. And that’s when you know that you can’t.

As much hurt as you feel right now being confronted in this way, you know that Jinyoung is hurting even more. You don’t know exactly how long ago he found the cranes—he may have mentioned it, but you still can’t properly focus. You just know that the two of you aren’t meant to be. Maybe you were when you first met, and the two of you really were happy for the year and a half that you dated. But the space between you, both physical and metaphorical, is too great of a gap to conquer. And at this point, you don’t even know if you want to try.

And it’s the uncertainty that Jinyoung reads on your face clear as day.

“I’m going to go,” he says, placing a hand on the doorknob to your bedroom. “But we had a good run, yeah?”

A tear slips from your eye and rolls down your cheek. “The best.”

He shoots you a half smile before shoving his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Lock up after me, okay?”

You don’t shift to rise from the bed, but agree anyway. “Okay.”

And then you’re alone.

You slide your clothes back on, a simple tank top with an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You make sure the front door to your apartment is locked, your fingers lightly grazing over the door handle where Jinyoung had been not moments earlier.

It’s hard to breathe in the silence. You feel your lungs starting to constrict, and then the tears start pouring out. You slide to the ground, back against the door as you cry into your sleeves. It takes you a minute to gather the strength to get up in search of your phone, but all you know is that right now, you’re not okay. Right now, you can’t be by yourself.

You’re dialling the number by muscle memory alone before pressing the device up to your ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. And then—

“Y/N?”

His voice floods your ears and you let out a sigh of relief as it washes over you. It’s just your name, but when he says it, it sounds like music. You’ve missed his deep baritone so much over the past year that as soon as he speaks, you immediately break down again.

“Tae, I…I…”

“Where are you?” He immediately asks. You hear him shuffling, and the sound of car keys. “Are you at home?”

You sniffle, trying to calm your breathing. “Y-yeah.”

“Okay,” he says gently, and your heart clenches. You really don’t deserve a best friend like him. “I’m on my way.”

He hangs up before you get a chance to argue. You text him your address just in case he’s lost it, although you know that he probably knows it off by heart by now. You know that Taehyung is driving all the way from Daegu, so you curl up on the couch and decide to watch a movie to distract yourself while you wait. The movie plays, some chilling true crime documentary, and you jump slightly when you hear a knock on your front door.

Turning off the television, you scramble over and peer through the peephole.

It’s him.

You throw the door open and you’re breathless, looking up into the molten brown eyes that you hadn’t realized just how much you’ve missed. You just stare at him for a second, eyes searching his face, his brows furrowed in concern. He’s doing the same, taking you in, as if it’s the last time he’ll ever lay eyes upon you.

“Hi,” he says in a rush. You launch yourself into his arms at that, pressing your face to his chest and collapsing into a fit of sobs. Taehyung holds you steady, stronger arms than you remember leading you back into your apartment as he closes the door behind him with his foot.

He guides you to your couch and sits you down before you’re clinging to him again. You feel like an idiot for calling him and making him drive all the way down from Daegu just to comfort you through a break-up, but you suppose that’s the magic about Taehyung. You didn’t even have to ask, didn’t have to say anything other than his name and he was already on his way over.

Taehyung’s arm pulls you closer to his side, and you end up halfway in his lap with your head resting on his shoulder. Your nose brushes against the crook of his neck, and he stiffens for just a second before relaxing once more. He smells like cedar wood and cypress, a comforting smell that fills you with nostalgia.

After a few seconds, you squeak out, “I’m sorry, Tae-Tae.”

He glances down at you, and you can’t help but notice how close his face is to yours. “For what?”

“Making you come all the way here,” you say, moving away from him to give yourself a little distance. The rush of emotions filling you is too confusing—you blame it on the fact that you haven’t seen your best friend in about a year, and not the fact that he’s even broader and more chiseled than the last time you saw him.

Jinyoung’s words echo through your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut. You were just dumped by your boyfriend of over a year, how are you already thinking about someone else? You feel so conflicted, because you don’t want Jinyoung to be right. You don’t want to admit that somewhere deep down, over the course of your lives together, you started feeling something for Taehyung.

Who else would drive all the way down from Daegu to Seoul just to comfort you because he knew you couldn’t be alone? Who else would set aside whatever hurt he felt over the fight you had that made you not speak for a year, just to be by your side at this very moment? Who else does any of the things that Taehyung has ever done for you?

Your chest feels warm, and you know that Taehyung is watching you carefully. His arm is still around your shoulders, but it’s loose, and leaning more on the material of the couch than your body.

He fiddles for a second with the material of your sweater’s hood before letting out the tiniest chuckle through his nose. You turn to face him curiously, and his eyes are distant with thought.

When he notices you watching, he gestures to your clothes. “That’s my hoodie. I was wondering what happened to it.”

You look down at your sweater and swallow past the dryness in your throat. It is Taehyung’s, you realize. You had swiped it from his closet before leaving Daegu. It was your favourite hoodie of his, one that he always let you wear, even though it was his favourite as well. He always said it suited you better, so he just let you get away with it. You had brought it with you to Seoul so that you could bring a little piece of him with you, a small comfort in a difficult time of transition. You’d worn it so many times over the past few years that you forgot it was even his.

Taehyung looks around. “Is Chaeyoung home?”

You shake your head, using the sleeves to dry your eyes. “She’s at her boyfriend’s place tonight. Jinyoung was over, and…”

The implication is there, and you see hurt flash over Taehyung’s expression for just a fraction of a second. It’s there and gone so quick that you’re unsure if you actually saw it or not. You bring your knees to your chest and make yourself small on the couch. Taehyung notices and scoots closer, hand resting directly upon your shoulder as he brings you back into his warmth.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “You can talk to me.”

And so you do. You tell him about what happened with Jinyoung, leaving just a few details out. You tell him about how you knew that it was over with Jinyoung a long time ago, but just didn’t have the courage to end things. You tell him how much it hurt to realize you had fallen out of love with him when it was clear that he was still in love with you. He talks you through your breakup, lets you know that you’re an amazing person and the right guy will come along one day and sweep you off your feet in the way that you deserve. That you’ll be loved unconditionally, and that when it’s the right person, you’ll just know.

You look up at him then, and a silent moment passes between the two of you. Taehyung’s lips part gently, and you swear he’s getting closer. You feel drawn to him, like the pull of a magnet, but you know that this isn’t right. Jinyoung left only a few hours ago. And while you can’t ignore the way your heart hammers in your chest, you know that you can’t. Not right now.

“I’m tired,” you whisper before he can get any closer. “I think I need to go to sleep.”

Taehyung gives a quiet nod, but doesn’t look away from you for a second. You swallow, and decide to let yourself be selfish one more time.

“Come with me?”

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice. You take him by the hand and lead him to your room, shuffling through your belongings to see if you have anything big enough for him to wear to bed. He’s already in a loose shirt, but his jeans pose more of an issue. You see a pair of Jinyoung’s sweats in one of your drawers, but the thought of giving those to Taehyung seems disrespectful to both of them.

“Hold on,” you say, before darting out of the room and towards Chaeyoung’s down the hall. Her boyfriend, Namjoon, is pretty tall and you know he’s left some clothes here before. You find a pair of pyjama pants in her closet and rush back to give them to Taehyung.

After he changes, the two of you slip under the covers. It isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed together, but it’s the first time you’ve done so as adults. Taehyung turns to face you, and you do the same. You feel a tear slip from your eye, and Taehyung lifts his hand to brush it away with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, voice deep and gentle.

“I don’t know,” you admit, scooting a little closer. “I missed you, Tae.”

He offers you a smile. “I missed you too, Y/N.” His hand moves from your face to rest along your waist, and you bite at your bottom lip to prevent any unwarranted sounds from escaping at his touch. But you don’t shy away from him either, letting him touch you, letting yourself be held by someone you care so much about and who you know just wants to protect you and keep you safe. “Get some sleep, yeah? We can go for pancakes in the morning.”

You smile at that, an ear to ear grin that has Taehyung smiling in turn. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promises. He leans in and brushes a soft, barely-there kiss to your forehead, and you’re glad it’s dark in your room so he can’t see the blush that paints your cheeks. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Tae-Tae.”

You wake up the next morning feeling more rested than you have in ages. You move to sit up but realize that you can’t budge. You glance over to your side and see Taehyung fast asleep, his dark hair mussed and his cheeks puffy. He’s got a leg slung over yours and his arms hug your back to his chest, and he’s snoring just slightly as day breaks through your window.

You can’t help but smile and allow yourself to sink back into his grasp for just a few more minutes.

Finally, the two of you get up and head over to your favourite hole in the wall diner for breakfast. Taehyung’s only been to Seoul a few times, so it’s a big deal for him to be in the city. He looks at everything with wide eyes and an even wider smile as you walk down the busy streets. You know that he wants to be here, wants to live an exciting life in the city with you nearby. You want that, too. You always have.

You get to the diner and you both order short stacks with way too many sugary add-ons. You’re digging into your breakfast when Taehyung says, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I have a surprise.”

You crinkle your nose at the sight of him chewing with his mouth open. “Gross, Tae. What is it?”

He swallows with a roll of his eyes to get you to quit nagging, and it warms you to see that nothing has changed between the two of you. Finally, he announces, “I’m moving to Seoul.”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“My parents don’t need my help on the farm anymore,” he declares, and you can see that he’s practically vibrating with excitement. “I contacted the dean of admissions at SNU. You were right, they held onto my admission offer until I was ready. I’m moving here and starting work on my degree.”

After your brain finally processes the information, you lay your utensils down and slip into the opposite side of the booth where he’s sitting and hug him close.

“You’re moving here?”

“I’m moving here,” he affirms. And you feel your heart soar. The world is shifting, and you can’t help but feel like things are starting to move into place.

The two of you catch up over the rest of breakfast, and you offer to help Taehyung look for apartments while he’s here. He tells you that he still has to get back to Daegu, and that his parents are probably going to be worried if he doesn’t return soon. You promise to keep an eye out for listings for him anyway, and you can tell he’s just as excited to be getting out of Daegu as you were. Probably even more so, since he’s been trapped there even longer.

When he leaves, it’s with a bear hug and a promise to keep in touch, for real, this time. You both swear that you’ll never let anything like that tear your friendship apart again, and you tell him that you’ll count down the days until he moves to Seoul.

You get back to your apartment, and you feel lighter. Happy. You think to yourself that you should be sadder, more melancholy over your breakup, especially since you did love Jinyoung and the two of you were together for a long time. But as you tidy up your apartment a little before Chaeyoung comes home, your mind begins to wander.

You start to ask yourself if you were only with Jinyoung as a distraction, if he was right in that you were only using him to forget about someone else. And then once the distraction wasn’t working anymore, you stopped trying to pretend. You run a hand through your hair, wincing at the thought. You hope Jinyoung finds someone who will love him the way he deserves to be loved. He’s a good person, and he deserves a happy future with someone who will cherish him.

Once the common area is clean, you shuffle back into your room only to spot something on you desk. You let out the tiniest laugh at the sight. It’s a paper crane, made out of some scrap paper that Taehyung had no doubt found on your desk. You pick it up and look at the message written on the wing, something you haven’t done in over a year.

It’s longer than the other notes you’ve gotten from him, spanning over both wings, but then you realize that it’s a quote. You’ve heard him say it before, in quiet, contemplative moments. It brings a smile to your face as your eyes dance over the neat penmanship.

“Close friends are truly life’s treasures. Sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves. With gentle honesty, they are there to guide and support us, to share our laughter and our tears. Their presence reminds us that we are never really alone.”

You chuckle to yourself before carefully pressing the crane flat and holding it close to your heart. Taehyung always did love quoting Van Gogh.

—

You’re twenty-one when you realize you’re in love with your best friend.

With Taehyung living in Seoul, it’s like nothing ever changed between the two of you. You hang out nearly every day, sleeping over at each other’s apartments a few times a week when it’s too late to walk home and neither one of you feel like spending money on a cab. Seeing him happy and thriving in the city brings you more joy that you can express. He takes up darkroom photography as a hobby, and you love looking through his contact sheets to pick your favourite shots.

The two of you are closer than ever. It’s confusing, feeling this way about Taehyung. But you can’t ignore how your heart feels when he’s nearby, how you get nervous around him when he looks into your eyes for a second too long. You tell yourself it’s nothing when you wake up with his arms around you, holding you like you’re lovers, and remind yourself that you’re just friends when he presses kisses to your forehead when you say you have a headache.

You may have been using that excuse a little more liberally than necessary in the recent past.

You’re in love with Taehyung. And admitting that to yourself is easier than you realize. It’s the fear of the unknown, of the possibility of rejection upon confession that has you waiting for the right moment to tell him.

Because how could you not? You two have never kept secrets from one another before, and you know that even if he doesn’t love you like you hope he does, you’ll find a way to work past it. You would rather tell him the truth and hurt for a little if he doesn’t reciprocate, than never tell him and keep more secrets from your best friend.

It’s the end of the year already, and everyone around you is abuzz with talks of New Year’s celebrations. But around this time, you never really think about New Year’s, if you’re being honest. You care more about the fact that it’s Taehyung’s birthday, and that you finally get to celebrate it with him in Seoul after so many years.

You manage to gather up your friends to throw him a surprise party in your apartment, which is where they’re all hiding, now. You and Taehyung had gone shopping for his birthday, and you had plans to go for dinner and drinks later. You tell him that you have to drop off your bags at home first, since you don’t want to bring all your stuff to the bar, and he agrees.

You open the door to your apartment and immediately slap your hand over your face when you see that your polite house guests have all taken off their shoes and left them along the front hall. You chuckle and take Taehyung by the hand, who is also biting back a smile, and lead him to where you both know your friends are attempting to hide.

With a flick of your finger, you switch on the lights. All of your friends jump out of their hiding places and scream, “SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAEHYUNG!”

He’s laughing so hard that his eyes have turned into crescent moons. Jimin emerges from the kitchen with a cake and lit candles, leading the singing when it comes time to shut the lights off again. Taehyung looks over at you with adoration in his eyes and you give him a one-armed hug.

“Make a wish,” you gesture to the cake. His eyes linger on you for a second longer before he turns and closes his eyes. He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then blows them out, getting all of them in one long breath.

Everyone cheers and claps before someone, presumably Yoongi, puts on some background music. It’s a chill hip-hop playlist that he curated a while ago that often plays when everyone gets together. If there’s one thing Yoongi is good at, it’s creating sonic atmospheres that fit every situation.

The party is in full swing. People in the kitchen are taking shots, a few of which you and Taehyung participate in, while others are in the living room either having nonsense conversations or playing Settlers of Catan. You notice Taehyung nursing a drink from the corner of the room, observing everyone quietly until he sees you watching him. You put your cup down and walk over to him, taking his free hand in yours and lacing your fingers together.

“I have a gift for you,” you whisper into his ear, needing to rise to your tip toes to do so. He turns to you with a grin and then gestures to the party.

“This wasn’t the gift?”

You laugh and shake your head, a warm and comfortable buzz humming through your veins. “Trust me. You’ll like this gift more.”

You sneak him away to your room, which you had expressed to your friends prior to their arrival was strictly off-limits (Chaeyoung graciously offered to use her room for everyone’s coats and bags). Once the door is closed and the two of you are alone, suddenly, you feel really nervous. Taehyung stands by your desk and his eyes dance over the little trinkets and things, as well as photos he’s taken that you’ve pinned to your wall.

While he’s distracted, you pick up the gift you bought him from under the table and hand it over. It’s in a bag with multicoloured tissues sticking out from the top, and he takes it from your hands with a boxy smile.

Moving the tissues aside, you see his face shift into a look of awe when he pulls the heavy book from the bag. He stares at the cover, holding the tome in his hands as he struggles to find words.

“It’s letters from Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo,” you say, just to cut the tension. “I know how much you love him, and I read a few parts of it from a copy I found at the library a while back. I figured you would like it.”

“It’s perfect,” Taehyung breathes. “Thank you, Y/N. For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, suddenly bashful. You look up at him and his eyes are on you, and he’s looking at you in a way that you can’t quite read. It’s now or never, you decide, and you take the book from his grasp and lay it on your desk. “I have something else for you. But you have to close your eyes.”

Taehyung cocks his head to the side but agrees, closing his eyes until they fall shut. Exhaling shakily, you take a step closer until you’re nearly toe-to-toe. You gently cup either side of his jaw and lift yourself up, pressing your lips against his. The kiss is soft and lasts only a few seconds, and when you pull away, you lean into his ear and whisper:

“I love you, Taehyung.”

You move to take a step back, bashfully looking away when you feel his arms loop around your waist and tug you flush against him. His lips are on yours again in a split second and you whimper against his mouth as he kisses you for all he’s worth. His hands are everywhere as your fingers tangle in his hair, both of you desperately trying to get closer and closer.

“Never thought I would get to do that again,” he jokes when he finally breaks away for oxygen. Then, as if he’s suddenly remembered something, he says, “I have a gift for you too.”

Your eyes automatically dart down to the growing bulge in his pants. He laughs and swats at your arm.

“Not that, you perv.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper crane, one made with paper that has little pink and red hearts all over it. He re-shapes it so that it stands up on its own and gives it to you, and you look up at him curiously before looking at the message.

Your heart nearly stops as you read the words.

“Because I love you.”

Tears are in your eyes as you repeat them. “You love me?”

Taehyung’s grip on you tightens, and he leans his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he affirms. “So much. And for so, so fucking long.”

You kiss him again at that. It’s slower this time, and now that you have both spoken your truths, there’s no need to rush. You’ve loved Taehyung your whole life, and you’ll continue to love him for the rest of it. You feel the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and then you’re tumbling down, taking him with you. The length of his body is pressed flush to yours, his strong, lean thigh parting your legs as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

The moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you is lewd and you have to remember that all of your friends are literally just down the hall. You try to be quiet but Taehyung is having none of that, his large hands playing with the hem of your shirt until he’s tugging it up and over your head.

His lips are everywhere, worshipping you with his mouth and tongue as he nips at the curve of your breast and maps out galaxies across your ribs and stomach. Under his questing fingers and insistent mouth, you feel like an absolute goddess. His touch is so reverent, so intoxicating, that you nearly cry out his name as he presses a kiss to your core through the denim of your jeans.

“F-fuck, Tae,” you whimper as he begins to slowly unzip your fly. “Please, I need you.”

“I have been waiting for years to hear you say that,” he admits, working the material down your legs. He drags your panties down too, and you sit up to unhook your bra. He’s still fully clothed, you realize, but there’s something so sexy about how he’s looking at you, crouched at the foot of your bed, your bare legs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders that you don’t protest just yet.

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and you can’t help but shiver. The smirk he sends your way is devastating, and you feel yourself getting even wetter at the sight of him with his mouth so close to where you desire him the most.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs before he’s flicking his tongue directly against your clit. You yelp, not expecting it when he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and alternates between sucking and flicking motions. Your thighs tighten around either side of his head until he pins them open, exposing you completely.

His eyes never leave yours as his tongue gets to work exploring you for the first time. He licks a stripe up your cunt, not too hard, but just enough so that you know he’s there. He pays extra attention to your clit, noticing just what makes your body sing and sigh so that he can do it again and again and again. You jolt slightly when you feel one of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and Taehyung kisses your mons gently.

“Really want to fuck you with my fingers,” he admits. “I’ve been dreaming of it for so long. Can I…?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, Tae, fuck—”

“So fucking beautiful,” Taehyung groans as he gathers your wetness on two of his fingers and starts to press them into you. You moan at the stretch, of the feeling of him touching you so intimately. You feel his knuckles slipping past your folds until his fingers are buried deep. Then he curls his fingers in a come hither motion and tugs gently on the front of your walls, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. You slap your hand over your mouth as he rubs that spot over and over, lips and tongue back on your clit. You whimper and try to keep quiet, but the slick sound of Taehyung’s fingers fucking into you and his tongue lapping at your most sensitive area are just too much.

You feel yourself starting to shake, like that coil inside of you is about to snap. You can’t believe how well Taehyung knows your body already, how he can tell exactly what you need. You feel yourself teetering along the edge, and you gasp out that you’re close. Taehyung takes his free hand and fondles your breast, pinching at your nipple until you’re crying out.

“Come on my tongue,” he moans against your skin. “Come on my tongue and my fingers, come for me baby, c’mon, soak my face, I know you can do it—”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you nearly scream. Hands fisting the sheets, you squeak out his name and buck your hips, grinding against his mouth as you come. His fingers keep working inside of you, as does his tongue on your clit, to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. When the feeling starts to border on pain, you whimper and squirm away.

Taehyung kisses a wet trail up your stomach and between your breasts, stopping to lavish each nipple with attention as you impatiently tug at his shirt.

“Get naked,” you whine, gripping his sleeve. “This is torture.”

Taehyung smirks at you, purposely slowing down as he licks and suckles along your neck. “Baby, I haven’t showed you torture yet,” he purrs with an edge to his voice. You can feel how hard his cock is through his jeans, and the rough scratch of denim against your sensitive core is becoming too much.

You start to grind against him, aching for some kind of relief, and it’s your turn to grin when you see him squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he pants, sitting back on his haunches as he peels off his shirt. You get to work on his belt and his jeans, unable to stop yourself from staring when you see just how big he is. You look up at him with wide eyes and he laughs breathlessly. “You really know how to make a guy feel good, you know that?”

He moves to kick off his jeans and boxers, and then you’re finally both bare, both exposed and vulnerable for the first time. Taehyung places his hands on the bed and crawls over you, pressing his lips to yours to kiss you slowly. The kiss is gentle at first, and then becomes more insistent as he adds more pressure. His tongue on the seam of your mouth coaxes you to open up not only your lips, but your thighs as well. You part both for him as he settles himself against your heat.

Your thumbs massage gentle circles against his jaw as his tongue gently caresses yours. You hitch your leg over his hip and bring him closer, moaning quietly as you feel the underside of his cock brushing against your clit.

“Condom?” He asks, panting. You shake your head.

“I’m on the pill and I’m clean,” you say in a rush. “Just wanna feel you. I trust you.”

“M’clean, too,” he promises, dipping down to kiss you again. “Been waiting for this moment my whole life. I love you, Y/N. So much.”

“I love you too, Tae,” you murmur against his lips. You trail your hand down to grip his cock, hot and heavy in your palm. You take some of your slick and pump it along his shaft, and you love the groan that leaves his throat at the sensation. Then you guide the head of his cock to your soaking entrance, and he slowly pushes into you.

The stretch is immense, but not painful as he fills you inch by inch. This, you realize, this is how it’s supposed to feel when you’re with the right person. Taehyung fills you so completely, like the missing piece of a puzzle, and you whimper out his name once he’s reached the hilt.

You feel his hot breath against your neck as he just stays there for a minute, cock pressed deep into you, unmoving. It’s as if you’re both memorizing each other, this feeling of being so close and yet needing to be closer still. You squeeze your walls down on him just slightly and he chokes on a breath.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “We really were made for each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly agree, turning to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I feel it, too.”

He pulls out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, slowly, so that you can both savour the feeling. You sigh out his name and hook your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper, harder.

Taehyung obliges, his lips never leaving yours as he braces his knees on the bed and one hand against your headboard, and starts to fuck you harder. The way he rolls his hips makes you dizzy, and you’re clawing at his back to pull him in even more. It’s so intoxicating, having him this close, bare skin against bare skin, offering up your rawest forms to one another. You feel his heartbeat against yours, pulsing in rhythm.

You whimper at his next deep thrust, one that has you shifting slightly up the bed. The pleasure is starting to overwhelm you. You’ve never felt more safe in anyone else’s arms, never felt more loved, more adored. Taehyung makes your heart soar, and the realization that you want to be with him forever brings tears to your eyes. You gasp out that you’re going to come, and his fingers are on your clit in an instant, somehow always knowing exactly what you need.

His name falls from your lips as you come, clenching down on his cock like a vice. He thrusts shallowly through your orgasm to prolong it as long as possible, his arms holding you as you quake and shiver from the aftershocks. Once you’ve come down, your eyes flutter open and you see Taehyung gazing down at you, his eyes full of wonder.

“You look so beautiful when you come,” he confesses, blush dusting his cheeks and chest. You laugh, a little breathless, and reach up to kiss him.

“Your turn to show me what you look like,” you purr against his lips. “Fill me up, Tae. I want to feel you, please…”

Not needing to be told twice, Taehyung adjusts the angle of his hips and starts fucking you harder, the blunt head of his cock pummelling against your g-spot. You feel that familiar heat starting to pool again, and you’re still shaking from the overstimulation. But Taehyung sees this and keeps doing it, keeps focusing on fucking your g-spot over and over until you’re moaning loudly and the bed frame is rattling against the wall.

“Come with me, baby,” Taehyung begs, lips and teeth on your neck. “I know you’ve got one more in you. Need you to come with me. I’m going to count you down, and then you’re gonna come on my cock. Okay?”

You feel your walls fluttering already, but you try to suppress your urge to come and weakly reply, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he pants, fucking you harder, the wet slap of his hips against yours obscenely filling the room. “We’re gonna come together in five.”

He maintains the same pace, but thrusts a little bit harder.

“Four.”

Harder still. It’s when his fingers land on your clit that you actually let out a scream.

“Three.”

You’re a mess as he fucks you faster, stapling your hips to the mattress with every thrust. You’re certain you’ll bruise after this, marks you’ll wear like badges of honour. But that’s for later. Right now, you need to come, and he’s stalling. You blink up at him and see that he’s watching you, making sure you’re paying attention.

“T-Tae…”

“What number are we at, sweetheart?”

You shiver at the pet name, and manage to squeak out, “Two.”

“Mm, good girl,” he grunts as he buries his head into the crook of your neck and delivers another particularly hard thrust. He feels you shaking underneath him as he furiously rubs at your clit. He can see in your eyes your desperation, your need for him. But he wants to stall for just a second longer. Just a little bit longer—

“Tae,” you cry out, your throat dry. “P-please, I can’t h-hold it, I—”

“One.”

Come, you hear him order. You feel like you’re floating. Like there’s nothing that exists in the universe except you and Taehyung, bathed in a beautiful white light as pleasure ripples through your bodies at the same time. It’s overwhelming, how good he feels, how intimate and right it feels to be with each other in this way. You cling to him, holding each other as you both reach euphoria in the safety of one another’s arms. You feel him filling you with thick ropes of come, marking you as his, and you take all that he has to give until you’ve both come down from your highs.

He lifts his head to look at you, gazing into your eyes before you pull him in for a kiss.

After he pulls away, Taehyung murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Hm?” You nuzzle your nose against his. “For what?”

He grins at you, big and boxy, and the sight alone makes you smile.

“For making my birthday wish come true.”

The two of you quietly clean up and get dressed once again, remembering that there’s a party just outside in the next room. Taehyung helps you straighten up your hair as best he can, though it still looks a little matted in the back. And you try to tame his hair as well, though your determined fingers had been keen knotting his locks. Once you both look somewhat presentable, you place your hand on the doorknob.

“Wait,” Taehyung says. You turn to face him, and he simply kisses you. You melt against him, so happy to finally be able to do this whenever you want. He pulls away and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you respond, and give his hand a squeeze. You intertwine your fingers and open the door, stepping out to rejoin the party.

Chaeyoung is the first to notice when you come back and she literally screams when she sees the two of you.

“Finally! Oh my god, Namjoon, look, it finally happened!” Chaeyoung is still screaming, tugging on her boyfriend’s arm. Everyone then turns and sees the two of you holding hands looking bashful, along with the blossoming dark marks dotting your neck, and a chorus of cheers rings out through the room. You playfully glare at your friends that are blatantly exchanging money, and hide your face against Taehyung’s chest when Jimin and Jungkook come over to high-five you both.

“We have been waiting for this day since forever,” Jimin drawls, alcohol slurring his words slightly. “Kookie and I had a bet to see if you would get together before the end of the year, and you just made it with a day to spare. So now Jungkook owes me fifty bucks.”

“Two more sleeps!” Jungkook whines. “You lovebirds couldn’t wait for two more sleeps?”

“Regardless,” Jimin interjects. “Thank god it finally happened. I don’t think I could have waited much longer.”

“Hey,” Chaeyoung butts in, Namjoon watching her in amusement. “You don’t get to complain about waiting for those two idiots to get together. Did you know I was there when they met? And did you know that I figured out that Taehyungie had a crush on Y/N the second week that he joined our class?”

You look up at Taehyung in alarm. “You’ve liked me for that long?”

Taehyung blushes, suddenly bashful as he gives your hand a squeeze. “Yeah. Since the first day we met. Chaeyoungie figured it out and flat out asked me one day at recess. She had me cornered, so I had to tell her. But she promised she would keep it a secret. And, apparently to her credit, she has.”

“Damn right, I have, I’m a great friend,” she grumbles. “Even though it literally killed me to see you both not acting on your feelings for over a decade.”

“Enough about that,” you say hastily, waving your arms. “It’s Tae’s birthday. Did you want to open presents? I can get you a slice of cake.”

Taehyung just chuckles and nods at your obvious ploy to divert your friends’ attentions. “Sure. Let’s go open presents.”

“Can I also just say,” Jungkook declares, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I don’t know what was going on in there, but Tae, you deserve a high-five.”

You swat at your younger friend in dismay. “Jungkook!”

“You were pretty loud,” Chaeyoung admits with a shrug. Jimin nods pretty vigorously.

“Neither of you noticed when we turned up the volume on the music?”

Taehyung glances at you and scratches at the back of his neck. “Uh, no…we were…a little…preoccupied.”

You groan and slap your hand over your face. “Did everyone hear us?”

From across the room, Yoongi barks, “Yup.”

You’re about to hang your head in shame when Jimin lifts his cup. “I propose a toast!”

You and Taehyung are handed drinks, some fruit punch concoction that Seokjin mixed up. You all raise your cups as Jimin ponders what to say. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers, and beams at the two of you.

“To wishes coming true.”

You lean up and peck Taehyung on the cheek.

“To wishes coming true.”

—

You’re twenty-three when Taehyung folds his 1000th paper crane.

Being with Taehyung is like a dream come true. He really is unconditional with his love, and even when he simply looks at you, it makes your heart beat a little faster against your ribcage. He’s just so passionate and so open about his love for you, and being with him is incredible.

Not that it isn’t also without hardships. Every relationship falters from time to time. Angry words are exchanged, stubborn attitudes have gotten in the way of reason and logic and instead allowed for emotion and hurt to rule. But you always come back to one another, always talk it out. Because you both know that love is a choice, and that being in love and staying in love takes work. And so you both put in the work.

It doesn’t take you both long to decide that it’s time for the two of you to move in together.

And after months of planning, it’s moving day. It’s a day that’s been a long time coming. The two of you were already basically living together in Taehyung’s tiny bachelor apartment, but this new apartment is going to be the both of yours. A shared space for the two of you, one that you can make a home.

You’re unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into your new place, surveying the area with a sigh. You and Taehyung have already decided on what colours to paint the walls and what art to buy, so it’s just a matter of getting everything unpacked and sorted.

“Are there any more boxes left in the truck?” Taehyung asks, stretching out his spine with his arms raised above his head. You plop down on the couch and groan, shutting your eyes for just a second.

“That’s the last of it. Finally.” Cracking an eye open to peer at your boyfriend, you ask, “Did you want to start unpacking now?”

Taehyung shrugs, lifting the lid off a box that’s labelled Kitchen. “Might as well. We can unpack for a bit and then maybe go get something to eat in a few hours?”

You rise up to your feet, heading for your new bedroom. “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to make the bed and unpack our clothes, okay?”

He’s already trying to figure out the best place to put your drinking glasses, peering at each cabinet for what feels like the perfect spot. “Okay. I’ll come help you once I finish up in here.”

You make your way into your room, the bed having already been delivered and assembled prior to your actual moving day. You, being the more organized of the two of you, had scheduled your moving day so that it would be a little later in the month. That way, you and Taehyung were able to order your new furniture and assemble it without all the clutter of cardboard boxes getting in the way. Now, it was mostly just a matter of unpacking your essentials and decorating.

Unpacking goes relatively smoothly. You’re done organizing yours and Taehyung’s clothes, placing his silk button-ups on hangers so that they can be properly stored. There’s a pile of flattened cardboard boxes on the ground in the corner of the room, a symbol of your triumph and accomplishments. You’re feeling good, having found your second wind, and reach for another box.

When you lift the lid, you suddenly freeze. It’s the box you packed that has three shoe boxes in it, and you gingerly lift out each one, placing them down on your bed before doing away with the larger cardboard box. You take a seat at the edge of the bed and place one of the shoe boxes in your lap. You lift the lid and see all those paper cranes, made of different sizes and different kinds of paper.

You can’t help but smile, thinking about how Taehyung’s been getting back into the habit of making you paper cranes again recently. He had stopped for a while when you first started dating, maybe giving you one every few months, but as of late, he’s been making them more and more. And the messages he’s been writing on the wings have been for little things, nothing major or monumental like when you were kids.

You recall just last week, he made you one that just read, “Because you made me the best coffee ever” after you bought a new Nespresso machine. Taehyung always did like celebrating the everyday moments, the ones that you would have probably overlooked. That’s one of the things that makes being with Taehyung so exciting, so wonderful. He makes every day seem like magic.

You’re just in the process of reading some of his old messages, the ones with messier penmanship that were crafted by a child, when you hear a throat clearing by your bedroom door. You look up and see Taehyung smiling at you, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Kitchen’s mostly unpacked,” he states, wandering over to you. “What are you looking at?”

Gesturing to the boxes, you smile, “The cranes that you’ve made me over the years.” You scoot over to make room for Taehyung, who immediately takes a seat at your side, thighs touching as he loops one arm around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. Pecking you on the cheek, he gives a low whistle.

“That’s a lot,” he notes. “I can’t believe you kept all of them for all these years. When you see them all in one spot like this, it looks kinda crazy.”

His tone is bashful, almost a little embarrassed. You turn to face him, pressing a sweet, soft kiss against his lips. “It’s not crazy,” you promise. “It’s a beautiful, romantic gesture, and it’s made me so happy ever since we were kids. And it still makes me happy when I look at them. So there.”

Taehyung laughs at your tone of finality and nuzzles his nose against the crook of your neck. “Okay.”

You lean into his embrace, an automatic reflex at this point. You shuffle through the cranes until you find the one you’re looking for. You gasp when you see it, and you carefully pull it out. It’s old and worn, yellowing along the edges, but it’s the one. The one made from a ripped out piece of notebook paper, with butterflies drawn all over it, flying through an open meadow. Your eyes start to well up when you read the first message Taehyung ever wrote for you: “Because you stuck up for me.”

“The first one I ever made you,” Taehyung notes quietly, his arm tightening around your waist. “I remember that day so clearly. I remember when you came over and scared away those bullies, I thought you were an angel.”

You laugh at that, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on. That can’t be true.”

“It is,” Taehyung insists. “You’ve meant so much to me since we were little kids, you know? And I’ve loved you ever since then. We’ve seen each other grow up, seen the best and worst parts of one another…” Taehyung sits up a little straighter and looks deep into your eyes as he says, “No one in the world knows me as well as you.”

You lift your hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes, lingering to softly caress his cheek as he leans into your touch. “The same goes for me,” you promise. And then you joke, “I feel like you know more about me than my mom does.”

He laughs at that. “Probably.” Taehyung suddenly goes quiet, his eyes focused on the boxes of paper cranes on the bed. “How many have I made for you?”

You ponder for a second. “A lot. Maybe around nine-hundred…”

“Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” he replies. “The one I gave you three days ago was number nine hundred and ninety-nine.”

You cock your head to the side. “Why did you ask if you already—”

Taehyung suddenly looks nervous. You see it in how his expression changes, how his shoulders curl inwards and how his foot taps anxiously against the ground.

“I love you,” he says, and it sounds like he’s saying it for the first time. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “I love you, and I want you to have this.”

It’s a paper crane, one that he takes his time properly re-shaping so that it can stand on its own before laying it on the flat of his palm and extending it out to you.

“Number one thousand,” you remark with a smile, picking it up and holding it in your hands. You frown slightly, noticing that it’s heavier than it should be. It feels a little like something is inside of it, and you regard Taehyung curiously when you see that there’s no message on the wing like their usually is.

He bites at his lip slightly, and you feel your heartbeat drumming faster and faster.

“Open it.”

With shaking fingers, you carefully unfold the piece of paper until it’s flat in your hands. You look up at Taehyung, tears rolling down your cheeks, as he slips from the bed and takes your hand, lowering himself to one knee.

Taped to the inside of the paper is an engagement ring, along with the message, “Will you make my wish come true?”

You can barely see Taehyung through the tears, but you’ve never been happier. The way he’s looking at you now, open and honest, makes you even more sure of your answer.

“I know we’re young,” Taehyung says in a rush. “And I know we’re just moving in together now, and that I’m still only halfway done school. But we can always wait to get married, it doesn’t have to be anytime soon, I just needed to ask you because if I didn’t, I was going to explode, and I—”

“Yes,” you laugh, wiping hastily at your eyes. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Taehyung carefully removes the tape from the ring and slips it on your finger, his boxy smile practically blinding as he takes in the sight of you as his fiancée for the first time. Once the ring is securely on your finger, Taehyung kisses you, and it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. You quickly clear everything off the bed, albeit a little hastily, as Taehyung’s curious hands start to wander, and your clothes, one by one, hit the floor.

You take your time with one another, committing each other’s bodies to memory with your mouth and hands before Taehyung finally slides home and has you seeing stars. His touch is like fire, melting away any fears or insecurities about the future until all you can see and feel is him on you, inside of you, offering you forever and you gladly accept with an open heart.

Boxes are left abandoned for the echo of moans along the temporarily barren walls. You never do finish unpacking the rest of the apartment that night.

Instead you fall asleep, tangled in the arms of your soulmate, bare skin against bare skin. You can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with Taehyung, though it wasn’t as if living without each other was ever going to be an option, anyway. Not with how the universe put the two of you together. Your best friend, your fiancé, and two years later once Taehyung gets his degree, your husband, and a few years after that, the father of your children.

You’ve never been loved so wholly, so completely, so unconditionally as you have with Taehyung. And while it might have taken him a thousand paper cranes to muster up the courage to propose, but you can’t help but think that he’s been making every single one of your wishes come true since he walked into your classroom in Daegu all those years ago.

You can’t wait for forever with him. So for now, you sleep, the brilliant diamond resting upon your ring finger full of promises of a bright, beautiful future with Taehyung by your side. Just as it was destined to be.

A/N: Finally, it’s done! I hope you liked it. I’ve never written in this kind of format before, so I hope it all made sense. Let me know what you think, and please share it if you enjoyed! Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

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