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nereidprinc3ss · 2 days

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do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

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this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life.

Neither of you speak.

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything.

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue.

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again.

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on.

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away.

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted.

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart.

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands.

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry.

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces.

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied.

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears.

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed.

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding.

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for.

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath.

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond.

“Love you back?”

You blink.

Your stomach drops.

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself.

What a way to make an exit from your relationship.

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something.

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know.

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp.

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions.

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable.

He swallows.

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice.

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her.

“Wait.”

He says your name.

And of course you pause.

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle.

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again.

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring.

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about.

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break.

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly.

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink.

And for some reason, begin sobbing.

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in.

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath.

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper.

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty.

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly.

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel. Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this.

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes. “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft.

“How could I not be so in love with you?”

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold.

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw.

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat.

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog.

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone.

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder.

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up.

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning.

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him.

Spencer kisses you on the cheek.

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on.

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand.

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other.

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy.

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this.

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets.

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC.

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly.

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes.

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs.

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon.

And he’s laughing.

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall.

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige.

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all.

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip.

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face.

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same.

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own.

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips.

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately.

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first.

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology.

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly.

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth.

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you.

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth.

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak.

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him.

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back.

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly.

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too.

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight.

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would.

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly.

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours.

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel.

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks.

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee.

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now.

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy.

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming.

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him.

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his.

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart.

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall.

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet.

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours.

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod.

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier.

“Hey.”

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly.

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would.

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised.

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case.

But at the same time—everything’s different.

And you won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face.

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all.

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top.

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled.

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage.

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you.

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement.

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself.

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest.

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs.

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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atticrissfinch · 1 day

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Born of Confusion and Quiet Collusion | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

pairing: stepfather!joel miller x fem!reader summary: he’s been in your life since you were fourteen, the first reliable father figure you’ve had in your life. but you’re not a child anymore. and you’re not the only one who’s noticed that. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] sleazy/deadbeat stepdad!joel, age gap (joel is 51, reader is 20), stepcest (v self-referential), daddy!kink, size!kink, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, deepthroating, cum-eating, marking, ball-sucking, angst!!! a lot of it!!!, smoking, drinking, infidelity, v brief mentions of past domestic abuse and past impregnation of a minor (16) via statutory r*pe (neither apply to joel or reader), too many religious metaphors, reader has a landing strip because…I said so word count: ~10.6K | ao3 a/n: I had such a good time writing this. it didn’t turn out as PWP as initially intended, but I love it just the same. this is definitely not your mother’s stepcest fic (it’s her husband’s 🤪) but it’s still horny and sick and twisted and I hope you cry or cum or both ❤️ if people like this, there is a possibility of a part 2! title from lana my queen ♥️ thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers <3

Masterlist | Kofi

Blinding sun has begun to streak across the sidewalks in your childhood neighborhood. Patches of grass and wildflowers sprout from the cracks in the pavement. Vibrant chalk drawings smear from trekking feet. Sprinklers stutter and hiss for giggling children — a picturesque snapshot of youthful frivolity, submerged in the ephemeral gloss of summer vacation.

In a way, it feels like you’ve never left. For the past two years, you’ve only come home for the summer from college. Which is unfortunate considering how beautiful New England is in the summer. Instead your thighs are sticking to plastic benches at fast-casual restaurants in Texas, where it feels like the devil himself has his head between your legs anywhere you sit.

Of course, it’s always nice to see your mother. Never without a pitcher of sweet ice tea in the fridge, never without a pasted-on Southern debutante smile, and never a single hair that’s not bleached to hell on her head. Frazzled and air-headed as they come, flighty as a hummingbird, but easily reined and tethered to the earth with one hand by…Joel.

Oh, what could you say about Joel?

He loves your mother, you’ll say that much. You’ve never seen a man as drawn to his wife as you have him. The touches are constant, the compliments doled out like those strawberry bonbons on your grandmother’s coffee table. It’s been seven years and he still acts like your living room is the lobby heading to the honeymoon suite they call a bedroom.

As a result, you wouldn’t be caught dead without headphones at any given time in your home. You’ve heard far too much over these seven years to not know to be prepared.

But what Joel makes up for in physical affection, he severely lacks in any other form of decorum. His recliner is perfectly molded to his body, his side table littered with cigarette butts and empty Pabst cans. The blare of NASCAR is ever-present, and you swear you can see the outline of an ad-riddled Camaro burned into the television screen.

On any given Saturday you hear “Beer, baby,” about a dozen times.

Beer, baby.

‘Nother beer, baby.

They almost don’t sound like real words after the first several. Just a nonsensical pattern of plosives spewing into the air that your mother is conditioned to respond to like a dog.

Beer, baby.

and then,

Snick. Crack. Fizz.

And she never complains, as far as you’ve heard.

You’d tried one time to yank her out of the trance.

“Mom, you don’t have to be his little barmaid, you know. He can get his own beer,” you’d said.

She just smiled that plastic smile, slid her hands down his chest from behind his chair, kissed his sweaty temple, and said, “‘Least I can do for my white knight. Ain’t never no skin off my nose.”

“White knight with the biggest sword in the land,” Joel had tacked on for his own benefit, grabbing his crotch lewdly with a filthy grin before your mother swatted him playfully and gathered his empty beer cans.

The thing about your mother’s current questionable standards is that your biological father was a shitbag, to put it lightly. He’d gotten your mom pregnant when she was just short of seventeen, and he was thirty-five. And that’s just the beginning. He’s locked up now, but he’d had about fourteen years to do damage to her in this very home that he bought for your little family to maintain appearances of family values.

To her, Joel is her white knight. She was a single mother of a teenage girl with an ex-husband in the slammer and a dead-end receptionist job at a local travel agency.

Joel showered her with love and praise without the shadow of the back of his hand just behind. And maybe he was still fifteen years her senior. Maybe he didn’t have money. Maybe he was a deadbeat, beer-bellied local with a million excuses as to why jobs never work out for him (a “Type A” personality, he likes to blame it on. Which you’re unsure he even knows what that means given that the only Type A you’ve observed in him that he could credibly claim is his blood type).

But he loved your mother when she needed it the most. And he loved her enough that he accepted the package deal the two of you came as. So there’s only so much you could hold against him.

And not that this would ever matter, in any universe, but in spite of his dirty undershirts, his ratty sweatpants, his prominent beer gut…Joel is not an unattractive man. He cleans up very well on the rare occasion your mother has required him to, and you see a sparkle of what your mother sees in him on a daily basis.

A sparkle that, for reasons unbeknownst to you, had your hand sliding into your panties once or twice or more growing up when you were still discovering your own sexuality in your twin bed with your headphones in.

You haven’t done that for years now. You barely even remember it happened. But you don’t think of Joel that way. Joel is just…Joel. He’s your stepfather. Love of your mother’s life. The stability she needed. For seven years, that’s how it’s stayed.

When you return to your house in the evening of a hot Summer night, ear freshly talked off by your old friend from high school and a stomach satiated with your favorite local spot, your mother is working on dinner for her and Joel at the stove, still dressed in her work attire.

“Looks good, sexy mama,” Joel says, slapping her ass and gripping a handful of it as he kisses her neck.

She giggles and bats him away. “Oh, shoo. Go sit and it’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”

He fits in one final grope before plodding over to his recliner and powering on the television, eyeing you as you slip your sandals off by the front door.

“How’s Nancy?” He asks in his deep drawl, pulling the arm of the recliner until the footrest pops up for him to prop his socked feet.

“Francie,” you correct, tossing your keys into the dish on the antique wooden console table by the door. One your mother and you had spotted at an estate sale when you were seven, and one you’ve made a mental note to make sure none of your sticky-finger relatives get their hands on before you have a solid place of your own to furnish and you can take a piece of your childhood home with you.

“Francie. That’s right. How’s Francie?”

“She’s good. She thinks Josh is gonna propose soon.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” your mom pipes in, plopping a hand over her heart as she stirs. “I always liked that Josh. Always holds the door open for me when I stop by Sal’s.”

“Yeah, he’s alright,” you say dismissively. What you don’t say is how he’s already cheated on Francie twice in as many years, but she keeps going back. But that’s none of your business in the end. Francie’s always been one to do what she’s going to do.

“Well, what about that boy you been seein’ every goddamn night?” Joel asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Hasn’t been every goddamn night,” you sass back, propping your hand on your hip in front of him. “We’ve been on four dates.”

“Been real long dates,” Joel says, a clear inclination in his voice.

“They have not been real long dates, Joel. They’ve been normal dates.”

“Oh, leave her be, J,” your mom scolds lightly. “She’s just havin’ fun, aren’t you, blossom?”

“I guess,” you mutter, studying the old magazines on the coffee table. “Hoping it becomes something a little more serious than ‘just fun’ soon.”

“Caught your eye, didn’t he? He’d be a dumbass to throw that away,” Joel says with surety. “Knew that the second I looked at your mama. You girls are a prize. Beautiful as all get-out.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, shifting your weight a little uncomfortably at the compliment.

Joel’s mouth falls into a smirk as he taps his side table. “You wanna make like your mama and grab me a beer, sweet girl?”

You scoff, giving him a look of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Joel gives an upside-down smile and shrugs before hollering at your mother, “Beer, baby.”

You let out an annoyed sigh and head off toward the kitchen. “I’ll fucking get it, mom. Lazy ass,” you mutter the last two words under your breath.

“Thank you, doll,” your mom says, a wide smile on her face as you pull open the fridge and retrieve his drink. You slam it down on his tiny table with thinly-veiled irritation, flourishing your hands towards it in a facetious “ta-da” gesture.

Joel looks at the can, then up at you. “Ain’t gonna open it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you bite out incredulously, turning on your heel toward your bedroom. “Open it yourself,” you yell over your shoulder as you head down the hall.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” you hear him bellow to you with a laugh in his voice as you shut your door.

—

Your mom is acting different lately. Pushing Joel away more when he becomes affectionate. More short-tempered at random moments with him. You’ve already witnessed her going off on him once since you’ve been home about him not doing the simplest things. Tidying up the table, forgetting to run errands for her while she’s at work, emptying his own ashtray. Her patience is much thinner the last several weeks since you’ve been home, and you’re not sure for how long prior.

But you see her smiling at her phone one evening when Joel is out at a bar with his friends. It’s a certain kind of smile. Less plastered on, more secretive in its delight. Forty minutes later she tells you she’s playing some late-night pinochle at a friend’s and to not wait up for her. She looks awful dolled up for a card game night with “friends”, but you say nothing.

She’s playing some “late-night pinochle” with someone, alright, you think.

Joel stumbles in at 2 AM, clattering loudly around in the kitchen. You pad out of your room in your sleep shorts and tank top, squinting into the bright kitchen lights.

“The fuck are you doing, Joel?”

His head whips around, hand frozen on the handle of an open kitchen drawer. “Shit, sweetheart. Sorry, didn’t know I’d wake ya.”

“You’re being noisy as fuck. What are you rooting around in here for?”

“Ran outta smokes. I know I got a spare pack stashed in here.”

You sigh tiredly, resting your chin on your hand on the counter. “Junk drawer on the right.”

Joel follows your instructions and emerges victorious, waggling the pack in the air. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave off, pushing yourself off the counter to head back to your slumber.

“Wanna have a smoke with me out back?”

You stare at him blankly for a moment. “I don’t really smoke.”

Joel fixes you with a telling look, eyebrows raised. “Mama’s not home. You wanna have a smoke with me?”

You stand quiet for a pause, but then roll your eyes and tilt your head to the back door in a silent acquiescence. Joel smiles lightly and follows your gesture, slipping a cigarette into your hand as he passes.

The night air is still balmy, but there is a light breeze. You hunker down on the porch steps and Joel flicks his lighter for the both of you.

You’re not a habitual smoker. It’s purely social and for the occasional nerves. Your mom hates smoking, even hates that Joel does it. But she really doesn’t want you to get trapped in it. And as far as she knows, you’ve never had nicotine in your life. She definitely doesn’t know that you’d surreptitiously coerced Joel into offering you your first cigarette at sixteen. On these exact same steps.

You smoke in relative silence for several minutes, the cicadas chirping around you and the wood creaking underneath.

Then, into the dark, “She’s steppin’ out on me.”

You look over at him, legs spread, half-smoked cigarette dangling between them, and looking a little more haggard than you remember seeing him before.

Something about the softness in his face, the puffiness under his eyes, has you looking at him in a more sympathetic light that has nothing to do with the dying glow of the bulb above the doorway.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” you mutter gently. But he’s right and you know it. You don’t know the details, but she’s not being the most subtle about it.

“Don’t want to,” Joel replies, taking another pull from his smoke. “But the signs’ve been there for a while.”

You nod silently in understanding, feeling the burn of the smoke in your throat.

Joel sighs, tendrils of smoke billowing from his mouth. “Happens, I guess. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah. It’ll blow over,” you agree. Joel doesn’t respond again, just stares out at the overgrown, weed-infested back lawn. You knock your knee against his until you have his attention. You reassure him, “It’ll blow over.”

Joel stares at you for a prolonged minute, then bumps your knee back. A heavy palm falls low onto your bare thigh, stroking gently with a thick thumb. Goosebumps flare up under it immediately, a strange feeling in your stomach ramping up at the graze of him. You blink and take another drag.

Joel’s hand slides off your leg, leaving a bizarre chill in its wake. He pulls himself up and taps out the smoldering butt onto the railing.

“It’ll blow over,” he confirms, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.

Tightness constricts in your chest as you desperately suck down to the filter on your cigarette, jettisoning the smoke into the air pensively.

A lot has changed since you were sixteen.

—

The night had not gone as planned. Six dates and you really thought this would be the one. You knew it would be long distance, but you thought he liked you.

You hadn’t even gone on Tinder with the intent of finding a relationship, but then you went on a few dates and you thought, maybe you could do it. He’s cute, sweet, makes you come and then fucks you well. You had thought this would be the night. The “Will you be my girlfriend” night, not the “This isn’t going to work” night. So you’re fighting back tears as he awkwardly drives you home.

Joel is in his chair, beer in hand, when you walk through the door. You’re really not in the mood, so you beeline it for the hallway.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?” Joel calls after you as you sequester yourself in your room, chuck your heels at your closet, and hurl yourself onto your bed.

Not two minutes go by before a light knock sounds at your door. “You okay, sweet girl?”

“Fuck off,” you yell back at him through the closed door. But the door opens, and Joel is there, leaning against the doorway.

“Date go to shit?”

“How tactful,” you grumble, wringing the pillow in your lap with your hands and dropping your head back against your headboard.

Joel chuckles, but he looks earnest in his interest. “Come on, darlin’. What happened?”

You shrug dismissively, throat thick with your restrained emotions.

Joel knocks on the doorway in an awkward fidget, before ultimately crossing the barrier into your room and sitting on the bed at your feet, looking at you expectantly.

You bite your lower lip, doing your damndest to stave off the tears. “He broke things off.”

“Dumbass,” Joel mutters.

“I’m the dumbass.”

“You’re not a dumbass. I would know, wouldn’t I?” Joel teases, jostling your foot lightly.

A hint of a smile forms on your face. “Yeah, you would. Dumbass extraordinaire.”

Joel matches your smile with an upturn of the corner of his mouth. He tugs at your ankle. “Come ‘ere.”

You groan, but toss the pillow aside and scoot down the bed next to him, folding your legs to the side in your wrinkled dress. Joel wraps an arm around you and pulls you into him. You sigh and lower your head onto his shoulder.

“It’s fucking stupid, but I liked him,” you say quietly.

“He don’t deserve you,” he says, hugging around your waist.

“Apparently no boy does, at this point,” you sniffle. The scent of Joel fills your nostrils — beer, cigarettes, a thin sheen of sweat. It should be off-putting, but it smells like growing up. Like maturity.

“You’re right. No boy does.”

The arm around you shifts, and once again, a hand. Warm on your thigh. Midway up this time, just below the hem of your dress. You stare down at it, conflicted.

“What do you mean?” You ask, fearing you already know the answer.

“I think you need a man,” Joel rumbles, squeezing at your thigh.

You swallow thickly, unable to look away from the masculine hand clamped onto your leg, a little less than innocently.

“Joel? Where’s my mom?”

When Joel doesn’t reply, you pry your eyes from his hand to study his face. You see his expression and the answer passes between you wordlessly.

She’s not here. You both know where she is. And you both know she won’t be back for a good while.

Joel’s gaze fixes on yours as his hand slips up a single inch, pinky dipping just under your skirt.

“Joel…” you whisper, but you don’t think he quite hears it. His eyes drop down to your mouth and stay there, watch as your tongue flicks over your suddenly very dry lips. “What are you doing?”

A casual smile twitches onto his lips as another inch is lost between him and a ticking time bomb. He just repeats, “You deserve a man.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand closes the distance, dress dragging up your thigh until his pinky brushes the soft fabric of your panties. Your eyes drift closed at the feather-light touch, a war waging in your head.

Joel was not the one meant to discover the type of underwear that’s under this dress tonight. He’s the very last person you expected. As he should be. He’s your stepfather. You’ve overheard him fucking your mother countless times.

Overheard how good he is. How big he is. How thorough he is.

Your leg quivers under his palm, your jaw clenching with the discordance in your mind.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” you say shakily, fingers gripping the sheets under you. “I don’t think you should be doing this.”

Joel’s gaze bounces between your eyes and your lips. Then he gives you a sultry look and speaks the forbidden words.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Your fingers dance anxiously as Joel’s pinky grazes up the crotch of your panties again, where you’re terrified he’s going to find you responding favorably to this scenario.

“You want me to keep it a secret from my mother that her husband fucked her only daughter?” You burst out in a single breath. You feel lightheaded and tingly. You can’t parse your thoughts and they’re starting to get crowded.

“Already usin’ the past tense, huh?” Joel says huskily, and you feel his hand burrowing in between your thighs until two fingers press at the seam of your pussy over your underwear. “Seems like your mind’s already made up, sweet girl.”

You whimper quietly, the clouds in your brain growing denser by the second. Then, without ever actively deciding on a course of action, your legs are resituating themselves into a position much less concerned with modesty. Your thighs are spreading with zero input from your critical thinking skills, and a stifled groan slips out of Joel.

“Feels like it, too,” Joel moans, fingers rubbing over what must be a prominent wet spot on your panties.

You release your first moan, and it seems to echo around your room and back into your ears, spearing through the overcast in your head. You finally vocalize what you really should keep inside at this point, but it needs to be said.

“Joel, I-I’m your stepdaughter. Y-you’re my stepfather. We can’t.”

Joel’s nose ghosts up your jaw, nuzzling into the curve of your neck. “Grown woman, aren’t ya? Ain’t my blood, neither.”

“My mom…”

“Your mama ain’t gonna find out. I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell her.”

“I can’t lie to her,” you insist, but your mouth drops open as one of his fingers strokes at the crease of your thigh and your pussy, shaved smooth mere hours ago for your date. His skin on your skin, in a place where it should never fucking be.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” Joel breathes into your neck, and his lips land just after, shoving your concerns to the side. You jump at the stroke of his tongue over your throat, the scrape of his teeth, and all at once you’re slave to it.

You fall onto your back and he follows you down, straddling your hips and cupping your jaw, pushing it upward as he sucks at your neck. If you don’t stop him, he’s going to leave a mark. As if he hasn’t already. The deed is as good as done.

“Joel, be carefu—”

“Don’t call me Joel,” he growls, nipping below your ear.

“What do I call you?”

Joel’s mouth halts on you, exhaling over his saliva on your skin. “Daddy. Call me daddy,” he instructs, latching onto you again.

“Fuck,” you sigh, craning your neck up for his enjoyment. “That’s so fucked.”

Joel’s laugh borders on unhinged as he presses his lips to your ear and whispers, “We’re already fucked. Would be a waste to half-ass it.”

He hooks a finger into the gusset of your underwear and tugs it to the side, and you can sense him watching your expressions as your eyes clench shut in disbelief that this is actually happening, while not even dreaming of telling him to stop.

Air rushes out your chest as a thick finger glides through the folds of your cunt, confirming your arousal with damning evidence.

“Jesus, you’re juicy as a fuckin’ peach, darlin’,” Joel groans, sounding almost pained at the discovery.

“Not the first time. I used to think about you,” you admit, a runaway train, brakes shot. “When I was younger.”

“Fuck, you can’t say shit like that,” Joel moans, forehead pressing against your temple. “Give people the wrong idea.”

“Never telling anyone else. Just you. Besides, I’m all woman now…daddy,” you coo, testing the waters.

“Fuck,” he swears loudly again, another finger joining the first to massage at your clit. “Nasty, naughty girl. You take after your mama.”

You whine and wriggle under him at the comparison, but by some inexplicable, Freudian twist of fate, a distant, previously obscured light in your chest begins to beam. “Keep touching me, daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

“Yes, you will,” Joel says in response. Not like an order or an expectation. But like it’s a given. Like you’d ever behave any other way beneath him. As if he’d known all along, all seven years, that you would end up right here. Disheveled and heartbroken on your twin-sized, pastel pink duvet, with paternal fingers that have biblically, intimately known the inside of your creator, the site of your creation, now acquainting themselves with the life she created.

Do you feel like her? Do you have her lips like you have her mouth? Has this man successfully sown and reaped the benefits of a distressingly similar — kindred — octet of lips? Matching horizontal and vertical smiles all thirsting, parched, yet drooling for him under a single roof? If he closes his eyes, could he tell the difference?

Joel’s breath is at your ear, sending chills over your flesh from head to toe, muddying your mind.

“Take off your dress.”

A full-body shudder wracks through you at the order, a traitorous flood of wetness flowing from your opening as Joel continues to explore you with his touch. You begin shrugging out of your dress straps until steadying fingers cling to your thigh.

Joel pulls your focus with damp fingers perched on the underside of your chin, your own slick marring your skin at the hand of your father figure. Your lip trembles as he commands your attention.

“Stand up. And take it off. For me,” he instructs measuredly, bringing his thumb down to stroke the point of your chin softly.

A burning starts in your throat, like the smolder of one of his cigarettes slipped into your mouth. “Y-you want me to strip for you?”

Joel’s lips slant upwards and he says, “I wanna see everything you have to offer your daddy.”

You nod, the blaze in your throat sizzling to your chest as you long to reveal all you have to him.

You extract from the cage of his limbs to upright yourself, smoothing the line of your dress down to its full length, hitting you mid-thigh. Your hand twists back to capture your zipper, and with torturous patience, you work it downward. Your straps droop down your shoulders with the slack, and you’re quick to wrap an arm around your breasts to prevent too premature an exposure. You get the feeling that a man like Joel appreciates the delay of gratification, if his ask of you putting on a show for him is any indication.

The zipper ends precariously at the top of your ass, the sides of your dress falling open to show the expanse of your back to him along with the band of your bra.

“Fuck,” you hear him say under his breath, the squeak of your mattress springs sounding as he moves behind you into an unknown position on the bed.

You languidly slip your arms from the straps entirely, pressing the dress to your tits for a moment longer before letting the top of the garment fall at the waist, holding it to your stomach instead.

“Just like that, sweetheart. That’s right,” Joel grinds out, the springs squealing again, but this time accompanied by the rasp of a different zipper.

Curiosity, eagerness get the better of you, and you start to turn. But you’re instantly met with a hard, “Uh-uh. Keep lookin’ forward. You’ll get an eyeful soon enough.”

You fix your gaze forward again, struggling to keep up this glacial charade when you have good reason to believe what you long to see is now just behind you. So you bring your hands to the side of your dress and shift it down, bending at the waist to put your ass on display in your lacy thong you’d worn for your date, until the dress at last crumples to the floor.

A low whistle sings behind you as you stay bent for a decent few seconds before standing at full height again. Your fingers fiddle with the clasps of your bra at your back, coming apart with practiced ease. The article hits the floor as well, your tits free to the air and your nipples hardening at the exposure.

“God, you’re such a good girl, aren’t ya? Finish the picture for daddy.”

You whimper, your fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong on either side. With a final flair of showmanship, you shimmy the elastic strap of your panties up and down with a slight sway in your hips, before bending at the waist again as the last stitch of clothing on your body sounds a silent death knell as it hits the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

The air feels thick and weighty as the quiet stretches. You can hear the hum of voices from the television Joel didn’t shut off before he sought to damn the both of you. You could wrestle with the reality that the soundtrack to your irredeemable sin is a King of the Hill rerun, but Joel is still on your bed, and you’re still hands-to-ankles, laying waste to each and every ounce of sense you’ve accrued in your twenty years.

A resounding groan shatters your trance as Joel thrusts you back into the situation at hand. “Fuckin’ Christ,” you hear, and then the loud thump of Joel’s knees crashing to the ground, rough hands startling you as they take hold of your hips. Your palms slam to the carpet to maintain your balance as wet lips suck open-mouthed kisses onto your asscheek.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh loudly, your feet arching onto your tip-toes as the kisses close in on your aching core. Two thumbs part the split of your pussy from behind, and Joel doesn’t waste another second diving in. A large, flattened tongue licks a line up the length of your pussy, clit to entrance, leaving your legs shaking.

Another deep, gratuitous moan rings out, and Joel’s mouth is stroking over you with rigorous passion. Joel comes up for air, but only to take an aggressive bite into the globe of your ass, one sure to leave behind unmistakable, irrefutable physical evidence of exactly who had been there.

It’s foreboding.

But why does it feel like sanctuary?

A tug at your hips, and you’re at last spinning back around to face him.

And his eyes are ravenous. Ruinous.

His mouth descends onto your mound, slobbering up the small strip of hair you left as a guiding path to whoever sought to grant you pleasure.

An almost-boyfriend.

Or a stepfather.

But he goes against the grain, kissing further and further north of your throbbing cunt, over your stomach, up your sternum. Your spit-slick tits find refuge in the confines of his hands, groping, pushing, pulling at them as your nipples drag against his palms.

You manage to steal a glimpse between you, fiending for a sneak peek of that sword he constantly boasts about. He hasn’t revealed much, other than a sizeable bulge and a red, shining head poking out from the band of his boxers. It’s enough to have you imagining what it will feel like inside you, crying out for it to become reality.

His lips claim your neck with purpose as he steers you toward your bed, the backs of your legs giving way and cascading the both of you into a sea of bedding. Your head nestles among your pillows as Joel works his way south again.

Joel looks up at you as he approaches the seam of your pussy. Heated exhales tease at your clit as he says, “You always screamin’ about why your mama keeps me around? Lemme show you why.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to take in the sight of your stepfather’s mouth sinking down onto your pussy and dancing his tongue over the bundle of nerves that has been throbbing for him. The first sucking pull of his mouth on you has your head tipping back in an entirely unhindered moan, and you have to flop it back down, your chin colliding with your chest in your haste to view the bob of his head between your legs.

Joel’s work is impressive to say the least. His tongue drags up and down the length of you, stopping to circle your clit with a pointed tip and suck you back into the wet warmth of him. Your entrance leaks in excessive excitement as he riles you up with gusto, hands framing you at the inside of your thighs and spreading you wide for his consumption.

He breaks away, not allowing himself to go far, to croon over your soaked core, “Such a sweet pussy on such a sweet girl.”

You exhale heavily, browns furrowing in overwhelming pleasure as he directs his attention back to your clit. A finger tests the bounds of your opening, stroking the perimeter of the point of no return.

He knows the outside of you now. He’s familiarized himself with every inch of the surface of your skin, either with his eyes, or with the aid of his mouth. Inside is foreign territory. Inside is unforgivable.

He slides in so easily, it’s like you rolled out a welcome mat and propped open the door. He’s filled you to the webbing of his fingers in a manner of a half-second, and you feel dizzy with it.

Then he’s fucking you with it, and it’s like you’re floating. The grip of your cunt around his finger has him moaning around your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body.

He crooks his finger, stroking at the softest part of you, and you feel yourself unraveling at an alarming pace.

“Daddy…daddy…” you call out desperately, hands thrusting into the sheets to scramble for something to keep you earth-bound.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel says, hovering only for a brief moment above your clit to ensure you maintain your high. “Come on, come for your daddy,” he finishes, diving right back onto your clit and thrusting a second finger into you along with the first, honing in on your blessed g-spot like he had it marked on a map of you from the second he met you.

All said and done, it takes him minutes to bring you to the brink of destruction, where you’re squeezing around his practiced fingers and arching for the sky, screaming exactly what he’d instructed you to call him.

His mouth remains warm and diligent against you as you work through the throes, pulling the full extent of your pleasure to its frayed ends, until you’re pushing him away with trembling hands to get some reprieve.

Joel’s head falls against your thigh as he levels his breathing, soaked fingers streaking your hip. The bed frame wobbles as he starts to grind against the mattress.

“Goddamn. I usually make your mama come at least three times before I even stick my dick inside her. But feelin' how tight your little cunt is clenching on my fingers I’d be a damn fool not to take a test drive right fuckin’ now. One’ll have to be enough.”

You whimper, your legs falling open to accommodate his broadness as he moves up your body. Your fist tugs at his shirt as you say, “Wanna see you too.”

Joel glances down at himself and gives a little wince. “Not nearly as pretty as you are, sweet girl.”

“I don’t care.”

Joel sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright, but you ain’t gettin’ the whole rigmarole,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the back collar of his shirt and pull it over his head, damning it with the rest of your clothes on the floor. His cock is quickly freed of its confines as the godforsaken pile builds, and you get your first real look at him.

And for all the little white lies Joel tells, you have to give him credit. The boasting was not borne of a necessity for overcompensation.

Joel is big.

You should have guessed. In every passing gloat from Joel, your mother has never argued the opposite. She only ever grows embarrassed, smacks him lightly for being crass.

Apparently his doting compliments and pussy-eating prowess are not the only reasons she’s kept him around.

“‘M I what you expected, sweet girl?” Joel asks, his eyes hooded as a hand strokes down the length of himself with a casual, justified pride that only exists in men who are impressively sized and they know it.

The dumbfounded expression on your face refuses to dissipate as you shake your head “no”, followed by a flurry of rapid blinking as you nod your head “yes”. Then a confounded response sputters out, “I-I didn’t know what to expect. You always said…but I didn’t….”

“‘S okay, darlin’. Normal for a girl to go cockdumb when she sees a dick like this for the first time.”

You just nod, a woman possessed by her deepest, darkest desires, regardless of how sick and depraved they may be to the sound mind.

And, god help you, you are not currently of sound mind. Maybe you couldn’t prove that in a court of law, but in your own psyche, you certainly are clearly lacking in the logic sector at the moment.

Joel really has nothing to be concerned with in the looks department. Your eyes are transfixed on one thing only, up until your field of view is robbed of it, replaced by the glassy-eyed lust on Joel’s face as he drapes over you.

“Fuck,” Joel groans, his expression nearly pained as he takes in the enraptured silence of you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about how your mama must’ve felt before she pushed you out. This is the closest I’ll ever get to feelin’ that for myself.”

A whine escapes you as you wrap your arms under the backs of your knees, deliberately spreading yourself as wide as you can for him with blatant intentions. Let him feel it for himself. You’re so hungry for him, you feel fit to burst over it. You’ll be the newer model of her. You’ll be a tight, young hole for him. You’ll give him what she hasn’t been giving him, what you haven’t overheard in weeks from their bedroom.

“Fuck yeah, sweet girl,” Joel moans, positioning his cock at your waiting entrance. “Show me how your mama felt twenty years ago.”

You’re certain your own fall from grace should not feel so heavenly. But the first shove of Joel’s cock inside you toes a line dangerously close to a reckoning. The stretch of your walls around him, the death grip you have on your assured destruction, the fullness he’s wrought upon you nothing short of gluttonous satisfaction.

“Daddy, that’s so good,” you sigh into his ear, and it earns you a rumbling grunt as he bottoms out.

“Jesus, baby,” he moans, burying his face into your neck. “She teach you how to keep it this tight for me?”

She.

He sinks inside you, makes room inside his wife’s daughter for himself, and how thoughtlessly her identity is reduced to…she.

Your breath hitches as Joel pulls out to the head and he slams the full length of him into you, your ankles locking at the small of his back, your wrists around his neck.

You’ve heard Joel’s sex noises countless times before across the hall, muffled by closed doors. He’s an entirely different animal when you’re mainlining his sounds, his words directly into your ear. The scratch of thirty years of cigarettes in his moans, the chant of the devil in his terms of endearment, the authoritative intonation of a guardian.

He beats inside you like a drum, a deafening reverberation, punching air out of your lungs with every punitive thrust. His balls slap against the split of your ass like the muted clap of hi-hat cymbals, keeping tempo for you as your mind drifts away.

Flashes of reality wade through your hedonistic bliss, like they’re desperate to haul you to shore, save you from this entirely avoidable fate, resuscitate your suffocated sanity. Your brain beseeches you to notice your glaringly exposed circumstances. Your bedroom door as ajar as your mouth moaning for him, your window curtains spread wide as your legs, your ceiling light as illuminated as your soul emitting the final streaks of vibrancy before the sun sets at dusk.

You’re recklessly laid bare for Joel and the world around you. A single rogue pair of eyes could end that world as you know it. Your mother could walk through the front door, down the hall at any moment. Even still, your heels dig into his flesh to hold him inside you, your skin yearns for the drag of his hair-spattered potbelly against your soft stomach.

You long to be full of more than just his cock.

Through hiccuping breaths you say, “Come inside me.”

Joel lets out a conflicted keen as the pendulum of his hips swing. “I can’t, baby. We can’t.”

Your fingers tug at his hair as you whine like a child in protest. “I’m on birth control. I promise.”

Joel’s breath grows labored as his orgasm looms over him, a strain in his voice as he wrestles with your pleading request.

“Fuck,” he yells out, his hips stilling inside you as you moan on his cock, high on the prospect of his spend painting your insides with sin.

But you don’t feel him throbbing, pulsing within your walls. He’s not winded and gasping from a climax wrung from your clutch.

“Daddy…?”

“I can’t, baby.”

“Please. I need it inside me.”

Joel groans, but his cock drags free of your pussy, leaving you empty and fundamentally altered. Joel’s hand brushes across your forehead, a boundless devotion in his eyes. “How about I shoot my load inside your mouth, huh? So you can have part of me in your belly. You wanna suck your sloppy cunt off daddy’s cock?”

A broken moan slips out of you as you stare down the layers of what seems a lot like love in his gaze. Maybe more than one kind of love. Something more akin to a convoluted amalgamation of parental, platonic, sexual, worshipful love and affection.

A warm hand cups your cheek and you nod in compliance to his suggestion. Joel’s lips press a kiss against your forehead, leaving a burn in its wake. He takes your hand and leads you off the bed with him. He doesn’t have to ask, you just drop to your knees in a showing of submission.

“You felt how big daddy is. Think you can fit him?”

“I can,” you state assuredly. You take initiative, gripping the base of him and gliding up and down your stepfather’s cock with your own slick.

“You sure? She’s able to take all of it, but it’s a struggle. So be real positive.”

“I can do it,” you say confidently, poising his tip at your mouth.

“Go ahead and show me, then.”

You take him into your mouth and you half expect him to dissolve on your tongue. A Eucharist to tide you over until he spills his wine, heady and white across your supplicant taste buds.

But he’s solid, hefty as he slides deeper, a presence unignorable.

“That’s it, sweet girl. All the way back,” he coaxes, and a whimper seeps out from you around his girth. His hand strokes over your hair in blessing as he knocks at the back of your throat, your face screwing up as your reflexes activate. You stave off the worst of them, eyes watery as they gaze up at him. “Still got more to go.”

You nod as gently as you can, feeling the strain in your jaw.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your face. Loosen you up a bit, okay?”

A greedy noise of approval from you and Joel’s fingers are entwining in your hair, gripping hard enough to pleasantly sting. Your mouth is wet and drooling when Joel pulls your head off of him, until just the tip weighs down your tongue.

“She digs her fingernails into her palm to make it easier. Don’t know if that helps.”

You whimper and glance down at your hand. You’ve already got half-moon crescents piercing the heel of it. Timidly, you open it up to reveal it to him.

A throaty growl fills your ears as he tightens his hold on your hair. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess.”

Like mother, like daughter.

There’s a loud grunt and Joel is fucking into your mouth with little mercy. Your dry lips crack to accommodate the size of him, your cheeks concaving to maximize his sensation, and the back of your throat taking a beating as his head punches the tender flesh with impeccable rhythm.

As your one hand threatens to prick blood under the pressure of your nails, the other seeks to draw it from Joel’s hip. You’re not trying to stop him, or even harm him, but you need him to feel what he’s doing to you. How certifiably insane he has you, a puppet with holes for him to fill and control. You’re a living, breathing creature, but he fucks your mouth like you have no need to breathe at all.

You’d inhale through your nose, but it’s clogged with snot and running in rivulets down to your lips, servicing him with further lubrication for your debasement. The salty wet cascading down your cheeks blurs your vision as you force yourself to maintain precious eye contact with him.

There’s a divine burst of air in your lungs as your head is wrenched from Joel’s cock, and you cough and sputter, willing yourself to suck in the sex-tainted oxygen around you.

Joel’s hand cups your jaw, smearing the mixture of snot, saliva, and tears on your skin. “You’re gonna take me deeper this time. All the fuckin’ way back. Wanna feel your goddamn nose smashed against my belly button.”

You sniffle your congested nostrils, but nod. You’re not sure why you say it, but you whisper, your voice distorted by stuffiness, “Fix me.”

A pitying noise falls from his throat as he slides his thumb into your mouth for you to suck in pacification. “Ain’t nothin’ need fixin’. You just needed a better daddy. ‘N that’s what I’m here for.”

A muted sob puffs around his finger, and you think you might see glistening in Joel’s eyes for a passing second. But he clears his throat and it’s gone, his hand around the base of his cock again and his thumb prying open your mouth.

When the head of him pushes past the block of your throat, Joel’s grunt could probably be heard by the neighbors. Nevermind that where you now stand is in perfect frame of your first floor window, a glowing halo at the side of your house. The alarm on your bedside table blinks 12:35 AM, so the Christensens are likely fast asleep. But although you may have a fence, Douglas and Cheryl have a second floor, where their bedroom window could peer right into yours.

And yet you stay on your knees, unhinging your jaw for the eight, maybe nine, inches of cock your stepfather is feeding down your throat while your mother is absent, getting reamed by her boss or coworker or friend's friend ten miles away. You’re sure the view is remarkable. A perfect, vignetted cameo portrait of familial implosion.

Your mother most certainly did not raise a quitter, that much is evident when the last inch of Joel’s length is seated in your mouth and your nose contorts at the prominent curve of his stomach, just like he wished. Joel’s arms are secured around your head, holding you to his gut in a manner that might be endearing and benign if you weren’t simultaneously choking around his entire cock.

Instead he’s cutting off your air supply and using his unyielding embrace to rutt into your throat in short bursts as you fight not to eject him.

The mess when you resurface is notable. If you were still trapped in that dress, the front of it would be sodden, soaked through with spit. You’re not sure there’s a spot on your face that isn’t coated in some form of your own fluids — the slobber from your mouth smearing over Joel’s hairy abdomen and transferring to your forehead and temples, and even more rivers of saliva dripping onto the carpet.

You feel debauched and torn apart, and you still croak, “Again.”

Nails in your palms do nothing for you now. You've already crucified yourself.

Once he’s buried deep again, he secures the back of your head with a single arm, and then you feel the breadth of his other hand around your throat.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Joel groans out, nearly as wrecked as you’ve been all evening. “Can feel my cock in there.”

Joel’s hips move in staccato jabs, just to feel the glide of his fat head demolishing your throat through the skin of your neck pressed against his hand. If you hadn’t tapped rapidly at his hip, gasping for air, you fear he may have been content to die there.

You collapse onto your hands and knees, rasping and pulling air into your deprived lungs, cheek colliding with the dampened carpet as you catch your breath.

“What a fuckin’ trooper. You are a one-of-a-kind wonder, sweet girl,” Joel pants out, hands on his knees and his cock angry and purpling as it bobs and jerks in denial of its orgasm.

Through your slouching to find your breath, you smile.

“Let’s give you a little break, huh? Come and give daddy’s balls a little kiss.”

He clasps a hand on your bicep, helping you back up onto your knees as you regain composure. You’re a bit wobbly, but you ground yourself with hands on his thighs, resting your forehead just to the side of the root of him. Your tongue lolls out and swipes up his sack in a languid stroke.

Joel hums his approval above you, his hand reclaiming its place on the back of your head lightly. With his guidance you dip down, slipping one of his balls into your mouth as he moans out praises.

His balls are large and lush with hair, on par with the rest of him. They hang low, dangling inches down into the space between his thighs. You cradle them in your hand as you caress them with your tongue, sinuses slowly draining as his concentrated musk penetrates your nostrils, filling your olfactory senses with him. You pop one of his balls out of your mouth to pamper the other in equal measure.

Joel begins to pull at his cock with long, tempered strokes. “Fuck, that’s right sweet girl. Treat ‘em real gentle. Might have a little brother or sister in there.”

You whine as you widen your mouth, succeeding in fitting the pair of them inside thanks to your sufficiently stretched jaw, properly warmed up from his dick.

“Shit,” Joel says, the faintest hint of laughter in his voice as he gasps, branding at the waist slightly at the overwhelm of your hot mouth encasing him. “‘F that greedy pussy ever clamps around me again like this filthy mouth is…might even be a son or daughter in there too.”

You moan a little too passionately at that, your mouth packed full of possibilities, and Joel’s hips jolt forward at the sensation, a pleasurable noise of his own spilling out.

“Jesus, can’t moan when I say shit like that. You’re gonna make me…” Joel groans again flexing around his cock. “Gonna have to hit it from the back next time. ‘Lot easier to not just blow my load up that cunt when I don’t got you lookin’ up at me with them puppy dog eyes, beggin’ your daddy to come inside you.”

Next time.

How do you feel about a next time?

You don’t even know what’s going to greet you come daylight.

Joel’s fingers yank on your hair as your mouth works dutifully on his balls, finally saying, “Fuck, daddy needs to come, sweet girl.”

He slips from your mouth, but it opens again for him instantly as he starts to jack himself in earnest. He lays the trickling head on your tongue as he grunts and gasps, and you raise a hand to tease at his balls, squeezing them tenderly as you see his eyes roll in response.

“Fuck, fuck, open up for me, little mama,” he groans, signaling the first thick burst of spend shooting to the back of your raw throat. Joel growls his way through his climax, rope after never-ending rope of come pooling on your tongue until it overflows the corners of your lips and down your chin and neck.

Joel swears as his pulses slow to a stop, taking the tip of his cock and dragging it over the puddle of him on your tongue, spilling more from your mouth and down your tits. “Good girl,” he pants, finally withdrawing his dick. “Swallow for daddy.”

You obey eagerly, pushing all he gave you to the back of your throat to join where the rest of him had already been. You present your clean tongue, preening slightly, and Joel returns a sleepy, immensely proud grin.

There’s a scraping at the front door, and you both dart your heads to the open doorway.

“Shit!” Joel bites out panicked under his breath, shattering what you both have built as he bolts out the door, pulling yours shut as well as his own in his marathon back to the bedroom he shares with your mother.

You hear the front door open and you’re snapped out of your daydream of a night, lunging for your light switch to kill any suspicions of you being conscious. You flatten your hands against the back of your door, pressing an ear to the wood as you stifle your breathing.

You hear the noise on the television cut to silence, then footsteps. The door across the hall squeaks open and…nothing, save for the faint sound of fabricated snoring. You hear your mother sigh, the two thumps of her heels kicking off, and then, “Might as well be right where I left you.”

A stretch of silence, then you hear the low hum of her voice in a string of words that sounds like, “‘F I could, I’d probably just leave you altogether.”

You hear her feet padding down the hall, then the snick of the fridge in the kitchen.

As quiet as you possibly can, you twist the handle of your door and peek through a small gap. Joel lays naked on his stomach on top of their sheets, back rising and falling with his breath, facing you as his head dents his pillow on the bedside closest to the door.

The protector’s side.

And as silent as you tried to be, you see Joel’s eyes squint open directly at you as your door opens. You stare each other down, and you feel your heart begin to pound.

When your lip starts trembling, you close the door.

It’s not until you’re nestled under your covers that you realized what he had called you when he’d come across your tongue.

—

The morning comes uneventful, despite your entire world shifting on its axis. A normal Saturday. You exit your room just as your mother is tidying the kitchen table of breakfast and Joel is starting up the shower in their bedroom.

“Mornin’, blossom. You want some eggs?”

She seems as chipper as ever, scraping off plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Uh, no. Thanks,” you dismiss, heading straight for the couch and curling up as you grab the remote.

She joins you shortly after, folding her legs up under her in a frightening mirror of your own.

“I’m sorry about that boy, sweet pea.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking away from the TV to observe her.

“J told me about what happened with the boy. He’s definitely a dummy.”

“Oh,” you say once you realize what she’s talking about. Truth be told, you haven’t spared that boy a second thought since Joel wrapped his arm around you last night. “It’s whatever. Boys come and go, right?”

“Some of ‘em stay,” she says, glancing down the hall to the sounds of the shower.

You follow her gaze, undoubtedly battling the dissonance in her head of what she’d done last night, and who was waiting for her back at home.

Only she doesn’t know that he wasn’t up pacing over her. He wasn’t waiting for her at all. And it might just be in your own head, but you hope he was maybe the slightest bit…disappointed at the sound of the front door.

You probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

You see the confliction swimming in her eyes, and you place a hand over hers.

“But some of them aren’t going to stay forever if you’re giving them a good reason to leave, mom.”

Her eyes meet yours, tears brimming and threatening to break. “How do you…?”

“You could see it from space, mom. And he can too.”

She brings a knuckle to her waterline, dabbing at the tears before they can fall and muddy her mascara. She sniffles and shrugs with a raised hand, letting it fall back down in a helpless gesture.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, sweet pea,” she says, letting out a small, pitiful sob. You clasp your hand over hers and squeeze, feeling your own eyes begin to prick at seeing your mother choked up. “You ever…like you get so comfortable, things are goin’ so good, that you start to get anxious? And before you know it…you’re…you’re sabotagin’ yourself. Throwin’ stones, tearin’ down everythin’ that ever brought you a lick’a happiness. Like…like you need to destroy it before it destroys you?”

A lump forms in your throat as she speaks, and you clench your hand a little harder than you intend to. It hits you pretty hard, the reality of it all. Joel is in the shower, washing your dried spit and slick from his cock. Maybe even with your mother’s soap. Wiping away what didn’t already rub off on their shared sheets.

“Yeah, mom,” you say, your throat scratchy from more than just the emotional influx. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The memories come back in succession. Joel’s hand on your bare thigh. Your dress dropping to the floor. Coming on his mouth, his fingers. His cock pushing inside for the first time. His hand feeling his length down your throat. His spend dribbling from your lips.

You deserve a man.

Good girl.

Swallow for daddy.

Why did you do it? That safety, that security Joel has been for you since you were a teenager. The reliable presence, always sitting in that chair three feet to your right. Sipping his beer, spilling on the remote, losing potato chips in the couch cushions.

It’s all twisted up now with memories of his naked body, his satanic tongue and devilish grin, the stretch of his cock that you’ve now felt inside you — still feel inside you, if you’re honest. The soreness persists in the entrance of your pussy, the wall of your cervix, the column of your throat. Evidence of your betrayal to the one who gave you life.

She granted you breath, and you used it to moan “daddy” beneath her husband. Allowed him to take that breath from you as you gagged on the very flesh that makes your mother gasp his name in the sanctity of their marriage bed.

Maybe your mother desecrated it first, but he and you…he and you incinerated it. Rolled around and fucked in the ashes.

She may have gathered her train, lifted her dress for someone else. But the veil hasn’t been removed yet. And you’re nowhere near ready to admit to her that she no longer has somewhere to sleep. She can remain blind for now.

A tear finally drips free down your cheek.

“Yeah, mama. You…you have no idea. How well I know.”

A watery smile crosses her face and she leans toward you, cupping your face in her hands. “We’re gonna be okay, blossom. We get through shit, don’t we? Can’t take us down.”

You nod in her hands, the lump in your throat closer to a golf ball now. “Yeah, mama.”

She strokes the plush of your cheek, wiping at your lone tear track. Then something captures her interest, and she draws back, tilting her head.

“You let him do that to you before he dumped you?”

You furrow your brows, unable to follow her line of sight where it lands at your neck. “Let him do what?”

“Got a hickey the size of Texas there, sweet pea,” your mother giggles, brushing her thumb over your throat.

Your stomach lurches, your eyes masking panic. You’d flown too close to the sun. Reckless, stupid, irresponsible. Let him defile your skin with nicotine-yellowed teeth and a thick, adulatory tongue.

It’s written on your face, on your neck, plain as day. How does she not know? How does she not see?

Because her only daughter, a child sprung from her womb when she was just a mere child herself, would never do that to her. An act so treasonous is unthinkable. Laughable. Not worth a fleeting thought.

To her.

To you…that very thought has been brewing since you were fourteen, alone in your room, the pads of your fingers pruned and your mutinous mind alive.

What if it wasn’t her? What if it was me? What would he say to me?

You deserve a man. Good girl. Swallow for daddy.

Your mother just smiles, oblivious to the context of her observation and the wretchedness within you.

“It’s okay! Nothin’ a little makeup can’t cover, huh?”

Your palms sweat as you nod.

“Come on,” she says, gripping your hand in hers as she stands, guiding you along with her. “I’ll help you. It’ll be like old times when I used to give you makeovers.”

You are hyper-aware of the slickness of your hand in hers.

She has to know, she has to know, she has to know.

But she doesn’t.

Words jam in your ravaged throat, no longer loosened by your stepfather’s brutal misconduct, as you silently follow after her into her room. She ushers you on the bed as she gathers her makeup from her vanity.

She sits beside you, smiling as she begins to tap concealer onto the bruise. “Cover it up, and it’s as good as gone. Never gotta see the boy who gave it to you again.”

You nod again lightly, your eyes falling closed as she pats at your skin. The shower turns off in the bathroom, and the sickness in your stomach roils again.

He’s washed you off now, smelling of her eucalyptus shower steamers. He bears no marks. He shares no burden. Honor by marriage is not honor by blood.

Hence why your mother’s affair can blow over. It can be fixed. Swept under the rug, forgiven in confessionals and late-night whispers during love-making.

But betrayal like this? Of daughter to mother at the hands of a father and husband? That’s Armageddon. And you didn’t pay much attention in church growing up, but you listened enough to know…the apostates are destined to lose.

Rummaging noises bleed from the bathroom, and your mother glances toward the door.

“Joel Miller, you stay in that bathroom for a minute. We’re havin’ a mother-daughter bondin’ moment in here,” she calls out to him with a broad grin, loud enough for him to hear it through the closed door.

Bonding. Oh, yes, you’re very bonded now.

“Should just attach you two at the hip while we’re at it,” he calls back. “You share damn near everythin’ with each other.”

You can't decide if he said that on purpose. If he’s twisted enough to joke about your circumstances to your mother’s naïve listening ear, or if he really is just a dense-headed dumbass, ignorant of the magnitude of his words and actions.

Regardless of how he meant it, the blush pink gossamer blur smoothing over the events from last night is beginning to slip away, the images sharpening each passing moment that you spend with your mother. What your mind was attempting to bang down your door over, grabbing hold of your thoughts to try and thrust you into reality, is finally coming into focus.

You can’t come back from this.

And what was it all for?

The sun shines through the open drapes of the window onto your mother’s back as she smiles and shakes her head at Joel’s comment, the shade cast over you shifting gently with her movement. She rolls her eyes in good-natured jest as she unknowingly conceals the mark of the devil on your neck.

Both her devil and your own.

Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic!

Visit here for instructions on how to get a tab just for the blogs you’ve subscribed to at the top of your tumblr page!

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chrollohearttags · 1 day

Text

“Can’t do shit with a good girl, need me a freak..” | multi

public sex, squirting, sex toys, freaky shit yktv

📜: know I said I despise these types of posts but I couldn’t get it out of my head and too many ppl fit the bill for it

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

he loved so many things about you…honestly, he could go on for days bragging about the woman he was slated to spend the rest of his life with. From your smile, to the way you laughed at his jokes, even down to the way you scrunched up your nose when you were mad. He adored your skin and the way it glistened in the sunlight. The way those jeans and sundresses hugged your curves..especially the way that shimmery gloss complimented your plump lips. Hell, he’d tell anyone who’d listen about how you alternated hairstyles every week and kept him on his toes. A flustered mess each time he spoke about his lady..but truthfully, that was only a glimpse of you. It was a mere facade to who you truly were, at least behind closed doors. Because the same woman who made him blush like a school kid..also made him whimper like a little bitch when you were alone! Yes, his sweet little princess would turn into his dirty little slut at the drop of a dime. Dropping to your knees to please him without so much as a complaint..

“Fuck..just like that.”

teasing his glowing tip on the pad of your tongue whilst your eyes stay glued to his own. Your tits hanging from that tank top they’ve been close to spilling out all day. A palm wrangled around his shaft as you began to suck him off. This teasing is too much to bear but he knows he won’t have to wait long…soon, he’s met with the rampant sounds of loud slurping and gagging. Your head goes up and down as you swallow that cock. That forehead planted to his abs and in place whilst you hold it in the back of your throat…strings of saliva spilling all over the place from the corners of your mouth as they seep to your chest and you seem not to have a care in the world..other than pleasing him that is!

“You just took the whole thing, baby..goddamn..” his voice cracks as he’s forced against the wall of this bathroom in some club you two decided to visit. Knowing that the night would unfold this way. Honestly, he would’ve been fine staying home and skipping straight to it..but you insisted on showing off that new tight dress for him. Shaking your ass and grinding on him with a drink in hand. And of course, the controlled vibrator and butt plug he’d so casually placed inside of you at your request. Sure, you could’ve gone for a nice dinner and movie but what was the fun in that? Not when you took him all the way to the back of your throat and nearly threw up on it on his way out, all but forcing him to keep quiet. Your man knows you have no limits, all bets are off when it comes to making him happy. It’s why he’d walk to the end of the earth for you, even lay down his life but you’ll settle for him bending you over a sink and forcing you to glance at your reflection in the mirror as he drills your shit right there for someone to stroll in and catch an eyeful. Hell, they were probably all too intoxicated to notice but it’s that thrill that has him fucking you dumb.

“Harder, please! Fuck!—yes, keep fucking me just like that…make me come on this dick, right here..”

“This is your pussy, daddy..take it!..”

gliding in and out of that dripping cunt, his curved cock pressing at the inner corner of your sensitive spot. With that vibrator resting on your swollen clit and that plug buried in your ass, his fingers cradle your throat as he peels your head back, spitting into your mouth and he can’t stop smiling!..can’t stop smiling because he can’t believe he got so damned lucky! To find a girl who was equal parts nasty as she was classy. Screaming his name and begging for more even after squirting all over his shoe and the floor underneath. Immediately kneeling yet again to taste yourself on his soaked shaft and to get a face full of his nut to parade around in for the rest of the night. Why not? That pretty face full of makeup is ruined anyways but you’re proud of it. So as long as he’d yelp as he fed you every drop of his warm, creamy nut. Watching you gulp down every drop that fell into your mouth.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby..God, I love you so much.”

he had to admit, he loved his good girl. But it was that inner freak that had him obsessed.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

EREN, ACE, ZORO, sanji, reiner, nanami, taiju, mikey, draken, rin + ran, ONY, CONNIE, SUKUNA, hawks, dabi, toji, bokuto,

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jakesangel · 3 days

Text

how to love jake VS how jake loves you

how to love jake <3

• soft words

- do you see how he blush or how he smiles away whne the members give him attention or compliment him ? it truly makes his heart warms he can't keep a straight face. but when it comes to you ? oh he would lose it, his cockiness disappearing. he always seek for your validation, always asking you if what he is doing is good enough for you or if he is a good boy for you.

- also pet names ᵎ he loves it when you call him your pretty boy or your baby. he is so down bad for you and you only, he wants you to acknowledge it and show him off. specially in front of the members, he is so proud to have such pretty girl calling him hers in front of his friends so even if he is shy at first he will be beaming in front of them, almost putting his tongue out, making them roll their eyes.

• making him feel like he is needed

- it goes w the previous one. he wants to be good for you. so let him buy you things, open your doors, put on your shoes. but don't forget to pet him and/or kiss him as a reward.

- he also seek emotional bound, so whne you let him know that you have troubles with some stuff in your life or thag your sad or whatever, he is more than willing to listen to you and help you.

• letting him be clingy

- you don't have to be all over jake but to at least accept his kisses n cuddles. if you're a physical affectionate person he would really love it but he wouldn't love you less if you aren't into that. he just want your hands in his hair n his kisses n his hugs.

- also walking w him also means his hands on your wait. eating dinner w him means sitting side by side w him hand on your lower back or on your thigh. laughing w him mean his body leaning on yours. it's either to show you off or purely because he feels good w you so let him be ᵎ

• respecting him

- in a sense that you should know who you belong to. he is a scorpio man meaning he is possssive AND jealous. he doesn't want to share nor to even let anyone see things only him is privileged to. so if you want to wear certain things u would only be able to wear them for him or when he is here to protect you from others. he wouldn't stop you to wear things you want, but he would prefer you to not to.

- he also won't like it if u go one o one w a man, or texting a man too much. he trust you but not them : his pretty baby is too pretty to be out there in the wild. he would really really appreciate it if you'd ask him to tag along or not go at all. he will get jealous but again wouldn't stop you.

• cooking for him

- it would make his mind all fuzzy seeing ur cooked meals made just for him. he appreciate/ ur effort n your time. he would never forget to kiss you afterwards. even if ur cooking isn't the greatest, it will always be good for him n will never talk down about itᵎ

- and if you can make desserts as well ? oh , he will wife you up the second you'll tell him you'll start making him daily lunch box. would so brag to his members and would even dare to say that your cooking is better than jay's.

how would jake loves you <3

• adores you

- to jake ur his ultimate price, his dream girl, laylas mom, his everything. he will go beyond to make you feel what you are to him. he will only give you his attention, he will stop flirting w people n only do it w you. he will not back down on affectionate affection even tho he looks like the biggest simp he DOESNT CARE. he loves you and will show it to you. dating jake will means feeling like his top priority, which you are.

- he will also voice it out. he will call your beautiful or pretty ten times per hours. that is in front of the member, or in front of your friends and family, thru text, he will never fail to make you feel beautiful because that's simply what you are to him.

• act of service

- THEE golden retriever boy, THEE biggest puppy in earth wouldn't want to do everything for you ?dating him means that open door is foreign to you, zipping up or dress ? ur coat ? leave it up to him. trying up ur shoes ? why would u bend down ur soft princess knees when he is right there ? jake is at your service and will not let you do anything. having bake by ur side, automatically makes you a princess.

• kisses

- he kisses you all the time. good morning kiss good night kiss. your beautiful kiss. goodbye kiss. your cute kiss. he is kissing you all the dayum time. he also loves your reaction out of them, so he would kiss you mid sentence all the time. holding your face in both of his hands, squishing it, pampering every inch of skin he can.

- he prefer to kisses you on your skin rather than your lips tho. it would make him feel like he can protect you hut also find them more romantic. so he would kiss ur forehead in a hug, kiss your nose when your on his lap, kiss your hand when walking on the street. it's those little gestures of love that are veri veri meaningful to him.

• flirting w you

- the cockiest nan alive. the biggest flirt. sim jake is dating you. so be ready to be flustered all the good dayum time or to pretend like i don't like it.

- he will also considère his touch as flirting. hands on your things won't stay out nor his hands on your lower back. he likes seeing your reaction SPECIALLY in front of others, it truly feeds his ego of being YOUR man.

• domestic moments

- jake loves for lazy morning or lazy night, legs tangled together w only giggles n soft kisses. he loves seeing your bareface w ur messy hair not only because ure breathtaking but also because it means that you are comfortable w him. that also mena he can be comfortable w you, as being an idol means being perfect, he can let go w you. your are his new definition of comfort.

- lego dates, baking dates , physic dates, grooming layla dates, shopping dates. you can name anything jake would consider it as one n will enjoy it at the fullest. he enjoy spending his previous time on his precious baby.

jake as your boyfriend hc

notes : how to have a jealous jake by ur side #___#

@imaluckygirl @luvj4key @heeseungswifefr @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @jaeyunpinkyring

#jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake soft hours #sim jake #sim jaeyun fluff #sim jake fluff #jake sim x y/n #jaeyun fluff #jaeyun imagines #jake x y/n #jake sim x reader #jake fluff #jake x reader #jake headcanons #enhypen jake fluff #enhypen fluff #jake enhypen

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hemmingsleclerc · 8 hours

Text

It's Over┃max verstappen

summary: where they bellieve max cheated on kelly with a famous singer his age but instead of the fans reacting badly,they celebrate?

maxverstappen x fem!singer!reader

ִֶָ 𖥔 ﾟ˖ ⊹ › ‹ ᵎ 𖧧. ⊹ ˖ ♡.˚˳១୨୧ ༘✰ ༘ ˚ ˚ ༘ ‧₊˚𖧧 ִֶָ 𖥔 ﾟ˖ ⊹ › ‹ ᵎ 𖧧. ⊹ ˖ ♡.˚˳១୨୧

Max has always been in the public eye, both on and off the track. His relationship with Kelly Piquet, the Brazilian ''model'', had been the talk of the paddock for years. Their 9 year age difference has been the topic of conversation and criticism everywhere, but it didn't seem to bother Max… at least not until now.

It all started at an exclusive party after the Monaco GP. The drivers mixed with celebrities of all kinds: singers, actors, models, athletes, etc. Among the crowd was Y/N, a world-wide known singer, nine-time Grammy winner, selling out full stadiums and breaking record after record. Lewis had met her a few years earlier at the Met Gala and they had become close friends so it wasn't surprising to see him listening to her music before a race.

Max was also a fan of Y/N's music and their paths had vaguely crossed at some events. But that night was a little different. They were seen together several times, sharing laughs and whispers that seemed too intimate for only being friends. The paparazzi, always being everywhere, managed to take several photos that would make the Internet go crazy for the next days.

In one particular photo, Max and Y/N were seen standing close to each other, with their faces inches apart, lost in conversation. Another photo captured the moment in which Max caressed Y/N's cheeck with a smile. The final image, which would become the most commented image on twitter the next day, showed Max with his arm casually around Y/N's shoulders as they left the party together and then got into his car holding hands.

The next morning, social media was blowing up. #MaxAndY/N was trending worldwide on twitter. Fans of both Max and Y/N couldn't contain their confusion and excitement. The most popular question was: Had Max finally left Kelly? Was Y/N the new woman in his life? Or was she the other woman?

f1_gossip

Liked by 1,593,694 others

f1_gossip WHAT THE HELL?! This morning a celebrity gossip account published these photos of Max and singer and songwriter Y/N where they are seen very close together! Did we miss something? Since when did Max leave Kelly??

username It's about time Max found someone his own age!

username I never thought that my two worlds collided

username did he cheat???

username HE DID IT!

username Y/N WHAT?!?!?!? 😭😭

Meanwhile, Kelly had been noticeably absent from the party as she was in LA on one of her many trips, which only fueled the breakup rumors; her silence on the matter was interpreted as confirmation. Fans speculated that Max had grown tired of her constant traveling and her indifference to his, and also the factor of their age difference. They believed he had found solace in Y/N, who shared her young energy and passion for her life and career.

Y/N's fans, known for their loyalty, received Max in a good way. They filled their comments on social media with messages of support and excitement.

Days turned into weeks and neither Max nor Y/N addressed the rumors directly. Instead, they continued to be seen together at various events: dinners, concerts and even a charity gala where they were photographed holding hands.

f1_gossip

Liked by 837,583 others

f1_gossip we got new photos of max and yn at the party after the monaco gp! What do you think about this? An anonymous person close to Kelly apparently said the couple had broken up months ago! but they haven't confirmed it

username kelly deserves better!!!

username I really feel that we cannot nor should we give an opinion on the matter, we do not know what happened between Max and Kelly......

username they look so hot

max_updates

Liked by ynlnupdates, f1_gossip and 947,583 others

max_updates STOP THEY'RE LITERALLY SO CUTE! Max and Y/N a few weeks ago outside a restaurant with friends!

username Is nobody address the fact he cheated and she broke a relationship?

username pls max and kelly had been already over for months really, she was only with him for fame

username they look sooo damn good

username 🥹🥹

ynlnupdates

Liked by max_updates, and 986,743 others

ynlnupdates max and y/n tonight!

username he looks so happy 😭🫶🏻

username they are so good together 😍

username PARENTS!

username fucking weird

f1_gossip

liked by 937,492 others

f1_gossip Kelly posted this story a few minutes ago finally speaking about her and max!

username lol ''remain good friend'' girl, he unfollowed u a month ago

username she's really trying to make it seem like Max is still talking to her😭😭

username god heard my prayers 🙏🏻

username max literally just said they hat they had already broken up months ago, grow up

username exactly! he didn't cheated at all!

Finally, in an interview after a race, Max broke the silence.

f1_gossip

instagram

max_updates

liked by 1,492,495 others

max_updates In case you didn't already know, this is a yn ln,singer, songwriter and director, max's new gf, we really can't blame Max for falling for this beautiful and talented woman y'all.

username mommy?

username oh my god she's beautiful

username Oh-

username new wag alert!!!!

username I can't wait to see her on tha paddock

ynlnupdates

liked by 1,583,964 others

ynlnupdates meet max verstappen, 3 times f1 world champion, redbull driver and boyfriend of our yn 🫶🏻

username OH HE'S HOT

username I can't wait to see him on a concert of her's

username❤️😭 I LITERALLY LOVE HIM AND NOW HE'S DATING YN!?!??!

ok I hope this is not messy, I literally finish writing this at 3 am yesterday😭

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sunderingstars · 3 days

Note

don't be a coward, roll the dice 🎲

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ DICE ROLL #43 — A BLOODY KISS ⌝

based on this post!

word count: 1.4k

what the stars reveal: boothill x reader, gn!reader, boothill calls reader "darlin'," slight mentions of blood, i'm allergic to not putting a Narrative™ in everything i write

— thank you for the excuse to write angst cheerisse >:3

Three days. That’s how long it had been since Boothill told you he’d return. Three long, grueling, torturous days. You thought you’d be used to it by now — the stretches of time he went radio silent for one reason or another, flickering out of your life like a candle. Yet, it was impossible to truly release.

Despite occupying such an important role in his life, a partner in all its meanings, it was so easy for him to dissipate, to leave wisps of smoke behind as his flame dwindled. It was the fleeting nature of a Galaxy Ranger, you knew, but you couldn’t understand. What was the point of making you worry? What was the point of those sleepless nights?

On day one you had forced yourself to be patient. Quiet. You molded yourself to the chair at your workstation and sat, eyes roaming over the bits of machinery and time-worn tools scattered about. Once in a while, you’d even let yourself tinker with a piece or two, just to make sure everything was ready for his arrival. You had an important job after all; not just the maintenance of his body, but of his soul and mind. Nothing was quite as sweet as the moments your eyes met while tuning him.

But the second day began to gnaw at you. Twist, in your stomach, like snakes. Their sour venom began to leak into your mind, swirl your worries in a cocktail of potential tragedies, and you contemplated sending him a message. Just one. Enough to ease your mind, to let him know a small blip of you was waiting for him back home. After a few hours of pacing back and forth in your shared kitchen, you worked up the determination to do it.

… No response. Not at dinnertime, not in the evening, and certainly not in the early hours of the morning — most of which you lay painfully awake during. Only the cruel static of a blank screen remained, blinking once, twice, as it tried and failed to reach him among a sea of stars.

The third day was the worst. Everything seemed to compound, balloon out in your mind to the point it began to seep into other parts of your being. You bounced your leg, bit your fingernails, peeled at your lip without even registering it. Eventually, you made your way to the storage closet for some whiskey, if not to take the edge off then to at least give your mouth a diversion.

You had just popped open a bottle when you heard a clank. Immediately, you stilled. Listened again. The bottle, prone, hung in your grip.

Clank.

It was outside, not in.

You were out the door faster than you could blink, legs weaving around rocks and brush as you trampled anything too small to get caught on. The sun was beginning to set, casting the arid landscape in darkening hues of pink and gold, but you knew this place like the back of your hand; the lengthening shadows did nothing to stop your pursuit. Under normal circumstances, you’d be more concerned about threats — wild animals, loose tools, even the stray IPC guard who managed to track down your location, but you didn’t care about any of that now. Not when Boothill was on the line.

So you persisted. Drew closer to the noise as much as you could, eventually picking up an increase in frequency and the soft humming of a tired engine. You squinted. Then, you almost collapsed in relief; trundling down the paved dirt road was a motorbike. Boothill’s motorbike. It was a ghost of its former self, laden with loose parts and constant stuttering and a headlight practically severed from the rest, but it was his.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you picked up your pace with a clear destination in mind. It’s not like he could properly run you over anyways. You were surprised the thing was even moving.

“Boothill?” you called into the dusk. Out-of-breath and ragged, your mind began to filter through your fears, fearing silence, fearing stillness.

However, as the silhouette slowly resolved into familiarity, so too came a voice that pricked tears at your eyes.

“Yes, darlin’?”

Whatever sharp spark of anger coasted through your chest at the causal response fizzled into nothing once you laid eyes on his face. That signature smile, those red-tinted eyes, all backlit against the rays of a dying sun. Healthy. Whole. Alive. Once again, you felt as though your legs might give out.

You made it just far enough to lean against the shuddering fuel tank before using the last of your willpower to vault yourself towards the open embrace of Boothill’s chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. A hearty laugh sounded against you.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled an unintelligible response. The loud hum of the bike became an irrelevant backdrop to the soft hum of metal and leather, the feeling of machinery quietly whirring against the skin of your cheek. No stutters, no pauses. Unlike the dying corpse below, Boothill was running smoothly. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why…?”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence before a sigh crested against the crown of your head. A hand, firm and comforting, came to rest on the back of your neck. “’M sorry, darlin’. Damn phone got busted. I knew you’d worry, but tryin’ to make a call in IPC territory was too risky.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, breath hitching in a vain attempt to keep tears from falling. “I’m just happy you’re— you’re safe.”

In your arms, the leather of his jacket shifted. A warm weight pressed to the small of your back.

“Aw,” he cooed, breath fanning across your cheek as he shifted you into a more comfortable position, “it’s alright. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Something about the combination of his words and actions, the familiar smell of gunsmoke and malt clinging to him like home, made it all bubble over. Before you knew it, you were tilting out and up, cupping your hands against Boothill’s cheeks, bringing him home. In the last painted rays of the sun, your lips met in a stroke of vibrant color.

It felt like everything you had wanted over the past half-week — brightness, relief, the surety of something alive and warm against you. An immeasurable weight left with the tear-tracks down your face, each fear dissipating with a new round of wetness. His lips slotted against yours with the ease of practice. Drifted with purpose to wash away your worry. By the time you tasted tang, you thought it must have been you. It wasn’t uncommon for a part of your lips or tongue to get caught in Boothill’s sharp canines, rupturing the skin ever so slightly to form a pinprick of blood. However, it became clear this wasn’t the case when you surfaced for air.

As your eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, you began to make out faint, dark splatters against your partner’s face.

Fear returned to you in a rush. You hadn’t even checked for flesh injuries when you first saw him, too caught up in the relief of seeing him again.

“Boothill—” you said, fingers tracking carefully along the edge of his mouth where you could see a blossom of dark blood emerging, “—Boothill!”

The man in question hummed in confusion. Slightly frantically, you traced the pads of your fingers along the edges of the splatter. It was fresh. Oh, Aeons, it was fresh, and you hadn’t even thought—

“Woah, hey.” The low timbre of Boothill’s voice brought you out of your spiral. The hands on your back rubbed soothing circles, the kind he used when trying to calm a horse. “It’s nothin’, darlin’.”

“‘Nothing?’” you asked incredulously.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re askin’.” He shot you an infuriating smile. “A few folks from the corporation got on my nerves, that’s all.” Then, when your skepticism remained: “Promise.”

You bit your lip, trying to tamp down the fluttering revival of fear in your chest. You couldn’t deny it, though — even in the night, the drying splatters clearly arced in a passing motion rather than a bleeding one. For what felt like forever, you focused your eyes on the spot near his mouth, burning it into your mind until it dispelled any doubt.

Eventually, you slumped, more out of fatigue than anything else. “Okay.”

“Alright?”

“Okay,” you repeated, “but we’re going inside first. And I’m still checking you over.”

Boothill chuckled. “‘Course. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Then, he smiled, and you found yourself silently glad for the darkness, for the ability to see the radiance of the man before you in place of a sun.

It was beautiful.

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⭑ ⋆⁺₊⋆ constellation: cheerisse ⛵️ ⌝#fanfic #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #gn!reader #boothill #hsr #boothill hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai: star rail x reader #x reader #boothill hsr x reader #boothill x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill x y/n #hsr x y/n #honkai x reader

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redflagshipwriter · 22 hours

Text

batmom cass: reveal

masterpost

Oh. Fuck. He was invisible. A flood of genuine fear washed through him. He was discovered again, he was away from any allies, he had to get away-

Danny went intangible out of sheer survival instinct and lurched downwards. Bruce made a punched-out sound and lunged to grab him. He actually got his hand around Danny’s wrist and clenched despite Danny being invisible to human eyes. It was no use. Danny slipped through his grip, the chair, and then the floor.

He caught himself there and paused, hovering in the flooring. He could see the weird joints underneath the kitchen, a dark crawl space with way more spiders than Alfred could possibly know about. One of them reared up and waved its front legs at him in what was either a threat or a greeting. Danny shuddered involuntarily and pulled back a little to give the arachnid personal space.

“Danny?” Cass’s voice was muffled but calm. “Sit in your chair, please.”

She made it sound so sensible.

He blinked rapidly. “Right. Right, okay.” He floated back up through the floor and avoided eye contact as he settled back into place and the visible spectrum. He stole a glance around the room. Cass and Damian looked unaffected. Bruce’s face said the same, but the pulse point was jumping rapidly in his throat. His hand was pressed firmly against his thigh as if to remind him that it was a physical thing that existed.

“This GIW is harmful to you?” Damian asked, sensible and unaffected. He pushed his empty yoghurt away a few inches on the tabletop. “I gather from the acronym that we are dealing with an organization rather than an individual.”

“....Yeah.” Danny gripped his knees under the table and clung to the hint of normalcy. If they were going to act like that hadn’t been weird, then maybe he was okay. “I think they’re government affiliated. They say they are. They, uh.” He cleared his throat. “They’re the Ghost Investigation Ward, but I call them the Guys in White.”

“And they are a problem because?” Damian asked crisply. Cass was watching with the full force of her formidable attention, but it wasn’t a heavy gaze.

Danny forced himself to stop fidgeting. “Well, I might have died a little.” It came out as a question. “And they’re not sure it’s me- at least, they weren’t, but I guess that they are now.” Oof, that was hard to internalize. Of course they did. Now that they knew about Vlad, they had all the pieces to put it together. His parents had definitely put it together. The look on Mom’s face when she saw him hauling Vlad out of the lab…

He felt cold. Danny rubbed at his thighs as if that would help.

There hadn’t been another choice. It ate at him a little bit that Danny had thrown his life away for someone he didn’t even like, but what else could he have done? Vlad was Vlad, yeah, but Danny couldn’t have left anyone there.

Bruce had a look that Danny had never seen on him before. Intense. Focused. Dangerous. Danny instinctively pulled away from it, sitting all the way up in his chair.

Bruce wiped it away, but the memory still sent Danny’s blood rushing. Ecto gathered in his mouth like saliva, his body readying to fight for his life. He swallowed it down with difficulty.

“As you said,” Cass interjected. She scooted her chair a little closer to him and laid an arm along his shoulders. “Like Jason.” She rubbed at his upper arm. He leaned into her touch.

“Like Jason,” Bruce echoed. His tone was hollow.

Danny ducked his head and missed the meaningful look that Cass shot her BatDad.

“What are their capabilities?” Damian pushed. His dark eyes glittered when Danny looked back at him. “You clearly have invisibility and density shifting. Are they able to counter you?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Danny blinked rapidly to try to force himself to focus. This was… so weird. Someone had found out about him and he wasn’t fighting for his life. Even his friends had found out when he was actively under fire from a ghost. His nervous system didn’t know what to do with this. He cleared his throat. “They have a lot of tech, uh.” He flexed his hands. “From my parents.” He stared at the woodgrain on the table. It was probably real wood and not the heavy duty polymer that the Fenton table was made out of. “They’re not exactly competent, but there’s a lot of them, and they have had some success.”

His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard on bile. He didn’t think about what he’d found when he went after Vlad. He didn’t think about Vlad in his human form, strapped down and incisions pinned open, literal pins holding open his torso and skin layers on his arms. He didn’t think about the quietly despairing hums coming from rows of ghost cores on a shelf, neatly labeled with specimen numbers.

“Let’s walk.” Cass hustled him up and muscled him down the hall without letting go of her comforting grip. Danny went along with it numbly. But she was kinda right. Moving shook him out of his head. The walls were changing around him, curtains and windows and framed portraits and some of Tim’s photography. They passed a room he had never seen before. Cass pushed the door open, let him look around, and then tugged him down the hall before he’d had time to do more than catalogue the novelty.

She did that at the next door, too. Oh. An impromptu tour. The novelty of seeing new things started to drag him back to the real world, right now, which was not exactly a fight for his life.

At the third door, Danny managed, “Does anyone play that piano?”

Cass made a mysterious hum. It took her a while to unstick her tongue. “Damian can. Jason, if you ask with big eyes.”

Danny nodded at this information. Damian did seem like the kind of person who would hone a few classic artistic skills. And Jason was manipulable, good information.

…Not that Danny would need much help there. He felt a little sheepish at how threatened he’d felt earlier when he remembered the sincerity and protectiveness he could sense from both Cass and Jason.

“What should we do about GIW?” Cass broached the topic, as if she knew that he felt better. She probably did know. “Investigate cautiously? Destroy?” She held up two fingers to count off the ‘destroy the GIW’ options. “Horde of lawyers descend from Wayne Enterprises jet, or Justice League?”

Danny snorted. It turned into a laugh, hysterical and too long. He wiped tears away from his eyes. “Personally, I like the idea of blowing up their base,” he admitted. “But someone should rescue the test subjects first.”

“Oh?”

Cass was so weirdly easy to talk to. He leaned a little harder against her. She wasn’t a big woman, but there was something so solid about her anyway. It must be a Black Bat thing. “I left because I was getting someone out,” he admitted. “They were a lot more captives than I knew about.” He squeezed his free hand to ground himself. “I grabbed as many as I could and tossed them through the portal, but I don’t know if that was everyone or if just being home let them heal up.”

Hell, maybe someone had come along and eaten all the helpless cores. Danny shied away from the horror of that thought. His intuition had identified the helpless ghost cores as viable ectoplasm, healing and delicious. They were scared at his approach because they sensed him, they knew they were helpless shells to crack open and lick out the sweet marrow–

Ah. Yup. He stopped in his tracks and heaved his snack onto the carpet.

#batmom cass #red mama bat #dp x dc #dc x dp

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miley1442111 · 3 days

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hi! can you do something with aaron and like a younger next-door neighbour and they're kinda secretly and newly dating and something with Jack goes wrong and reader helps fix it so aaron is just so in love and asks if he can tell jack and it's just super fluffy and cute!

Anyway, thank you so much, i love your writing!!!!

i love this idea so much!

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telling him- a.hotchner

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a/n: i got nothin.

summary: jack can't go to school, so you swoop in and become aaron's hero, he asks two pretty important questions.

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: none

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

Aaron didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d left the BAU. Jack was 11. He had a pre-teen who he’d just moved across the country and changed his entire life.

What the fuck were they doing in San Francisco?

Aaron was a lecturer now, on law in Stanford. Jack attended a new school, much to his dismay.

And then there was you. The gorgeous woman who lived next door to them. You were a lecturer as well, nuclear physics but you were often mistaken for a student, considering you were only 25. You’d been very kind to him since he started work there, and even had had them over for dinner a couple of times.

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

“I don’t wanna go!” Jack exclaimed, arms crossed.

“Jack, I have work in 45 minutes, my students are taking the bar exam, and you know your babysitter is out of town, you have to go to school,” he sighed, feeling helpless. Doing this alone had been the hardest part. He had to leave the family he had, the entire team, and his life behind.

“But they’re mean!” he sobbed into his dad’s chest. “They make fun of me for not having a mom…”

Aaron’s heart broke. He didn’t want to send his kid into school if he was being bullied, and he made a mental note to speak to his teachers.

“Hey guys,” your kind voice filled the house from downstairs. Aaron had given you a key just a few weeks ago. “Ready to go?”

Aaron looked at the time on his watch, it was exactly when you all carpooled to school, then work.

“Up here!” Jack shouted down to you as he cried into his dad’s shoulder, ruining his suit. Aaron could hear your footsteps up the stairs and he braced himself for any judgy looks.

Judgy looks which never came.

“Poor Jack,” you sighed, rubbing his head. “What’s going on?”

“The kids at school laugh at me because I don't have a mommy anymore,” he cried, getting up and giving you a hug. You sent Aaron an empathetic look and hugged Jack back.

“That is awful Jack, how about this. You come to work with me and your dad, my lectures don’t start ‘till later so you can hang out with me and I know someone who works at your school, so if you tell me your teacher’s name I can get the lesson plan for today and we can work through it in my office, does that sound good?”

Jack nodded his head furiously and hugged you harder, his tears subsiding.

Aaron’s heart could’ve exploded. You were so kind. You two had only been on a few dates in recent weeks, you hadn’t told Jack yet, but you were so caring.

He mouthed a ‘thank you’ in your direction and you shrugged. ‘It’s the least I can do’.

Aaron ran into his room, pulling on a new suit jacket to replace the one soiled by Jack’s tears, grabbed his briefcase, and followed you out to the car. You’d called your friend at his school and gotten the information so Jack had his school books in his bag. You drove them to the Stanford campus, explained to your supervisor who told you it was alright, and departed for the day, Jack’s hand in yours. Aaron walked over to his building, and you stayed in yours, sending him updates throughout the day. You made the majority of your lectures for the day either study lectures, or just cancelled lectures so you could keep a close eye on Jack. You even allowed three of your most responsible students to teach Jack some maths.

At the end of the day, Jack fell asleep on the couch in your office while you were busy cleaning up your lecture hall.

“Hi honey,” Aaron smiled from the door.

“Hi love,” you smiled back. “How was your day? Did anyone faint in the exam hall?”

He crossed over to you in three quick strides and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You were so kind, you’d taken care of Jack all day for him, you’d made him feel less alone in the most isolating time of his life, and you were his. Well, maybe, he hadn’t exactly asked yet. “No one fainted, but a few did vomit before coming in.”

“Poor them,” you sighed. “Jack was fine all day, no issues.”

“Have I told you how wonderful you are?” He smiled and you chuckled.

“A few times, sure,” you teased. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

Aaron smiled and moved one of his hands to cup your cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

You smiled back at him, pecking his cheek. “Well, good thing we have a date on Friday.”

“I want to tell Jack,” He admitted. “About us.”

You nodded. “You’re sure? It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure. He loves you anyways, what’s the worst that can happen?” He asked, pressing kisses to your neck as he spoke.

“Umm- He could hate both of us because he feels like we’re replacing your and Haley’s relationship, he could start to resent you if we break up, he could hate me, the list goes on-”

“Don’t let it,” he smiled. “I have spent my whole life making calculated and deliberate decisions, even if I knew those choices wouldn’t make me happy. I want to be happy now, with you and Jack,” he admitted. In recent months you’d taught him the value of being slightly selfish, despite his altruistic tendencies.

“Alright, whatever you say love,” you smiled and kissed him again, then went back to your desk to gather your things.

“I also want to ask you something,” he stated and when you turned around you saw a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hands. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You chuckled softly and smiled, the sweetness of the moment warming your heart. “Yes, Aaron, I will be your girlfriend.”

He grinned when you accepted and his hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed your lips against his in celebration.

He was happy, truly happy. For the first time in a long time.

And it was all thanks to you.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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harunayuuka2060 · 10 hours

Text

Trey: MC?

Chubby MC: ...Trey?

Trey: *laughs; happy to see them again* How are you?! Oh my dear great seven!

Trey: You still look huggable!

Chubby MC: ...

Trey: *obviously wants to hug them*

Chubby MC: ...

Chubby MC: Ugh. *opens their arms wide*

Trey: *hugs them* I missed you!

Chubby MC: Yeah, yeah. Me too.

Trey: *chuckles* So, what brings you here to Queendom of Roses?

Chubby MC: I was job hunting.

Trey: Hm. I see. Oh, and sorry for ignoring you, Jade.

Chubby MC: ...

Jade: *smiles* It's alright.

Chubby MC: ...

Trey: You're not aware that he was following you, huh?

Trey: *has invited MC and Jade to his pastry shop*

Trey: What have you been doing now?

Jade: MC and I live in the same house.

Chubby MC: No, he has his own, but keeps trespassing on mine.

Jade: We have a mutual understanding.

Trey: ...

Trey: Oh.

Chubby MC: How about you, Trey?

Trey: *sigh* As you can see, I'm still single. Though I'd say I'm happy with my life right now.

Chubby MC: Huh. So Cater's not your husband?

Cater: *tries to walk back inside*

Chubby MC: I already saw you.

Cater: ...

Cater: *awkward chuckle* I'll get dressed first. Okay?

Trey: ...

Trey: I'm sorry about that.

Jade: ...

Jade: You should teach me your ways, Trey.

Chubby MC: *gives Jade a side glance*

Cater: Our friends didn't know.

Trey: Yes, we've been keeping this a secret. For now, at least.

Chubby MC: Ah, so I've been spoiled. My bad.

Cater: You're the first one we were planning to tell anyway, so this works out fine.

Chubby MC: Why me?

Trey: You're the kind of person who is hard to surprise.

Cater: Yeah~ And you're always quick to catch on~. *pouts*

Jade: Indeed, though I wish they could understand how sincere my feelings for them are.

Trey and Cater: ...

Cater: Huh? I thought you gave up pursuing them, Jade.

Trey: Yeah. You confessed, but made no efforts after that.

Jade: ...

Chubby MC: ...

Cater: So you're the culprit why our baby stopped believing in love!

Chubby MC: I'm just insecure, what the fuck- Jade has nothing to do with what I have become.

Trey: Ah, how nostalgic. You used to defend Jade too.

Chubby MC: ...

Jade: This information has boosted my morale. Thank you.

#twisted wonderland #twst chubby mc #twst jade #twst trey #twst cater #twst chubby mc x jade

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babyleostuff · 3 days

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[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 8

오늘 날씬 너를 많이 닮아 / 너에게 가는 길은 꽃길이 되고 / 보일 듯 말 듯한 니 맘 보인다면 / 온몸이 간질간질 두근두근 / 이 기분은 뭐야 어떡해

☁️ "aju nice" by seventeen

being loved by lee seokmin means having a soulmate. he's a hopeless romantic through and through, and even though he's rather rational and realised that soulmates most likely only existed in literature and movies, the moment he met you he quickly understood that they really existed. all he has to do is think about you and his heart is filled with this unconditional and pure love that he knows he will have for you for the rest of his life, no matter how it turns out. he is the person who understands you without words, he is the person who knows you like the back of his hand, he is the person who knows exactly what you need and when you need it. when you are happy, he is happy. when you are sad, he is sad. a true definition of a soulmate.

being loved by lee seokmin means having your personal ray of sunshine. his energy and positivity is infectious to everyone around him and it's almost impossible to be down when he’s around. that's why his presence always helps you through difficult times, not only because of his soothing touch, gentle kisses and words of comfort, but because of his energy. seokmin often doesn't even realise how his mere presence influences you, how it makes you smile despite a tough day - sometimes him just being there for you means more than any words of comfort could convey - his presence is enough to help you cope with a difficult day. seokmin is your ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

being loved by lee seokmin means having a mini koala who would love to cling to you 24/7. i don't think it's necessary to mention what a cuddly and affectionate person seokmin is, but it's worth mentioning that when it comes to you, the affection should be multiplied by at least ten. he loves physical touch, this is one of the ways to show how much he cares about the people around him, so looking at how much he loves you, it's safe to say that if he could, he would cling to you and follow you everywhere (which definitely happens on your days off). but, despite this, he always knows when you need some space or when you're just not in the mood for physical touch, so his affections are never overwhelming or overbearing.

being loved by lee seokmin feels like a sunny day, like the laughter of children playing on the playground, like the smell of coffee or tea in the morning, like life waking up after winter.

“if you live to be a hundred, i want to live to be a hundred minus one day so i never have to live without you.” - joan powers, pooh's little instruction book

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei

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daydreaming-nerd · 3 days

Text

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Azriel's Version)

Part One , Part 2

AN: "Majesty, Palo is exhausted. Because Majesty only Palo can take this (angst) and this (groveling) and give you...a masterpiece."

No fr guys I put my whole puss into this plz tell me if you liked it

check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: angst, fluff like so much fluff, no editing (I'm so tired omg)

Word count: 9,370

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened.

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all.

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today.

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowing at my tear stained cheeks.

“Yeah,” I laughed him off, wiping the water from my face.

“I’m sorry I interfered like that, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to speak to him or if you wanted me to kick his ass. But he seemed mad and I wouldn’t stand for him yelling at you.” Lucien apologized leaning against the back of the couch a good three feet away sensing I needed some space.

“I suppose that I wasn’t sure what I wanted either,” I sigh leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for stepping in. I think it was for the best.”

“Of course, I’ll always be there for you,” Lucien nods before resuming his staredown with the floor, probably trying to make sense of everything just like I was. “Az seemed…concerned for you. I think the bond snapped for him.”

“It did,” I say, running my hand over my chest, as if I could touch the faint glow of the bond that now sat in my chest. “It clicked the moment he saw us in the kitchen.”

“Are you happy it clicked?” he asked, once again asking all the questions I truly didn’t have an answer for, at least not yet.

“I-I’m not sure.” I say honestly, knowing I didn’t need to hide my true feelings from Lu. “I’ve pictured him finding out a million ways, but over the last couple years I’ve kind of given up on the whole endeavor. I felt like I made it clear that I liked him, and he only met me with complaints about other women. First Mor and then Elain.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Lucien pointed out.

“Even if he had it’s not because he loves me.” I murmured sadly. “You heard him in there. He only wants me because he feels entitled to me. He never once acted like he cared about me beyond being his best friend's little sister.”

“I suppose you’re right, it’s hard to forgive 400 years of cruel behavior,” Lucien muttered, still staring at that little spot on the floor.

I strode across the room and leaned against the couch with him. I wanted to say something, anything to break the silence. But it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room in one foul swoop. I had just let out a 400 year old secret and for the first time ever, our mates seemed to give a damn about us. I look to Lucien who is still processing everything and I recall how Elain was so upset to see her mate with another female.

“Elain…” I started, wanting to tread carefully. “She seemed pretty upset,” I said, only stating the obvious.

Lucien chuckled, “Yeah, I think that’s the first time she’s ever called me her mate.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I ask wanting to give him the same room to speak that he gave me. I knew if he didn’t feel like sharing he wouldn’t, Lucien was no pushover.

“I feel strangely happy,” he says and for the first time since we got back his lip curls into a half smile. “I think that she might be willing to give me a chance.”

My heart warms at the idea of Lucien finally getting to have a chance with his true mate, “I’m really happy for you Lu,” I smile, patting his hand that sat on the back of the couch.

He snaps out of his trance, “that’s not to say that you’re not- you’re a wonderful woman y/n-” he rambles.

“Hey, HEY!” I shout getting his attention. “I’m happy for you Lucien. You deserve this,” I laugh at his attempt to not hurt my feelings.

“Thank you y/n,” he smiles, grabbing my hands and squeezing them.

“What do we do now though,” I sigh looking at his family ring on my finger.

His eyes flit to the ring as well as his thumb brushes over it, “We continue on as normal, we can push back the wedding. I’m not confident in what Elain wants from me at this point and you clearly are at odds with Azriel. If things don’t work out…” he trails off thinking about hsi next words. “If things don’t work out I would still be honored to have you as my wife. I still feel like we could make eachother happy.” he says earnestly.

I look into his eyes of russet and gold and see that he truly means every word, “Okay,” I nod my voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he agrees, keeping his voice down as well. “Shall we head to bed?” he asks.

“We shall,” I laugh, following him up the stairs.

That night we didn’t make love, we cuddled as normal though, but somehow even that felt wrong, now that the bond I prayed over for so long hummed within my chest.

While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed.

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book.

“Just wait till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out.

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“You’re going to be a great mother one day” he admitted.

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “Of course, I’ve always been fond of children myself,” he laughed.

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” he assured me.

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms.

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause.

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over. I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, I always pictured them scaling Azriel when they were little like Nyx, and as they got older I would watch as Az taught them to fly.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple.

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

Feyre’s eyes sparkled at the sight of her son and Rhys eyes sparkled at the sight of Feyre taking their babe from my arms. I reluctantly gave Nyx back, already missing being able to pretend he was my own.

“He was a little angel,” I report to Feyre.

“If by angel you mean hellion,” Lucien chuckles behind me.

“I would expect nothing less from a child raised by this family,” Rhys laughed, wrapping one arm around Feyre and brushing a hand against his son’s cherub cheeks.

A silence rolled over the room as we all watched the little family reunite. I couldn’t help but flit my eyes to Azriel, who looked at them with a grin and a longing in his eyes. His eyes find me and I don’t dare look away.

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

Lucien releases his grip on my hip as I follow Azriel into Rhysand’s study and close the door behind me with a resolute click signaling that I was locked in here with him. Az takes up residence by Rhys’ desk, leaning against it like some sort of tortured man. I couldn’t help but notice he was still in his fighting leathers, his wings tucked in tight and his knuckles perched over his lips, like he was contemplating what to say. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I yelled at you and I shouldn’t have,” he says fidgeting a bit. “Its just… it’s just that I was so pissed when I found him with his hands all over you and you just seemed so happy.”

He sighs running a hand through his hair staring at the ground, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I think that’s what bothered me the most,” he continues. “You seemed…happy.”

“You were upset because I was happy?” I scoff furrowing my brows at him, the fucking gall of this male.

“No, no! Gods y/n,” he corrects me, running his hands down his face clearly upset with himself. “I think I was upset because I wasn’t the one making you happy.” he finally says and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

I’m completely taken back by his words, at the fact that he admitted that he wanted to be the one to make me happy like that. The way Lucien did. It didn’t make any sense, given the fact that he never showed me in the last 400 years.

“That’s funny coming from a male who’s been complaining to me about the females he’s been in love with for the past 400 years.” I deadpan, crossing my arms.

“Is that how long you’ve known? 400 years?” he asked me, voice rising a bit.

I nod, “I knew the night you danced with me on solistance in the Hewn City all those years ago,” I confess.

“Fuck y/n,” he groans running his hands down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you started panting after Mor and the second you gave up on her in walked Elain!” I shouted, it was the most obvious thing ever as to why I didn’t tell him.

“You had to know that you were first,” he says, snapping his head up to meet mine, pleading in those hazel eyes.

I gave him a blank stare not knowing what he was talking about.

“Please tell me you know you were the first, before Mor, before Elain, I was practically on my knees for you,” he confessed.

Once again I’m left speechless. Could it be true? That he had wanted me before I even knew about the bond?

I shook my head, even if it was true he was speaking in past tense. I didn’t want him to be my mate because he felt like he had to be, I wanted him to love me, truly love me. I wanted him to choose me.

“I had no idea,” I admit feeling a bit of shame. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, it’s all in the past. I’m not mad at you Azriel.”

“Thank the cauldron,” he breathes, crossing the room to cup my face.

I place my hands on his wrists and pull them away from me, “Az I think that you should be with Elain,” I say, stepping back from him.

“What? No.” he shakes his head and I take another step back.

“You clearly love her and she loves you, the cauldron made a mistake by making us mates, it's as simple as that,” I say trying to hide my tears.

I loved Az, a part of me always would, but I wouldn’t be his consolation prize just because the cauldron fucked up and made me his mate instead of Elain. I couldn’t live with that.

“No don’t say that, please don’t say that,” Az pleads, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry Azriel but I won’t be your consolation prize,” I say before grabbing the door handle and walking out into the living room where Lucien was.

Azriel goes to say more until he hears the hitch in my breath. There, before me, Lucien is tucking a stray hair out of Elain’s face and placing a kiss on her knuckles. A sweet gesture, one I’ve probably read about a thousand times in my romance novels. Lucien’s eyes flit to mine, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen him so happy.

“We’re going to give it a shot,” he smiles happily, putting an arm around Elain.

“Really?” I ask looking to Elain who smiles brightly.

“Yeah we are,” she says smiling up at Lucien.

“Oh I’m so happy for you two,” I cheer before engulfing them both in a hug.

“Congrats you guys,” Azriel mutters from behind me, seemingly abandoning whatever he was going to say to me in favor of praising his friends.

Lucien chuckles at my excitement, “Don’t get too excited, we’re going to have to move my stuff out of your place today, I think it’s time I move back into the townhouse,” he smiled.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!” I cheer, grabbing his hands to winnow us away.

In reality I wasn’t excited about the idea of moving, and much less excited about the idea of my little townhouse being empty again. But I needed to get away from Azriel.

One week later:

After the all day affair of moving Lucien’s accumulated stuff out of my house and in the townhouse I was back to loving alone. Which at first wasn’t terrible. I was content to read my book and cook for myself when necessary. But after about a week I began to miss the food Lucien would make, or having someone to lie next to. It was a strange feeling, it felt like a breakup, but I wasn’t sad. I missed having another heartbeat in the house, not Lucien himself.

After a week of getting my affairs in order my brother finally asked me for some help and I was thankful for the distraction. All week I had been in my own head about all that had happened, with Lu and Elain, with me and Az. I needed a break to think of something else.

That’s how I found myself slipping on an old day court dress and getting ready to winnow to see Helion, an old friend of mine. I was leaving the house and locking the door when I ran smack into a large chest I screamed being taken off guard.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” a familiar voice apologized, I turn to find Azriel standing before me.

“It’s okay, I should’ve been paying more attention,” I chuckle awkwardly. I hadn’t heard from the spymaster in a week, why would he come to talk to me now?

Azriel’s eyes furrow from where they tower over me, “Why are you dressed for the Day Court?” he inquires.

“Oh well,” I look down at the swaths of white fabric that cascaded down my body, suddenly feeling a bit exposed from off the shoulder dress. “Rhys wants me to go and schmooze Helion a little bit. Something about wanting to get him to agree to better trade deals.” I laugh remembering how my brother agonized over it the other day.

“So he wants you to go and flirt with Helion?” Az cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Well Helion and I go way back, and he’s always been…well keen on me.” I say honestly and I watch as Az bristles just a bit. I can’t even count the number of times the High Lord as tired to get Cassian and I in his bed

“I’ll give Rhys one thing he sure is ruthless,” Azriel chuckles trying to play off his nerves.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask, still wondering why he’s here, at my doorstep.

“Oh uh, no,” Azriel stutters. “Well actually I was walking by and I saw this and I thought of you.” he says pulling out a white rose. It looked like he had plucked it right off the bush down the street. “I thought you should have it.” he finished.

I take the rose from his hand and notice that the thorns have all been cut off. I eye Truth Teller strapped at his side and the lingering thorn that was still stuck on its sharp blade.

“That was very thoughtful of you Az thank you,” I tell him sweetly, taken back by his gesture.

“You’re welcome,” he says, seemingly relaxing at my acceptance of his gift.

I check my watch, “Well I really do have to go, Helion is waiting for me,” I wince moving past him on the stairs so I can get past the words my brother has on my place.

“Yes of course,” Az says following me down the steps and out the wrought iron fence. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’m okay, I can winnow,” I chuckle, closing the gate behind me.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later then,” Azriel voices with a hint of a sigh.

“Yeah I’m sure you will,” I reply before winnowing into Helion’s mansion.

How could Az be so calm about all this? It was like he was trying to force himself to have feelings for me, figuring he better learn to love me now that he’s shackled to me for eternity. Part of me wondered if Rhys had given him a firm talking to and convinced him to attempt to like me.

“There she is,” Helion mused from the top of the stairs coming down the stairs dressed in his usual attire. Part of me hated that I found him attractive, in another life, if he wasn’t so promiscuous, I might’ve seen myself standing by his side.

“Helion,” I smile, pulling him in for a hug.

When we pull away his hands linger at my waist and his eyes look at the rose in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks plucking the rose from my hand.

I think about the encounter with Azriel, how forced it all felt.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

Helion tosses the flower aside before throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me inside, “So, your brother has sent you to convince me to agree to his new trade agreements.” he smirks.

“He’s done nothing of the sort, I came to visit an old friend of my own accord,” I tease, knowing Helion isn’t as daft as Rhys makes him out to be.

“We’ll see about that new treaty after some wine, and tell your brother that next time he wants to use you against me as leverage he should just send you naked,” Helion chuckles.

I erupt in laughter, slapping his arm as he leads us to a white couch with a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table.

Three days later after successfully getting Helion to agree to a new trade treaty I found myself sitting in my living room with a glass of wine enjoying the fruits of my labors. As soon as I told Rhys about the High Lord of Day’s cooperation he sent me one of his finest bottles of wine as a thank you. Not that I required any thanks, I enjoyed spending time with Helion.

My silence was interrupted by my door opening and closing. I just about jumped out of my skin, the only one who had the key to the place was Lucien and he had given it back a long time ago. My heart pounded as I stood from the couch in my nightgown and robe. I had turned in for the night and certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. I lift my romance novel over my head and step around he couch ready to swing when I see Azriel locking the door behind him quietly.

“Azriel you scared the hell out of me,” I sigh, lowering the book.

He turns from the door looking me up and down taking in my casual attire hungrily. “I’m sorry I guess I’m just used to walking right in, I wanted to give you these,” he says holding out a large bouquet of white roses, exactly like the kind he gave me the other day.”

“Thank you Az, they’re beautiful,” I say wearily, taking them from his scarred hands. “I’ll uh- I’ll just put them in water,” I tell him, padding into the kitchen to grab a vase and fill it.

“I thought since you liked the other one I gave you that you might like those ones too,” he says walking into the kitchen and leaning in my doorway.

I place the two dozen roses in a vase,“Well I appreciate them, it’s been a while since I’ve had fresh flowers in the house,” I divulge to him, remembering how Lucien used to bring them home all the time. He would always ask for Elain to make him a bouquet, his little way of speaking to her in a way that didn’t make her uncomfortable. The thought had me thinking of how Lucien and Elain were probably sitting at a nice dinner right now, had me questioning why the fuck Azriel was here.

A silence fills the room as Azriel sits admiring either me or the flowers, from where I’m standing it could be either or. I walk around the kitchen island to test the theory and sure enough his eyes follow me as I lean my back against the side closer to him. A wave of embarrassment slips over me. Did Rhys ask him to bring more flowers again? Was I really that pathetic?

“Az why are you doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the flowers behind me.

Azriel straightens taking a tentative step towards me, “Because I want what Elain and Lucien have. I want you to give me a chance to be a good mate,” he says softly.

I look to the wooden floors below me, my bare feet messing with a loose floorboard, “You don’t have to do this Azriel. If Rhys sent you I’ll just cover for you and say you came.” I say not daring to look at him.

“I’m not here because of Rhys, I’m here because I want to see you,” he implored and I heard his feet shuffle closer.

“I’m still not your consolation prize just because Lucien and Elain are doing well. I won’t do that to myself,” I say, continuing to mess with the loose floorboard.

“You’re not my consolation prize y/n, you’re my mate.” Azriel states, his voice becoming more urgent causing me to tighten my arms around myself ever so slightly.

His boots come into my line of sight and suddenly he’s titling my chin up to meet his pleading gaze. I’m suddenly all too aware of how underdressed I was. There was a time when I would’ve killed for this. But now? I won’t let myself be hurt again.

“Y/n please-”

“Azriel I’m at peace,” I snap, cutting him off and looking down at our feet once again even though his hand still rested under my chin. “For the first time in 400 years I’m at peace. I have loved, and pined, and thrown myself at your feet for 400 years, and I am finally happy in my exile. So forgive me if I’m hesitant to give that up so quickly because you all of the sudden want a mate.” I bit out.

His shadows dance around my hands and I move my fingers out of their grasp, like their cold kiss was burning me.I wait for him to say something back, for him to breathe wrong, yell at me or leave but he doesn’t move. I let my eyes flit up to his, and I find him staring down at me, like he’s been waiting for me to look at him this whole time.

“I’m not going to give up,” he states, if he was sad or upset by my previous words he doesn’t show it.

I sigh, tossing my head back, “Az please,” I beg.

“No I’m serious, I’m not giving up on you, on us,” he maintained steadfastly, his hands not leaving my cheek as he steps even closer to me and my back hits the cool granite behind me.

“Azriel I think you should go,” I grit out, the second my body stiffens under his he steps back giving me my space.

“Alright I’ll go,” he says, taking a step back.

I follow him to the door and hold it open as he steps out into the cool night air that has me wrapping my silk robe around me tighter, as if it was helping anything anyways.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he assures me before shooting off into the sky.

“I really wish you wouldn’t!” I shout into the air after him before slamming the door and locking it.

I take a deep breath once I’m seated on my couch again, trying to salvage any sort of peace I might still have. But that tranquility was disappearing in my hands the more I chased it.

The following day I head to Rhys’ house to talk over the new adjustments in the Day Court trade agreements. It was supposed to be easy enough, but as things got more and more complex it ended up being an all day thing. By the time I walked up the steps to my own townhouse I was exhausted and starving. I wasn’t looking forward to bread for dinner as I had no time to go to the market today.

I kicked open the door and locked it behind me, the smell of fresh tomatoes and basil wafted through the air causing me to pause in my tracks. Was Lucien here? Had him and Elain gotten in a fight or something?

“Ah shit!” I heard a male cuss followed by the searing of liquid on a burner.

I curiously walk around the corner of the kitchen where I’m greeted with the sight of Azriel, standing in my apron, reading my cookbook and stirring some sort of sauce. His shadows were helping him turn the pages of the book. I see the spilled sauce on the burner that was the cause of his profanity just moments ago.

“There you are,” he smirked, his eyes flitting up to mine before reading the book again.

“Az what are you doing here?” I ask, setting my bag down on the table.

“Making you dinner,” he said, gesturing to the numerous used pans and utensils lying around my once clean kitchen.

I walk over to inspect what he’s cooking. Fresh herb crusted chicken cooks in the pan next to him while he stirs a red sauce. In the sink is cooked pasta sitting next to freshly sauteed green beans. I inhale the smell of the food deeply and I can’t help but feel myself salivate a little, it smells delicious.

“You always dog ear the recipes you want to try but you never make them for fear of not liking them,” he says nonchalantly as he prods at the chicken.

I look down at the cookbook he’s reading, sure enough the recipe he’s making has a bent corner. I had been itching to try it but had never found the time.

“If you end up not liking it there’s take out from Rita’s in the ice box,” he said using the spoon to point to the ice box in the corner of the room.

I look up to fully inspect him. This all feels like a ridiculous practical joke. If someone had told me that my spymaster would be cooking me dinner I would’ve laughed in their face. Upon further inspection I realize he’s shirtless, save for my apron he’s wearing.

“Was the half nudity necessary?” I cock an eyebrow leaning against the counter.

Azriel barked out a laugh, “It took me a while to find the apron, I had gotten tomato juice on my shirt when I started chopping them up for the sauce so I took it off and washed it,” he explained the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Plus I figured the whole shirtless bit might win me more brownie points with you.”

I rolled my eyes at his cockiness, I didn’t dare let him know how right he was.

He laughed at my reaction, “Why don’t you go sit down, dinner’s almost ready.” he said gesturing to the couch.

I shrugged my shoulders and padded my way over to my favorite reading spot. The one he found me in yesterday. I plop down on the velvet sofa and there in front of me on the coffee table, my book has been left open to the place I bookmarked and a glass of wine sits for me. I raise an eyebrow but decide to just roll with it, I pick up the book and sip on the wine, becoming engrossed with the story.

A few minutes later I feel the cold begin to bite at my toes. I look around for a blanket and see that the nearest one is across the room. I curse at the idea of having to move, but before I can even set my book down one of Azriel’s shadows is scurrying across the room to retrieve the knitted blanket for me. The wisp of darkness arranges the blanket neatly over my legs, tucking me in like a mother would her child. I can’t help but laugh at the care the little thing is putting into the job.

Azriel’s shadows looking out for me was nothing new, the second the bond clicked for me they tended to stay near me. Picking up pens and silverware I dropped on the floor and always twirling around my hair and wrists. There were even times they would try to drag Az near me, like on starfall and solstice, nights I looked especially beautiful. But he would always curse and wave them off until they left him alone.

The little shadow perched itself on my shoulder as if it too wanted to read my book. I could sense it was trying to anticipate any other small need I might have.

“You know he might be insufferable but you guys are pretty great,” I laugh looking at the curious being.

In response the shadow boops itself on my nose as if it was giving me a kiss.

“Don’t tell them that or they’ll get a big head,” Azriel murmurs behind me where he’s leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, still shirtless and wearing that damned apron.

“In that case I’ll be sure to praise them more often, they’re little angels,” I smile as the tendril of darkness dances around my collar.

Azriel lets out a small chuckle behind me, “Dinner is ready,” he tells me before disappearing into the kitchen once more.

I follow him as the small shadow frantically pulls at my wrist towards the table, as if it’s eager for me to see what it helped its master cook. When I walk into the darkened kitchen and find that Az has set the table not only with our dinner but with candles and another bouquet. This time it’s an arrangement of jasmine, no doubt from the florist down the street.

I sit down and inhale the heavenly scent of the white flowers and hum in delight. Azriel comes in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring us each a bit. He sees me admiring the flowers and smiles.

“Jasmine, like your perfume,” he says, putting down the bottle and taking his seat next to me.

I smile and look down at the plate before me. It looks delicious, the pasta is fragrant with basil, the chicken is cooked to perfection and the green beans are vibrant and green. I lift my fork and dig into the past first. The moment it hits my tongue the flavor melts in my mouth, rich, bold and oh so savory. I let out a moan as my eyes flit to Azriel who is watching me expectantly wondering if I’m going to like it or not.

“This is incredible,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see me chewing.

“Thank the cauldron I thought I put too much red pepper in,” he breathes out, seemingly relaxing before digging into his own plate.

“No it’s perfect, thank you really,” I say earnestly.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, taking a bite of chicken.

We sit and eat our meals in silence simply enjoying the good food. A little shadow flitted up in front of my face to gauge my reaction to the bite of chicken I was chewing. I couldn’t help but laugh as it shifted like it was cocking its head at me.

“Yes it’s very good, you did a wonderful job,” I laugh at the little fella.

My giggle brings Azriel’s attention to me once again and before I know it he’s waving his hand at the little tendril like he’s swatting a fly.

“Hey go away let her eat for the love of god,” he chastises as the shadow slinks back behind him.

“Don’t worry it wasn’t bothering me,” I laugh taking another bite of green beans.

“Yeah well they haven’t been listening lately,” he says looking back at the little shadow that had slinked behind his shoulder like a reprimanded child.

I shake my head at the two of them interacting and take another sip of wine. To be honest I wasn;t really sure what to say to Azriel. Despite his valiant efforts to win me I still wasn’t ready to abandon the peace I had grown so fond of.

“You know it’s funny,” he tells me, playing with the food on his plate. “I feel like my shadows have always liked you. It was like they knew before I did,” he laughed nervously at his confession.

“Maybe so,” I shrug, not wanting to broach the subject, the friendlier we could make this the better.

“I can remember times when they would drag me into any room that had you in it. Most of the time I control them, but when it comes to you? They control me.” he laughs while taking a sip of his wine.

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say, forcibly changing the topic of conversation. “It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I think the local restaurants have my to-go orders memorized now.” I laugh.

“Lucein used to cook for you didn’t he?” Azriel asks, and I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my head as I play with the pasta on my plate.

“Yeah he did, he was a surprisingly good cook too,” I say, recalling the traditional Autumn Court meals he would cook all the time. They were mostly for him, for when he was feeling nostalgic, but he always left some for me as well.

Azriel sits for a moment as if debating whether or not to say something for a moment. “Did you love him?” he asks.

My fork clatters to the plate at the abrupt question and I’ve never felt so put on the spot. It was never something I had thought about in regards to the autumn court male. Love seemed like an emotion that would be reserved for Azriel and Azriel alone, until one day it wasn’t. I didn’t love Lucien, but I certainly stopped loving Az in that way, or at least I think I did.

“No I didn’t” I say honestly turning to meet the shadowsingers gaze. “Lucien and I… it was never like that. We both knew what we needed for each other, it started as just sex. But then he would stay the night, and then we started going to breakfast. His shirts started showing up in the laundry hamper, his books on the coffee table. Eventually I just gave him a key, it seemed like the logical thing to do. We didn’t even label our relationship until he asked me to marry him.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Azriel said, going back to shyly staring down at the table. “I overheard your conversation that one day. When you asked him about the possibility of having children. You said that you always pictured your children having wings, was that true?” he inquired.

I nod shallowly, unable to trust my own words in such a raw moment.

If Az had any other questions he didn’t ask them or press me to talk about the two of us, it was as if he was happy with the answers I did give him. He was perfectly content to let me finish eating my meal in comfortable silence. When I was finished he cleared the table and didn’t let me lift a finger to help clean. Instead those pesky shadows cornered me into reading my book once more.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he came in, dressed in his shirt once more to bid me goodnight. He insisted that I stay in my comfortable spot by the couch as he walked himself out locking the door behind him. As the comfortable silence, which I had grown so used to, ensued, I found myself silently wishing he had stayed just a little longer.

The following weeks were spent with little visits from shadows and shadowsingers. Sometimes it would be Azriel showing up at my door with coffee or gifts. Other times, when Rhys had Azriel on missions he would find ways to leave things at my doorstep. The first time it was another bouquet of flowers and then chocolates.

My favorite gift from Azriel had been the books. The first set he got me was the second and third book in my series. They appeared at my door the morning after he made me dinner with a note that read…

I noticed that you were almost done with your book last night so I went out to get you the second book. I noticed it was a short book so I got you the third in case you finished it in one day like you no doubt will.

-Azriel

Of course he was right and I finished the second book by the end of the day. When I opened the third, and much longer book, to begin reading it a bookmark fell out and another note.

I figured you might need a bookmark for this one.

-Azriel

He was right about that as well.

The next book to be delivered was a classic romance with certain pages, and quotes underlined. His notes scribbled in the margins. Clearly he had taken the time to read the novel himself. When I saw the first annotation I expected his further notes to be corny or cheesy, but each one was well thought out.

The most recent literally delivery was a small and short book about different types of flowers. Between each of the pages sat a live flower that corresponded with the page. It was possibly the most vibrant and beautiful bouquet I had ever seen and by far my favorite floral gift I had received.

This week though things had been different. As the colder months were drifting in I started spending more time inside, reading by the fire. But not once had Azriel stopped by. Not a present, not a note to be found. When I subtly asked Rhys were the shadowsinger was he told me he was in the isle of Hybern.

A week had come and gone without so much as a tendril of a shadow to be seen. I sat infront of my roaring fire with a book in hand trying to escape the bitter cold. Outside the first snowfall of the year had taken the form of a blizzard. I pitied the shopkeepers that would have to walk home in it.

Around midnight I heard the scraping of metal against stone from outside my house. I jumped out of my skin and quickly looked at the clock noting the late hour. I set down my novel to wrap myself in a blanket and pad over to the front door. I could already hear the winds outside and feel the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the door.

I open the door to investigate the strange sound and I nearly gasp when I find Azriel outside my house shoveling my walkway with a small shovel from my garden. One meant for digging out plants and trees, not snow.

“Az what are you doing?” I ask, making the spymaster jump a bit.

“I’m shoveling your walkway. I didn’t want you to slip tomorrow morning or hurt your back trying to shovel it yourself,” he said, digging into the snow again with the little metal shovel.

“Oh Az you don’t have to do that,” I coo walking out into the cold pulling my blanket tighter.

“I don’t have to but I want to,” he said shoveling more snow. “It wouldn’t take so long if I had a bigger shovel.” he grunts, frustrated.

“Well why didn’t you take Rhys’ shovel?” I laughed watching as the overgrown Illyrain tried to mangle the tiny thing.

“Well I just got back from Hybern, I saw it had snowed and I came here first.” he explained and my heart swelled. He had come to my place first before he even went home. “I figured if I didn’t do it you would fall and break your head open.”

“Azriel, really you don’t have to do this, I can handle it,” I plead with him feeling bad that he’s subjected himself to the weather.

He stops his shoveling and turns to look at me, “y/n I want to do this. Don’t worry about it.” he says before looking me up in down seeing that I’m in nothing but a short nightgown and a blanket. “Now go inside before you catch a cold.”

“Me? What about you?” I laugh looking around at the snow falling around us.

“I’m Illyrian the snow doesn’t bother me,” he retorts and I can tell that he’s lying by the pink in his cheeks from the cold.

“Well I’m half Illyrian,” I counter, swinging back and forth on my heels.

“Then I’m sure half of you is really cold,” he rebuttals. “Now go back inside and get warm before I carry you inside myself.” he smirks before shoveling up another heap of snow.

I just shake my head and retreat to the warm fireplace awaiting me.

I waltz into the House of Wind where the Solstice party is in full swing. Lords from neighboring courts are chatting and drinking all around and from the corner of the room I can hear Cassian’s booming laugher as he doubles over at something Helion has said.

Like almost every solstice party I arrive fashionably late. I truly never mean to be the last to arrive, but it feels like the whole guest list decides to arrive early just to spite me. I make my way around the area where couples and children are dancing to a small quartet and head toward the bar. My dress billows behind me like liquid starlight. Just like every solstice party before this one, I will get by with copious amounts of wine.

I lean against the bar and watch as Elain and Lucien laugh and giggle across the room. I smile as Elain pops a pastry into Lu’s mouth and I can’t help but feel a warmness in my chest at the two of them. Lucien was finally happy with his mate, and if there was ever someone who deserved such happiness it was him.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shadowy friend making its presence known. Flying up by my face to say hello and then rushing behind me as if it was called. I turn to see Azriel dressed immaculately staring at me. His eyes flit up and down my body taking in every detail of me.

“You look…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if the words he was going to say wouldn’t be the right ones. “There are no words. Even the poets would get it wrong.”

I can’t help but blush at his choice of words, taking a step toward him as the shadows behind me are pushing me to do so.

“You clean up pretty good yourself, spymaster,” I chuckle giving him a once over.

He blushes and then speaks again, “I mean it, you look beautiful tonight y/n.”

I blush again and turn my head to avoid his gaze, like that shade of hazel might burn me from the inside out if I look too long.

“You must allow me to dance with you,” he says, taking both our drinks and placing them on the bar. “Not having you out on that dance floor would be a disservice to everyone here.”

I laugh taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor, “Alright Az you’ve convinced me, but only because I know you won’t step on my feet,”

We fall into a comfortable motion, swaying back and forth to the slow tempoed song the quartet is playing. The couples around us filter around us, some lost in deep conversation, some embraced closely swaying to the song. I keep my eyes on them, knowing that Azriel’s gaze is on me.

Memories of a solstice much like this one float through my mind. The way my feet ached before Azriel saved me, sweeping me up into a dance. The way the bond felt when it snapped into place for me. I had pulled on it so desperately hoping he might feel it too. I thought of all the years of agony that followed that night. Watching Az fall for Mor and later on Elain. Hearing my brother and Cassian talking about Azriel’s exploits in bedding local women. All of it tore me apart and it took over 200 years to rebuild the part of me that I had lost. I wondered if I would ever be whole like that again.

I hear Elain and Lucien’s laughter once more, the sound breaking me from my thoughts as Azriel and I continue to sway to the music.

“They make a great couple,” Azriel’s deep voice rumbles through me.

I smile watching Lucine place a kiss to his mates lips, “They really do,” I say with a lightness to my voice.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” He asks tentatively and my world comes crashing down.

“Az,” I say and his face falls at the dismissal in my tone.

“Why not y/n? Why can’t we have a shot like they can?” Azriel says starting to get upset.

As if on queue the song that the quartet is playing ends and I hear the musicians flipping through their sheet music to find the next song. I pull my hands out of Azriel’s and take a few steps back.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” I say calmly, trying not to let the damn of tears break. I swiftly move past him towards the door.

“Y/n wait!” I hear him call out behind me but I’m already out the door, my tears falling down my face as I make my way back to that empty townhouse in the middle of the city.

The rain outside my house slams into the window violently. Spring has come early in Velaris and I wasn’t exactly upset about it. At least I wasn’t until this torrential downpour blew into town. I hadn’t seen rain like this in the Night Court for at least a hundred years now.

It’s been weeks since solstice and it seems that Azriel has finally taken the hint and left me alone. I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that dance. Not a flower, chocolate or shadow to be seen and while I should be happy about it I had never been sadder. After all the walls I put up trying to keep my peace it seemed that he had succeeded in breaking them down again.

I sat by the fire staring down at the dancing flames, no book, not even a glass of wine or tea. Just me and my all consuming thoughts. Each one of them led back to hazel eyes and blue siphons.

I jump at the sound of a fist pounding on my door. Pulling my sweater tighter to cover up my nightgown I walk over to investigate who would have the guts to stand out in this monsoon at this hour. When I open the door I find Azriel bracing his arms against the doorframe, out of breath like he ran here. His hair soaking wet and sticking to his brow as the rain pelted him.

“Az?” I shout over the sound of rain.

“I can’t go on like this any longer y/n, I won’t do it!” he shouts over the storm.

“Az it’s pouring what are you-”

“I love you y/n!” he shouts stopping me mid sentence. “From the moment I met you I knew. I wanted so badly to put my hands around your waist and kiss you. And if you’re wondering why that seems like such an adolescent dream it’s because that’s what we both were. I was 117 years old and you were 115 and that’s all I wanted. I knew little of love, even less of lust. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you,” he hollers over the sound of rain wiping the water from his eyes.

“I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve hurt you, but I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, because I love you. And I don’t care that you don’t love me too, because I love you y/n. I choose to love you!” he finishes and I can’t tell if it's rain falling from his eyes or tears that match my own.

I choose to love you.

I take a shaky breath and take in the sheer desperation on his face, “I love you too Azriel,” I laugh feeling another tear slip down my cheek.

He doesn’t waste a moment, stepping through my threshold and cupping my cheek to place a searing kiss on my lips. I melt into him, feeling his clothes soaking my own as my nightgown clings to my skin. His hands are on my waist, scarred and cold from the elements but still so intoxicating. My arms wrap around him pulling him further into the entryway. I hear him slam the door shut with his boot drowning out the sound of rain leaving only the music of our ragged breaths as he kisses me deeper.

He pulls away to press his forehead to mine, his wet hair and skin causing drops of water to cascade down my own face.

“I love you so much,” he breathes cupping my cheek to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “My mate.”

I pull him in deeper at the utterance of those two little words. I had waited 400 years for this male to kiss me, and this kiss right here? Well it made everything all the more worth it.

Epilogue: 5 years later

I stand outside on the lawn of the townhouse. My arms clutching around the sweater I’m wearing as the fresh spring air blows over my skin. My hands drift lower to the small bump of my stomach.

I was only a few months pregnant and barely starting to show. Elain had told me that it would be a girl claiming she had seen it in a vision. I couldn’t have been more excited for Azriel to be a girl dad.

“You’re doing it son!” I hear my mate call from the sky where he teaches our son to fly.

“Dad, I'm flying!” the onyx haired child shouted as he flapped his wings to pick up some speed.

At first I was apprehensive of him learning to fly so early, even though it had always been a dream of mine to watch my children learn to fly. But Azriel had assured me that the youngster was more than ready, and after a few weeks of lessons here he was taking to the air like a natural.

I look around at the townhouse behind me. It had seen some significant changes since the night Azriel stood in the rain and told me he loved me. The front yard was littered with toy swords and shields, and the outside had a fresh coat of paint. The inside had a room addition, a room for our son, Kai, and now we're adding another room for our daughter. All paid for by Rhys of course who was more than happy to give his nephew and niece everything under the sun.

My thoughts are interrupted by Azriel slamming into the ground before me. I turn to see him walking over to me with a smile on his face.

“Az shouldn’t you be up there with him?!” I fuss looking to where our son swoops and dives through the air.

Azriel laughs and picks me up bridal style, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“It didn’t feel right being up there without my girls,” he smiled nodding to my bump.

Without warning he took off into the sky meeting Kai up there. We must’ve spent hours flying around the city, stopping by every uncle and aunt's house to show them Kai’s new skill. Everything was perfect, and for the first time in my whole life, I finally knew peace.

(Do you guys want a smutty bonus chapter of what they did after he confessed his love???)

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 days

Text

never not mine | jjk | "i hear..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

Bygones will be bygone eras, fading into grey. Breaking up with Jeon Jungkook had been a vicious, clean break. He tried to take it back, but the damage was already done. You walked out of the world you didn't belong in, at least until Kim Taehyung calls your name.

this is part i | part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of controlling behaviors in a romantic relationship; reader is emotionally distant after said breakup; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; your POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; and a certain Maestro cameo; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

“Please love me again.”

You could hear him saying it but you pretended not to hear. You pretended not to know. You pretended he wasn’t there. He was persona non grata. No, he was simply another blurry face amongst many that faded into the grey background of grey days. He was only a ghost. If he happened to be in the same place as you were, it wasn’t any of your damn business. People were allowed to be wherever they wanted to be.

“I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was.

Sorry that he couldn’t walk all over you like he wanted. Sorry that he couldn’t control you on that leash like he wanted. Sorry that you had the balls to cut all ties and not put up with his selfish bullshit anymore. Sorry. What a word. Your response had not been a vindictive one, though. You hadn’t blocked him on social media. You figured he would block you himself. The last moments were him berating you for being late, what if something happened to you, I was worried, and you snapping. It had taken every fiber of your being to not fling your clutch in his face and tell him to take himself out if he cared so much.

“I understand what you meant now.”

The first couple times he attempted to speak to you after it all, you were ice-cold furious. So angry that you simply refused to speak to avoid spitting literal fire. So, you didn’t. And then it became a habit. Then you stopped caring. You stopped feeling. You lived your life.

Alone.

Like an abandoned puppy, Jeon Jungkook followed you every chance he got, but there were less and less chances as time went on. You would walk past him. He would follow until it was definitely too creepy and simply stop, staring after you with a lost look in his empty eyes. Everyone could see the broken heart in his stare.

A lot of people asked you what happened.

It was a valid question.

It was just as valid for you to not answer.

“I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else.”

You avoided people who couldn’t let it go or cut them out altogether. What was the point of shit-talking, taking sides, making yourself angry over things that couldn’t be changed? What was the point of being upset over nights that couldn’t be taken back? Over phone calls and you sitting alone in a restaurant, empty chair in front of you and the reason in your hand, an opportunity came up, I’m leaving for Los Angeles in the morning, I need to pack, bye. Over trips suddenly cut short in the middle, the agency called, another model got sick last minute so I gotta go, just stay here and have fun. By yourself. Over accusations, what are you doing right now, send a photo, now. Over doubts, are you really at the supermarket, I don’t know, you could be doing anything, I’m not there after all. Over being five minutes late because the taxi you had taken was driven by an older gentleman chatting away, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up simply because of a boy.

Five minutes.

“Where were you? You need to tell me if you’re late. What if something happened? I was worried.”

“The driver was talking to me.”

“And you couldn’t text that you were okay?”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Am I not your priority?” he had hissed.

Snap.

All those times, all those moments, okay, I understand, it’s fine, you can make it up to me later, they all came back to you in vivid recollections, and you had stared at Jeon Jungkook. All those people saying how lucky you must be having such a good-looking guy, an actual fashion model, must be so nice, and you only said nice things about him because it didn’t occur to you to complain, no, it would be silly to complain about someone you loved. That was part of loving someone, wasn’t it, being in love was putting up with these things and believing in their words. All those instances, prove what you’re doing, send a photo. Now. All that shit got you to this moment right here, right now, under this furious scrutiny, his dark brows furrowed, his pretty mouth twisted in a frown, his question ringing in your ears.

His accusation in which he had already deemed you guilty.

“The fuck you say to me?” you had growled softly.

Never once did you ask him what he was doing in the destination that he was at. Never once did you fault him for going out and having fun. Never once did you say anything about the multiple social posts of beaches and hotels and nightclubs and everyone scantily-clad, his arms around fellow models, pressed up against fabulous guys and glamorous girls. If he didn’t answer you for a couple days, you assumed it was due to long shoot days and combined jetlag making him crash. The very answer he gave you the first time you asked. You believed him then. There was no need to ask for confirmation over and over if you trusted him. And you did trust him.

Now, this.

“I was five minutes late. If I thought I would be later, I would have texted you,” you explained with emotionless calm. “At least I showed up. At least I didn’t make you sit down in the restaurant, wait around for an hour only to get a text that you aren’t coming. Not even a phone call anymore.”

You hadn’t raised your voice.

He had looked taken aback.

“But… I thought you would understand.”

“Of course, I understand.” The seething anger was white-hot but your tone was crystal-clear cold. “I can understand, as long as you show me some grace and appreciation for not losing my shit every time it happens. Am I not your priority? When have I ever been yours?”

He tried to answer quickly. “You’re always–”

But you were already pulling up the rideshare app, calling another car to come pick you up. “Am I? Then why accuse me the second I get out of the car? Where was I? In the taxi. You saw me get out of it. Why are you holding five minutes over my head like a death sentence, as if I surely betrayed you in those extra five minutes? If it’s you it could be five, thirty, hours, but I have to understand you are networking. I have to understand you are being personable. I have to understand that you are practicing being friendly because it doesn’t come naturally to you.”

Jungkook simply gawked at you, wide-eyed.

You narrowed your eyes, creating a distance he could no longer cross.

“Am I just here so you have someone to visit when you’re bored? Someone to fuck?”

Maybe the vulgarity was taking it too far. Maybe saying all of this in public right now was in poor taste. His jarring question rang in your head. Am I not your priority? Maybe you were wrong to say it all now, but it was the way he said it, as if your love for him had become invalid once you were five minutes late to the appointed time for this date that you didn’t know whether or not he would abandon you in the middle of or take you home and rock your world – and you realized you didn’t care what the outcome was.

You just didn’t give a fuck anymore.

There were so many things he could have done. He could break up with you if his career was more important. He could say sorry more. He could find ways to make it up to you. He could, but he didn’t, and you understood. But this. This you could not understand. This he could not do.

No.

This you would not let him do.

If this was innocent concern, he made it worse by coming off as suffocating and hovering. Now, you realized that no excuse would have been good enough to convince him otherwise. He had already made up his mind to attack you the second you walked out of that car, delivering in the fatal blow instantly. All those moments. All those times had become hair-thin cracks, marring the bond between you and him, tiny little slices to kill the relationship and your will to be in it.

“I don’t think…”

He trailed off, not completing his thought.

The car pulled up.

This was surely the meaning of quiet treason.

“No, you don’t,” you had finished for him with icy agreement. “You expect. You expect me to be here and hold your hand when you want it, and now I know you will never ask me if I ever need my hand held.”

You had stepped away from the curb, not once raising your voice, no longer looking at him, your knuckles digging into your beaded black clutch. You expected it to hurt at least a little.

It was nothing compared to this death by a thousand cuts.

“W-Wait!”

You didn’t.

You had opened the car door and closed it quickly. The driver requested you to confirm your name. You tersely nodded. They didn’t ask any further questions even as you witnessed Jungkook’s shocked face in the side mirror as the vehicle drove away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t even cry. Maybe you should have given him a chance to say something. A chance to change.

Except you had.

This wasn’t the first time that you had this conversation, although the first time was you sitting him down and saying, hey, if you’re not sure about your schedule, let’s not arrange any dates around those days. We can go out when things settle down. The answer was agreement and all was well for a couple weeks. And then it would happen again. And then you would bring it up again. Whoops. And again.Then he would ask you what you were doing when he wasn’t there. Oh, really? Send pictures.You asking, this is a bit much, isn’t it? The answer being, I want to know you’re safe. You finally admitting that it drove you a bit crazy. Him laughing and saying he was a bit of a handful, brushing away your concerns in light of his own.

Five minutes.

Am I not your priority?

The anger had nowhere to go.

Like how summer turned into fall and then into winter, the anger grew cold and dense and concentrated. A stone. Then one day you turned it over and found nothing underneath. You stopped caring. On one hand, you could have been the bigger person and reached out. On another hand, you didn’t see the reason in wasting any more time. What good was closure? What good would it do, talking it out and getting the same result? Deserve this, deserve that. Fair or not, at the end of the day, it didn’t work and there was no forcing something if neither party wanted to really try. I understand, until you couldn’t anymore.

Now.

Now, you would sit alone at restaurants and not be disappointed.

Table for one, yes, thank you.

Now you would spend hours at the games store and no one would be asking you to take pictures and prove that you were there. He used to play video games too, but he gradually fell out of them. Busy. Felt like he couldn’t keep up. Sold his PC because he was never home.

Emptiness where he had once enjoyed spending that time with you.

You would stay at the music store for a long time, looking over albums and wondering if you should buy them. It had been such a long time. You never listened to CDs anymore although you had been obsessed with music as a kid. The past felt like a different time. Memories of a clunky CD player and wired headphones with the metal arch over your head and those spongey earcups. Now you had wireless earbuds and a phone. Still, you looked over the colorful albums and wondered if you should get one, just to have it or maybe even put it on display. He used to listen to a lot of music too. Probably still did, on planes and in cars. He used to share your taste.

Now you didn’t have to share anything.

You stuck with your favorites, still, for years. It was an ever-growing list of popular artists as well as lesser-known indie artists that you never forgot. You made sure to listen to the top hits as well since those songs were popular for a reason. The occasional earworm could lead you down a pleasant rabbit hole, too.

You picked up an album of a band you liked but had never owned and went home.

Got that dopamine unboxing it and smiling at the photocards. Looked through the extras with the album on repeat playing through your Bluetooth speaker. You didn’t do these kinds of things in front of Jungkook usually. You had always prioritized engaging with him. Listening to his stories, looking at the photos of places he had been, shaking your head at the long hours or difficult call times. Every moment precious because you would never know when it would be cut short.

You had made everything about him when in his presence.

You hadn’t blasted the relationship all over social media although it was obvious. For the most part, people had been respectful. You hadn’t deleted all the photos he was in, the photos he had taken of you, nor had you blocked him. People asked. You repeated the same thing over and over. I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else. People eventually stopped asking. Old news was old news. There was no visible resentment, and so the interest died out.

You caught Jungkook looking at you from across the concessions stand at the movie theater.

Those big dark brown eyes filled with rueful invitation.

You didn’t know what movie he was going into, but you turned away and didn’t think about it much.

Watched the movie you paid for, alone.

Went home.

Alone.

You used to watch movies twice. Once by yourself when it released, then a second time when Jungkook could make it. When he could. Sometimes he couldn’t and the movie was already out of theaters. Then you both would watch it at home when it released on streaming services. It was what it was. You enjoyed movies. You had the time and money to watch them twice. But now you didn’t have to.

That was nice.

You weren’t sure if Jungkook was deliberately going places that you often frequented or if it was coincidence. It was likely the latter, because he usually wasn’t alone. He had a group of friends that lived in this area and often came to visit them. He used to joke that it must have been fate for you to meet as your friend circles didn’t overlap. At least he had not shown up to the video games store or the music store you usually went to, so you didn’t feel threatened in any way. Maybe he was visiting his friends more because he was sad. Maybe he was visiting them more in hopes of seeing you, the same tactic he used when he first asked you out. Maybe it was both.

It was probably both.

Sometimes you would cry in frustration.

Sometimes you would play games to distract yourself.

Sometimes you didn’t mind too much as the days passed. Sometimes you would look outside and admire the sun. Sometimes it would rain and that was nice too. Sometimes you were sad but it wasn’t a negative feeling. Such was the natural course. Sadness was the promise of happiness to come, because one couldn’t exist without the other.

At least, you believed so.

Ther wasn’t much more you could do than that.

For a bit there you had almost thought the relationship hadn’t mattered because you had walked away so coldly. In some ways, you wished you could take it back. In other ways, you didn’t. It was hard to discount years of your life simply because of how the chapter ended. There had definitely been unique experiences that you were unlikely to relive. You used to attend lavish parties with Jungkook, especially many around the holidays. You would dress up in your best and put on a brave face. A lovely dress, the high heels he brought you, carefully done makeup and hair. Jungkook would walk in with you gliding beside him, silently holding his arm. People would tell you how fun it was working with him and how lucky he was to have such a pretty and understanding lady. These were all work events full of unfamiliar faces. Jungkook used to be reserved and hang out with you in corners but, as he got more popular, more people roped him into conversations, remember this, and he would slip in with his friends, naturally, laughing and smiling. You would wait nearby, at yet another party surrounded by better bodies, and somehow he would find you at the end of the night, ask you if you had fun.

And you would smile and assure him.

“Something like that.”

The best parties were the ones thrown by his friend Kim Taehyung. He had been in the entertainment industry for a long time, becoming Jungkook’s friend though their crossed paths in modeling. He had an affliction for celebration and Jungkook was always invited, which meant you, too, bore witness to many magnificent events hosted by him. The most extravagant were his own birthday parties. Quite so, as the date was after Christmas, and he continued the festive mood. Taehyung loved a theme. He would rent specific venues, arrange for live music, impose a dress code, everything. One year, he flew everyone out to Paris and rented an entire restaurant to celebrate. Even if you barely knew anyone there, it was fun being in a different world created by Taehyung’s magical vision. Everyone was thrown into it together, experiencing the vibes of an old American jazz club, the white beaches with glass waters during Christmastime, or a playful night filled with Taehyung’s favorite childhood games and sweet treats, complete with food stalls from the area of Daegu he grew up in.

You didn’t fit in, but no one did because these were all Taehyung’s fantasies brought to life.

He always sent the invitations by physical mail, on stunning stationery to match the theme. Someone else must have created them, but seemingly Taehyung approved them all as every single one contained his unique flourishing signature. You kept them in a box. They were too pretty to throw away.

You had received an invitation this year too, to a midnight masquerade ball, but you didn’t go.

Perhaps he didn’t know yet. Or, perhaps he did know and Jungkook asked him to invite you. They were quite close. If there was a plan, you didn’t take the bait. The date came and went. Maybe Taehyung considered you a friend, but that was probably a stretch. Jungkook didn’t like you talking to Taehyung too much.

Apparently, you made him smile too big.

Or something.

Taehyung had an entire party to get to every time you met him, anyway. You would have to shoo him off because there was very little night and Taehyung wanted to speak to every guest one-on-one. He was sincere like that. He was romantic like that. He was dark and handsome and in his own head, in his constant dream of living his wonderful life that, from what you could discern, he deserved. He even always remembered to ask the staff working at his party to eat cake with them. At the end of the night, Taehyung would pick up the microphone and thank the guests for coming and thank the staff for working hard to provide everyone with a good time. Taehyung always remembered to say thank you and he always made sure to express his gratitude to everyone, no matter their status.

You missed being at his party, a little bit, if only just to witness a fairy-tale in real life.

But you weren’t part of Jeon Jungkook’s world anymore.

And so you missed the party.

Please love me again.

On quiet, grey days, you realized how very boring your life was. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to think about the good times. About his laugh, about his starry eyes when you came into view, about enchanted nights where you would both make magic between bodies. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to pick out all his flaws until the memories were burned, images stricken with ash, never to be the same again. On quiet, grey days, you had every chance to run back or run away, at least in your head, but instead you lived your very boring life doing neither of those choices.

Whether you loved him or hated him, the result would still be the same.

You entered the artisan tea shop and greeted the staff. You talked about how your father was into tea, chatted about what would make a good gift. The prices of the sets. The amount of loose-leaf tea and how many cups it would make. The various flavors and strength. You smelled a bunch of different ones. Rejected some, remained indecisive about others, accepted a few as contenders.

You heard the bell by the door chime again, musical and clear.

A male’s voice, deep and polite.

You tensed. Your body knew before your mind caught up. You pointed to several flavors you had liked, and the employee suggested a gift box sampler featuring a watercolor camellia-printed limited-edition teacup set that you agreed to readily, all the while vaguely aware of a tingling behind your neck and a vigilant tension forming in your lungs. But it wasn’t until your name was called that you turned around by instinct, and then froze with recognition. Dark brown eyes under graceful black-brown waves. Tan skin glimmering under the lights. The image completed by a three-piece chocolate brown suit paired with a ruffled warm gray dress shirt and sharp dark leather oxfords. The stylish man smiled widely, box-like, and walked towards you without hesitation.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Kim Taehyung must have known, and yet.

You bowed lightly. “Hello.”

The sales associate was immediately charmed by Taehyung’s deep voice and dashing appearance, their gloved hands hovering over the half-packed box and openly ogling the demandingly handsome gentleman that took your hand warmly before lightly kissing your knuckles. Straight out of a movie. Probably learned it from one, or from traveling in Europe. He let go after a lingering moment.

He had said your name with the same velvety warmth he had at all of his parties.

It had hurt, but it wasn’t his fault.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you buying something?” He raised his head and daintily smiled at the employee before giving you his full attention again. “Let me pay for it.”

“No, ah,” you interrupted him quickly, handing over your card before Taehyung could reach into his heavily lined pockets. “No, sorry. I’m buying a gift for my father.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized immediately, retracting his hands. “I meant to do something nice for you and I’ve overstepped.”

“It’s… It’s alright,” you chuckled softly, trying to dissipate the awkwardness. You turned slightly to sign the receipt, not looking at the price. Your card went back into your black leather bow purse. “You had no way of knowing. How are you? And your parents?”

Taehyung was still a little sheepish but he remained next to you at a respectful distance. “Me? I guess you could say I’m holding on. I think I might take a small break soon and spend a week with my family. How did you know I was thinking of them?” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a mind-reader.”

You shook your head with a smile, taking the beautifully wrapped bag and bowing in gratitude to the employee. “No, you’ve just never been a big tea drinker. It was only a guess.”

He scratched the back of his head and sighed lightheartedly. “Ah, you’re right. I wanted to buy a grown-up gift, but maybe I should have asked what they wanted. I don’t know the first thing about tea.”

You both began to walk towards the entrance.

“You’re their adorable child. They will love anything you gift them.”

Taehyung grinned. “So, you think I’m adorable?”

You opened your mouth and then.

Then you were suddenly hyperaware of the brightness of the lights in the tea store. Suddenly aware of all the customers around you milling about and chatting with their friends and the employees. Suddenly the scents of the store were too strong and too varied and suddenly a phantom grip on your arm from a time long past pulled you away from your center, into the past, and you remembered all the times you stood in a corner of a party, on the outskirts of alcohol, music, and magic, wondering why you were so, so alone.

You plastered a smile on your face and replied pleasantly.

“Of course, you are, Kim Taehyung.”

It lasted a second.

Maybe less.

Taehyung gazed at you with curious eyes.

You kept the smile on your face.

He stepped past you and opened the door, gesturing you to walk out before him in the most gentlemanly way, smiling with his eyes crinkling as they usually did when he laughed or was in his comfort zone. “Come. Let me at least treat you to lunch,” he insisted.

You accepted his graciousness and turned as you walked to face him as you spoke. “That’s really not necessary. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

He chuckled, the sound coming deep from his chest. “Of course, I’m busy, but I always have time for a friend.” He shrugged nonchalantly, grinning. “My manager expects this kind of behavior from me anyway.”

You paused, looking up at him. “Friend?”

Flutters of lashes and confusion in dark brown orbs.

“Are we not friends?”

People around you continued walking, giving you and Taehyung weird looks. He didn’t seem to notice, undeterred by the world around him that wasn’t currently in his focus, the main character at every moment in his life, oblivious to anyone trying to get under his skin with their judgements, never the accessory to someone else.

It turned out to be more difficult than you thought, saying the words.

“I… well… Don’t you know that Jeon Jungkook and I aren’t dating anymore?”

Taehyung tilted his head with childlike innocence.

“Um… so you don’t eat lunch anymore?”

You blinked at him.

“Huh?”

He gave you this look. You stared back. For a moment the disconnect was so tangible that you almost had a word for it. A zephyr ruffled Taehyung’s soft curls. The sun made his skin glow and his dark eyes sparkle. Small signs of Mother Nature affectionately acknowledging one of her children. He smiled. It was then that you realized this was a decision you could make. A decision of a lonely self, not a lonely self that was an extension of another. A yes or no that didn’t have to be polluted by the past.

“Well…”

Your hands tightened on the straps of the gift bag.

“If you’ll have me.”

Taehyung grinned. “I know just the spot! You’ll love it.”

It was nice lunch.

No, it was wonderful time.

You had been worried that you would be underdressed in your calf-length flowy black dress and chunky knit lavender cardigan, but you fit right in. Taehyung had picked a busy rooftop brunch spot. It was French-themed, or at least as French as Korea could get. There was a bit more wood than brass and crystals. It still made for a nice hideaway. It seemed Taehyung was well recognized here, and yet people maintained a distance regardless. It must have been his polite yet stern demeanor. When he sat down though, he seemed to relax, waving a hand and telling you to order whatever you liked.

You never could turn down good brioche.

You thought it would have been awkward, at least. It wasn’t. He talked about his work, asked about yours. Asked what you thought about this or that. Memories from past events, what you liked or didn’t like. What he paid too much for that nobody noticed, along with a hearty laugh, and moments he loved, such as having a group photo at every one of his events. You asked him if he enjoyed planning the events themselves. He confessed with a roughish smile that he had a planner for all those details. You thought it strange to spend so much money on such occasions, but there was something pure about it too. Besides, you ended up getting your answer.

“What’s the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?” Taehyung abruptly asked, sitting up in alarm.

You blinked at his suddenness. “Uh… I don’t know. I would have to think about it.” Your lips upturned slightly, then you tilted your head and looked back at him. “What about you? What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in your life so far?”

He relaxed back in his chair. His expression became pensive. You paused in mid-bite, seeing him look a bit sheepish.

“You’re not the first person to ask me about the parties,” Taehyung chuckled deep from his chest. “A lot of people tell me it’s a waste of money. And it is to other people, but it isn’t to me. The most important lesson I’ve ever learned was…”

He raised his head with a small smile.

“You can’t get time back.”

You remembered the extensive decor, the delicate hors d'oeuvres, even the various perfumes sprayed into the air complimenting the theme of each party. Exquisite and memorable details. Taehyung ticked his head, seemingly recalling it all too.

“I think I’ve mentioned this, but my grandmother was the closest maternal figure I had,” he explained, fondly smiling. “I’m close to my parents too, but they had to work a lot to give me a good life, so I spent a lot of time with my siblings and grandparents. My grandmother used to hold celebrations for the achievements I had, even if they were mediocre or not that impressive. Nothing extravagant, or anything. A little cake or my favorite sweets. She would sing for me and clap her hands. She would say, it’s my duty to give you good memories. As I got older, I became busy, of course, chasing dreams, and I didn’t make time for her small celebrations any more. I was just out of university when she passed away. I often think I hadn’t spent enough time with her. Time is money, as they say. Next time, I would say, until there wasn’t a next time.”

The weight of his words settled on the table.

“It’s not your fault,” you reminded him, but Taehyung simply smiled and shook his head.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” he agreed. “But that wasn’t it. I couldn’t get all that time back. Sure, did I take jobs that put me in a really good place now? Yeah. Yeah, of course, I make a lot of money now since young me jumped at every chance to model for a small brand or do a single-run commercial. I really love my career. I love that, because I did the hard work, I even get offers to act in primetime dramas now. But I should have made less. I should have made time. I should have gone to see her and let her do her duty to give me good memories.”

He waved his hands in a slight shrug. You could tell he was still regretful about it, but there was something else too. He looked directly at you with that boxy grin of his.

“I decided, then, that I too wanted to give good memories to the people that are precious to me. I have all this money, anyway. Why waste it on things? I want to waste it on memories. I want people to look forward to special days, to celebrate life, to look back on a fun time.”

So that was why.

“That is what is really important to me.”

Kim Taehyung wasn’t only good looks, of course.

“I’ve yapped long enough. What is really important to you?” he asked again, chuckling.

“Oh, I…”

And there were no words.

You straightened, startled by your own silence. There were lots of important things, weren’t there? There was… and there wasn’t. Friends, sure. And, also, friends came in and out of your life. You didn’t take it personally. Family, yes. Cordial but not deep. They had their own lives to live. You almost opened your mouth to say these generic things, and then you caught the look in Taehyung’s eye and stopped.

This basic question was not so basic after all.

“I… Am I boring?” you blurted with a start.

“Boring?” Taehyung frowned. “No, you’re not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Aren’t I?”

He laughed, hearty and deep. “Trust me. You’re not boring. We wouldn’t be having a conversation if you were boring.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are we having a conversation?”

Taehyung smiled warmly.

“Because I appreciate your outlook on life.”

You were taken aback.

“What?”

He nodded. “Isn’t it obvious?” He waved a hand carelessly. “I’ve met so many people doing what I do. Some people are just nice to you because of money. Or think you can boost their reputation. Or they think they can take advantage of you. You’ve been around all that too, no?” He did not mention Jungkook.

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not anymore. I’m pretty ordinary.”

A small frown. “No, everyone is extraordinary.”

You scoffed. “I’m only an accountant. Not even one that works closely with my own clients – I’m just the one at the firm that does the final review over everyone’s work to make sure we don’t get into legal trouble. That’s nothing like what you do.”

He impatiently swept your words away. “Everyone is extraordinary,” he repeated.

“I don’t think–”

“You are different,” Taehyung pressed. “You had been introduced to a different world than your own and you could have been a vulture. You could have taken for your own sake. You could have done everything you could to be ‘one of us’. You could have scorned us too, called it all superficial and stupid. But you didn’t.” He crossed his arms to make his point. “You observed. You listened. You treated me, the people around me, everyone as their own person. We weren’t just some dumb rich people to you. We were individuals.”

You didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t something you had ever consciously thought about before.

“There are so many people that believe in using others, either in a beneficial way or in a cruel way,” sighed Taehyung. “It’s a difficult world. We all need to live.” He reached over and made you jump by placing his hand over the back of yours. “Don’t give up on that, okay?”

Your stared at him with wide eyes. “On… what?”

Almost. You didn’t quite have an answer for the most important lesson in your life you had learned so far. But almost. Kim Taehyung cocooned his palm over your hand and trapped you with his determined brown eyes, straight from a drama scene. A heavenly prince in a fancy café. He looked back to you very seriously, taking all of your attention away from the whispering conversations on other tables, away from the clinking plates and glasses, away from all distractions.

“Don’t give up on the way you want to live.”

Those small moments.

From eating dinner alone to watching movies alone to buying that album and unboxing it yourself to looking outside, days and nights, wondering what could have been and killing that thought over and over again.

“The way… I want to live?” you echoed breathlessly.

The clear, musical chime of the bell by the entrance sang through the air, mingling with the conversation and consumption. A halo of sound that rang true over every table to reach every customer. It was as striking as it was lovely, flawlessly melding into the moment. A pure sound that could trigger a pleasant déjà vu, the recall of a good chat over good food.

Taehyung grinned with his beautiful, perfectly white teeth.

“I want you to have good memories. Whatever you decide, let us make good memories with those precious to us.”

You decided, then and there, that you needed to start doing things.

“Oh, good, you’re home. That would have been awfully embarrassing.”

“W-What…?”

You backed up in your slippers as a stunningly well-dressed man flourished into your home like an astronaut landing on the moon. That was, if the moon was your front door. The black mat was space-themed, printed with abstract stars and a grayish circle. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Your pajamas were also soft black cotton with a twinkly star print, although your slippers were simple, white furry poofs that felt like walking on clouds.

“Take this.”

“What is – oof!”

In contrast to your outfit, the man who had entered your home looked like he had stepped off the runway. He wore light blue trousers that you almost mistook for jeans, however they had a tone-on-tone print that clearly indicated the luxury designer. Underneath the navy-blue duster coat was a crisp white shirt pressed to the gods with distinctive sky-blue trim. A quick glimpse and anyone would know the inner lining of the duster was blue silk, the matching tone-on-tone print subtle and obvious at the same time. You nearly buckled under the weight of a wooden box, gasping as you saw the slices of high-grade beef in a gold bow. The man gestured with his hand in a swooping manner.

“I heard all about it from Taehyung,” he was saying, shrugging his broad shoulders heavily.

“Heard…?” You were still reeling from the unexpected guest and a box of meat. “What’s this, I can’t accept th–”

The man shot you a scathing look. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided, dismissive. “How unbelievably rude I would be dropping by your home if I didn’t have a gift? Psh, why, I wouldn’t be Kim Seokjin!”

And so he was.

Although, as far as you knew, you and famous-actor-turned-businessman Kim Seokjin were not close friends. Not close enough to be gifted with a house call and meat, anyway. He had been close to Jeon Jungkook back then. They often sought each other out when they both attended the same events. You were well aquatinted with Seokjin’s boisterous personality and his worldwide-known handsomeness. He was no different today, looking sculpted from jawline to broad shoulders to the regal way he stood. Glowing skin. Lightly permed, chestnut brown hair. Full lips, currently in a slight frown.

You bowed awkwardly. “S-Sorry, I just didn’t expect…”

“Ah, it’s alright.” He called you by name, although somewhat awkwardly, as if he was unsure if he should be more formal or not. “I won’t take too much of your time.”

You were still confused about Seokjin saying he had heard something from Taehyung. Actually, you didn’t even know how he got your address, although it wasn’t impossible. After all, Taehyung’s party invitations came in snail mail. It wasn’t that shocking. You probably might have been more annoyed if you were in the middle of something, but all you had been doing was getting ready to heat up some leftover takeout. You shuffled slightly, trying to block the view of the kitchen counter. Not necessarily embarrassed, per se, as your apartment was quite spacious and neat, but nothing here was comparable to Kim Seokjin’s lifestyle. It was kind of pointless to do so, though, since Seokjin was quite tall.

He seemed not to notice or care about the current state of your kitchen.

You stood there, dazed, clutching a box of high-grade beef.

He cleared his throat very firmly. “I came to invite you to the opening of my new establishment. Two weeks from now.” He rattled off the opening date. “But don’t come on opening day. It’ll be too crowded. Some day after. Let me know when and I’ll make special arrangements for you,” he added, stepping forward to tuck his business card into one of the folds of the gold bow. “Call the number on there. My assistant will connect me to you. I can link you with talented professionals if you are interested, which I’ll pay for, of course.”

“I– What – I’m sorry?” you sputtered. “Me?”

The handsome man exaggeratedly whipped his head from side to side. “Uh, do I see anyone else? Yes, of course, you,” he affirmed gruffly. “I came to invite you in person.”

“Well…” This must be how deer felt when confronted with headlights. “I’m not trying to be rude, but, uh… why?”

Seokjin looked offended. “Why? So you can meet people, silly.”

You struggled to connect the information given to you but he was not making it easy. “Meet people?”

“Yes,” he tutted. “You want to meet people, don’t you?”

Did you? You gave him a confused look.

“As Taehyung said,” Seokjin continued as if you completely understood. “People like you need to be surrounded by good people. And I happen to know a lot of them. We need people like you in this industry.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t have any intention of–”

“Precisely.” He barreled on as if your front entryway was his own stage. “That is precisely why.”

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

“H… Hah?”

Something in his expression softened. You almost forgot the weight of the wood box in your hands. You almost forgot the ridiculousness of you in your pajamas and Kim Seokjin in his luxury designer clothes. You almost forgot that you were in a completely different class, completely out of your element, completely ordinary.

He sighed and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, neatly tucking back his coat. “Look, I understand if you absolutely don’t want to have anything to do with me and the others. I don’t blame you. But,” he added, nodding lightly. “Your presence is missed. I do believe your interactions with those around you have done them a world of good. Maybe not everyone, yes, but you’re still spoken of, even now.”

“What…?” You blinked, doubtful. “Really?”

Seokjin chuckled, nodding. “You are good company.”

You thought all those times. All those events, dinners, parties. You mostly remembered Jungkook letting you be. Sure, you had light conversation with those around you. You couldn’t remember all their faces. They had been simple conversations, you thought, but they weren’t superficial once you really thought about it. You didn’t have basic industry chatter to talk about, so instead you had asked about aspirations. Asked why instead of what. Why acting? Why modeling? Why entertainment? Talks of the past, the present, the future. Pretty normal, you thought, but maybe…

Maybe it was more normal to ask what they were achieving.

Maybe it wasn’t so normal to ask who someone was.

“Anyway,” Seokjin coughed, breaking you out of your daze. “I wanted to give you ample time to think about it.”

“More than two weeks?” you mused.

He waved a hand. “Don’t know about you, but I need time to schedule and plan things. I need time to get myself ready to interact,” he muttered, half-joking and half-bitterly.

The meat was getting heavy. “Ah… What’s the dress code?”

“Aish, didn’t I tell you?” Seokjin tapped the side of his head. “Think about it. Then give me a call, and I’ll arrange for hair and makeup and fashion. No, don’t even bother asking about price. I’m inviting you to introduce you to people, so I am paying. End of discussion. And…”

A loaded pause.

Tick of the head and Seokjin very seriously asked you.

“If Jeon Jungkook is there, will you be fine?”

You answered honestly.

“I don’t think it will be an issue.”

He surveyed you for a long second and then nodded.

“Alright. Let me know when you’ve decided. Have a nice night. Don’t hesitate to contact me if I can help in some way. I’m not a stranger. By the way.” He added one last comment before leaving, spinning back around with a hand on your now open door and the other pointing to the side of the box. “The butcher shop I purchased this from is owned by a friend of mine. Make sure to send your family and friends his way once you taste how delicious and high-quality it is.”

You walked into the nightclub, oddly at peace among the blaring music and bustling bodies, stepping into a world of light and dark and pushing boundaries.

The past couple hours had been spent in a chair, fussed over by a detailed makeup artist and equally talented hairdresser. It had been more enjoyable than you originally thought. Perhaps it had been Seokjin’s excellent choices or their own expertise. They even both asked for your input and offered their advice. It felt like a joint effort. Even the fashion stylist who came later was as informative as they were considerate. You had found out that they had taken your name and your photos to have your fortune read and performed color analysis, respectively. That explained why Seokjin had asked you to take those plain photos. This had made color and style selection much simpler, as you naturally liked all the choices. You were no stranger to tight outfits, although this type of nightlife was not the kind of place you frequented. The stylist had brought a rack of choices, and just in case, a black slip dress looks good on everyone, and all of them were compelling in one way or another. All nightclub appropriate. You asked what to try first. The stylist had asked you how you were feeling.

Feeling?

The answer came out before you could stop it.

“Like revenge.”

You had laughed it off, and so had the staff, but you had seen the gleam in their eyes as if they, too, relished in being part of this so-called revenge.

Well, they were.

You weren’t perfectly sure if this was actual revenge yet, no. You were certainly dressed for it. Black lace corset. Tight lilac short skirt. Black patent leather jacket cropped so severely that it was nearly a bolero. Delicate black pumps with a thin ankle strap. The kind that was a bit fiddly to get on, but was worth it in the end. There was a power in this type of outfit, the kind that made you hold your head high and walk alone with confidence. Perhaps similar to a superhero costume. Just as impractical, too, heh. But that was okay. You weren’t here to prevent any crimes.

Just commit them.

Maybe.

In any case, you weren’t even sure what was going to happen tonight. Something had been planned for you, so you walked in and looked around, wondering if you should ask for help. The luxury was obvious from every corner of the building. From the furniture choices to the expansive bar to the crisp, pressed uniforms of the employees, every detail oozed sophistication. You admired the tastefulness of it, surprised that it didn’t feel gaudy or overdone. Must be the refined touch of Kim Seokjin. Even the clientele was jaw-dropping. You spared a moment to look from face to face, wondering if you should be less obvious about it, but then some paused and gazed back, unafraid, offering a simple smile.

They didn’t know you didn’t really belong, yet.

The sheep’s clothing worked, then.

You almost laughed at your own unspoken joke, and then, either compelled by fate, chance, or some mixture of both, your eyes rose and you saw him. It was definitely him. It was only the back of his head and black leather, but you knew it was him even before he turned around.

Jeon Jungkook.

You had seen him many times after the fact. However, this time was the first time that you came with weapons at your disposal, subtle as they were. For a moment, you wondered what to do. You stared as those brooding dark eyes widened in surprise. His hair was slicked back. Leather jacket, white tank, dark jeans, probably black boots. You couldn’t see it all from this angle. Still, you knew him too well. He wasn’t a suit-and-tie breed unless he was forced by the occasion. And, anyway.

You had mildly hoped that he would dress down these days, as it both suited him and reflected your preferred personal taste.

Egotistical, yes, and, now that you could see, true.

You broke the gaze first, seeing a waiter approach you. Bowed lightly, walking with him as he explained what was in store tonight, and yet your mind was still fixated on that shocked gaze from the far table up above. It did register that you were going up the stairs too, but somehow you knew that you weren’t going near that table.

You wondered if he regretted everything.

You wondered if he saw you differently now, dressed up and on a mission.

You wondered if Jeon Jungkook understood, truly, how deeply he had hurt you with his misdemeanors and you wondered if you, truly, understood how you didn’t help by always sweeping said misdemeanors under the metaphorical rug. You wondered if there was a chance for reconciliation or if this was all a big mistake. Maybe this was only another instance of two ships silently passing in the night. A pair of parallel lines that would never intersect. Or… would this become a pattern that could only be completed by intersection?

Whichever one it was, it was going to be evident tonight.

You raised your head, seeing a champagne bottle and another of expensive liquor.

“Are you ready?”

Your eyes shifted and you smiled up at the waitress.

“Yes, I am.”

She smiled and bowed her way out. Revenge. You savored the word. You had never thought of it that way, but then again that was because you always believed in the higher road. In enduring. That was how strength was formed. Vindication was unladylike and uncouth. Or so the story goes. You became aware that you were being watched.

I don’t belong here.

You twisted your body and stared directly into Jeon Jungkook’s eyes.

He pivoted away immediately. Unable to hold your gaze. Ashamed, probably. You pondered quietly. He brought you into this. All this around you – beauty, opulence, and the shadows between gold. Even without him, your connection to these people remained because his friends believed in you for some reason. You agreed, because maybe there was still something here for you.

But that was no reason to believe that you belonged here nor to act like it.

You realized, suddenly, that some part of you still thought you had to keep up the front.

“Excuse me.”

You looked up to a man who had the expression of a pleased kitty cat. His eyes disappeared from his smile. Radiant, cream skin. Long, bleached-blond hair that was half-tied back from his face but still skimmed along his shoulders. He wore a suit and tie, perfectly tailored, and was noticeably shorter than nearly everyone here. Then again, almost everyone here was a model, in high heels, or both.

“Did I interrupt?” he asked lightly, his intonation hinting at a Busan dialect.

“Oh, no,” you answered with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to space out like that. Please, sit down.”

The man laughed behind his hand before pulling out the chair and sitting down. He had elegant fingers that reminded you of a pianist. “It was cute,” he commented, somewhat shyly, before turning away and clearing his throat. He faced you once again, composed now, and bowed in greeting, stating his name.

You hurriedly did the same.

“I hope I’m not thinking too highly of myself by sitting here with you.”

You shook your head. “No, no. I want this to be an open invitation.” You poured him a glass of liquor to start off the night. He had a noticeable presence. Not a towering one, rather, as someone who knew himself well. Still, you could sense an introverted soul. “Don’t feel too pressured. I only want to ask a question.”

His eyebrows raised, curious. “A question?”

You smiled. “Yes. And I want you to promise to answer honestly.”

His lips upturned thoughtfully. There was something playful about his expressions. Very cute. Perhaps unintentional. “A promise right away to a stranger?”

You allowed yourself a little mischief. “Do I look like I could hurt anyone?”

The man across the table caught the bait and toyed with it. An expert. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean It wouldn’t be pleasant.” He smiled again, with that same kitty cat contentment, and nodded. “Okay, I’m ready to tell the truth. You only get one chance. Use it well.” His tone teased, but his voice was sincere.

The question.

You stared into a stranger’s eyes and asked.

“What is the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?”

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut

314 notes · View notes

ervotica · 5 hours

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you’re an angel, i’m a dog — a.donaldson

pairing; older!art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings; roughly written, badly edited, not beta’d (because when is it ever?), allusions to smut, implied age gap (reader is early 20s, art is early 30s), slight tashi x fem!reader if you squint, infidelity (but tashi is kinda cool with it), just some thoughts about older!art and his pretty girl

a/n; this concept has been eating at me for daysss so i had to write it at least roughly! should we make this a series? (maybe get patrick involved?🫢) let me know what you think! ART & CHALLENGERS (poly!art & patrick) REQUESTS ARE OPEN! any questions / conversation starters about this particular au are highly appreciated and encouraged!! please come to my inbox 📥 <3

older!art is fucking obsessed with you— you, who comes to every one of his matches, who sits next to his wife in those adorable little tennis skirts you sport just for him, who whoops and cheers from the stands whether he wins or loses.

you’re forbidden fruit. so, naturally, he adores you.

tashi knows, because of course she does. she never pries, never so much as spares you a second glance when he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your neck and huffs hot air against the shell of your ear. she doesn’t care — you’ve made art better at tennis.

his confidence has skyrocketed since having a pretty thing like you cheering him on, his biggest and most enthusiastic supporter. he plays better, he second guesses himself less, he’s more relaxed.

you’re what’s been missing. the last piece of the puzzle.

an obedient little thing, glued to his side, wagging like a dog at his every command.

he fucking loves it. loves having someone relying on him for love and validation. loves the way you preen under his fervent gaze and flutter your lashes at the slightest touch.

when tashi asks you to join art’s team officially, you almost keel over.

“look, i don’t care that he’s fucking you… or that he’s in love with you. he has a shot at the us open this year, and he needs you by his side to do it.” she says. you’re quick to agree, ever obedient and desperate to please.

“he’s in love with me?”

she scoffs. “you’ve seen the way he looks at you. he almost creams his pants every time you’re in the same room as him.” she tilts your chin upwards with a crooked finger, giving your cheek an affectionate - albeit condescending - pat.

“you two can have your fun— but he has to win this year.”

art’s perched against the doorframe when you turn, corded forearms crossed over his chest. you scrunch your nose, pushing back a smile that crinkles at your eyes despite your efforts.

fucking smitten.

tashi rolls her eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and she nudges you towards him.

“go on.”

he opens his arms in greeting and you’re quick to fall into them, your fingers knotting in the shorn hair at his nape. his chest expands beneath your own as he takes a long breath, and he presses his nose to your pulse point, shuddering.

“love you.” he murmurs into your skin.

“love you more.”

he could cry; he doesn’t remember the last time someone told him they loved him and meant it. you’re obsessed with him, almost as much as he is with you.

at his next match, you carry his rackets and send him off with a good luck kiss that has him breathless, grinning as you roll his wad of gum between your teeth that you sucked right from his waiting mouth.

he wins.

how could he not with his pretty girl watching?

and that night, he rewards you with a thorough fucking, whispered love confessions against your lips, and a breathy moan as he cums that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

so, yeah. maybe this life isn’t so bad, after all.

225 notes · View notes

cobaltperun · 1 day

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Genius (5) - Supermassive Black Hole

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next part

Word count: 4.3k

-I thought I was a fool for no one, ooh baby, I'm a fool for you-

Why did she push you away when you were kids? She thought that would make her parents love her, that being more like them would make them proud of her, make them pay attention to her. Eleven-year-old Cairo wanted their love so desperately she decided to push away what she had to try and obtain what she might get. Why did that… why did that sound familiar all of a sudden?

But she couldn’t tell you any of that, not because she couldn’t admit it to herself, no, she could, she understood why she did it. She didn’t want to admit it to you. Because, sure, she could tell you the reason, but you might ask for more, and then she might have to tell you that you were on her mind all these years. That she missed you so much, that she wanted to see you. And then what? What realization would she have to face if she gave you the answer you sought? So, she remained silent, masking the apology she wanted to utter with defiance in her eyes.

“This is ridiculous,” you gave up, sighing out of frustration and just walked away. You walked away from her this time, and she felt like an invisible hand was squeezing her heart, threatening to pop it like a balloon.

But she didn’t call out to you, she didn’t say anything, she just watched you go.

~X~

She couldn’t focus that night, not on writing, not on anything Winnie was saying, she was just lost in her own thoughts. None of them made sense, there wasn’t any order, or logic to them, they were random, unorganized, and she hated it.

“What’s on your mind?” Winnie’s voice eventually did reach her, not quite piercing through the chaos of thoughts in her head, but it did reach her.

“Nothing,” she sighed, trying to focus on the girl. “Everything. I don’t know,” it felt like her mind was pulling quotes from dozens of books at the same time, mixing them together and creating a mess she couldn’t make sense of.

Winnie pupped the lollipop out of her mouth with a resounding pop. “Is it Mr. Miller? You’ve spent some time with him now, how’s the seduction going?”

Cairo remained silent. A lingering meaningful gaze here, not moving her hand when he occasionally put his hand on it. Leaning in just a bit closer than necessary when he lit her cigarette. It was a dance, on that felt forbidden, and she could see the shift in his own eyes. He was looking at her, nothing vulgar quite yet, but he was looking.

“It’s. going,” she chose not to share more than that, she started it, she wasn’t a coward, she would finish it.

Winnie remained silent. “You don’t look happy about that. Is it Y/N?”

Winnie was being too perceptive, but Cairo imagined she wasn’t doing a good job hiding it, as she felt the corners of her mouth twisting downward at the mention of you.

“Do you like her?” Winnie persisted, getting up from her spot on Cairo’s bed and moving to sit next to her. “Cairo, if you want her you need to stop what you’re doing with Mr. Miller,” she didn’t even wait for confirmation.

“Weren’t you the one talking about wagyu beef? Older men harvesting virginity and all that?” and now she was telling Cairo to give up on Miller and go to you?

Winnie rolled her eyes. “That was different, that was before I realized you had a thing for biker girls,” Winnie tried to joke, to nudge her and get her to laugh or at least smile. “Okay, one biker girl, the point stands, I you want her, like really want her just go for her. Forget wagyu beef.”

Did she want you? Was that what she wanted to turn your relationship into? And if it didn’t work out where would that leave your friendship? Did the fact that he noticed her more than anyone else ever did really mean so little? Now that everything was moving, when all he likely needed was just the right circumstances?

“Cairo, this is changing you,” Winnie kept talking, trying to stop what she set in motion unknowingly filling Cairo’s head with thoughts that weren’t there before, the thoughts of her first time not being painful, the idea that she could get that with someone older, and now she was trying to take it back.

“It is changing me,” she admitted, and she knew she was changing, she had the idea she now desired, a madman’s love, a love so passionate it could not be contained, a love so strong it would bring her to ruin, a love that would eclipse any other she felt or would ever feel.

Winnie grabbed Cairo’s phone and before Cairo could even register what was going on Winnie had unlocked it. “What are you doing?” Cairo demanded, getting up to go after Winnie as she began pacing around the room.

“Getting Y/N’s number.”

“Stop it,” Cairo demanded, grabbing Winnie’s forearm just as she sent the number to herself.

Winnie’s eyes widened and for a moment Cairo wondered how mad did she have to look to make Winnie look at her like she was now. Worried, and even a bit afraid.

“Don’t you dare call or text her,” she ordered, her voice shaking as she did. Winnie couldn’t contact you, she just couldn’t. She wasn’t allowed to.

“Okay, I won’t,” she relented and Cairo finally let go of her forearm and snatched her phone.

Cairo started all of this. She was seducing her teacher. She was going to experience something, she was going to get her madman’s love.

~X~

Another Monday, another shitty way to start your week with Miller’s damn class.

“Censorship creates a vicious cycle, we’re taught from young age to accept certain norms, the rights and wrongs of society. It’s the death of writer’s ideas, and thus the reader’s ideas as well. It’s taking away the freedom of thought and speech,” he droned on, stopping by Cairo, the back of his hand brushing against her arm.

“They are separate,” you spoke without raising your hand, and he took a few steps back to take a look at you.

“Not to a writer, to a writer the thoughts become words on the page, they are given a form, and not in this context. When we are taught from young age how to think it becomes intricately connected to the way we express ourselves,” he explained his reasoning and you felt Cairo’s eyes on you.

“Thoughts are private, we cannot be held accountable for thinking, it is the absolute freedom that cannot be taken away, precisely because no one can be sure of what we think. Speech is, as you said, a thought that’s given a form, written, spoken, or expressed in another way. It is a right, and a responsibility,” you leaned forward, your hands resting on the desk, open, relaxed, you had no need to move them.

“To conform to the norms of society?” he challenged, and you gave him a hollow laugh, turning away from both him and Cairo for a moment.

You looked back at him, eyes filled with fierce defiance. “Please, if that was the case you’d be teaching a much smaller class. The society is meant to be critically observed, changed in response to injustice,” you stated.

“And thus, censorship should be seen as an issue, because it is used to cover the injustices,” Miller leaned back against the table. “Just think of how many women had to publish their works under a pseudonym, or how often works that even implied anything outside of societal norms had to be edited to conform to those norms.”

“You are equating rights of entire groups with ideals of a bygone era?” you raised an eyebrow, hardly believing what you were hearing.

He raised his hand in defense. “Certainly not, but-“ he paused, collecting his thoughts. “But, censoring of those ideals of the, as you said, miss L/N, bygone era, takes away our ability to judge them for ourselves. To start a conversation.”

“So, your idea is mere discussion?” you held back a laugh.

“Of course,” he had the guts to say after how he’s been acting with Cairo.

“Yet every idea, no matter how pure, taken to an extreme can be twisted, corrupted until the very basics of what made it good no longer apply, and such corruption needs to be removed,” you weren’t backing away, you ignored the looks of the handful of students that got interested in the conversation, you ignored Cairo’s piercing gaze.

“Every? Freedom of speech included?” he asked. “It has been said that one man’s vulgarity is another’s lyric. And it is one of the highest forms of hubris to assume one person gets to decide what it right and wrong and enforce it on others,” he crossed his arms over his chest, shielding himself once more.

“You sure you have the right to speak of that? Teacher?” you bit your tongue, refusing to let your emotions get the better of you.

The tension in the classroom rose to nearly unbearable, his defensive posture, his eyes, filled with surprise at being all but accused, wandering from you to Cairo

The bell rang breaking the tension and making the students get up to leave. You collected your things and stepped outside, sighing as you did so.

“Y/N,” a fairly cute, blonde girl you shared a couple more classes with, Emily, called out to you and quickly caught up with you before you could get out of the class. She held a pencil you let her borrow on Friday in her hand. Oh, you actually forgot about it. “Here, thanks again for letting me borrow it,” she smiled a bit shyly at you and tucked a strand of her hair back.

You smiled back and took the pencil. “Don’t mention it, Emily,” you put the pencil inside your bag.

“We’re heading in the same direction, wanna go together?” the girl offered, and you shrugged, seeing no harm in doing so.

“Sure,” she was nice and you had no reason to be hostile toward her.

~X~

“Keep glaring and you’ll make her combust,” Winnie teased as Cairo glared at the girl as she was walking away from the classroom.

“If only,” she grumbled, annoyed. Who did that girl think she was, taking your attention after what happened in the class.

“Cairo, could you come by after classes?” she heard Miller asking once only her and Winnie could hear him.

Cairo looked inside, to where you just sat and narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I made plans,” she decided, she certainly wasn’t in the mood to play any seduction games.

He looked surprised. “Right, of course,” he stammered and Cairo just nodded her goodbye. The blonde girl was no longer in her line of sight when she turned once again.

“You’re so jealous,” Winnie laughed, and that was the last drop, she made her way outside the school, ignoring Winnie’s protests.

She wasn’t jealous. What did she have to be jealous of? A blonde that met you maybe a month ago? As if that could compare to what you and Cairo had. The key word was had, as her brain cruelly reminded her. You no longer had that. Without thinking much, she dropped her things off at her house and went into the forest to clear her mind.

What were you thinking? Speaking like that in the class? What made you speak up for the first time in Miller’s class and well, that was one way to speak up for the first time. Ideals of a bygone era. She figured she was seduced by them. By Winnie’s talk of older man harvesting virginity. It wasn’t just that though. It all went back to madman’s love, for how mad would someone her age have to be to love in such a way.

Was it the way Miller touched her that made you react? It was just a brush of the back of his hand, intentional, no doubt, as it remained there, but by now she was used to the closeness. They sat side by side on the bench smoking, and it was certainly physically closer than just the back of his hand. But it still, maybe set you off, just like his attempt to hold her hand did last week.

And then, as she walked, as she went deeper into the forest, as she went to the exact same place where the rose bush she found all those years ago grew and was crushed was, as she went to the place she didn’t go to in years, she froze. Again. a rose bush. Again, an old tree fallen over it.

It was happening again, the same image, the same scene, the same outcome, haunting her, repeating again and again and driving her into madness. She had no one this time. Not one person who could drag her away. Alone. Meant to be crushed like the lone rose bush in the forest. Meant to be crushed by the old, by her parents, her teachers, her village, suffocating in a place fit only for ghosts, an unforgiving place that refused to let anyone be different. To be crushed by the place she was abandoned in and the people in it.

Her nails dug into the dirt beneath her, and she just now noticed she dropped to her knees down to the harsh forest floor. Maybe she should just stay there. She felt too weak to get up anyway, too dizzy and numb at the same time, her breathing too erratic, uneven, panicked. Yet all she could focus on was the scene that kept repeating.

~X~

You were finally close to the end of Verne’s book, just another ten or so pages, but you felt sleepy, and the rain softly falling wasn’t helping you stay awake. Your phone suddenly buzzed, breaking your concentration and making you groan as you leaned your head back. Whoever was calling you wasn’t giving up, that was for sure. So, to spare both you and the caller you grabbed your phone, noticed it was a number you didn’t recognize, and picked up.

“Hello?” you said.

“Hey, is Cairo with you?” it took you a moment, but you recognized it was Winnie, her voice laced with worry and clearly on the verge of panic.

You immediately sat up. “No. Why?” you asked, you didn’t have a reason to worry just yet. Maybe she just got too into one of her books.

“I’m at her place, it’s unlocked, her bag is here, but she’s nowhere to be found, and we were supposed to hangout tonight," Winnie told you and you could hear her pacing around.

“Okay, okay, just calm down. Let’s just go and look for her, do you want the forest or the village?” you were grabbing your biker jacket, since it was waterproof, as well as the keys of your house and already heading outside.

“The village, and thanks, I appreciate this,” Winnie said.

“Of course. Call if you find her before me,” you said and when she agreed you hung up and tucked your phone into your pocket and ran into the forest. You had to hurry, it was getting dark, and the rain made the ground slippery, the more it took you to cover the forest the higher the chances of getting injured, or plain and simple lost would be. So, you ran, as carefully as you could through the forest, yelling Cairo’s name.

‘Where are you?’ you shouldn’t have parted the way you did. ‘Why can’t you answer your phone?’ you should have tried harder to get to her. ‘Are you okay?’

“Cairo!” you shouted as loud as you possibly could, your yell getting swallowed by the trees and the rain.

Somehow, for the reason you couldn’t explain, you remembered her sob from all those years ago, you remembered that sound, the reason for her sorrow back then, that tree and the bush of wild roses and you just took off, running in that direction as if somehow drawn to that location.

~X~

Her body trembled, physically she felt cold, but deep down she didn’t feel anything. Her body felt like nothing, like the least important part of her, like it no longer mattered what happened to it. Her mind and soul were what was important, and the rain couldn’t hit those. The loneliness did, however. It froze her mind and soul in a way cold rain and the darkness that slowly consumed everything around her could never accomplish.

She desired a madman’s love, the ruins of it, the decay, she desired to be entirely consumed by it, yet here she was, not only without a madman’s love, but without love in general.

“Cairo!” her mind must have been playing tricks with her, she heard you shouting her name, and that just couldn’t be true. Why would you be there?

“Cairo!” this time it was closer, and her eyes widened as she caught glimpse of you in the distance, just narrowly missing her. Another old tree, just waiting to fall between you two.

“Y/N!” she cried out, calling after you and trying to get up, but her legs had gotten too numb to get up so abruptly and she stumbled, digging her palms into the muddy ground beneath her. There was no way you heard her, you were too far, you just narrowly missed her, she was once again too late to reach out to you.

Same mistakes. Same haunting images. Everything was happening again.

“Cairo,” she heard footsteps, running toward her and raised her hand, seeing you, your hair and face wet from the rain, water dripping from your jacket and relief washing over your expression. “Are you okay?” you ran up to her and without a moment of hesitation grabbed her shoulders, pushing her up slightly and looking her over. “Cairo, hey, hey, answer me!” your gloved fingers moved her hair from her face and she couldn’t take it anymore, she just fell into your arms, hugging you and clinging to you. She took several deep breaths, finally feeling like she could properly breathe.

“How did you know?” she asked, judging by how wet your hair was you were out for a while.

“Winnie called me,” you whispered as you softly rubbed circles on her back. “Give me a second,” you pushed her away for a moment and she felt what little warmth she regained fading away. You took your jacket off and put it over her shoulders.

“Y/N, wait,” she tried to argue, she didn’t want to let you get a cold, but you just pressed a finger over her lips.

“Don’t argue. Can you walk?” you asked as you helped her get back on her feet.

Cairo nodded, this was already enough, you were already doing more than she could have asked for, but even as she began walking back home you kept her close, supporting her and holding up some of her weight as she leaned onto you for support.

And then, just as the two of you got twenty feet away from where Cairo was kneeling, a lightning struck the old tree and both of you flinched as it cracked and fell, right to where you and Cairo just were. You just saved her life, because there was no way she would have moved if you didn’t arrive.

She felt you freezing and she wondered what was going through your mind. Did you realize what would have happened to her if you were even a minute late, and in the way you pulled her closer she felt that you did think of that scenario just now. Of finding her underneath a fallen tree.

~X~

You called Winnie to tell her you found Cairo and that you brought her back home as she was taking a warm shower. You considered leaving, but maybe it wasn’t the best idea to leave Cairo on her own right now, so, you stayed, a towel you borrowed from Cairo hanging from your neck. You needed to change, but you weren’t sure you could go back home and come back here before Cairo was done.

You were waiting in her room and you noticed how much darker it got, less light seeped through the windows than when she was a child. Well, people changed, and you guessed seven years was a long time. As you sat on the chair you brought up from the kitchen and waited you caught sight of a familiar book. ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’ sat on the table next to a book written by Henry Miller, ‘Under the Roofs of Paris’ the duality of those choices didn’t escape you, but you didn’t move, you weren’t about to stoop to Miller’s level and look through Cairo’s stuff.

A few minutes later, she came out, dressed in her pajamas and with a towel around her head. “You should change,” she noticed now that the shower cleared her thoughts a bit. “And take a shower, the rain was dirty,” she said it as if she expected you to do it at her house.

“I will, I just wanted to check if you were okay and I’ll leave,” you told her, already getting up. She looked fine now, but you still looked her over, you didn’t notice anything wrong, any injury or anything that she needed help with.

“Do it here? Please, you were out looking for me, and the rain is falling even harder now,” at least the part about the rain was true, the weather was getting worse. “I’ll find some clothes that fit you,” she promised, and you nodded with a sigh.

“Okay,” you saw her smile and you couldn’t argue anymore.

When you stepped into the shower you just let the water wash over you, to erase the image of the tree falling right where Cairo was, to wash away the worry and fear as you ran through the forest, desperately looking for her. Everything turned out fine, in the end and you found yourself no longer caring about the answer to your question.

It no longer mattered why Cairo pushed you away, what was happening now mattered much more, and you weren’t going to waste it just because she didn’t want to give you your answer.

When you stepped outside in the shirt and trousers she gave you that were a bit too big for her, you saw her already in her bed, and she turned to look at you, her still slightly damp hair sticking to her skin. “Hey, how are you doing?” you approached her and knelt next to her, only now realizing how stupidly tall her bed was.

Cairo looked at your hand, resting on the edge of her bed and then at your eyes. “Better now. Thank you for looking for me.”

You shook your head. “Don’t thank me for that, you asshole. I’ll scold you properly later,” you promised, luring out another smile from her.

“Do you want to read together?” she asked, moving to the side as if offering her bed to you.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest decision, but you nodded, getting in the bed next to her and getting comfortable as she opened the book that somehow became the most tangible reminder of your past. You settled down and took a deep breath, and you realized your mistake, as Cairo’s scent invaded your senses.

“Can I start?” she asked and you nodded, focusing only on her voice as she began reading the book.

~X~

Cairo woke up around noon, alone in her room, and more importantly, she missed school. Almost two whole days, that was strange for her, yet she doubted anyone would notice. She wondered when you left, well, she woke up when you got up this morning. The two of you fell asleep about two-thirds into the book. Nothing happened during the night, neither of you subconsciously moved like books so often depicted, she didn’t wake up tangled up with you, or holding your hand, or anything. You just happened to sleep three feet apart because her bed was so ridiculously big.

She stretched a bit and got up and as she opened her window she heard a sound she wasn’t used to coming from her backyard. She looked out through the window and saw you moving some pots she didn’t recognize. “Y/N?” she called out and her heart skipped a beat when she saw you looking up.

“Come down here! I want to show you something!” you yelled, a wide grin on your face.

“Give me ten minutes!” she told you and rushed to the bathroom to get ready. She couldn’t remember the last time she rushed this much to get changed and ready for the day, it certainly didn’t happen since she was a child and had all day free to play with you.

She barely even remembered the last time she purposely went to her backyard, yet here she was, walking over to you as you finished whatever you were doing. When she stopped next to you she saw the pots, five of them, filled with earth, and stems from the wild rose bush stuck in them.

“If I did everything correctly at least one should sprout roots,” you said as Cairo, speechless for once, looked between you and the roses. “I noticed the crushed bush, so I went back after getting everything I needed,” you said softly.

Cairo felt a tear sliding down her cheek as she jumped into your arms, ignoring any dirt that may have gotten on you. All the unwanted tension between the two of you seemed to fade away as you got over your surprise and hugged her back.

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy

#cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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