#this will eventually be on ao3 but for now i'm just slapping it here and getting the FUCK to bed
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Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar
There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.
It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.
Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.
He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone.
“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”
Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.
The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside.
As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces.
When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.
All he said was, “Let me.”
She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.
“If you insist.”
Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time.
Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.
Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided.
At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep.
Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.
And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.
In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim — it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.
And come it did.
One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.
All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.
As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions.
“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”
And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?
How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?
It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.
#yes this is a day late. no i don't know if its good or not. yes im posting it anyway because these are my babies#im deep in an Eadwulf My Beloved Who The Fuck Are You kick rn so most of my entries will probably be centered around Him™️#i want to peel him open like an onion and see what's going on inside. yknow#*slaps eadwulf* this baby can hold so much love shown through acts of service inside of it#angstpril2023#criticalrole#fanfiction#day1#liar#cr fic#critical role fic#eadwulf grieve#bren aldric ermendrud#caleb widogast#trent ikithon#<- literally my number one parasocial enemy tbh. and hes not even real#i would tag astrid but she's only very briefly mentioned so it feels wrong#this will eventually be on ao3 but for now i'm just slapping it here and getting the FUCK to bed
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look down on me like that - 8 (explicit)
genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst that is no longer eventual 👀)
pairing: yoongi x reader
summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.
word count: *deep breath in* 15.3k
contains: explicit sexual content and discussion of some dark themes .....yyyyyep 🤐 includes past-tense discussions of the d3ath of a parent (reader's) and su1c1dal ideation (yoongi's) so please tread carefully loves 💜 some references to alcohol per usual, and plenty of confusing feelings and piss-poor communication..... i'll leave the rest as a surprise 👀 but here are your smut-specific warnings: kissing (‼️), nipple play, clit stim, a single pussy slap lol, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting (🤭), unprotected sex and pulling out (💀), orgasm denial of sorts, but it's cool bc reader has multiple orgasms, ok byeeeee~
A/N: welp..... i'm off to enter witness protection in case you all decide you hate this chapter 💀 not really but heuhjkghkfjgdsf dear god am i nervous to post this lmfao. hope you're ready for some ~answers to questions~ and a whole lotta callbacks to earlier chapters idk why i shoved them all in ch8 specifically but here you go. the scene at yoongi's apartment was one of the very first things i dreamt up in regards to this story and it's nuts to me that we're all the way here now 💜 hope you're ready for a little more insight into these two! also baby goth fans don't come for me..... i promise we'll get a better resolution there..... reader and yoongi just have to survive LA first 😩
an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for being wonderful betas, and to @nabiolive for the dead parent sensitivity read lmfao I LOVE Y'ALL
read on AO3!
chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine
~*~
In the morning, you wake up well before your alarm with an inexplicable uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When it’s clear sleep is a lost cause, you decide to just get up, and you move through your routine slowly. Everything feels distant, not quite real, like it’s happening to someone else.
On the bus ride to the office, you let your eyes drop closed and try desperately not to replay the events of last night back. You should feel bad about the sex on the conference room table, and you do, a little. But your mind is stuck somewhere else.
Rain streaking down Yoongi’s windshield. The silence as he drove, disturbed only by the low rumble of his voice. The way he’d looked at you, and the heavy pause that hung in the air between you, for just a moment, until you’d fumbled open the door of his car and had practically ran back to the safety of your apartment. And his story— he’d told you something personal, with no malice or hidden agenda that you can manage to find, no matter how much you search for one. Something from when he was just a kid, growing up in Daegu.
You’re embarrassed to admit that it never even occurred to you that Min Yoongi might be a person with a past and a hometown and stories to tell. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always just felt like… a menace. A life-ruiner. An inescapable force.
The thoughts follow you as you step off the bus and make your way into the building and onto the elevator. You can’t figure it out. Yoongi could’ve easily left you to suffer in the rain, but instead he did something nice for you, without asking for anything in return. He’d related to you. He’d let you in, barely, but it’s something.
And you have no idea what to make of it.
Polite small talk with Jungkook as you unlock the front doors is a decent distraction, but you wonder if he can tell that you’re not all the way there today. You set your bag on your desk, then circle around to take a seat, only half-listening as he continues to talk.
“Did you stay late last night?”
You swear your heart stops beating. “What?”
He shrugs, like it’s an obvious question. “There’s the big overseas thing today. I’m sure you had a bunch of stuff to prep. Hopefully it wasn’t too late of a night?”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than you mean it to. You’re not quite sure why your body is suddenly doing emotional alchemy, taking your fear of being caught and somehow turning it into anger. “It wasn’t,” you say firmly.
Jungkook makes a face, like he knows he’s touched a nerve but can’t figure out why. “Okay. That’s good.”
You don’t respond— you just try to control your breathing, try to will your heart to quit racing as you start up your laptop and pretend to suddenly be engrossed in it.
“Well,” he tries again after a moment’s pause. “I guess I’ll see you at the presentation thing.”
“Okay,” you answer, your voice a little softer this time, but you’re still too scared to look away from your screen. When you do eventually work up the courage, he’s already gone.
Before you even have the chance to glance back down, like some universal joke at your expense, the front door of the office is pushed open, and Yoongi steps through. Annoyed as you are, you can only be grateful that his entrance didn’t overlap with Jungkook’s question. You probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.
Yoongi’s usual dark sunglasses are nowhere to be found today, and he’s in nice clothes for the presentation, a button-down and dress pants, his hair styled. He does still have a death grip on a large iced coffee, but that’s to be expected, especially given the fact that he’s in a lot earlier than is typical for him.
It’s only when his eyes snap over to you for the briefest of seconds that you see the dark shadows sunken deep beneath them, weighing heavy on his face.
Yoongi’s gaze moves back to the hallway in front of him as quickly as it alighted on you. You open your mouth before you even understand why you’re doing it.
“Yoongi?”
He stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you a few times, clearly tired, clearly not expecting the interruption. “Yeah?”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
His mouth pulls into a flat line as he shakes his head. “Nerves. It’s why I don’t do stuff like this. Unless forced.”
You nod, unsure of what to say— or why you even asked. “Oh. Well, uh. Good luck.”
Yoongi lifts his coffee in a parting gesture, then disappears toward his lab without another word.
You try to focus on your work, to shove the interaction to the back of your mind with everything else you’re avoiding, but the screen seems to blur in front of you, until you finally push back from your desk with an exasperated sigh. The emails can wait.
Maybe, you consider, it would be good to stretch your legs. You can head into the presentation room early to set up before everyone arrives, and make sure everything is working for the several hours of agenda lined up for the morning.
Setting your shoulders back, you grab your things and make your way down the hallway. The thought feels like a good idea until you push the door open and encounter a severe case of deja vu.
Yoongi glances up from his laptop at the front of the room, blearily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. “Is it time already?”
You hover in the threshold, unsure. “Uh— I mean, not quite. I’m early. I can go, if you want.”
He shrugs, busying himself with something on his computer screen. “You’ll have to hear it anyway. Can I just run through it one more time?”
You take a few tentative steps forward, dropping your bag and laptop on the table, right where you sat to watch him the night before. The energy in the room feels entirely different now, and your stomach is twisted into knots that you can’t manage to breathe deep enough to untangle.
“Yeah, fine.” You pause, unable to help yourself. “Just… don’t expect the same treatment as last night.”
Yoongi huffs a dark laugh. “I wasn’t.”
Taking a seat at the table, you set about your admin duties and try to ignore the way Yoongi mumbles over his presentation as he taps through his slides at the front of the room. There’s only so much you can do without bothering him, and you fly through those tasks all-too quickly. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth as you glance back up at Yoongi, and then you inhale to steady yourself before you speak.
“Can you turn on the mic?”
His head snaps up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”
“I need to make sure the mic is working.” Yoongi’s gaze flits to the podium’s built in-microphone, then back to you as he presses the switch to turn it on. “Say something into it,” you instruct. “It doesn’t matter what.”
Yoongi’s eyes move back to the microphone, and it’s like you can see the delay in his brain from lack of sleep. You don’t know what you were expecting— maybe a half-assed ‘check, check’, at worst some sexual or smart-ass remark. Instead, he leans in far closer than is necessary, until his mouth is nearly touching the microphone as he whispers into it.
“Sugaaaaa.”
The live demo of the notorious producer tag that intros all of his tracks is so ridiculous, so unexpected, that you can’t help it. You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth a few seconds too late. “What the fuck was that?!” The question is only muffled slightly by your palm.
Yoongi’s head drops forward, his dark hair falling in his face, and you can see his shoulders shaking with laughter, too. “Sorry,” he manages with a gasp for breath, tilting back up to speak into the microphone, which you can now actually tell is working properly. “I’m so fucking tired, I think I’m going insane.”
You uncover your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief.
The sudden loud buzz of your phone against the conference room table makes you jump, and you quickly reach for it, for fear it might be an emergency text from your boss that needs immediate attention. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see it’s actually from Jungkook.
Presentation thing? Wanna sit together?
You read the words again and again, and a strange feeling rises up in your chest that you can’t quite name. As you stare down at your phone, you hear the distinct sound of Yoongi’s laptop shutting, and then his voice, no longer amplified by the microphone when he mutters to himself, “Fuck it. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you glance up at Yoongi again, then back down at the text. With a final hard swallow, you turn your phone on silent and flip it over on the table, leaving Jungkook’s question unanswered.
The time is close enough now that you get to your feet to prop open the presentation room door, and then your colleagues quickly start to file into the space, filling in the seats around the large U-shaped arrangement of tables. It’s everything you can do to keep your expression neutral as your brain unhelpfully reminds you that Yoongi fucked you on one of these tables last night.
You try to manage something close to a smile when your boss enters with the team from the American office in tow, and you proceed to exchange pleasantries with them and fake laugh at their jokes when he introduces you.
As you’re listening diplomatically to one of them drone on about the flight to Seoul, you spot Jungkook slip in the door out of the corner of your eye, and it takes extra effort to keep the smile plastered on your face. The seats on either side of yours have long since been taken, and you glance over to see his eyes sweep the room before he moves to take an open spot at the far end.
You watch unabashedly now as he leans back in his chair, tilting to one side to pull his phone out of his pocket, and you can only pray he’s watching TikToks with the sound off rather than checking for a text that’s never coming.
When your manager repeats a question meant for you, your attention snaps back to the group. Sure your smile is nearly a grimace now, you apologize and blame the distraction on needing more coffee, which is enough to earn you a polite chuckle.
Eventually the room takes their seats as your manager moves to the front to start the presentation. You stay focused on copying down minutes as various speakers go through the company’s financials for the previous four quarters, the roadmap for the coming years, and a summary of top-level talent that the label has signed or directly worked with.
The discussion of talent leads smoothly into a quick review of achievements and nominations, and then Yoongi steps to the front of the room.
As he launches in, you can’t get over the stark difference between the Yoongi you’re used to and the one standing behind the podium in front of you. The man with the easy, confident, cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced with someone who barely looks up from his slides and speaks at a rushed pace, like he’s trying to get the words out as fast as possible. You bite down firmly on your bottom lip and try not to react at all.
He’s nearly halfway done now, and just as you’re thinking he might make it through the whole thing unscathed, Yoongi stumbles slightly over his words. It’s not a lot, a little slip-up that the rest of the room probably didn’t even notice, but you see a momentary flash of panic in his dark eyes. And then those eyes snap up to meet yours, and your stomach drops.
The memory of the two of you in this room, the thought of what you’d be doing to him if you were alone again, the way you could so easily make his voice shake and his knees threaten to buckle with just your mouth— it’s all too much.
You can’t help yourself as the smile you’ve been desperately trying to hide starts to spread across your face, equal parts supportive and indecent.
There’s a beat of silence, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, and then Yoongi drops your gaze as quickly as he found it. He squints back down at his computer screen, and though he leans away from the microphone, you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he picks up where he left off, managing to get back on track without further issue.
You desperately try to ignore the warm flush of heat that creeps up your neck as Yoongi goes through the rest of his slides.
Time seems to speed by in a rush after his presentation, and you barely manage to keep up with the barrage of content. You’re more than grateful when your manager inevitably wraps up the session, reminding everyone to head to a nearby restaurant for a team lunch immediately following.
As the room begins to empty, you take your time finishing up the notes and firing them off to the broader audience. When you finally close your laptop and look up, you realize nearly everyone has left now, though as fate would have it, Yoongi has also lagged behind. He’s standing hunched over the conference room table as he types something into his own laptop.
You try not to overthink it as you hug your computer to your chest and take a few steps toward him. “Yoongi?”
He hums a response, and when he glances up at you, the bags under his eyes are just as prominent as before.
“Are you, uh— coming to lunch?”
He rolls his eyes, like the question is ridiculous. “I can’t. I’m drowning in shit I put off for the last two days.”
His words make you take a step back, and you immediately feel stupid for asking. Why do you even care what he does? “Right. Got it.”
You don’t wait around for him to say anything else, you just shove your laptop into your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder as you head for the exit.
Largely preoccupied with getting away from Yoongi, you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings as you slip out of the room, and you only get a few steps down the hall before a voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “There you are.”
“Jesus!” you gasp, whipping around to find Jungkook leaning up against the glass wall of the conference room, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fucking scared me, Baby Goth.”
“Sorry.” He gives a shy smile, nose scrunching slightly like he’s embarrassed. “I wasn’t gonna let you ditch me again. Lunch?”
You do your best to match his smile. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
The two of you meet up with the rest of the team at a restaurant well out of your price range, and Jungkook babbles freely as he stuffs his face, seemingly unbothered by how little you have to say in return. The chatter of so many people at the long table is a white noise that you can’t focus on any part of, and Jungkook’s usual comforting presence feels overwhelming today, nearly stifling. You push food back and forth on your plate but barely eat, your stomach uneasy for reasons you don’t want to dwell on.
“Min Suga seemed like he didn’t even want to be up there.” The mention of Yoongi’s pseudonym is enough to snap you out of your haze.
“Huh?” You glance up at Jungkook, your eyes widening slightly, and you force yourself to eat another bite of pasta as he continues.
“I don’t know, he went through it so fast. Guess it makes sense. He hates anything that drags him out of his lab, right?”
You aimlessly twirl your fork against your plate, around and around. When you first started this job, you would have agreed with Jungkook without a second thought. Laughed about it, even. Now you’re not so sure. You don’t want to add to this growing sense of friction, the weird energy in the air, but the words come out anyway.
“He was nervous, Jungkook.”
When you meet his gaze again, Jungkook looks confused, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.
“What, did he tell you that?”
You nod as you take another bite of food to avoid having to explain yourself.
Jungkook’s eyes drift down to the table between you, distant, his brow furrowed like he’s suddenly doing some complex mental math. “When?”
“Last night,” you murmur through your mouthful. “We both worked late. I helped him practice a little.” The explanation was meant to make the situation sound less incriminating, but somehow you feel like it only makes it worse. You hope Jungkook can’t tell how warm your face is starting to get.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, his gaze still not meeting yours. “I thought you said you didn’t stay late. When I asked you this morning.”
A rush of adrenaline hits your bloodstream so hard it makes you dizzy. “I—I didn’t. It wasn’t that late. Like an hour max. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” You set your fork down, quickly hiding your hands in your lap so Jungkook can’t see the way they’ve started to tremble.
His only response is a slow nod, and then he goes quiet in a way that’s rare for him. It feels like an eternity of sitting and eating in silence before either of you says another word.
The conversation eventually picks back up again, and when it does, you try to tell yourself you’re just imagining that it’s slightly more stilted than before.
As you and Jungkook trail after the rest of your coworkers on the walk back to the office, you trade a few more polite questions about work-related projects, and then you fall quiet again, seemingly out of things to say. It’s a few stretches of city blocks, and then you see Jungkook’s head tip up, and he outright sniffs the air.
You can’t help but laugh a little, mostly because he looks like a dog, and then you smell it too. The unmistakable aroma coming from the street cart up ahead. You smile softly to yourself as you both slow to pass it, ogling rice cakes and fish cakes simmering in a pan of spicy sauce.
“God,” Jungkook groans appreciatively. “I would absolutely destroy some tteokbokki right now if I didn’t think I’d literally explode.”
“This is what happens when you help yourself to thirds every time you eat,” you chide him with a giggle, and the two of you nod to the vendor before you continue on toward the office. You only take a few more steps before you falter, and Jungkook turns back when he notices you’ve stopped.
“What’s up? Did you want to get some?”
You don’t know what makes you lie. “Uh, no. I, uh— I just realized, I think I left my scarf back at the restaurant. I’m gonna run back, but don’t worry about waiting for me. You’ve got work stuff.”
Jungkook shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s cool, I can go with you.”
“No, that’s okay,” you say, firmly enough to make it very obvious you don’t want company. Maybe a little too firm, because Jungkook blinks, like he’s taken aback. Your stomach twists with a feeling that you imagine must be similar to having just kicked a puppy.
“Oh. Alright, well. I’ll see you later, then.” He pauses for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and then he turns on his heel and keeps walking in the direction of the office. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch Jungkook’s retreating form until he disappears down the city block.
You try not to overthink the interaction as you retrace your steps to the cart, then head back to the office with a takeout bag gripped in one hand. Thankfully you don’t have to fumble for another lie of an excuse, because you don’t run into Jungkook or anyone else in your straight shot from the entrance to the door of Yoongi’s lab. Quick as you can, you punch in the lock code, then push the handle down and slip inside.
It takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing as you shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s arms are folded on the desk in front of him, and he’s slumped forward, head buried in the crook of his elbow. For a brief moment your heart drops, and then you take a tentative step closer and realize there’s no shake or shudder to his shoulders, only the smooth rise and fall of deep, steady breathing.
He’s asleep.
You close the remaining distance until you can reach out and gently place a hand on his back. “Yoongi?”
He inhales sharply, and you quickly pull your hand away like you’ve just been burned. Tilting his head to one side, he cracks an eye open, mumbling something that sounds like a question but is otherwise fully incoherent.
“You fell asleep,” you say dumbly, and Yoongi slowly sits up with a grunt, his eyes squinting, clearly readjusting to the room around him. He leans back to stretch, and several places in his back and shoulders crack impressively loudly.
“Fuck,” he sighs, voice strained, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Why are you in here?”
“I brought you lunch,” you murmur, lifting the takeout bag for him to witness. He frowns at it, then up at you, like he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.
“Thanks,” he eventually manages. “You can just leave it. I’m nowhere near done with all my—”
You cut him off before he can finish. “Go home, Yoongi.”
The look of slack-jawed confusion on his face is enough to nearly make you laugh. “What?”
“I said go home.”
His brow furrows. “You’re not my boss.”
“I’m not saying it as your boss,” you sigh. “But you need to eat, and sleep. This isn’t healthy.”
Yoongi huffs a little, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say, but I have so much stupid admin stuff to get caught up on.” He gestures halfheartedly to a massive to-do list pulled up on his monitor, one he’s barely a quarter of the way through.
Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you hum, feigning thought. “If only you had someone who could help with that. Some kind of… Admin Bitch.”
The comment must catch him off-guard, because he outright laughs. “You know, I still haven’t changed your contact name.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “Then you should go before I question why I’m being nice to you. I’ll leave a note for tomorrow with anything I can’t figure out for myself. Assuming you trust my ability to do my job.” As if to indicate that you are no longer open to discussing the subject, you shove the takeout bag into Yoongi’s chest, and he wraps both arms around it, still looking entirely dazed.
But to your surprise, he doesn’t fight you, just slowly rolls his desk chair back and gets to his feet. You watch carefully as he shifts the bag of food to one arm, then grabs his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I, uh— thanks.”
You wave a hand as if to tell him not to mention it, and then you plop down into his chair and get to work, barely phased by the sound of the door clicking shut when he leaves.
~*~
As you settle in at your desk the next morning, it dawns on you how close the Grammys have started to loom, made abundantly clear by the overwhelming amount of prep you find yourself launched into. You don’t think you look up from your screen once, not even bothering to greet coworkers as they push through the doors, until the muted tap of something being placed on your desk startles you.
You see the cup of coffee first, and when you glance up expecting a pair of Baby Star Candy eyes, you instead find Yoongi hovering at the edge of your desk, like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. You make zero attempts to hide your total shock at whatever the fuck is going on in this moment.
He looks— good. Fresh-faced, like he managed to actually get some sleep, a little less gaunt. Even his expression seems weirdly pleasant, something you might mistake for happiness if you thought that he was capable of such an emotion.
There’s a crinkling sound, and when he gently sets a small wax paper pastry bag on your desk next to the coffee, you’re sure that you’ve overslept your alarm and are in the depths of a wild, ridiculous dream. It’s the only way any of this can be happening.
You blink up at him as you hesitantly reach for the bag, like you’re scared it might bite you.
“It’s maple,” he says as you slowly pick it up and investigate the contents. It’s still warm. “I asked for the most disgustingly sweet thing they had.”
Too overwhelmed, you set the pastry bag back down wordlessly. As you do, it’s only now that your eyes focus on the letters “AB” sketched in black marker on the side of the coffee cup, where a barista would typically write your name.
Yoongi’s eyes must be watching yours carefully, because he huffs a laugh as he sees realization dawn over your face. “Making them actually write Admin Bitch seemed a bit much.”
You can’t manage to find a laugh to match his, can only sit there, shell-shocked. When you look up again, he’s already walking backwards in the direction of his lab, but his eyes are still on you. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but I don’t think they’d believe you even if you did.”
And just like that, he’s gone again.
You remain unconvinced that both of his gifts aren’t secretly poisoned, but your desperate need for a fresh hit of caffeine overwhelms any other emotion. Carefully, you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip— it’s not scalding, but still perfectly hot, and your eyes widen as the flavor hits your tongue.
Two cream, three sugar. Exactly how you like it.
Before you’ve even had time to swallow, Jungkook is suddenly rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and you have to make a conscious effort not to choke.
He slows to a stop, and you watch him take in the coffee cup clutched between your hands like a lifeline. “Hey! You seriously snuck out for coffee without me?” His tone is mock-hurt, but you can’t help wondering whether it’s entirely put on.
Your gaze drops back down to the cup. “Sorry, JK. Someone else picked this up for me.”
Jungkook doesn’t pry into your vague statement, but a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that maybe he doesn’t have to.
~*~
It’s Saturday night by the time your schedule aligns with Jimin’s for a night out, and given that it’s the last time you’ll see him before you leave for Los Angeles, you manage to guilt him into driving. The bar you choose is a shitty dive nowhere near your office, where you’re certain you won’t have to worry about any accidental encounters.
Or any encounters at all, as it turns out. The place is dead.
“I think we’re single-handedly keeping them open tonight,” Jimin murmurs with a grimace as you grab a pair of stools.
The bartender pours you each two shots and two beers, then returns to their side work at the far end of the bar in an apparent attempt to give the two of you some privacy.
It’s only once you’ve had your first shot and are halfway through the accompanying beer that you’re able to speak the words aloud: “I had sex in the office again.”
Jimin glances up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength, and you recount the full story mostly to the wood grain in front of you, unable to look your best friend in the face while you catch him up on everything.
When you fill in the final details, Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Suga really hatefucked you on a conference table?! I need to go buy some lottery tickets.” He throws back his second shot, and there’s a smug smile on his face as he swallows it down. “God, I love being psychic.”
You shove an elbow into his ribs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s fucking happening anymore, Mochi. Sometimes he’s insufferable but now sometimes we apparently mildly tolerate and are even nice to each other. Like, coffee and a pastry nice.” You smack your hand on the bar for emphasis as you repeat the words. “Coffee. And. A. Pastry.”
“So,” Jimin clasps his hands together as he surveys you. There’s a look on his face like he’s clearly expecting you to draw some conclusion from all of this, but it seems to have entirely escaped you. “What have we learned?”
You drop your head down on the bar with a resounding thud. “We’ve learned that Min Yoongi is ruining my life.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Voice muffled slightly, you groan. “Don’t make me say it louder.”
“No, what did you just say?” You lift your head up to look at him, and his expression is deadly serious, his eyes sharp and focused. “Min Yoongi? I know Min Yoongi.”
You give him the same look right back. “You what?”
“We were trainees together. I— wait, Min Yoongi is Suga the producer? Really?!” He scrambles for his phone and you just sit there, dumbfounded.
“How are you only now telling me that you know him?”
Jimin glances up, incredulous. “Um, hi, because you literally never fucking told me Suga is Min Yoongi?”
You roll your eyes. “Please, surely I have said his name to you at least once.”
It’s Jimin’s turn to smack the bar, and he does so loudly. “Run those tapes back, ma’am! We have always called him Suga.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never even Googled him?!”
He makes a face like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. “I am an adult, with a job and a very needy boyfriend. Your chaos already monopolizes too much of my time.”
The search on his phone loads, and you watch Jimin tap and scroll slowly, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Min Yoongi is Suga. Wow. I think I need a minute.”
Jimin’s earlier words finally catch up to you, and you finish the last of your first beer before you dare ask the question. “Yoongi was really a trainee?”
“He was,” Jimin confirms, gaze still locked on his phone. “Obviously he didn’t debut either. He left a few months before I did. I always wondered what happened to him.”
“What was he like?” Your voice comes out soft, a little unsure.
His eyes widen, staring off unfocused as he searches through his memory. “I mean, we weren’t super close, he’s a few years older than me. But it doesn’t sound like that much has changed if I think about what you’ve told me. He was quiet, not too personable. Worked hard. Didn’t really seem that close to anybody. I think maybe he had a difficult home life?”
Your stomach drops a little as Jimin pauses, choosing his words. “Like I guess his parents weren’t very supportive. So I think he felt like he had a lot to prove, and had really high standards for himself. But he obviously loved music. Makes sense that he ended up a producer. It’s like me and dance, right?” He picks up his beer with a shrug, staring thoughtfully down at the amber liquid. “Man. Those years were tough.”
As Jimin takes a sip of his drink and then continues on about his trainee days, your head starts to spin. You throw back your second shot in hopes that it might help.
You wish you could go back and unlearn this information, unsay the name Min Yoongi. Because you don’t want to think about him. You don’t want to know that Min Yoongi gets nervous about public speaking, that he likes his coffee iced, that he can’t say no to street cart tteokbokki, that he used to be a trainee, that he worked an unpaid job in Daegu, that he had a disapproving family and never felt good enough and maybe still doesn’t.
Min Yoongi was so simple when you first met him, back when he was a two-dimensional character, the antagonist of your TV show life, your enemy. But now he’s none of those things. He’s a real, flawed, complicated person, and your feelings for him are confusing and overwhelming. And you deeply do not want to think about your feelings. You don’t want to examine them, don’t want to hold them up to the light for fear of what you might find. It occurs to you in this moment that you don’t want to think about anything at all.
With a sigh, you scoot your chair back from the bar, then get to your feet.
“What are you doing?” Jimin interrupts himself to ask as you dig your phone out of your purse.
You’re doing the only thing that makes sense. “I’m gonna go fuck him,” you say, resigned, and then you make your way out the front door of the bar as you pull up Yoongi’s contact in your phone.
It’s only as the line starts to ring that you realize you don’t exactly have a location in mind. Sex in a bar bathroom is an experience you have no desire to repeat, and the thought of Yoongi seeing your shithole apartment makes your drinks threaten a return appearance.
You’re starting to consider that maybe you should just hang up and forget the idea entirely when Yoongi’s voice startles you.
“Uh, hi?”
“Hi.”
There’s a pause as you realize you didn’t actually plan how to have this conversation, and then you and Yoongi speak in tandem.
“I was just wondering—”
“Is there a reason you—”
“Shut up,” you snap, agitated by your own awkwardness. “What are you doing right now?”
Yoongi laughs darkly into the phone. “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”
“Answer the question, asshole.”
There’s a slight shifting sound, like he’s making himself comfortable. “Nothing. Drinking.”
“Great, same here.”
Another pause, and you swear you can hear Yoongi slow blinking, can see the stupid smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “Would you like to come over, then?”
“Yes,” you answer, trying to sound more confident than you feel, and then you falter slightly. You’re not about to ask Jimin to drive you— you don’t trust him enough to stay in the car and behave, not when he’s been drinking. “Uh, are you by any chance near a bus stop?”
Yoongi doesn’t even try to suppress his snort of laughter. “I’m not. But I can send a car.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly, trying to think. “I can figure something—”
“Please,” Yoongi cuts you off. “If you’re really calling me begging to get fucked, the least I can do is provide the transportation. Just send me your location.”
“Fine,” you concede, and your voice comes out harsh. “But to be clear, I am not begging.”
He hums a low note, like he’s thinking it over. “Not yet,” he ultimately responds. “See you soon.”
You swallow hard as the call disconnects.
The time it takes for the car to arrive is just enough for you to slip back inside and finish your beer, and Jimin’s eyes narrow with frustration when you’re unable to explain yourself.
“Didn’t you just complain that this man was ruining your life?”
“Yes,” you retort. “And then I thought it over, and I decided that’s my job.” Your phone buzzes with the notification that the car is outside, and you quickly swig the last of your drink. “Bye.”
Jimin’s face twists like he’s holding further commentary back, which you didn’t think he was capable of doing without combusting. “Alright, babygirl,” he finally sighs, defeated. “Call me if you need saving.”
“I always do,” you deadpan as you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.
~*~
Yoongi doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you, just nods his head to the interior of his apartment to gesture you inside, letting the door swing wider so you can step past him. He shuts it again as you slip your heels off, and it takes you a second to adjust to your true height difference, the fact that you have to look a little further up to meet his gaze now.
“Want a drink?” is his delayed greeting, and you shrug.
“Yeah, okay. Just whatever you’re having.”
Without another word, he turns and heads down the hallway, and you follow after him, taking in your surroundings as you move further inside. It’s only now that it occurs to you how rich he must be. His place is identical to any one of the swanky, million-dollar Hannam apartments of which you’ve spent thousands of hours watching YouTube tours. You try to keep your expression neutral as you follow him into the living room, but it’s hard not to be impressed.
Yoongi crosses the room to a mini-bar, built into the far wall and softly backlit with inset LEDs. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you hover nervously for a second, then finally choose to drop down onto the large, L-shaped couch, setting your purse on the floor next to you.
“Thoughts—” When Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, you start a little, not expecting it. “—on single malt whiskey?” He turns over his shoulder, and you shrug back at him.
“Never met one I didn’t like.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. “Alright.” You watch as he grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf, coating the bottom of a glass with the amber liquid inside, then just barely topping up what must be his own drink. He crosses back to the couch, hands you yours, then drops down a respectable distance away from you with a sigh of effort.
The atmosphere is certainly different from what you’d expected, and Yoongi must be able to tell you’re a little on edge, not sure what to do or why you thought coming here was a good idea.
He glances over at you as he swirls the contents of his glass. “Not feeling up for much small talk tonight. Sorry.”
“That’s fine,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to talk.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you grit your teeth in anticipation of the smug smile, the cocky smirk at your unintended double meaning, but it never comes. Yoongi stays just as he is, slouched forward, his eyes unfocused, like he’s got a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.
You turn sideways on the couch so you can look over the back of it and out of the large picture window behind you, where the city is alive in a blur of light and color, bracketed by the dark swath of the Han River.
Yoongi’s whiskey is strong but smooth, tastes like the bottle probably cost more than the entire bar-tab you and Jimin rang up tonight, and you sip it slowly. The thought of your best friend sparks something in your mind— you find yourself speaking again in spite of your previous statement.
“I just found out that you know my best friend. Park Jimin.”
At this, Yoongi looks up, clearly stunned. “No shit?” You nod, taking another pull from your drink, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he?”
“He’s good,” you murmur, the sharp taste of alcohol lingering on the back of your tongue. “He’s really good. He actually just performed in the concert I took Jungkook to.”
Yoongi pauses, glass halfway to his lips. “What group is he in? For someone in the industry I am atrocious at keeping up with this shit.”
“Oh, he’s not, he’s just a back-up dancer now. He never debuted.”
Yoongi nods slowly. “Well. Makes two of us.”
Your chest starts to tighten a little— you’re weirdly nervous to talk to him about this. It feels like uncharted territory. “I can’t believe you were a trainee.”
He leans back, resting his free arm over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly. “I can’t either, most days. It was a long time ago. Feels like it happened to somebody else.”
Torn between deep curiosity and not wanting to pry, you stare down at the liquid swirling in your glass and leave it up to Yoongi. To your surprise, he keeps talking.
“So what did Jimin tell you about me?”
The unexpected question makes you laugh a little. “Uh… I don’t know. Said you sound like you’re still the same as you were back then. Keeping to yourself and working a lot.”
You don’t know if you should repeat everything, but the liquor loosens your tongue. “He said your parents weren’t very supportive.”
You glance up to see Yoongi shake his head, matter-of-fact. “They were not. So you can imagine how well they took it when I quit.” Your heart sinks at the thought. “Probably put a chip on my shoulder, if I want to be introspective about it. Explains the workaholic tendencies, maybe.”
He takes a longer sip of his drink this time, chasing his swallow with a grimace as he stares at the floor. “It’s funny. I always feel like I have to do better, even now. I get obsessed with work because it’s better than being depressed. And most of the time it feels like there’s nothing else to do anyway. I just work myself to death because it’s my only reason to stay alive.”
Your stomach drops sharply, and you can’t help but look over at him as he continues, feeling thoroughly unprepared for this sudden insight into the inner workings of Min Yoongi.
“It doesn’t even matter what milestones I hit, the fame, the fortune, whatever. I’m going to the fucking Grammys next week and it still doesn’t feel good enough.” His eyes flicker up to find yours, and his voice is quieter now. “Even if I win, I know it won’t. How sad is that?”
“You sound like my dad,” you mutter into your glass, and then your gaze snaps back to Yoongi as you realize what you’ve just said.
He looks as surprised as you feel, and you steady yourself as you take a swig of your drink and swallow it down. Fuck it. If he can overshare, so can you. “Work always came first, before family, before everything. And you know what happened? He dropped dead in his office before he even turned fifty. They said it was probably stress.”
There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, but he doesn’t try to interrupt you.
“It makes me so mad,” you say, and you will yourself not to get emotional, your grip on your drink tightening slightly. “Because he worked so fucking hard thinking that once he got to a certain place, he’d be happy. Just a little more, then he could relax. But he never got there. He worked non-stop his whole life and then he fucking died. That’s it.
“And you know what’s really fucked up?” You don’t wait for Yoongi to respond— you can’t stop it all from coming out now, like a tap turned on high.
“People say grief makes you resilient, that it makes you stronger, or kinder, that we go through these things and they’re hard but you learn from them and grow or whatever the fuck. And I don’t feel like any of that shit is true for me. My dad died, and I just got worse.” A self-deprecating laugh flutters out around your words. “I’m selfish. I’m lazy. I make terrible choices. I deeply cannot fucking stand myself, if I’m honest with you. Jimin is like the one friend I still keep in touch with who knew me when my dad was alive, because everyone else just… didn’t know what to do with me. And I don’t blame them.
“And it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, because he died, and I’m sitting here complaining about me. It’s like I don’t even miss him as much as I just miss… the way things used to be. The person I used to be.” You let yourself take a breath, but the final thought, the part you don’t usually say out loud, slips out with it. “It’s like she died, too.”
There’s a long pause that feels like an eternity, and you realize your heart is racing in your chest. You lean back against the couch with a sigh of frustration, too embarrassed at your own word vomit to do anything but stare at the stupidly high ceiling. You’re so wrapped up in the rush of saying it all— it’s been a while since you’ve gone this deep with anyone— that it takes you a second to notice that Yoongi is laughing softly.
“Wow. And here I thought you were just a slacker.”
The words make you glance over at him. You haven’t divulged these feelings to many people, but nearly everyone you’ve told has responded the same: awkward apologies, shitty words of affirmation you didn’t ask for, waxing poetic bullshit lies about how you’re not a bad person. A road paved with good intentions, things meant to console you that only make you want to scream.
But Yoongi gives you none of that. He just nods, like he understands.
“Well,” you counter, trying not to let the shock read on your face. “I thought you were just an asshole.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am an asshole. I’ll own that.” He smirks into his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. “Do you want to know something?”
“What?”
He suddenly pauses, like he’s not sure how to word it, like he maybe regrets asking the question at all. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so hesitant before. “You have to not make a big deal about it.”
“Okay,” you say simply. You’re willing to return the favor.
“The night I left the studio door unlocked, and there was the break-in,” Yoongi starts, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his index finger. Something twists in your stomach, an intuition you can’t explain that makes it immediately clear to you what he’s about to say. “I wasn’t thinking about locking up that night because I... was planning to kill myself.”
It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room, and you will yourself not to react, gripping your glass until your knuckles blanch. Your eyes drop to the floor as you try to process the weight of his words.
“But you didn’t,” you reply dumbly.
“No, I didn’t. I walked up and down the bridge over the river for a long time. Probably an hour, maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up to the window again, tracing the inkblot snake of the river in the distance.
“I thought about it, and then I decided to go home. I thought that maybe I could give it just one more day and see what happened. And then when I got to work the next day, I was in such deep shit about the break-in, I felt like everyone would blame themselves if I did it after that. Like they’d think they were too hard on me.” He laughs bitterly to himself. “Like I’m not always the one who is hardest on myself.”
“Yoongi,” you breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. It just feels nice to tell someone.”
There’s a heavy silence between you, and heat rushes to your face as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”
He glances over at you, brows pinched together like he doesn’t believe you. “You hate me.”
“I do not!” The insistence in your voice surprises even you. In an attempt to ground yourself, you press your palm to the side of your drink and try to focus on the feeling, the cool surface against your flushed skin. “I mean, I definitely did. But now, I don’t know. Would I really be wasting my Saturday night here if I hated you?”
Yoongi pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Look at me, you came over here to fuck and I turned it into a therapy session. Christ.”
With a final shake of his head, he downs the last of his drink in one swallow. “You want a tour?”
You follow Yoongi as he takes a winding path through the various rooms of his apartment, and you continue to sip at your drink, barely processing any of what he shows you. Your mind is still spinning from the conversation, and that paired with the cotton fuzz of strong liquor makes everything feel muted and far away.
As anticipated, the tour ends in his bedroom, which matches the rest of the place: sleek, minimally decorated, and bathed in the soft glow of inset strip lighting that runs the length of the ceiling.
When Yoongi sets his empty glass down on the dresser, you mirror him, then watch as he steps in to close the distance between you. As your eyes search his, you realize you’re once again caught between conflicting versions of Min Yoongi, still trying to reconcile the one you thought you knew with the person who just spilled his guts all over the living room floor. It feels impossible to hold the two of them together in your mind.
Up close, his smirk seems to soften. “You’re a lot shorter without those heels.”
Before you even understand what you’re doing, or why, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s only a split second, your lips barely brushing over his, and then you quickly pull away, struck by the reality of what you’ve just done.
“Shit,” you breathe, dropping your hands and taking a step back. You stumble slightly as a hot wave of shame rushes up in your chest. “Sorry, I just—”
You don’t get to finish the thought, because Yoongi’s touch is sliding over the curve of your waist, and then he’s dragging you back toward him until his mouth finds yours again. The taste of whiskey lingers on his soft lips as they move against yours— you can’t help but whimper a little at how hungrily he kisses you. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.
The idea overwhelms you, and you pull away from him again, your lips still ghosting over his. “Yoongi.” You try your best to sound firm when you say his name, pressing one hand against his chest as you look up at him. “This… can’t mean anything.”
You can feel the heat of his breath when he laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
Too desperate for his mouth to want to argue, you decide to let him win. “Okay,” you sigh. Your hand is already tangled in his long, dark hair by the time his lips meet yours again.
“Get on the bed,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses, and you do as he says.
Moving backwards, you crawl up toward the pillows while Yoongi crosses the room to hit a panel on the wall, dimming the soft lights overhead until they’re barely there. He comes back to join you, strong hands wordlessly guiding you to lay down beneath him.
It’s weird to not be rushing through this: to feel like you can take your time as he kisses you again, as you lick into his mouth to roll your tongue over his, as one of his hands starts to creep under your skirt to gently rub up and down the length of your thigh.
The motions of his hand push the fabric higher and higher, until it’s as far up as it can go, and he leans back, clearly not satisfied.
“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod, sitting up to help as he pulls your dress up over your head.
It occurs to you a beat too late that you’ve never been this naked in front of him before, and your heartbeat flutters. “You too,” you murmur, pinching gently at the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he smirks as he reaches one hand between his shoulder blades to tug it off entirely.
You take him in as he drops the shirt to his bedroom floor: he’s broad-shouldered in a way you’ve never noticed under all his baggy clothes, with firm definition in the muscles of his chest and arms, and there’s a flush of warm glow to his pale skin.
As you blink up at Yoongi, more than dazed, you realize his eyes are roaming over your body, too. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you resist the sudden urge to hide from his surveying gaze. “You have great tits.”
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that, and the surprise of it makes you laugh.
“Just for that, I’ll let you see them,” you say, unable to keep the teasing edge out of your voice as you lean forward to reach behind your back. Your hands shake a little more than you’d like as you fumble to undo your bra and toss it off the side of the bed to join everything else.
Your nipples stiffen quickly in the cool air of his room, and when you lay back again, Yoongi covers your body with his, the movement paired with a groan that’s nearly a growl. You can’t hold back your own soft sounds as his lips and tongue move down your neck, and it occurs to you now that there’s so much that the two of you have never done before. So many steps you skipped.
Like the way Yoongi cups one of your breasts in his hand, rolling his thumb over your nipple to earn a louder whine from you. “Shit,” you gasp as he does it again, his mouth still trailing kisses between the valley of your breasts.
“God,” Yoongi hisses against your skin. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”
With his thumb continuing to work at one nipple, he takes the other into his mouth, and you can feel the way your arousal is starting to soak through your panties as he sucks firmly at the stiff peak. You arch up into him, and then he’s shifting to roll your nipple between his teeth and tug, and you can’t help it— you flinch and yelp beneath him, overwhelmed.
He quickly pulls his mouth off of you, eyes flashing up to find yours. “Sensitive?”
You nod, face flushing, embarrassed. “A little bit of teeth is okay. Too much hurts.”
“Okay,” Yoongi answers softly. He licks up the underside of your breast to pull the bud of it back into his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue there soothes like an apology. When he just barely grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, it’s enough to make you keen, your eyes rolling back as they flutter closed.
“Oh, fuck, just like that.”
With a wet noise, he pulls off to switch sides, repeating the firm suction, the drag of his tongue, the slightest brush of teeth. His fingers pinch gently at your other nipple, made slick with his spit, and he keeps working you lazily, unhurried, until your body writhes underneath his.
“Yoongi—” You try to catch your breath, and you run a hand through his hair to pull his mouth off of you. His jaw is still dropped open slightly when he meets your gaze. “Touch me.”
His lips pull into a smug smile. “Told you you’d beg.”
Your grip on his hair tightens in response. “Not begging. Ordering.”
Yoongi tuts gently, like he’s disappointed. “I don’t follow orders, sweetheart.”
As much as his teasing irritates you, a twin smile to his spreads across your face. “I’ll kill you,” you murmur, releasing your grip as he shifts back onto his knees.
It gets harder to focus on your bloodlust when his palms run over the curve of your hips, then press between your legs to part your thighs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he deadpans as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he starts to drag the lace down your legs.
“That’s fucking dark,” you can’t help but laugh as you kick your underwear the rest of the way off.
Yoongi licks his lips, clearly distracted, and you spread yourself wider for him. “This pussy,” he grunts hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gets so puffy when you want it. All tight inside, too.” He unexpectedly slaps the whole of his hand over your center, and you gasp, your hips jolting up.
You don’t even have time to respond before he’s pressing a finger into you, your cunt squeezing tight enough to reward him with an audible noise as he fucks it in and out. “Fuck,” you groan.
“You get this wet just from having your tits played with, huh?”
The thorough analysis makes you huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong, and it stutters into a moan when his thumb gently starts to circle your clit.
“God,” you manage to choke out, “you’re fucking chatty tonight.”
Yoongi smirks, and you’re not sure why until he speaks again, his voice now pinched in a clear imitation as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’d rather I put my mouth?”
Your jaw drops in disbelief as he repeats your own stupid tease from weeks ago back to you. “I’ve changed my mind,” you snap, sitting up a little, and Yoongi glances at you, already in the midst of settling between your spread thighs. “I do still hate you.”
“That’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then he leans in to lick a thick, wet stripe up your slit. His mouth is immediately dizzying, and you drop your head back against the pillow, overwhelmed.
It’s another thing you’ve never done before, at least not with Min Yoongi. As he repeats the motion over and over, lazy long strokes where he drags his tongue from your entrance all the way up to circle your clit, you mentally kick yourself for every missed chance, every opportunity to have his mouth that you didn’t take.
“What the fuck,” you breathe.
Yoongi just barely pulls off of you, close enough that a string of your arousal is still joined to his lower lip when he speaks. “You’re not the only one with good head game here.”
He dives in again like he’s determined to immediately prove his point, and you shove your legs open wider as he sucks your clit into his mouth.
As much as you’d like to bruise his ego, it’s impossible to keep yourself from moaning when he pairs the firm suction with the press of his index finger back into your tight heat. As wet as he’s made you, he’s easily able to slide a second in beside it now, and your nails scratch helplessly over the sheets beneath you.
“Yoongi,” you gasp as he curls his digits to beckon inside you, stroking over your front wall and easily finding the spot that makes you gush. He does it again and again, like a button press, working up more and more arousal until you’re dripping down his wrist.
Even the way he hums against your pussy sounds like a smirk, but you’re too far gone to care. Yoongi starts to flick his tongue steadily over your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers pumping into your g-spot, and you can feel the pressure in your core building, a band pulled tight enough to snap.
Your hips buck up toward his mouth in an overwhelmed reflex, and Yoongi’s free hand is immediately there like he was expecting it. His palm presses firmly to your lower abdomen to hold you down and keep you there, and even that feels good too, renders you entirely helpless to his mouth and his hands as he takes you apart.
“Fuck,” you moan, loud and unabashed now. “Fuck, yes, I’m—”
The feeling overtakes you before you can get another word out, and you nearly sob as your orgasm rips through you, your whole body straining hard against Yoongi’s strong hand as he pins you to the bed. The extra pressure on your core pushes a rush of fluid out of your cunt, enough to soak the sheets beneath you as your muscles contract around Yoongi’s fingers.
“Oh my god,” he doesn’t even pull away to groan, and the low vibration of the words against your throbbing clit makes your thighs tremble.
There’s a wet smack of his lips and tongue as he finally relents, the pace of his fingers slowing as he continues to work you through the aftershocks. You desperately try to remember how to breathe as you start to come down.
Yoongi is a fucking sight when he leans back to look up at you: long hair falling in his face, eyes dark with lust, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Did you seriously just squirt?”
It’s been a long time since anyone has managed to make it happen, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in a different way. Still recovering, you can barely get the words out. “Shut up.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘shut up’? It was hot,” Yoongi grunts, and you’re at least grateful that you don’t have to have the ‘it’s not pee’ conversation right now. He ducks his head down again as he withdraws his fingers, and his tongue drags up the crux of your thighs to chase a few stray droplets. You squirm, oversensitive, your legs nearly snapping shut around his neck, and he takes the cue to back off with a soft laugh.
You’re too spent to fight it when he starts to manhandle you a little, palms slipping under your ass to drag you further down the bed until your hips are flush with his, then encouraging your knees to pull up toward your chest. “Think you can do that on my cock?”
The question sparks something in your core, the first lick of a freshly lit flame, and you prop yourself up on your forearms to better meet his gaze. “Make me.”
Yoongi’s appreciative smile is nearly a snarl, and he shifts lower on the bed to quickly strip out of his pants and boxers. You watch as he starts to crawl back up your body, anticipation tightening in your core, and then a flash of realization crosses his face and he freezes.
“Fuck,” he swears, and your stomach drops.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot I’m out of condoms.” Your eyes widen as his gaze meets yours. “Do you have any?”
You shake your head. “Not with me.”
A muscle in his jaw works as he exhales a resigned sigh, and you reach out, one hand finding his bicep to stop him before he leaves. You want it too much, bad idea or not. “Just… fuck me anyway.”
His expression goes deadly serious, and there’s a long moment before he responds. “You’re sure?”
You swallow hard as you nod, your eyes searching his. “Just pull out, okay?” You hate yourself for saying the final word before it even leaves your lips. “Please.”
“Okay,” Yoongi repeats back to you, and his hands press to your thighs again to encourage your knees up as he positions himself between your legs. There’s a feeling humming in the space between your bodies, like the reality of the situation has settled over the both of you. The reckless abandon of the previous moment is gone, replaced with something slower, more hesitant. Heavier.
With your eyes fixed on his face, you feel it first: the weight and warmth of his cock grinding over your slit, sliding easily with how soaked you are. You look down to see it for yourself, flushed dark and hard enough to leak precum, trailing a glossy sheen over your folds as Yoongi guides it against you, one hand gripped firmly to the base. He teases the head of his dick over your clit and keeps it there, and you’re still sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling.
“Please,” you repeat, and he’s too focused to be smug about it. He just nods as he drags his cock back down to your entrance, then braces one hand against your thigh and starts to push in.
You exhale softly at the welcome stretch, familiar made new at the lack of anything between you. You can feel it all: the thick swell of the head of his cock as he eases you open, how he throbs gently as your walls squeeze around him, so tight that you can even feel the prominent veins that trace down his shaft.
You’re still wet and getting wetter from the way he fills you up entirely, your arousal drenching the length of him when he bottoms out with an audible slick sound. His cock twitches, buried to the hilt, and even that barely-there motion is enough to coax a breathy moan from you.
“Shit,” Yoongi laughs softly, and the tinge of humility to his voice makes you glance up at him again. “Not gonna be able to go that fast. Feels too good.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just…”
The words won’t come. It would mean too much to say what you want, and this isn’t supposed to mean anything at all.
So you don’t say them: you just hook your arms over his shoulders and pull his mouth down to yours. “Just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips. He grunts a low note of appreciation as he kisses you, as he starts to drag his cock out of you just to fuck it back in again.
It’s shallow, it’s slow, it’s nothing like what you’re used to with Yoongi, but it’s good. Good enough to make your kisses sloppy when you trade open-mouthed breaths, good enough to make you tilt your head and slide the flat of your tongue over Yoongi’s unabashedly, like an earned reward.
He pushes your knees up a little more, thrusting deeper this time, and the new angle drags the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You whine at the heavy weight of him, the shudder that ripples through you in response, and he stays there, stroking steadily to rub that spot again and again until your eyes roll back in your head.
“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth.
“Shit,” he groans shakily, reaching one hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes. A few dark strands stick to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”
Your arousal coils hot and fast inside of you as he keeps thrusting, and you have to break away from kissing him to tip your head back on the pillow and moan. “Fuck, please don’t stop, I’m—”
It feels like the final second before your climax when Yoongi pulls out, sitting back on his knees between your spread legs with a low groan. The sudden loss of his cock makes your walls clench at nothing, and you whine, petulant. “Yoongi!”
“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless. “Almost came.” You glance up to see him squeezing at the base of his cock with one hand, his chest heaving with effort. Your hips tilt up toward him, jealous.
“I miss your cock,” you whine, fucked close enough to be shameless.
“You’ll get it,” he retorts, and then you feel three of his fingers press in to fill the space he left behind inside of you. “Want to make you come again first.”
You keen as he starts to pump them, wrist angled just right to meet your g-spot each time. “Oh fuck, Yoongi.” The arousal in your core aches as he fucks you open on his fingers, and you can hear how wet you are in the soaked squelch of your needy pussy, can feel it leaking down your thighs.
His thumb brushes over your clit with every upstroke of his hand, and it makes you gasp, your moans starting to pitch higher. “Harder, baby, please, I’m so close.”
Too lost in the feeling, you barely notice when Yoongi laughs a little, but he does as you ask, and the way he pounds into you is just enough to work you over the edge. Waves of pleasure rip through your body as you come for a second time, squirting a little on his sheets again, your thighs shaking violently.
“That’s it, there you go, fuck,” Yoongi groans appreciatively at the sight.
You’ve just barely made it past your peak, still shuddering all over, when Yoongi withdraws his fingers to shove his cock back in again, and you keen.
He thrusts like a man close to his own end, fast and hard, his breath coming in ragged pants of effort and pleasure. Your pussy pulses around him, squeezing like a vice, so swollen with sensitivity that it really does feel like he’s splitting you open every time he fucks into you.
You moan unabashedly now and cling to him all over, legs bracketing his snapping hips, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair. Your cunt throbs and gushes around him as he strokes, and it still feels like you’re coming: you can’t tell if it’s an intensely drawn-out second orgasm or if the hot stretch of his cock worked you seamlessly into a third.
When he finally pulls out, you drop back against the bed with an exhausted groan, every inch of you fucked into oblivion. You can barely focus your eyes to watch as Yoongi shoves his hips up to straddle yours, one hand working his cock until his release overtakes him.
He flattens both palms to the mattress as he starts to come, groaning softly and rocking his hips so that his cock grinds against your stomach. The head of his dick twitches visibly, leaking pulse after pulse of sticky gloss over your skin, and he smears his cock through it as he ruts against you. He keeps going, rolling his hips and rubbing the mess across your stomach until he’s thoroughly spent, until you’re both flushed and sticky all over.
“Holy fucking shit,” is all he can manage when he finally collapses down on the bed next to you.
You glance over at him and nod, trying to imply without speaking that the feeling is mutual. He meets your gaze, and you lay like that for several long minutes of silence as your breathing slows, eyes fixed on each other as your heartbeats race through the comedown.
It’s hard to believe that any part of tonight has been real, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
As the post-orgasm glow starts to settle, exhaustion hits you like a train. You groan, breaking the prolonged eye contact to throw an arm over your face, blocking out Yoongi’s bedroom with the crook of your elbow.
You’re not expecting it when he softly says your name, and something in your gut tells you that whatever’s coming isn’t good. You will yourself not to look back again, to stay as still as a statue when you answer him. “Hmm?”
“You know Jungkook is in love with you, right?”
The plan to not move goes out the window at his words. Your pulse spikes, and you drop your arm to look at him, your face twisted in confusion. “What?!”
Yoongi studies your expression for a second, then makes a small hum of surprise. “Interesting. I figured you were just trying to let him down easy.”
“I— what?”
“You really didn’t know?” He scoffs, and his tone is enough to instantly make you set your jaw. “It’s pretty obvious. It’s funny, I guess he’s sort of inadvertently responsible for all of this.”
That takes a second to sink in, and you blink. “How?”
Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, when he asked me for the code to my office, I figured he wanted to take you in there and fuck you.”
Hot blood rushes to your chest, and you sit up a little. “You talked to Jungkook about fucking me?”
“No.” Yoongi blinks. “This was before anything happened. I haven’t told him anything. It was just clear he liked you, even back then, because I have eyes. So I was trying to do him a favor. He’s a good kid.”
You squint, still trying to catch up. “Why would Jungkook fuck me in your office?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s the only door that locks. Sometimes you get desperate.” You swallow the immediate urge to argue when your brain unhelpfully reminds you that you have in fact fucked Yoongi at the office. Twice.
“But you know, I figured he’d wine you, dine you, all that romantic crap first. I’m sure he’s a very respectable sex on the third date kind of guy.” That all-too-familiar smirk is back when he glances over at you again. “I guess neither of us realized who we were dealing with.”
You open and close your mouth a few times before you can remember how to speak. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly not with your cum still on my stomach.”
Yoongi nods toward the en-suite. “There’s towels in there. Or you can shower if you want.”
Your head spins as you silently slip out of his bed, and you shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, wishing you could leave that entire conversation on the other side of it. Maybe his fancy shower will get hot enough to blast all the thoughts out of your brain, you reason, and it only takes a bit of fumbling with the knobs before you figure it out.
The water pressure is so much better than what you’re used to that you groan a little when you step under the spray. You turn in a semicircle, letting it beat down on your neck and shoulders as you close your eyes, willing the tension to melt out of your body. You really are exhausted, practically asleep on your feet, despite the way your mind is still racing.
You don’t know why you came here tonight. You don’t know what you thought would happen. You don’t know what makes you keep coming back to Yoongi, over and over, like a moth to a flame, like the definition of insanity. You don’t know why he opened up to you tonight, or why you decided to do the same— or what the fuck compelled him to say that Jungkook is in love with you. You don’t know if things are supposed to stay the same after tonight, or if they will be irrevocably different, and you don’t know which you’d even want.
You have no idea what you want, actually. Another drink would be nice.
The sound of the shower door opening startles you, pulling you up from your thought spiral, and your eyes snap open to see Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he steps in to crowd you under the water, and you hate the way your heartbeat flutters when he’s close to you.
“What are you—” you try to ask, but you don’t get to finish the sentence before his hand cups your jaw and his mouth finds yours.
His kiss blots everything else from your brain, and in this moment, you’re grateful for it. You lean into him, letting him in deeper when his tongue traces your bottom lip, whimpering softly as his other hand presses to the small of your back to pull you closer.
You don’t know what he wants, either. Why he came in here. But you have a guess.
“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips. “I can’t again. I’m so tired.”
“It’s okay,” he answers softly, and then his mouth drags you back in like a riptide.
You don’t know how long you stay there like that, kissing him under the steam and the spray, but you’re breathless when you finally pull away to look up at him. Water droplets are twined through his long, dark hair, collecting delicately on his eyelashes, trailing down his neck and over the muscles of his chest.
“You can sleep here tonight, if you want,” Yoongi offers, and before you can even process the words, he’s stepping back to push the shower door open behind him, and then he’s gone.
With the glass fogged over completely from the heat of the water, and the white noise of the fan overhead, you have no concept of when he leaves the bathroom, or what else he might be doing. You just know you feel entirely alone.
After scrubbing yourself thoroughly with a washcloth that you lather in Yoongi’s soap, you emerge from the shower, grabbing a towel from the linen cabinet to wrap up in. It’s weird to smell like him, sandalwood and musk, somehow both comforting and alienating.
When you nudge open the door to his room again, it’s empty, and the inset lighting has been turned off entirely, the room bathed only in the glow of the bedside lamp that’s been switched on.
He’s left out one of his t-shirts for you, and you recognize it as one you’ve seen him in often at work. You remember Googling the label once out of curiosity and nearly passing out at your desk when you saw the three hundred dollar price tag. You pull it on over your head, then return to the bathroom to hang your towel up.
As you slip back into the bedroom, you can’t help but wonder where Yoongi’s disappeared off to, but you’re too exhausted to go looking for him.
Though you figure he’ll be in eventually, your heart still sinks a little as you pull back the covers and crawl into his bed. It feels so much bigger when you’re the only one in it. You decide to leave the lamp on, then turn over to press your cheek to the pillow, and the waves of sleep almost immediately pull you under.
You’re still alone when you wake up in the morning, the other side of the bed entirely undisturbed.
Blinking slowly, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then the night comes back to you piece by piece. The lamp on the nightstand is still on when you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.
Yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you push open Yoongi’s bedroom door and pad down the hallway, trying to make sense of things. You have to retrace your steps all the way back to the living room before you find him, curled up on his side on the couch with one arm tucked under his head, still sleeping soundly.
He looks smaller like this. More vulnerable, maybe.
You wonder if you should’ve asked him to join you in his bed, and you wonder why he didn’t. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you decide to let him rest.
You move through his apartment aimlessly, like a patron in a museum. Something cracks open inside of you as you allow yourself to take in his place undisturbed, and with it, what could be. The idea that a night spent here could feel normal. The two of you in the clearly well-used kitchen, how you might sit on the counter with a glass of wine while he cooks dinner. Talking about your days, about the past and the future. Sharing a life. Fucking and showering and falling asleep in his bed, tangled up together.
For something so close, it feels impossibly far away in the harsh light of morning. It feels like something meant for a much better person than you.
When you make it all the way back to his room, you peel your borrowed shirt off and drape it across his bed like you found it. You retrieve your clothes from last night off the floor and pull them back on.
Thankfully Yoongi chose to fall asleep on the far side of the couch, so when you re-enter the living room, you’re easily able to grab your purse where you set it down the night before without waking him. You slip your heels on in his entryway, then open the front door and shut it as quietly as you can behind you.
You fish your phone out of your bag and scroll until you find Jimin’s contact, then press it to your ear as the line starts to ring.
~*~
You don’t hear from Yoongi at all on Sunday, and you barely see him at work the next few days. You don’t know why it surprises you. It makes sense. You said that night had to mean nothing, you left in the morning without another word, and it’s not like you’ve made any effort to reach out since.
But nevertheless, hurt feelings sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, stinging like salt in an open wound. You’re angry that Yoongi seems to be acting like nothing even happened. You’re annoyed that you have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Los Angeles. And you’re pissed off that you have so much fucking work to do in preparation for a trip that’s all about him.
You keep your head down and just try to fucking survive. You stay silent in your meetings unless directly asked a question. You type furiously at your desk, forever behind on emails and late on promised deliverables.
The week passes by in a blur, and it doesn’t even occur to you what day it is until you find Jungkook waiting for you at your desk when you return from an afternoon meeting.
“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to say it gently, to not take your frustrations out on someone who didn’t even do anything. While you’ve made polite small talk all week, things certainly haven’t felt normal, and you can’t tell if he senses it too, or if you’re just letting Yoongi’s cryptic words plant imaginary strange vibes in your head.
To his credit, Jungkook seems unfazed. “It’s the last day before your trip!” he says brightly, and your eyes widen as you realize he’s right. “What’s the rest of your day look like?”
You take a seat at your desk and pull up your calendar to check, and he circles around to look with you. “That was thankfully my last meeting,” you respond. “Just getting back to my never-ending to-do list now.”
“Or…” Jungkook prompts, and you glance up to see him leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of your desk chair, his chin propped cutely in his hands. “You could not do that.”
You blink up at him. “And what would I be doing instead?”
“I was thinking, it’s been a while since we’ve had a walking meeting. Plus it’s actually nice out. So you should take a break.”
Glancing back at your to-do list sends a fresh wave of dread through you, and then you snap your laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Not only could you use the break, but you want things with Jungkook to feel normal again, even if the weirdness is only in your head. Maybe this is what you need.
Down in the lobby, Jungkook holds the door for you, and when you step outside, you realize he’s right. It’s one of those clear-sky early spring days, warm enough out that it feels like the world is starting over, like everything is coming back to life. You can’t help but feel like you could use a fresh start, too.
Though you expect to be led somewhere with food, Jungkook takes a different route instead, and you follow him a few blocks over to the entrance of a nearby park. You end up side by side on a paved pedestrian path, the length of which is lined with trees that have only just begun to bud.
It’s quiet, save for the distant noise of the city, the rustle of nature, and the rush of the occasional cyclist whizzing past. You walk slowly as you chat about nothing of importance: work, music, his dogs.
Jungkook glances over at you during a moment’s pause, with a look on his face like there’s a question he’s been waiting to ask. “So how are you feeling about your trip?”
You can’t quite manage to keep your expression neutral, your eyes rolling like a reflex. “Whatever. I just want to get it over with.”
“Ah.” Jungkook nods, and you can see he’s biting back some reaction. “For some reason I thought you might be excited.”
“What do you mean?”
He just shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been… different lately. About Suga. I thought maybe something was going on.” An uneasy feeling starts to wash over you.
“Nothing is going on with me and Yoongi,” you say, far too quickly. Jungkook glances at you, his brows pinched together slightly as if he’s unsure what to believe.
“Okay,” he says simply. You hope that’s the end of it, but then he keeps going. “That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.”
Heat rushes into your face, caught somewhere between shame and anger. “Um, what does that mean?”
You grit your teeth when he just shrugs again. “I don’t know. He was such a jerk to you, and then suddenly it’s like you guys are hanging out and getting close and stuff—”
“We are not close,” you interject, and you hate how unsteady your voice sounds when you say it.
“Good,” Jungkook responds. “Because I thought maybe you might be, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”
Overwhelmed by his words, you come to a standstill on the pavement, and he makes it a few steps further before he realizes. As he turns back to face you, the words rush out before you can stop them. “I mean, I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”
Jungkook’s brow furrows again. “It’s my business because I care about you. He made you so miserable when you first started, so I don’t see how you could just forget about that and be into him, especially when you could…” He trails off and looks down, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“When I could what?” Another fucking shrug, and you can feel the rage inside you simmering now, threatening to boil over. Yoongi’s question comes back to haunt you— you know Jungkook is in love with you, right?— and the pieces start to slot together in front of you.
“When I could be into you?” you press him, taking an accusatory step closer. “Is that what you want to say?”
His gaze flits up to the trees above you, like he’s willing to look anywhere but your face. “No. I don’t know.”
The birdsong in the air has suddenly started to sound a lot more like screaming, and you have to suppress the urge to do the same. Instead, your voice comes out low and deadly serious. “You and I are friends, Jungkook. Just friends.”
“I know we are,” he says softly.
“Do you?” you snap back, vicious now. “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he responds automatically, in the same tone, and you scoff.
“Look me in my face and say it.” You take another step toward him, and his eyes meet yours. He’s silent long enough for you to understand the truth, and all at once, you feel like a fucking idiot.
“Let me make this clear to you,” you hiss. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions. And I do not have to explain or justify them to anyone, including you, because you are not my fucking boyfriend.”
When you spit the final word, Jungkook flinches like you’ve slapped him, but you can’t stop now. You’re so angry, it feels like it’s eating you alive. “When I want your opinion, as my friend, I’ll ask for it. Understood?”
You’ve never seen him look at you the way he does now, his eyes dark, his face twisted into a near grimace. There’s a long pause, and his voice is stilted when he finally speaks. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up.”
The two of you walk back to the office in total silence, and Jungkook doesn’t try to talk to you again.
~*~
It’s early enough to still be pitch black outside when Jimin pulls up to the curb of your terminal at Incheon Airport.
“Thanks again for driving.” You yawn around the words as you reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. When Jimin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, you groan at the affection, but he pays it no mind, dotting kisses over your hair that make you squirm.
“Love you, have fun. And be a slut!”
You roll your eyes as you manage to peel him off of you. “Bye, Baby Mochi.”
Slipping on a face mask, you push the door of his car open and climb out of the passenger seat. You swing open the trunk to grab your suitcase, then slam it shut again and step up onto the curb.
Making your way into the terminal, you dig your phone out of your bag to double-check the text from Yoongi, and then you glance up at the sign overhead to confirm you’re right where he said he’d be.
It takes a second for you to realize the person walking in your direction is Min Yoongi. The black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes is certainly not a bad look, but when paired with his black face mask, it makes him almost impossible to identify, or get a good read on. Rolling your suitcase ahead of you, you move toward him, and the two of you meet in the middle.
You wore sneakers today, so he still seems tall.
“Hi,” you say simply, a thousand different emotions swirling in your gut. You do your best to ignore them all.
Yoongi hums a wordless grunt back in response, then turns to face the already bustling security line. You mirror him, and for a moment the two of you just stay like that, like you’re standing firmly in the present and unsure of what might be waiting on the other side.
He gives a tired sigh. “Ready?” You’re surprised to learn he can speak this early in the morning.
“I guess so,” you answer.
Perfectly in sync, you both push your bags forward, stepping carefully toward a weekend that feels impossible to imagine.
chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine
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A Chance Encounter
[History on Your Side—Chapter 1.] Sam Winchester x Reader
Chapter summary: Sam and Dean are stuck with their current case. Sam searches for leads and gets more than he bargained for.
*Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags*
Masterlist | Read on AO3
Frustration tainted the air of the bunker, radiating from the library walls. As the clock ticked past midnight, blue-white light mingled with the orange of the table lamps, bathing Sam's face in a steady glow as he hunched over his laptop, engrossed in a tireless search. Dean, meanwhile, paced the floor, book in hand. Each footstep reverberated inside his skull, adding to the collective headache. The brothers' current case—a woodland haunting across state—had led them down a dead-end, fueling their late-night study.
Sam furrowed his brow, silently mouthing as he read the contents of his latest webpage. "Dean…" he called, eyeing the screen in concentration. "Think I’ve found something… a Dr. Y/L/N at KU, Lawrence. Might be a long shot, but his research might tie in with our case."
Dean glanced up from his book with a raised eyebrow. "A doctor? How's he connected to our ghost problem?"
"Not a medical doctor, genius... A History PhD… His studies focus on historical folklore. There could be a link between the local legends and our haunting. It's worth a shot, right?"
"Okay, well..." Dean nodded, clapping his book shut. "It's the only lead we've got right now. Let's hit him up."
Sam danced his fingers across the keyboard, crafting a persuasive pitch in their email. "Alright, here goes nothing," he muttered, hitting 'send' with hopeful anticipation, his eyes strained, heavy.
"Hey, we're not just any journalists," Dean interjected, reading over Sam's shoulder. "We're the duo that digs deep into untold stories. Our quest? Unveiling the hidden truths woven into the fabric of this town..."
Sam smirked at Dean's embellishments. "Right, 'cause nothing grabs a scholar's attention like a good ol' fashioned mystery. Hopefully, this Dr. Y/L/N will bite."
Dean chuckled, slapping his brother on the back. "Lighten up, Sammy. Who could resist the allure of two charming reporters like us?"
Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop with a yawn. "Sure, whatever. Let's just hope for a response. I'm off to get some shut-eye."
---
The next day, after his morning run, Sam sat in the bunker's kitchen, opening his laptop to a reply in his inbox. Taking a sip of his coffee, he ran a hand through his hair, optimism growing with each word he read.
"Dean!" he yelled, a spark of excitement coloring his voice. "Dean... We got a reply!"
Dean emerged from the hallway with a yawn and creased pajamas. He had only just got up—having medicated last night's headache with trash TV and beer. "Sup?"
“We've got a meeting... this afternoon." Sam rose an eyebrow, eyeing the screen with intrigue. "Dude seems pretty interested..."
Dean stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Great, well... better hit the road, I guess. But Sammy, we're grabbing grub on the way."
---
After a few hours' drive—including a pit stop for food—the Winchesters arrived in Lawrence. Clad in their finest 'reporter' outfits, they paced the university corridors where they eventually located the history department. There, amidst the academic bustle, they requested to meet Dr. Y/L/N.
"Y/N!" the receptionist called, turning her head to the staff room behind her. "Your 3 o'clock is here!"
"Thanks Janice, I'll be right there!"
You emerged from the staff room carrying a large pot of coffee, your presence immediately capturing the attention of the brothers.
"Hey! You must be Tom and Jack. Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." You greeted them warmly, charm evident in your smile. "Come on in, take a seat… I hope you like coffee!"
Sam and Dean exchanged a surprised glance, momentarily taken aback as you beckoned them to follow you into a nearby office. You were not what they had expected, that's for sure.
"You're Dr. Y/L/N?" Sam asked, as you closed the door of the small room behind them.
"This is she," you said, sensing their unexpected reactions. "Is… there a problem?"
"No, no!" Sam reassured, trying to mask his surprise with a charming smile. "We just expected someone… older."
You smirked, taking a seat across from them behind the small desk. "And… with a penis?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Sam coughed, smiling awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by his sexist assumption, whilst Dean scratched his head, trying to think of a witty response.
"I'm just messing with you…” you teased, chuckling at their reactions. “I get that a lot. Anyway, how can I help? Your story sounds interesting…"
---
Over cups of coffee, the brothers tactfully explained their ‘research’ and the answers they were seeking.
“Hm, from what you’ve told me, the haunting sounds connected to an old legend rooted in the area…” You pulled out a book from your bookshelf, tracing your fingers over the weathered text. “Ah, here!” You placed it on the desk in front of them, gesturing to the page as you spoke. “This passage here... it speaks of spirits being tied to the ‘earthly realm’...”
The brothers listened intently, their focus on the information you provided, but Sam couldn’t help but feel uncharacteristically distracted, stealing small glances at you as you spoke.
“According to the lore of the local tribe,” you continued, running a hand through your hair, “the spirit seeks ‘retribution for an ancient injustice.’”
Hm, interesting... Sam mused, darting another glance your way.
“Is there any way to stop it?” Dean leaned in slightly, urgency lacing his words.
You straightened in your seat, taken aback by this new line of questioning. “What paper did you say you worked for again?”
“The Eureka Herald”, “The Wichita Eagle,” they replied in unison, gritting their teeth for blowing their cover.
You paused for a moment, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re ghost chasers, aren’t you?” you asked, eyeing them with suspicion, leaning back in your chair.
Sam and Dean shared a look, a mixture of surprise and caution in their eyes.
“What makes you think that?” Dean asked, his posture more guarded, his tone casual, yet wary.
You took a sip from your mug. “It’s not hard to put two and two together,” you said, trying to hide your smirk as the brothers faltered over their cover story. “Plus, you’re not the first ghost chasers I’ve encountered…”
Sam and Dean exchanged another glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They were used to keeping their true identity under wraps, and were surprised by your directness—your ability to see through their façade. But there was something about your demeanor that made them feel a level of trust…
“Okay, you got us,” Sam admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But we’re not exactly ‘ghost chasers’… we’re hunters.”
“Hunters?” you raised an eyebrow.
Dean nodded, his expression more serious. “We’re not the kind of hunters most people imagine... We’re here to make things right, to put spirits to rest, to protect people from the crap they don’t even know exist.”
You listened intently, shifting slightly as you processed their words. “So... you hunt the things that go bump in the night? And in this case, you’re here to put an ancient spirit to rest?”
“That’s the plan,” Dean confirmed. “So... think you can help us, or what?”
You hesitated, chewing on your lip as you considered their request. You’d known ghosts were real, yes, but, hunting them...? This was all new, and... exciting.
“Alright,” you relented, undeniably curious. “I’ll try my best to help, but promise you’ll respect the history, the people involved?”
Sam leaned in, interjecting your thoughts, gently. “We promise,” he affirmed, his tone earnest, as he looked into your eyes. “We’re not just seeking closure for the spirit, we’re aiming for closure for the tribe, too.”
You paused for a moment, your gaze softening as you regarded the younger brother with a newfound respect.
“Yeah, exactly,” Dean added, nodding towards his brother. “What he said...”
You took a deep breath, giving in to the excitement you couldn’t deny. “Okay then... let’s uncover the truth behind this thing.”
“Great!” Dean exclaimed, visibly relieved as he slapped his hands on the sides of his chair.
Sam smiled, silently mouthing a gentle “thank you” in your direction
You smiled back, but quickly averted your gaze, feeling a sudden blush rush into your cheeks. “Well,” you rose from your seat, trying your best to ignore whatever that was. “I’m afraid my office hours are over… I have to head back to work, but, I’ll be in touch.”
Sam stood, unconsciously mirroring your stance. “Yeah, yeah—of course.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the book on the table, directing you a gentle glance. “Would it be okay to take this?”
“Yeah, sure... anything that will help. In fact... here... have these...”
“Thanks,” Sam smiled, as you passed him a few more books from your bookshelf.
“We’re staying at a motel just out of town for a few days,” Dean explained, handing you a scrap of paper with their contact details on it. “Let us know if you find anything.”
“Of course,” you said, glancing at the note in your hands. “Sam and Dean Winchester?” You swear their names sounded familiar...
“You can never be too careful in our line of work, lady,” Dean joked, as they finally introduced themselves properly.
As you walked them out of the department, Sam turned to you, shifting the pile of books under his arm. “See you soon, Dr Y/L/N, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome, Sam, but please, call me Y/N. I’ll never get used to being called Dr... it sounds waay too formal.”
Sam smiled, but quickly looked away as you returned his gaze, suddenly feeling rather warm.
“Right, let’s make a move.” Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder, snapping him out of his haze. “See ya later doc,” he saluted, turning to walk away, Sam by his side.
You chuckled as they left, your eyes lingering on the taller brother as they faded from your view, disappearing round the corner.
---
Back in the Impala, Dean turned towards his brother with a sly grin. "So, Sammy... You seem to have taken quite a liking to Dr. Y/L/N back there... not just interested in her research, huh?"
Sam's eyes widened, trying to mask his embarrassment. "What? No, Dean—it's not like that."
Dean chuckled, giving Sam a playful nudge. "Come on, man! I saw the way you were blushing back there. I've never seen you stumble over your words like that. Plus, you've been staring more than the ghost we're hunting."
"I... I wasn't stumbling, or staring!" Sam contested, despite knowing full well that his attempts to deny it only made it more obvious.
"Sure Sammy, whatever you say," Dean teased, enjoying every moment of his brother's discomfort.
Sam rolled his eyes, trying to play it off. "I was just being polite! She's knowledgeable and helpful, that's all."
"Uh-huh, sure… whatever helps you sleep at night… Bet you'll be dreaming of that helpfulness tonight, huh?" Dean smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I mean, she's hot... I'll give you that."
Sam groaned, realizing there was no getting out of this conversation. "Can we just focus on the case, please? We have a haunting to solve."
Dean laughed, giving his brother a playful punch on the arm. "Alright, alright, Mr. 'I-Don't-Have-A-Crush’. Let's get back to business..."
Despite his attempts to steer the conversation away, Sam couldn't shake off the heat rising to his cheeks, knowing full well Dean would continue to tease him for the rest of the day. But as they drove off to pursue the leads you had provided, he couldn't help but feel optimistic, wondering what might come of this partnership.
Chapter 2
#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#supernatural#ao3 fanfic#dean winchester#fanfic#history on your side#spn#x reader
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Outlier
vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff.
(psychology major!lead)
✦ (5/~) [series fic]
!!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here }
tags: hurt/comfort, smut
cw: nsfw minors dni, p0rn w/ plot, first time, kissing, drunk/intoxicated, angst to soft comfort *cue ugly sobbing*, oral (female receiving), teasing, fingering, overstimulation, dom/sub; top/bottom dynamic, dirty talking (kinda silly tho), kinky; hair pulling/slapping, dumbification, multiple orgasms, passionate af; dammit vyn, rough sex, unprotected sex, aftercare, FLUFF ! ! ! D;
+ supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;;
word count: 4.8k
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part x
do not repost © yutasbimil (2023)
cont.
Vyn carries her back into the hotel room. The tension was as heavy as the wooden door shutting close behind them.
She had her face red, tears leaking due to the hotness she was feeling. It managed to be cooled off a bit by the white soft sheets of the hotel bed. Yule reeks of alcohol, much reddened by embarrassment. Never in her life had she got this drunk.
Though she’s a bit tipsy– a little more than calculated– as good as she is at math, her attempts once again misfired; miscalculated.
Yule goes on what we may call pouncing at him once they get into their room, getting hold of him being clingy as she is, opposite to the restrained Yule that feels allergic to even leaving a touch on his finger.
Of course, Vyn respects her by remaining at arm's length by holding her shoulders to balance her weight. Even if it was intentional or if she wanted to get intimate with him, he digressed. She's drunk, that's of the utmost importance to keep in mind.
The tiredness seeping into them really weighed them like the feeling you have after a party. And here lies the unresolved tension within the hotel room.
She feels her head-turning, much like a black hole sucking in every fiber of her system.
"Fuck, never doing this again." It's more on a declaration although more assured of never getting wasted up to this point. At most, she wouldn't want to be near anything alcoholic for a long long while. "I'm so sorry, Vyn."
"You keep apologizing…" His voice is soft, indistinguishable for Yule especially with his utmost concern seeing her like this.
She has her arm atop her forehead but it's anything but helpful as it's still heavy as fuck. Compared to the weight Vyn has on her chest as she has him close, he's really the type of person with the body temp to be on the colder side.
The cold silence between them pales in comparison to the actuality of their heated thoughts.
"It's not just… me being… so drunk." Yule felt her hot desire to quench her thirst. Her throat felt so desert dry. "I'm…"
Yule rethinks every decision she made, even the very reason why she even pursued Vyn in the first place. She's too much of a burden to be with the likes of him. She's a wreck.
Vyn felt the heaviness of her core with her deep sigh, and the tinge of regret in the quiver of her gaze, which honestly, pulled a heartstring at the moment she looked at him with such pity in her eyes.
How unfortunate of you to be with me.
"Why does it look like you're going to push me away anytime soon?" Vyn states, but aren’t they already here? Is there even a chance to walk away now?
Vyn further inspects her blank stares of hesitance. There's a heaviness at the pit of his stomach.
But I also don’t want to leave her alone.
"Am I not doing it already?" She says in a monotone. The grip of her hands by his arm says otherwise as if begging for her dear life to not let go.
Honesty does spill more through actions…
Vyn chortles at that, nodding slightly and looking away. He just lets her hold on to his hand despite the denial she’s been putting up all this time. The man doesn’t let her fully lie down though.
“Okay, you'll be pushing me away then… At least when I let go, sober up first so it wouldn’t hurt as much in the morning, hmmm?” Vyn supports the back of her head, lifting her body so she can sit right up.
She’s just quiet, praying that he still firmly believes this painted demeanor of her drunken state is certainly caused by the alcohol. Yeah, it's definitely still the alcohol.
Though, her impetus for her blushing is for a different reason.
Yule felt everything moving slower around them. Listening to his words, more dragged her mesmerized, taken by the flow of the softness of his low voice. It is amplified within the closed space they’re encapsulated in.
Yule is unconsciously driven to his lead, listening to what he’s telling her to do.
"Drink water, it is to lessen the headache upcoming." His intent as he takes hold of her carefully, shows his real desire through his movements.
Absent-mindedly, she blurts out her question as she keeps following her eyes at him.
“Why do you like me?”
Vyn can't answer properly, she's a plethora of admirable things, but despite that, his interest and feelings towards her are abstract; unexplainable by concrete words alone…
"You're fascinating… as a person, you're many things if I can put it into words." He didn't let the dryness of the pre-consumed alcohol hold back his thoughts. "I’m still going along with it, Yule and I’d be willing to restate it once again you’ve sobered up."
His voice is soft, full of assurance, yet even at this moment, she remains blinded and deafened by her insecurities. She quickly vents her rebuttal, as if putting up a concrete wall between them.
“I’m horrible and too much, I'm always overwhelming to be around, and just… too much . Would you stay despite all that?” She's shaking, vulnerable as her tone shows how she’s all over the place.
I'm anything but that— she felt hostile towards what she heard. He knows she needs to be calmed down.
“Yule, what are you saying? Hmmm?” He attempts to touch her cheek, but Vyn gets cut off by the swift hand warding him off.
"Earlier, I…" The conclusion in her tone came forth along her tears, it burned his cheeks seeing her like this. In her mind, it hurt her how earlier it came off as a rejection, with Vyn avoiding any means of contact with her. “I actually thought you don’t want to continue… this … as I thought you don’t want me…”
Yule is gesturing to her and him; them.
Vyn holds back his hand that's supposed to reach out to her. “I was only hesitant to do it with you as you’re intoxicated, in thoughts of taking advantage of you. I held back… I didn't mean to have ill intention towards my restraint, dear.”
He thoroughly explains to her, but she remains quiet as her current belief is swiftly toppled over his rationale. She lowers her head, unable to contrast any argument back.
“Of course, I want to be with you, Yule. I’m still here, am I not? I won't go anywhere…” Especially when she's like this, she can't be left alone. He's talking some sense and logic in her as she starts clinging tightly to his polo shirt. It is getting more and more tear-stained, but it also pools warmth in both their chests.
This hug is proof that he still likes her despite everything.
-
Vyn helps her sober up and calm down, having a crying fit also made Yule feel guilty as she may put him through all this crap.
She apologizes again as they always seem to end up in mishaps.
"I'd be willing to work through it with you, but of course, I'm also human. I only have to do much and of course, I also have my limits and shortcomings." Vyn acknowledges her worries. She knows full well how hard relationships can be. They're willing.
And she's difficult to handle, she’s well aware that she has inadequacies. But she does like him, like a whole lot. And she wants to actively work on herself and work through this relationship with him.
She feels sorry for being so closed off.
But he feels an ache in him, he’s also not being fully honest with himself. And not being open with her with his own baggage as well.
"I want to make up with you as soon as possible." Yule starts, getting back to his effort by closing off a different type of distance between them. She leaves a few centimeters gap, letting their breaths linger close. "Will it be fine this way?"
Finally closing the gap, they also didn't leave any space between their fingers as they gripped into both their holds.
It felt electric to the lips, Yule's eyes had to quiver at the sensation. Vyn pulls away for a moment, moving by her forehead. Vyn starts chaste by her eyes, kissing her tears away as she’s growing emotional again. They kissed again as it felt eons that they hadn’t touched, till they got lost in calculation.
She grabs hold of his collar for support, letting go again for a moment of breath.
Every touch of the man was unfaltering as he planted more touches into her skin. Vyn reaches out for her face to meet their lips for the fifth? Seventh?— Yule already lost count at this point, but her greed is only starting to grow.
A confession slipped off her lips, both looking more obviously swollen already.
"I was really anticipating this, and I've been thinking of when would be the next time we'll actually do it ." The pressed syllable on the end implied as clear as daylight to the man.
His look reciprocated how it didn't leave his mind as well, though it appeared teasing.
"What a naughty girl you are."
"I very am much so…" Yule giggles, but it's anything but bashful. "How can I not be when I have such a handsome man alone in a hotel room? Better yet make use of the opportunity."
Her forwardness really pushed Vyn to the edge, just in time as he's got his gauge of patience filled, it’s growing dire.
"Let's use and make haste for the night." He chuckles, placing a kiss on her warm cheek. Fervently placing a moist kiss by her collarbone the next. "Very soon," he appealed as he lowered the straps of her dress further down.
As turbulent and quick-paced the past weeks with her had been, he was hooked badly . Down bad as he’s inexplicably attracted to her aura.
He’s intrigued at the very next pages they would go through. Like reading a book, the uncanniness of how he would spread her open now are like pages cascading down to his expected outcome.
Although, the onset of the scenarios up to this point of deep entrancement, it is full of unpredictability. It is also as abundant as the card pool probability. It draws him more to his curiosity. Turns out the next outcome just led Vyn into pulling their fates closer and closer to each other.
Yule’s gaze is fully engaged on his pretty, veiny fingers by his silk necktie, straight down her line of sight on the way his hand removes it. Some part of her aches for it to remain tied around his neck, alas, she could only grab hold of him with her own weakening hands. His golden eyes were sharp and entrancing at his sultry movements, anticipation pooled all over her system.
She gradually became enervated as Vyn kissed her by the ear, breathing down her neck the next. He starts seductively licking her bare shoulder, she shudders at his voice. “I’m going to make you not forget about me after tonight, m’lady.”
"Ahh-hmmm… I’m afraid that’s an impossible task with you, love. " Yule didn’t have a chance to catch her breath as she was cut short, Vyn was quick to grab hold of her chest with his free hand. While the other pulls down her dress to let her breasts free, she sucks in a breath the same way as the man sucks at her erect nipples.
They got sensitive to the cold however their bodies are anything but frigid. Vyn strips off her clothes, one by one meeting the carpeted floor.
“Ahhh… that’s so good, please. Ah- ” Yule mewls, restraining herself from grabbing hold of his scalp. Their senses are also heightened, due to having to just recover from alcohol earlier. But she's more attentive now as she is enticed by his mellow motions. Vyn didn’t leave any room for disappointment as he attended to both breasts, leaving no gaps for Yule in her moans of pleasure.
It left her core pooled in anticipation all the more as she waited for this for who knows how long. Her impatience is growing more explicit with her ardent whimpers. “Vyn, fuck– you’re making this harder for me, I want you.”
“Patience, my dear. Good things take their sweet time…” Vyn divulged, pausing to even tease a painfully slow lick by both her nipples, then by the bare skin of her breasts. He gives it a suck as he uses the other hand to twist and hover over her erect knobs. He keeps his golden eyes direct with hers this whole time. “And I want to pleasure you to my utmost care, pleasured to the edge… sloppily wet and ready… before the most anticipated segment.”
“Vyn… how cruel. This hurts more…” Yule gulps a breath, moaning as he now touches the very much heated, moist core in between her legs. Every touch of his felt mouth-watering, as if his presence was a bell ringing, alarming her salivary glands. She knows Vyn means well to treat her right, but goddamn she didn’t expect this to feel more of a torture to crave for his dick.
“It’s… Vilhelm. Call me Vilhelm." He paused, feeling Yule tense up as he pulled away momentarily. "It ought to be rude not to address your lover properly, hmmm?”
“Is that why you chose Vyn to be short?” She can’t pinpoint where she got turned on, is it the sudden admission of his name, indicating his intimacy or him indicating that they’re true lovers.
He nods as if a weight got off him with those syllables, they ought to venture more about that later to be sat down. But first things first.
She feels him loosen up as they take the next steps. She takes this as a sign to also loosen the wrapped belt around his waist.
Yule also removes his polo shirt to not be the only one exposed to the other.
She almost gasps at the scene seeing his toned chest, but his eyes are more stripped naked in his state, vulnerable with his glassy eyes staring back at her.
“I want to make you feel good too.”
Yule pulls him close, wrapping her hands around his neck to place kisses by his cheeks, a lingering peck to the ear, up the forehead, and letting her lips run wild all over his skin. Anywhere that is possible and bare to her sight.
“Later, Yule. You first,” he insists as if heeding him down to lay on her back.
In his dominant stare, she had no choice but to be vulnerable. She’s now got her legs spread wide open, ready like eagle wings’ to soar– and in this case, to be eaten by him as he takes her up the skies.
“Does this feel good?” Vyn says in between him licking the exterior of her nerves and then inserting a finger into her wet core. He still wants a clear ‘yes’ despite the restrained mewls she elicits. “No need to hold back, love.”
“Yes, yes… ah— ” She’s just keeping control to keep sane from the overstimulation. But he never misses a beat in his rhythm. “ Fuck– this is making me crazy, ah, ooh… please.”
Followed again by strings of vowels as he moved more pleasantly crudely with his tongue and fingers. As much as he’s whispering sweet nothings to her, he’s fucking foul with what his mouth and body could do to her.
She bucked her hips, almost curving to the sensation as he also touched the other part of her nether regions. “Wait, uhhh, shit, love– what are you doing?”
“Is this not to your taste?” he asks, now just hovering a bit by her butthole. Honestly, she’s taken aback and reinstates her thoughts. “I’m quite indifferent here… uhmmm, I never thought of going there, Vyn.”
“I could take it slow and I’ll go along with the feeling if you’re still alright?”
She nods, and he maneuvers into it slowly, observing her in her response. It takes her a while to get the feel of it, but it’s getting too much at the same time, She almost yelps as he moves back and forth to a sensitive portion.
She never experienced touching both holes.
Her pleasure and voice is pivoting further out the room, she’s too damn close.
It's far beyond compared to when she masturbates, let alone when she touches herself. She can't believe she'd be feeling this good and tended by a man.
As much as he's enough to give her needs, she’s pushed to the edge of insanity due to the pleasure. But it leaves her more unsatiated and hungry for Vyn.
She felt her throat dry, and her thirst and salivating senses left her exhausted. Yule wants his lips on hers, tongue gauging and fighting with hers. She wants to be nasty with him. But he's too busy swimming into her pool of pleasure, fingers simultaneously macerated already.
Vyn's mouth is moist due to her wetness.
Yet, Yule is left in too much overload with pleasure due to his fingers and tongue on work, She ought to be filled quicker to her limit.
The squelching sounds of his thirst felt scorching in comparison to her hot core, she's bulking her hips at every resistance she's fighting to come over her peak.
“Vilhelm, too much… let me, please , rest… hmphh , ah- love.” Yule is too loud at this point, she's glad the walls are thick and private in their own cavern. She caves in feeling something white, awaiting to erupt all over her pit of stomach, down her legs shaking at the sensation. Then another sensation bulldozed into her as Vyn kept going in ramming and twisting curling his finger in her G-spot.
She feels something big coming.
Is that even possible?! Even surprised ‘O’ shaped her mouth due to moaning out loud. "Vyn… hnghhh— fuck!”
It was too late to let Vyn know as she already climaxed. He lets her senses reverberate in his presence, still letting her ride into her orgasm by lapping his tongue into her whilst pumping his fingers in her.
Yule wasn't able to control herself on how good Vyn was doing. She didn't know she had to beg him to stop making her feel so good.
Both of them are left in heaving breaths, although Yule's is more labored compared to his.
“Exhausted already? We're just getting started.” Vyn has a mischievous tone in him, making Yule exert extra energy to roll her eyes at him. This seems a different side of him. She had to smirk. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with you, Doctor.”
The shift in the nickname had him chuckle. “So you’re willing to tend to you then, Miss Saints?”
They had to take a quick laugh at the sudden ‘roleplay’ vibe they accidentally established.
She spreads her arms for a fleeting hug. “Give me some oxytocin then, Dr. Richter.”
Vyn took this as a chance to hover over her, locking her in between his arms to guide her into another position, His eyes are now filled with more energy, she pales in comparison to her ragged breaths.
She gulps for fear or anticipation, she can’t seem to decide.
Guess she’s putting her hips to work again, her wetness also keeps on flowing at cue. Yule had to blush at her shamelessness.
“Looks like you’re already set, Yule?” Vyn takes a swift swap at her swollen wet core. She shivers and elicits a soft mewl at that.
“Same goes to you, Vilhelm,” she breathes out an amused laugh, pointing to his erect bulge, touching through the fabric. She removes his brief so it’s out of the way.
Vyn lays her back down, and they’re back to their position with him hovering over her, in close proximity. Seeing what was about to unfold soon, she had to gulp.
“W-wait,” Yule blocks her wet core, seeing her suddenly erratic, Vyn holds her hand.
“Are you scared? We can stop her–”
“I mean yes , but I don’t want to stop…” Her anxiety shows through her cold sweat, but she breathes out. “I’m just afraid as it’s my first time.”
“I’ll make the best out of your experience, but you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”
It is valid, and Vyn looks directly at her, full of softness and patience. Yule feels her senses relax again, his body and presence feeling more light and present.
“As scary as it is, this is a risk I’m willing to make. We’re already here, aren’t we?” She doesn’t want to waste anything any further. The same shows how she is at ease with her muscles relaxed.
Vyn nods, placing a quick kiss by the side of her face till he distances himself for a moment. He angles his erection into her, the hotness of his dick was too much just by the surface. The insertion was as impactful as his fixated eyes into hers.
Then the relief as he puts it in is phenomenal .
“Vyn, please, slowly. But, ahhh… so good already.” She grabs onto his toned arms, he breathes in as he flips his bangs off his face momentarily then smiles over her. “Is this how you imagined it to go?”
“It’s beyond what I expected.”
He had to spread a smile on that. “We’re just starting… So let's go over that expectation of yours, alright?”
He starts slow as Yule feels every centimeter of his begins indulging in her. “ Ahhh, yes, yes. More… please.”
Vyn easily puts it in but she’s in it for another adjustment, adjusting to his length and width, she’s spread open and vulnerable in many ways.
This is really far different from anything she had experienced in bed, let alone her first time as she’s lacking all possible experience per se.
"Kiss... me, please." moans of plea gush out of her as Vyn leans in to share his warmth and moist lips with hers. It is tender although opposite to the roughness they're about to delve into.
She didn’t even know that she had such erogenous zones that were that sensitive by the ear. Yule had to flinch at a mere licking done in her ear, yelping as he bit onto it– she was in it for another overstimulation as he even played with her breasts and nipples. He really keeps himself busy, hands all over her.
She doesn’t want him to pull off.
Vyn maintains the slow and passionate movements, and she could feel every twitch and bulge he does the lovemaking with his hips to his dick in and out of her.
He goes on ahead in holding her by the arms, then shoulders to angle her better.
“Is this better?” He pounds into her a bit rougher than usual, and she had to bulk her hips at that.
“Rougher, i-is that fine?”
To be honest, she wanted to be manhandled, but Vyn had something else in mind on their first ever night together.
“I’ll try…” Vyn listens, his lips and touch still full of passion with every kiss.
She doesn’t comprehend how in the world he keeps it gentle yet vehement. Even as he pulls by her arms to ram into her, pounding her further into reverie.
It pushes her more into pleasure as they switch into another position, her down on all fours, all for him to adore. And it gave him more chance to hold both her arms as he pummeled more into her.
To add a cherry on top for her pleasure, she requests him to pull her hair. The sudden demand had him raise a brow, more on in astonishment. “You seem to like that?”
“Very…”
“You’re very kinky, love.”
“Yes, sorry…”
“I like you in every way, don’t apologize for that,” Vyn assures her, patting her head gently and then shifting to pull her hair by the scalp a bit roughly. Yule felt her walls wrap around his dick tighter at that. It tightens again at every pull of her hair with his manly hands .
This is more like it. Yule had to shamelessly beam at the roughness, in contrast to the roughness, she feels loved at his treatment and him asking consent in every action. This remains in her fantasies for too long, but she didn’t expect to like it in actuality. She’s much more pleased with this outcome.
The sudden slap by her ass took her aback as well, but with the burning sensation left in her skin, it felt more pleasant than it hurts. She had to gulp on that as she felt her walls tighten around him.
It seems more obvious as Vyn lets out a low groan as he does it once again. Yule lets out an aroused squeal as she goes on to look at him, lips bitten to show her amusement. "Vil... Vilhelm, Vilhelm , that's so good, uhh- I like that. Yeah, oohh... " she giggled, licking her lips as she was stuck in a daze of bliss. She was growing more amused as she kept calling out his name, moaning as sounds of sex echoed around the room. It's growing more evident how it has an effect on the man as he leans in to pepper her bare skin with kisses, leaving marks of his touches on her skin.
Vyn leans in to kiss the nape of her neck, grunting once again before speaking by her ear.
“You’re not the type to want to call your lover, ‘daddy’, hmmm?” Vyn adds the hair pulling didn’t help as it immediately puts Yule off her mood momentarily.
Yule rebuts, quickly turning her head at him to glare at him. “Hell no, I don’t want to summon Freud out of his grave.”
Vyn laughs at that. “He’s got enough resurrectors already, let’s not add to that.”
He brings back the mood, her getting immersed in the intensity of his stares as he brings her back in lying down. Everything seems perfect and comfortable all through the night as they share both of their warmth. Body to body, but the intimacy in their stares. All through the night, keeping the rhythm interesting from erratic pounding, to consistent slow. Reaching the peak together seems so undemanding with how they go hand and hand and how well-balanced they are to each other.
So this is what it feels like to be loved?
To be handled with such care… It feels so good.
Looking at him across the bed, Vyn seems to notice her need for body heat and he’s quick to pull her close. Even with them reaching almost morning love-making, it doesn’t seem bland to go on.
Though, they had to rest… And what better way to end the night to be able to be intimate with him?
“You’re lucky… This is unpaid, unsolicited therapy you’re getting out of me.” Vyn jokes, Yule had to pinch him by the arm and then muzzle over her chest.
“This leans more on unethical than it is free, Will… you know, doing this type of thing with a therapist.” The new nickname for him seems a bit odd, but they’ll get used to it.
Vyn shushes her, jokingly putting a finger on her lips. “No need to go on the explicit details, it is confidential and I assure you it’s all safe with me.”
“Okay, okay, but do expect me to have ‘another therapy’ with you, Will…” She says riding along the joke. The nickname rolls off her tongue more naturally now. Vyn pulls her deeper into the hug.
“You know I can offer another type of therapy.”
“Hmmm?”
“Physical therapy,” Vyn responds.
The gap in the silence and stare made them laugh, Yule had to brush her face against him to hide her blush. Her chest felt elated with his presence.
“You humor me,” she says, not able to contain a giggle.
This is far different from how things will go, and Vyn actually shares the same thoughts. Though he's willing to handle this as unexpected things have turned out.
As shitty as the night had been for a few hours, he made it better. I might as well open up to him soon about my situation and give him a clear picture. He needs to know as well.
He’s the outlier she’s willing to accept, but unexpected things really can bring the biggest change in your life. And he seems to be a good chance for her to turn out for the better.
Looking up at the ceiling, the night isn’t as uneventful as the plain white canvas on the ceiling. Their conversation is animated by their voices as they spend the night away talking.
No longer putting her heart up her sleeve, his golden eyes are as welcoming as he stares at her. She sees a bright future with him as glowing as his eyes can be. Who knew there was a smile as that radiating directed at her?
※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※
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Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 36
AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist
Howdy folks!
Welcome to my bi-weekly fic rec list! This is everything I read in the last two weeks. There's some seriously amazing shit on this list, y'all. If I counted properly there are 9 fics, two of which are series.
All info provided by the author unless it was blank, in which case I filled it in.
Punish me, Officer Djarin
Din one shot by @beskarandblasters
You've been thrown into an imperial prison for anti-empire speech. During your sentence, a new prison guard is hired, Officer Djarin, and you take a liking to him.
f!reader, reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, uneven power dynamic, brat taming, degradation (scumbag), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, his glove in your mouth lol, no use of y/n
To Tell You the Truth
Ezra series by @concussed-to-pieces
Our story begins in the Green, after a certain meeting that culminates in an explosive Truxican standoff...
Survival, Worldbuilding, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Healing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Extreme Duress, My First Work in This Fandom, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Past Abuse, Feelings Realization, Artist Reader, Reader is a prospector, Outer Space, Sharing a Bed, Roommates, Mutual Pining, Vaginal Fingering, Praise Kink (if you squint), Religious Terms used improperly, Catholics H8 Me, Remember, no man's penis will heal you okay, and fanfictions are not research, But I'm an indulgent fuck so it's okay, Vaginal Sex, big dick energy, Eventual Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Just get it all in there, adoration, Very Flowery Terminology, Happy Ending
Sanguine
Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop
since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.
lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.
Routine
Frankie one shot by @endlessthxxghts
Frankie makes a new routine for himself to help with his mental health. In that routine, Frankie stumbles upon you.
POV switching - stops towards the end, then POVs are combined. Friends to lovers. Slightly scared and reluctant friends to lovers. Slow burn. Canon divergent to Frankie’s Triple Frontier storyline (No history of lady or child for Frankie). Brief mentions of South America and Frankie’s mental health. Brief therapy talk. Overthinking!Frankie, but Reader comforts and reassures him. He’s not insecure the entire time, promise lolol. Hints of angst, but this is me we’re talking about — always will be a happy ending here🫶. No physical description of reader besides coffee shop uniform (no size descriptions used) - any descriptions are neutral, no adjectives to describe (purely things like “your thigh” etc.). No use of “y/n”. SMUT heheheh (making out, cunnilingus + fingering, unprotected P in V sex + cumming inside, breast worship/titty sucking).
Go Your Own Way
Javi P one shot by @schnarfer
Loving you isn’t the right thing to do
1979 Texas, very toxic relationship, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint a bit, absolutely no happy ending for our fuckboy Javier, no descriptions of reader except she has hair and there are outfit references, no specific ages mentioned in 1979 but they would both be early 20’s, Cheating/infidelity mentioned, smoking (OF COURSE), mention of drinking and drugs, two mentions of vomit, the good stuff? we’ve got flirting, kisses and smut; protected PIV, oral (f receiving), fingering, very light dirty talk, couple of light slaps, pet names (cariño, baby), Javier POV, I’ve tried to remove any overt British-isms but some may have slipped in, probably a bit of canon divergence, as well as wild historical and geographical inaccuracies but we’re going for vibes, yeah? and a note, we’re always Fleabag coded here.
Some fools fool themselves
Javi P one shot by @freelancearsonist
You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.
Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨
The District Sleeps Alone Tonight
Marcus P one shot by @whataperfectwasteoftime
I am a visitor here. I am not permanent.
angst, breakups, mentions of Teresa x Patrick Jane
Cabuorir
Oberyn/Din/Reader series by ToricTailor (AO3)
You would have torn the heavens asunder to stop it.
Fix-It, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Get This Man A New Ship, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Reader sandwich, Force-Sensitive Reader, Polyamory, DVP, more
I want it, I got it
Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters
Joel gives you unlimited access to his credit card to shop online while he eats you out.
reader is able-bodied, no outbreak AU, porn with little plot, no age specified for reader, reader sits on Joel’s lap, established sugar daddy relationship, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, squirting, pet names (angel, baby), no use of y/n
Happy Reading!
#fic recs#the spreadsheet digest#fanfiction recommendations#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fanfiction#ppcu fanfiction#pedro pascal fanfiction
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Harley D. Dixon 1
• Gen Tags. Found family, Daddy issues, Hurt and comfort, Gore.
• Summary. Harley D. Dixon is a tough yet sweet little girl who until the dead started eating the living, thought she had seen it all.
Alongside a mismatched group of survivors in rural Georgia, Harley and her Dad are forced to leave their small life behind and learn how to survive all over again through the horrors of the apocalypse.
An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99)
Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board!
Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!
📖Chapter List.
❤️Cross-Posted from Ao3.
Author's Note. Here we gooo! Argh, I'm so excited.
I've been wanting to write something like this for a long, long time. I've read just about every 'Daryl has a daughter' story out there, and now I've finally got my own to share. I just love Daryl, and Daryl with a kid is a whole other thing. We all know he wouldn't be the perfect parent, so you bet I'm gonna play right into that. He's gonna swear, he's gonna be strict, and he's gonna mess up. As for Harley (Yes, as in the motorcycle brand), I love her too. So ready to write her.
This story will cover the general plot of the show. To keep things fresh, I've made sure that almost every canon scene has undergone at least one small change. Plus, of course, many new scenes. Occasionally, I'll make bigger changes just to keep you on your feet! Nobody's safe! I'm also gonna be expanding on all the characters. And lastly — FOUND FAMILY! Piles and piles and piles of found family, eventually. I live for found family.
Please enjoy reading! :)
My Uncle Merle died today.
I'm sitting in a crinkly green camping chair, watching embers die.
I don't wanna think about my Uncle right now, so I think about something else.
The fire was built last night by Glenn and Morales. Then Lori came along this morning very quietly and made it alive again with logs and wads of notebook paper. Thinking about facts is easy. It's like sucking on a plain candy that tastes like nothing. There's a navy-blue blanket across my lap with three holes in it, perfect for nibbling, poking, and ripping. Dale gave it to me when the cold settled in this afternoon. He told me he reckons it's around June, as he covered my shoulders, which used to be his niece's birthday.
He says she looked a little like me. That means she's dead. So many people are dead, now.
A thin log in the campfire cracks and tumbles over after trying to stay upright all morning. I hope I don't look like that log.
I can hear Officer Rick approaching. My stomach becomes a stone.
I can tell it's Rick because he's got one of them power walks that you can hear coming from a mile away, which I think makes him pretty stupid. He's loud, and loud is dangerous, and dangerous is stupid. My Dad's not like that. Unless he's angry or running, ain't nobody hearing my Dad coming; especially not no squirrels.
He's almost as big as my Grandpappy Dixon, who people used to say was as big as a house, and he wears super heavy boots from a hunting store near our house — but he's still not loud, or dangerous, or stupid. Not like Officer Rick.
"Hey, Harley."
I think I hate Officer Rick. I think I hate everyone.
And I think I might be crying now, too. I focus on twirling the blanket strings around my finger so I have something very simple to think about, which is that it hurts real bad when I twist it tight. I see Rick crouch down in front of me. He takes a while to say anything else, and it's prolly 'cause he's tryna be real careful, so he don't make me cry even more.
If my Dad weren't out hunting, he'd prolly slap Rick and everybody else that's tried badgering me today dead for tryna do his job for him. I feel like, just by sitting here, I'm disobeying him. Rick ain't my Daddy.
"We, uh..." He clears his throat. "Me and Lori, and some other folks are uh... Well, we're all a little worried about you, honey, okay?"
I imagine a small group of folks gathered by the RV right now, watching me and Rick; wondering if he's gonna be the one to get through to me.
I'm worried for when my Daddy comes back. When he finds out about Uncle Merle, he's gonna be fuming. He's gonna be like one of them cartoon characters with the bright red faces and the smoke comin' outta their ears, stomping all around, and he's prolly gonna kill somebody. It's prolly gonna be Rick. He always told me cops are bastard liars, and that they can't help us.
I look up at Rick. Yep, I've been crying.
Rick's all blurry, but I can still make out his ugly Sheriff's badge and his scary blue eyes and his frowning eyebrows that look like clenched fists, and I can tell he's been waiting to be the one to talk to me. I bet he thinks it makes him better than everyone else; better than my Uncle Merle, who he left to die just 'cause he ain't like him. I wanna kick Rick right in the face. I think he knows this, but he doesn't move.
"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry about what happened to your Uncle Merle." Rick says all nice and gentle.
Nothin' happened to him.
It weren't no freak accident, which is what Uncle Merle used to say happened to my Momma.
Rick killed him.
"I know he meant a lot to you. And I'm sorry. If I had'a known he had a niece to come back to, maybe I woulda been a little wiser with my decision makin'. But Harley," He tilts his head and puts a hand on my knee for this part. "You gotta know, like I know, that your Uncle was a danger to us all."
There's a little angry parasite inside of me. It's been growing and growing ever since the group came back from Atlanta, and I couldn't find my Uncle Merle in the crowd. I've never noticed my Uncle Merle so much than when I realised he wasn't there. It was like there was the wrong amount of space left in the air and Rick was taking up the too much of it. Ever since the cars showed up, everything has been wrong, wrong, wrong.
Ever since Rick showed up.
"If I hadn't stepped in when and how I did," Rick says, "Your Uncle wouldda gotten us all in a lotta trouble."
Another log crumbles in the campfire. My finger aches and pulses around the string.
That hungry little parasite — hungry for Rick to hurt like I'm hurting, needing it more than anything — makes me tell him, "I wish he did." And again, because it feels good. Rick becomes even more blurry, as my voice makes an embarrassing hicking noise. "I wish you died."
I expect to be hit. That's what happens sometimes, when little girls don't know their place.
Tellin' adults I want them dead — That ain't my place. And I know it. I just don't care.
My Uncle Merle wasn't a danger, he was just Uncle Merle; Has been since I could talk. He used to feed me bits of his sandwich out on the deck back at home, like the tomato, 'cause he ain't like the taste. He used to fix my bike when it was broken. He used to make sure I was the first one to open presents at Christmas, and help me wrestle the wrapping when there was too much tape. He used to pull my wobbly baby teeth out for me and let me outside without shoes. He wasn't mean, or bad, or loud, or dangerous, or stupid; at least not always. He wasn't the one that got my Momma killed. He was good. And now he'd dead.
If someone had to die, I wish it had'a been Rick — Stupid, noisy, idiot Rick who ain't shed one single tear after what he done to my Uncle Merle.
I wanna get hit. I want him to hit me so bad that I'm allowed to hit him back.
"Okay." Rick says, and I can't breathe.
I feel like everything goes silent throughout camp, like the chairs and the cars and the people are all holding their breaths like I am. He actually looks a little sad, which feels really, really bad, because I wanna be angry.
"Okay. That's okay."
But as I think about my Uncle Merle, and the tomatoes, and my old bike, and what Christmas used to feel like, and my Daddy, and how he ain't even know about Merle yet, I realise I'm just really, really sad.
I can't even see Rick anymore, my eyes are so watery. My whole body hurts from being sad. I feel like I'm sick and I need to go to the doctor, but I don't even know what for. There aren't even any doctors here. Just two bastard liar cops, some campers, and a space where my Uncle Merle should be.
I think, after a while, Rick leaves.
My Dad still keeps his wallet.
It's in a backpack under his sleeping cot. He says that everything inside that bag will keep us alive some day, if we ever need to leave the quarry camp. He said I need to know exactly where it is so that I can grab it if he can't. He showed me everything the night we got here, because he forced me to, because it's important. The other kids don't learn stuff like this from their parents. It makes me feel smart. I'm in on a secret. He showed me the bug spray, which keeps our skin healthy from bug diseases, and he showed me the flashlight, which has two batteries and a big black button. He showed me the compass, the box of matches, the big knife, the little knife, the rope, and the map. It's like a Jenga tower. If we lose even one thing from the backpack; everything topples, and we die — I die. You gotta listen t'me, chicken. My Daddy's always been like this.
But the wallet made no sense.
We don't gotta pay taxes no more, like Merle said. I don't know what taxes are, except they're bad, and gone, and nobody liked them anyway. And I saw my Dad burn all his money in a campfire one night, so it can't be that.
It's the pictures, Dad told me. He flipped it open like a book, and we looked at 'em together on top of his sleeping bag. I felt like crying for a second because we forgot all my storybooks when we left our house, but Daddy hates it when I cry, so I dried up. Crying is for babies, and I'm a big girl. He showed me a photo of an actual baby, and after he touched the baby's face with his fingertip, he said the baby was me. I didn't think I could look like that. He stopped talking for a while. I listened to the cicadas in the trees to pass the time while he touched the photo. Then it was bedtime.
I'm looking at the photo now, waiting for him to get back.
I was a very pink baby. I was only the size of his forearm, which in the photo, hasn't been tattooed yet. The tattoo of my name is missing, which goes up his wrist in curly letters. Harley Davidson Dixon. It's the name of a motorcycle. The tattoo of the skull and the bleeding angel are missing, too. He's fixing my baby blanket around my chin. I guess he's been doing that since the day I was born. Every night, at least up until last week, my Dad tucks me into bed and sings me the same song. Hush little baby, don't say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird. I like his voice when he sings to me. Usually, he's yelling, or grumblin', but in those twenty seconds before I have to go to sleep, and nobody else is listening, he's softly whispering the lyrics to me, and touching on my ears and my cheeks. In the photo, he's crying down into his smiling mouth. That's something he doesn't do anymore.
The next photo is of us at the zoo. I know it was taken on one of the weekends I was at my Dad's house, because my Momma's not in this one. Just my Dad and two of his friends, I think, who are throwing rock star hands in the air. I'm wearing a black shirt with a videogame character on it that my Dad likes, and brown pants. I'm sitting on my Dad's hip as we pose in front of three giant elephants. My Dad's got a tiny purple backpack over his shoulder that makes him look sorta funny. It used to be mine. I'm looking at the elephant's long, silly-straw trunk as it tries to sniff us, but my Daddy's lookin' at me. I wish I remembered this day.
The third photo is a school photo with a swirly blue background. I remember this one. My Momma did my hair that day.
I know why he keeps his wallet, now. Just like how we need the bug spray, and the matches, and the rope, and the knives, and the map, and the flashlight to stay alive — I think my Dad needs these photos. They won't keep him warm or stop bugs from chewing on him, but he needs them.
I shove the wallet back where I found it, 'cause I'm not meant to be goin' through my Dad's things.
My Dad comes back while I'm vomiting under a tree.
At first, he doesn't see me. He calls for me to come get my little butt over there, so I can help him and Uncle Merle stew up some rabbits for dinner but when he hears me retch, he comes running over. I hear his crossbow drop and some more people call after him.
One minute, Lori and Amy are holding back my hair and patting my shoulders the best they can, and the next, my Daddy's forcing his way in. I'm rocking and I'm swaying like I'm on a life raft in the ocean, and I can hear Rick's voice and then Shane's and then Dale's. My Dad grabs the back of my neck and squeezes it, the way Lori and Amy would never know how to do, and tells me to lean forward some more. It works. I vomit up a chunky puddle of peaches and jerky into the dirt.
Then, I'm empty, and I'm crying — crying hard — into my Dad's lap.
"Someone wanna tell me what the Hell's goin' on here?" He snarls at whoever's around.
Feels like half the camp is here.
"How 'bout we all just try—" Shane's suggesting, but my Dad cuts him off.
"How 'bout ya'll just spit it out? And where the Hell's my brother?"
That makes me bury deeper into my Dad's legs, moaning and hiccupping. He puts a hand over my head. He's clocked the problem.
"Where the Hell's my damn brother?"
"Look, Daryl," Shane levels, "I'm just gonna come out and say it, alright? There was a problem in Atlanta."
My Dad's panting, now. "What fuckin' 'problem'?"
"Listen—"
"He dead?" Underneath me, my Dad's muscles are lurching and stopping, lurching and stopping, like he wants so much to just jump up and knock Shane to the ground, but he won't bring himself to leave me. The camp has gone completely silent.
Shane stammers. I've never heard Shane stammer. "We're— We're not sure."
The silence just keeps on goin' and goin' and goin', and somehow, it's even scarier than the yelling.
"There's no easy way to say this," Rick says, voice lowered. I wonder what my Dad looks like; if I was right about the cartoon thing.
Dad presses my head further into his stomach. "Who're you?"
"Rick Grimes."
"'Rick Grimes'." He spits, like it's an insult. It is. Bastard cop liar. "You got sum' you wanna tell me?"
"Your brother was a danger to us all." Lies Rick. "So I handcuffed him on a roof; Hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."
After he says this, something in the air must have changed; something must have snapped without even makin' a sound, because Lori's whispering to me that I should follow her back to camp, like we're running out of time. She tries to pull me away, but I kick her; kick her hard, in the shin. She tries again. I realise she's trying to separate me from my Dad. Then, I realise he's sorta shaking. Lurching, stopping, lurching stopping. Silence, silence.
"Lemme get this straight." Dad whispers, and it's not the nice kind, like when he sings. "You're tellin' me that you handcuffed my brother to a roof."
Glenn's pulling at me now, too. Nobody else moves a muscle.
"And you left him there?!"
This time, he lurches and he doesn't stop. Glenn catches me as I'm flung from my Daddy's hip, and he passes me off to Lori as Dad goes lunging at Rick. The brown pebbles go flying up into the air. My Dad tackles Rick at the waist, and they crash into the leaves and the twigs, and his fist — The one with my birth date tattooed on each knuckle — goes smack, smack, smack, into Rick's cheek. There's yelling; scrambling. Glenn and Shane pull my Dad off of Rick, and that smacking sound stops. Dad beats Shane offa him and then, —
"Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells. Now there's a swishing sound, and grunting sounds, and I was right — My Daddy's gonna kill Rick.
My Daddy's killed someone before. He did it on accident, 'cause he got so angry that he didn't stop until the guy was dead and gone, which means that it was aggravated manslaughter. It was in the afternoon, just like it is right now, and I was playin' in the front yard in the sprinklers. My Dad and Uncle Merle were in the open garage, smoking and poking at their bikes with tools. Ronnie lived two trailers down. I was small, and easy to pick up, so I don't remember much, but Ronnie snatched me up right there in the yard. My Daddy says he was gon' take me. But he didn't let him. Ronnie got chased into the woods, and for two days, my Daddy and Uncle Merle searched for him. Then they beat him so bad his Momma ain't recognise him when the ambulance people dragged him out in a big black bag, and the cops took my Daddy away while the sun rose. I wasn't allowed to see him for four and a half years.
I need my Dad. Suddenly, I'm shrieking at him to stop, even though I want Rick dead so bad. By now, Shane's got my Dad in a chokehold up against a tree. Are he and Rick allowed to take my Daddy away? Lori and — I think that's Amy — are shushin' me, but I just keep hittin' on them and shouting.
I writhe in the dirt. "Stop! Daddy!"
"Damn pigs!" Dad growls. "You're stressin' out my kid, now! Lemme the Hell go!"
Shane laughs. "Nah, I think it's better if I don't." Then he turns to Lori, because what my Dad said is true. "Get Harley out of here."
I don't let her move me when she tries.
Dad struggles. "Chokehold's illegal, bastard!"
"You can file a complaint later." Shane scoffs. "We got all day here."
Rick steals my Dad's knife off the ground and gets in his face. His cheek is all red and purple. The fight's over. "What I did was not on a whim," He tells my Dad straight. "Your brother does not work and play well with others. I did what had to be done in the moment, to keep us all alive."
He's lyin'. He's lyin' again. My Uncle Merle chopped these people's firewood and brought them meat. He worked well.
My Dad shoots out a foot to try hit Rick in the crotch. He misses. Shane pushes his face harder into the tree.
"It's not Rick's fault." T-Dog holds up his hands, coming close. "It's mine. I had the key. I dropped it."
"You couldn't pick it up?" Dad sasses.
"It fell in a drain." T-Dog serves up this answer like it means anything at all. I hate him.
"If that's 'posed to make me feel better, it don't."
"Well, maybe this will." T-Dog's lookin' at me, now, too. "The door to the roof — I locked it with a padlock so the geeks couldn't get to him. There's a good chance he's still alive."
I heard this all before, when all them people kept coming up to me at the campfire. Lori told me to get some food in my stomach; the peaches and jerky. Shane tried to make me go play with Carl. T-Dog said sorry over and over again. Dale gave me the blanket. Rick made me cry. I know how this goes, though. Gettin' someone killed and killin' them with your actual hands are the same thing. I know that.
"To Hell with all'a ya'll!"
He shakes Shane off and beelines for me. He takes me from Lori with bloodied hands — Rick's blood — and I let him yank me by the back of my shirt to my feet, and I fall into his chest when he crouches. His breath is heavy on my neck. Even his skin is hot.
Lori's pale as an egg. I think she's scared of my Dad.
He takes a big breath, stands up, and drags me by the hand back to our tent without sayin' another word.
#the walking dead#twd fanfiction#twd#daryl dixon#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon fanfiction#daddy issues#rick grimes#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#daryl dixon daughter#parent daryl dixon
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If requests are still open, what about Ford's first "I love you"?
On AO3 here, or read it below!
While this was written with Juneau in mind, I think this particular story can be read and enjoyed out of context, imagining the reader character to be any gender. (Tell me if I'm wrong!)
Hope you like it!
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There was no dramatic inciting incident, for once. Only the steady accretion of time.
You'd mostly come to accept that Ford would never be able to say "I love you." It was more than understandable, given what you knew about his childhood: his father had never once said it in Ford's hearing, and his mother only used it when she'd been caught in a lie. Compound this with a lifetime of betrayal--had he ever said it to Fidds? To Bill? You'll never ask. Anyway, yeah, you get it.
And it's fine. They're just words. You've had people say them often enough to know they bear almost no correlation to a person's actual love for you. And Ford does love you, unquestionably, deeply--and better than anyone's loved you ever before. He doesn't have to say it with that particular sentence.
Sometimes you'll say it to him, always unintentionally; it just slips out sometimes when he's holding you, or when he's done some particularly impressive feat, or said something particularly ridiculous. But--as bad as this sounds--you try not to. Because every time you do, frustration darkens his face, and he pulls you close and kisses your forehead and no matter how many times you reassure him that it's fine, you know he loves you, you can tell the guilt still eats at him.
One day he comes over, and you can tell something is up. As you pour him a mug of coffee, he drums his fingers on the bar and looks out the window. Most notably, he doesn't say much.
Trying to ignore the sudden knot in your stomach (is he breaking up with you?), you set the mug in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. What's up?"
He stares fixedly into his coffee, eventually nodding. "There's something I haven't told you about Bill," he says at last, fiddling with the mug.
The knot in your stomach doubles up; he's not breaking up with you, but... Bill. There are no doubt lots of things he hasn't told you about Bill. And considering the stories you have heard, you'd kind of rather continue not knowing them. But if Ford needs to talk about it, you'll listen. You sit in the stool beside him and place a hand over his. He almost smiles.
"Bill... gave me selective aphasia. Have you ever noticed how I say sea otter instead of sea otter?" He growls, pounding the top with a fist. "You see? I've lost the ability to say certain words. I don't know how many Bill took from me. So far, the only one I'm aware of is sea otter--aggh, corpsefucker--"
You squeeze his hand. "What if you try spelling it? That uses a different part of the brain."
This stops him short. He tilts his head at you. "Really?"
"I mean, neurolinguistics is still a new field, but that's the last I heard."
"I can't believe I've never tried-- B-U-R-D-E-N. Ha! There it is!" His face lights up. "Take that, you three-sided tomblicker! I can't believe--thirty years and you just brush it away like a cobweb!--" he whirls around and slaps his hands to the side of your face, pulling you into an overly enthusiastic kiss.
But as he pulls away, he quickly sobers. "That's a perfect segue, really. There's something I've wanted to tell you for awhile now. But I-- I can't get the words out."
Your heart starts pounding. What's he getting at?
Ford reaches into his bag. "I don't know if it's due to Bill's interference, or if it's just... me. But I think I've come up with a way to find out."
He pulls a plastic box out of his pocket, opens it to reveal... gross. You make a face.
"Truth teeth," he explains.
Oh right, these were a journal entry. You look at Ford, not the dentures. "I thought those things got destroyed."
"The bottomless pit works in mysterious ways," he chuckles before plucking the things out of the box. You close your eyes while some real gnarly sounds happen.
The feel of his large, calloused hands wrapping around yours causes you to open your eyes again. Ford speaks slowly. "My sunrise. You're so much more than I expected. So much more than I dared hope for. Working beside you is exhilarating, sleeping next to you is comforting-- you're magnificent. Brilliant, curious, and kind. And I love you with my whole heart. Well, technically, my heart got reinforced with Atlantean stem cells ten years ago, so I love you with the remaining eighty percent of my heart and the whole of my grafts."
Adrenaline crashes through your system, threatening to knock you off the barstool. Even though you already knew it, knew it in your bones, hearing him actually say it... and to hear him say it in his own ridiculous way... your eyes well with tears.
But Ford doesn't give you time to bask in it. He rocks back in his seat, mouth hanging open. "So I can't blame this one on Bill, after all," he sighs. "If I can say it with the teeth in, then I should be able to say it with the teeth out." He tears them out of his mouth before you can look away. Gross. "This," he growls, "is my own personal failing."
You wipe your eyes. "Ford," you sigh. "You know I don't think it's a failing, right? We've all got hangups."
He scowls down at the box of teeth. You scoot forward and kiss him on the cheek, his stubble scratchy under your lips. "I love you too," you remind him. "Regardless of the source of your aphasia."
His hands ball into fists. "You deserve better than this. I shouldn't have to put in truth teeth to tell you--" his voice catches-- "how I feel."
"You don't have to tell me," you say, for what feels like the hundredth time. "You show me every day. Besides, not a lot of guys would be willing to confess their feelings while wearing truth teeth! That right there tells me all I need."
He's not listening. He's drumming his fingers against the teeth box, Thinking.
"If it bothers you this much, go to therapy! They have techniques for this kind of thing."
He grunts noncommittally and changes the subject, and you know it's gonna be a Whole Thing.
The next time you see him, he tells you he's read up on the therapeutic techniques and constructed his own protocol, "which should work much faster, since we have the benefit of magic!" He chuckles, pulling the gross tooth box back out of his bag. You cringe.
"Why are there teeth on my table again, Stanford. You know how I feel about teeth."
At least this time he turns away before snapping them into place. "A necessary evil, my dear. This is the only truth apparatus I own. I'll make this brief..." he takes a deep breath and stares into your eyes. God, those eyes. The sunlight hits them just right, making the silver flecks seen to sparkle.
"I love you," he says shakily. Then repeats himself three more times: "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Ford closes his eyes and breathes a heavy breath out.
"I love you too--Stanford!" Exercise now apparently complete, he unceremoniously pops the dentures back out and snaps the box shut. "Aren't you going to at least rinse them??"
He waves dismissively, leaning in for a kiss. "They're self cleaning."
You put a finger over his lips. "Nuh uh. Mouthwash first."
This pattern more or less repeats itself for a week. And each time you can see how deeply Ford means it, and ok, yeah, that is pretty nice. But you're not sure it's worth all the... teeth.
And then you're drifting off to sleep one night, tangled up in each other like you so often are. He sighs happily, tousling your hair, and mumbles, "I love you."
Before you can really process it, and way before you can even say "I love you too," he gasps and sits bolt upright in bed.
"Did you hear that? I said it! I said it without the teeth! I knew this protocol would work!" He slaps the duvet excitedly. "Ha ha, I said it! Take that, you emotionally stunted old man!"
You're not sure if that remark is meant for his father, or himself.
You smile sleepily. "I love you too, sunrise," you yawn.
He doesn't even hear you, he's so beside himself with glee. He clambers over and gets on all fours above you, hands by your shoulders and knees by your hips. He bounces the mattress with his hands, crowing, "Did you hear? I said it, I said it!" And bends forward to plant ecstatic little kisses all over your face.
You laugh and ruffle his hair, resigning yourself to being awake awhile longer. He may not have needed to do this for you, but he needed to do it for himself. To see him so ebullient, so liberated... it makes your sleepy heart sing.
"I love you," he whispers in your ear. Then, without moving away, he exclaims, "Ha! I said it again! --sorry."
You rub your ear, wincing. "Eh, I wasn't using that eardrum for anything important. Come here, you dingaling."
"Dingaling?" His words are mock wounded; he's laughing. "I spontaneously confess my love and you call me a dingaling?"
Ford allows you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug him down to lie next to you again. You can feel his heart pounding, his arms trembling. His big hand wanders up and down your body, idle caresses as an attempt to dissipate excess energy. It doesn't take much of this before your heart is pounding to match.
You squirm closer. "I'm proud of you," you tell him, placing a hand on his thigh.
He grins, kissing your neck. Your whole body shivers in response.
"But next time," you beg, "no teeth."
Ford murmurs in your good ear, "No teeth?" And nips at the side of your throat.
You moan softly, pressing your bodies even closer together, and clarify: "No exogenous teeth."
He laughs, low and raw, and continues to kiss you.
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Hey!
I'd just like to thank you for being such an active member of the Azutara community. I ship them, and define Azula's character in the series as 'morally grey' (I mean, I can't see how any mature adult could call a 14 year old inherently evil, but I suppose watching the show as a child would give you a pretty lasting impression of that), but I have not yet found anyone who has remotely the same opinion as you, and am SO glad I found a kindred spirit in you.
You might recognise me through my AO3 username, lordinkbot, as I've been systematically leaving kudos as I make my way through your Burning Ring series and now am around fifty chapters through WLG, with every intention to finish it. I have THROUGHLY enjoyed everything you've written so far, but I'm still too shy to leave a comment on AO3, so I hope I can express gratitude here instead.
I have a question which will probably be answered as I keep reading, but could you please let me know when exactly you decided to make YuKaZula a throuple in WLG, instead of sticking to the Azutara pairing? I've been reading comments as I read, but there's been no real hints towards it, and as this is the first fic of significant length with polyamory in it that I read, I'd appreciate some insight into your thought process.
Aside from that, I think your writing is so well thought out, and despite the length of some of your fictions, it never seems to drag. Heck - I read The Pit of Snakes in one day flat because I simply could not stop. Thank you so much, again, for being active in this community, and I hope you never, ever stop writing.
All the best, Inky
Hey there, and thank you for this wonderful message, my head has now swelled to comical size from all the compliments to my writing. :)
Yes, I don't feel comfortable slapping a 14 year old girl with the label of Evil. I think Azula commits a few acts that could be classified as evil, but nowhere near as many as most people seem to believe. Azula in the show can be very unpleasant, but at the same time, I have not seen anything that would make me think that she couldn't change her ways.
Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying my writing, and don't feel pressured to comment on ao3 if you don't feel comfortable. I hear that from quite a few readers - really, it's fine :)
YuKaZula throuple in WLG definitely was not planned when I set out to write the story. However, when Yue joined Katara and Azula in Ba Sing Se, I found that the characters gradually developed a more powerful emotional bond than I expected them to. Eventually, they grew so close that I couldn't imagine Yue being with someone else other than Azula and Katara. Of course, Katara and Yue already shared a bit of romantic past, but Yue and Azula had also kissed and obviously found each other attractive. At least from the writing perspective, this really was the case of characters insisting on which way they wanted the relationships to go. I hope that as you read the story, you'll see what I mean by that!
I'm very glad you enjoyed the Burning Ring trilogy, and you definitely don't need to worry about me stopping writing. I have plenty of ideas for more Azutara stories, so I'll be writing about these girls for a while yet. Messages like these also help to inspire me to keep going, so thank you so much for your kind words!
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.STUFF ABOUT ME.
Whoop!! Hello!! This is just some basic info about me and the such, as well as some other things I'd like you to know!! If you have any questions feel free to ask!
Name: Maple/Reese/Sol
Pronouns: She/He/They
Hobbies:
Writing / Drawing / Animating / Painting / Reading / Roleplaying / Gaming
Fandoms:
FNAF / TWD (Game + Show) / Warrior Cats / The Office / TLOU / DBH / Adventure Time + Fionna And Cake / TOH / Amphibia
As of recent I have been incredibly hyperfixated on The Office and FNAF (specifically Security Breach)
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How long have you been on Tumblr?: I've literally never used it before but I've had an account for a little while for reading stories and such, I honestly have no clue what I'm doing :)
What are your socials?: I have a YouTube, an Instagram, and an AO3 account! I also have Discord but I'd rather keep that personal! Here are some links below!
YOUTUBE CHANNEL
AO3 ACCOUNT
INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT
Are writing requests open? Yes yes yes!! I'm thinking of making a fnaf sb oneshot book, so feel free to send in story prompts! (Extra points if its a Gregory and Freddy duo prompt or something with Gregory, Cassidy, or C.C ^^)
Is the art on your account yours?/May I use your art? All art on this account is mine unless stated otherwise! If you would like to use my art/catified designs that's fine! Just please provide credit!!
Will you do requests for other fandoms? I don't mind doing requests or prompts for different fandoms in my fandoms list! Just please note that I most likely will take longer on them due to my own inability to stay focused on something that I'm not hyperfixated on!!
What are your boundaries? I will not tolerate any kind of nsfw content nor will I create anything of the sort, I am willing to write graphic content (violence-wise) and I don't mind writing darker topics, just please do not take requests too far. Constructive criticism is allowed, just please be gentle!!
As for my personal boundaries, please do not pester me over requests or story updates, I get demotivated really easily and being harrassed doesn't help matters any. I'd prefer it if you used tone tags whilst talking to me, I struggle with tone in text!! My anxiety is a menace and I tend to freak out and panic over simple topics like, discussions of heart issues, discussions about death, pet loss, etc. If a conversation is becoming too much I will let you know, all I ask is that you respect my boundaries 😭(also please do not bring up nsfw shizbiz in my messages, it's just yuck.)
Do you accept questions/ideas? Yes of course!! Feel free to send it in the ask thingy or in my messages!!
Do you have OCs? SLAPS DOWN A BIG ASS BOOK OF TRAUMATIZED CHILDREN. You called? I'll occasionally post art of them, so keep a lookout for that! I'm also willing to answer questions about them as well! :)
How long have you been writing fanfiction? I've technically been writing fanfics since I was 10?? But they were self inserts and they were really bad, I used to write x readers when I was 11-12 but I eventually stopped writing fanfics to write my own stories. I'm just now starting up again on AO3 after a 3 and a half year break!
Are there any certain requests you want? Anything FNAF SB related would be an absolute godsend. like I said before, I am absolutely stuck on it LMAO
Will you share stories/headcanons/art here? I will be sharing my stories on ao3 here, as well as some little character headcanons I have! Along with some catified refs of them because I can't draw a human for the life of me. I will also be sharing oc art and animations here but don't expect too much of that LMAO
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But uhh I believe that's all! I can't think of anything else but if you have any other questions, just message me! Dont make it personal though or I'll hit your kneecaps with a shovel!! I can't wait to learn more about you all, have a lovely day! <3
#fnaf sb#fnaf fanart#fnaf#fnaf security breach#five nights at freddy's#warrior cats#warriors oc#new account#new user#new to tumblr#hello tumblr#first post#new here#newbie#writing#creative writing#fanfic#fnaf oneshots#fnaf fanfic#ao3#ao3 fanfic#ao3 link#ao3 writer#writers on tumblr#gregory fnaf#glamrock freddy#glamrock chica#glamrock animatronics#introductory post#artists on tumblr
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ONE MORE CHANCE
S2 | Lucas x MC | 2.500+ words | @0shewrites0
My gift to @doulyeah for the litg s2 tumblr gift exchange! I really hope you like it 🥹🤍
(also tagging @sunshinejihyun & @justtuesdays )
synopsis | "I'm going to miss you," she whispered so quietly Lucas thought he hadn't heard her properly.
"I'll miss you too," he replied softly, giving her one last smile before turning and heading back to the villa to pack his suitcase and prepare to leave Mallorca.
Lucas' time in the villa had been far too short and now he had to go back home. Would he ever get a second chance with her or would he forever be the one who had got away?
genre | light angst. mutual pining. second chances. eventual fluff. eventual happy ending. the one that got away.
Read here or on ao3
June 29th, 2019
Lucas sat on his black leather couch watching the latest episode of Love Island and thought, I wish I could have stayed a bit longer.
As he watched the islanders having fun, falling in love and engaging in all the drama, one person in particular stood out to him.
She was with Gary now and he could see that she was trying, but he could also see that she wasn't really into it. Her eyes looked dull, they had somehow lost the spark they had had in the first week of the month. They had still had that when Henrik and he had entered the villa on the fifth day.
He hadn't even had the chance to couple up with her, to do more than just hold her after Rocco had played her so badly. And what he would have given to kiss her, to hold her in his arms as they fell asleep side by side. Like a real couple.
But somehow the public hadn't been confident in him leaving the show with a girlfriend by his side, so they'd dumped him.
When Lucas thought back to that night, he was overcome by a sadness that could only be described as a strange homesickness. Homesick for a person. For her.
10 days earlier
"Lucas?" Her voice sounded hesitant as he turned back to face her.
"Hmm?"
"Can you...," her voice trailed off and she averted her eyes and stared down at her shoes. "I'm going to miss you," she finally whispered so quietly he thought he hadn't heard her properly.
Part of him wanted to go back and hug her again, hold her one last time, but the sensible part of him knew that would only make everything so much more difficult. So much more complicated.
As much as he'd wanted to be the one to couple up with her at the next recoupling, he wasn't going to get the chance now. And he wanted her to be happy, to forget him and move on with her life.
But the selfish part of his heart wanted her to suffer as much as he knew he would. He had thought this was going to be the summer of his life, but it turned out to be just another bittersweet summer. One of missed opportunities and chances. One of irrational feelings for a girl he would probably never see again.
Because there was no way he was going to that afterparty just to see her laughing happily alongside another one of those lads. No, he would do everything he could to spare himself that pain.
"I'll miss you too," he replied softly, giving her one last smile before turning and heading back to the villa to pack his suitcase and prepare to leave Mallorca.
June 29th, 2019
But now she would probably settle for Gary and end up with him. That bloke adored her, anyone could see that, and he would give her the world. But it was supposed to be him. He couldn't forget the way she used to look at him with her deep blue eyes that now seemed grey. So lifeless. Empty.
Henrik had coupled up with her before the girls had been taken to Casa Amor, and even there, with a whole new set of boys, the spark hadn't returned. She had seemed so out of place. Almost as if she missed him too.
And then Henrik had come back with Blake on his arm, and she had been left alone. All on her own. Henrik was his buddy, but at that moment he would have given anything to slap him. It was beyond him how no one but Gary could see that she deserved the whole damn world. As a result, Henrik and Blake had been dumped, which Lucas thought they deserved anyway.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans, interrupting his bitter thoughts and he took it out and sighed deeply, The producers? Huh, maybe they need me for another interview?
He picked up, "Yeah? Koh here."
But what he heard next made his heart stop beating for a little moment.
"Yes! I mean, of course. I'd love to. Thanks for the opportunity!"
5 days later
He was back in the beach hut and couldn’t believe his own eyes. He had been given the chance to return to the villa, and although the month was almost over, he was sure that it wouldn't take him more than a day to make his shot at love.
She was still there, and he couldn't wait to see her again.
"Why did you decide to come back when the producers called you a few days ago?"
Lucas grinned and raked his right hand through his gelled hair. "Well, I always thought my time at the villa was far too short. I didn't even get to couple up before I got booted out of the show three days after I moved in. And I feel like I deserved it."
"Who do you have your eye on coming back to the villa?"
He shrugged. "I think it's pretty obvious. She and I got along super well before I got dumped, and now that she's still part of the show, I just have to take my chances. Properly this time."
"What are you most looking forward to when you get back to the villa?"
"I'm looking forward to seeing her eyes light up again. I just know they will."
The guy asking the questions chuckled slightly, "Sounds pretty vague for now."
"What can I say?" Lucas grinned. "I said it when I first entered the villa and it's still true. Gotta maintain a bit of mystery, eh?"
The guy waved his hand dismissively and laughed, "Alright, Lucas, you're ready for your date. Please send me a message with her name and she'll be with you shortly after."
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Lucas sat on a white chair next to a small table covered with a white cloth, a few snacks and bright yellow orange juice, the Spanish countryside stretching out before him. The morning sun warmed his back and he waited for her to arrive at the location. He was unusually nervous and even a little afraid that he had imagined it all. That she was actually happy with Gary and didn't want to be with someone she didn't even really know.
But now it was too late. All that was left now was to hope that she had missed him as much as he had missed her.
"No way!"
He heard a soft voice gasp behind him, and he recognised her voice immediately. Still so velvety and soft. Grinning, he turned and couldn't stop a smile from forming on his lips when he saw the expression on her face.
She was wearing a stunning deep blue dress that hugged her body just right and brought out the blue of her eyes amazingly well. Her brunette hair was straightened and framed her beautiful diamond-shaped face. Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted, but as soon as her eyes met his, she closed her mouth and swallowed, her cheeks taking on a delicate coral hue.
"Lucas!" she squealed, a happy smile settling on her face as she rushed to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, catching him off guard. But he quickly returned the hug and squeezed her tenderly, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach that made crazy somersaults as soon as her body touched his.
God, how he had missed holding her like this.
Before he could get carried away, he quickly cleared his throat, pulled back slightly and looked down at her. When she looked up at him, giving him a toothy grin, and he looked into her eyes, he almost choked on his own saliva.
He hadn't imagined anything, he'd bloody known it wasn't just his brain playing tricks on him.
The spark had returned, the spark he had missed all the time he had been away from the villa.
"You look happy to see me," he said carefully.
The blush on her cheeks deepened and she glanced down and nodded shyly, "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."
Lucas pulled out the chair for her and beckoned her to sit, then pushed the chair back in before taking his own seat. He picked up the jar of freshly squeezed orange juice and poured them each a glass, then looked back at her.
"Well, isn't there anything you want to ask me?" He smirked at the look on her face. She still didn't seem to know if this was real or just a dream.
"Pinch me?" she breathed, and he reached out and placed his hand gently on hers. That seemed to do the trick, because she took a deep breath and then quickly shook her head.
"I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused. Why did you come back?"
Lucas pulled his hand away, reached for his glass and took a sip of the cool juice. "I felt like I didn't really have a chance the first time around."
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," she giggled and rolled her eyes. "So what have you been up to the last two weeks?"
Lucas smiled at her, "A bit of this and a bit of that. Since I was on paid leave for the month anyway, I wasn't needed at the clinic, so I spent most of my time visiting family and friends, a bit of alone time to sort my head out, and then I was also approached by a magazine for a photo shoot."
"Sounds fun!" She returned the smile and took a sip of her own orange juice.
"You're with Gary now, huh?" asked Lucas, watching her closely for a reaction, but she just shrugged nonchalantly.
"Yeah."
"So how's that going? Are you happy?" he inquired.
She shrugged again. "I think so. It's going well so far."
It didn't exactly sound enthusiastic. Or madly in love.
On the one hand it made him sad because he wanted her to be happy, on the other it gave him a nervous twinge in his abdomen because it just meant he still had a chance.
One more chance.
"Doesn't sound like that's all you’ve ever wanted," he added tentatively.
She snorted sarcastically, "Yeah, because it's not. But I guess you can't get everything you want, huh?" Suddenly she looked up, eyes wide with shock, and slapped her hands over her mouth, "Shit, forget what I said. I didn't mean it like that."
Lucas took a deep breath and propped his forearms on the table between them, leaning forward slightly and looking at her intently as he asked, "How did you mean it?"
She avoided eye contact and fiddled with the silver rings on her fingers. "It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said that."
Before Lucas could stop himself, he had placed his index finger under her chin and lifted it slightly so she was looking at him again. Realisation flashed in her eyes, as she probably remembered how he'd always done that when he'd comforted her after Rocco had screwed her over.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, nervously wedging her lower lip between her teeth.
"You asked me why I came back, right?" began Lucas, and when she nodded slowly, he added, "Well, I didn't tell you the whole truth."
Her eyes widened again, but she remained silent, so he swallowed hard and continued, "I came back for you."
Then three things happened, and one was sweeter than the other, making Lucas' heart beat so fast he thought he would faint.
First her eyes widened, then they glazed over ever so slightly, and the smile that lit up her face afterwards was enough to make his knees go as weak as goddamn custard.
"Thank fuck I'm sitting down right now," he muttered softly, but she heard him and her cheeks flushed so hard she covered her face with her hands and backed away.
"You... you came back for me?" she finally breathed, peeking out from between her fingers, and it looked so adorable that Lucas had to bite his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. Instead, he nodded reassuringly and said, "Yes, I did."
"B-but why?" She stumbled over her own words, and it was the cutest thing he had ever heard come out of her mouth.
"Because I can't get you out of my head," he answered in a firm voice, and her eyes glossed over again.
Finally, she cleared her throat, put her hands in her lap and said softly, "That's good to know … Because I couldn't get you out of my head either."
A grin spread across Lucas' face and he clicked his tongue, "I know."
She raised her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes, "You... know? How would you know?"
"I saw it in your eyes. You weren't happy. And your answer to my question about how things were going with Gary only confirmed it." He shrugged, but couldn't wipe the probably stupid grin off his face.
"I…," she interrupted herself, shaking her head slowly, "so you've known all along?"
Lucas nodded wordlessly.
A pained expression settled on her face and she asked, "Why didn't you come back sooner if you knew?"
"I couldn't. Believe me, if there had been a way, I wouldn't have left in the first place." He sighed, but his eyes never left her face.
She nodded sadly and mumbled, "For the record, I would have liked that."
"You know what I would like right now, though?"
When she said nothing and just stared at him questioningly, he added in a lowered voice, "I don't think I can stand not kissing you any longer."
She gasped softly and blushed again, but then smiled and, looking him straight in the eye, blurted out, "Then why don't you kiss me?"
And Lucas didn't need to be told twice. He pushed back his chair and stood up, pulling her to her feet by her arms, pressing her body against his and leaning in towards her. He felt her heart hammering in her chest and heard how shallow her breathing was, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, closing the tiny gap and finally capturing her lips in a soft, sweet kiss.
As she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, the butterflies in his stomach went completely amok, and the desire he'd felt for her since the first moment he'd met her finally flowed out of him and poured over her. He couldn't suppress a soft groan when she tightened her grip and deepened the kiss.
She tasted like a promise, like a second chance, and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he realised that this was it. This was the second chance he had needed. Nothing else mattered from now on out.
He’d taken the risk, had taken his shot, and he hadn't missed.
Maybe this could still be the summer of his life.
author’s note | To all my Lucas stans:
Please ignore the game for a second. I know Lucas canonically won't stay with you if you decide to cheat on your current partner with him, but that's irrelevant to this fic. In this fic it's all about the fluff and the romance and him finally getting the girl.
I don't care about the details at this point and neither should you. Just enjoy this little thing for what it is and don't complicate it ❤️
#litg#litg s2#litg fanfic#litg ff#ao3 fanfic#litg lucas#lucas koh#returning lucas#litg light angst#second chances#eventual fluff#eventual romance#eventual happy ending#mutual pining#s2litgexchange
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“I’m not scared of you” “You should be.”
Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary | reader is just being a brat lmao idk
Warnings | sexual content, 18+, knife play, fear kink, choking, bondage
Words | 1k
Notes | so this was a draft that I didn't finish but I read it again recently and it lowkey slaps lol so I decided to just post what I have and if enough people ask then I'll write more lol.
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
"Technically this was not how you intended for this night to go. Being a brat wasn't your original plan but... you can't resist making him frustrated... making him snap. It usually ends well for you. Or bad depending on how you look at it. But alas here you are.
"Kneel." Bucky's arms were crossed and his legs apart, trying to stand in an intimidating way. You're not going to tell him it's working though.
"Why should I do that?" You mirrored his stance.
"Because I told you to. You don't want me to tell you again." You rolled your eyes and his fists clenched.
"No." You smirked at him and his jaw clenched this time. Bucky took a slow step toward you, eyes never leaving yours. When he took another step your confidence faltered. On his third step you started moving backwards.
Have his muscles gotten bigger? Cause it looks like it. Every once in a while you remember that Bucky could probably kill you with just his pinky, not that he would, his mind is free and even if it wasn't everyone knows he could never harm you. But as someone with a fear kink, it's nice to think about in times like this.
Your back hit the wall and you dropped your arms to your sides, still trying to maintain eye contact. He wasn't touching you yet but you could feel his body heat and his breath fanning across your face.
He showed no emotion as he watched you. Eventually you broke eye contact and looked at his chest. You swallowed then willed yourself to look up again.
"What was that?" He had a small smirk now and he moved his right hand up to the wall beside your head.
"I-" you took a deep breath, trying to look confident, "I said no." His smirk widened and he looked at your lips, then down to your chest, his height allowing him to see down your shirt. Your chest is heaving and you know he knows you're scared. He hummed quietly then brought his eyes back up to yours.
His metal hand was on your neck, the cold pressure surprising you and making you gasp. Bucky used his grip on the sides of your throat to push your head into the wall.
"I told you you don't want me to tell you again. Are you sure this is how you want to play this, doll?" You held back a whimper and tried to calm your breathing.
"I'm not scared of you."
Bucky leaned closer and you started to close your eyes, expecting a kiss, but he stopped. Lips just barely touching yours.
"You should be." He whispered. He yanked your head forward and you let out a startled cry. Bucky walked across the room, practically dragging you by your throat, and threw you onto the bed like a rag doll- well your nickname is doll isn't it?...
You scrambled to the head of the bed, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but he seemed unfazed. He sighed as he watched you.
"Baby... the night started so well, you were being such a good girl. And now..." He looked up and down your body "you're acting like a fucking brat." He started walking to the dresser and opened the drawer.
"That's okay. I like breaking you. And by the time we're done, I will have turned you into a sloppy, desperate, begging mess." You saw him take out rope, a ball gag and something else that he hid in the rope so you couldn't see it.
"I'd like to see you try." You said, with a confidence that suprised even you. Bucky looked at you, smirk still on his stupid beautiful face, and started walking to the bed.
"Don't worry, doll. It shouldn't be too hard, you break so easily for me." His voice was condescending and you hated how that made you even wetter. "Lay down." You watched as he stood next to the bed and put everything down onto it.
"N-no." Your confidence is very quickly disappearing. His smirk was still going strong as he kneeled on the bed.
"Thought so." He sighed. Bucky grabbed your wrist and you protested, trying to get him to let go. However he took your other arm and held it to your side, then kneeled over your body to hold you still as he tied your wrist to the bed. He quickly moved onto the other one, then to your ankles.
When you were fully bound he kneeled on the bed between your legs. You started squirming, testing the stength of the knots... which unsurprisingly was very strong.
Bucky reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled out a knife. You knew he carried it on him almost everywhere he goes, mostly out of habit, so that wasn't what made you gasp. Instead it was when he brought the knife up to the top of your dress and cut it straight down the middle.
"That was expensive!" You whined. He shrugged and cut the shoulder areas so that he could take the dress completely off of you. Once he threw that to the floor he moved the knife to your bra.
"Wait-" He cut that the same way he cut your dress. "Bucky, wait-" you started as he moved to your underwear. He paused and looked at you.
"Let me ask you something, doll. Which one of us is currently holding a knife?"
"...You." You said quietly.
"And which one of us is currently tied to the bed?" You rolled your eyes and looked away from him.
"That's what I thought. Now it doesn't seem like you're in any position to be making demands right, doll?"
"Whatever." You pouted. He quickly grabbed your face and turned your head to look at him. His grip hurt your cheeks and the cold metal made you shiver.
"Baby..." he clicked his tongue, "that doesn't sound like any way to talk to someone who has you at knife point does it?"
"I'm not scared of you." You repeated. He smirked again and moved the knife to your neck.
"You should be." He whispered.
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Just Dumb Enough to Try
Chapter 4: For Reasons Unknown
Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings: angst, swearing, smoking, alcohol use, cannabis use, pining, existential crisis mode activated, slur for sex workers and promiscuous people, misogyny, confrontation
Series Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it's 1998 and you're starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.
Chapter Summary: Our heroes reunite!
Notes: Chapter title from "For Reasons Unknown" by The Killers. Let me know what you think. Music is a big inspiration in writing this, so I'm making a Spotify playlist for each chapter. Playlist for this chapter. posted on AO3 here.
Ch 1 : Ch 2 : Ch 3
Heights Elementary School, Laredo, TX
May 29, 1998
Realizing Javier was living in the same town as you was like finding Waldo, it’s so obvious in hindsight. He was right there. And now… you’re seeing him everywhere.
At the Pour House, grocery store (again), church (again), on walks around town, even the fucking movie theater you go to on Wednesdays when Dan is at softball practice. He was leaving the showing of Godzilla while you were getting popcorn. Hand on the small of some girl’s back, you could swear he looked straight at you.
But neither of you have acknowledged each other’s presence. You can’t decide if you even want to talk to him, otherwise you would have approached him as soon as you recognized him.
… Well, maybe.
The feeling could be mutual. Or maybe you’ve been right this whole time- he doesn’t remember you because you mean nothing to him.
You’re not sure which option is worse; they both leave you gutted. You’ve been lost in the “what ifs”, “maybes”, and memories swirling around in your brain, overanalyzing the situation as often as you could. You’re pretty sure Claudia is sick of hearing about your fixation when you two talk on the phone, but she’s the only person you can talk to about it. Regardless of whether or not he intended it, you feel spurned.
Today you said goodbye to your classroom full of second-graders. After they all go home for the summer, you collapse at your desk and finally give yourself permission to feel everything you’ve been pushing away.
You mourn the loss of the person you always wanted to be, your dream job, the life you always wanted to live. You accept the rejection from Javier. You acknowledge how lonely you are; the only person who really knows you is Claudia, who is back home in Minnesota.
Hell, even that’s questionable. Do you even know yourself anymore?
—
When you get back to the house, Dan insists on the two of you going up to the Pour House to celebrate your last day of work. You’re pretty committed to feeling sorry for yourself but it might cheer you up so eventually agree. He doesn’t seem to notice your puffy, bloodshot eyes. You do your best to reduce the swelling and shift out of pity-party mode into forget-about-this-day-party mode.
—
The heavy door slams behind you as you enter the Pour House. The sickly sweet stench of mixed drinks mingles with the cigarette smoke fog and slaps you in the face as soon as you step in the door. Kim waves you and Dan over to a booth, her shiny red nails reflecting off the light dangling above the wobbly table. Dan orders drinks for the three of you while you slide into the booth next to Kim. Your sweaty legs stick to the pleather upholstery as you scoot in, making you grimace.
Kim is in jean shorts and a tube top that’s the same shade of red as her nails. In this lackluster place, her sun-tanned skin seems to glow. Her long light brown hair is up in a high pony, swinging behind her as she asks, “So, how are we feeling?”
You give her a half-hearted smile and shrug, “I’m ok. Today was hard.”
She waves off your lame attempt to talk about it, “Oh girl, everything will be fine. I’m so happy for you! You’re going to catch your stride being at home. Mom and Lizzy always tell me how much they love it.”
Lizzy, Dan’s older sister, is a clone of her mother: Epitome of a Dallas Blonde, homemaker since marrying an engineer at 26, entire life revolving around her husband and children. PTA, soccer, micromanaging, supper ready when husband gets home, minivan, gossiping- all that. A stark realization dawns on you.
Shit, is that what I’m getting myself into? Is that what I want?
Too late to back out now. All my eggs are in this basket.
Your stomach drops and a familiar stinging returns to your eyes. Dan gently sets down the three gin and tonics as he takes a seat across from you, which interrupts your spiral.
“Gin and tonic? Oh shit, so it’s going to be that kind of a night?!” Kim exclaims, picking one of the cups up, then wrapping her Angelina Jolie lips around the straw.
“Well, good. I need something a little stronger than beer today,” you chuckle, hiding your reddened face behind your hair.
The three of you bullshit and drink, and before you know it, you’re chain smoking cigarettes and talking loudly over each other. The bar gradually fills up with people until all the seats in the place are taken and people are standing around in clusters. There’s a thick haze in the air from lingering cigarette smoke. The sound of the jukebox playing old country music is mixing with the chorus of drunkards talking, singing, yelling, whatever. You feel fuzzy, floating comfortably in your seat. Too fucked up to feel much of anything at all, which is currently bliss.
“Oh look who’s here- Agent Javier Peña,” Kim practically hollers. You follow her gaze to the front of house, where the object of your fixation is making his way up to the crowded bar.
“Agent? Whatsssupwith him?” you slur, trying to pretend you don’t know anything about this stranger.
Dan bites down on his straw and smirks playfully at his sister, “Yeah Kim, what’s up with him?”
“Oh my god don’t go there, Daniel,” she chucks an ice cube at him, then looks over at you, eyes sparkling, “He’s Chucho’s son. Just got back from Columbia where he was DEA, took down like… the biggest cartel. Some of then government and shit? Escobar, too.”
You pop a cigarette between your lips and raise an eyebrow before lighting it, “Ssseems likeuh real dick.”
Dan giggles, “Kimberly’s been wanting to bump uglies with him as soon as she learned he’s back.”
“So what? He’s hot n my friend Beth said he’s great in bed," she shoots back, "Also don't say bump uglies, that's so gross."
You flinch and wrinkle your nose, wishing you knew none of this.
“Well yeah, he got lots of practice banging hookers in Columbia is what I heard.” Dan teases, and adds as an afterthought, “And desperate sluts like Beth, I guess.”
Kim scoffs at him. His scathing words activate a rage inside you.
“I’m tiredniwanna go home," you demand to Dan, throwing your lit cigarette into your drink cup. You need to get the fuck out right now. He throws his hands up defensively, then goes to pay the tab.
Kim searches the bar for Javier with only one eye open, sipping from her drink, “I think I'm gonna go for it.”
You don’t respond, because it doesn’t really matter what you say, she’s going to do it. You scoot out of the booth, Kim stumbles after you and beelines up to Javier at the bar. You trail behind, waiting for Dan to be done paying the tab. She bumps into him, causing him to turn around and acknowledge her. He looks her up and down, blatantly drinking in her beauty.
“Ready to go, babe?” Dan asks you. You nod.
Javier’s dark eyes flick behind Kim and snap to your face for just a moment. He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head quizzically. And he sees you, there’s no mistaking it. Kim must say something that brings his attention back, because his gaze shifts back to her and he puts on a disarming smile.
Puke.
(Thankfully you don’t)
—
The next morning, you can’t say as much. You’re so hungover you can’t do your Saturday morning errand walk. Surely, this is the end. This is death.
Instead of walking, you opt to smoke a joint in your car on the way to the grocery store. It does help with the nausea, which is nice. You put on your sunglasses and run in for a few essentials, and also Alka-Seltzer (which, in your opinion, could be considered an essential for today). While you’re walking back to your car, someone approaches you from behind.
“Hey, excuse me,” a voice calls out to you.
You whip around and, predictably, it’s Javier. He’s shutting the door to his red pickup truck and walking towards you, as handsome as ever, charming grin playing across his face.
You’re completely disheveled, last night’s makeup, hair up in the messiest bun, stoned to the bone, wearing pajamas, and (not to be dramatic but) actively fighting death. Your stomach lurches but you manage not to vomit.
“I’m sorry to bother you, I just… I’ve seen you around a few times and wanted to introduce myself. I’m Javi,” he extends his hand, then realizes your arms are occupied with grocery bags and takes it back, “What’s your name?”
A hollow laugh escapes you.
He doesn’t remember you. He has no idea who you are. The person you’ve been dreaming about for five years has absolutely no idea who you are. To have your fear confirmed is… devastating. You’re not sure if it’s the hangover, the emotional exhaustion, or the weed, but you are more enraged than anything.
Your temper takes over before you can process what you’re going to say. You shake your head, push your sunglasses up so you can look him in the eyes as you seethe, “Are you fucking kidding me, Javier? You don’t know who I am? Go fuck yourself.”
He flinches like you slapped him across the face. You turn on your heel, ignoring the way your brain sloshes around due to the quick movement, while his face drops into a confused frown.
Maybe you overreacted. But do you feel bad? No, not really. He deserved that.
—
Unfortunately, you don’t die from the hangover. You’re still feeling its effects on Sunday during church. After the service, Javier spots you outside with the rest of the smokers and tries to talk to you. You ignore him, stomp out the cigarette, then sit in your car until Dan comes out.
Dale and Cheryl grill hotdogs for everyone at their house after church. You are there physically, but mentally you are completely checked out. Kim doesn’t mention anything about her attempt to hookup with Javier, and you, frankly, would rather not know.
By Monday, you’re feeling relatively normal. So what else do you do, but go to the bar?
—
Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark once you step in the door. It slams behind you and all 3 people in the place look up at the noise. You ignore them and sit down at the bar. Gina lays down a coaster preemptively and you tell her you’ll get a draft beer.
You set your purse down on the barstool next to you then fish out a journal, pencil, and your portable CD player. After you slide your headphones on and press play on Odelay, you start doodling. Gina sets down your beer and you take a sip.
This… this is good.
About a half an hour passes when someone walks in the door and illuminates the bar with sunshine. They pull out the barstool next to you and sit down. You look up into the mirror behind the bar and see that it’s Javier. Your heart flutters. He’s staring at your paper. Your heart starts thumping against your ribcage.
If I don’t move, maybe he won’t see me.
Alas, you can see his lips moving in the mirror and know he’s trying to talk to you. You push your headphones back around your neck and turn to him, putting on your best don’t fuck with me face and spit, “What?”
He looks taken aback. You hold your piercing gaze steady. He points to your page, “I asked you what you’re drawing.”
“It’s none of your business,” You snap the journal closed and cross your arms in front of you.
He jaw hardens and nostrils flare, “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is-“
Genuine laughter bubbles out of you at the audacity of this man. You resist the sadistic urge to tease him.
He narrows his eyes at you while you’re laughing at him. His jaw slackens and eyebrows raise. He snaps his fingers to point at you, and says your name.
Your laughter stops and you sputter, “wh-what?“
“I remember you now. How could I forget that laugh,” he smirks. Gina sets down a beer in front of him and gives the two of you a suspicious glance.
“Could I get another please?” You ask her before turning back to him once she walks away, “Wow I can’t believe you actually remembered me… eventually. I’m flattered,” you roll your eyes and empty your glass.
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, “I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting to ever see you again. Let alone in Laredo.”
“I live here with my fiancé,” you tell him curtly, flashing your engagement ring at him.
“Who’s that?”
Your head gets hot again.
“Look, I’m not going to sit and chit chat with you like you didn’t disappear off the face of the earth immediately after…” you lower your voice to a forced whisper at the end of your sentence as Gina returns with your beer. You nod thanks to her.
He doesn’t say anything, just lights a cigarette, and offers one to you. You take it. It’s the least he can do. The two of you sit in a quiet that can only be described as tense.
Your jaw is clenched shut so hard it starts aching. As you ash your cigarette, you notice your hands are shaking. You try to stay in your anger, but it nosedives into the grief you’ve been bottling up all weekend.
The feeling is all-consuming and demands to make itself known, gnawing a hole in your gut. You concentrate on the cherry of your cigarette and try to ignore the lump in your throat. If you talk, you’re afraid you will start bawling and that would be so embarrassing right now.
He puts out his cigarette in an ashtray, plucks yours out from between your fingers, and extinguishes it. He pulls your hand gently between his, causing you to jump. With a sharp inhale, your eyes shoot to his. His face looks pained. Those warm eyes bore into you, and he presents a plea, “I’m so sorry for leaving like that. You deserved better.”
Your face crumples.
Fuck.
A small sob escapes you as the tears start falling. Your chest aches. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that. How did he know that’s exactly what would break you? Despite the fact that you’re crying in public, he doesn’t waver. He holds your hand and doesn’t even flinch.
“So fucking embarrassing,” you whimper while dabbing your tears on a napkin you find in your purse. He grins at this and you return a wistful smile.
“I’m glad our paths have crossed again,” he assures, giving your hand one more squeeze before releasing you.
“I’m sorry for crying," you pout.
He chuckles, “Tears don’t scare me.”
A comfortable silence falls between you. You open your journal and share some of your doodles with him.
“I really like this one.” he points to a sketch of a deer on one of the pages, “Reminds me of these deer figurines my mom would collect.”
“Yeah?” you look down at the fawn you drew a few days ago, then back to him, “Do you want it?”
He smiles, “Can I?”
You tear the page out and give it to him.
“If I ask about your boyfriend are you going to yell at me again?” He asks while sliding the paper into the shirt pocket of his purple short-sleeved button up.
“Ok well first of all, you deserved to be yelled at,” you roll your eyes.
“Fair.”
“Second of all: no, I guess. Third of all-“
“-Third of all isn’t a thing, continue.”
You glare at him and say, louder this time, “Third of all, yes it is, shut up.” Javier guffaws, you continue, “Fourth of all, he’s my fiancé.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dan Baker”
He nods, “I don’t think I’ve been introduced, but I see him around. I know his sister. The Bakers are a big deal here.”
“Says you,” you scoff, vaguely recalling how Kim talked about him as if he were a legend. After you finish your beer, you signal Gina for another.
He does not take the bait to change the subject to himself, “Is that who you were with at the bar on Friday? Did you get a teaching job out here? That’s what you were going to school for, right?”
“Yes, yes and… yes,” you frown, “Well, kind of. My last day teaching was Friday.”
“What, why?”
“To be at home. We don’t need my income and I can work on… wedding planning, I guess. Eventually a stay-at-home mom,” you shrug.
He rolls his head towards you, “How do you feel about that?”
“It’s… it kind of sucks, actually, if I’m being completely honest,” you stare off at nothing in particular and frown, “Teaching has been my plan for so long. I don’t know what to do anymore… I don’t know who I am, or- or what I’m doing.”
His jaw tightens as he furrows his brow and hums in acknowledgment.
You’re suddenly aware that you’re being more open than you’re comfortable with typically, so, naturally, you try to back peddle with a chuckle, “Sorry… that was too much information.”
“No no, I’m just thinking. I know exactly what you’re saying,” he pauses to mull it over some more, then starts again carefully, “I dedicated my life to the DEA. And now that it’s over… Everyone keeps telling me about how happy I must be to be home… and I try to be happy, but mostly I just feel… lost.”
“Exactly!” You nod rapidly, “It’s like… well, shit, my purpose is gone, now what?”
“Fuck if I know,” he mumbles around a cigarette as he lights it.
Fuck if I know.
[ Next Chapter ]
#narcos fanfiction#javier peña x ofc#javier pena fanfiction#javier peña x you#javier peña#javier peña x reader#narcos fic#javi pena#pedro pascal characters#pedrostories#jdett
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12 & 21 for the ask game
AAAA tY FOR ASKING
12. What's the funniest or craziest AU idea you've ever come up with?
Ooooo I'm torn on this one honestly? I have a lot of AUs in my head not down on paper, some that are just. So far from the original source material that they're practically their own media just with borrowed faces oops XD
But I guess right now it's probably the fate AU where magic is a thing but Most of the characters are just Normal, with the Main fic being a teachers/teaching AU because -slaps head- you can fit so much salt about academia in this bad boy. I started it like...yesterday with the usual brainrot focused on Salieri and my brain has already veered completely into making a oneshot in the same universe focusing on another character's encounter with a supernatural cult leader SO IT'S REALLY GOING. I do also enjoy my Alter Ego Salieri AU.
21. Go onto your AO3. Which ship have you written for the most? The least? Does this correspond to who you consider your "favourite?"
Well, by virtue of works on AO3 it's a bit of a tossup. I have a multi-chapter fic in one fandom but a lot of the entries in it are platonic or can be read both ways so I don't really count it? So then it goes to next most written which is Morwen/Telemain from The Enchanted Forest Chronicles and Padme/Anakin from Star Wars, both with a grand total of two fics each. x'D
Padme/Anakin is a ship I'm neutral about, but since it was basically just a fix-it series that...is a lil abandoned right now, they're together because I haven't decided if they stay together or break it off to just be friends and coparents. Since rn they're both still in a lot of trauma and danger they're just clinging to each other. But I also don't know if I'll ever work on it again because there is SO MUCH LORE I have to remember and Star Wars fans are scary if you get lore wrong. XD But also for them to still be a ship in canon/fix-it they would need. SO MANY TALKS AND THERAPY.
Morwen/Telemain meanwhile is a ship I do hold fairly close to my heart; Telemain is a character I just love, he annoys the hell out of everyone with all his technical magical talk and I feel so seen by it because same, friend, same. I'd like to write more with them eventually, and I did start a multichapter back in 2020 that I'd like to get back to if my brain cooperates. I'd really like to explore Morwen and Telemain both diving into technical magical talk because I feel like she enjoys it too, just tends to remind him to speak a little more plainly when others who aren't as steeped in magical theory are around. And I also have a really feelsy WIP on the effects of the war on Morwen somewhere deep in my docs that also has some shippy vibes, but I've not worked on it for ages because it feels very self indulgent.
And if you look at my WIPs it's all Salieri/Mozart from Fate Grand Order, I have like. Nine in my docs right now, save me x'D and only one up on my AO3.
THANKS AGAIN FOR THE ASK FRIEND AAAAAA
EDIT: I FORGOT the ask game is: here for anyone who wants it themselves/wants to ask uwu
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Chapter Five: To Nana’s House We Go
Chapter: Five of Six
Words: 3,116
Summary: Alex and Jo along with Luna, Alexis, Eli, and Izzie travel to Iowa to spend Christmas with Helen Karev. However, the trip isn’t as easy as expected.
Chapter Summary: The adults relax and have a lazy morning, but Jo gets unexpectedly sick.
Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.
Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson.
Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Izzie Stevens, Alexis Stevens, Eli Stevens, Luna Wilson and Helen Karev.
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences.
Additional Tags: Jolex are friends and co-parent with Izzie, Christmas, Travel, Flights, Airplanes, Sick!Fic, Kids, Toddlers, Family Fluff, Date Night, Implied Sexual Content.
Read at AO3
Read at FFN
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The next morning came without a call from his mom. Helen did call them eventually to tell them that all the kids had slept soundly through the night and she was now making them waffles. They let the kids spend some more time with Nana as the three of them had a lazy morning to themselves. They slowly got dressed and ready to go. They intended to stay at his mom's house for the rest of their stay and were packing up their things.
Alex was tying his shoes as he looked over at Jo, who was sitting on the chair fixing her hair into a ponytail. “You ready to go get the kids?”
However, Jo didn't respond as she put a hand on her stomach. She had been rubbing her stomach all morning and his smile fell as he saw that she looked a little pale.
“Jo, are you okay?” Alex asked as Jo looked at him.
Her eyes went wide before she slapped her hand across her mouth and ran for the bathroom. Alex quickly got up and quickly followed her as they rushed past Izzie who was in the mirror putting the last touches of her mascara on.
“Oh my god,” Izzie said as Jo dove for the toilet just before her breakfast came up again.
Alex kneeled next to her, grabbing her hair that had fallen out of the ponytail and twisting it back so it wouldn't get in the toilet as he rubbed her back. “Oh, Jo”
Alex rubbed her back, wishing he could give her more comfort. Jo continued to heave until there was nothing left in her stomach and only bile was coming up. Finally, it stopped and Jo leaned her head on her arm over the toilet. Alex grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her mouth as Jo frowned.
“I think that’s it,” Jo said as she looked over at him with weary eyes.
Alex reached up to feel her forehead. “You're a little warm.”
“Damn it, I thought you all were over this,” Izzie said as she offered Jo a cup of water from the sink.
Jo rinsed out her mouth and then turned around to him with a pout. He pulled her in and she buried her face in his neck. He held her as she crawled into his lap and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Alex whispered to her as he held her.
“Do you just want to stay here today?” Izzie asked as Jo shook her head.
“I'll be okay, the nauseous comes and goes. I just don't know what's going on. I thought I was over this for sure, but I've just been so nauseous the last couple of days,” Jo sighed as she tucked her nose into his neck.
“The past couple of days?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow at her as Jo only shrugged.
“I didn't think much of it and I wasn’t throwing up until now,” Jo said as she closed her eyes and rested against him,
Alex just shook his head and Izzie sighed. Jo was never one to admit when she was sick and often hid it from everyone. She would choose to work through it, leaving Alex to drag home for chicken noodle soup and rest. The only reason she rested this time around was because it had completely wiped her out and they were on vacation.
“I think we should just stay here,” Alex sighed as Jo looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout. “At least for today.”
“No, I want to see the kids and spend time with your mom,” Jo lamented with a frown. “I’m okay really. It comes and goes, but it’s gone now.”
“Why don't I call your mom? I'm sure she wouldn't mind keeping the kids for a little longer,” Izzie said, pulling out her phone before Jo could begin to protest, although she still did. “In the meantime, I’ll go get some stuff from the pharmacy.”
“No, I'm fine really,” Jo said looking between the two of them although they knew she was lying through her teeth.
“Jo,” Alex said as Jo just nodded, losing her fight as she buried her head in his neck. “Do you want to go back to the bedroom?"
“I think it's best if I stay here for a little bit,” Jo said with a little shake of her head.
“Okay,” Alex said, kissing her head.
After Izzie left Jo they stayed in the bathroom for a little bit longer. When she finally got the strength to get up she did seem better, but still curled up on the bed with him. He took her temp, but it was only a little high and not enough to be considered a fever. They put on the TV and Jo flipped through a few channels before finding a morning show that she liked. Alex ran his fingers through her hair, hoping it would help call the nausea.
Finally, Izzie returned with a small smile on her face that Alex thought was rude given the situation. She handed a small paper bag to Jo, when she opened it, she looked confused as she pulled out a box and Alex saw that it was a pregnancy test.
“Izzie what is this, Jo's not pregnant, she's sick,” Alex said as they both sat up Jo just stared at the box in front of her.
“I don't know, you might just want to take it,” Izzie said with a sneaky smile and a shrug.
“Alex,” Jo said, looking up at him, her eyes wide as she put a hand over her mouth in shock. “My period is two weeks late!”
“What?!” Alex said his jaw dropped as well before a large smile formed across his face and the excitement filled him. “We're going to have a baby!”
“You don't we don't know that,” Jo said, pointing in at him, her nerves in her voice. “It's probably just a fluke and stress from being sick.”
“I don't know,” Izzie said with a sing-song voice.
Jo looked between the two of them as they wore matching excited grins. She could tell they were convinced she was without a doubt pregnant. But Izzie didn't know her medical history. Alex must have read her face as his smile fell and he looked down.
“Um, Izzie could you give us a moment,” Alex said, glancing over at Izzie before he looked back at Jo, with his eyebrows knitted together.
Izzie had felt the mood shift and looked between them. “Yeah.”
Jo put her hand over her face as Izzie left the conjoined room. When the door shut, she dissolved into tears as Alex wrapped his arms around her. He held her as the box of tests fell from her hands.
“We tried for so long and got nothing.”
“I know.”
He pulled her into his lap, wrapping arms around her in a hug, and held her. Jo quietly cried, hiding her tears in her hands. But Alex pushed away her hands and held her face as his thumb rubbed her cheek. He waited for the tears to dissipate before he smiled.
“What if this time it’s positive? You don't have to look. I’ll look for you but we should try, Jo,” Alex said, a hopeful smile across his face.
Jo closed her eyes. not speaking yet, but she nodded. He pulled the test out of the box and got it prepared for her, waiting until she was ready to pull out of his arms. Jo sighed as she read over the test as well. There was an anticipation of sadness, but he clung to the hope that maybe maybe it would be positive.
Now that Alex thought about it he was sure if he was right. He certainly noticed that her breasts were fuller and that her stomach was slightly rounded. Her skin had been glowing the past couple of days, her hair was soft and shiny, and there was just something about her that Alex couldn't quite put his finger on. When he thought about it before, he chalked it up to her getting over being ill, but now he realized it was the pregnancy glow. Alex thought for sure Jo was pregnant.
“There's only one way to find out,” Alex said, letting a small smile grace his lips.
Jo stared at the little pregnancy test in her hand. She was also nervous about this. She had taken so many tests and had so many negative results. Jo wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to take another one. Then Alex put his hands over hers.
“You can do this Jo,” Alex said, giving her a small sure smile as she nodded.
Jo quickly took the test and wrapped it in toilet paper before she washed her hands. She retreated into Alex’s arms as he held her. He took the test from her and rubbed her back as Jo hid her face in his neck. She could hide in his arms forever, it was the one place she felt safe.
“Jo,” Alex said after a minute and when she looked at him, he had that wicked excited grin across his face.
Jo looked over the test and sure enough, there were two bold pink lines. “I'm pregnant.”
She was in disbelief as she turned around in his arms. Alex squeezed her tighter in a hug before he pulled her in for a kiss. It was like an explosion of fireworks on her tongue as he kissed her. The excitement filled her like beer fizzing over in the mug. She was actually pregnant this time. It was all their dreams come true and the best early Christmas present she could have gotten.
“We're having a baby,” Alex said, whooping with laughter as Jo giggled.
Alex leaned in and kissed her again and Jo completely melted in his arms, reaching up and putting a hand on your cheek as if she could hold him even closer. They kiss for several minutes just enjoying each other's lips and the excitement between them at the new baby. Then Alex pulled back and reached down, putting his hand on Jo's waist.
Jo giggled and shook her head. “I'm not even showing yet.”
“I know but our baby’s in there,” Alex said, his smile so wide and happy on his face and Jo couldn't help but share his smile.
Jo leaned against Alex as they finally made their way out of the bathroom. They were greeted with Izzie's happy smile as she wrapped her arms around them.
“Congratulations,” Izzie said as they hugged her back.
“Thank you,” Jo said as she pulled back.
“The kids are going to be so excited,” Alex said, smiling down at her.
“Maybe we should wait on telling them though,” Jo said looking between them. “I want to keep it between us for a while.”
“That's fair and once we tell them, they'll tell everybody,” Izzie agreed with a nod.
“Jo you're not going to miscarry,” Alex said, rubbing his hand up and down her back.
“We don’t know that,” Jo said, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked back at him. “And we can tell everybody later when I’m past the first trimester.”
“We can’t know the future, but we can hold onto the fact that you are pregnant right now and we can all celebrate that,” Izzie said, wrapping her up in another hug.
“Thank you,” Jo said with a sigh as she relaxed and smiled.
Izzie gave her another squeeze before she pulled back and smiled at her. Jo returned her smile with ease before she went back and settled into Alex's arms. He automatically wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.
“Are you ready to go to my mom's yet? Or do you want to hang out for a little bit?” Alex asked his eyes looking at her with a bit of concern.
“No I'm okay, and I want to see her and the kids,” Jo said, her eyes sparkling as she smiled. Alex couldn't help but smile back as his eyes sparkled too and a little bit of excitement passed between them.
“Alright then well we should probably get going,” Izzie said as they collected their bags and headed off to his mom's house.
………………………………………………………………
The second they walked in the door all of the kids ran to greet them. Jo picked up Luna and cuddled her close with a sigh of relief. She had missed her baby and the thought of having another made her smile.
“I missed you, Little Moon,” Jo whispered against her cheek, giving her a kiss.
“Mama, car,” Luna said, as she pointed to the table where they were playing with Alex's old hot wheels collection.
“You three must be well rested,” Helen said as she got up to greet them all with a hug. “Did you enjoy your night off?”
“Yeah, we did, thanks again Mom,” Alex said as he sat next to Eli and ruffled his hair, despite his protests.
They spent the whole day at his mom's house talking with her and hanging out. They even got a chance to enjoy the snow as they ventured out to play. Jo loved the snow and playing with the kids as it recaptured a bit of her lost childhood. She loved watching Alex fool around with them and Luna’s free play. While Alexis could ride her sled all day and Eli worked hard on his snow creatures, each one more intricate than the next. They played until the sun went down and they all came back in and got ready for dinner.
Alex had been keeping an extra eye on Jo, she noticed it more when they were outside. He never let her stray too far from him, would follow her around, and be a little overprotective. Even the kids noticed as Alexis begged him to let Jo go down the hill with her, saying he could go down with Izzie or Eli for once as she wanted Jo. Alex protested, but Jo went down with Alexis anyway, but just twice. Although she had been fine, if not a little tired around nap time. She curled up with Luna for a nap and fell asleep in the upstairs bedroom.
It wasn't till around dinner time when she was helping Izzie and Helen with dinner that the smell of the roasted carrots turned her stomach and sent her running for the bathroom. Alex was at the store getting a few last minute ingredients and Jo missed his comfort. She wished she could go and curl up in his arms like she always did after she got sick. Unfortunately, she had to go back to the kitchen. Jo sighed and went back to the room, the carrots had been moved to the dinner table and the kitchen now smelled of the roast Izzie had pulled out of the oven.
“Sorry, the smell got to me,” Jo said as she sat down on a stool next to the counter.
“Here my dear, this always helped me with my morning sickness,” Helen said with a knowing smile as she presented Jo with a cup of tea.
“Oh no, I think it's just the last bit of the cold that's hanging on,” Jo said with a shake of her head.
However, Helen just gave her a knowing smile and went over to her knitting bag, picking up the knitting needles, no doubt to make them a baby hat.
Jo looked over at Izzie with wide eyes, but Izzie just shook her head and laughed as she stirred the gravy. Jo looked back down at the tea as she took a sip. It did help her morning sickness and her nausea didn’t return for the rest of the night.
………………………………………………………………
Finally, they all sat down for Christmas Eve dinner. It was absolutely beautiful as Izzie and Helen had really outdone themselves.
“I think we should all be thankful for my mom and Izzie's cooking. Without them we'd be eating turkey sandwiches,” Alex said, raising his glass.
“Yes, thank you, Nana and Mommy,” Eli said with a big smile as Helen blushed and Izzie beamed under all the affection.
“Yes thank you so much,” Jo said, before looking over at Luna. “Luna, can you say thank you to Nana and Mama Izzie?”
“Please,” Luna said, reaching out for the dish of rolls in front of her, rather than listening to what Jo was saying as they all laughed.
“I'm grateful for such a wonderful family. I’m so proud of the kind and loyal you are, Eli. Alexis, I’m so proud of how hardworking and brave you are. Luna, I’m so honored to be a part of your life and get to love you. Jo and Alex, I couldn't ask for two better people to co-parent my kids with, and I’m so grateful that you’ve both come into our relationship with love and understanding. Helen, I’m thankful that you've let me be a part of your family as well.”
“Thank you for that Izzie,” Alex said, as Izzie smiled.
“Well, what are you guys thankful for?” Alex asked the twins.
“I'm thankful for Mommy and Daddy and Mama Jo, but especially Luna,” Eli said, looking over at all of them warmly.
“That's so sweet of you buddy,” Jo said with a smile. “What are you thankful for Alexis?”
“I'm thankful that I'm not sick anymore and I'm thankful for my stuffed animal… and my family of course,” Alexis added as a bit of an afterthought, but they all laughed.
“We're grateful you're not sick either,” Alex said with a nod. “I'm grateful for my lovely wife, my three kids, for my ex-wife being cordial with us, and I thankful that I have my mom,” Alex said looking over him her eyes sparkling and he knew she knew that he was thinking of the baby Jo just leaned over until did her head as he leaned in for a kiss.
“Ew,” Alexis said, sticking her tongue out and shaking her head as Jo giggled and Alex just laughed.
“You don't think it's you when I kiss you,” Jo said.
“Yeah but that's different,” Alexis said, rolling her eyes. “You don't kiss my lips.”
Jo smiled and grabbed his chin, pulling in for another kiss as Alexis complained even louder.
“Can we eat before I lose my appetite?” she said making a gagging noise
“Please, please,” Luna chimed in practically jumping out of her high chair.
“All right let's dig in, I know we’re all hungry,” Helen said, giving a roll to Luna who smiled.
#alex karev#jo wilson#jolex#izzie stevens#helen karev#eli stevens#alexis stevens#luna wilson#grey's anatomy#jo karev#otp: home and heart#grey's anatomy fanfic#my work#my writing#my fanfiction
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PROLOGUE
WORKING TITLE: STUCK — DIRECTORY
ERWIN X FEM!READER, ERWIN X YOU, NO Y/N | modern & college AU, parallel uni, eventual romance & smut, crack treated seriously, literal reader-insert lol, typical isekai plot but come on!
SUMMARY: All the fictional characters you consume and know of seem to exist in one time and space. Unfortunately for you, you suddenly woke up in that world out of the blue. It is until your encounter with a disturbingly curious character that you realized you could still have your way out. Oh, what could go wrong? AO3 | FANFICTION
WORDS: 1k
Oh, what a nice dream.
You smiled and slouched on the small bed of someone you don't know, a tub of ice cream on the bedside table—one you bought out of curiosity in a convenience store in some unknown world, with clothes that unnervingly suit you despite not being yours.
You closed your eyes and tried to sleep. Oh, what could go wrong? It wasn't the first time you desired to be transported to a world that's not your own. It must be your subconscious showing you stuff in your favor. You smiled again—ah, it feels good. I hope I'll have this once in a while.
It was when three days passed that you realized the horrifying disposition you were in. You barged into the closet of this unknown apartment owner, saw the documents and belongings, among other things, and saw yourself in it. Same name, same face, different background: no family left alive, a college student juggling from job to job (crap, the convenience store where you bought the ice cream was apparently your workplace), no close friends, and there was a list of contact information of other characters you consumed as of recent.
You slapped yourself hard, blinked twice, then read the paper again, scrutinized the ID picture plastered on the paper, took a look at the vanity mirror just behind you, and uttered in horror, "Crap, where am I, even? I wasn't dreaming at all!”
The last detective story you consumed featured cool characters doing nothing but charismatic fact-finding shenanigans. You tried to do so yourself.
The first lead comes: Pierre, your workmate and a side character from Attack on Titan, berates you for not informing them of your absence for the past two days. So much for being newly hired. He was utterly exhausted. The only time you remembered who he is was when he spurred on his dreams of being a well-known unbiased journalist; because of your negligence, he might've died from overworking before achieving it.
"I'm sorry, Pierre, but see—" you mumbled nervously, "I don't remember anything about myself until now."
The light of his glasses pierced as he glared, "Did you crack your head?"
"I brought an ice cream here three days ago without realizing I actually work here. I thought I was in a lucid dream. I slouched in bed the whole time." He doesn't look like believing you, not at all, so you added, "Didn't you notice anything different with me right now? The way I talk? The way I act? I'm sure there must be some kind of distinction! This isn't my body at all!"
"Oh, poor you," Pierre shook his head in defeat and looked at you in pity. "You grabbed Zeke's offer, didn't you?"
"Zeke? The beast who threw stones…?"
"Oh god," Pierre covered his mouth in disappointment, "I told you, don't take the stones he's selling! He'll ruin your life!"
"What stones!" you exclaimed as you finally realized who Zeke was. "I sympathized with his backstory but the stones are my limits!"
How dare he sell the bloody stones he used to pulverize my favorite character?
"Hey," an old man sternly muttered from your back.
"Mr. Roy," Pierre nervously remarked.
Here comes the second lead: Roy, the chief journalist who heads the Berg's Newspaper during the Scouting Regiment's coup d'état. Judging from Pierre’s reaction, he seems to be the owner of the convenience store.
"She took Zeke's stones? Seriously?" asked Roy as he gave you a look of disdain.
"I would never dare," you muttered in aghast, "I couldn't even bring myself to watch that episode again."
"He got arrested the previous day, hadn't he?" the old man ignored you; Pierre defeatedly nodded at the inquiry.
"I need help, Mister," you pleaded with Roy. "Can you tell me something about myself before I took unannounced leave?"
"Hah, I know exactly who could tell you that."
"Great," you beamed. At last, someone understood.
Or so you thought, because a few moments later you were at the police station.
Nile, the young chief-of-police, angrily tossed you the urine cup you must use so they could test if you really were on Zeke's stones. "People these days think they can do all they want because they're young," he muttered to himself.
Heck, you couldn't even consider Nile as a lead. He was too angry to even acknowledge your repeated statements—that you'd never accept Zeke's stones and you actually have a lifelong grudge against it.
"He ruined hundreds of soldiers with those stones. You don't understand. I can never come to terms with that. That's why there's no way I could ever take his offer."
"Yeah? He really did ruin hundreds of lives," he snarked, "Now they can never achieve their dreams."
"Do you know it as well? Poor Erwin, he was such a great man."
"Erwin?" Nile curled his eyebrows at you.
"Do you really remember?" Finally, someone who might know they're inside a series.
"You know Erwin?"
"Yeah! If not for him, then the Scouts—"
"Bloody fucking hell, that bastard!" He didn't even let you finish. He stormed back into his office immediately.
Not long after, the third lead finally arrived: Erwin Smith who was a bit flabbergasted that he got summoned to the police station out of the blue.
"You're the head volunteer of the community disciplinary committee this month, boasting about the decreased cases of felony, and yet you let your young friend in this situation?"
"I never boasted about that," Erwin clarified, "but who is this girl?"
"Stop pretending. She knows you damn well. She said you were one of those whose lives were ruined due to Zeke's stones. If what she's saying is true, then I'll have to put you under detention as well."
"I never even talked to that man," the blonde curled his eyebrows but his attention shifted upon remembering something, "Ah, this girl. She's a college student and the teacher assistant of my senior. What are you doing here?"
Am I?
He looked a bit disappointed.
And you're in the burst of exploding.
No, you're actually erupting now.
"I apologize for not making myself clear, but I woke up here three days ago thinking that everyone here is a cast of some dystopian fiction about titans, walls, and soldiers. I was befuddled at the stones because I thought it was the literal thing Zeke had used in pulverizing the dear Commander on his suicide charge." you angrily grabbed the urine cup, "I might be losing screws in my head right now but I have never taken drugs. At least as far as I know with this body." then finally walked away.
However, Erwin halted you by asking, "Commander? Who?" He looked a bit shocked by that.
"You, Commander. It was you." you sighed in defeat, "You won't believe it as well, would you? Stop asking me if that’s the case."
Much to Nile's surprise, the test really came back negative. After asking questions concerning your mental well-being, he finally let you go home. You thought you'd call it a day, perhaps cry in bed as you ponder how lost you are at the moment. As soon as you stepped outside the precinct, however, Erwin was sitting on the bench, arms crossed and looking at you flatly.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience Nile has brought you. I don't know how to compensate for that."
"You do have something to compensate for, actually." he stood up and walked towards you, "Tell me everything you know about the Commander. Everything you've seen three days ago."
"No one would believe me. And see, I narrated the whole story to Mr. Nile with tears and yet," you flashed him a pamphlet, "he offered me nothing but affordable professional services for my mental health. If you're about to say the same, then—"
You were cut off when he grabbed the pamphlet a bit harshly, crumpled it up then threw it on the nearest bin, all without breaking eye contact. He repeated the order, now with a grimmer demeanor, "Tell me about the Commander, the titans, and walls—everything you've seen three days ago."
Your face changed.
Here he was, your main lead.
next
i made this months ago when i drifted away to la la land, waiting at the emergency vet because my cat almost died. thanks to this daydreaming, i was able to go home unscathed in the mind. sharing the dream. not proofread though.
#erwin smith#attack on titan#attack on titan erwin smith#commander erwin smith#attack on titan erwin#shingeki no kyojin#aot erwin smith#erwin smith fanfiction#erwin smith smut#erwin smith x reader#aot x reader#erwin smith x y/n#erwin smith x you#erwin smith fluff#snk erwin smith#snk x you#aot fanfiction#aot smut#attack on titan smut#attack on titan fanfiction#commander erwin#shingeki no kyojin erwin smith#attack on titan fluff#aot erwin#aot erwin x reader#erwin aot#erwin x you
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Unintended
Series: Octopath Traveler II
Pairing: Throné/Castti
Word count: 2657
Rating: G
Summary: A valuable lesson to be learned about gifting certain items to apothecaries.
[AO3]
takes place after throne's story, just wanted to write something a little silly because a friend and me joked about this scenario
Cropsdale is a nice place. Peaceful and quiet... but maybe a little bit too much for Throné. She's used to the city, always fast and bustling, never a moment to rest. Here, it's... it's too peaceful, makes Throné feel on edge for a different reason. The people here are kind and friendly to a fault, exactly like Agnea. Makes her feel more like a viper among doves.
Maybe that's why she's allowing herself to be dragged off by Ochette and Agnea, away from town. Certainly not because Agnea had promised her a raspberry pie if she came... but she isn't going to say no to that.
Agnea, holding a large basket on her arm, leads them to a large clearing, and even Throné pauses, eyes wide to take in the sight. There's flowers as far as the eye can see, and she thinks she can even see more on the horizon toward where the trees are. All sorts of colors and shapes and... it feels like this place has every single flower, all contained here. That can't be possible, Throné knows that, but it's enough to make her believe so. Even when they have traveled through the roads that led to Wellgrove and eventually Timberain, it had been so many trees and shrubs instead. But, here, there's just so much color.
The Leaflands certainly lives up to its name, she finds.
"Néné!" Ochette comes running back and grabs her arm, taking her further to where Agnea is. Throné blinks. She hadn't even realized she spent that long staring. A sight like this would never be possible on the eastern continent. Perhaps the Brightlands after the spring rains come and make the wildflowers sprout... but never to this degree that she's seeing right now.
"Looks pretty impressive, huh?" Agnea beams at her, as bright as the flowers that surround them.
Throné nods. "It really is. Never realized there could be a place with so many flowers." She looks all around them, a thought coming to her then. "Why not bring Castti here? I'm sure she would've liked this too."
She doesn't miss the way Ochette and Agnea share a look. She raises her brows at them, more than curious now. These two, planning something?
Agnea coughs into her hand. "Um, I-I want Castti to relax in the village for now! I think she might... er, spend the whole day out here if I brought her here! She... um, can do that tomorrow!" she finishes with a nervous laugh.
It's hard for Throné to keep her face straight and not look at Agnea suspiciously. She doesn't see why they couldn't come at the same time... there must be some reason for it. At the same time though, it's Agnea and Ochette... they couldn't come up with anything devious in their bones, and... well, Throné just has to wait for a bit because one of these two will eventually spill the plan anyway. She'll play along for now.
"... you're right. Would be nice for her to stop running around everywhere and relax," Throné says even though what will most likely happen is Castti will end up tending to one of the villager's ailments or something of that sort. Castti, always a busybody with barely a moment to rest—when's the last time she had time for herself?
"Oh, don't worry, she will!" Agnea says before she gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth.
"... what was that?"
"N-nothing!" Agnea looks away with another nervous laugh and pretends to look through the ground. "U-um! Anyway, could you help me pick some flowers out? My, er, sister said she wanted a new dress when she goes to visit Mikka next month and I thought some flowers on it would look nice for her! And she says she wants to dry some to show Mikka too!" Agnea continues, clearly more than glad to have found a good reason to ramble on.
Right. Agnea's sister and that girl over at Ku... Mikka. An unlikely friendship but clearly one Mikka needed to drive away the ghosts from her eyes. To be honest... that doesn't sound bad for half of their group too, Throné included.
"All right," Throné says, following after Agnea. "Tell me what you need, then."
Agnea and Ochette share another look before they beam up at her and Agnea launches exactly into what she needs. Orange flowers, of which there are plenty, to be used for a dye.
Throné's not sure how long they're out there other than at one point, Ochette stops by to pass her a piece of jerky to help tide her over until supper. When she finally swipes some sweat off her brow, she looks up toward the sky. They had arrived at Cropsdale just a little bit past noon and now, the sky's starting to seep orange like the flowers she's meant to look for.
"Say, Throné, even girls from the city like getting flowers, right?" Agnea asks from where she's at, still going through the ground. Throné swings her gaze over to Agnea.
"I... suppose so, yes," Throné answers. She doesn't have a preference for it but at least when flowers die, she can toss them away. Flowers can be pretty to look at no matter who the person is, though. Is Agnea getting some funny ideas about city girls again?
"Are you supposed to eat the flowers?" Ochette asks.
"Wha—no! You're supposed to treasure and take care of them until they wilt!" Agnea says.
"Huh, that doesn't sound useful. How about a bouquet of meat? That sounds so much better!" Ochette grins, drool already gathering at the edges of her mouth. Mahina gives her a look that Throné thinks can only be described as disgusted... from an owl, at least.
"A... meat bouquet doesn't... sound good for humans," Agnea says as politely as she can. "Um, wouldn't the meat get bad?"
"Not if I ate it all right there!"
"Uh... huh." Agnea clears her throat. "A-anyway! I think we're good now!" She lifts up the basket where all the flowers are. Throné's about to add the ones she's picked to the pile before Agnea suddenly shakes her head.
"H-hold on! Ochette!"
"Roger!" Ochette comes right up to her then and takes about half of the flowers instead, stuffing it inside the basket. She turns her head, squinting real hard at the rest of the flowers in Throné's hands, of which there's still plenty.
"Uh, one more time, Ochette!" Agnea says, and Ochette nods, taking yet another half until Throné has what looks to be a good handful.
Throné had been amused, wondering what they were up to, but now even she's not sure, especially when they grin at her. "Néné, you think Ma's a city or country girl? She'll like these flowers, right?" Ochette looks up at her expectantly, tail wagging.
... is that their game? "I don't know. What are you two trying to say?"
"I can smell it, you know, your feelings," Ochette says, rubbing her nose with a grin. "And even when you were a Beastling, I saw it too! The way you always had your claws ready when we went through town and anyone looked at Ma weird! And whenever she looked at you, your tail would get wagging!"
"... tail?" Throné frowns. That period of time where she'd inexplicably transformed into a Beastling is starting to sound like something that she's never going to live down. The finely honed senses and instincts must explain some of the strange things she felt then. Damn the keen nose of a Beastling though. And the tail, even if it's still one of the fluffiest things she's ever had the pleasure of petting. Still, it isn't as if this is... something she wants to talk with the others, not when she's not even sure of what she's feeling.
"Um, um! We were just thinking, uh, Castti might like a gift from you!" Agnea cuts in. "She worries about you a lot, you know? Like when you're off and we're at the tavern and," she tries to stand up straighter to imitate Castti, "'oh, I hope Throné hasn't gotten herself into any trouble, she just can't keep her hands to herself sometimes! Should I go out and keep an eye on her? Do you think I'm being too worried over her?' and stuff like that."
"... is she worried I'm going to get caught?" Throné huffs. "Of course I wouldn't. If you think she wants something though, I could steal her something nice." They'll just have to make a trip to Wellgrove then, or maybe Timberain. The possibilities are endless: either well-to-do merchants in Wellgrove who might have some exotic treasures from all their trading, or uptight nobles in Timberain who certainly have way too many old possessions—
"N-no! That's not what I meant!" Agnea frantically waves her hands. "No stealing! That defeats the whole purpose!"
"... tch."
"I think!" Ochette cuts in then, "You should just go give Ma those flowers first." She grins up at Throné, tail swishing back and forth. "If you do, I'll let you pet my tail straight for a week! And I'll throw in Mahina too!"
Mahina hoots angrily.
"Deal," Throné says, already spinning around and heading back to town. She takes several steps before she halts, slowly looking back at them. "Agnea, how do we get back to Cropsdale from here?"
Agnea leads them back to town, evening starting to set upon them now. Orange hues not unlike the flowers Throné holds in her hands color Cropsdale in a homely light. Even as night is starting to come, the villagers aren't even hurrying away, except perhaps some of them exclaiming about needing to get supper started. Really is a nice and quiet town.
Castti's standing on one of the stone bridges, the one in front of Agnea's home. She's staring out toward at the creek, a contemplative look in her eyes. Throné's loathe to interrupt her when she's in a mood like that but Agnea and Ochette nudge her forward.
"Pettings and raspberry pie," Agnea whispers to her as Ochette enthusiastically nods, her ears flapping with the movements. Throné frowns at them but when she's got these as rewards, how can she say no? The more Ochette nods her head, the more Throné wants to reach out and give them a tweak. She steps forward instead, the dirt path naturally masking her usually quiet footsteps. As she nears the bridge though, Castti turns her head and looks right at her. Her eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting to see Throné there.
"Throné, there you are." Castti turns fully toward Throné though, offering her a soft smile. She raises a hand to her face, absently tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear. The descending sunlight from behind strikes her at the right angle, seemingly making her aglow, and Throné's breath hitches just for a moment, a strange fluttering inside of her. It makes her feel like diving into the waters instead, to cool herself down.
"I was wondering where you were when I hadn't seen you all day. Hopefully not getting up to trouble, are you?"
"Uh, no, of course... not," Throné says, her tongue feeling like it's stuck to the roof of her mouth for a moment. She'd have a better quip during their banters but... hmm. Maybe Ochette might have been onto something. Castti tilts her head slightly, sending her a curious look.
"Something the matter, Throné?" she asks. Her eyes flit down to the flowers that Throné's holding. The same flowers that Throné unceremoniously thrusts out toward her right now.
"Flowers," she says, "Agnea asked me to help pick some flowers for her earlier and... she asked me to give some to you," she finishes. Somehow, she gets the feeling she isn't supposed to mention that part with Agnea but her mind had blanked on what else to say. It's not exactly eloquent of her and Throné knows she can be... articulate when she needs to for a mission, but something about this moment is making her tongue-tied like some awkward and shy city girl. Which she certainly isn't, but it isn't as if Castti's a mark that she needs to seduce and humor either, far from it.
Castti's been looking at the flowers the entire time though, standing still for so long that Throné's starting to feel uncomfortable. She starts to rub the back of her neck with her other hand, a new habit that's been formed since getting her collar off.
"Oh, Throné, these are for me?" Castti breathes out as if she's been presented with something amazing. She gingerly takes the bouquet, eyes wide as she looks down at them. Throné watches as she runs her hands through the petals, feeling them between her fingers. She looks up at Throné, beaming. "Oh, these are amazing, Throné! Thank you!"
Her sheer enthusiasm takes Throné aback. "Uh, it's no problem—"
Castti abruptly pulls one of the flower heads off, crushing its petals. "These flowers were the ones I intended to go looking for when Agnea had told me about them. You see, these particular flowers, when ground down and mixed with some erbweeb, become a peculiar gel-like substance that can be used to rub on chafed skin. If I can figure out the ratios, I'll be able to figure out their strength and see how much I'll need to gather tomorrow."
"... oh." Throné blinks. "Glad... to have helped you with that, then."
Castti doesn't seem to hear her, holding her hand closer to her face to examine the petals now while muttering to herself, too low for Throné to make out. She's off in her own world at this point; Throné wonders if she should leave her to it. Feels a little awkward just standing around here now.
"Yes, that should be right..." Castti looks up at her then and reaches out toward her neck—Throné stiffens, her own hand raising before she catches herself in time. She'd almost reacted on instinct and slapped away Castti's hand but now their hands are just hovering in the air as the both of them watch each other. Castti lowers her hand, smiling apologetically. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. I just..." she steps a bit to the side, examining Throné's neck. "I've noticed you've been rubbing it a little more than you've used to. I was thinking of making this for Agnea and Osvald, for their feet and neck, but it looks like you might need some too."
"... hm? Me?" Her skin's not chafed—ah, but she's doing it again now, rubbing the side of her neck. She doesn't even realize she's doing it sometimes. It isn't that it's irritated but she's long grown so used to the weight of the collar on her neck that she's more than keenly aware of its absence now. With time, her bare neck will feel natural to her again... she hopes.
Castti nods, her excitement more than palpable now. "Yes, I think it'll be good for you too. I'll have a lot to prepare and these will help me get a start tonight. Thank you again, Throné!" She hurries off now back to the inn, the flowers and petals clutched tightly in her hands.
Throné watches her leave, feeling strangely fond and exasperated; it's exactly like Castti to do this. She had looked happy about it though so... mission accomplished?
"That's... not supposed to happen."
Throné nearly startles, realizing Ochette and Agnea are behind her now. When had they gotten close to her? Agnea doesn't look too enthused though, her brow pulled together like she's trying to figure something out. And Ochette... is munching on a piece of jerky, ears twitching rapidly. Throné doesn't miss the look they give each other. Ochette swallows down her jerky and reaches out to pat Throné on the arm.
"Ma's pretty bad at this too, huh."
#octopath traveler ii#octopath traveler 2#castthrone#throné anguis#castti florenz#agnea bristarni#ochette#writing floops
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