#'shaking you all by the shoulders' IT WORKS SEE LIKE WHO HE IS WAS MEANT TO BE AND HE CANT ESCAPE IT SO HES MEETING

[carisc4pshaw]

Office Christmas Party

In which the Hotchner!reader needs a plus one for an office Christmas party and Aaron Hotchner is quick to suggest Spencer accompanying her. (Fluff&Smut!)

word count: 4.4k

tags: office christmas party, one bed, aaron hotchner (dad), fem reader, bisexual reader, elle greenaway, spencer reid, plus one, new york city, christmas movie, room service, falling in love, crush, smut, fluff, elevator kissing, fancy hotel, manhattan, sightseeing, work colleagues, dating the boss’ daughter, girly reader

warnings: elevator kissing, sub spencer reid, dick riding, protected PinV sex

notes: Happy Christmas/ Christmas eve everyone! I hope you enjoy this, I tried my best but I’m still new to writing with a reader. I think I remembered all the tags pls let me know if * missed anything.

—————————💚————————

Two weeks before Christmas you walked into the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI, your shoulder bag swinging as you walked up the small staircase towards your father’s office not bothering to knock before opening the door.

“What have I told you about knocking,” Aaron Hotchner looked up from whatever file he was finishing to see you standing in the doorway.

“My bad? I need help,” you sighed loudly sitting down on the chair opposite him.

“What have you done now? Hotch asked putting down his pen.

You gasped putting a hand on your chest, “That’s rude! I haven’t done anything.”

“Then what do you need help with?” He sat back in his chair looking at you waiting for you to continue talking.

“There’s a Christmas work party out of town next week and I have no plus one and I don’t want to go alone, help me find someone to go with please!”

“Man or woman? You know this isn’t exactly the help you ask your father for.”

“I know but I’m desperate, I’ll take anything, anyone,” You dramatically slumped over on his desk putting your head in your arms that were folded on the desk.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s it? I need to know possible suitors now. Does that hot brunette still work here I saw her once when I came to visit.”

“Who?” Aaron raised an eyebrow.

“Um,” you pictured yourself being back there that day and looking over at her desk, “Elle!”

“Yes.. she works here but she’s a little old for you?”

“She doesn’t look old, how old is she?”

“29.”

“Dad that’s only eight years difference. I’ve dated older people than that.”

“I have Elle on a special assignment in Texas next week but you’re more than welcome to ask her on a date another time I suppose…” Aaron said before adding, “What about Spencer?”

You pondered for a moment, “Look I like him he’s got that sexy nerd vibe.. also he looks like he’d be clueless but so good in b-“ You stopped what you were saying remembering you were speaking to your father, not a friend, “Nevermind. Do you think he will ramble a lot I don’t know if the other workers will like it, they are nowhere near as smart as him and I don’t want them to say things about him.”

“He does talk a lot but I thought you liked that plus he’s closer to your age,” Hotch made his point after shaking his head at your words, he wasn’t born yesterday he knew exactly what you were about to say and he did not like it at all.

“I suppose, there’s going to be models, influencers and fashion magazines we work with there though… I guess Spencer isn’t too bad he has a grandad kind of style going on people and by people I mean me, find that quite hot nowadays.”

“Look I have a job to do if you’re going to ask him just ask,” He said looking back at his file, “Aren’t you meant to be at work?”

“The company are scouting new models today I’m not required to be there, I don’t do that.”

“Right, well speak to Spencer and tell him I’ll give him extra time off with pay since he’ll be entertaining you. Where is this party?”

“New York. The company convinced Lilia Archer to go. I’m so excited she’s awesome.”

“Lilia Archer? Mention her and Spencer will be there I’m sure.”

“What do you mean? He’s got like a crush on her?”

“We had a case she was involved with last year, Spencer kissed her.”

“What?” you asked shocked but also with a hint of jealousy bubbling in your stomach.

Aaron laughed, “It was… unexpected.”

“You can say that again,” you picked up your bag, “I’ll see you later dad, love you.”

Hotch stood from his chair and walked around the corner of his desk pulling his daughter into a hug, “I love you too.”

You left the office walking down the stairs while looking around to see if you could spot Spencer.

You finally found him over by the coffee machine pouring an unnecessary amount of sugar into his coffee, “Spencer?”

The man turned around quickly hearing his name spoken so softly by a voice he recognised, “Y/N! Hi, what are you doing here?”

“I was actually looking for you,” you started.

“You were… Why?” His lips pressed into a straight line as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Are you busy next week? On Friday and Saturday?”

“I mean yes, I’ll be here…”

“And what if my father gave you some time off?” you smiled with hope.

“What’s going on?”

“I need a plus one for a Christmas party in New York, Please be my plus one Spence,” you clasped your hands together grinning widely.

“I’m not sure it’s really… well my scene, you work in fashion with models and I don’t usually go to parties.”

“Please Spencer, Lilia Archer is going to be there apparently,” you smirked a little.

“Oh I definitely cannot go, she’s got a boyfriend it will just be awkward,” Spencer frowned.

“Fine, I’ll have her uninvited or something? Please Spencer, If you don’t want to share a room with me I’ll pay for you to have your own.”

“What, no, you don’t have to spend your money on that I don’t mind sharing i-if that’s okay with you, of course!” Spencer stuttered getting nervous.

“So you’re coming?” the wide smile reappeared on your face.

Spencer sighed, “I guess so, what do I need to take?”

“Can I have your keys?”

“What why?” Spencer’s eyes widened.

“I have a day off, you are always busy and I will pick good outfits, it’s literally my job, I’ll go pack for you,” you put your hand out waiting for his keys.

“But I haven’t tidied up, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Spence you’re a clean freak your meaning of messy is everyone else’s spotless clean.”

“Just stick to the wardrobe, don’t snoop around I know what you’re like,” Spencer said as he handed over his keys.

“Yes Doctor Reid, oh yeah if it wasn’t obvious you’re going as my boyfriend,” you kissed him on the cheek before walking off not giving him time to respond.

“What’s going on there pretty boy? The big boss wouldn’t be too happy if he saw that,” Derek said as Spencer’s blush deepened on his cheeks.

“I thought she was into me…” Elle added.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t turn down a night with both of you,” Derek winked at the brunette.

“You’re disgusting,” She rolled her eyes going back to typing on her computer.

——————

When Spencer returned home from work the next day, he opened the door to see his apartment fairly clean with his books that didn’t fit in the bookcase stacked up in alphabetical order as well as some cookies on the kitchen counter and as he went into his room he saw the open suitcase on the bed with a note by the side.

I hope you like everything I’ve packed and you enjoy the cookies I made you. I’m trying to be a good ‘girlfriend’ ;)

Y/N <3

Over the next few days, You only came into the office once to give Spencer another note that contained your phone number so you could communicate about where to meet before flying to New York.

On the day of the trip, Spencer drove to your apartment at 6 am, your flight was at 8:30 am but your apartment was a 20-minute bus ride from the airport meaning it was the best place to meet.

Spencer knocked on the door and waited a few minutes before knocking again.

“Spencer there’s a key under the mat!” You called through the apartment. The man rolled his eyes, you had probably woken up your neighbours and just told them where you had been hiding your spare key although by the look of the building it may have soundproof walls or a least more soundproof than his were at his apartment.

He took the key and unlocked the door, stepping inside to see you in the kitchen with your hair in rollers, drinking a cup of tea with multiple outfits hanging up around the house.

“I take it you aren’t ready?” Spencer said.

“Good morning my love, nope almost just need to pick the airport outfit!”

“I like the second one,” He shrugged.

“Hm, I think I’ll go with the fourth.”

Spencer shook his head with a laugh, “Please don’t be long we don’t have much time.”

“Don’t stress it’s all cool,” you picked up the coat hanger that had a pair of black Victoria's Secret sweatpants, a white tank top and an off-the-shoulder sweater on, “Make a coffee, make yourself comfortable.”

Every minute that passed Spencer checked his watch getting more anxious until finally 15 minutes later you left your bedroom with a suitcase and 2 bags with your hair curled and your outfit on.

“I’m ready, let’s go,” you said grabbing your phone and walking over to the door.

——————

You and Spencer stood outside the hotel and spa, it looked fancy and definitely out of his price range, Spencer thought to himself.

“Ready for 2 days of fun boyfriend?” You smirked pulling your suitcase through the glass door of the hotel.

Spencer followed closely behind you holding one of your bags. He let you check in before you went to your room on the top floor.

“Woah this is huge!” you said looking at the hotel room’s super king-sized bed.

“It’s a nice hotel, how much did you pay for this?” Spencer asked leaving his suitcase next to the left side of the bed.

“I didn’t, my boss did. I’m pretty sure she booked out the whole hotel for the party.”

“So,” Spencer sat down on the bed after removing his shoes, “What exactly is the plan?”

“What plan?” you raised an eyebrow sitting down next to him and picking up the room service menu.

“Why am I here?” Spencer kept to the edge of his side of the bed.

“To be my plus one for the party tomorrow night, maybe you can show me around the city, dad said you’ve been here more than a few times for cases.”

“That’s it? You just wanted a plus one? There was no hidden meaning? I’m sure you could have found someone better looking on a dating website.”

“I like nerdy guys, plus you’re a fancy FBI agent,” you turned to look at him biting your lip before giggling, “I think we are going to have fun, wanna explore the hotel?”

“Maybe later, I want to stay here for a few minutes since I’m going to have to start using my social battery soon.”

“Okay suit yourself, I’m going to meet some of my friends I won’t be longer than an hour,” you said getting off the bed and heading out of the door.

Spencer sighed once he heard the door close, his head falling back against the headboard. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had a crush on you but he knew you were totally off-limits, you were Hotch’s daughter after all.

His head felt dizzy picturing the way you had looked at him while biting your lip even if it was jokingly it still made his head spin and his blood rush to his cock.

Spencer took it upon himself to take a cold shower, he needed one after the flight anyway so why not kill two birds with one stone?

You walked back into the room at the same time as Spencer opened the bathroom door with a towel wrapped just around his waist.

“Hello to you too, what a nice surprise,” you winked at him with a laugh.

“Shut up,” the man walked back into the bathroom closing the door, “I thought you were going to be an hour.”

“Got bored, assumed you’d want to go out or get something to eat maybe? Do you find if we swap rooms I need to pee.”

“Oh, oh sure,” Spencer opened the door again, “Food sounds good. Could you stay in the bathroom until I’m dressed?”

“Sure if it makes you more comfortable,” You smiled going into the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Spencer got dressed as he called into the bathroom, “I’m paying for our food, you can come out by the way.”

You opened the bathroom door, “You don’t have to Spence, my father gave me some money to spend here.”

“Use it to buy something nice, I want to pay for dinner,” Spencer smiled at you.

“Fine I’m not going to turn that down again,” you laughed and grabbed your purse.

——————

You and Spencer had lunch and stayed out exploring the city until 5 pm when you headed back to the hotel.

“Are you sure you’re okay ordering room service for dinner?” You asked Spencer for the 4th time since you had been walking back to the hotel.

“Yes I’m fine with it,” Spencer laughed and rolled his eyes pushing their room door open.

Just as he was about to close the door he heard a feminine voice calling ‘Wait’ Confused, he waited, by this point, you had gone into the bedroom.

“Oh!” The woman spoke, “I’m so sorry I thought this was my friend's room.”

“You’re a friend of Y/N?”

“Yes… and you are?”

“Spencer,” he smiled, “Y/N, someone is at the door for you.”

You groaned and came out of the bedroom with your sweater off, you looked extremely good in the white tank top you had been wearing under the sweater.

“Laura! Oh hey; Laura this is my boyfriend Spencer, Spencer this is my boss Laura.”

“Boyfriend?” Laura looked confused, “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes…” points to Spencer, “Boyfriend.”

“Oh well, I guess you don’t need to come to the club with me and a couple of the others to find plus-ones then,” Laura laughed.

“Nope, no clubbing for me, Spence and I are going to have a movie night, order room service and have lots of cuddles,” you grinned.

“That’s cool have fun, I’ll see you tomorrow, or I’ll text you if I get lucky,” Laura winked before leaving the room.

You closed the door and Spencer eyed you curiously, “I wouldn’t have minded if you went out.”

“We have plans did you not hear?”

“You were being serious you want a movie night with me?” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

“And cuddles,” you smiled before returning to the bedroom, “Can you order room service while I take a shower?”

“Of course, What do you want?”

You hummed, “Carbonara, margarita pizza, red wine and chocolate brownie with ice cream. Oh and ask for bottled water.”

Spencer laughs, “I’m guessing this gets charged to your boss?”

“You guessed right, order what you want. I love her but I love spending money more,” You giggled going into the bathroom and turning the shower on.

You walked out of the bathroom in your towel, “Sorry I forgot to take my pyjamas through.”

Spencer cleared his throat, “It’s fine um room service will be 6 minutes and roughly 17 seconds.”

——————

The two sat in the living room area of the room eating their meals and sharing a few bites with each other.

You both went back to the bedroom to watch TV and just as you were about to climb into the bed you took off your dressing gown revealing your silky pyjamas which consisted of a low-cut tank top and short shorts.

Spencer’s face went a little red as he cleared his throat, “That's what you chose to bring?”

“Is there a problem with them?” You asked looking down at your clothes.

“No, no, no problem you look really um great,” he wanted to continue his ramble but you stopped him.

“You can tell me I’m hot baby,” the younger woman winked.

“Stop that, let’s just watch the movie,” Spencer spoke desperately.

“Fineeee,” you said dragging out the last letter as you switched the TV on.

At some point during the movie, you fell asleep on Spencer’s arm. Once he realised you were sleeping he switched off the movie and fell asleep beside you.

The next morning, you woke first with a groan, you smiled as you tilted your head up to see Spencer sleeping. He looked so perfect as he slept. You weren’t sure if having thoughts like that were sweet or creepy.

You pulled back the duvet to go to make some tea. By the time you came back, Spencer was starting to wake up.

“Sorry, I didn’t make you anything I didn’t know when you’d wake up,” you said getting back into bed.

“That’s fine, good morning,” He smiled trying not to move.

“Good morning, is everything okay?” your eyebrows knitted together in curiosity.

“Yeah I’m fine, just uh disorientated… give me a few minutes to wake up.”

“Man troubles?” you caught on and raised an eyebrow.

Spencer choked, “What?”

“Oh come on I wasn’t born yesterday Spence, I’ve had boyfriends. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

He covered his face with his hands, “It is embarrassing but it will go away. What time is it?” Spencer asked changing the subject.

“Only 7:30 but Dad will call at 8 to check on me,” you rolled your eyes,

“And then I’ll go back to sleep for a bit.”

“What time are you getting up?” Spencer said, he was used to getting up long before this time most mornings but it wouldn’t hurt if he had a lay-in for once. It wouldn’t usually be his thing but these beds were extremely comfortable.

“Before noon? The party starts at 5 pm so I’ll have more than enough time to get ready,” You placed the empty mug on the bedside table and waited for Aaron to call you in the meantime Spencer had fallen back to sleep.

—————

When you both woke up again, you had slept slightly past noon. Spencer had a few missed calls from the team, he instantly felt guilty that he wasn’t available to answer his phone if they needed help but it didn’t take long for you to convince him that it was his day off and he didn’t have to be on call all the time.

After a lot of stressing about curling your hair and making sure your make-up was perfect, you were almost ready. The last thing you had to do was put your dress on.

Spencer was waiting on the small sofa for you to finish getting ready. When you walked out of the bedroom in the long sparkly dark grey strapless dress his mouth almost fell open and his eyes were glued to you, his pupils dilated.

“I have some rules, well if you agree to them, we have to actually act like a couple… you know kissing and stuff and I want you to be yourself… earth to Spencer?” you waved your hand in his face when you realised he wasn’t actually listening to you and his eyes were locked on your body, “See something you like?” you laughed.

Spencer nodded his eyes still barely moving as if he was in a trance.

“Wanna take it off? I don’t mind being late,” you smirked.

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts at your words, “What? No, I can’t, you just look good, you look nice, um hot?”

“Thank you,” you tilted your head to the side with a smile, “So you’re fine with kissing?”

“Totally fine, I mean I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time, I might be bad. I really hope I’m not.”

“Spence, you’ll be fine.”

——————

You had no problem introducing Spencer as your boyfriend to your work colleagues making him wonder if you had done this before, what he wasn’t prepared for though was how highly you spoke of him and the sparkle in your eyes which to him would suggest that you really meant what you were saying. However, when you spotted Lilia Archer across the room you changed. It wasn’t that you seemed shy because you were anything but shy, but until Lilia spotted both you and Spencer it was like you was trying to hide.

You were the first to notice Lilia walking toward the both of you and your first instinct was to pull Spencer closer to you, your lips landed on him in what was meant to be a quick kiss to make Lilia feel at least a tad bit jealous but the kiss didn’t stop at a quick peck.

The two of you felt a spark run through you that neither of you could explain but you both didn’t want it to end.

Once the genius remembered that you were at a party with hundreds of people and not alone in your hotel room he removed his hand from the side of your face and pulled back from the kiss.

His hand fell beside him, catching your hand in his not long after, “That was interesting…”

“It was.”

“Did you mean it or was it because Lilia was coming?”

You shrugged, “A bit of both I wanted to make her jealous but I did mean it, I think you’re attractive and I know I'm not anywhere near as pretty or cool as Lilia Archer-“

“Stop talking like that. You’re perfect how you are, the only reason I didn’t do that first was that I thought for sure no one as confident as you would want someone… like me. And the other reason is Hotch, he is my boss.”

“Come on Spence you’re the most perfect gentleman I’m sure Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, would be more than happy if his daughter was dating his favourite boy genius.”

Spencer took a small step closer to you despite the lack of distance between you already. He cupped your cheeks lowering his head to give you another kiss.

“I know we’ve only been here for an hour but do you want to get out of here?” you said with a giggle.

“Lead the way.”

——————

The two of you couldn’t keep your hands or your lips off each other in the elevator to your floor or in the hallway toward your room.

Once the hotel door was closed you pushed Spencer up against it, kissing his lips passionately as you fiddled with his tie trying to get it off in a hurry.

You swiftly moved on to unbuttoning his shirt once the tie was off, your lips were still connected but now your tongues were invading each other’s mouths.

Separating from each other to take a couple of breaths, Spencer removed his shoes while you kicked your heeled shoes off removing a few more inches between yours and Spencer’s height.

“Bedroom?” you asked him, taking his hand in yours and intertwining your fingers together.

“I didn’t bring condoms with me, I didn’t plan for well this,” he said with a laugh.

“I always have some with me just in case,” you said as you entered the bedroom immediately finding one in your bag while Spencer removed his pants.

“At least you’re prepared, now come here I love that dress on you, you look beautiful but I want to take it off,” Spencer spoke with a rasped tone, his hands running up and down the curves of your waist and hips once you were standing in front of him.

“Take it off,” you whispered.

Spencer stood up from the bed spinning you around to find the zipper at the back of the dress, when he pulled it down he was met with your bare back meaning you had no bra on and only a lace g-string.

Spencer couldn’t help a quiet moan escaping his mouth when you turned back around showing him your exposed top half.

“You’re beautiful,” he said kissing your lips once again his hands finding your breasts.

A few moments later the both of them were fully undressed nothing left on their bodies.

“Can I put it on?” You asked holding up the condom packet.

“Please,” his voice was slightly strained he was so desperate to be inside of you, he didn’t know how much more he could take.

You ripped open the packet wasting no time before sliding the latex over his cock as a groan fell from his lips.

“Can I be on top?” you asked him.

“You want to ride me?”

“Yes, please?” you gave him a puppy dog-eyed gaze earning a nod from him.

“I’m not going to say no to that,” Spencer held your thighs as you positioned yourself in the right place before slipping his cock inside of you.

You moaned as he penetrated you further. Once fully inside of you, you took a deep breath.

“Am I hurting you?” Spencer asked worriedly.

“No! I just need a second,” you slowly began to move up and down your hands placed on his chest to maintain your balance.

Spencer moaned with each small movement, the warmth from your insides felt incredible wrapped around him, he fit perfectly inside of you.

“You’re doing so good,” you praised him as his hip started to jerk in a rhythm that matched your pace.

“I can’t last much longer, you feel so good,” Spencer moaned against your lips, when you leaned down to kiss him his cock angled even deeper instead of you.

You could barely open your eyes as you said, “I’m almost there.” The way you spoke triggered something in Spencer that made him remove one of his hands from your back and move it so his thumb would brush against your clit in circles.

With a few more sloppy thrusts caused by his hips that grazed your g-spot each time combined with him rubbing hard circles against your clit, the both of you came at the same time both with moans so loud anyone would be able to hear them through the walls.

You didn’t pull him out of yourself until you had fully gotten your breath back.

“Oh my god,” you sighed lifting off him and rolling into the space beside him, covering half of your body with the thin duvet.

“Good, oh my god? or bad?” Spencer asked pulling you close to him.

“Definitely good, so good,” You answered.

“Okay good because I agree, you were amazing,” Spencer pecked your lips softly.

“I hope you plan on being my plus one again,” you spoke quietly running your fingernails down his naked chest.

He pulled the duvet up to cover your body a little more, “I certainly plan on it.”

[ash5monster01]

A Dead Poet’s Holiday

Warnings: fluff, alive Neil, minor mentions of past trauma, comfort, lots of teasing, mentions of drinking

Summary: Every year the boys make sure to get together for Christmas. After ten years they discover some things can’t always stay the same.

word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

1969

Charlie has never sprinted faster in his life, an older woman cursing him when he bumps her a little too hard on his way along the platform. He couldn’t afford to be late, if he was he’d never hear the end of it. So with his unbuttoned coat flying behind him and the briefcase along with presents spilling from his arms he makes it in the Subway doors just in time. Shutting closed and allowing himself to finally breathe as he rides uptown. 

The same went for Meeks and Pitts who had just made their train from Connecticut to the Big Apple. Already craving the comfort of Neil and Todd’s Upper West Side Apartment. It didn’t matter that they all had to squish on air mattresses in the already too small living room and share one bathroom. Anything was better than this train. Especially for Pitts whose neck already hurt from trying to catch some sleep against Meeks' much lower shoulder. 

For Knox it was a bit easier, opting to drive himself this year, and even if it was a five hour trek he figured there was no timeline when he was in charge of his travel. As usual all the boys were making the journey to get together for the Holidays. It was important for them to see each other around Christmas, remind themselves how lucky they were to have each other. They all had survived a soul crushing experience together and they were lucky to be out in the world and living it as best they can. 

Which was why even Cameron was included, him taking the first flight out to New York City and so grateful he had kept all his friends. Charlie wasn’t entirely fond of this but it didn’t matter. Whatever Neil wanted he got and Charlie would never dare try and say no. So he put on a happy face even though he often wanted to slap one off of Cameron’s. It was Christmas after all, a time to be with the people you love and celebrate with each other. Cameron may be a fink but he also understood them, came from the same roots they did, and for that it was enough to be included.

“Sorry I’m late, why does it smell like that-.” Charlie stops in his tracks. He had just barely made it through the doorway. He eyes Todd at his desk in the corner of the living room, typing feverishly away on who knows what. That’s when an apron wearing Neil stumbles out of the kitchen with a sheepish look on his face and a cloud of smoke pillowing behind him.

“So I have good news and bad news.” He grins as if this sight shouldn’t be concerning. What concerned Charlie more was that Todd was too distracted to even notice the chaos behind him. Had the apartment burned down he’d be partly to blame. 

“What’s that?” Charlie asks, dumping his items down on the second hand couch he not so long ago helped them haul up all these flights of stairs. He didn’t often like babying Neil but sometimes it just came out of him. To think he somehow became the responsible one. 

“Good news is our fire extinguisher works, bad news is that I burned the turkey. Anyone feeling pizza?” And Charlie can only shake his head as Todd rolls his eyes at the boy. Charlie is already walking towards the phone to place the order. 

“I can grab it when I pick up Meeks and Pitts from the train station.” Todd offers and Charlie nods as the line connects with the young girl unfortunate enough to work the weekend before Christmas. He could only imagine the hoards of people last minute Christmas shopping and stopping in for a quick slice. Getting frustrated when they realized everyone else had the same idea. 

“Thanks Charlie.” Neil is quick to say when he hangs up the phone and Charlie just laughs before pulling him into a hug.

“That apron makes you look really domestic by the way.” And it’s meant to be teasing but Neil only grins because he liked his little life. Domestic and all. He spent his days running between auditions and performing in small plays all before coming home to curl up with Todd on the couch. It was all he ever dreamed of and he was so thankful to have it. One of these days he’d finally land that big role and he and Todd wouldn’t have to pull together scraps for this apartment way too nice for them. 

“The briefcase makes you look professional.” He counters back and Charlie only nods because he had to agree. The honest truth was there wasn’t much in it except for some quick paperwork and snacks. He still wasn’t quite sure what everyone else on Wall Street had in theirs. 

“I’ll be back, be good.” Todd calls and both boys wave as they settle on the couch and watch the blonde boy rush out the apartment. 

“So tell me about work?” And that’s how the old best friends get into deep conversation over their life and endeavors. Sharing the good and the bad and the details about the pretty brunette girl Charlie met in a bar last week. It’s as if nothing had ever changed but also everything had. At least they still had each other. 

“Hey, anybody home!” The familiar shout of Knox comes muffled through the door, followed by his hand slapping against the wood. Neil hops up quickly to let them in and both Knox and Cameron laugh at the sight of the apron tied around his waist. 

“Sorry we’re late for dinner Mom.” Cameron grins and Neil glares as he helps take some of the presents out of Knox’s hands. They all filter in, looking just as scrambled and worn from travel as Charlie did a half hour ago. 

“Gentleman, Merry Christmas.” Charlie says from his place on the couch as they all get settled in. Cameron is quick to tug the striped scarf off his neck and eye the apartment that was decorated to the best of Neil and Todd’s abilities. A tree too small for the space tucked away in a corner and covered in homemade paper ornaments. Hung over the windowsills was string popcorn, desperate to make the space more lively even though it was probably made from some meant to be Neil and Todd’s dinner one night. 

“Seems you’ve made yourself at home Nuwanda.” Knox grins at him, moving to shake his hand once all the items are free from his arms. Neil neatly stacking the presents everyone brought under the tree. By the time everyone got here the stack of presents would be taller than the tree itself but it didn’t matter. At least they were together. 

“Considering I’m here getting roped into things all the time it makes sense.” Charlie says, having spent more time in this apartment than his own since living in New York. Really it was just a short subway ride away. 

“Where’s Todd hiding?” Cameron asks as he takes both him and Knox’s coats to hang by the door. Neil chuckles as he finally unties the apron from around his waist, already over the harassment that had been coming from his friends. 

“I had an accident with dinner so he’s picking up a replacement. Oh and Meeks and Pitts.” Neil tells them and they nod knowingly like this wasn’t surprising at all. After all they were all prep school kids, no one taught them how to cook. It was a miracle any of them had survived without the school or their mothers cooking for them. 

“So Charlie, how’s the big job?” Knox asks, settling onto the couch beside him. Sometimes he regretted staying back in Vermont, especially when he saw his friend’s lives here. Yet he’d never change what he ended up with. 

“Me? What about you Mr. Big Time, head of his own firm. Congratulations” Knox’s cheeks tint red in the colored lights of the small tree beside him. About a month ago he had been promoted, more than likely courtesy of his father but from all his hard work too. It was also about work life balance, the only thing keeping him sane was the poetry class he taught after hours at the public school and his lovely wife. 

“Thanks yeah, it’s a lot but it’s nice. I make good money and now I’m just looking forward to settling down.” Everyone chuckles at the ever romantic boy in front of them. It was no surprise to any of them that Knox was just ready to build a real home with his wife Chris who was stupid enough to marry him. How he ever convinced her in the first place was beyond all of them. 

“What about Cameron, working towards being Mayor. Very noble” Knox directs the attention from him as he lightly applauds the red headed boy. Yet his hair wasn’t as dark anymore, already fading with age. The curse of politics. 

“Kiss ass” Charlie pretends to cough into his sleeve and Cameron glares at the boy he couldn’t believe he was still stuck with. Dorming with him all those years had to be torture enough. 

“I’ll have you know Nuwanda, that the citizens love me.” He states with a hand on his chest, no interest in his teasing or dissecting of his life and job. So what he was a rule follower, why would he need to cause trouble when he had Charlie for that. 

“Oh I’m sure.” Charlie agrees with that tone of his, always making Cameron question if it was genuine or not. More than likely not. 

“Still cool you’re doing it Cameron, maybe one day there will be Governor and even President in your future.” Neil encourages, intervening before Cameron started to take Charlie’s teasing too seriously. Some things would never change. 

“Oh please let me die by then.” Charlie mutters as he looks up to the ceiling, hands clasped together like a prayer and that earns him a glare from both Neil and Cameron. 

“Thanks Neil, it’s pretty cool. They gave me an office in the town hall and everything.” Charlie really wants to laugh, tease him considering he had his own office on the 27th floor with a view, but he knew to let Cameron have his moment. After all, he did grow from constantly harassing the kid.                                                                                     

“Look at all of us, another prized graduating class of Welton’s elite.” Knox grins and that makes all of them laugh, basking in the absurdity of it all. Especially since back then they would’ve done everything to fight it. Now they were all contributing members of the working class and somehow managing it too. 

“Hey, what's so funny?” A somehow even taller Pitts asks, a frizzy haired Meeks behind him holding a stack of four large pizzas. After the familiar click of the door Todd joins them and they are officially all together for the Holidays. 

“Hey, how was the train?” Neil excitedly asks as he stands to join them and free up their arms. Forever a good host. Yet the roll of both boys' eyes shows the train was as it always is. Boring and uncomfortable. 

“It got us here, how’s Broadway?” Meeks asks as Todd takes the pizzas from him. Neil grins like the cat that caught the canary. See it didn’t matter if he hadn’t made it big yet, he was doing what he loved and that was something so truly special. Maybe he had been cut off, hadn’t heard from his family in years, but at least he got his greatest wish. Plus he still had his friends.

“Magical.” Is Neil’s only response and Meeks somehow understands before helping organize the presents he and Pitts had brought. 

“We better eat before the food gets cold, help yourselves.” Todd grins as he gestures to the table with the stack of pizzas and now the added paper plates and plastic silverware. The boys don’t need to be told twice, having traveled all day and desperate for some sustenance. 

Their chatter is quickly replaced by the pop of champagne, Charlie grinning as he holds the bottle up like a trophy. The sight is followed by cheers from each of the boys as they get settled and Charlie pours a healthy amount into plastic cups for them each. Christmas as how it should be. Good pizza, lukewarm champagne, glowy Christmas lights, and all of them together. It didn’t matter that the streets of New York were bitterly cold and most of them lived hundreds of miles apart. They’d always have each other, understand one another, and live life the Dead Poets way. 

“Okay, updates people. Let’s hear em!” Charlie says after a while of small talk and making all the food disappear. They’re dispersed around the living room, no one with a proper seat, but it’s the most comfortable any of them have ever been. 

“Um well me and Meeks landed our first job.” Pitts offers, the two of them having been trying to navigate their engineering degrees in the city of their alma mater. They didn’t want to return to Vermont and New York just seemed too big so they stayed put. 

“Hey that’s great you guys.” Cameron grins and that brings a smile to both the boys faces. It was hard starting from the bottom of the ladder but pretty soon they’d get somewhere. Just like Charlie. Somehow the most rambunctious of them all ended up the most successful in a life he didn’t want. It was weird how the world worked. 

“I meet with a publisher after the holidays.” Todd nearly whispers and shocked faces fill the room before each of the boys clap and cheer. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about Todd, we knew you could do it” Charlie says, reaching over and patting his back and a heavy blush covers his cheeks from embarrassment. 

“I’m not published yet.” He reminds them but it doesn’t matter because his friends are excited. Besides who wouldn’t publish Todd Anderson. 

“Believe it or not but I met a girl.” Cameron offers to bring the attention off of Todd. He wasn’t nearly as shy anymore but he still struggled with so much attention on him at once. After all they had been through Cameron was happy to pull their focus away. Even if it was embarrassing for him.

“Have you talked to her yet?” Pitts asked and Cameron’s glare made everyone laugh, Cameron being the biggest victim to how sheltered they were growing up. He just gaped at women like a fish until he was twenty five and even after that it was only proper conversation he was able to make with no eye contact. 

“Yes, her name is Lisa. She’s a secretary and we met at the local bar. Didn’t give me much of a choice, just sat down and said I was buying. Who was I to say no?” And the boys all chuckle at this admission, of course Cameron would fall for a girl who bossed him around. That might be the only thing to make sense in the world. 

“No shit.” Knox grins and Cameron realizes the teasing has passed when all his friends look genuinely happy for him. 

“I have an audition for a lead part next week. I probably won’t get it but if I do you’ll all receive opening night tickets.” Neil tells the group with a smile he can’t suppress covering his entire face. Yes he was broke, scraping by to live this life, yet right now with his home full of love he couldn’t be any happier. Hope was something he wasn’t yet used to. 

“We’ll all be here.” Meeks confirms as if it was no doubt Neil would get the role. The confidence in his ability makes Neil feel on top of the world, or it could be the two glasses of champagne. He wasn’t complaining either way. 

“I’m going to be a Dad.” Knox drops his bomb, a soft smile on his lips, and the admission stuns everyone silent. They all eye one of their eldest friends, trying to imagine him as a father, raising a child that could go through all the same things they did. 

“Not a chance.” Todd is the first to say and the boy laughs, shaking his head at his blonde friend before taking another long sip of his champagne. 

“We found out a week ago, I was freaked out obviously but we’ve been married a year and I have a good job. It’s the right time and she’s really excited.” The look on his face is one of contentment, happy with the cards he had been dealt. Yeah he did end up working in law like his father but he also filled all the other empty spaces with the things that would make him happy. That’s what was important. Balance. 

“Knox, that's amazing! Congratulations!” Neil cheers, hopping up to pull him in a hug and Knox accepts it. He held all the same fears for his future child as the other boys did but at least they could support each other. He knew his child would have six really great Uncles. 

When Neil lets him go the other boys follow suit, muttering congratulations and embracing him with love and support. Life was changing and they were getting older, even the world was progressing, growing and accepting everyday. Yet what needed to stay the same did, which is why Charlie is quick to pour another round of drinks before holding his cup in the air with that same confident smile he’d worn his entire life.

“To the Dead Poets and the future class.” Charlie says, shooting a wink at Knox. The boys all repeat the words, hitting the plastic cups together before putting back more of the champagne. 

With Charlie’s encouragement and enforcement, it’s not long until each of the poets are feeling the alcohol. Cheeks warm in the same apartment and eyeing the soft snow that’s beginning to flutter to the ground. The Bing Crosby vinyl Neil put on an hour ago spinning with no sound as the Holiday surrounds them. It was so much more magical than any winter spent at Welton. It was the kind of night meant to be enjoyed, embraced. 

“Let’s go ice skating.” Todd breaks the silence, head turning to him quickly. Todd spots each of their confused faces before rolling his eyes. “Come on, it’s a gorgeous night and I bet the tree looks amazing right now. What do we have to lose?”

“I’m in.” Charlie tips his glass in his direction and Todd grins as each of the boys consider. After all, the alcohol would keep them warm, and a little field trip never hurt anybody. No sneaking out is required these days. 

“Let’s do it, I’ve never seen the Rockefeller tree anyway.” Cameron is the next to agree and that shocks everyone on an entirely different level. Yet his agreement is what gives the rest of them the push, all of them collecting their coats, and excited to take on this next adventure.

All with refreshed drinks they hit the town, snow falling around them, and slush soaking the bottoms of their pant legs. They walk arm in arm, chattering about nothing as they make their way to the nearest Subway. This is Christmas, carefree and full of love. It doesn’t matter that Charlie keeps trying to steal Cameron’s hat and that people give them weird looks when Meeks jumps onto Pitts' back for a piggy back ride. Right now it felt like they were seventeen again, carefree and happy. That’s what was important, nothing else. 

“Now that's a Goddamn tree.” Knox is the first to say when exit the subway station and starts to blend in with the large crowd. Tourists and locals all enjoy the weekend before Christmas with one of the most beautiful sights in the world. 

“Wow.” Cameron mutters and Pitts and Meeks nod in agreement behind him. The tree is as bright as the sun, a rainbow of Christmas cheer and beauty. It’s the distraction they all need as Charlie slips to pay the attendant for all of them to skate. 

“You didn't have to do that.” Neil scolds and he shrugs, happy to provide for all his friends. Lucky they got to do this all together.

“I don't mind, come pick out your skates guys.” And the boys shuffle over, yelling sizes as they all receive a pair. None of them have ever actually skated before. Skiing was big at Welton but that was an entirely different world. 

That’s how they all end up like Bambi, trying their best not to fall as they glide out into the crowds of people skating underneath the giant tree. It’s Christmas bottled up in a moment, even when Pitts wipes out and brings Todd down with him. Knox laughs so hard he has to stop or he’ll fall himself. It’s then Charlie decides to bump Cameron who does everything not to fall. Legs spinning like Roadrunner beneath him. It’s Meeks who grabs his back and steadies him, allowing him to glare at Charlie who’s being punched in the arm by Neil for shoving Cameron in the first place. 

“I’d say this is much better than the old Indian Cave.” Neil says once they all find their footing and start lapping the rink like everyone else. It’s the most fun he’d ever had during Christmas, not a chance they could top next year. 

“Just as crowded though.” Meeks jokes and the boys all laugh, having stuffed themselves in that cave and hit their heads enough times for it to be true. There was no doubt New York City was full of people, especially during Christmas. A night like this was worth facing the crowds if they all got to be together. 

“At least we’re together, it's going to get harder and harder every year.” Todd points out and they all collectively nod, knowing life will keep going and more things will start to happen. A weekend near the Holiday’s will be harder and harder to accomplish, even with all the distance between them. 

“Yeah especially now that Knox is going to have a kid.” Pitts points out and all eyes catch Knox again, still processing this milestone and what it’ll mean for them. When that kid was born they’d no longer be the current generation, everything could change. Even the dynamics of the group. 

“I’m going to do my best.” Knox says but they know now to maybe not expect him next year, or maybe they’d return to Vermont for the Holidays. It’s not that it wasn’t exciting, in fact it was some of the best news any of them heard. What was scary is knowing this kid could go through the things they had endured and have to bear the weight of soul crushing guilt. Have the world expect something of them when they're only just a child. It made them want to protect but that was a good thing. It meant this kid was already loved more than ever and would have a support system that defied all odds. 

“We’re not worried about that Knoxious, we always make things work.” Charlie encourages, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulder and he smiles as they each top directly in front of the tree. Looking up for what felt like miles as the dazzling Christmas lights twinkled in their eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re the Dead Poets Society after all, we live deliberately.” Todd reminds them and they all smile, memorizing this feeling of all being together just as they once were knowing change was just around the corner. Visits will become less and less but the love would always be there, no matter what milestone each of them faced. 

It’s the Christmas that changes everything, a new decade upon them. Within the next year Knox would have a little girl, eyes identical to his and bright blonde hair just like Chris’. Todd’s book will get published, hitting shelves by the summer and sky rocketing his career. Cameron gets engaged, a shock to even himself, but happier than he’s ever been. Meeks and Pitts business will take off, designing some of the largest and most intricate structures Connecticut has ever seen. Charlie will fall hopelessly and desperately in love, leaving the bachelor lifestyle behind, and eloping with the girl of his dreams. Then there was Neil, who nailed his audition just as each of the Poet’s thought. He makes it big on Broadway, and just as promised, each of them are there to see. It’s like deja vu sitting in the crowd, just as they once had a decade ago. When the curtains close they start the standing ovation, cheering loud enough to burst their lungs, knowing this time when they meet Neil outside the night will go the way it should have ten years ago. A celebration of love and togetherness like it was always meant to be. 

Finally having contributed their verse. 

a/n: I had wrote this as a Secret Santa gift for the lovely @happiness-runs but I figured you all would enjoy too. Merry Christmas ❤️

[ofthecaravel]

I forgive it all as it comes back to me ✨☀️

Bonus with no text:

[dollfacefantasy]

IF I WAS A RICH GIRL ♡

pairing: bodyguard!jason todd x bratty!fem!reader x bodyguard!dick grayson

summary: for the first time ever, jason needs dick's help with a client. upon meeting you, dick understands why. you're a handful - bratty, needy, the whole deal. luckily for everyone involved, dick has a soft spot for brats and jason has a tendency to follow in his footsteps.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, threesome, voyeurism, exhibitionism, hair pulling, praise/degradation, gun play, brat taming, dacryphilia

wc: 12.9k

a/n: i did not intend for this to be so long, but i am physically incapable of shutting the fuck up unfortunately. anyways comm for the sweetest ever @fearcvlt. thank you again hehe. as always reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

Dick watched the numbers above the elevator door light up one at a time. Every couple seconds, the soft glow moved one space to the right. It started with 1, 2, 3 and now landed on 67, 68, 69. Finally 70 lit up and a soft ding sounded through the cabin.

He shifted his duffel bag on his shoulder and took a deep breath. When Jason had texted him a few days ago, he made this situation sound dire.

Dick had been in the middle of working out, pulling himself up and down using the rings hanging from the ceiling of the gym. The chime of his phone pulled him from the focus that came with his muscles burning and sweat dripping from his hairline.

'Are we allowed to drop clients?' was the first message he saw.

But then another quickly followed.

'It's been a full twenty-four hours.'

At first he wondered if it was a joke, but Jason didn't really joke about clients.

He tried thinking to himself what case he'd even been assigned to. That gig at the shipping yard had wrapped up by now, and that stalking victim had canceled on them for another security firm.

Then he remembered. That Monday Jason was supposed to start with the senator's daughter.

Something must have really been wrong for him to want to drop that. It was one of the best jobs they'd been offered since starting up their agency. It was full-time protection, meaning round the clock, 24/7 pay.  Also a high profile contractor like a senator meant word of mouth getting around to his colleagues, similar types who would want some security for their own twenty-something-aged brats.

'We can't drop her. Maybe I can see about someone swapping cases with you. Did something happen?' was all he responded with.

The reply was instant. 'I'll take literally anything else.'

'She can't be that bad,' he sent in return.

'You take her then. Find out for yourself.'

He rolled his eyes at his dramatics. There was no way you could really be so awful. While Jason didn't joke about work that much, he loved to complain. Shaking his head, Dick typed back a final message.

'Keep your head for the next few days. I'll come see what I can do over the weekend.'

So that was what he planned on doing for at least the next five or so days. He had said the weekend, but it was Thursday now, and he didn't have to do anything else till next Wednesday. Plus, he figured Jason would try his hardest to rope him in for longer if things with you hadn't changed.

He walked into the entrance hall of the penthouse, eyes briefly scanning his surroundings like they always do upon entering somewhere new. The design was sleek. A classy white end table sat below a large mirror with delicate decorations adorning its surface. A plush rug rolled down the hallways to a set of French doors.

One glance around told him this was all expensive. Every detail chosen by someone young, experiencing their first taste of independence. It was cute in a way. At least he thought so. He could only imagine the distaste Jason had reacted with upon seeing the pink candles or vases of dainty flowers.

He continued in the direction of what he assumed was the living room. Though he had only taken a few more steps across the fuzzy rug before he heard loud voices muffled by the doors ahead. He paused and narrowed his eyes for a moment, trying to determine the severity.

The first voice he knew belonged to Jason. It boomed with annoyance, loud and brash. The other was higher pitched.  He waited a few moments, feeling out the rhythm of the argument. Back and forth, back and forth. There was no third party, which meant it wasn't any serious danger.

He took another breath and braced himself to be put in the middle of whatever spat you two were having. Jason still hadn't been clear about what his exact problem with you was, so he didn't know what to fully expect. From the few things he had said over the phone, he gained the impression you were just a spoiled rich girl, and Jason's temper wasn't made to deal with any of those.

Grabbing one of the bronze handles, Dick pushed the door open. From where he stood in the alcove that held the doors, he didn't think either of you had noticed him enter.

The scene looked as he expected. Jason leaned against the pristine ivory island in the kitchen while you stood at the back of the large taupe sectional that spanned through the living area. You had your arms crossed over your chest, your foot looking as if you had just stamped it on the hardwood below. Jason, on the other hand, appeared as though he was about to explode. His fingers rubbed at his eyes before he spoke.

"For the last goddamn time, I'm not taking you, so find something else to do.”

"No. It's not your job to tell me what to do. You're only getting paid to follow me around where I wanna go," you retorted.

"I'm not taking you to the fucking mall!" he exclaimed, flinging his arms open, "Christ, you have a cell phone, a laptop, and an ipad. You could probably even use that watch you got on your wrist to shop."

"But it's not the same," you pouted.

Upon hearing that, it seemed like Jason's brain was actually on the verge of malfunctioning. In an attempt to help out, Dick walked the rest of the way in.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his voice much cooler than the tense argument that preceded it.

Immediately, both sets of eyes were on him. Jason's features melted into relief while yours swirled with curiosity.

"Is this your boss?" you asked. Your arms fell to smooth out the small shorts you had on before they rose again to make sure your hair was in place.

Meanwhile, a sneer spread on Jason's face again. "No. We're partners," he said.

"C'mon, Jason. I like to think of us as friends before coworkers," Dick teased and flashed a smile. That earned him one out of you in return. Right then, he knew this would be easy.

He headed over to the area where you stood, and acting charming as ever, stuck his hand out in search of yours.

You gladly returned the exchange, offering your palm up for shaking like a trained puppy.

"I'm Dick Grayson," he introduced. He wrapped his fingers around your hand with a firm grip.

Your smile widened before those soft lips parted to expel the syllables of your own name. You were being so much sweeter now that your sights had been set on someone besides Jason. Jason, who was currently watching with a mix of disbelief and irritation as your bratty temperament melted away before his eyes.

"Would you mind showing me where I could put my stuff?" Dick asked.

"Oh sure," you answered, "Follow me."

You waved him in your direction before prancing through an archway that led to a small area with a few doors and the stairs.

"I'll just show you where everything is while we're at it. That's the main bathroom. That's the office. And then up the stairs is where all the bedrooms are."

He followed behind you through the small room and then up the curved staircase. Jason trailed behind him, watching like this mask of pleasantness would fall away to reveal your true attitude any second.

Your hips swayed as you walked up each step. He felt like the way your ass jutted out a little as they did was intentional, but it didn't matter. Dick could be professional when he needed to be. He kept his eyes averted and stayed along your path.

After the stairs, you led them down a thin strip of lofted walkway that overlooked the living room and kitchen. With one hand on the silver railing, you explained each door that lined the wall as you went.

"That's the smaller living room. That's the second bathroom. That's the guest room Jason is staying in. And here is yours," you said as you got to the second to last door. You pushed it open and gestured proudly at the space.

"Looks nice. Thank you," he said before heading in. 

He tossed his bag on the bed and glanced around. It truly was nice. The bed looked like one out of a five star hotel. The end tables were polished and seemed as though they'd never seen a visitor throughout their time here. And then there were the floor-to-ceiling windows against the farthest wall. There was nothing to see outside right now. This floor rested so high up, clouds engulfed the glass panes.

"Mhm," you hummed before biting your lip, "And my room is the last door. There's always extra space in my bed if you don't like this one."

"But I thought you said I was a perv for suggesting that?" Jason interjected and shot you a glare from where he leaned against the door frame.

"Ummm, yeah, you are," you deadpanned, "I'm offering it to him, not the other way around like you did, obviously."

"It was a joke," Jason grumbled.

Before the tension could bubble over again, Dick laughed and looked over his shoulder at your teasing expression. "You know, I appreciate the offer, but this looks like more than enough for now."

"Ok, well let me know if you change your mind. I'll let you put your stuff away while I figure out what we can get for dinner," you told him before stepping back out of the room.

Dick waited a few moments to make sure you were really gone before turning to Jason and smirking. 

"That's who you've been having such a hard time with?" he mocked.

"I swear that's the best she's been all week. When it's just me, she doesn't quit. She goes on and on and on. Whining, complaining. It's borderline harassment to be honest," he responded and crossed his arms.

"Oh come on," he laughed, "She's as hard to deal with as a kitten."

"For you," he responded, "Once she gets bored of you, she'll act the same."

"Guess we're banking on the fact that I'm a lot more entertaining than you then, huh?" he teased.

"Shut up," Jason scoffed before turning and leaving the room too.

Over the next couple hours, Dick got settled in his room and then migrated back downstairs to feel out the situation here. Already he could guess why Jason didn't like you, but if things continued the way they were, he wouldn't mind slipping into his place. A full day of pay, and all he'd have to do is flirt back and forth with you every now and again.

In the living room, you laid back in the corner of your couch. Some tv show played as background noise while you scrolled through your phone. He made an effort to talk to you, to subtly observe more of your personality. Fortunately, you were pretty open to his attempts. Once he found a subject you liked, it was like flood gates opened. You couldn't have been more eager for someone to talk with.

Poor thing, he thought. You had everything you could want, but you were still so starved for attention.

As he listened to you chatter about your favorite tv show or something that happened last summer between you and your friend, he could see the quirks in you that drove Jason up the wall.

For one, you had a tendency to pout. He didn't think you were even aware of it most of the time. While he found it kind of cute, he knew that every time your lip started to puff out, it would send Jason's blood pressure through the roof.

You also were very touchy. Over the course of the short conversation, you drifted from your end of the couch to the cushion right next to Dick. Whenever you laughed your hand landed on his forearm. If he joked around in return, you'd lightly shove his bicep.

It was all pretty juvenile, methods of flirting used most often by kids with their first crushes, but he didn't mind. You were sweet and well-intentioned. Just so desperate to feel wanted.

And admittedly, he played into your desires a bit. He knew Jason would have lambasted him if he was down here right now instead of taking a break in his own room, but Dick didn't really care. Technically, he wasn't the one on call. Though even if he was, it's not like was overtly flirting with you. He was just having some fun and keeping you entertained. A few compliments and well-placed touches. That was it.

He straightened out his behavior a little by the time Jason did return downstairs to join you both for the dinner you'd had delivered.

You stood at the end of the table, graciously distributing the containers of food while they took up a seat on either side of you. Things went pretty smoothly overall. Once you each had a plate with your dishes of choice, you sat down and began to eat.

"You have that big kitchen," Jason commented after a few bites, looking over his shoulder at the room in question, "Do you ever actually cook anything?"

You narrowed your eyes for a moment but responded in the most calm tone of voice. "Yes, I do. But not for you."

Luckily, all that came from the tense exchange was Jason rolling his eyes. Neither of you seemed interested in launching into a full argument when you could focus on the food in front of you instead. A few minutes of quiet passed, but then conversation sprouted back up without an issue.

You asked them how they got into “bodyguarding,” making sure to add that modeling had to have been on the table for Dick. As with most interactions, he responded with a charming laugh. Though this time Jason interrupted to give you the spiel about their past - they worked together under the same mentor at a security company and decided to branch off and start their own as partners.

"Yeah, but why?" you questioned when he concluded his story, "Isn't it like... scary? You have to protect people from stalkers and stuff? That sounds so nerve wracking."

"It's not if you're good at your job like us," Jason dismissed.

Dick saw the frown appear on your face, and he swooped in with an answer of his own to make you feel less discarded. 

"It can be tense sometimes on rough cases, but it's really rewarding, you know? Getting to help people and protect them from the worst parts of life gives us a purpose," he explained.

"That makes sense," you nodded before laughing a little, "I could never do what you two do. I'm wayyyy too scared of being shot."

Dick chuckled, but Jason's look didn't soften at all.

"What is it you plan on doing with your life?" Jason asked.

His tone was short, prime for judgement, but you tried to let it roll off you. You kept your shoulders back as you answered the question, like it was a part of an interview you'd prepared for.

"I'm not totally sure what I'm gonna do with my whole life, but in the spring I'm gonna start working for my dad as an aide. Like when he takes office and everything."

"So what was the point of you going through college when you're guaranteed a job like that anyways?" he asked next.

Dick shot him a look across the table. It was one thing to respond to your whining, but picking a fight was another. He could see the question pricked at a real insecurity of yours. You bristled and tried not to let the weakness show itself.

"Because," you huffed, "I'm still supposed to know things and have skills of my own. And we're not like the Kennedys or something. I can't get by on my last name forever."

"Right..." he said and redirected his focus to shoveling some more food into his mouth.

Again, Dick took it upon himself to resuscitate the mood. He chatted with you some more about school and potential areas you were interested in for your future.

As things wrapped up and the three of you cleared the table, he finished by offering to take you on that shopping trip you'd been asking about earlier tomorrow. That seemed to be all it took to fully brighten up your mood. You eagerly accepted before heading off to your room for the night.

After you'd left, the room clouded with silence for a minute. The two of them migrated over to the living room. Both him and Jason took a moment to enjoy the peace that plumed up in your absence. It dissipated when Dick decided to speak again.

"You know, part of the reason she gets snippy with you is because you're not exactly pleasant to her," he started.

"No, she doesn't like me because I won't play into her flirty bullshit like you do," Jason replied and shrugged.

"It's more than that. You dismiss almost anything she says, and you try to provoke her into lashing out at you."

"Like she doesn't do the same to me? All that whiny, pouty shit she does for you, she tried for me at first, but I hurt her feelings because I didn't act like it was cute. It's pathetic"

"Alright, but as the professional, you're supposed to keep the appearance that she doesn't bother you. I'm just saying you could try playing it cool around her," Dick suggested.

Jason glared at him. "I wasn't hired to be nice to her."

"You're not getting paid to be an asshole either."

The harsh look deepened in the other man's green eyes. "What are we getting paid to do here exactly? She's not in any actual danger."

So that was his problem.

Dick sighed, but before he could provide some form of justification, Jason was pulling up your case files on his phone. He turned the screen to Dick.

"Look. Read it. Why'd we even accept this bullshit? He basically admits there's no real threat in the request," he said.

Dick took the small device and scanned over the document with his eyes. He didn't have to read it to know why they accepted it, of course. The money was great and the connections they could gain from it would be even better for the firm. He still skimmed the tiny words staring back at him though. The request for protection that asked you be assigned a full time guard in the potential event of political retaliation. Political retaliation that both sides of this arrangement knew was not coming. Your father had won his race by a comfortable margin. No one even attempted to contest the result. All of his positions were uncontroversial as well.

It was obvious to Dick that he and Jason were simple pawns in a power struggle here. They were the expendable pieces your father could tote around and punish you with for whatever reason. Maybe you'd been too outspoken about something. Maybe you had a tendency to get too wild when you went out. Maybe you'd just outsmarted the last move in this lifelong game of chess.

Whatever it had been, this was just the next subtle method of control. He'd seen it before in rich kids like you. Shitty as it was, it was part of this business.

Handing the phone back to the other man, he answered. "You know why we took it. And I know it's frustrating, but not every case is gonna be something out of an action movie. If he wants to pay for someone to ease his mind, then that's just how it is."

"He hired a babysitter for an adult," Jason spat with disdain, "That's all this is. The only thing I'm protecting her from is maxing out daddy's credit card or taking a laced bump at some shitty party."

"There are worse jobs in the world than watching over a pretty girl, Jason," Dick said and rubbed his eyes.

"Oh bullshit. This isn't just watching a pretty girl. This is listening to her run her fucking mouth. It's putting up with her bitching and moaning in my ear 24/7 about how she doesn't want me here."

"Look. It's not that hard to figure out," he interjected, "She was spoiled rotten growing up, but that also means she probably had a lot of people trying to control her life. She's getting her first real taste of freedom being out of college and living on her own, and then her dad takes it away by hiring us. Can you blame her for being a little pissy about it?"

"So what? Poor little rich girl. She has people who want to be involved with her life and make sure she has a future," he scoffed, "If she doesn't like that, she can take it out on her dad. Why do we have to deal with the fallout?"

"I know it's not what you want to be dealing with, but you're smart enough to know that things aren't that simple," he responded, "Everything in this place - the clothes she wears, the furniture we're sitting on, I'd bet even her phone she carries around - doesn't belong to her. None of it comes from her own money. Maybe her name's on the title of this place, but you know it's not really hers. She probably plays nice and puts up with things that don't really bug her to make sure he doesn't start taking it all away or offering to give it to her in the first place."

Jason still wouldn't drop his scowl. He understood Dick was right, but you were so goddamn irritating, he didn't want to admit you deserved even the smallest degree of grace.

"You don't have to act like a boyfriend or even her best friend," Dick offered as a compromise, "All I'm saying is that if you weren't so aggressive from the jump, she might feel more inclined to listen to you."

"She's a grown woman," Jason grumbled with hushed incredulity, "I shouldn't have to handle her like a little girl or a puppy or something."

"You're right. You shouldn't have to. But it's the way it is, so adapt or drive yourself crazy. It's your choice," he said.

"I guess," he huffed before slumping back in his seat a bit.

Dick relaxed back against the couch as well. Looking at Jason now, he couldn't help but think that part of the reason the two of you butted heads at every opportunity was because you both were in the running for the most headstrong person he'd ever met.

The next day, Dick made good on his promise to take you shopping. The two of you drove to an upscale mall and spent the next few hours roaming the wide corridors. He stayed close to your side, his muscular arms covered in the bands of your shopping bags as you led him from one place to the next. You talked his ear off, but he didn't mind. It was better than lounging around the penthouse and listening to you and Jason bicker. 

And in your defense, while you had him carrying all your stuff, you took plenty of chances to offer to buy him a few things. Anything his eyes lingered on for more than two seconds had you playfully waving around your card. Each time he'd decline. He had to keep some appearance of doing his job. Jason would never let him hear the end of it if he thought he indulged in this shopping spree too.

He was still somewhat playing his part though. His eyes scanned the exits and entries (when they weren't lingering on how your lip gloss shimmered on the soft curves of your mouth). He was focused on making sure no suspicious characters tried approaching you (when he wasn't ogling the way your t-shirt stretched across the swell of your chest). 

"So only one last place, right?" he checked while you typed away on your phone.

"Yup!" you chirped.

You trotted along a few more paces before coming to a stop in front of a store entryway framed by two dark, tile pillars. The words above glowed in a light, classic font. He eyed it and then shifted his gaze to the display windows. That was when he realized this was a store for lingerie.

He let out a laugh and shook his head. "Really?" he said, raising his brows at you.

"What?" you asked, "Don't tell me you're one of those guys that gets all weird about bras and panties. What do you think I'm wearing under this?"

"I don't really think it's my place to be imagining that," he chuckled.

"Well you don't gotta imagine right now. Just stay close to me while I pick some things out," you replied with your own little smile.

Unlike Jason, this wouldn't be a hill he died on. He followed you into the store and remained quiet within a few feet of you while you checked over the stands for items you liked. You seemed pretty picky when it came to this stuff. Your face contorted into contemplative expressions, weighing if you should go with the lacy black or the baby pink.

"So... do you actually have someone to wear these for or...?" he asked while trying to seem aloof.

"I wear them because I like them," you corrected while shooting him a playful glare, "But to answer your question, not yet."

"Ah, yet," he grinned.

"Mhm. It doesn't hurt to be prepared," you said.

He huffed out a small laugh and kept in line with your footsteps. After a while, you selected a few pairs and seemed almost ready to go. You weaved through the array of perfume stands and seasonal racks. On the way to the register though, your eyes caught on a pair of silk pajamas. They were dainty, thin, and striped. Just the kind of thing that looked as though it was sewn specifically for your closet.

"Oh my gosh. Dick, can you hold this?" you said. The question was pointless as you'd already shoved the basket of panties into his arms before the words finished leaving your lips.

You pranced to the display with the sleepwear and looked it over with adoring eyes. With a wave of your hand, you summoned a nearby attendant to ask for a set you could try on.

Moments later the worker guided the two of you towards the back of the store, showing you the changing area. It was nicer than most shops. A large mirror sat on the wall that was covered in floral paper. Next to it a small door concealed the private fitting section, and in the center was a couple seats.

The woman waved you in. She glanced over each of you with a tight-lipped smile before adding that "your boyfriend" was welcome to wait inside for you.

He opened his mouth to amend her definition of him, but before he got the chance, you chimed in with a cheerful "thank you!"

His eyes zipped from the exiting staff member to you. Upon looking in your eyes, he could see your amusement dancing there. You grabbed his free hand and led him to the plush couches. Then you took off with the pajamas in your hands into the private part of the room.

"So boyfriend, huh? Is that my title now?" he called to you through the open space above the door. While you changed, he set the endless supply of bags down on the loveseat across from the one he chose to sit down on.

"It could be," you replied, "Isn't it like safer if bad guys think a girl has a boyfriend?"

He'd dealt with clients flirting with him before, but never one as flagrant as you. Only one day with you, and he could tell you'd never experienced true shame in your two decades and some spare years of life.

"Yeah, I think so," he chuckled in return. Even though your confidence humored him, he couldn't deny the part of him that was flattered. The same part that got turned on.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and you strutted out. Your luscious legs stretched out from the tiny shorts that bedizened your hips. The button-up top hung off your shoulders and framed the curves of your waist. With a few steps, you stood in front of him, as if you were a model in a fashion show organized personally for him.

"Exactly. So, how do I look, darling?" you teased, doing a little spin for him.

He reached out and grabbed your hips. His fingers dug into your skin, feeling your flesh squish beneath the pads of his digits. Your eyes connected with his as he dragged them up from your waist to your face.

"Stunning, sweetheart," he played right along.

A small giggle trickled from your lips before you turned to the side to assess your appearance in the mirror. He kept his grip on you. Both his and your eyes glided over your frame, lingering on his hands clasped around the bottoms.

"I'll have to get them then," you decided after a few moments.

His pupils shifted up, sparkling under the fluorescents on the ceiling. "I think that's a great choice. Though when you wear them later, you may want to fix the pocket," he said.

Trailing his right hand up from its post on your hip, his fingers coasted over your breast to the shirt pocket that was flipped slightly inside out. He pushed the material back into place, delving two digits beneath the silk flap. The tips teased the curve of your breast. They dragged on the skin just above your nipple through the cloth.

Fortunately for you, he pulled them out seconds later, allowing you to step back and hide the way the small bud had begun to pebble for him. The smirk on his face hinted that he still knew though.

"Ok, well I'm gonna change back. Then we can check out and go home. Maybe we could get some food on the way back or something," you said, laying out the plan as a distraction for the blooming heat you felt in your abdomen.

"Yeah, sounds good," he responded and shrugged.

He watched as you capered back behind that door. You were a tease through and through, and that couldn't have pleased him more. It's what made this all so easy. You could flirt and bat your eyelashes and speak in that seductively innocuous tone, but when you caught scent of any real arousal, you pulled back quicker than a skittish dog. 

It could make it easier for him to remain professional. A way of keeping him from crossing the line that was supposed to divide him and all clients. But it also made you so much more tempting. An elusive prey animal just begging to be caught.

The rest of that day followed the plan you had set in the dressing room.

You checked out of that last store then had Dick carry your collection of purchases to the car. The two of you picked up some food on the way home. Despite your lavish taste in just about everything else, when it came to dinner, you were a pretty cheap date.

When you made it back to the penthouse, Dick shoulders the weight of everything you bought again. The two of you don't bother asking Jason for help, knowing it would only cause more drama. Instead, he let the thin handles on the bags of clothes and jewelry and trinkets dig into his skin and nearly cut off his circulation.

Besides that though, everything went fine. Jason gave you both a look of disdain when he saw the evidence of your shopping trip, but he didn't comment. 

Maybe he was taking Dick's advice.

That seemed to be the case even as you came trotting down the stairs not too long later. You'd changed into your new silk set. The fabric didn't leave anything to the imagination in terms of your figure and that was what it did cover. Most of your legs and a sliver of your chest remained exposed to any eyes that should wander by.

You had a little smile on your face as you entered the room. Of course, you knew how you looked. You were bratty, not stupid.

Upon spotting Jason in the kitchen, you headed in that direction. He'd been standing in the corner where the counters met, eating something for a few moments. The calmness of solitude that had previously filled the space dissolved when he caught sight of you.

As much as he couldn't stand you, Jason was still human. His brows raised and his eyes stuck to your scantily-clad body, raking over your curves and smooth skin. You watched with absolute joy as he finally acknowledged you in some way other than a nuisance.

It only took him a few seconds to catch himself, but the damage had been done. You bounded over to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen from him. He kept his eyes down now, intent on trying not to gauge if you were wearing a bra under that skimpy thing by how your breasts bounced.

"So Jason... What did you do while me and Dick were out?" you asked.

"Desperately awaited your return," he grumbled sarcastically.

The question obviously meant nothing to you. He could hear it in every syllable. It served as a placeholder. A plausible reason you could linger around him to flaunt yourself.

His response brought a laugh out of you in spite of the backhanded nature of the statement. "You could've come with us. It probably would've been more fun," you smiled.

"For you maybe."

"Well yeah for me," you said. You pushed off the island and stepped a few paces closer to him. "What do you think of my clothes? They're new. Dick said he liked them."

You did a small twirl like you had in the dressing room. An attempt to lure Jason's gaze back onto you. He didn't take the bait so easily though and locked his gaze on the food he'd been snacking on.

"If you got Dick's opinion, then why do you need mine?" he shot back.

"Cause I want it," you answered.

With a deep breath, he brought his eyes back to you. He could control himself, both his temper and other kinds of impulses. Plus, there was no way he was going to let you win. You had enough smugness in your voice as it was. No way was he gonna make the problem worse by letting you feel as though you had him intimidated.

"Looks the same as the ones you normally wear," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but I didn't ask that. I just wanna know if you like them."

"Why? Are you gonna throw a fit or something if I say no? Call daddy and have him hire someone with better taste to babysit you?" he mocked.

That put a scowl on your face, which made him smile. The two of you worked like a seesaw of emotions, one extreme on each side, animosity shifting so rapidly the bar could never rest at a balanced middle.

"No," you scoffed with a glare, "I was just trying to be nice to you-"

"Oh really? It felt more like you were fishing for compliments to me," he said, "You bought the clothes, so obviously you like them. Why do you need me validating your choice?"

God, this felt so much better than getting worked up over you. Watching your face morph into increasingly petulant expressions gave Jason more joy than imagining the day a month from now when this job would finally be done.

"Whatever," you huffed and rolled your eyes before retreating to the living room to be with Dick.

That was fine with him. He didn't cause a blow up or have to deal with Dick's lecture while simultaneously getting you out of his immediate vicinity. Though, that was probably for the best for reasons other than his anger too. 

He would never ever admit it out loud, especially not after the point he'd made about it last night, but seeing you in that tiny get up, all desperate for his approval... it had him craving some alone time to quell the heat he felt beginning to simmer within.

He cleaned up his plate that was now empty and then ran a hand through his hair. His eyes shut for a moment, and he let out a sigh. After a few moments, he decided he didn't need to shove down the feelings. He'd been pent up enough over the last week. Nonstop hours of you trying to get under his skin and make him snap. It left him yearning for some outlet, for some relief. Maybe that was why he was so pissed off all the time.

Right now, Dick was with you. The chances of you wandering up to his room to bother him were slim. He could sneak off for a while, spend some quality time with his right hand and chill the fuck out.

So that's what he did. He headed off upstairs and shut the door to his room.

Now you sat beside Dick on the couch as an old movie played on the tv. You were so close to him that your bare thighs rested against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

It wasn't that late, but only a third of the way into the movie you felt yourself sinking into the cushions behind you, tiredness overtaking your body. Your eyes grew droopy and glazed as you tried watching the action playing out in front of you.

A few minutes later, you started to accept this might be a pointless effort. In your defense, shopping was a tiring activity! Malls were big and required lots of steps to get through. When you combined that with doing all the spending math in your head, talking to Dick, and trying things on, it made sense that you were beat.

You let your head slump over and hit his shoulder. Your temple thudded against the curve of it as a yawn made its way out of you. You brought your legs closer to your body and wrapped one of your hands around his bicep as well. If you were gonna go for an inch, why not take the whole mile?

His head swiveled in your direction when he felt the gentle contact. He didn't protest like you knew Jason would have though. Rather, he let you grip onto his muscular arm and rest against his broad frame before bringing his free hand over to smooth down the nape of your neck.

"Are we still playing boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked.

Your eyes fluttered open as you tilted your face up to look at him. After a moment's thought, you bobbed your head in a lazy nod.

Upon seeing your confirmation, a lascivious smile spread across his lips. He leaned back further into the couch himself and stretched his legs out onto the extended part of the sectional. Once he was adjusted, he pulled his arm free of your grasp. You showed slight dismay at first, displeased with the loss of support and heat. Though it quickly evaporated as he draped it over your shoulders and pulled you into his chest.

"Well if I was your boyfriend," he said, drawing out the syllables pointedly, "I think we'd be sitting like this."

Even in your tired condition, you felt a bit flustered. You wouldn't show that though. It would take more to get you to willingly show how he affected you. You snuggle into his sculpted side and nestle your face against his chest. Below his skin, you hear the faint but steady beat of his heart.

"You're probably right," you mumbled against the fabric of his t-shirt, "It's comfier like this."

"Mhm. Safer too," he teased.

You nodded, not needing words this time around. One of your arms encircled his waist to keep you snug against him while you continued to watch the movie. 

It was honestly a miracle in your own eyes that you hadn't passed out yet in the few seconds you'd been sitting like this. He was so warm, and he smelled so good, like fresh laundry. And now his hand had started rubbing up and down your back. The steady rhythm of his palm and the perfect amount of pressure seemed like it would be lulling you into unconsciousness in minutes.

But then he spoke again.

"And if I was your boyfriend, we'd be doing a lot more than just watching this movie," he whispered.

The words hit your ears in soft puffs of air, sending chills down your spine. You bit your lip and willed your eyes to open wider before looking at him again.

"What else would we be doing?" you asked.

"What do you think? With you sitting here, all cute in your little outfit..." he began, lowering his mouth to your neck. A soft gasp left you as he began laying kisses up your throat to your ear. His teeth scraped over your earlobe before his tongue grazed the skin behind it. "I think I'd have a pretty hard time keeping my hands to myself," he finished lowly.

The skin of your shoulders prickled beneath the satiny material of your top and continued to do so down your arms and legs. You weren't completely inexperienced, but you'd never had such intense attention focused on you. You'd never felt like the center of someone's entire world like you did right now.

Your hand lands on his thigh, gripping the meat of it with your fingers. You turn your head into a brief kiss before pulling back an inch.

"If you were my boyfriend, you wouldn't have to keep your hands to yourself," you murmured.

And that was the last thing he needed to hear.

He dove in and kissed you like it was the millionth time. His lips moved against your own sensually before his tongue found its way into your mouth. A tender moan slipped out of you in response. He played the part of your boyfriend better than any actual candidate for the role before him.

Your palm migrated up from his thigh to his lap. With a few delicate swipes, you coaxed a bulge into rising against the fabric of his pants. Your hand then fled the area and trailed up his abs onto his chest. Every inch of him felt as though it had been crafted by divine beings. A gift for anyone who should have the pleasure of experiencing him.

He tugged you closer, guiding you so close that you were all but in his lap. His right hand groped the dough of your ass while his left crept onto your breast and gave it the squeeze he had wanted to earlier in the changing room.

You squeaked like a chew toy in response, which drew a laugh out of him. He teased the mound again by kneading it a few more times. His fingers dragged across the soft curves before zeroing in on your nipple, tweaking and pulling at the sensitive little nub. That brought some whines out of you.

"My little girlfriend's so responsive," he whispered. 

He knew he was acting like an idiot right now. He wasn't just crossing every client-contractor line in the book, he was practically leaping over them with joy. If Jason came down here and saw this opening to a porno playing out on the couch, he would never hear the end of it. But he just couldn't stop now. The way you arched into his touch was fucking intoxicating. You had him hooked, and he hadn't gotten farther than feeling up your tits.

And then you whimpered and nipped at his bottom lip. It wasn't like you could really defend yourself from his words. Every touch had you keening for more.

He hummed at the mini bite before pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. The arm wrapped around your back continued to support you while the set of fingers that had been playing with your chest fell towards the junction of your thighs. You seemed a little nervous at the start of the descent, but by the time his hand made it there, your legs spread open for him with no hesitation.

Both of your harsh breaths drowned out the sounds from the movie that had been long forgotten by now. And then your soft, sweet moans joined them.

He started out with a few loving caresses over your center. A few pets to get you warmed up. It was all you needed to let out those cute little noises. You rolled your hips at his hand, already signaling your need for more.

Without a second thought, he obliged you. His hand slid beneath your waistband and into your panties before his fingers slotted between your lips, finding your clit with expertise. They danced over your bundle of nerves and pressed down on it. More whines trickled from your mouth. He could only hope his lips on yours did a sufficient job of muffling them.

"That's it, sweetheart," he crooned, "You're so cute. Not worried about anything but feeling good."

You bucked your hips without a care in the world now, just like he said. They rocked up into the friction his digits were providing. Wet sloshing sounds emanated from where his hand moved beneath your shorts.

After a little while longer of just touching, he worked a finger inside of you. Then another. He pumped them in and out, relishing each precious mewl that erupted from you in turn. His digits curled. Each stroke inside you brushed a tender spot that made your thighs quiver and jerk.

"Fuck," you inhaled sharply before reaching forward to try palming at him, a haphazard attempt at returning the favor.

His free hand brushed yours away though. Those cerulean eyes glimmered with cockiness.

"I can take care of myself, baby. I'm being paid to service you, remember?" he purred.

Your eyes rolled back, and your head followed in that direction, hitting the backing of the couch. You weakly nodded before allowing the pleasurable sensations to cloud your head. He just kept thrusting his two fingers in and out while his palm ground against your clit.

You vaguely felt him start to grind his hips against the side of your leg. He used the pressure as stimulation, giving himself some muted relief while tending to you.

In the throes of bliss, you hadn't realized how close you were until the edge was right there. You whined and squirmed, trying to alert him that you were a few skillful pumps away from unraveling.

"Dick... gonna..." you whimpered.

"Yeah, I can tell. You're getting nice and tight," he murmured.

You nodded. Your lip started to jut out, those pouty habits making themselves known in the heat of the moment. He grinned before kissing it away.

"Let go, baby. Soak through your new shorts. Get 'em all messy for me," he cooed.

Your walls clenched around his fingers as your toes curled. It was impossible to resist the urge to release when he was guiding you to it like that. Your whole body tensed up and then relaxed over and over, the highs of pleasure washing over you in waves.

He watched every little move you make, drank it all up like a dehydrated man in the middle of the Sahara.

"You look so pretty while you cum," he praised. You heard him say the words; though, they sounded distant amidst the haze of bliss surrounding you.

When you finished, he could tell you were exhausted. Your eyelids drooped as if keeping them open was an impossible task. You laid there limp beside him, just about ready to melt into the couch.

He chuckled and slipped his hand from your shorts. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he sucked them clean and then ducked in for one last kiss. You squeaked in surprise but didn't pull away. He let you taste yourself for a moment before retreating.

Even though he hadn't cum himself, he figured it would be fine for tonight. There were four weeks left of this job after all. He'd have more time with you. Tonight he could deal with finishing himself off in his room after taking you to bed.

He shut the tv off and then scooped you up. Your body draped between his two arms. You didn't complain or protest; rather, just leaned your head into his shoulder and accepted the aid. He walked with you up the stairs, down the walkway to your bedroom. The last door on the path.

Nudging the door open with his foot, he crossed the threshold into your space. It appeared like the rest of the apartment, just more concentrated. A more pure embodiment of you. All the other parts of this place he'd seen had traces of your personality throughout, but each and every part of this room represented a piece of you.

He didn't spend any time snooping around or getting a better look. Like the perfect gentleman, he placed you in bed, draped a blanket over your body, and made sure you were situated. Then he retraced his steps back out into the hall. He headed down to the guest room and slipped inside, planning on taking care of himself and then passing out for the night.

The next morning, Dick woke to a thudding on the wall behind his headboard. Knock. Knock. Knock. The noises pounded against the barrier in an even-rhythm, every second or so. He wasn't sure how long they'd been going on by the time he reached full consciousness. They'd invaded the last part of his dream, so he assumed maybe a few minutes.

Even though the sounds should probably concern him, all he felt was annoyance. The wall behind his bed was the one connected to Jason's. He figured the noises were a result of him working out or moving some things around. Maybe you two had gotten into another argument and he was packing his things in anger.

Dick dragged himself out of bed and stretched. He'd slept longer than usual last night. A lazy smile rose to his face as details came flooding back to him. How you'd felt around his fingers and whined for him to keep pleasuring you.

Once he'd figured out what the noise was about, maybe he'd head over to your room, see if you were up yet. It'd been less than twelve hours, but he was already craving another taste of you.

He stepped out into the hallway, walking in the direction of the room the noise was coming from. As he got closer, he could hear some grunting too. It sounded pretty intense. Either Jason was working out really hard or you'd really pissed him off. Maybe a combination of both.

"Hey, Jason. Some of us are trying to sleep. You don't need to compete with the construction crews around the rest of the city with all this-" he started to call out, but the words died in his throat as soon as he saw the source of the banging.

He felt like a flash grenade had gone off in the room he was looking into. The source of the loud sounds was no longer a mystery. It was coming from Jason's headboard slamming into the wall. The headboard was doing that because the man in question was kneeling on the bed with you pinned down in front of him, fucking you like he was an animal in heat. Dick saw your body jerk in panic as soon as you heard the sound of his voice close in.

"Jesus, man!" Dick said and spun away from the explicit sight before him. His mind reeled and tried to grasp onto what he just witnessed.

As he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he just saw Jason balls deep inside you, he also realized that the lewd noises weren't stopping. He slowly turned back to get another glance - just a curious one, he told himself.

His eyes found the two of you again. Jason kneeled on the edge of the bed. One of his large hands gripped your hip while the other held your face down against the pillows. Now that Dick was really listening, he could hear your little muffled whines and squeaks.

Jason's body glowed, flush from arousal and shimmering with a sheen of sweat. Your limbs were folded up like pieces of a portable chair. Dick tried not to focus on the flicker of heat in his gut, and instead, think about how even with another set of eyes, neither of you had stopped going at it. In your defense, he didn't think the decision was up to you. Jason had manhandled you into a position that gave him all the leverage.

Finally after another second or two, the other man looked his way.

"You need something, Dick?" Jason grunted as though he'd been interrupted while reading a book rather than pounding you into the mattress.

He blinked at him. "What are you doing?"

"Do you really have to ask that? You're not a prude, and you're far from innocent," he mocked. His voice was breathless as though he found some deep satisfaction in this act. Dick believed that. He'd felt how soft and tight your cunt was last night, warm enough to melt even someone as tough as Jason down a bit.

"I'm not a prude, but you could at least shut the door," he responded. The absurdity of this situation then began to dawn on him. He stepped closer to the bed. "Really, Jason. What the fuck are you doing? She's a client," he finally said.

That brought a laugh out of the younger man. "Client, huh? That's not what I was hearing last night when you had her out on the couch."

Dick tensed in the face of the accusation. Shit. He'd thought the two of you had been quiet enough. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

"That's different..." he defended weakly.

In reality, he of course knew that it wasn't. Him fooling around with you last night was, on a technical level, no different from what Jason was doing now. Either one if found out by your father, their employer, would get them fired and possibly slapped with a lawsuit.

But he did feel it was honestly different on some level. He'd just been playing with you. Going along with your flirting. Having some fun. Jason was fucking you. Every thrust was like an act of revenge for all the pouting and whining and huffy glares. He bullied his cock deep into your cunt with every swing of his hips. Your body jolted from his momentum, your fingers curled around the edges of the pillow. It was intense and raw.

"It is not," Jason denied, "Plus, I thought you'd be happy. We're not arguing anymore. You wanted me to act cool with her? Well she thinks this is pretty fuckin' cool. Don't you, princess?"

Before you could mumble something against the satiny linens below you, he looped an arm around your neck and pulled you up against him. You squealed at the sharp angle this new position put you at. Your eyes rolled back, and the only sounds that came from your lips immediately were hazy babbles.

You eventually collected yourself enough to nod. He laughed in your ear, slotting his face right next to yours. You could feel his breaths against your cheek, his sweat smearing on your skin.

"Use your words, sweetheart," he purred.

A shudder coursed its way through you. Your dazed eyes opened just enough to connect with Dick's bright blue ones. You didn't know what to say, so you let out the easiest thing you could think of.

"F-feels good..."

Dick nearly winced at the fucked-out sound of your voice. It was sultry and slurred. If you weren't so disgustingly rich, he was sure you'd make a killing doing this stuff on camera.

His eyes scraped over the shape Jason had you propped in now. Your body was arched like a bow, tits bouncing with each of his thrusts. He had your arms hooked over one of his behind your back while his other was wrapped around your throat. Your chin rested on the thick muscles there. Saliva spilled from your mouth while the beginnings of tears pricked at your eyes.

Everything about it was turning him on, but he tried to disguise that fact. He shifted where he stood in an attempt to readjust himself and not let his cock fill out. But then his eyes caught on the slight bulge in your stomach. The faint outline that protruded in rhythm with the man behind you thrusting.

He almost came on the spot. A groan worked its way up his throat, and he ran a hand over his face into his messy hair.

Jason huffed out a laugh at the noise. "You should've seen her. She came in here trying to pick a fight. Probably a warm up before she scampered off to your room to get you to relieve her frustration."

"Nuh uh," you whimpered pitifully.

In response, he released your arms and shoved you down onto the mattress again. You whined at the force he put into slamming your face against the blankets. His hips rutted into you even harder too, clearing any further words of denial from your mind.

"I wasn't asking," he chided. He gave your ass a firm slap before holding onto your hips. 

You mewled and clawed at the soft bedding.

"Maybe you are being honest though. Maybe you didn't plan on getting Dick to help you out. You probably knew he couldn't give it to you like you needed," he said. His green eyes flitted up to the man standing beside the bed, letting him know it was an open challenge.

Dick knew he shouldn't take the bait. This was weird enough as it was, standing there and watching the two of you fuck. But wouldn't it be weirder not getting involved? If he just left, he'd still be half-hard. He'd probably skulk off back to his room to jerk off, and that would be more pathetic than whatever he was about to agree to.

"Sure, Jason. If that's what you have to tell yourself," he mocked, "She knows how good I can make her feel. She just knows that you're easier."

Jason’s usual scowl appears on his face. "You cracked first. Gave into her and acted all sweet," he grumbled.

"Yeah, but look at you. She didn't have to work at all to get you to fuck her," he taunted, "I'm sure she'll be so tempted to not act out anymore when this is how you deal with it."

He closed the gap between himself and the bed, reaching for your face. He cupped your jaw and tilted your head upwards to face him. Swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, he smirked at the cute, pouty look on your face.

Jason growled and tugged you back. His hips clapped against your ass. You whined in a mixture of pleasure and pain, screwing your eyes shut. He leaned over your body like a dog guarding its favorite toy while continuing to pound into you.

"You know I'm right," Dick said, "You're so rough because you know you have to compensate."

Now Jason was actually getting a little pissy. He was the one who made this competitive, but it didn't take much to trigger his temper.

He let go of your body and pulled out. "You think you can do better? Go ahead then," he said, gesturing to your twitching form. You whined at the emptiness you now felt, but it did nothing to change his mind. He gave you a quick swat between your legs, ripping a cry from you. 

"No whining, little brat," he said, "Not when you're getting so much attention. More than you deserve."

Dick watched with interest before connecting his stare with the other man's.

"You just want me to what? Strip down and fuck her?" he asked.

"Why not? Don't act like you don't want to. I can see the tent in your pants," he responded.

Looking down, he knew he was right. The front of his sweats had puffed out with his desire. He didn't bother feeling embarrassed about it right now though. Jason was shameless as could be, so why should he try to keep up an appearance of modesty?

He shrugged and began peeling off his t-shirt before pushing his pants and boxers to the floor. Both pieces crumple up next to his feet as his cock comes into view. He gives it a few lazy strokes while reaching for you.

You glanced up at him, your pupils dilating upon seeing his length. It was slightly skinnier than Jason's but just as long. Your mouth watered for a taste. He chuckled, your admiration stroking his ego.

"Come here, baby," he cooed, much more gentle than Jason.

The sound of his voice revived you from your fucked out state, and you were happy to be guided into his arms. He sat against the headboard and took you onto his lap. Pressing a few kisses to your lips, he ran his fingers down your jawline.

He knew he wouldn't have to do anything to get you ready. You were already dripping onto his thighs from the mess Jason left between your legs. He shifted you around by your waist, laying you back against his chest. The both of you faced Jason who sat at the end of the bed.

"You think you can ride for me?" he murmured against the shell of your ear.

Your legs were wobbly and your mind still felt a little cloudy from the euphoria Jason pumped into your veins, but you nodded anyways, not wanting to disappoint Dick.

He rewarded you with a grin and pecked your temple. "Such a good girl. Gonna show him how sweet you can be when you're treated right, huh?"

Again, you nodded, but he also caught Jason rolling his eyes.

You rose onto your feet and positioned yourself above his lap. He helped you out a little, lining his shaft up at your entrance and sliding it through your slick.

Slowly, you began sinking down on him. He couldn't help the choked moan that slipped out of his mouth. "Fuck, you're tight," he rasped.

You didn't let up, lowering yourself all the way down in one go. Your ass rested against his pelvis, and he gave you a few moments to adjust. Hell, he needed them too to catch his breath. He couldn't cum too quickly right now. Not with Jason watching. He'd never hear the end of it.

But eventually you do start to bounce. His hands hold onto the little divots in your side to help you keep balance. Your warm slippery walls squeeze around him with each of your movements.

More whiny sounds seep from your lips. They were higher-pitched than last night. Less drawn out and delirious. Each time you took him all the way, your hips jerked. He reached around, swirling his fingers over your clit.

"So sensitive," he teased.

You whimpered and continued to bounce yourself in haphazard bursts. Your pussy gushed for him, your juices dripping down to his balls. By the time you finished, there would be a wet patch for sure.

He tilted his head back against the headboard, just letting himself feel for a moment. Meanwhile, your eyes meet Jason's. He had a fist wrapped around his cock. He kept his strokes slow, as if trying to hide the fact that he was doing it at all.

"Feeling good?" he asked, but you know it was intended to mock you, "You like sweet and gentle? Better than how I do it?"

Before you could answer, Dick slammed you down on his cock. Your eyes fluttered, and you loosened up, allowing him to take over in lifting you up and down on his shaft.

"If you're asking, that means you know you're losing," Dick chimed in a sing-song voice.

That just spiked Jason’s blood pressure. He stood up. "My turn again," he demanded.

Dick openly laughed in his face while continuing to pump you like a fleshlight. "No," he said.

"Yeah. You've had your turn, now it's mine. Give her back," he said. He was getting more agitated because he realized how petulant he sounded.

It only brought more laughter from Dick. "Give her back? What is she? Your favorite doll or something?" he taunted, "It doesn't really seem like she wants to go back to you. I think I'll keep her here till she finishes."

"You're the one who interrupted."

"You're the one who practically invited me to."

"I don't care. You had enough time, now it's my turn to show you. I'll get her at fucking gunpoint if I have to."

Both of them knew he was just blowing off steam. When Jason got mad, he would say things like that without thinking twice. But you'd never heard his voice so gruff, dripping with the potential for violence. When he got pissed at you, he was annoyed and agitated. Frustrated more than anything else. This was something else, and it turned you on.

You clenched around Dick's cock and let out a shaky whine. They simultaneously dropped their bickering and looked at you. Dick slowed the pace as he eyed you, but Jason's lips curved upward. 

"Oh you like that idea?" he chuckled, "Thought you were afraid of guns, princess?"

"I- I am," you said, trying to backtrack.

His dark locks swayed from side to side as he shook his head. The moment he headed towards the nightstand Dick knew what he was doing.

"Jason-" he started, but his gun was already in his hand. The dark pistol pointed towards you.

"Come here," he said.

Your eyes widened, thighs quivering as Dick stopped moving you and let you slide off of him. He watched as his cock slid out of you, still coated in your arousal. You crawled forward towards the man pointing the gun at you.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair when you were close enough and dragged you the rest of the way. His cock kicked at the yelp you let out.

"That's a good girl. You know to come when you're called," he praised.

You whimpered in response, looking up at him with wide, puppy-eyes. He didn't soften in the slightest though. Scooping you from behind, he dumped you onto your back.

"Spread your legs for me nice and wide," he directed. You clasped your own legs behind the knee and made sure there was ample room for him to get at your center.

The gun remained aimed at you. It kept your heart pumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. A sick combination of fear and lust ran through your limbs. Jason didn't mind the shakiness though. With his free hand, he guided his thick cock back to your entrance and slid right in.

"Fuck, you take it so well for such a prissy little thing," he growled.

He didn't give you the adjustment period like Dick had. Instead, he pushed all the way in and then dragged his hips back before slamming in again. You mewled at the stretch. The sweet burn of him splitting your cunt open.

"Jason..." Dick said again in the tone of a parent about to count to three.

Jason didn't drop it though. He leaned forward, pressing the cool metal barrel against your shoulder and folding you in half under his bulky frame. He was so deep inside you that you couldn't really say he was thrusting anymore. Just grinding his hips. Deep, even rolls. Those tears that had been teasing you before leaked out freely now. You hiccuped out a broken sob as he continued fucking you within an inch of your life.

"She's fine," he grunted, trying to suppress a moan of his own, "Fuck... you know I'm careful."

It was true. Dick didn't actually believe Jason would shoot you, but still, this felt like the exact opposite of what they were supposed to be doing. This was probably the most danger you'd been in over the course of your entire life. It was definitely the first time you'd had a gun aimed at you.

Heat sweltered between you and Jason, making it almost impossible to breathe. Your head lolled back in search of some relief. Some semblance of breathing room. But he was just all around you. Every part of your body felt under his control.

Your vision went spotty for a moment, but when you came back, you saw Dick's face above yours. Jason had leaned back a bit, allowing you to cool down. His hips maintained a steady rhythm though. 

The older man stared down at you, stroking your cheek gently. He swiped your tears away with your thumb. His palms kept your head cradled as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. It just made you cry more.

"You're so pretty crying like that," he crooned. His knuckles swept over your heated skin. "Such a sweet girl. Not used to getting it so rough."

"She'll be used to it by the time the month is over," Jason said. He put the gun aside now, using both hands to hold onto you.

Dick rolled his eyes and continued showering you with soft words and tender touches. It was like each half of your body was in a separate world.

You could tell Jason was close by the way his thrusts were becoming more sporadic. His breaths puffed out in harsh pants while his fingers gripped you tight enough to bruise. Luckily, you were getting there too.

The only one left behind was Dick, but he wasn't worried. He had the patience for you.

Jason thumbed your clit, dragging you the rest of the way to the finish line. You came with a scream so loud that both of them were thankful the penthouse suite meant no neighbors to hear you. Your body quivered and convulsed. You sobbed out cries for both of them. Your hands flew to Dick's wrist to hold onto something.

Jason kept pumping into you for a few moments more, but you were tight as a vise. He knew he was about to cum, and he knew he should pull out. But as he was going to, you locked your shaky legs around him and shook your head.

"I'm-" you tried before cutting yourself off with a whimper, "I'm on the pill."

In that moment, it was like he heard an angel speak to him. He slammed into you as hard as he could and collapsed onto your body. His larger chest crushed you against the bed, his face nuzzling into your neck as he spilled himself inside you. You swore you heard him whine, but it was hard to tell with everything going on.

He fucked his cum into you, not pulling out until he was completely satisfied. Once he was and that dreamy bliss of post-release had settled over him, he reluctantly rolled off and landed next to you flat on his back. His chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths.

But you weren't done yet. Dick slid around to where he had been and pushed his cock into your hole that was still leaking Jason's cum.

"The best goes on last," he teased with a lazy smirk.

He sighed, his long lashes dusting his cheeks at the sensation. His grip was much softer. He took his thrusts slower too, knowing your poor pussy was aching from how rough Jason got.

You whimpered and twitched at the slight overstimulation.

"Shhh, doing good for me," he cooed, "Pussy's so warm and soft. She wants me. I’ll make her feel all better."

The sounds coming from where your bodies connected were absolutely obscene. And even though Dick wasn't going as fast, he was getting just as deep. His tip brushed your sweet spot over and over. Your toes curled and your back arched. This time it was Jason you held onto. You gripped his hand tight as you could, and he let you. He didn't baby you like Dick did, but he allowed you the comfort of his large, warm palm around yours.

You were totally gone by the time Dick was ready to let go. He angled his hips to guide you into another release. Your walls fluttered around his length. His head tilted back and he let out a groan, feeling his own peak bubble up inside him.

He came inside too, pumping your cunt full of another load. Like Jason, he fucked it all in. He stayed snug in the tight grip of your pussy for a moment before pulling out. Sticky, white cum gushed out, dripping down onto the bed.

Dick landed on the opposite side of you from Jason. He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

The three of you laid in silence for a little while. For you, it was out of pure exhaustion. You wondered if it was that for them too, or if they were processing what they'd done. The lines they'd crossed and the secret they'd now have to keep.

But you didn't get the chance to dwell on it for too long because soon enough, Dick guided you off the bed.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said.

With a hand on the small of your back, he led you to your bedroom and into the en-suite bathroom. You assumed Jason stayed behind to take care of the bedding, but you didn't ask.

Dick drew you a bath and helped you in. He did like he said he would, cleaned you up. Every move he made he did so with all the care in the world. Gentle hands wiping the dried drool and tear streaks from your face.

When you were done, he helped you out and dried you off. He let you go about the other parts of putting yourself back together on your own, taking a few moments to tend to himself. 

You didn't know how the rest of the day would look. If things would be awkward now or if they just wouldn't acknowledge what happened. You waited on your bed for Dick, dressed in a pair of fresh clothes and your skin smooth after being lathered in lotion.

He came in after you a few minutes later. Immediately, your fears of things being weird were extinguished by the smile he gave you. The same charming one he'd had since a few days ago. He climbed on the bed with you and laid back against your pillows. You followed in suit, leaning your head against his shoulder.

You were content like this, just relaxing with him. In the back of his mind, he knew this was the quietest you'd been since he arrived.

Moments later the door opened and Jason came in. He crossed the room without a word. You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but he basically answered the question when he reached the other side of your bed.

He laid down next to you like Dick had on your other side. You eyed him suspiciously. Never would you have imagined he'd willingly spend time with you. He caught the look though and gave it his usual frown.

"What?" he scoffed, "I was the one actually hired to watch you. I gotta make sure you're not getting into trouble."

Unlike before, his speaking didn't provoke you to whine or insult. Instead, you smiled and wrapped your arm around his bicep.

"It's ok. I won't make you admit that you wanna cuddle too," you grinned.

He shook his head in denial. "I'm just doing my job," he asserted, "Plus, I think I won the contest, so it only makes sense that I'm the one who stays with you."

"Hey, we never decided on a winner," Dick cut in.

"I mean, we didn't have to because it was pretty obvious."

"Well we got a whole month, so if you're so confident, we can always have a rematch later," Dick challenged.

"Um, you guys didn't even ask for my vote on who I think won," you interrupted with a pout.

They both turn their eyes to you. For once, Jason didn’t look at you with total disdain. In this moment, you could see some fondness under the top coat of annoyance.

"There's that attitude. I guess it was naive of me to hope we fucked it out of you," he said.

Dick chuckled at that. "It'll take a couple more rounds before that's even a real possibility."

You glared at the both of them, but like Jason, your eyes didn't hold real anger or frustration now. Only the hope that they'd try to put you back in line again.

[tteokdoroki]

˗ˏˋ 💎  JJK MEN AS OVERPROTECTIVE GIRL DADS gojo, sukuna & geto .ᐟ

⋆˙ ᯓ★  about ! “a little girl’s first love will always be her father." three scenarios in which the daughters of three jjk men introduce their boyfriends to their fathers. ( 5.7K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. video banner. not beta read. sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, no-curses!au, mentions of pregnancy, children and babies, the children have no names, some family issues, married life, domestic bliss, husband + father!jjk men, mother + fem!reader.

sonic says ! hello everyone !! i wanted to try my hand at some head canons and scenarios, i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so put a pause on working on kinktober to write it lol!! hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ 

ᯓ★ SATORU GOJO:

before meeting you, satoru gojo had never been fond of a family dinner. 

in his childhood home — they were cold and quiet, pockets of clattering cutlery would cut through painstaking silence and distract from the loud emptiness of the seat at the head of the table where his own father was supposed to be. his mother, often solemn and sunken in the shoulders, never spoke. never cooked and slipped small bites to her son in between preparation or steps.

they had staff for that, they had staff for everything.

to keep the household clean and together. to keep him fed and breathing. to keep him alive. all requirements felt almost clinical, the environment in which he was raised almost like the white walls of a hospital — without a trace of love needed for a child like satoru gojo needed to thrive. 

even if he had all the money in the world, he hadn’t a drop of love. he wasn’t ever sure if he was capable of the warm and fuzzy emotion, didn’t know if it was something his heart could ever open up to — sealed in by layers of cool, cold concrete and cement. kept in a safe without a key. at least until you miraculously found it and melted the thick layers of ice blocking satoru’s veins. you brought back colour to his cheeks and light to his eyes, taking up the space in his heart where his family had left a swirling, black void. 

to satoru, you were a saving grace. his everything… and he swore he’d never be like his father; who left his wife unhappy and empty, like a abandoned shell. he promised; he’d do much better than his parents ever did. especially when you found out you were pregnant, even more so when your little girl came into the world with plentiful white curls and lashes, screaming at the top of her teeny tiny lungs. 

at the time, you were sure you’d never seen satoru gojo so in love ( and so teary eyed too ) — but you knew what becoming a parent meant to him. what it meant for the new life you now shared.

but now, having met you and married you and created life with you — satoru had found a new appreciation for family dinners. they were a sacred event, a special time for him to keep up with the lives of his children and let them know he was there. present. 

it wasn’t a time to be imposed on and certainly not by meddlesome boyfriends brought home by sixteen year old daughters.

“so kid, what’s your 401K look like?” 

satoru carries a look of disdain, his nostrils flared, blue eyes narrowed and perfect pink lips curled in an unhappy frown. 

the young boy opposite him, a little scrawny and awkward, shrinks underneath the white haired man’s intense gaze — if you squinted, you could probably see him shaking like a little leaf in the intense wind from across the table “um… i don’t know?”

“hear that little guy? no 401K… how’s he meant to take care of your sister. yeah, yeah.

you’re right, i’ll give him a chance,” he mutters to the baby boy snoozing happily in his arms under his breath, engaging in a one sided conversation before switching his focus back to his daughter’s…sorry excuse for a partner. “okay then… finances, clearly not. academics and common sense —“ pausing,  the white haired father of two clicks his tongue, pushing it into the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek as if to feel his next words out in his mouth. “do you even know what a bouquet of flowers is, kid? a corsage? gojo women don’t play about their flowers, yanno.” 

“sir—“

without giving the boy a chance to speak, gojo drops his intrusive gaze under the table and back up again — pointing an accusatory finger at his little girl’s partner. “your top button’s undone and your shoe laces are untied. you might wanna fix that! if you care about my daughter’s safety!” he turns his nose up all petulant like a picky toddler being forced to eat his veggies, he even sticks his tongue out for good measure. gojo’s eccentric movements nearly jostle his sleepy son in place. the baby whines and gurgles a little bit, only soothed by a pat to his back from dad — who repositions him to snooze over his shoulder.

in a silent, quieter gesture, satoru uses two fingers to point between his eyes and the boy’s. almost as if to say ‘i’m watching you.’

catching him in the act, the eldest gojo daughter bounces into the room carrying plates of steaming hot food, exhaling with worm down patience evident in her body language. “daddy please, you don’t act like this normally. stop messing around.” rolling her eyes, she sets the dishes down, freeing up her hand to smack the back of her dad’s clearly empty skull. just like her mother.

“well sooooorrry for being a good dad and caring about your wellbeing! who you’re dating! who you’re bringing into our bloodline!” gojo rebuttals with petish grunts, unable to cradle the back of his injured head like he does with his son.  

and as if by magic, you, his beautiful and loving and gorgeous wife appear with dinner plates in hand to double down on a scolding the white haired man. amused, you also swat at your husband’s head and tut down at him. “satoru? what are you doing?” there’s something about the way you tease and tell gojo off that always makes his heart race, even after all these years of marriage and raising his kids. he loves you, his family so much. he almost keens into your touch like a pathetic dog, until your daughter starts gagging at the sight — slipping into her set. you were supposed to be watching the baby. not interrogating the poor kid.” 

“we’re having a heart to heart, babe,” gojo swoons, clearing his throat as his head bobs in the direction of his daughter’s boyfriend. “jimbob here was just telling me about his 3.4% grade point average.”

“it’s hiro sir! and uh… 3.5% sir.” the boyfriend in question chirps shyly.

you know that your husband feels… almost threatened by another man entering your daughter’s life — they’ve been practically inseparable since the moment she first opened her eyes. to give up the duty of loving and protecting her and pass it onto someone else is probably what scares him the most. “that’s pretty good hun!” you comment absentmindedly, hoping to pull satoru away from the conversation.

“no it’s not! our daughter has a 4.0%.”

“s-she was failing in math, i was tutoring her.” the boyfriend hopefully interjects again, whispering next when the baby stirs at the dining table. “i hope that makes up for my 401K sir. i-i also work part time to save for college and—!” 

“haha — no i wasn’t!” the younger gojo girl tenses in place, elbowing her date in the ribs not so discretely from under the table. it’s this interaction that makes her father smile, only briefly, before you scowl his way.

“i thought you told them we met at a tutoring session.” 

“you were failing?” you raise a brow, taking your own seat beside her father. 

“see! this boy failure is a bad influence on our daughter!” a glare settles on the slopes of satoru’s angelic features, mirrored by your child’s unimpressed expression across the table. in his arms, your youngest fusses about as if he senses the mounting tension at the table — earning a bounce or two from daddy, who turns your way all matter-of-factly like. “see, this why he doesn’t have a 401K”

“why would a teenager have a 401k, satoru!” comes your exasperated sigh.

“i had one when i was his age.” satoru shoots back and the kid sinks nervously in his seat. the poor boy looks as though he wants to disappear, squirming in place like he’s no better than a worm on a bait hook — it’s torture being interrogated and inspected by someone so close to the person you love most, but even he knows how important satoru’s approval is to your daughter.

she wouldn’t say it now, not when she was all grown up and finding her way out in the world — but she idolised gojo, all of her fondest memories are painted in his colours. shades of sapphire and azure like his vivid eyes, snowy white from his hair that almost rivals the clouds in the sky — the backdrop to days spent riding her father’s shoulders through the big wide world, racing down grassy green hills and wasting the hours away. she wouldn’t admit it here, today, but she never wanted to leave those memories. leave her father behind in her youth — it was written on each dip and curve and highlight on her youthful face, she wanted her father to move into this next phase of life with her too.

“daddy, you were a trust fund baby with shit grades and no prospects until you met mum,” she huffs but her words hold no malice, even if the sass brims over the edge of her tone like an emotionally charged, overflowing glass of water. you’d chide her for cursing — but you know she means well, stubbornly expressing her desire for approval to her man child of a father. “a loser, if you will.” 

gojo slumps, the rosey petals of his plump lips pushing into an age old pout. “how could you say that about dear old dad?” he whines, as though he’s a wounded animal. 

“well she’s not wrong, baby. you were a loser satoru, you still are.” the words are fond and light hearted on your tongue, a similar state to the wisps of a smile that trace over your own lips. leaning in close, you tickle the nose of the gurgling baby boy in his arms, heart heavy with affection — grateful that the one interaction you had with your husband all those years ago ( when he was a scrapier and misunderstood ) led you both to the beautiful chaotic family you have together now. “a hot one at least.” 

“gross.” your daughter groans and buries her embarrassed gaze in the spread of food on the neatly laid table — grabbing a plate and piling it high to cope.

her boyfriend chuckles nervously, wanting nothing more but to eat and do the same. desperate to hide from gojo’s intimidating aura, but too afraid to cross another one of his ridiculous invisible lines. “i think that’s very sweet mrs gojo!”

the brief moment of peace in the war of dad v boyfriend is then interrupted by the white haired man’s temper tantrum, realising that his only daughter is still in the room. “don’t push it kid.” the father of your children all but wails and finds something else about the young couple to pick apart. “you’re sitting too close together! move apart!” 

“daddy—!”

“w-what?”

“i said move it or lose it kid, before i keel over and die of heartbreak.” “betrayal. my own daughter, leaving me for someone else.” 

the two separate, shifting their chairs away from one another despite never actually being too close. you share an empathetic look with your eldest, empathetic to your husband’s actions. you both knew he wouldn’t handle the meeting well, but this was beyond your whilst dreams. the young couple’s hands remain intertwined under the table cloth as the meal begins properly, and when satoru notices, he doesn’t comment — biting down hard on his unhappy tongue. he knows all too well what it’s like to love against the odds, his father in law hardly wanted him around you. it’s not like he wasn’t aware how bad he was for you, how your standards might have even dropped for the man to be with him. but you loved satoru with your entire being, wholly and against all of your own parent’s wishes. 

in a way, the dinner tonight reminds him of himself meeting your father for the first time — how he had to work for his approval too. prove that he was more than just a spoilt brat. too caught up in the memories, the odd sense of loss threaded between his every breath and the love he holds for his daughter settled in his lungs — gojo almost kissed the way you whisper to him adoringly, head drooping to rest on his shoulder mostly to look at your baby but partly to comfort him. “you’re being dramatic satoru. look at them, don’t you just love young love.” 

and he does, he looks, really looks — softly staring across the table and through the haze of his own judgement, noticing how happy his little girl looks all wrapped up with her boyfriend. all he’s ever wanted is to keep her smiling, give her a life that his parents couldn’t give him, he feels all of his resentment and fear or losing his daughter melt away like a plain sheet of paper dissolving in water. he loves her too much to not let her be happy, his baby. his little girl. 

“no, not at all,” satoru finally relents with a wobbling voice and silvery tears that dot his vision — shaking his head back and forth to stop them from dropping onto his sleeping son gathered in his arms. “w-why would you say that? god, is it allergy season? my eyes are killing me. they’re not cute at all, why would you say that i’m crying?” 

your teenage daughter glances over, relief evident in all of her identical gojo features. “no one mentioned you crying, daddy.” she coos softly in an attempt to console satoru.

it doesn’t work, he starts dry heaving and sobbing. which is new for her, he hasn’t cried this hard since her baby brother was born.

the kid scrambles into his pocket and damn near stumbles over the table in order to hand your white haired lover a tissue. “i don’t think you’re crying sir!” 

“shut up!” gojo sniffles dramatically, putting on his best theatre kid act and drapes himself ( and the baby ) all over you. “shit, is this cushioned tissue? three ply?” pale, deft fingers swipe at the blue pools of eyes which well with tears while the kid nods over enthusiastically — desperate to please his girlfriend’s guardian. “good stuff this is… but this doesn’t mean i approve of you for my daughter!”

“gojo!” 

“whaaaaat!? he doesn’t have a 401K!”

ᯓ★ RYOMEN SUKUNA:

if you’d told sukuna, almost a decade and a half ago, that he would end up with a life shrouded in domestic bliss — he would have laughed in your face. maybe even called you a cunt whilst telling you to fuck off. back then, when he was younger and the spirit of ambitious fire burned brightly in his veins as though he had petroleum for blood, the pink haired man never dreamed of settling down. buying a house. getting married. or having kids.

he was as untameable as a wild horse, with only one goal in mind. to open up his restaurant and get his family out of that shithole town by all and any means. he’d cross whatever rivers he had to, climb whatever mountains he needed to — push past societal hurdles that judged him for the pink in his hair and the thick ink on his body. ryomen sukuna did not care. not about anyone else, only about his goals.

at least, until he met you. 

in many ways, you were a blessing to the world where sukuna was a curse. his complete opposite, the day to his night. though the worlds and lives you came from were completely different — 

nowadays, the man is a little softer around the edges and weaker in the heart — they say that’s what true love does to you.

a set of keys jingle at the front door, followed by the dull thud of trainers on the shoe rack and footsteps on the mahogany wood floor. sukuna hardly looks up from the article he’s reading — something about the best recipes for autumnal vegetables. who would have thought, ryomen sukuna, reading up on gardening. he would tell anyone who asked it was for his restaurant, not because he actually enjoyed it. would make him look soft. 

“hey, i’m home!” the voice that calls to him is sweet and youthful, a dulcet symphony that tugs paternally at the pink haired man’s heart strings. “is ma here?” 

sukuna smiles to himself behind the newspaper, inhaling its fresh ink scent. “in the kitchen, workin’,” he replies absentmindedly, listening to his daughter skid down the hall after dropping her backpack. “oi squirt, you ain’t slick. you know what day it is, report card. now.” 

there’s a dramatic sigh that follows footsteps trailing back into the living room. sukuna’s daughter, his pride and joy clings onto the doorframe with a scowl that could very well rival his own, ruby red eyes twinkling with annoyance — she’s in a rush to chat with her mother after school, he knows, but he can’t help but to tease her just a bit. “s’in my bag, can i go now?” she whines impatiently but takes off at the first gentle nod from her father in reply. 

but the pink haired parent’s peaceful evening is quickly turned upside down at the discovery he makes in the bottom of his pride and joy’s bag. no matter how much time has passed, how many decades have gone by in which he’s been a father — nothing could prepare him for this new challenge, the new wave of emotions that come with having a tween daughter and swirl hotly in his chest.

“what the fuck is this?” he announces with a foul snarl, slipping into the kitchen where his girls chitchat idly over a test batch of cookies sukuna had made earlier in the day. for his restaurant of course. not because he’s a doting husband or loving father. he’s got an image to uphold and it’s not one of domestic bliss. 

his daughter chirps, not looking up from the sweet treat she picks apart and pops into her mouth — seated on the kitchen island while you work away on your laptop. “what’s what, daddy?” her innocent nonchalance about the older sukuna’s discovery almost makes him pop a vein. “also, ma told you to stop saying the f-word. so, swear jar.”

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink pokes his tongue into the soft epithelium of his cheek, his jaw ticks and a playful frustration tingles throughout all four of his limbs. the swear jar was something you’d brought into play as soon as [daughter name] had learned how to talk, afraid that your rough and rugged husband’s potty mouth would rub off on her young impressionable mind. every time a cursed word falls from between ryomen sukuna’s lips, a couple hundred yen is popped into the jar as punishment. the thing was practically full by your baby’s third birthday, so you’ve been putting it down as her college fund ever since.

paper rustles between deft and tattooed fingers as sukuna reveals not a report card, but a crinkled note like the kind passed back and forth between distracted kids in the middle of that one class before lunch. “don’t play dumb with me, squirt.” ryomen holds the note up to the light so that both of his girls can see, blood diamond eyes squinting so he can inspect it better. somebody get this guy his glasses. “‘do you want to go out with me? tick for yes, cross for no.’” he reads out loud, each word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, his frown so deep that lines of disapproval form on his well-aged face.

thoughts of the once all-important report card vanish into thin air, the relaxed aura in the room replaced with a palatable tension that not even your husband’s finest knives could cut. your precious baby girl shoots up from the counter to scramble with her dad over the note in hand. he holds her back with a large palm to the forehead.

“oh my god! you weren’t supposed to see that! daddy, give it here. please!”

“fat chance, squirt,” the tattooed man retorts. “you passin’ notes in class? that why you’re hidin’ your report card?” 

“you can have my report card, when you give that back!”

with the two standing side by side, the resemblance strikes you as clear as day. they share the same hair, same scowl and same rugged intonation to their voices. they’re both yours, your entire world under one roof. before they can blow said root off, you stand between the elder and younger sukuna — turning to your husband with hooded eyes and a gentle hand on the centre of his broad chest. “oh ryo,” you coo in flirtation, slowing his train of thought as you sneakily swipe the crushed paper from his grip. “shut up ‘n let me see that.”

your daughter gags behind you at the display of affection, contrasting with the amused smirk you share with your long time lover. after all this time, marriage and the perfect kid, you’re still able to make a fool out of him — make sukuna’s heart skip a beat and a heat he refuses to acknowledge crawl up the back of his neck. he’s gone soft, for you and his family. for now, for you, he relents on taunting his precious little girl. 

casting your gaze over the note, you grin at the pink-ink chicken scratch scribbled across the page. it’s sweet and endearing, reminding you of young love. “did atsushi finally ask you out?” you ask tenderly, handing the paper back to your daughter who cuddles it to her chest like the  physical version of a precious memory. 

a bashful expression lines the contours of her face, seeping into features you’d recognise from your husband on her. sukuna would argue that she has the shape of your eyes and your beauty too — but all you see is a culmination of love. “ma you were so totally right, playing hard to get really works!” 

she gushes dreamily over her crush like it’s puppy love, biting her lip and bouncing on the spot. 

“like a charm, every time.” comes your entertained response, much to your husband’s dismay.

“you weren’t playin’ hard to get with me…” sukuna questions rather than states, trying to piece together parts of the gossip that he’s missed. an anxiety corners the beat of his heart at the thought of his daughter dating, something in which the burly man never thought he would be afraid of. the world had been hard on sukuna; he only worries that it’s not as safe for his pride and joy as it were for him.   “never mind that; the brat asked you out with a piece of paper?  y’better not have said yes. we have standards here.” 

his words make you roll your eyes with the hint of a smile. ryomen almost reminding you of your own father around the time you’d met him.

your daughter scrunches her nose petulantly, gearing herself up for a witty reply. “well ma married you, so her standards can’t be that high.” she snaps, earning a stifled laugh from you and an unimpressed grunt from her hardheaded dad. “and no, i didn’t. told him he needed to ask me out  properly. face to face. with words. he said to meet him on the running track tomorrow at lunch for a surprise!”

pulling her into a hug, you kiss her round youthful cheek. “oh baby, i'm so happy for you!”

“well i ain’t! show me the damn kid, need to see what kind of pitiful brat wants to ask out my little girl,”  sukuna crosses his arms and grumbles to himself, black ink tattoos flexing menacingly as he does so. almost as if he’s preparing to threaten the kid before even meeting him. “whatever happened to askin’ for permission to court or whatever. he should have been on my doorstep asking for your hand.” 

“firstly you would have said no, and secondly this isn’t the olden days, dad. nobody does that anymore.” your cheeky daughter chides him loudly, her words slipping over her snarky little tongue. like father like daughter, the way they snip and snap at one another has an uncanny resemblance.

tilting your head upwards towards your fuming husband, you laugh breathlessly in a way that washes away his anger.“she’s right ryo; though my dad hardly approved of you either.” you say softly. even now, you make him feel weak in the knees and dizzy in the mind, like he’s so anything for you. whoever dates his daughter should feel the same about her.

“i freakin’ earned it, didn’t i? 

“just barely.”

sukuna huffs but settles a hand on your waist from behind and his head atop yours. he needs to soothe himself somehow, his daughter is growing too fast. “stop ganging up on me and lemme see the damn kid.” 

“here, isn’t he cute.” 

lips downturned, sukuna craned his neck to look at your daughter’s phone from over your shoulder — scrutinising the instagram page that she’s opened now offering the kid his only child has taken an interest in like a lamb at the slaughterhouse. “brat looks like a noodle.” haughty laughter fills the kitchen, reverberating against the bones and organs in ryomen’s chest and buzzing right though your back. “you’re right i woulda said no as soon as he fuckin’ turned up!” 

two sets of scolding eyes similar in shape, belonging to the two girls he loves the most swivel around to face the pink haired man disapprovingly.

“ryomen sukuna!” 

“daddy!”

“yeah yeah, i know. swear jar.”

ᯓ★ SUGURU GETO:

“my love, were you aware that our little munchkin has a boyfriend?”

suguru looks up from the bubbling pot of child friendly pasta sauce on the stove. if it were just the two of you having dinner tonight, like it was merely three (nearly four) years ago — he would have planned for a more adventurous meal. perhaps sought out a bottle of fine aged wine for you both to enjoy on the balcony and even gotten a dessert to sweeten the date in. but now, you both had more than two hungry tummies to worry about, and bottles of wine could only be purchased when the little one was off with her uncle satoru.

“no, i wasnt. i don't believe that’s come up in discussion before,” your dark haired lover turns his narrow gaze to the giggly little girl swaddled in your arms — her chubby cheeks and dark, curious eyes just peeking out of the fluffy duck-themed towel you’ve wrapped her in. bath time is usually after bed, but someone got into the paint pots at nursery school and managed to get blotches of blue streaked through her hair and under her fingernails. “care to elaborate sweetheart?”

suguru taps the wooden sauce spoon against the side of the pot and swipes his hands on a nearby tea towel before allowing them to rest on his hips, look of faux irritation settling on the contours of his face and slopes of his features. thin brows draw together like closed gates in the middle of his forehead — the expression earning airy light and squealed laughter from your baby girl.

“nuh uhhh! not my boy-fend!” she babbles her way through the big girl word, missing a few syllables here and there, but geto still grins with pride — happily leaning forward to press enthusiastic kisses to his little angel’s damp forehead. “no boy-fend papa!

bouncing your daughter slightly, you cock your hip out to hold her weight and cheekily roll your eyes. “such a daddy’s girl, lying to him already? he’ll let you get away with anything if you keep that up,”  though you muster up a pout to rival the toddler’s, the uncanny resemblance warming the cockles or your husband’s heart, your tone is playful and adoring — it’s lilt full of love for the baby girl you made together. you pinch her chubby cheek, waggling it from side to side as more of her childlike laughter tangles with the scent of pasta in the air.  “we bumped into the fujioka boy and his mother at the gates this morning, he held her hand all the way up to the classroom. it was quite cute. you had to be there, love.” 

“i’m sure,” he responds, gentle mirth and protectiveness swirling in dark framed eyes.

you relay the information to your husband as though it’s hot gossip fresh from the press, whispering over your dark-haired daughter’s head not so secretly. even with the hair and eyes to match suguru’s, she’s still just as much your carbon copy as she is his — he tends to say all of her spirit comes from you, not to mention the way she laughs and smiles.

shaking her head between you, both — your baby chimes in brightly. “noooo mama!! boys are gross, i don’ hold hands with boys.”

this time suguru manoeuvres to pinch her other chubby cheek, clicking his tongue as he does so. “not even papa?” he pretends to pout, crouching down with his hands on his knees to coo into her sweet little face. 

“nuhhh, papa isn’t gross!! papa is my favourite boy!” she quickly tacks on with a dribbly smile.

“that’s right. i’ll be the only boy in your life always, just you and i princess,” your husband reaffirms with a firm shake of his head and presses a promise in the form of a kiss to your daughter’s nose. her chubby little hands, still wet from bath time, smack either side of suguru’s face and keep him close — close enough for her to plant a soggy smooch onto his forehead affectionately. a wet kiss only a father could love. “that settles it, i’m no longer sharing my kisses. papa says no boyfriends until you’re ninety.”

once your two loves are done sharing their candied affections, you seat your daughter on the edge of the kitchen table to allow geto the room to finish up with dinner. the comforting symphony of baby babbles and kitchen utensils clanking and food boiling fills the steamy air, it makes you smile. it feels like home. “oh come on suguru, they’re only three. don’t you think it’s the tiniest bit adorable?” you say with a sing-songy voice, entertaining both your little one and her father.“they even share their animal crackers during break time and crayons when it’s time to colour, one of the supervisors told me.”

with his back now to you as he stirs through the pasta sauce one final time, you hardly miss the way suguru’s shoulders tense at the mention of the little boy your girl has taken a liking to. he wouldn’t dare frown about it in front of her, what upsets daddy upsets baby too. that’s why he’s always smiling for her, and you find the man’s subtle jealousy endearing. it’s always supposed to be suguru and his princess, with no room for anyone else ( aside from you, of course ) 

“nope, no boyfriends. no amount of cuteness can convince me otherwise.” voice falling tight and flat, suguru reaches into the cupboards for plates and bowls to dish up his lovingly prepared home cooked meal, slamming them into place at the table with a little less patience than before. 

the idea of some… little boy chasing after his daughter’s heart? over his dead body.

“boy-fends are gross!” but your daughter is forever a daddy’s girl, furrowing her brow and crossing her tiny arms in an act of defiance — supporting her papa’s cause. boyfriends are bad! 

fuelling her excitement and even more support for papa — food is served shortly by your husband, who plates up as best as he can with toddler safe dinnerware. you adjust your little girl into her high chair at the table, giggling to yourself softly when she cranes her neck to keep an eye on suguru. “does that mean papa’s gross? he’s technically mama’s boyfriend.”

“husband, love, there’s a difference.” 

three plates of hot, aromatic spaghetti are organised in a table — each a domestic reminder of the family suguru geto has been blessed with. in that moment, he thinks he would be happy if he spent the rest of his life as just the three of you. briefly his mind wonders to setting a fourth place at the table in a decade or so’s time, once his daughter truly is old enough to date. the very thought makes him feel ill. 

round, doe eyes dart between you and suguru as you take your seats either side of your darling daughter at the table — she mimics you both with fumbling little fingers that reach for her baby fork and concentrates as she attempts to repeat your husband’s words. “can i have a husbsband-love?”

you laugh and kiss her cheek, helping her to gather a bite of pasta on the full end of her fork. “husband. just husband, my love. make sure you blow on your food please!” she follows your instructions with a comical air, cheeks puffing and breath huffing while you explain why her father is a second away from blowing his top. “good girl. husband’s aren’t for babies, baby. and i think papa might not like it if you got one now.”

“if you got one ever!” suguru interjects, eyes narrowing while he fights with his lips to avoid a scowl. “the answer is still no, princess. no husbands and no boyfriends until papa is old, cold and in the ground.” 

now that your hands are free, you grab the nearest tea towel and wind it up in your grip — launching its tail end at geto as though to swat at  him. he jumps in surprise and your daughter shrieks in amusement as she begins babbling again. “don worry, papa!. fujioka is  no my boy-fend!!” she says over food in her mouth and happy tummy. geto wipes over her face again. she’ll definitely need another bath later. “hasegawa is!!”

the pair of you share a look and this time, you really think suguru might just throw in the towel. 

how could he compete with pre-school love and paint pots shared over playtime gossip? 

“two boyfriends? oh god, love… i think need some air.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[trivia-yandere]

sentient

you're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom @bangtans-momma @chimmy-licious @ultimatebasura @

word count: 12.513

warning: smut, dirty talking, cyborg namjoon duh, nipple sucking/pinching, face-riding, oral sex, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie, intense orgasming, possessive namjoon duh, carbon monoxide poisioning, yandere tendancies, character death(s)

halloween masterlist

“Seriously?” you sigh with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t think I can handle anymore of your science bullshit.”

“Science bullshit?” Karan scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “You should be honored to get all of my science bullshit for free. What I give you can go for thousands!”

You’ve known Karan since grade school and he hasn’t changed a bit. His skin remained the same deep russet color, his eyes just as dark and kind but determined. His dark hair often grew out past his shoulders, and when it did, it told you that he was working on something that took up all his time.

Sure, Karan grew taller and his voice deepened a bit. He decided that when he wasn’t - in your words - emerged in his science bullshit, he did go to the gym and bulked from the once scrawny boy you remember. However, that didn’t change that he was a geek, a term of endearment. 

You should have expected Karan to be at your doorstep with his hair as long and thick that’s tied in a low ponytail in the back. It meant he was working on something that took all of his time - and it meant he wanted you to be the test dummy, of course. 

“Karan,” you let out a breath. “what’s in the box that it took you and 6 of your geek ass colleagues-”

“Y/N!” Karan gasps, his head turning to said colleagues who are awkwardly standing by your front door. “Lower your voice.”

“Karan.”

“Right.” Karan claps his hands. The box is large and wooden and stands taller than him. It was a struggle to even get it through the door - hence 7 men had to bring it in - but they managed. “This is my gift to you.” Karan says, turning around to go to open the box.

“A gift?” you scoff, though you give Karan hell, you do appreciate his friendly gestures. “Or am I just a test subject?”

“Both.” Karan answers with a snort. The wooden frame opens and you nearly jump out of your skin when you witness what was inside of it. “This is-”

“What the fuck is that!” you screech, your skin crawling with goosebumps.

“If you would shut the fuck up, Y/N, and let me speak.” Karan hisses. “This is an android.”

You clasp a hand over your mouth to not let out another scream when Karan takes a step back to admire his work.

The android was so lifelike and it frightened you. It’s tall - taller than Karan or any of the other 6 men he brought here. Your eyes zone in on it’s face - it was so lifelike that it’s uncanny. 

“Why don’t you have a closer look before I turn him on.”

“Karan,” you shake your head instantly. “this is too much.”

Karan lets out a groan. “Y/N, be mindful. Androids so lifelike go out for thousands of dollars. This is the first official model and-”

“And of course you want me to experience a heart attack day and night, huh?!” you hiss, your eyes unable to move away from the life-like robot. You take a deep breath and try to do as Karan says and be mindful. “Karan, I don’t think I can handle something like this.”

“Why not?”

“I…” you shake your head. You aren’t aware when the last time any man - unless it was Karan - entered your home. Knowing you, you’d forget about the robot all together until you wake up in the middle of the night for some water and see it there. You’d probably die on the spot - that or try to attack it which would force the robot to kill you.

“You’re thinking too much into it, Y/N.” Karan speaks, probably reading your thoughts just by looking at the terrified look on your face. “I’ll meet you guys back at the lab, okay? I should be able to get him started.”

“Karan, no.” you nearly pleaded with your friend as the other scientist lead themselves out of your home. 

“You’ll come to enjoy him, Y/N.”

“Him? You mean it?”  Did you sound offensive at the moment? It was an android and could they really have gender roles. 

“Him.” Karan corrects. “It’s a male android.”

“I don’t see how.” you murmur under your breath. 

“He has a dick.” Karan shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe if you had one inside of you-”

“Don’t go there, Karan. When’s the last time you-”

“Hello.”

You shriek once more when you hear the robot speak, a deep voice sounding throughout your small home. 

“Ah, hello. It didn’t take you long to power on.” Karan smiles. “Come, Namjoon, get out of the box, please.”

Your heart is racing and your fight or flight senses are activated. Your first thought is to indeed run - run far as you could to be away from him. “You…named him?” you murmur to Karan, your eyes glued to the android who does as Karan says.

“Namjoon named himself.” Karan explains. 

This wasn’t sitting right with your spirit.

“Namjoon, this is Y/N. The one I was telling you about.”

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened. What did Karan mean? It wasn’t as if the robot was a living, breathing person - he was created in a lab!

“It didn’t take me a week to create an android, Y/N. It took years of my time.” Karan glances at you. “I’ve programmed Namjoon just for you. Years of collecting data-”

“Karan.” you raise a hand to stop him from speaking. You shake your head. “What do you mean you…programmed it-”

“He.” Karan grits his teeth. 

“-for me?”

Karan takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you the whole truth for there was a possibility you’d be beyond freaked out, but he could tell you a fraction of it. 

“Namjoon know’s your likes and dislikes.” Karan begins. “He knows your allergies and just what to do if you have a reaction.”

“What…the fuck…?” your eyes widened. “Is this not a HIPAA violation?”

“Not when it benefits you, no.” Karan shakes his head. “I programmed Namjoon to be the perfect…” he tilts his head. “...assistant?”

You scoff.

“Like Siri or Alexa but…” Karan points at Namjoon. “...alive!”

You bring yourself to glance back at…Namjoon. He is tall, towering over both you and Karan. He’s waiting patiently, his eyes - a dark shade of brown - already on you. He offers a smile that causes your heart to jump once more. You notice that his cheeks are dimpled and he has a set of pearly white teeth.

“Take a closer look, Y/N. Touch him.” Karan insists, lightly patting your shoulder. “He doesn’t feel robotic.”

It takes you five minutes of hesitation, but you do. You touch the skin of his cheek and your eyes widened by how human he did feel. Warm to the touch, soft skin. You tilt your head. “Explain yourself, Karan.”

Karan swallows and chuckles to himself. He understands what questions you have and it’s easier to lie for your sake than to tell you the truth - being that Namjoon was once full human and doesn’t have any memories of his human life. Now he is more of what people consider a "cyborg". No, that would cause you to panic, and in return would cause Namjoon to, as well, as he is designed to protect and serve you.

“I can go on and on about my science bullshit to explain to you why Namjoon is so human-like, but that’ll only bore you.”

You groan at how right Karan was. You muster up the courage to continue to feel Namjoon and how human he truly was. His hair was soft and a shiny black color that matches perfectly with the cool and tan tone of his skin. 

“Doesn’t he feel like a man?” Karan questions. “We know you need one.”

“Fuck you, Karan.” you snatch your hand from Namjoon, who is eerily still and watching you. 

“No. Buuuut Namjoon can.” Karan cackles at your reaction.  “You’re going to hate me, Y/N, but we’re best friends, right?”

You swallow back your response. 

“I hacked into your devices. Namjoon knows…a lot about you.”

It takes you a moment to understand what Karan was insinuating. 

Your body heats up. “Karan!” you hiss, your hands turning to fists. 

“Y/N, you and I both know you need to get dicked-”

“Karan!” you hiss, the amount of times you had said his name in under an hour is insane.

“I’m leaving. Let me know if anything is out of order. There shouldn’t be seeing as Namjoon’s took years to perfect.” Karan smiles, making his way towards your front door. “Now, excuse me.”

You want to follow after Karan and punch his head in, but you decide not to. You take a few deep breaths. 

“Your heart rate is increasing.” Namjoon speaks, his voice causes you to yelp. “You should try calming yourself down.”

“Easy for you to say.” you murmur, more to yourself. You stand a little straighter, your heart continuing to race - something the android could sense somehow. You would be sure to ask Kanan how later. “I…I don’t know what to say.” you murmur awkwardly.

“That’s fine.” Namjoon chuckles so normally that it brings chills up your spine. “You don’t need to feel shy around me, Y/N.”

You swallow, body heating up once more. Curse the way Karan built this android. It’s noticeable that Namjoon was a special invention. He appeared so lifelike, carved beautifully, you’d admit. You pondered how his voice didn’t sound robotic, or even the way he speaks, blinks, smiles - everything. 

“I…I’m sorry.” you take a deep breath. “This may be a stupid question.”

“No question is stupid, Y/N.” Namjoon lightly shakes his head. “Ask away.”

“Do you…need to be charged?” 

Namjoon cracks a smile and shakes his head once more. “No. I do not.” he answers. “I do have a rest mode, however. I’ll allow myself to rest at times to recharge my system.”

You nod your head slowly and then bite your lip.

“Is there anything you’d like me to do?” 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want you to feel like my slave.” you attempt to joke.

“I was made to serve you, Y/N. Ask anything of me and I’ll do my best to achieve it.”

Namjoon was so human-like. 

Karan explained in scientific terms as to why and that only caused more confusion - but in simpler terms, he explained that Namjoon was similar to a digital assistant like an Alexa or Siri, of course. He “adapted” to your likes and dislikes and modern society. He studied how men (the ones you were attracted to, how Karan knew this was beyond you) around his age - late 20’s - would talk and walk. 

No one knew that Namjoon was an android - no one but you and Karan and of course, Namjoon himself. 

Living with Namjoon took a toll on you at first. You had woken up one day and forgotten that the android was there and had walked out in the middle of the night to find him. He was resting as he said he was, only this time leaning against the wall of your kitchen. You screamed at the top of your lungs and activated Namjoon who was programmed to think that an intruder was in the house. He had sensed your heart rate skyrocket and was prepared to attack - only he was said intruder.

After that night, you gave Namjoon his own room. You had used your spare bedroom as a storage and closet all at once, but if Namjoon was going to be here then you’d have to show some type of respect to him.

As time went on, you grew to enjoy Namjoon’s company. He often sat around and waited for you to need him. Having no partner meant that you were accustomed to being alone and thus doing things by yourself. When you couldn’t reach something, you weren’t opposed to jumping onto something to grab it or grabbing a chair. Namjoon came in handy in that department. 

Namjoon would also build your furniture - your entire bedroom set being one that you were grateful for. 

Namjoon took the liberty in ordering any necessities that were lowstock, along with groceries - Karan had managed to implement a chip that could save your data to Namjoon so he could do it internally. You’re still unsure how you feel about it, but for now you’re sure it works.

One thing you learned about Namjoon, being an android, was his desire to gain more knowledge. He would often read books. You had allowed him to order as much as he wanted since he was a help to you the past few months - and he appeared content. He would tell you what he read about, albeit fiction or nonfiction, you’d listen.

“There’s no way you can get any smarter, Namjoon.” you said to him one day as you catch him reading yet another book - this time a math one that would hurt your brain if you’d attempt to look through it.

“Knowledge is power, Y/N.” was the android’s response.

As for Namjoon, he was content with living with you. He got to make sure you were safe and always assured that you were up to date with any doctor appointments. He would keep track of any reminders you’d tell him - “call so and so later,” “don’t forget to take the meat out the freezer at this time”, “call Karan to annoy him” and so on.

Namjoon doesn’t tell you that he knows more about you - deep facts that you would probably never tell anyone. He doesn’t want to embarrass you and cause your heart rate to grow high, so he doesn’t tell you. Like how he doesn’t tell you that he can hear everything - especially the buzzing noises at night when you play with yourself mixed with soft, but oftentimes disappointed moans. He recalls the time when your heartbeat became quick as you were going to cum just for the vibrator to die - how disappointed you must’ve felt.

Namjoon knocks on your door five minutes after your shower once he’s sure that you are dressed - his eyes could see past the closed door and into your bedroom when he knows you’re rubbing lotion onto your already soft skin. You’re dressed for bed, as well, in shorts that barely cover yourself and a tank top with one of the straps missing as you’ve grown to love the old top.

“Joon,” you furrow your brows as you open the door. “is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Namjoon nods. 

“You don’t usually seek me out this late at night. You’re usually resting.” 

“You’ve been working hard the last few days.” Namjoon responds. “There’s knots in your neck.”

You sigh with a short nod of your head. “You’re right. I’ve been working overtime lately.” you explain. “I’m glad the clothes I got fit you. I wasn’t sure what size to get.” your eyes scan the pajamas he wore - a simple plaid pajama pants with a dark color shirt. Namjoon insisted that you buy him simple pajama’s wear so he could be as human as possible.

“Thank you.” Namjoon offers a dimple smile that causes your heart to beat faster - he senses it. “Would you like a massage?”

“Uh…what?” your body heats at the sudden question. “You never asked me that before.”

“Indeed I haven’t.” Namjoon tilts his head. “But I sense that the knot in your neck is causing you discomfort. I don’t want you to sleep like that, you might wake up even worse.”

You take a deep breath with a shrug. You’re sure he was right - he was the artificial intelligent android that knew everything, not you. 

“I don’t want to treat you like a slave, Joon.” you joke, but even you were curious about how a massage would be. Namjoon’s hands were large and you pondered how they would feel on you.

Namjoon smiles once more. “I was made to serve you, Y/N.” he murmurs, so low that it catches you off guard. “If you do not want me to then I will not force it. But please never feel as though you are a burden to me.”

A massage wouldn’t be bad, right? Sure, Namjoon was hot - you curse Karan for making something like him - but he was an android. Surely he didn’t feel the things a human could and wouldn’t jump at any sexual opportunities.

“Why not?” you sigh, opening your door wider for him to enter your room. “I do have a few knots and my back has been killing me lately.”

“I have watched massage videos while you showered.” Namjoon speaks. “To perfect my craft.”

“Of course you have.” you laugh to yourself. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

You’ve gotten used to Namjoon being able to control most of the devices in your home - like the lights. He dims them as he enters your room and for your speakers, he adds a soft melodic tune. “For you to be comfortable.”

You lay as Namjoon advises you to, on your stomach with a few of your pillows beneath you to not be in discomfort.

You had to admit that Namjoon was good with his hands, and even that wasn’t much of a compliment. He works his thumbs right into your neck, massaging out any knots he sees. 

Your eyes were growing heavy and Namjoon senses how relaxed you are, mind clear. He works his hands onto your back, rubbing along your spine and sides. Your breathing is low and steady, an ultimate sign of how relaxed you were.

Namjoon’s hands go lower and lower, massaging your tense muscles with the perfect amount of pressure that you couldn’t help but moan low to yourself, unbeknownst that Namjoon could hear every sound.

“Feels nice?” Namjoon questions softly, both hands gently massaging past either side of your hips. He offers a firm squeeze before working his way down to your thighs.

“Mhmm.” you hum, cheek pressed firmly against your soft pillows. “It feels nice.”

“You are relaxed. I can sense your heartbeat.” Namjoon states as he often does, giving you updates about your own body that he appears to understand more about than you do. 

“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’ve been stressed lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Namjoon slightly nods his head with a bit of a tilt.  “I have.” he responds, his hands massaging down your calves and slowly back up your outer thighs. “I could assist you if you’d like.”

You snort. Though your eyes were heavy and you could truly fall asleep like this, you decided against it. Namjoon was a good conversationalist. “Help me with work?” you question, though rhetorically. “I’ll just take some personal time to relieve some stress.”

“I could assist you in relieving stress. Though, if you’d like me to help in your field of work, I would be happy to do that, as well.”

“What do you mean?” you question, genuinely confused. 

Namjoon is silent for a moment, and in his silence you begin to ponder what he was speaking of. 

Namjoon’s hands are large and warm - he hasn’t admitted that he could radiate his own heat, another sensor that Karan has put in him in case, in any instant, you needed it. They slide past your ass in massage movements and it catches you off guard that your eyes slowly open, but you remain silent. 

Namjoon’s hands don't linger as he can sense your quicken heartbeat and he begins to massage up your lower back.

“I believe you’re stressed out, yes, but more than you lead on.” Namjoon finally speaks. 

“Namjoon-”

“I could help you, if you’d like. I know whatever toy-”

“Namjoon!” you’re embarrassed now and immediately, you get up from your laying position to turn to look at the android. His eyes appear curious instead of soulless like they should be for an android. “I…I don’t know what…”

Namjoon tilts his head. “I know you’re left disappointed with your vibrator.” he says bluntly. “I can sense it everytime.”

Your blood runs cold and now you’re left truly embarrassed. Namjoon could sense when you were…you wanted to die. 

Curse Karan for creating such an advanced android.

“I want to help you…cum.” Namjoon’s system assists in finding the right words that would be considered “modern” and not too scientific to turn you off. “I would like to help you cum.”

“I-I don’t think that’s n-necessary!”

“Why not?” Namjoon questions. “I won’t die like your vibrator would.

Your legs clench together and you gasp in disbelief. He knew about that, too?

“You’re embarrassed. There’s no need to be. I’m here to serve you, Y/N. Like Karan said, I know what you like.”

Fuck Karan - again and again. He has hacked into your devices and showed poor Namjoon what you watched on whatever porn site. It couldn’t be considered what you wanted to happen to you, because at times you did watch some hardcore shit.

You take a deep breath.

“I…” 

“If you don’t like it,” Namjoon sets his palm upon your bare thigh and you visibly stiffen. “then I’ll stop, just tell me.”

This was crazy, you think. Namjoon is an android and you didn’t want to treat him like a sex robot. You imagined only incels would do that - but here you were contemplating it. It doesn’t help that Namjoon felt so human - his skin was as soft as a human. Warm at the touch, as well. He was carved so perfectly that it’s hard to believe that this wasn’t a human man before you.

“O…Okay.” you meekly murmur, innocent eyes staring right back at him.

Namjoon works his way towards you slowly. He tests to see what causes your heart to jolt. His hands gently push you back against the pillows as he hovers above you. 

“Remember, Y/N, I was made for you.” he reminds you.

Namjoon allows his hands to place themselves along your breast, not hesitating. You are stiff, silently watching as he gently rubs them. You weren’t wearing a bra - you never wear one to bed - and it’s easy for him to do what he does next.

Namjoon sneaks his way inside your tank top to grasp your breast. Your nipples are hardened almost instantly. His thumbs rub along the sensitive bud, dark eyes flickering to you.

“Feels good?” Namjoon whispers, but he already knows it to be true. 

You slowly nod your head.

Namjoon continues to rub along your breast, often pinching and twirling them between his thumb and index finger.

You fight back the moans, eyes watching Namjoon between your eyelashes. Maybe it was because Karan was right - you haven’t been with a man for who knows how long. It causes great embarrassment that even Namjoon, an android, knows this, as well. 

“Relax.” 

Namjoon murmurs, coming a bit closer to you. 

“Treat me like you would another man.” Namjoon suggests. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just you  and I here.”

You nod your head slowly, biting your bottom lip. It’s easier said than done - how could you look at yourself in the mirror after this was done and over with? In the moment it’d feel amazing, sure, but once the high is down you’re positive you’ll feel like a complete freak of nature.

You lean forward, taking a deep breath. No one had to know that you were doing this - it’s something you’d take to your grave. Namjoon rarely left the house with you, and even then, his loyalty was with you, right? Maybe in ten years you’ll admit this to Karan, but until then…

“Can I…can I…” you bite your lip harshly, body heating up. “...kiss you? It’s um…it’ll be weird if I-”

“Yes.” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, sensing your growing embarrassment and discomfort. 

You nod your head, unable to say anything further. You begin to lean forward, sitting with your legs crossed. You place a hand on Namjoon’s shirt, leaning even more towards him.

“You act as if you’ve never kissed a man before.” 

Namjoon is teasing you. There’s a glint in his eyes and a soft smirk on his lips. You want to roll your eyes at how typical Namjoon was for an android. Your hands snatch Namjoon’s loose shirt and force yourself to kiss him. 

Namjoon’s lips are soft, which shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. It’s eerily soft and it always has you pondering just how Namjoon was created; how someone could build Namjoon in just a few years.

“It's not so hard now is it?” Namjoon murmurs against your lips, offering another quick peck. 

“Shut up.” your response is muffled against Namjoon’s lips, an urge to continue your kisses upon them.  “I’m trying my best.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond - he knows you are doing just that. It’s a weird feeling for you, he’s sure, to feel how human he is. Skin as soft as yours, radiating the exact amount of warmth. He doesn’t maneuver as an android nor does he speak as one - it would freak anyone out.

“I think you’re still holding back.”

Namjoon is the first to speak, but he brushes his lips against yours for a moment before continuing. “Come,” he says, ushering you closer to him.

Come for Namjoon meant you sitting directly on top of him, your legs straddling him beneath you. You swallow as Namjoon places his hands securely onto your hips, tapping his fingers against them. 

“Now, let’s continue.” Namjoon pecks your lips once more, allowing you to adjust to the new position and to follow his lead.

It’s just as different as before, but again, you tell yourself that you have to see Namjoon as a man, and not an android. You have to trick your mind in thinking that Namjoon wasn’t someone created in a lab to assist you - maybe you met him…in a bar?

 No, too cliche, you tell yourself. Maybe at a cafe of sorts while he was reading a book. Namjoon enjoyed reading. 

It was easier for you to pretend Namjoon and you met in more normal circumstances for you not to feel like a total sexually frustrated woman. 

You’re unsure how long it’s been - five minutes and forty-six seconds, Namjoon knows - since Namjoon and you have been here. However, your tongue dances with his, your nails digging into his shoulders. His hands are roaming your body entirely, gripping and tugging at your clothing.

You admit it feels good to be touched like this - to be on top of Namjoon kissing without a care. 

“I want to make you feel good.” Namjoon speaks when the two of you - of course you since he didn’t need to - decides to halt your makeout session to breathe. 

Even knowing what you’re doing here would ultimately end with you and Namjoon doing something sexual, him stating such causes your stomach to jump with nerves.

“I…”

“You’re nervous. I can sense it.” Namjoon can hear your heart beating so loudly due to your nerves. He squeezes your hips and offers a low smile and even then his dimples sink deep into his cheeks.  

“No,”  you shake your head. It’s pointless to try and cover up your anxiousness from Namjoon as he could sense it regardless. Still, you’ve already gone this far and you’re sure you could stop now, but you didn’t want to. “...um, how do you want to do…that?”

Namjoon doesn’t respond and instead presses a peck onto your lips. He doesn’t linger there and instead begins to kiss further down, starting with your jaw. He goes towards your neck, fingers tapping up your waist to your lower back and eventually up your spine. It causes you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along your skin. 

Namjoon’s tongue is warm upon the nape of your neck, massaging your smooth skin. His teeth sink into your neck, grinding it only a bit to force a deep moan from your mouth -  exactly what he was looking for. 

“You’re very pretty, Y/N.”

Namjoon words catch you by surprise and slowly, your eyes open in response. Namjoon’s caught up with his kissing, going lower and lower. He can sense your body temperature rising only slightly, your heart beating so loud in your chest that it could be alarming if you didn’t bring yourself to relax.

“You act like you’ve never done this before.” Namjoon’s tone is teasing once more and you could only snicker. 

“You act like you have.” you retort with a raise of your eyebrow.

Namjoon scoffs. His eyes flicker upwards at you, your breast now in his face. You can see the gears in his mind - did Namjoon have a brain? You’d have to ask Karan another time - as he processes your words.

“I know how to pleasure you, Y/N.” Namjoon once more pokes his tongue out, trailing it along your breast teasingly. “I know exactly what you like for me to do.”

You swallow, biting your lip. You weren’t going to back down to the android. You have to hold your own. 

“Are you sure you’d be able to deliver?”

Namjoon doesn’t speak like you expect him to. Instead, his tongue - so warm and still human-like - wraps around your erect nipple. He latches onto it and continues to suckle. The action was so sudden that you yelped aloud. 

Namjoon makes no sign of backing down. It wasn’t as if he had to halt for air - an added bonus. The sensation never stops and it causes your hips to jerk involuntarily, your shorts sticking to you as you go to rub yourself against him.

You had such an abundance of questions that swirls through your head - since Namjoon was an android, he couldn’t possibly get an erection.

Unless, of course, it was already…

You release another moan - this time long and deep at just the thought of him already being erect. The thought that you could just mound him at any given moment causes you to clench around nothing.

Namjoon senses just how aroused you are, your arms now around his neck as he continues to suckle on your nipples. He now has both of them right his mouth, sucking with all his might. 

You’re rubbing yourself against him, wanting out of your shorts immediately. You could feel him - whatever it was beneath his pajama pants. You’re sure that it’s as real as the rest of Namjoon, more questions that you’ll leave unanswered as they were too complicated. 

Namjoon pops your nipples from his mouth, a string of warm saliva connecting the two together. Very slowly does the tip of his tongue lick along your nipple, siren-like eyes looking right up at you. 

Your pussy clenches again at the look of Namjoon, wishing he was deep inside of you with the same look on his face.

Fuck Karan and his creation, truly. 

“You want to ride my face?”

You’re positive you were leaking and it would all come out when you get out of these shorts. 

“I..I don’t…you’d let me do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Namjoon tilts his head. “I was made for you. You can cum all over me if you’d like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how Namjoon speaks nonchalantly. Dare you say it was cute coming from an android.

“Would you like that?” Namjoon murmurs, further pushing himself back onto your bed. He’s certain that you would like it as you hadn’t stopped grinding against him the entire time. 

You nod your head hastily and Namjoon taps your back. You lift yourself all too quickly to remove your shorts and panties and toss them aside without a care.

 Namjoon reaches his arm out towards you and you take it. “I can hear your heart beating.” Namjoon licks his lips, those siren-like eyes flickering from your face to your exposed bottom half. “Come,”

You’ve never been in this position before. You’ve almost always received oral while on your back - but this was new. You shouldn’t be embarrassed because Namjoon wasn’t a regular man. You didn’t have to be ashamed of how you looked, seeing as - according to him and Karan - he was made for you. 

Namjoon’s fingers grip at your thighs to keep you in place and without much hesitation, his tongue dips between your folds. You jerk instantly at the newfound sensation, but you are unable to move. Namjoon makes sure of it.

Namjoon pleases you as if he’s the one receiving it, his tongue plunging deep between your folds and hammering right against your clit. Your hips are buckling, but he’d never allow you to be too far away from him.

Namjoon’s slurping is loud, but so are your moans. Your eyes are shut tightly because having to look down at Namjoon devour your pussy like a man starved was going to send you over the edge. 

“J…Joon, slow down.” you groan with a shake of your head. Your thighs are shaking, stomach sinking in as you inhale. “...I don’t wanna make a mess-”

Namjoon ignores you all together, squeezing hands jutting your hips against his tongue. His eyes watch your face closely, eyes zoning in on the way you’re struggling to breath while moaning. Your eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to look at him.

Namjoon wanted you to make a mess all over him - this is what he was made for. He was created to serve your every need and craving. He was the perfect being for you; attentive and caring. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you as his master.

“Joon, I don’t think-”

Your eyes snap open when you feel Namjoon enter you - his fingers. They’re as long as they look and they fill you up so nicely. It was a mistake to look at Namjoon beneath you because this sight would forever be embedded in your mind.

“Oh shit,” you groan as Namjoon's fingers pound inside of your pussy. Your arousal coats his chin and now is dripping down his wrist, but he makes no sign of stopping. 

With his free hand, Namjoon glides it up to grip your breast, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?” Namjoon hums, fingers curling into your pussy and hitting your spot with each thrust. “Talk, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes…!” you shriek, thighs widening to feel more. You needed more of Namjoon - whatever and however much he was willing to give. “Please make me cum, Joon. Please…”

The gears are turning now in Namjoon’s head with the clear demands - no matter how polite - you give him. After all, he was made to serve you and only you. So, Namjoon does as he is told. He quickens his fucking into your pussy that it squelches off of the walls, juices flying out and soaking his chest.

Over the course of the next few months consisted of moments of you and Namjoon entangled together. The following night after you came - entirely too much and the hardest you’ve ever had - you woke to Namjoon massaging you. He had insisted that you needed another full body massage before he left your bedroom to start a bath for you.

It wasn’t awkward as you initially thought it would be and maybe that had something to do with Namjoon not being human. It was easier to get through your own embarrassment as he only appeared to be the lovable assistant he assured you he was created to be for you.

You found yourself going to Namjoon more often than not and of course, he was always willing. You thought that maybe you were taking advantage of the poor android and using his endurance for your own sick pleasure, but Namjoon comforted you. He would always encourage you to come to him for whatever needs you needed fixed.

And of course you had.

Namjoon had made you cum too many times to count; each time more intense than the last. Your legs would be left shaking and tears would be nearly streaming down your face due to pure pleasure. 

It was addicting and no matter how wrong it felt at times, you would always come back and return to Namjoon to make you feel good. He knew exactly how to speak to you and coach you through your orgasm. His voice would deepen in your ear, encouraging you to make a mess all over him - that it was okay to be doing this. 

Whatever Karan did to program Namjoon in understanding your own kinks was amazing and incredibly terrifying all at the same time. 

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks one Friday evening. He had sat by and cleaned while you were showering. His senses caught that you were using your more expensive body wash and lotions - the one you typically used when you were going out. He watched behind your closed door as you dressed in a short, black dress that was entirely too tight for you to ever sit comfortably in. 

“I, uh…” Namjoon senses your awkward laughter and he stops his scrubbing on the circular, glass bowl. The sink water runs as he awaits for you to answer, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “I…I’m going on a date.” you respond. “A, uh, blind date.”

“A blind date.” Namjoon repeats without a blink in his eye - did Namjoon ever blink? 

“One of my co-workers set it up.” you look away for a moment. “Said she was tired of me being alone.”

“You’re not alone.” Namjoon continues washing the dishes, his eyes now leaving yours to focus on them. “I’m here.”

You smile.”I know you are.” you murmur. “But, she meant…someone human.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond and unlike him, you cannot sense anything. You weren’t an amazing creation like he was. He knew when you were going to be ill days before it even happened and he would prevent it. He learned how to cook by reading books carefully and assured that all your meals would be cooked for you right as he knew your stomach would start to churn. 

Namjoon was amazing for the little things, as well. He would order whatever you needed right before it went out. He assured that your bills were paid on time and would often run errands for you when needed be - he just wasn’t a sex toy to get your high off of. 

“I should be back tonight.” you trail off when Namjoon doesn’t say anything. You inhale. “Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?” Namjoon turns the water off and turns his eyes to look at you. 

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s nothing.” you mumble. You’re sure Namjoon didn’t feel any type of emotion and that wasn’t his fault. He knew how to display the idea of emotions when you needed him to. He would laugh at your jokes at times and be just as playful back, but maybe that was apart of how he was programed for you. 

“You do not know this man, right?”

You’re at the door when Namjoon finally speaks. “Right.” you respond, placing your heels onto your feet.

“Then would you like for me to accompany you?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” you giggle. “It’ll be hard to explain why I have another man with me.”

“You do not know him. What if he’s not who he says he is?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Joon.” you shake your head with a low grin. “I appreciated it.”

“I do have to worry about you, Y/N. I wasn’t created to allow harm to come your way.”

“I won’t be harmed, Joon.” you raise your hands to calm him down. “It’s just a date at a restaurant.” you scoff. 

Namjoon’s head snaps to the door just as a few knocks sound off. His eyes flashes and he sees the man just behind the door. He scans his face, the system in his mind calculating everything there was to this man - just who he was, where he worked and even details and information no one should have access to.  

“He’s here, Joon.” you tilt your head. “You should be fine here, right? I’ll be gone no longer than 2 hours.”

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to your face and slowly, he nods. “Be safe.” he responds. “It should be a little windy tonight. You should grab a jacket.”

Your lips stretch into a smile and you nod your head. Your heels click over to Namjoon and you wrap your arms around him, your head in his chest. “It’s good that you always know the weather beforehand, huh?” you laugh before unraveling yourself from him. “I’ll grab a jacket on my way out. I’ll see you tonight?” you ask. “I want us to finish reading that mystery book. We’re so close to finding out who the killer is!”

Namjoon doesn’t move for the first hour, his eyes lingering on the same spot you were just standing. He counts the minutes you’ve been gone, processing the man you were with - a complete stranger to you - and just how comfortable you felt going out with him. 

Namjoon busies himself by continuing to clean. You couldn’t manage to get through all the hard to reach places and he assures that he does, moving furniture and dusting the house top to bottom. You were no good if you were sick.

Namjoon scrubs the walls with scented detergent with a shake of his head at how you lived in such situations for so long - even if he worked months to assure everything was clean for you. He ponders if you noticed all the work he’s done to assure that you were safe from harm's way. 

It wasn’t two hours like you’ve said. It was four. Namjoon is unable to stop counting until he hears your footsteps stumble through the door. Only it wasn’t just your two feet, but another set that alarms him. Immediately he springs into action, his eyes flashing through the wall of the second bedroom you had allowed him to rest in, dropping the book he was reading.

Namjoon’s eyes catch the familiar man standing behind you. You’re laughing along with him and you press a finger to his lips to shush him. 

You’re drunk, Namjoon knows immediately. Not entirely drunk as you’re coherent, but you’re far beyond what you’re usually were; sober. You’re laughing more around the man who’s just as equally drunk as you are. You two nearly stumble onto the ground as you attempt to close the door.

Namjoon follows the way you and the man make your way to your bedroom. You close the door behind yourself quietly almost as if he couldn’t hear anything. He continues to watch you, unable to stop himself. 

You and Namjoon often listen  to podcasts and watch tv shows and he’s positive that this could end badly - this man could be a murderer for all he knows. 

The man isn’t - as far as he knows. He had no criminal record, after all, but that wasn’t going to stop him from ensuring your safety. 

This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home before. He only saw Karan a handful of times and you opted to talk to other friends over the phone. It’s weird that you did now out of all times - and not only that, but you were going to sleep with this unknown man.

30 minutes is what it took for it all to be over and Namjoon isn’t surprised in the slightest in knowing that you weren’t satisfied. The look of disappointment on your face is the easiest sign of it, but Namjoon knows you. He knows your body. He sensed the way your heart beat increased a bit and your breath hitches, only for it to die down when the man himself cums - never you.

Namjoon shakes his head. Of course you would be left unsatisfied. This man wasn’t someone who gave a damn about you or your pleasure. He was a random man who had no ties to you, so of course he couldn’t care less to make you cum - that's what Namjoon was for. 

Namjoon knew you in and out. He knew everything there was about you - the side that you preferred to chew your food while you ate. He knew which side you preferred to sleep on at night and your entire morning schedule before work. It’s Namjoon that assures that your health is up to date and even scheduled two check-ups with your doctor so far.

Namjoon has to remind you about the dentist appointment, however, seeing as you haven’t gone in a few years. He shakes his head as his glowing eyes watch you walk the man out, a look of disappointment on your face.

“Want me to start you a shower?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at Namjoon’s sudden entrance. Your back leaned against your closed front door and hadn’t noticed him enter. 

“I…I thought you were….resting?” You bite your lip. Namjoon didn’t need to sleep, of course, but you recall him stating that he’d often rest to recharge. Karan had once stated that if Namjoon goes outside, he could also recharge solarly - whatever that means. 

Namjoon only stares blankly at you. 

You bite your lip for a moment. 

“I, uh, probably do need a shower.” you chuckle humorlessly. “Is everything okay?”

You can feel the tension in the room as Namjoon continues to stare at you. 

Namjoon turns on his heels and saunters down the hall to the bathroom. His change of mood is different but maybe it’s all in your head and you were overthinking this.

Namjoon didn’t have mood swings. 

“Thanks, Joon.” you murmur, entering the bathroom as he starts the shower. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Namjoon again doesn’t respond and instead begins to light candles - aromatherapy is what he called it when he started doing this for you. The different scents are soothing and relaxing just as Namjoon said they would be.

“Are you upset with me?” you question as you begin to disrobe, silk robe lying at your feet. “Is that a stupid question? I don’t know if androids can feel any type of emotion or-”

“Why did you bring him here?”

The shower water falls rough against the tub floor. You blink a couple times to process his question with a quick lick of your lips. “I, uh, didn’t know you…heard us.” you’re embarrassed now.

“I can hear everything.” Namjoon eyes you from his reflection in the mirror, his back turned towards you. “I can see everything, as well, Y/N. I can see right through these very walls.”

Your eyes widened a bit. 

“Excuse me?”

Namjoon remains quiet as you internally question his words. 

“You were watching us?” you are unsure if you should feel upset or further humiliated. If that was the case, that meant Namjoon saw how disappointing your sexlife truly was and just why you always came back to him time and time again. It causes you to close your eyes for a moment and mentally curse yourself - and for Karan for making Namjoon too perfect.

“That’s an invasion of privacy.” you mumble to yourself, turning away from Namjoon to begin your shower.

“You didn’t know that man.” Namjoon retorts. “He could have been a murderer.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “A murderer? He sells chicken.” you reach out your hand to feel the water - it’s always at a perfect temperature whenever Namjoon does it. He doesn’t have to configure it like you do.

Namjoon knows fully where the man works. He is scheduled to work at 9am the next day. 

“What does that matter? You’re drunk.” Namjoon’s tone changes to one you haven’t heard before. “He could’ve taken advantage of you. Then I’ll have to kill him.”

You freeze, hand underneath the warm water. There’s a shiver up your spine and slowly, you turn towards the android. He’s facing you this time, eyes unmoving. 

You’re unsure how to react to what Namjoon has said. Namjoon wouldn’t kill anyone. He barely left your side at times. He reads books and hell, he even shows interest in gardening. 

But that didn’t mean Namjoon wasn’t capable of killing anyone. He wasn’t human - he’s highly intelligent. He could figure out anything in under a minute and just recently did you learn he could see you through your walls. There’s so much you don’t know about Namjoon already that it causes your heart to jolt.

“You’re becoming frightened of me.” Namjoon speaks. “That’s not my intention.”

“N-No, I-”

“I can sense your heartbeat quickening. The hair on your arm is rising, as well.” Namjoon interrupts. It’s pointless to lie to him. “I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that.”

Did you?

Namjoon’s eyes squint a bit, almost as if he could read your thoughts. 

“I would never lie to you, either. I would kill him.” Namjoon admits, voice a bit monotone. “I would kill anyone who would harm you.”

Your hand was going to prune if you left it under the water any longer. You turn away from Namjoon and decide to get into the shower. You’re speechless for the time being, your heartbeat only quickening. You want to take Namjoon’s words as true - you never felt unsafe with the android around. But there’s something in his tone that does indeed frighten you.

There was a shift and Namjoon noticed it immediately. 

You no longer allow Namjoon into your bedroom and any form of sexual encounters has slowly come to a halt. 

You, when asked, stated that it wasn’t fair to Namjoon to be used as a sexual object for your own satisfaction if he couldn’t gain anything from it - and he dropped a bomb on you that you were too embarrassed (and ashamed) to ask Karan about.

“I feel everything.” was what Namjoon stated and it doesn’t sit right with your spirit. Androids shouldn’t feel things, right? Sex for him should have no feeling - how could it? Asking Karan wasn’t an option because then he’d know you were just as lonely as he said you were. Asking Namjoon wasn’t either because you had a feeling that even he wasn’t sure why.

Namjoon wasn’t content with you stopping him from pleasuring you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let it bother him. He was still here for whatever you needed. He continued to clean and started cooking for you, as well. He would read books to you still and it was soothing, similar to an audiobook. He didn’t make mistakes nor did he miss any words - it was perfect.

What wasn’t perfect was him coming around. The man who’s name he knew, but didn’t care to ever mention. 

The same man who couldn’t make you cum - and never has. Why you brought him back time and time again was beyond him. You were always left disappointed and would eventually use your vibrator to fix it.

Similar to tonight. Namjoon watches the man leave your room and make his  way out of the home and you lay on your bed with a few short breaths. You’re just as disappointed as you always are - what you’ll always be if you remained bringing around that man.

Namjoon tilts his head, his feet moving until they stop right outside your door. His glowing eyes turn back to normal and he raises his arm  to lightly knock onto your door.

“Joon?” you ask from behind it. “Come in.”

You sit up against your headboard as Namjoon enters. He lingers at the door, the hallway light shining behind his tall frame. 

“Was I…too loud?” you trail off, unsure of what Namjoon wanted at this hour. He has stopped attempting to come into your bedroom once you cut your sexual encounters off.

“Why was he here?”

You click your tongue, knitting your brows. You take a deep breath. “Excuse me?” you question in response. “Why are you questioning who I bring into my household, Namjoon?”

Your tone catches Namjoon off-guard and instantly he notices your growing irritation. 

“It’s my job to protect-”

“Cut the bullshit, Namjoon.” you lift your hand to silence him.  “I’m not in any danger. He’s been here almost every night.”

“And every night you lay here and buzz the nerves off of your clit because he cannot make you cum.” Namjoon shoots back.

Your eyes widen.

“Yet, you allow that man back into the household for what?” Namjoon steps into the room. He’s sporting plaid pajama shorts and a tanktop and appears to be ready for bed; in his case, to recharge. “To use your body to masturbate? He doesn’t pleasure you-”

“I told you to stop watching me.” you hiss, your hands clenching into fist. 

“You haven’t came once, Y/N. Once.” Namjoon retorts with a shake of his head. “But you allow him to come back time and time again.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

Namjoon and you are staring right at one another, the tension as high as ever. 

This was your first disagreement with Namjoon, the android not backing down. You’re a bit surprised by his response and unmoving nature. 

“Namjoon.” your teeth grits. “Get. Out.”

“No.” Namjoon responses, gritting his own teeth - maybe to mock you. “I’m not going to sit by while you allow a nuisance back into our home.”

“Our home?” you snicker. “You act like you pay for anything around here.”

“You act like you clean anything around here.” Namjoon retorts. “Or get groceries. Or necessities. Or rearrange anything in this household.” 

You look away. Maybe you were being harsh with Namjoon. This was his home as much as it was yours and it wasn’t fair to him that you were a bit snappy. 

“I didn’t mean that.” you sigh. “I probably shouldn’t take my irritation out on you. You don’t deserve it.”

Namjoon agrees - he doesn’t.

“I just want us to have boundaries.” you cross your arms as you speak. It’s as if you’re trying to save his feelings and lately, you were beginning to think Namjoon, as an android, truly did have them. “I’ve realized that we shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t…?” Namjoon is at the foot of your bed now. “...I shouldn’t make you cum?”

“Joon,” you sigh with a slight roll in your eyes. “you’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Why should we stop?” Namjoon questions. “What makes him worthy and not me?”

“I…I just…he’s just…there.” you’re not making any sense, even for a highly intelligent being as Namjoon. “...maybe I don’t want to be lonely.”

“You’re never alone.” Namjoon quips. “I’m always here for you.”

“Of course.” you nod, licking your lips. You want to say more. You want to explain why you and he couldn’t continue further, but you’re left sitting on your bed, unable to look at him for longer than a few seconds.

“Are you upset with me?”

Namjoon takes a seat at the end of your bed.

“No, Joon. I’m not.”

Namjoon’s lips slowly form into a smile, and like always it’s his dimples that has your heart jumping.

“Your heart’s beating fast.” 

“Joon-”

You yelp when you’re suddenly dragged from your seat position to laying flat onto your back. Namjoon had snatched your ankle and yanked you closer to him. He doesn’t allow you any grace time to comprehend what’s happening. 

You’re naked beneath your robe and it hikes up when Namjoon forces your legs apart. He then proceeds to wrap them around his waist, arms embracing you fully. 

“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.”

“J-Joon…” you shake your head with a thick swallow. You’re even more ashamed now that Namjoon’s voice causes your pussy to clench with such need. “...we can’t.”

“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.” Namjoon repeats. “Isn’t that what you want? To cum?”

Yes it was.

Namjoon knows this - you’re rubbing against him as you both lay here, unbeknownst to you. 

“Why are you against that, Y/N? What are you afraid of?” Namjoon thrusts forward and that causes you to gasp, the friction of his shorts rubs against your clit. “Your heartbeat is increasing as well as your libido.”

Fuck Namjoon for knowing your body inside and out, causing you to go through such different amounts of emotions all at once.

Fuck Karan, as well, for forcing this upon you.

“Human emotions are complicated.” you hide your moan the best you could. “Human…touch is…I’m sure you can’t understand it fully.”

“I can feel you.” Namjoon quips, his embrace tightening. “You’ll have to ask Karan as to why. I feel everything just the same as you do.”

Your eyes flutter a bit, your mind racking with a thousand questions.

“And now,” Namjoon’s hand trails up your thigh. “I want to feel your pussy around me.”

Namjoon was growing amazing at turning himself modern - another thing you had to yell at Karan about. 

“I’m not going to think further about it.” you sigh, defeated and utterly horny. “I’ll just end up hurting my own head.”

Namjoon embraces you into a kiss - one that you allow. It causes you to remember just how much you had missed Namjoon on you. You missed his touch on your skin that would leave a trail of goosebumps behind them. You missed the way he would kiss and suck upon your skin.

You missed Namjoon’s hands, so large and strong yet soft to the touch; the way they feel inside of you especially.

“You’re wetter now than you were with him.” 

Namjoon is smug, knowing fully that no man could pleasure you like he could, especially not a human. He was the perfect being for you - highly intelligent and strong; completely unbeatable. He understood exactly what you needed in life at any given moment. Could a human man truly help you while in sickness? Could they sense when your body was working overtime to prevent you from falling ill and just what to do to prevent it? Could they reach all of the hard to reach places to clean - could they even detect mold or carbon dioxide?

No.

But Namjoon could and with that knowledge, you’ll never be safe with any other human being. 

You inhale deeply when Namjoon’s lips lift from your own. If you could see yourself now, you’ll be sure that your lips were swollen and you appeared like a woman starved to be touched.

Namjoon wants to taste you again. Completely ravish you whole. He has a deep desire to sink his fingers deep inside of you and allow you to quiver and shake with pure need and ecstasy. 

“No foreplay.” 

Namjoon stops in his tracks, having already kissed down your neck to your collarbone, nearly ripping the silk fabric of your robe apart. 

“No…foreplay…?” Namjoon tilts his head, eyes slowly lifting to witness your face. “You love foreplay.”

“I do.” you sighed out. “I just,” you lick your lips. “I just want you to fuck me.”

Namjoon lifts his brows and then he nods, understanding your sudden need. Namjoon leans back to push his shorts down while you watch with curious, lustful eyes.

Namjoon’s cock springs out and your eyes are fixed upon it. It’s erected - of course, you truly ponder if it ever truly wasn’t - and the tip is an inviting flushed pink. There’s veins wrapping around the base of it and as you look closer, they are slowly pulsing.

You hum.

“You,” Namjoon begins, grabbing his cock into his hands and centers the tip directly onto your clit. “look so defeated. So…desperate.”

You bite your lip harshly. Namjoon is teasing you, circling the tip of his cock between your folds. The sight alone is hypnotizing, nearly causing your mouth to water. However, it’s the look upon Namjoon’s face that has you moaning, finally cracking. Namjoon’s eyes are zoned; focused. He eyes the way his cock rubs along your wet clit, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. His mouth is slightly ajar, short pants coming from between them.

Namjoon could actually feel you like he said he could. It’s eerie to think about how an android could, but once again, you did not wish to think too far into it.

“Are you going to fuck me or…” you lick your bottom lip. “...or are you going to fuck me?”

Namjoon glances at you. “How much?”

You tilt your head. “How much what?”

“How many times do you want me to make you cum?” Namjoon questions, his tip now , sliding down to your hole. “How about one for each time he couldn’t?”

Namjoon enters slowly, a raspy chuckle sounding from his lips. “We’ll be here all night, wouldn’t we, Y/N?”

“Fuck you-”

With a quick thrust, Namjoon enters you whole. You yelp out and your back arches. 

“I will.” Namjoon groans.

With both hands gripping firmly upon your waist, Namjoon begins to thrust in rhythmic motions, cock springing in and out of you.

Your hands reach out to dig into the pillows surrounding you for support. You cannot hold back your moans any longer and fully embrace the pleasure that Namjoon provides. It’s insane how much you missed Namjoon and just how much you wished you’d sought him out instead of dealing with someone else. 

For Namjoon, the erotic feeling is something he hasn’t felt before and it’s a sensation that he doesn’t wish to stop. As a highly intelligent being as himself, even he cannot explain what Karan and the other scientist has done to have him feel the normal sensations that a human would - and he wasn’t going to complain about it, either. 

Namjoon’s nails dig into your skin possessively; with such greed. Your pussy is clenching around him perfectly, drawing him in more and more.

“J…Joon, slow down…!” you groan, your eyelids fluttering and barely managing to remain open. 

“No.”

Namjoon’s hips are cracking into you, speed never ceasing - it wasn’t as if he ever needed to stop to gain stamina. When he was done with you, his hand marks would be embedded into your skin permanently. However, the way he’s making you feel at this moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You’re close. I can sense it.” 

Namjoon was always right. It’s inevitable for you to not cum so quickly when he’s fucking you with such need, slamming into your sweet spot with each powerful thrust. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, shaking erratically against your bed.

Namjoon wasn’t done - he had a dozen more times to make you cum and he was fully intending on doing so. You have no time to recover when he flips you from your back to your stomach. He fully rips the robe from your body, exposing you fully.

Namjoon’s pace is just as punishable as it was in the first round. You could barely manage to sit up as for each time Namjoon would only fuck you deeper into the mattress. 

Namjoon is enthralled with the way your pussy only appears to grow tighter; wetter. There's a milky cream coating his cock that evident of your arousal and it only causes him to want to fuck you more.

Large hand glides up your hips, past your back and rests onto your shoulders. He forces you up, back arching. He continues his punishing pounding and your vision blurs at the new found position.

“You’ve ignored me for so long, Y/N.” 

Namjoon’s voice is laced with need, even more evidence that he was enjoying this as much as you were. 

“I should fuck you all night until you’re begging me to stop.” 

Your breast bounces furiously in rhythm with his thrusts.

“You were taunting me, weren’t you?”

“What…?” 

Namjoon’s throat lets out a groan. His right arm snakes around your neck and he pulls you closer to him. Your back slams against his broad chest and his mouth is against your ear. He’s moaning and that alone causes you to once more clench around his cock. 

“You bringing that man here was taunting me…” Namjoon hisses. His thrust slowed down and now they’re hitting deeper. “...I thought of a thousand ways to kill him, you know?”

It should frighten you, Namjoon’s words. It should cause red flags to wave in your mind.

It doesn’t. Namjoon’s words, mixed with the raspiness of his voice, only causes goosebumps to erupt throughout your naked skin. His deep, slow thrusts has your mind clouded with nothing but erotic lust and pleasure that he’s offering you.

“I held myself back because I care for you.” Namjoon’s free hand roams your body, gripping possessively at your breast. “But you didn’t care about me.”

“I do!” you protest, your own hand placing itself atop of his larger one. 

“Then why’d you go against me?”

Namjoon begins to kiss the nape of your neck, free hand trailing down past your stomach and between your legs. He rests it onto your pulsing clit. 

“Why’d you allow another man into our home?” Namjoon bites your neck, teeth sinking into your skin. When you scream out, Namjoon continues. “Why’d you allow another man to touch what was mine, Y/N? Have you no respect for me?”

Namjoon doesn’t let up, his fingers circle your clit as his thrusts begin to increase. 

This felt far too intimate - the way Namjoon holds you, the way he speaks to you. His words are full of emotion, hurt being one of them. 

You recall you and Karan, a few years back, once speaking about robots and if they truly could become sentient and it was a conversation you didn’t truly care for. Now, however, you begin to ponder if the conversation was brought up because he was creating Namjoon, an android that was sentient.

“Joon,” you gasp, your hand reaching back to grasp Namjoon’s head. He’s a bit shocked by your actions, but he doesn’t allow it to halt him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…done that, I-” you were going to cum again. “-I should have thought about your feelings, too.”

Namjoon grumbles inaudible beneath his breath, his thrust sloppy. There’s something in the bit of his stomach he hasn’t felt before, and if he has once it’s a feeling he cannot remember. 

“You love me, right? Say you love me, Y/N.” Namjoon pleads. His aggressive and dominant demeanor is slowly breaking. “I was made for you,Y/N. No one else!”

Your fingers tug at Namjoon’s hair, the soft locks tickling your fingers. His tone is so soft and vulnerable.

“I do love you, Joon.” you sigh out a long and deep sigh. Your fingers continue to tug at his hair for support, an action he does not mind in the slightest. 

Namjoon shudders, your sticky arousal coating his twirling fingers. He lightly shakes his head against your neck, his embrace upon you only tightening. 

“Say it again.”

Your snap your eyes shut, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach only returning. 

“I-I love you, Joon.” you stutter out. “I…I know you were made for me.”

It isn’t long until you’re cumming once more, even harder than the first time. Namjoon allows both of his arms to wrap fully around you as he thrusts forward, panting in your neck.

“Love you so much, Y/N. Never gonna let you go.” Namjoon senses it, the unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach that confuses him but what he does understand is that he wants to let it all out.

A warm substance enters you, shooting throughout your core. Your mind doesn’t process it at first, far too enthralled in your own orgasm to realize that Namjoon, an android, had came directly inside of you. How? The both of you are entirely unsure.

“I’ll be back in the lab in an hour.” Karan speaks as he climbs the steps to your front door.. “It’s been months since we’ve revealed Namjoon.”

Karan stops at your front door and snorts.

“No, of course not. Namjoon is perfect. It took us years programming him.” Karan responds, nose against his ear. “Besides,Y/N hasn’t said anything about him malfunctioning so that’s a good sign.”

Karan lifts his hand to knock upon your door. “I gotta go. Try not to fuck anything up while I’m out.”

Karan puts his phone into his jacket pocket as he awaits for the door to open. He doesn’t call you beforehand - he never did. Today would be no different. 

Karan was curious how Namjoon had come together and if he had managed to adjust to modern society. You would ask a few vague questions, but never anything far too in depth that would have him questioning.

It was nearly a decade ago when he came across Namjoon, the very man who he had gifted you. Namjoon, in simpler terms, was dying and had offered his body to science. It cost Karan a fortune alone to pay for and long, exhausting hours to perfect along the way.

“Karan…”

Karan isn’t taken aback by Namjoon greeting him at the door. He has expected Namjoon to. From you, he has heard that Namjoon was doing amazing in being an assistant and an overall friend, exactly what he was programmed to do.

“Namjoon!” Karan waves his hand. “How are you and Y/N? I’ve come to visit you two. See if everything is fine.”

Namjoon blinks, the door only opens a crack - enough for Namjoon to show his face.

“Okay.” Namjoon murmurs, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Karan nods his head, stepping into the home. It’s eerily quiet inside the home. He strolls past the foyer and his eyebrows furrow. 

There’s flowers on the floor, petals scattering down the hall that would reach your sitting room. He doesn’t question what’s happening - maybe he caught you at the wrong time.

“Is Y/N in the sitting room…?” Karan stops in his tracks as he reaches the sitting area. “Y/N?”

“She’s fine.”

Karan’s eyes fall to your crouched onto the ground. You’re breathing heavily, panting as you’re breathing into an oxygen mask. There’s tears streaming down your face.

“Y/N what the hell-”

As Karan steps closer to get to you, he notices another figure, however this time lifeless. it's a few feet away from you and nearly hidden behind a couch, but he catches it. His mind races at what in the world was going on prior to him entering.

“Namjoon, what happened?” Karan asks. His mind was racing, pounding louder and louder now. 

“Home invasion.” Namjoon responds, closing the door behind him to then step inside the home deeper. “He,” Namjoon points to the man who is lifeless. “came uninvited.”

Karan tries to understand everything that goes on, however Namjoon is being far too vague for his understanding. 

“Y/N is too trusting and naive.” Namjoon shakes his head. “I told her that he could be a murderer of sorts when she began dating him.”

Karan’s head is spinning. He has to sit down - it feels as if the whole room is spinning uncontrollably. 

“H-He tried to h-hurt Y/N?” Karan manages  to find the nearest seat, his body crashing down against it. His throat is clogged, unaware of what is happening to him.

“Sure, let’s say that.” Namjoon chuckles. “I got rid of the problem, Karan. I was created for Y/N. To assure her ultimate safety and him,” Namjoon scoffs. “was not a part of the reason. Y/N doesn’t need another man in her life.”

Karan’s heart is beating erratically, Namjoon notes, but he wasn’t here to assure that Karan was safe. As long as you were then he’s alright with that. 

“You must feel it, right? The Aftermath of Carbon Monoxide poisoning. The dizziness…the shortness of breath. Soon it’ll be nausea.”

Karan begins to cough. It was growing hard to remain alert, his body growing weak and tired. He was growing exhausted by the second.  

“I gave Y/N two options. Us or him.” Namjoon takes a seat on the couch by you, his hand stroking your back gently. “And rightfully so, she chose us.”

You’re continuing to cry, unable to process just what Namjoon has done. You’re frozen in place, unwilling to move from this spot due to pure shock.

You weren’t expecting to wake up one morning to flowers, neither was Namjoon. He watched you welcome the man into the home you and he shared together and thank him. You placed the flowers along the kitchen island and offered him a drink - as if he wasn’t in the next room.

“Y/N is too nice to people. I got rid of the problem, right, baby?”

Maybe Carbon Monoxide was a little harsh - but it scared you enough to obey him. When you experienced the shortness of breath, the fatigue and booming headache, you caught on that this was no longer a joke. That Namjoon wasn;t going to sit around and watch you be taken advantage of by a mere human man who couldn’t keep you safe.

Literally - he laid dead on the floor because he couldn’t save you.

“It’s either him, Y/N, or me.” Is what Namjoon told you as you struggled to breathe. The small oxygen tank in his hands as he watches you. “If you choose to die here tonight then so be it. I’ll sell destruct and we’ll all be dead.”

Namjoon didn’t like doing this. It hurt him to have to punish you like this, but you needed to be taught a lesson. And you learned from your mistake when you reached out for him and with that, now you’re here alive and well. He would nurse you back to health like he was programmed to do because he loved you.

“Namjoon you…you can’t…”

“You weren’t supposed to be here, Karan.” Namjoon speaks. “Why did you have to come today? Now you’ll have to die here, too.” There wasn’t going to be anyone to stop him from his ultimate goal - not even Karan who he felt no ill feelings for.

Karan is unable to move. It’s as if all the air from his lungs were gone.

“I promise to do right by you as your greatest creation.” Namjoon strokes your cheek with his finger. “I’ll keep Y/N safe and together, we’ll grow to love one another deeper.  We can be a family.”

Your tears fall rapidly and you snap them shut as watching Karan slowly die wasn’t something you wanted to see - not now or ever. 

Namjoon wraps an arm around you and presses you to his chest. He assures that your oxygen mask remains on so you could breathe. His eyes watch Karan and he snorts. “I suppose you wish you hadn’t used my body for this purpose.” he murmurs, sure he couldn’t hear him any longer. “Maybe you thought I’ll never grow sentient, but a part of me still is human even if the majority isn’t.”

Namjoon held you a little tighter as you continued to cry. He presses his chin atop of your head and sighs, closing his eyes. Now it could only be you and him -  no one else can come between the two of you and the love you share.

halloween masterlist

[lilacgaby]

title: i've changed, won't you see?

pairing: prohero!katsuki x reader

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

tags: silent voice inspired!! childhood bully katsuki :(, disabled reader, mentions of violence, angst to fluff, su1cide attempt, comfort, implied nsfw, no proofread

(a/n: i wanted to give my hand at really long works while doing drabbles in between but i have so many drafts now jajsjsj)

wc: ~4k

your eyes were always blurry around him it seemed. your hands shaking as your voice cracked, just begging him. "please leave me alone!" with all the might a five year old could muster.

they scoffed at you, they always did. "crybaby. blame your parents for not giving you a quirk. you should've moved when i told you to anyways, it's my park dont you know?" katsuki mocked, moving closer to you, noticing the card behind your back.

"stop being so mean! quirkless people don't do anything wrong!"

"quirkless don't do anything."

your chest was heaving with pain, your little heart couldn't take it. "you-- you'll never be a hero, you're too mean!"

in an act of rage, he set off an explosion. it was only meant to intimidate you but..

once the smoke settled your screams of terror filled the playground.

blood dripped on the floor, pooling in your hand as your grasped your ear. a ringing was all you could hear, it was driving you crazy.

were you crying? you couldn't tell, you couldn't hear. your eyes were shut as you were filled with panic, the smell of iron flooding your senses.

but katsuki remembered so much more.

the smell of the burned cartilage of your ear, the sight of it, or rather the lack of. the blood that wouldn't stop coming, why wasn't it stopping?

his group that usually rallied behind him was now gone, leaving him and a wailing you alone. he tried to talk to you, but you weren't responding.

he grew the courage to touch you, tapping on your shoulder slowly, but that didn't comfort you. in fact he thought it made it worse, making you bow your head in a defensive position.

he stared at you, unable to move, he was supposed to be a hero like allmight, were you right?

finally, a teacher came running to get you, an ambulance already on the way. they didn't look at katsuki, only at the pitiful state you were in.

you didn't respond to them either.

katsuki felt sick as he stood where you and the teacher had left them. he felt sick as he looked down to the remains of what he'd done to you.

he couldn't process it yet, but he felt a sickening despair and guilt be placed upon his shoulders.

one that wouldn't disappear.

he wasn't blamed for anything, only getting a quirk consolation. they thought he lost control? his parents eyed him as he tried to explain what had truely happened, he didn't know why he was trying, did he want to get punished?

but even after, nothing was done. with a lecture and a couple promises he was sent back to class with nothing done to him.

your life was changed forever though, it was apparent in the way that you seemed even more quiet and closed off. you sat in the back, never spoke to anyone, and got teary eyed when he even stood close to you.

your hair covered your ears constantly, a hearing aid peeking through the strands occasionally. the teacher never forced you to participate, none of them ever made an effort.

the teacher had explained to the class how you were completely deaf in one ear, and extremely hard of hearing in the other. how you'd use sign language from now on, and that the class would learn some in support. they never did though, the conversation going ignored as soon as it was uttered.

you were pulled out of class often, the teacher having to tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. your eyes dejected and your presence small as the person who came to get you made gestures with their hands to you.

you'd been cruelly placed in matching classes 'til your last years of junior high. you'd stayed the same way for forever, it was like a weight placed over his chest.

yet he felt he deserved it. he knew he was messed up. he watched you, a lot. he saw you in the back corners, usually forgotten and ignored. when you were acknowledged you were mocked, people making random hand signs to make fun of the way he forced you to communicate, mocking your unconfident speech right after.

he saw the way you sunk into yourself afterwards, making his heart hurt as you grew impossibly smaller. your hands held your own as you prayed for it to be over.

everytime you'd catch him in the halls, you'd still freeze up. your breath shaky as you bowed and left quickly, making his friends laugh but make him queasy.

that interaction was witnessed by your teacher who, after a day of you not showing up, assigned him to give you your work for the day.

with sweaty palms and a racing heart, he dropped by your house. he knew where it was, of course he did, your mom and his were close industry friends even after the incident.

because you'd never told anyone about what he'd do to you.

he knocked on the door, attempting to seem nonchalant. when you answered though, he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

"[name], uh-- this is your work."

you didn't respond, you looked almost nauseous at the sight of him, it was deserved though.

he placed your work on the floor and walked off, that was the only time he'd spoken to you since the incident,

and he couldn't even apologize.

- - -

U-A wouldn't only be a dream for him, but a release for you both. was it selfish to want to run away from his problems? sure, but it'd help you too.

as everyone in the class exclaimed the names of the schools they picked, unsurprised at katsuki's choice, he pondered on where you'd go.

nobody asked you, so you didn't speak. staying quiet as you looked out the window.

katsuki got accepted into U-A easily, but he couldn't help but feel he lacked the main criteria. he'd hurt people poorly, and couldn't apologize because of his ego.

he felt sick to accept these accomplishments of his, knowing it'd be built up on the foundation of hurting you.

but he did anyway, selfishly. he kept up his harsh demeanor in U-A anyways, working hard and scoring high. he graduated top of his class, job offers to agencies left and right.

he accepted one, working for his old internship officially now. he climbed the ranks quickly, saving lives and catching the attention of the media.

a couple years later, he was a steady number five hero when he took a patrol route over for deku. as he strolled through the city, stores littering the buildings, he saw someone he never thought he'd see again.

you, only now working for your mothers seamstress company. you were embroidering something on the station, hands precise and focused, not noticing him.

he had to keep moving, but.. he made a mental note to come back later.

he finished his patrol anxious, he went to sleep thinking of what he'd even say to you. 'hey sorry for ruining your life, can you forgive me?' he slapped his forehead in frustration.

he searched up basic sign language for beginners, learning a bit. he laughed at the stupid thoughts of your forgiveness that he dreamt of.

"as if i deserve it." he muttered, looking deeply at the ceiling of his room before falling asleep.

as soon as he awoke, he got dressed and prepared. he tried to look causal, as if he wasn't planning this.

he walked in, immediately greeted by your mother who congratulated him on his heroics. "well isn't that dynamite? saving the world i see."

he laughed politely. "i'll be number one soon enough."

"of course! well, what're you looking for? i'll give you a family discount, you grew up so close to [name] didn't you?"

his heart jumped into his throat.

"uh.. we did."

"you two were so adorable! she was so nervous around you, she must've had a crush on you or something!"

"i definitely don't think so."

"oh, you're just being modest." she said, hitting his arm lightly. "there she is now, go and speak to her."

"uh-- i--"

"go!" she shoved him in your direction, making you look up to see him. your lips parted in an unrecognizable expression as you saw him, the line you were working on now crooked as you were left alone together.

it's been about ten years hadn't it? ten years since he last saw you, but a lifetime he needed to apologize for.

he'd learned so much in U-A, outwardly changing his demeanor to what he always aspired to be. but all that meant nothing to you, who only experienced him at his worst.

he awkwardly raised his hand up to you, he did his best to sign while speaking, his hands shaky and unconfident. "hi [name], i'm really sorry about what happened back then."

your eyes followed the movements, your hands absentmindedly wrapping around yourself loosely, defensively.

"i know this is a lot but,

can we be friends?"

he waited anxiously for you to answer, you looking as if you were processing it.

in a grown up, yet timid voice, one that he hadn't heard since you were young, you almost whispered, signing as you did so out of reflex. "thank you, bakugo." your eyes grew watery. great, he just couldn't seem to stop making you cry.

he sat near you after getting wordless permission to, hanging onto every word you spoke, and being mindful to speak in a calm tone himself.

"i.. i'd like a friend, honestly. a new one anyways."

he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when you said that, but still, it wasn't enough.

he wanted to, no needed to make you happy. the years of torment he subjected you to couldn't be made up by anything less than years of happiness.

after a bit of small talk, him asking you questions about what you'd been up to, how your life was treating you. he zoned out a couple times, thinking of how beautiful you've become.

"what would make you happy, [name]?" he finally said, his head supported on his hand as he gazed at you, making sure to enunciate his words so you could read his lips.

"what makes you ask?"

"i-- i want to make you happy. no matter the cost, it's what you deserve."

she laughed softly at that, her eyes flickering with an indistinguishable expression. "...i always wanted to travel. around the world, to see mountains and landscapes."

"then i'll take you."

"you don't have t--"

"i do. and ill do more [name], what i did to you was-- is horrible. you know that."

"i..

okay, okay bakugo."

"katsuki."

you smiled, "katsuki."

going from having very limited contact with your only friend from high school, to having a prohero come to your shop everyday was jarring. but not unwelcomed.

he brought gifts with him everytime, learning what you'd like and not. it ranged from food to stuffed animals, flowers to accessories, all of which you really appreciated.

you grew closer, eventually starting to meet outside of your mother's shop. at the park or walking around the mall, he'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. he'd pay for everything too, despite your reluctance.

he kept his word to you, and at the end of the month he asked you to come up to his apartment.

a penthouse.

as you walked in, greeted by the shimmering atmosphere of the expensive furniture and decor all around, abstract paintings and trophies littering shelves on the walls.

you stood by the front entrance, taking off your shoes as you walked in. "katsuki?" you asked, looking around.

he came out, a tiny smile on his face. "ya made it." he had something behind his back, "come in [name]."

the apartment was huge to say the least, it becoming even bigger than it looked from the entrance. he guided you to his plush couch, sitting next to you.

"so, i know you said you dreamt of traveling, right?"

at your nod, he pulled out the tickets from behind his back. "i.. got this tickets for you. i didn't want to push it in case you didn't want me to go with you but--"

you cut him off with a hug, tackling him into the couch.

"of course i want you to come,

katsuki."

you signed his name differently than other times,

you'd finally made a name for him.

he hugged back mindfully, so excited to finally have a huge first step in the right direction.

but he still needed to make you happy. "we'll leave in two days if that's okay, i just wanted to give you time to pack."

"okay, that's good."

"do you.. want to stay?" he asked nervously, the thought had popped into his mind and out his mouth in a millisecond.

you blinked, sitting up on his legs, pondering it over.

"sure, okay."

he put on some movies for the two of you, his heart was racing at the proximity of your body to his.

the night ended with you laid on top of him, fast asleep as he was comforted by the beating of your heart against his. your chest against his, his hand in your hair as your head laid in his neck.

he woke up first, to the sight of the gold light making you look heavenly, your hair messy from how he was playing with it throughout the night. your face was almost against his, he could kiss you right now.

but he shouldn't. he would move but he didn't want to couldn't, so he looked you over. you woke up to the feeling of his fingers caressing your face, your eyes half lidded from sleep.

"'suki. g'morning."

his heart was getting used to irregularly pounding around you at this point. "[name], uh-- hi."

after a couple moments, you got off of him, much to his discontent. his hands sliding down your legs as you got up.

"i'll be going now, i gotta pack and stuff." you said, looking in one of the many mirrors scattered around as you fixed your appearance as much as you could.

he nodded. "let me walk you home at least."

and he did walk you home, hand in hand.

those two nights he spent pondering over you. he didn't know why, but hero work felt much lighter after talking it out with you. becoming your friend was one of the best things he'd achieved in years, and that was including his recent rankings.

he thought back to how he treated you as a kid, had he really just been searching for your validation all along?

is that why it hurt when you told him he'd never amount to his dreams, because he only valued your opinion?

he let himself sleep, he'd see you tomorrow. and he'd make it all right.

he woke up and picked you up at your place, his expensive sports car standing out against the comfort of the neighborhood. you walked out, dressed simply but cute, a bag of your own in hand.

he grabbed it from you and placed it in the back, opening the passenger door for you as he drove to the airport. his hand on your thigh as he did so, letting you play the music you'd like with loud bass.

it was a half hour ride in comfortable silence, he gazed at you occasionally, a thoughtful expression on your face.

on the plane, you sat by the window. it was first class so you'd get to sleep in a physical bed, in a closed room. you were treated to whatever food and drinks you wanted, hugging katsuki when you found out you where you were heading.

the flight was a long eighteen hours, but it was spent hanging out with katsuki. on his lap asking him questions about the shows you two had watched, power scaling arguments about past heroes, fights he'd recently been in.

also what you two planned to do as you were there, you wanted to go to the beaches and mountains, he just wanted to follow you.

you fell asleep together again, your face laid directly in his chest as he held you.

you woke up to katsuki tapping you on the shoulder. as you raised the volume on your aids, you heard the beeping on the intercoms that meant you'd have to go back to your seats for the landing, groggily being helped up by katsuki as he moved you to to your seats.

you sat by the windows, looking at the tropical region as you two landed, your hand still in his. the moments after we're a blur, before you knew it you were in a car being buckled up by katsuki as you were being driven to your hotel.

what you didn't know was that it was a villa, built on top of the waters of the ocean, your very own private beach right outside your doors with the mountains you'd dreamt of treking right behind you.

you'd never been so happy.

the days you'd spent started and ended all the same, you waking up and going to sleep in katsuki's arms. pretending like you didn't notice how your bed hair got worsened after he played with it all night.

the first days you'd spent at the beach, attempting and failing at surfing. your jet lag was killed off by your utter excitement.

you being thankful your aids were water resistant because of how much you loved the waters of the river and the seas.

you'd had a sandcastle competition, sunbathed, and soaked off in the hot tub of your villa together.

the trek's were fun too, katsuki was annoyingly good at everything so you'd have to fight to keep up.

your polaroid in hand as you snapped candid shots of him, turning it to yourself as you got a selfie of you two with the gorgeous rivers as background.

you jumped into those too, making katsuki freak out as you dived in to the deep waters.

you even got to the top one day, jokingly saying that you should've brought a flag to the top to celebrate. the golden hours of the sunset making you glimmer.

a moment of silence passed over you as he slowly approached you, wordlessly asking for permission as you once again put your hands in his.

you leaned in first, kissing him with the sun as witness.

"i really like you [name]." he sighed and spoke after you pulled away.

"i like you too." you replied, hugging him tightly.

the rest of your trip was filled with your firsts with katsuki.

your first official date was in the burrows of the forest, a picnic where you two painted portraits of eachother. albeit, unique portraits... but painting nonetheless.

your first moment truly loving someone, the feeling you recognized as you laid him in your lap for the first time.

your first talk about what happened all those years ago. a deep one.

"[name], before we become something um.. official. we need to talk about how i hurt you." katsuki said one day, laying faced to you but taking your hands into his.

"kats--"

"let me speak. please." after you nodded, he took a breath and began.

"i was egotistical and really insecure all those years. you were the only one who really read me, that's why i think i got so upset.

i didn't mean to hurt you, i never wanted to hurt anyone i swear-- i just hated that you were right.

that weighed over me all these years, the fact that my hero work meant nothing if i was doing it while acting so.. unheroic.

i never fully felt like a hero, not until i met you again.

not until you graced me with your friendship, your undeserved affection towards me. i just-- i really care about you. and im really sorry, ill spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, and you don't have to accept it because i don't deserve it.

i guess what i'm trying to say is..

sorry, and.. i love you [name].

you don't have to--"

he was cut off by a kiss on his lips.

it felt different somehow, he couldn't place it. almost sad in a way as you pulled back.

"i don't think you were trying to hurt me. but, you did.

and you're working to change it, i appreciate that.

i really care for you too katsuki."

the rest of your trip was comfortingly domestic, learning things about each other you'd never know.

your last week was bittersweet, having to leave your jointed paradise was a reality that saddened the both of you. but your dream was fulfilled, and so was his.

seeing that he was the cause of your smiles and not your horror, making you happy was the light of his day. no, his life.

he thinks he was born to make you happy.

the flight back was a blur, you spent it clinging to him. you started to gift him your own things over the hours, a scrunchie of yours, a bracelet for him to keep.

a locket with a photo of you two, and the polaroid you'd taken on the mountains.

"why are you giving this all to me? not that i'm complaining."

"well, you'll get more use out of it. that's all."

he scrunched his face up in confusion, but with a smile you waved off his concerns.

he wished he pushed you more.

he wished that you'd forgive him for failing you once again, as he fought to take the razor blade out of your grip, slicing your hand in the process.

you were in your bathtub, surrounded by water yet fully clothed, tears and wails wracking your body as you just wanted it to be over.

you finally relented, your blood staining his clothes and the water as he picked you up. you couldn't hear him, you'd taken out your aid.

but you could feel his sobs, his tears hitting you as you shut your eyes, embarrassed of what you'd just done.

you were rushed to the hospital and given stitches, you were to be closely watched from your mom now on, you were told by an interpreter.

katsuki's eyes were red, matching his pupils as he looked at you.

he was frustrated, you could see it in the trembling of his fists and the scowl in his mouth. if he hadn't been there.. you would be dead.

why, he asked you. and to be honest, you really couldn't explain it yourself.

when you got home to your apartment, empty and reminding of your reality away from katsuki, you just felt so..

scared. what would happen when he finally got the validation he needed and left you? your whole life was quiet and tranquil, you'd gotten used to it. but he flipped it upside down again, showed you what your life really could be.

it was too much for you. you had to escape, so after sitting on it, tapping your leg anxiously as you pondered your decision, you went on your phone.

you went online and saw his life outside of you, how he had everything going for him yet what did you really have? a mom and a job at her company?

you grew impulsive, grabbing it absentmindedly and filling up the tub with the water you grown to love over the past month.

after you started bleeding, you panicked. what had you just done? but it was too late..

until he saved you from yourself.

you were zoning out. when you didn't answer him, he repeated himself, grabbing the interpreter so you could sign.

but still you said nothing, except a small sorry.

he left afterwards, leaving you alone in the bed to think.

you were back in your childhood room now, your mom having sobbed as she looked over your hands, as she asked you, "what the hell were you thinking?"

you looked at those glow in the dark stars and tried to find an answer, but there was none.

you held yourself to sleep for the first time in months, already missing him deeply.

little did you know, he was thinking about you too.

the next morning you awoke to a knock on your bedroom door. assuming it was your mom, you got up and opened it.

it was katsuki instead, holding a bouquet of flowers and the locket you'd given him.

"can i come in?"

you opened the door wider, leading him to sit on your bed.

"katsuki i--"

"[name]. i don't know why you did what you did.. but i know it probably has something to do with me. so what did i do wrong?" he looked defeated, as if he thought it was his fault you tried to end your life.

"no! no that wasn't it at all. well, it was about you but not like that.

it's just.. i've been alone. for so long? having you around felt.. too good to be true. i didn't want to go back to how i was before. in a way, you were too good for me."

"you're.. an idiot. but i guess i understand."

"i just.. i really love how you treat me. i didn't want it to go away."

a moment of silence passes, a small anxious laugh leaving katsuki's lips.

"fuck, i thought you hated me. could barely sleep without you."

he pulled you into him, staring deeply into your eyes as he pulled you impossibly closer. he kissed you deeply. his worries, passions, and frustrations all poured out into it.

he pulled away, eyes half lidded as he asked gruffly.

"wanna take this back to my place?"

he took your last first away, gentle and loving as he guided you through it. reassuring you that he'd never leave you.

you moved in with him soon after, finding it hard to sleep without eachother, no matter how late he got back to your shared home.

he'd be welcomed back by the sight of you, who always tried and failed to stay up waiting for him. he'd pick you up, like always, and hug you to sleep.

he'd know he woke you up by the feeling of your smile in his chest, the way you tightened you arms around him.

he loved spending every waking moment he could with you. you were right though, he did break up with you after he got your validation.

...

but that's just an odd way to say he proposed to you, vowing to spend the rest of his life making you happy and fufiling your wishes one by one.

he changed not only himself, but the way you see yourself. he changed your relationships with yourselves and eachother for the better,

and as you walked down the aisle, your wedding planned by your two designer parents, being lavish and gorgeous. the silk on the floor being runway to your expensive shoes specially designed for you, the guests in awe of how gorgeous you are.

you both knew, you'd better eachother for better or for worse, for as long as you'd be together.

he signed 'i do', sealing the rest of your lives together,

with a kiss.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[inkdrinkerworld]

hello bae idk if ur taking requests rn but whenever u are could you potentially do a spencer reid x curvy reader ?? just a true baddie and no one thinks spencer can handle all of her? i love this trope and am happy with whatever you do with it!

“You’re not being nice to me.” Spencer says as you slip into a pair of low rise jeans.

Your skin glistens, the glitter lotion you’d applied making you look that much more like a goddess.

You’re meeting Spencer’s friends from work for drinks tonight and you’d just gotten the most perfect top to make your outfit delectable.

“I’m being very nice to you, Spencer.” You slip into the top that stops just over your navel, your newest piercing out on display making Spencer swallow hard.

He’s not a prude, not your Spencer, but seeing your belly button adorned with a dangly silver dragonfly and in display fills him with an almost animalistic need to keep you in bed with him for the rest of the night.

“How do you figure?” He asks, reaching for you and smoothing his hands down your sides. You smell like burnt sugar and marshmallows. Spencer’s nose brushes yours, as he waits for your answer.

“Because I look like a peach and I’m gonna make the best impression on your friends ever.” You squeal when Spencer squeezes your bum and then captures your lips.

When you meet his friends, Spencer can tell you’re not what they were expecting. You look like a seductress- hair pinned up with pieces falling out, pretty dangly earrings to match the rest of your jewellery, your voice a siren’s call and you’re incredibly cheery.

“How does pretty boy keep up with you?” Derek asks, a smile playing on his lips as you look to Spencer who’s deep in conversation with Penelope over some new nerd game.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I keep up with him.” Derek laughs, shaking his head as he drains his drink.

Emily chimes in next, “Never thought Spencer would man up to ask you out.”

Your eyebrows knit, “What do you mean?”

She smiles, a little evilly- like a sister does when they have all the information on their brother. “Spencer’s pined after you for about three months before he said, ‘I finally did it.’”

Your boyfriend tunes into the conversation then, cheeks scarlett as you turn to him.

“You work at the courthouse right?” Emily asks and you nod.

“Spencer was always gushing about the pretty lawyer and how he wanted to ask you out but didn’t have the-“

He cuts her off with a hand over her mouth. “Emily.”

She laughs behind his hand, shrugging which only makes Spencer’s blush worsen.

Penelope shrieks and everyone turns to look at her. “You’re like Vanessa!” She says it like you’re all meant to catch on immediately; when you don’t she rolls her eyes.

“From the Little Mermaid! You look like a siren.” You smile, a barely there blush flushing over you in the dark bar.

“Your trouble is what you are.” Spencer mutters, no one but you hearing him making you smirk.

“Thank you Penelope! Though I have to be honest, this is just my going out get up- I’m much more slouchy at home.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, he doesn’t think you understand how incredibly attractive you are regardless of what you’re wearing.

You lean on Spencer’s shoulder as your drink comes to the table, a sip of Long Island Iced Tea and you’re turning to JJ.

“What’s it like working with Spencer?”

His hand falls to the small of your back as you listen with rapt attention to his friends’ every word.

Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from you and that’s all Derek needs to know as he shoots a message to Savannah to send him the number of the jeweler who made their rings.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as pirates who fall for you (maknae line)

read hyung line here

genre: pirate!ateez x gn!reader (fem!reader for jongho), fluff, angst, continuation of the pirate trope brainrot (but i must say i went all out for the plots this time)

length: 14.4k

c/w: heavy and mature themes - mdni, explicit language (swearing), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, illegal acts (piracy, attempted murder), alcohol, near-drowning, angst bc i mean angst, specific c/w for mingi’s au: hurt/comfort, allusions to depression

a/n: i’m very sad i never got to use this joke somewhere so - why are pirates called pirates? because they just arrrr 🙈🙉🙊 also to those who like connecting dots and whatnot there are a few easter eggs related to hyung line 🥚 big thanks to yumi @sorryimananti-romantic for getting me through the last three months of trying to work and write bc it’s been a ship time ha ha 😬👍

taglist: at the end

san

pov: you run away with san and the cromer

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the ground, which is damp from moisture and your blood

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

you don’t notice when the footsteps behind you suddenly fall silent

you’re too busy reasoning with the captain, whose back you are facing as he walks ahead and leads your crew further into the dim tunnels of the cave

“it’s much safer if we go over the mountain. we’ll have the advantage of higher ground to ambush the horizon”

your captain, taesung, doesn’t look at you when he answers over his shoulder, “it’s much quicker through the tunnels. we don’t have the luxury of time if we want to attack their crew before they leave the island”

“and what if they attack - the horizon can easily ambush us as long as they’ve got the cave’s exit guarded”

you immediately turn around to look at san, knowing that he’ll support your argument

only to find that he’s not there

he’s several metres behind the back of the group and frozen to the spot

even in the shadowed darkness of the musty cave, you can clearly see the ashen and shaken features of his face

approaching him slowly, your fire torch held out in front of you, you gently call, “san?”

at the sound of your voice, his eyes lock onto yours

he looks terrified

san is lost in a distorted warp of visions

he can’t make sense of nor connect what he’s seeing

but there is blood

there’s so much blood

it’s everywhere

you’re there

it’s your blood

there’s someone screaming; raw with despair

he’s screaming

the ground digs into his knees and he feels wet and sticky from your blood but also his tears and there are so many tears and the walls are cold from moisture and it’s so dark and musty even with the smell of iron in the air and god you’re dying

you’re going to die

“san?” you repeat, now in front of him and tenderly cupping his jaw

and san has to stop you from dying

his pupils focus on you once again before he desperately tries to gain his bearings

he looks around with increasing franticness

he’s in a cave and the only light he can see comes from the torch you’re holding and the others shared amongst the crew

water drips from the ceiling and along the rugged walls towards the damp ground, filling the cave with a stale and mouldy smell

all his senses scream the same thing to him

it’s just like when you died

his own voice sounds foreign to him when he manages to choke out, “let’s listen to captain”

your eyebrows pinch together at san’s sudden compliance, especially more so when he lowers the volume of his next words so that you’re the only one who can hear his soft don’t argue with him

there’s something about the way he silently pleads with his eyes that makes you nod numbly

you slip the hand that isn’t holding the torch into his and prompt him to walk again with a light tug forward towards the rest of the crew, who are not too far ahead

when the both of you have nearly caught up, san readjusts his hand in your grasp so that his is atop of yours

and so you two walk, san leading you with a sturdy hand; a line of defence between you and the rest of the crew…and the depths of the cave

the thin sheet of cotton that you lay upon does little to soften the discomfort of the cave’s floor as you and the crew prepare for a few hours of sleep, but your pillow makes up for it

your head is cushioned by san’s thigh, who’s seated upright against the wall after offering to keep watch

he’s gazing down at you with a tender smile as he slowly runs his fingers through your hair like a soothing lullaby

your eyes scan his, still trying to catch any changes in his expression that could possibly explain his strange demeanour from earlier

you want to ask him what’s wrong but there’s only so much privacy you can get in a cave with the rest of your crew

instead, you give his hand a squeeze

san’s smile fades a little and you wonder whether it’s the illusion of the light and shadows from the torches that makes his face look so gaunt

his eyes flicker around guiltily and then he looks at you whilst reciprocating your squeeze

he’s mouthing something, you realise

do you trust me?

you tighten your fingers around his in reassurance

with my life

the dimpled caverns return to san’s cheeks, and then he’s whispering to you softly, “sleep”

you don’t recall dozing off, but you must not have been asleep for very long before you’re woken by a light shake to your shoulder

the groggy mumble that starts to leave your lips is hushed by a warm kiss on your forehead

you’re met with the sight of san holding a finger against his lips when you open your eyes and your brain struggles to comprehend what’s happening

there’s a faint glow coming from under his bulging shirt, which could only be one thing

the cromer

as your neurons start firing again, you come to the realisation that apart from you and san, nobody else is awake yet

quietly, he helps you up to your feet

the silent question he asked before you fell asleep replays in your head, and although it does nothing to clear up your confusion, it helps to ease your anxiety because you meant it when you mouthed your response

you trust san with your life

so you turn away from your crew members and start walking, each step deliberate and careful, your hand clutched safely within san’s while he retraces your steps from today

and when san deems you two far enough and out of immediate danger of being caught, he pulls the cromer out of his shirt to use as a makeshift torch

you both make a run for it

when you emerge out of the cave’s entrance hours later, thighs burning from the strain, you almost stumble to your hands and knees from the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun

san tightens his hold on you and urges, “this way, love”

together, you climb the outcrop on the left and disappear further into the mountains because you can’t afford to rest near the cave

few words are exchanged as san nimbly navigates the rickety ledges and overgrown roots, muscles flexing as he pushes forward and helps you with an extended hand

you realise soon after that whilst he leads you two away from the cave, he travels parallel to the edges of the mountain trees - a guideline that keeps the long port of the island just within sight

“san,” you finally break the silence to point towards an overhang you spot, “we should take a break”

he’s sweating from exertion and lack of sleep, so he nods with a grateful smile and leads you towards it

the rock provides a decent amount of shade and conceals you two well enough with the surrounding greenery

only when he sits with a sigh does he finally let go of your hand after hours of holding on

you know that he’s one for constant physical affection, but this…this feels different

it’s like he’s afraid that you will slip away the moment he lets go of you

you turn to look at him

“san, what exactly is going on?”

he’s quiet

he doesn’t know how to tell you - is there even a way to package his next words prettily?

letting out a stuttering breath, san puts it blankly on the table, “i saw you die in my arms”

you’re stunned into silence and your throat feels even drier than before

“was it…” you dare to ask, “was it going to happen in the cave?”

he nods, “i just suddenly saw it and it felt so real. it- it was dark and wet and the smell - the smell was just awful and-”

“hey, hey, san. it’s okay, we’re not in the cave anymore,” you soothe, pressing your forehead to his

you feel him relax under your touch before he tilts his head to kiss your lips

“yeah,” he sighs against you, “you’re right”

when you pull away, the faint glow under his shirt catches your eyes

“why did you bring the cromer?”

if it had only been you and san missing from the crew, taesung might not have bothered going after the two of you

but with the missing cromer too, the captain will spend the rest of his life tracking it down - tracking you two down - if that’s what it will take

taesung isn’t stupid enough to just let go of the cromer and the inexplicable power it holds to travel between dimensions

san shimmies the hourglass out of his shirt and holds it carefully in his hands, “i need a fail-proof safety net, just in case something goes wrong and…i still don’t end up saving you”

“a safety net?” an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, “san? what are you not telling me?”

he runs his fingers along the metal casing over and over again as he avoids looking at you

“i…i’ve used it before,” san finally admits, “i used the cromer to bring you back to life”

without thinking, you blurt, “it’s only meant for travelling between dimensions. nobody knows what the repercussions are if you try to mess with fate!”

“well, i did it.” he snaps, “you’re here, alive, and i would do it again and again to save you”

at his words, you soften

because san didn’t just see you die

he lived through seeing you die

you can’t even begin to imagine if you had been the one to experience san die in your arms

“i’m sorry,” you apologise. “thank you for saving me, and for loving me”

san’s eyes are red when he looks at you, “i’m sorry, too, for snapping at you. i know this is a lot for you to process”

you shake your head with your own watery smile

“i’m alive, and i promise i’ll stay alive”

“and i promise i’ll keep you alive,” he nudges your cheek with a playful peck

you laugh, because san makes you happy even in the most uncertain of times, and you ask, “what’s the plan now?”

“find a ship that’s willing to get us the hell out of here”

he makes a move to stand and you place your hand on the ground to push yourself up to your feet too

except your hand shifts with your weight and you end up cutting your palm open on the sharp edge of the rocks

hissing, you draw your hand back towards your chest

“shit, let me have a look,” san drops to his knees and takes your hand in his

he gently blows away the soil and rubble around your wound as you wince

it’s nothing too serious, but it’s deep enough that blood immediately begins to pool in the broken skin and seep further out onto your palm

the glow of the cromer pulses

“san,” you start when you see the cogs moving in his head

he removes one hand to pull the cromer out and presents it to the both of you

“i’m not losing you to infection from a cut, not after everything that we’ve done so far to get to here,” he quips

there’s only time to let out an exasperated sigh before he’s taking your good hand to turn the cromer together

your world goes white

the next moment when you open your eyes after blinking, you’re still there resting under the overhang in the mountain forest

san’s sitting next to you, the only sign of the cromer a faint glow under his shirt

and your hand…

there’s no cut

your head whips towards san and his eyes widen when he sees the unbroken skin of your palm

san makes a move to stand, but this time, he gathers your hands and pulls you up with him

“it worked,” you breathe out once you’re on your feet

“it worked!” san repeats, engulfing you into a crushing hug

the amount of relief he feels is uncontainable, because the cut is reassurance that he can change fate with the cromer

in high spirits, san tucks it back into the safety of his shirt after wrapping it in a length of sash and then he secures it snugly under his belt

you two need to look the part of inconspicuous travellers, and a glowing hourglass would most definitely draw unwanted attention

you and san cut through the back streets and alleyways of the small village that separates the mountain and the coast, keeping an eye out for not only your crew members - or ex-crew, you suppose - but also the members of the horizon

“remember,” san whispers into your ear as you both approach port, “if anyone asks, i’m your husband and we’re travelling merchants”

you’re too nervous to answer but you nod anyway, letting san take the lead once again

with the confidence of somebody most definitely not lying, san strides up to a sailor who is yelling at his men to load the crates faster and spins a story right out of his ass

somehow, san manages to concoct a convincing recount of how your goods were stolen by thieves, leaving you both without any means of making money, so now you are left with no choice but to go back to your hometown which happens to be on the way to the ship’s destination, which you know because you overheard the sailors talking earlier

when the sailor glances in your direction, you try to nurse your expression into one of simultaneous distress and gratitude in hopes of selling the story even further

he simply stares at the both of you and you think that he’s going to turn down your request, but then the sailor gives a sweet smile and extends his hand out in greeting, “daeho. welcome aboard”

that’s how you and san find yourselves in the ship’s hold, legs crossed side by side on the wooden floor and surrounded by a multitude of crates and barrels

neither of you realise that you’re holding your breaths and it’s not due to the stale air in the poorly ventilated hold

only when the shout of “anchors aweigh” is heard and the ship slowly starts to pull away from the dock do you finally relax, the feeling of hope slowly seeping into your bodies

because all that’s left now is to wait for the ship to dock at the next port and then you and san can disappear and start a new life

at the notion of safety, your stomach finally calls for attention with a grumble

san teases, “sounds like someone needs a bit of food,” just as his stomach answers with a growl of its own

you break out into laughter and pull him up with you to snoop inside the crates for something edible

lifting the lid to one of the crates, you peer inside to find what looks like a layer of burlap

you reach down with a hand to remove the covering and dig deeper, only to jerk your arm back when you feel the burning pain of a cut

“oh fuck, what?” you hiss as you look into the crate again, “why the hell are there so many knives?”

san is beside you within a split second, already turning you around to cradle your hand in his

the cut extends across your palm and there’s something sickening yet eerily familiar about the way the blood rapidly starts to pool and seep past the broken skin

goosebumps spread across your body when it hits you

“san,” you look up at him with a trembling voice, hardly audible over the pounding of your heart, “it’s the same cut”

his eyes bore into yours with reflected horror when your words sink in

because if it really is the same cut, then that means-

san’s attention suddenly shifts to behind you and that’s the last thing you register before your head explodes with blinding pain

your world turns black.

there’s a ceaseless hammering in your skull when you regain some semblance of awareness and it takes all of your willpower not to let the throb drag you back into unconsciousness

you open your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your vision, only to find san still out cold on the floor beside you

you scrabble closer towards him and brush his fringe out of his eyes

“san,” you shake him a little, “san, wake up”

his mouth tightens into a grimace as he’s slowly brought back to consciousness at the sound of your voice

“fuck…they hit hard,” he props himself up with another curse before he asks you in a panic, “are you hurt?”

you start to shake your head but then think better of it, “my head hurts like a bitch, but i’m okay”

san pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you

you let yourself sink into the safety of his embrace, pretending that everything is okay even if just for a moment

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” san repeats the apology into the crown of your head

you can’t do anything but return hushed whispers of comfort and hug him tighter

a sudden clang draws you out of his arms as you both turn in the direction of the sound

that’s when you realise you’re no longer in the hold

you’re in a cell

the brig of the ship is much darker and the air is suffocatingly musty from the lack of ventilation and the perpetually damp floors and walls

damp from what exactly, you really don’t want to know

you hear the heavy thud of boots amplifying as the person approaches your cell, your eyes straining to make out their face in the dark

they squat in front of your bars

the sweet smile on daeho’s face makes him look crazed now and you shrink back to put some distance between you two

“did you have a good rest?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious

at san’s seething growl of anger, daeho raises his hands up in faux surrender and states, “i just want the cromer”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” san glowers

the other man wriggles his fingers at san’s waist, “you’re not very good at hiding it in your shirt”

almost as if it knows it is being talked about, the cromer flashes from under the layers of cloth

“why didn’t you just take it from us earlier,” you bite out

daeho clicks his tongue with a disappointed smile, “but then where’s the fun in that?”

he stretches a hand out and waits with his palm upturned just outside of the cell bars

“now give it to me,” he demands

san stares in retaliation, not once looking away as he slowly reaches for the cromer

he takes it out of his shirt and unwraps the sash from around it, then starts to extend the hourglass out towards daeho’s hand

as you watch with bated breath, you notice the subtle tightening of san’s grip around the metal casing and you realise he intends to flip it

except you’re not the only one who comes to the same conclusion

you see the exact moment the facade drops from daeho’s face and is replaced by his true derangement

the hand by the pistol at his side starts to move

but so do you

this time, everything turns red as the scorching heat of pain paralyses your entire body

the cromer falls to the floor at the same time as you do

from outside the cell, daeho laughs viciously, but it’s drowned out by the agonising cry that comes out of san’s chest

san desperately gathers you in his arms, hands pressing against the bullet hole to stem the blood flow

but there is so much blood

it’s everywhere

the ground digs into his knees and he’s wet and sticky from your blood but also from his own tears and there are so many tears and even with the pungent smell of iron in the air he can still smell the mustiness of the cell and he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs because god you’re dying

and he’s suddenly struck with the heart-wrenching thought

did he unwittingly condemn you to your own fate?

or is it like the cut on your palm - is he unable to change fate no matter what decisions he makes differently?

the sob that wrenches itself out of san hurts you more than anything

“i love you,” you say, because your words are numbered and you want them all to be san’s

he shakes his head furiously, “shut up, you’re going to be fine”

your words come out effortfully, “please, i want to hear you say it one last time”

“fuck,” san buries his face in your shoulder, “i love you so, so much. i can’t live without you”

he pulls back heartbroken, “i can still change this”

through your waning breath, you reach a trembling hand up to cup san’s jaw

“s-san, don’t do it”

he lets out a racking sob as he shakes his head again, expression marred with agony and torment that you can physically feel in his white-knuckled grasp that covers your own hand

the tears that drip off his jaw become lost to the damp ground

you swallow the metallic taste in your mouth, “the cromer isn’t meant for changing fate.” it hurts to take a breath and you wince as you stutter. “it never goes th- the way you want it to…you know that by now”

san’s voice is broken and pained, “i don’t fucking care. it’s not going to stop me from trying”

he grips your hand even tighter when he starts to feel it fall away from his cheek

it’s becoming tiring to keep your eyes open

maybe you can rest…just for a little bit

san will forgive you, right?

you close your eyes

just for a little while

just until the pain stops

faintly, you think you can feel your body being jostled against something warm

but it’s far away

far away

far

san clutches your limp body as he lets out a primal wail of anguish

you cannot die

you will not die

he snatches the glowing hourglass and flips it with desperation screaming in every cell of his body

and then his world goes white.

mingi

pov: you're the crew's surgeon

you have all the time in the world to yourself

the recent raid was successful - the other vessel had surrendered quickly without putting up a fight and your ship is now well stocked up from the loot of supplies

hongjoong has promised the crew shore leave, a vacation of sorts, and so you and the crew are travelling to port malthov, a haven island for pirates

it’ll take about a week to arrive

and without a foreseeable raid or run-in with enemy vessels, there is no need for your medical duties

which is a good thing, really

but it also means that you have a lot of time

and time is your worst enemy

time is time alone with your own thoughts, time alone with your internal demons, and right now, your mind is a sinkhole of them and you are the very thing being pulled into its depths

you’re sprawled out on the upper deck, arms and legs splayed like a physical manifestation of your efforts to reach the edges of the sinkhole and hold on

you think to yourself that it’s reassuring when you can see blood

because it’s visible, physical, and you can fix it

step one, rinse the area with clean water

step two, disinfect the wound

step three, remove any foreign objects or dead skin

step four, suture as required for nastier injuries

step five, wrap a clean cloth over, under, over, under, then fasten

there’s a procedure and it makes sense

but when it’s invisible, what do you do?

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

you may be the crew’s surgeon, but you wonder how qualified you truly are if you can’t even fix yourself

the skies are clear today and the sun shines down directly on your exposed skin

it’s uncomfortable but you don’t move, limbs feeling just a little too strung tight to cooperate

you don’t think you have the energy to do much more than to just lie there and exist

and the burn of the sunlight is kind of nice

it tells you that you’re still alive - even if the feeling of living is pain

that’s where mingi finds you twenty minutes later, his face upside down as he leans over to look at your face-

only to very nearly drop a block of wood right onto you

“oh, shit,” he fumbles as the multitude of items he is carrying to his chest falls and clatters onto the deck around your head

you jolt up to save yourself from a bruised forehead and eye him, curiosity well and truly piqued

with a huff, he piles everything in front of you, followed by himself as he sits cross-legged in front of you

he looks suspiciously hopeful and expectant

“can you carve me another dolphin?”

months ago, you had tried carving ornamental animals out of small scraps of wood left over from a hull repair

most of your carvings had turned out hideous and you had tossed them overboard, but mingi had not stopped following you and begging until you gave him one

you could barely even call it a dolphin, but for some reason, he has kept it since like it’s something valuable

“i already made you one,” you start

but he protests, “i lost him!”

you blink

nevermind. maybe not so valuable

“...you lost it?”

you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved that it’s forever gone to the void

“i lost him, yes. so can you please carve me a new one?”

you blink once more and he looks back at you with wide, pleading eyes

“fine, pass me the knife,” you finally relent

he grins, handing something that feels quite familiar into your outstretched hand

“are these my scalpels?!” you clutch them defensively to your chest. “mingi, i am not carving wood with these”

mingi breaks out into pleased laughter, crescent eyes and gaping mouth as he produces a pocket knife that you can actually use

“you’re ridiculous,” you tell him, setting your medical instruments safely to one side, but you don’t really mean it

you bring the blade of the pocket knife to the edge of the wood and start whittling away

you expect mingi to get up and leave you to your devices, except he doesn’t

he stays and asks you question after question about the carving

which part are you working on now?

how do you shape the tail?

what was the first thing you tried to carve?

if you could carve something else after this, what would it be?

and it goes on for hours - as the wood gradually takes shape of the animal, as the harsh sun lowers and is replaced by the cool breeze of evening

…as mingi fills up your sinkhole and you are no longer grasping at the edges to stay afloat

it happens without you even realising, but he lets you take refuge in him from your own thoughts

and later that night, when the crew are preparing to sleep for the night, mingi will place the newly-carved dolphin at the head of his hammock

he will itch to rummage through the small chest that holds his personal belongings and treasures

he will want to unwrap the small object he has hidden away at the very bottom of his chest and put it side by side with the dolphin

but he won’t, because otherwise you’ll see the two dolphins and realise that he was lying about having lost the first one, so he’ll opt to keep it hidden

mingi thinks that he might even ask you to carve him something else tomorrow

he’ll say that his dolphin needs somebody by its side

what he won’t say though, is that he knows you need somebody by your side

and if he can offer you a few hours of mindlessness while you carve with him beside you, then he’ll ask you to make him a whole aquarium of animals

but that’s tomorrow

for now, he lets you rest on him, and you find that it doesn’t seem quite as hard to exist anymore

because sometimes, even surgeons need their own healers

you don’t have another bad day that week

technically, they’re all still bad days, but they aren’t as bad

but as it is with your luck, it all comes back to drag you underwater when the arriba pulls into port malthov and lowers its anchor

of all days, your head feels foggy, your body feels empty and your lungs feel laboured

you’re not even sad

you’re just…hollow

and the worst part is that you have absolutely no reason to be feeling this way

being up in the crow’s nest for once has given you the perfect vantage point to watch as the majority of the crew precariously run off the gangplank with whoops and hollers, splitting off to explore the town

their excitement is infectious - to everybody but you

instead, you had offered to take over yeosang’s lookout duties so that he could go to the town’s tavern

you’ve already rotted the morning and most of the afternoon away and your stomach grumbles in protest at having skipped both meals

it knows that you probably won’t be eating dinner either

“y/n,” a voice calls out to you from the deck, “are you not going into town?”

you peer over the edge of the nest and find mingi’s small form, his head craned upwards in your direction

“lookout duties,” you simply say

but mingi calls your bluff

“the whole point of shore leave is that we all get time off. captain’s still on board to make sure our ship doesn’t catch on fire or some shit, don’t worry”

when you still don’t make a move, mingi starts to climb up the rigging and you startle to your feet

“heavens, okay, i’m coming down”

he’s banned from rigging duties for a reason

when you land on the upper deck, he looks awfully smug with himself

he asks, “can we go eat seafood? not fish, but like the good stuff”

“since when did you like seafood?”

“always?”

mingi did not always like seafood but you let it slide

he guides you across the gangplank and towards the bustling streets of the town, keeping you tucked closely into his side

almost like he knows you’re feeling more fragile than usual

you two come across a market and he tells you to find a table in the outdoor seating area

when he returns to you after a while, both his hands are stacked with platters of shrimp, some crabs and even a lobster

“mingi, what-?” you break out into an astounded laugh

you can’t even find it in yourself to finish your sentence because it looks like he’s bought enough food to feed half your crew

he sets the plates down in front of you, one by one, until you can barely see the table itself

and you watch, still incredulous, as he picks up a steamed shrimp, meticulously peeling off the shells that he discards onto his plate

…before placing the peeled shrimp onto the plate in front of you

“eat,” he encourages

mingi picks up another shrimp to peel, looking away from you so as not to pressure you

but he can’t help but look and smile widely when you do eventually bring the food up to your mouth and take a bite

it tastes good

shrimp has always been one of the things you miss the most when you’re sailing and as the salty taste of the ocean spreads across your tongue, you start to feel your appetite returning

by the time you’ve swallowed, there’s already another shrimp on your plate, peeled and ready for eating

mingi smiles knowingly when you groan around your next bite

the sun may have already started to disappear into the horizon, but right now with mingi’s plate piling up with discarded shells and yours with juicy shrimp meat, the hollow cavity in your chest slowly filling with warmth, the sun is only just starting to rise for you

and mingi will keep filling your plate until your sun has fully risen into the sky

because sometimes, healing needs the help of an extra pair of hands

the day before your crew is scheduled to leave port malthov, you find yourself sitting on the sandy shores of the coastline, far away from where the arriba is docked

the wind tugs at your hair and the hems of your clothing in the direction of the ocean

you wonder what it would be like to just let yourself go and float along with the wind

your thoughts are interrupted by the soft squeaks of bare feet in the sand approaching you and mingi lowers himself down to sit by your side

no matter where you hide, he somehow always finds you

you give him a small smile when he calls your name in greeting, but it’s all you can really manage to do

it’s hard for you to talk today

but he already knows that

“can i tell you a story?” mingi isn’t really asking you

without waiting for a response he knows you can’t give, he starts to talk

“i don’t think i’ve told you about the time when yunho and i went skinny-dipping at night. i swear we saw the kraken that night”

he has told you this story before

more times than you can count on your fingers and toes combined - to the point where you have some of his exact phrases and expressions memorised

mingi knows he’s told you this story before

but he drones on anyway, adding his usual touches of dramatic flair and exaggerated details - words that he hopes keep you grounded to the spot so that you don’t disappear with the wind

(“did you know that yunho’s chest goes red when he screams in fright?”)

you want to make silly little comments about his silly little story

you want to laugh in harmony with mingi’s own rumbling sounds

except you can’t

it’s like whatever you want to say goes through a paper shredder right before it comes out of your mouth

and mingi knows

but he is willing to take all the time in the world to tape your words back together, shredded piece by shredded piece, until he can make you feel heard and seen

and even if you don’t talk, he is there to do enough talking for the both of you

some things don’t need to be said - he understands either way

because sometimes, healing looks like walking backwards on any progress that’s been made and that’s okay

after all…mingi’s been there before, too

the arriba sets sail again and hongjoong allows the crew one last night of rest before your usual duties resume

the stock of fresh produce and meat won’t last for longer than a couple of days anyway, so you all feast your stomach’s fill of food and alcohol

someone brings out an accordion and you all gather together on the upper deck as jongho sings to the music, background filled with the lively rattling of shared plates and mugs being passed around

the air is chilly but it’s crisp and fresh whenever you take a breath of it into your lungs

where being with the multitude of your crew usually makes you feel lonely, tonight, it feels okay

and from beside you, mingi sings along quietly to the music

his voice is not like jongho’s, which is soulful, emotional and powerful

mingi’s voice is deep, honest and raw as he sings the lyrics to the song of a man who is drowning and yearning to be saved

he looks at you during the last bridge, when the key changes from sorrowful to hopeful and the words tell of a man who is saved by his lover

you smile back at him, genuinely content in this moment

and even if it is only briefly, even if you will still have bad days in the future, you think that today is a good day

because healing takes form in all different ways, and being loved is one of them

maybe one day, mingi will be able to confess that he loves you

when he’s confident that you’ll be able to accept his love

not in the way where he expects you to reciprocate the same feelings for him, no

but in the way where you are able to accept the fact that you are worthy of being loved

there are no medical diagrams, procedures or journals that teach you how to heal your own hurt

but you have mingi and he is making one for you

it’s written with the ink of love on the very pages of his own heart and he will not stop writing until the day you are well and truly happy

and even if it takes forever?

well

mingi’s got a huge fucking heart

and it’s all yours

wooyoung

pov: you find a stowaway on your ship

“we’re headed off course again”

“again?” you look at your helmsman with furrowed brows

yunho nods, sighing out his next words, “i can’t get a read on north. the needle keeps flickering”

you look at the compass that’s mounted at the helm and true to his words, the tip of the arrow seesaws back and forth over the cardinal point

a quick glance down tells you that the newer compass you’ve got in your pocket is also behaving in the same manner, needle twitching despite the practised steadiness of your hands

so you know for sure that it’s not a fault in the instrument at the helm itself

but even if it were to be faulty, you would never replace it

not when it’s one of the only things you have remaining of your parents after they perished at sea

“maybe we should ask him,” yunho suggests, beckoning his head towards the deck

although seonghwa hums thoughtfully, having joined you both at the helm mid-conversation, you look at him incredulously

“you trust that person?”

yunho shrugs, “it’s not like he’s given us a reason to not trust him”

well

considering said man had been found stowing away in the cargo five days after your ship had left alcarres, who then also tried to plead for mercy by reasoning that he was ‘valuable’, you think that there’s plenty of reasons to not trust him

yunho rectifies his argument once he sees the pinched expression on your face, “as in, since we’ve found him on board”

you close your eyes and exhale

admittedly, yunho has a point

and there’s been one too many times where the man has flippantly suggested navigational changes or casually observed shifts in the winds and waters - which all turned out to be accurate - for it to be sheer luck

you open your eyes and call out to the upper deck

“stowaway”

yunho winces as seonghwa chides you with a slight elbow to your side at your choice of name, or lack thereof

said man looks at you from where he’s helping san and yeosang swab the deck, mouth tightening with wariness

the last time you had spoken the same word, it was along with an order to throw him into the brig with his wrists bound behind his back

but considering that that was the extent of his punishment for stowing away on your ship and he is now mingling amongst your crew with minimal security measures on your orders too, really, he’s gotten off scot-free

the stowaway approaches the quarterdeck with hesitant steps

you jerk your head towards the helm, “help yunho navigate the rest of the way to vlasgar. just until we can dock and work out what’s wrong with the compasses''

despite the curtness of your order, his face scrunches up into an enthusiastic grin

“of course, captain!”

you’re taken aback by his demeanour because you’re trying to find a reason to distrust him

but he’s not giving it to you

you watch as the stowaway makes himself comfortable against the helm rails and easily slips into conversation and banter with yunho amidst intermittent pointers to adjust the rudder

seonghwa nudges you from behind, “give him a little credit”

you scratch your neck awkwardly before calling out to your helmsman

“keep me updated on the ship’s course”

yunho nods and then you clear your throat, quickly glancing at the stowaway

“and thanks…wooyoung.”

you turn and leave the quarterdeck before you can fully catch a glimpse of the delighted smile the man beams at you

because if he’s not giving you reasons to dislike him, then you’re going to ensure he doesn’t start giving you reasons to like him

except…wooyoung attacks when you least expect it

it’s the night before your crew reaches vlasgar, and true to his claims when he was first discovered onboard, wooyoung has proven his value by navigating your ship through the waters without the aid of the malfunctioning compass

his innate sense for shifts in the wind and waters, combined with his understanding of celestial navigation and use of dead reckoning has meant that he is extraordinarily precise with his route

honestly, he’s freakishly accurate to the point where it’s a little unsettling

at least that’s what you tell yourself

you and hongjoong have given the crew the night off from their usual duties in preparation for a few busy days of maintenance and intel-gathering once your ship docks at vlasgar

wooyoung offers to cook in the galley and whip up a meal as fancy as he can from the select ingredients on board

you don’t have a good reason to deny him, not when the rest of your crew looks at you with eager faces at the thought of a meal that isn’t just the usual salted meat, so you send mingi along to help him locate the ingredients

also to keep an eye on wooyoung to ensure he isn’t using this as an opportunity to poison your crew, but you’re not about to admit that aloud

and that’s exactly when wooyoung chooses to attack

he attacks your heart with his cooking

granted, the standards are rock bottom, but wooyoung utilises a deadly combination of rosemary, thyme and bay leaves to prepare a hearty broth with preserved beef

he serves hardtack on the side to be softened and eaten with the broth, and jongho even manages to catch a few fish that wooyoung then scores and grills with lemon slices over the fire

mingi must also be in good spirits because he takes out the reserve of dried fruits and nuts that he’s usually pedantic over and allows wooyoung to arrange them artfully in a wooden bowl as nibblers to go with the profusion of rum that will inevitably be downed tonight

the impressive spread of food is placed on the upper deck where the entire crew sit in a rough circle together

you take one bite into the beef and curse without realising

“fucking hell, what did he put in this?”

wooyoung freezes mid-spoonful across from you in the circle

realising your words sound petrifying without context, you awkwardly amend them with your eyes glued to your bowl, “i could eat this every day,” before shoving another spoon of broth into your mouth to shut yourself up

there’s a chorus of teasing oooh’s at your words and somebody sing-songs, “captain likes youuu-r cooking”

“i don’t,” you scoff, completely ready to bite the bait and engage in this childish argument

but it’s him who comes to your defence

“it’s not my cooking, it’s just the spices that make a difference,” wooyoung insists

then he’s gesturing to the grilled fish and telling everyone to try, diverting the attention away from you

you accidentally make eye contact with him and initially flicker your eyes away out of embarrassment, but when you chance a peek back at him he’s still looking at you, his expression uncharacteristically calm and gentle when usually all you can hear these days is his raucous laughter bouncing across the deck

…not that you can recognise his laughter or anything

you stare at each other for a few more seconds before you lift up your bowl of beef broth and give him a little smile

you leave it up to him to interpret it however he wants

and just before you look away, you see the apples of his cheeks rounding with elation

wooyoung’s potentially earned himself a few points with his cooking (and perhaps with his unfailing happiness too), but maybe you’re just looking for excuses as to why you’re allowed to like him now

when you decide to take a walk in town long after midnight, your quarters having felt stuffy ever since you’d docked at vlasgar, you’re surprised to find that you’re not the only one still awake

“i’m going out for some air and maybe a drink, did you want to come?”

hongjoong shakes his head, “hwa’s gone out too, i’ll stay behind”

you pause, wondering whether it’d be rude if you didn’t extend the invitation to wooyoung, considering he’s literally two feet away

“what about you?” you end up offering

wooyoung excitedly hops up to his feet, “yeah, i’ll come with”

to your own surprise, you find that you’re not particularly disappointed by his response

the streets of vlasgar are empty, considering the late hour, and your leather shoes clack in unison against the cobblestones as you walk together

you’re not really sure what to say to fill the silence but wooyoung easily talks about anything and everything and you’re content to just listen

your feet eventually take you towards a small alehouse and you both settle down at one of the tables further away from the live music playing

the oil lamps flicker dimly along the wall, casting small dancing shadows on the surface of your mugs of ale

“my father never liked the taste of ale,” wooyoung suddenly muses after a swallow

you note the use of past tense

“is he…still around?” you ask tentatively

he makes a noise of refutation, the quietest he’s been tonight, before he reveals, “he took his own life”

“oh, wooyoung,” you breathe out

he curls his hands around his mug, “it’s already been two years, but it still hurts”

in a moment of empathy, you gently place your hand over his

your tone is bitter when you reply, “time doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, it just gets easier to pretend that it doesn’t”

he looks up at you, surprised by the touch of your hand but also by the sorrow reflected in your eyes

“have you also lost somebody?”

you nod at his question

“my parents,” you hesitate before adding, “their ship got swept under a rogue wave, the same night it turned into a tidal wave that destroyed the city of light”

wooyoung looks at you with wide eyes, “the one along the north coast? six- no, seven years ago?”

there’s not a single person who doesn’t know about it; when an apocalyptic wave had wiped out an entire city overnight

he places his other hand over yours when you nod again, creating a sandwich of comforting hands in the shared experience of loss and grief

you smile wistfully and he returns it

“well now that we’ve exchanged childhood trauma, care to tell me the real reason why you were on my ship, stowaway?” you half-joke

wooyoung laughs, each breath a pronounced cackle of joy, and you find the corners of your lips pulling themselves upwards too

“i’m being chased by a lunatic who’s out for my blood,” he deadpans

“that would have been nice to know before i let you join my crew”

wooyoung grins wickedly, “i’m part of your crew?”

“i’m definitely rethinking it,” you banter before you add on seriously, “only if you want to be”

he pulls his hands back to salute you loudly, “it would be my honour to be your human compass! jung wooyoung at your crew’s service!”

“shut the fuck up!” you hiss in embarrassment, but there’s no bite to your words and you’re laughing into your own hands

you tip back the remains of your ale and then beckon to wooyoung, “let’s head back, shall we?”

“yeah,” he gives you a dazzling smile

he pushes his chair back to stand up and you head towards the doors together

just as you walk past one of the tables, a man abruptly stands up and knocks into wooyoung’s shoulder harshly

your hand flies out to steady him as the man stares at wooyoung, then turns to leave without another word

“what’s his problem,” you mutter angrily. “are you okay?”

wooyoung reassures you with a placating squeeze to your arm before leading you out of the alehouse

as you retrace your steps back to the ship, you pass by a rickety stall that makes you falter

the wood of the table is rotting and standing on its last legs and there’s a roughly thatched roof propped up above its goods

even though the stall is enshrouded by the shadows of the clouded moonlight, you still wonder how you missed it on your way to the alehouse, considering it’s the only stall along the empty street, and with a vendor, no less

there’s an old woman bearing the burdens of living across her skin and in her posture, sitting hunched on an equally as weathered crate beside the table

you’re drawn towards it - by its ambience, seller or the familiar instruments lain on the table, you don’t know

the woman’s head is covered by a dusty shawl but you don’t miss the way her eyes bore beadily into wooyoung as you both approach

you reach out and skim your fingertips across the cool brass of the compasses on the table

a frown adorns your face when you notice there’s something strange about all of them

like the compass in your own pocket and the one mounted on your ship’s helm, the needles all swing indecisively over the north point, as if some unknown force is meddling with the magnetic field of the earth itself

you let out a little scoff of disbelief, “they’re all useless”

with a final glance at the table, you and wooyoung start to walk off

but then a raspy voice beckons at your backs, a ghost of a hand that tickles the hair on the nape of your necks, “the only time a compass is useless is when you have something better nearby”

unable to ignore the sensation, you look over your shoulder, “what do you mean by something better?”

a toothless smile; one that appears to know a secret that it doesn’t want to let you in on

“true north”

her cryptic answer alone is enough to tell you that you’re wasting your time

she doesn’t say anything else when you walk off for good this time after bidding her a tight-smiled farewell, not that you would have stopped either way if she did

wooyoung hurries to catch up to you

as he falls into step with you, he asks, “do you believe what she’s saying?”

“of course not, it doesn’t make any sense,” you glance at the tavern you’re walking past, telling you that the port is close now. “how can you have true north?”

wooyoung’s brows knit together, “well, there’s that old legend that says true north isn’t actually a direction, but a-”

he’s cut off by an amused voice behind you both

“so it really is you…jung wooyoung”

when you turn around, you’re met with the sight of a man donning a long, velvet coat and buckled shoes - articles of clothing very obviously pirated from the wealthy

it’s evident that he and wooyoung are acquainted in one way or another, but from the way wooyoung’s face loses its colour, they’re acquainted in a bad way

immediately, your hackles are raised

the man’s tone is saccharine as he continues, “when one of my men said that they had spotted you, i didn’t believe him”

“what do you want?” you snarl at the same time wooyoung murmurs next to you, “it’s the lunatic. jang hyunsoo”

hyunsoo cocks his head as he stares you dead in the eye, “i want him. dead.”

your face darkens, unwilling to back down, “and why are you so intent on killing him?”

“oh?” he raises an eyebrow in delight at your answer. “you must not know who he truly is”

sick of his bullshit, you reach down towards your belt to unsheath a throwing dagger and hold it in front of your body, “i don’t care who the fuck he is. he’s my crew member and that’s all that ma-”

“he’s the man that the legends speak of. blessed by the sea gods, bearer of the oceans’ wisdom - jung wooyoung is true north”

those two words again

you don’t understand why everyone you come across today seems to be so fixated on the idea of…

suddenly, you remember.

legends tell a story of true north - not a direction pointing to the earth’s axis, but a person

a man blessed by the gods of the sea with the power to be all-knowing when it comes to the waters

he possesses the innate ability to navigate without use of any instruments or celestial bodies; the wisdom of which passageways and courses to sail; the subconscious understanding of mother nature and her elements

the powers are passed down through his bloodline for generations, but the blessing does not stay sacred for long

human greed and coveting eventually lead to the murder of the bearer of true north at the time, and the powers are transferred to the murderer, permanently staining the bloodline and commencing the paradoxical cycle of sinning for a blessing

however, this does not go unpunished

the gods of the sea are enraged and in their uncontainable wrath they cause-

your memory ends there no matter how hard you try to recall the rest of the legend

wooyoung interrupts

“if you kill me, there’s no guarantee you’ll survive the consequences,” he tries to reason with the other. “just have a look at how close we are to sea”

you’re lost but hyunsoo sneers, “it’s not your power that i’m hungry for. it’s only fair that i spill your blood, after your father spilled the blood of my family”

at the mention of his father, wooyoung growls, “what the fuck do you think you’re saying”

“how do you think your father became true north? or better yet, let me jog your memory,” hyunsoo’s expression becomes hauntingly blank, “what happened seven years ago that wiped out a whole city because the sea gods had been angered?”

your breath hitches as you involuntarily whisper, the remaining piece of the puzzle slotting into memory, “...a tidal wave”

“yes,” he acknowledges your words but keeps his eyes drilling into wooyoung, “because true north - my father - was killed”

as were your parents by extension of the consequences

“killed by my father,” wooyoung concludes, voice frail as everything rapidly starts to reveal itself

one more revelation makes him look at you with a face of horror and remorse, “y/n…your parents…”

without hesitation, you push aside your own anguish for him

“wooyoung,” you warn, “it’s not your fault”

because you see it

the very moment his eyes start clouding over as he willingly takes on the burden of guilt wrongfully left behind by his deceased father - the same guilt that eventually took the man’s own life

wooyoung, who, with a heart and soul too pure, would rather take the blame himself than to push it onto somebody else

you step in front of him, knife raised in protection

because despite your best efforts, wooyoung had not only secretly stowed himself away on your ship but has also secretly stowed himself away in your heart

“what are you doing?” he tries to tug you behind him

there’s a teasing lilt in your voice as you stand steadfast, “stowaway, you’ve ruined navigating for me now - made it too easy for me and the crew. so you better fuckin’ take responsibility and be my compass for as long as i sail”

“how touching,” hyunsoo coos patronisingly before he draws the cutlass from his sheath, “looks like i’ll just have to kill the both of you”

you don’t stop wooyoung this time from stepping up to stand by your side, his own hands armed with dual daggers and his demeanour now iron-willed to fight

because if you’re prepared to fight for him, then wooyoung is prepared to fight twice as hard for you

tonight, either hyunsoo dies, or you both go down trying

the tension in the air is punctuated only by the slight scrape of your soles as you and wooyoung lower your stances and shift further onto your front feet

you had never believed in the sea gods until now, but you pray that they’re watching over you both

and indeed they are

they answer your prayers in the form of a deafening gunshot in the nearby tavern

hyunsoo flinches at the sudden commotion - only slightly, but the distraction in attentiveness is more than enough

now.

as you and wooyoung leap forward together in unison, weapons raised, the needles in your hearts’ compasses waver for one final time before they settle and point resolutely in one direction

your needle at wooyoung; wooyoung’s needle at you

because compasses will always point at true north and that’s exactly what you are to him and him to you

each other’s true north

jongho

pov: you're a mermaid who saves him

you follow the shadow of the ship’s hull, gliding effortlessly through the waters

you know that you shouldn’t be following so closely but it’s hard to refuse the temptation that comes hand in hand with storms

there’s a chance that vessels will toss cargo overboard as a last-ditch effort to save their ship from sinking

and if you’re really lucky, the vessel might sink entirely and you’ll be able to spend the next few days rummaging its ruins, scavenging for shiny treasures and intriguing objects

besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

no sailor or pirate in their right mind would think to cast a fishing net in this weather

you only have your carelessness and recklessness to blame, but regret won’t change anything about your current situation

you feel the strange lurch in your stomach as the fishing net you’re trapped inside is pulled out of the water, up along the side of the ship’s hull, until it levels with the gunwale

there’s someone standing there waiting

his face is still rounded and limbs still gangly with the telltale signs of youth

the fish around you jerk around desperately, a physical manifestation of your terror, while you lock eyes with the young teenager and grip at the net with white-knuckled fists

you are at his complete mercy

he stares in shock at your form, until you beg a single word

“please”

immediately, he draws a small pocket knife and starts to frantically cut through the net

there’s another questioning voice from somewhere on the deck that you can’t make out the words to, but from the way the boy in front of you picks up speed, you’re seconds away from being discovered

“come on, come on, come on,” the boy mutters through gritted teeth

there’s a slight jerk as he cuts through the strands of flax and a few fish slither their way out, the hole starting to become bigger

he lets out a hiss of pain when he accidentally slices through his own hand in his haste

but even then, he does not stop or falter

and then you hear it

the ripping of the material when the weight of yourself and the other fish tear the remainder of the net

you plummet into the ocean

and the last thing you see before the world above becomes blurred by the waters is the boy’s wide eyes peering over the ship’s edge as he watches you fall

jongho struggles to adjust his centre of gravity as the ropes stutter underneath him

he chances letting go of the rigging briefly with one hand so that he can wipe the rain out of his eyes, which is pouring down incessantly and obscuring his vision

overhead, the top sail continues to billow and flap in an angry dance as the rapidly shifting winds tangle it further

he swallows thickly and grips the rigging once again

he needs to climb up and untangle the damned sail, fast

one hand extending outwards to grab the running rigging, jongho supports himself on shaky legs so that he can unfurl the twisted edges of the sail from around the ropes

it’s difficult enough having to chase the mocking flits of the canvas in the gale, but it’s fucking hellish with the added lurching and pitching of the ship as it’s battered by the swells of the sea

he finally manages to get a good grip on the sail and tugs hard, feeling it give way and flush full as it catches the wind properly now that it’s free

except the force of it sends the material swelling right in his face and he slips

by some saving grace, the combined movement of another colossal wave sends his body careening through the air in a wide arch

he does not land on the upper deck in a heap of broken bones

instead, he plummets into the ocean

and the last thing jongho sees before he loses consciousness is the shimmer and flick of a tail

your body reacts instantaneously to the sudden intrusion of something plunging into the waters in front of you, your tail swishing to increase your distance

for a brief second your heart seizes up in fright at the thought of a harpoon

but then you see it - see him

apart from the young teen who had freed you years ago, you have never seen a human up close before

and certainly not one in the ocean; in your home

there is something about the man before you that is beautiful yet haunting

it is as if time and gravity have warped his very existence

you see a weak flail of legs, a desperate hand reaching for the surface, floating tendrils of hair, but even in the face of approaching death, his movements appear slow and graceful in the water

as the pockets of air and bubbles of foam dissipate from around him and cruelly escape upwards without him, the man stills - grand and slow as his form steadily starts to make a descent towards the sandy bottom of the ocean

in folklore amongst your merpeople, humans are as swift, sure and savage on land as they are aboard their monstrous vessels

and yet, watching the ethereal existence of this man before you, you realise that once humans are underwater, they are at the complete mercy of mother nature and her beings

you gingerly swim closer

when you wrap your arm around the man’s limp body, his skin is warm under your fingertips

you’re reminded of the fact that he is at your complete mercy

and so you swim.

the moment jongho regains consciousness, his chest involuntarily contracts in an attempt to take a huge, stuttering breath

he curls onto his side instead, one hand scrabbling in the wet sand and his other arm crushed between the ground and his upper body as he hacks up his lungs with retching motions

the salt water burns even more coming back up than it did going down and his eyes sting with tears

when the convulsions cease, jongho closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool sand, trying to regain his breath-

and bearings

the jarring clarity has him sitting up abruptly as he tries to recall where he is and what he’s doing

there was the storm

the tangled sail

him climbing up the riggings

falling down, down, down

and then…

you

your eyes widen when the man’s unfocused gaze suddenly sweeps the waters and lands on the small part of your face that is exposed and peering at him

instinctively, you duck underwater, the notion of hiding your existence from humans ingrained into you

but even though he only sees a glimpse of you, jongho would recognise you from anywhere

it’s hard to forget when he’s kept his eyes peeled on the waters since that day, hoping to see you once again

he can’t believe that the mermaid he once saved would end up being his saviour

but he guesses that’s what people call fate - an alignment of miracles

he glances around at his surroundings to find himself in the safety of a small cove

you dare to emerge your curious eyes again when you see the form of the man stand up with his gaze on the sand, seemingly in search of something

he fumbles along the edge of the coast, reaching down several times to grasp things too small for you to discern

it seems that he becomes satisfied with what he has found, because he then sets them all down in the wet sand - right where the tide kisses the shore in a teasing game of chase - and takes several steps backwards so that he is no longer close to the waters

the man scratches the back of his head as he gestures vaguely to the pile, appearing to want to say something before thinking better of it and turning around to pick at the driftwood further inland

you wait, trying to gauge his actions

but when it becomes clear to you that he is not attempting to catch you off guard, you cautiously swim closer to shore

you are able to rest your forearms comfortably on the shoreline’s sand from how close you get

and then you see it

a small pile of glossy pebbles and patterned shells

a peace offering of pretty things he could find that he thought you might like

you duck under the water again, but this time to hide your shy smile as opposed to an act of instinctual self-preservation

jongho looks at the hefty pile of dried wood that he has gathered in the meantime, deeming it enough to keep a fire going for the inevitable night he will have to spend at the cove

he’s tried his hardest not to look out to the waters, wanting to gain your trust

but he can’t help it this time when his eyes are drawn to the little mound of his sincerity in the sand

…only to find it untouched, and you nowhere to be seen

he tries not to feel disappointed

after all, you have no reason to trust him

so he sets his mind on starting a fire before the sun sets completely instead, trying to ignore the growing dryness in his throat

when he finally nurses a spark into a flame an hour later, jongho almost misses it in his fatigued state

but it’s unmistakable when he walks closer

gone is his own pile of pebbles and shells

in its stead is a jumbled collection of broken combs, rusted locks and a glass bottle

a peace offering of peculiar things you had found that you thought he might need

jongho doesn’t know it, but as he bends down to carefully gather every gift and safekeep them closer to his fire, he is not the only one with a bashful smile on his face

you tell yourself it’s purely curiosity and displaced familiarity that makes you linger and return to the cove the very next morning

you’re well aware what the risks are if you fall in love with a human

how many stories have you heard of mermaids and mermen alike, falling for a human, only for their love to be unilateral or rejected?

their tails slowly lose their lustre as gradual paralysis takes over until they lose complete control

quite literally drowning within their own body, they eventually sink to the bottom of the ocean to perish with the decaying wreckages of sunken ships…

and the countless corpses of sailors, pirates and other unfortunate souls alike

it’s ironic

no matter how much folklore makes out humans and merpeople to be different, you all end up the same in the face of death; buried in the soil of the earth or buried in the sand of the ocean bottom

side by side

jongho stands in that very ocean right now, sleeves and pants rolled up to keep them as dry as possible as he crouches over with the water up to his thighs

he would try to fashion a fishing hook or harpoon of some sort, but with the possibility that you may be close by in the waters, he doesn’t want to risk using anything that could hurt you

so he resorts to using his bare hands

you’ve been watching from the safety of the water for well over half an hour now, curious and slightly endeared by his clumsy attempts to grab at something

you’re not sure what, but you can see the fish as they dart teasingly through his legs and from out of his reach

for beings that are supposedly apex predators, this human doesn’t seem intimidating at all

so, very cautiously, you swim up closer to him

jongho feels himself freezing at the sight of you approaching - not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s afraid he’ll scare you away

he holds his breath as you hesitate and linger just out of his reach, then swim up and bump his leg playfully with your tail as you circle around him once

he’s reminded of a puppy wanting to sniff out somebody unfamiliar and his eyes follow your form with rounded fondness

“hi,” he breathes out softly, “i’m jongho”

your tail swishes with sudden movement, splashing him with water and he giggles

you can hear it clearly even from under water and your heart nearly stops

if this man - if jongho - was a siren, the sounds of his happiness would be his song of calling

you want to hear it again

jongho sucks in a breath when you dare to emerge from the water’s surface, presenting him with a fish held carefully between your lips and one more in each of your hands

he’s a little dumbfounded at how easily you managed to catch them as he gently takes the one from in between your teeth

the still-flailing fish in his hands is peppered with two tiny neat rows of puncture holes where you had carefully bitten into it

he finds it so fucking cute, especially when you continue to peer up at him with expectant eyes, wanting to know if it was the fish that he was trying to catch this whole time

he wants to thank you, and not just for the fish

so he fumbles through his words when he asks, “would you like to eat with me? unless…” he trails off, “unless you don’t eat fish because…”

are mermaids technically fish?

did he really just offer you the mermaid equivalent of human flesh to eat?

before jongho can panic and try to salvage the situation, you give him a shy smile and nod

jongho makes a fire as close to the shore as possible without the wood at risk of becoming wet

as he spears the fish onto sticks so that he can hold them over the flames, you gather the courage to slide out of the shallow waters so that you can lay on the damp sand closer to him

whilst you can for short periods, you rarely ever fully emerge out of the waters because you leave yourself vulnerable without the full mobility of your body

but jongho makes you feel safe enough to do so

and he must at least partially recognise the amount of trust you are placing in him because he looks at you in awe, the unveiled beauty of your tail now in full display

your scales are a kaleidoscope of cerulean, mauve and periwinkle, reflecting onto the sand below you in a magical dance with each of your slight movements

he notices that the gradient peters out into shades of salmon and coral the closer the scales are to your waist and he cannot tear his eyes away from you

jongho thinks to himself that you were created by the hands of the sea god, who then named the word beautiful after you

and even then, the word does not seem to do you justice

“why are you staring?”

your voice is simultaneously bashful and teasing, yet jongho is utterly mortified that your first words to him are ones exposing his smitten behaviour

his brain kickstarts in panic and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind

“if your tail gets too close to fire, will you start smelling like grilled fish?”

for a split second, your expression contorts into one of pure horror, before the absurdity of his question breaks down the remainder of your reservations and you lose yourself in laughter

a pretty blush settles over the round of jongho’s cheeks and then he is also laughing with you

together, where the land and sea unite, the sounds of your shared happiness fill the air

his song of calling chimes melodiously in your heart even as you swim away for the night

but the dangerous thing about a siren’s song is that you don’t realise you’ve become captivated…

until it’s too late

you’re looking down at the object in your hands as you swim for the cove

it’s cream-coloured and smooth to touch, with several blunt tips extending from one side

you’ve always wondered what it is and so you decide to see if jongho will know

you don’t notice the large rock formation jutting out of the seabed until it’s almost right in front of you and at the last second, you flex your tail to manoeuvre yourself around it

except you must miscalculate your distance because you end up grazing yourself on the sharp edges of the rock

it doesn’t puncture your scales but it certainly catches you off guard - your organs and senses work in a way that ensures you never collide into anything so long as you are underwater

so then, why?

you look down and your heart drops

tentatively, you spin around once, eyes never leaving their focus

you realise it’s not a trick of the lighting or the water

your scales have started to lose their shimmer

jongho is beginning to think that you won’t show up today when you finally do, one of your treasures cradled in your hands and a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes

(you weren’t going to show up, not after realising that you need to stop yourself from falling further in love with jongho if you want to live, but you decide to be selfish one last time and say goodbye, even if you’re the only one who knows it’s a goodbye)

“what’s that?” he gestures towards your hands with his chin as you slide your upper body out of the shallow waters, leaving your tail to be submerged when the waves come in

you uncurl your fingers with a shrug

“it’s a comb,” he answers his own question as he turns it over in his hand, “made out of animal bone, i think”

you look at him curiously as he sits down, unbothered about wetting his clothes, and you ask, “what’s a comb?”

jongho brings it up to his head and pretends to move it up and down

“you run it through your hair to untangle it”

he pauses as his eyes flicker to your hair then back to your face

“i can…show you how to use it…if you want?” he offers

just once, you’ll allow yourself to get close to him just this once

when you nod and sit up, jongho shifts himself so that he is behind you

you try not to shiver when you feel the heat of his chest enveloping your back as he reaches forward to gently gather the hair from around your face and neck

he steadies your head with one of his hands, the other bringing the teeth of the comb through the slight waves of your hair

his touch is soft and loving in the way he tries not to tug too hard when he encounters a knot

his fingertips skim against you intimately but with an innocence that betrays the fact that he has never brushed somebody’s hair before

you feel your shoulders relaxing into his touch and your eyes close, blissfully - and perhaps deliberately - ignorant to the fading radiance of your body

“are you feeling okay?” jongho’s voice sounds even more alluring when it’s right next to your ear and you can’t help but shudder this time. “you seem paler than usual”

he brings a hand down to your waist and turns you towards him so that he can see you better

you try to formulate an answer, “i…”

i think i’m in love with you

of course, you would never tell him that

but before you can tell him that you’re fine, you become distracted by the glimpse of something on his hand that’s still resting on your waist

a scar

“is that- how did you get this?”

you run your thumb lightly over the taut, white line that runs from his wrist to the knuckle of his index finger

as you’re suddenly reminded of the familiar memory of a teenager with rounded cheeks and gangly limbs, the man beside you with those very same eyes looks at you fondly

“i cut myself trying to free a mermaid from a fishing net”

your gaze is unfocused as you process the information

the effects of the shattering revelation are immediate and a terrifying numbness starts to creep up your tail

because what you didn’t know - what nobody in folklore knew - was that the effects of paralysis and onset of death are accelerated when you fall in love with someone again for the second time

years ago, your heart had been claimed by the young man who had freed you at his own expense

you had managed to survive the heartbreak due to the briefness of your encounter, your paralysis fading and tail regaining its beauty when you never saw him again

but the effects of your unilateral love have not vanished entirely as you and your merpeople have believed it to

they have simply lay dormant like a disease, waiting for the right time to resurface when your feelings are rekindled

and so now it snowballs and gains traction at a speed that cannot be stopped, racing to catch up on the numerous years that you have cheated death where you thought you did not love jongho

“why is your tail turning grey?” the voice of the man you love is pinched with muted panic

you never thought you would ever be afraid of your own tail; your own body

yet, when you look down to see the monochrome advancing up each layer of your scales, you are absolutely petrified

your tail is starting to look like a stone statue and you know it won’t be long until that’s exactly what you become - motionless and unmoving

“y/n! why is your tail grey?!” jongho repeats with a shout, in full blown panic due to your lack of response

you can’t- won’t die in front of him

your lower body is almost deadweight with immobility and you bite back tears as you’re forced to crawl pathetically towards the water with your arms

jongho scrabbles to his feet as he hovers next to you, hands wanting to help but not quite touching you because he’s not sure what’s happening and he doesn’t know what he can do for you and you look like you’re in pain but he doesn’t know why-

“don’t!” you bark out sharply

he freezes in shock

you’re frightened and angry and you want to yell at something, someone, but…

you could never yell at jongho

with a much softer, albeit shaky voice, you tell him, “don’t look for me”

and before you can hear the pained noise that escapes jongho’s lips, you drag yourself back into the water

except a few metres after you’ve submerge yourself, the unthinkable happens

you. cannot. breathe.

you’re drowning.

jongho doesn’t care if you’ll hate him forever, doesn’t care if this is the last time you’ll choose to see him, but he will not just stand and watch when it looks like you are leaving to die alone

his body moves with the decisions of his heart before his mind tells him otherwise

he dives into the water after you

the world distorts around him; a moment of weightlessness as the waters easily shift to accommodate his body; the bubbling sound of air pockets reverberating inside his very skull; the shock of cold that overrides every other bodily sense

jongho forces his eyes open with numerous blinks until he can see you

your form is eerily still, and yet, you remain bewitching

he kicks his legs desperately with one arm outstretched and as soon as you are within reach, he tugs you into his chest

you’re limp to touch, lips slack and parted as if the very essence of your soul is escaping through your mouth

jongho will not let you die

lungs starting to burn and heartbeat pounding in his ears, he presses his lips against yours

a kiss of life- 

he closes his eyes

-and love

but you don’t respond

jongho ignores his instincts even as his body screams to part from you and kick upwards for a breath

instead, he moves his jaws to kiss you even harder

and then he feels it

he almost sobs into you when your lips twitch weakly against his

with renewed vigour, you’re sealing your mouth around his bottom lip as you respond, capturing him in a real kiss

below your joined lips, your scales start to bloom with their full brilliance once again

your tail shimmers brighter than before, reflecting intricate patterns of fractals with each slight ripple of the water as you open your eyes to the sight of jongho’s face, beautifully swathed in the incandescence of the rainbow

you can move again

you flick your tail, jongho’s arms still firmly around your waist and you both burst upwards, breaking the water’s surface with spluttering breaths

he desperately treads you both backwards towards the shore even though you can easily hold your own now

“jongho, you-”

he takes one look at you before he cuts your words off and plunges himself back underwater, stunning you into stupor, until he re-emerges with another splutter

“your tail!” he yells with overwhelming relief, face still scrunched as he tries to sweep his fringe up and wipe the water from out of his eyes

“yeah…” voice muted as you process the fact that you’re still alive, “my tail…”

“fuck, you scared me”

jongho’s eyes are bloodshot as they stare into yours, and you know for a fact that they aren’t just red from the irritation of salt water

you bring up a hand to rest it on his chest, right where his heart still thumps rapidly under your touch, and you apologise with a small smile, “sorry…i scared me, too”

he huffs a little before looking at you earnestly

“don’t ever do that again”

the water is now shallow enough that jongho can stand, but it’s deep enough that you can still drift effortlessly

it’s the perfect harmony where land and sea unite; where a human and a mermaid interact

where you, the enchanter, and jongho, the enchanted, find a balance of love

“i won’t,” you promise

on land, humans tell a story of a mermaid who falls in love with a man

a mermaid who is ready to give up her voice in exchange for her happily ever after

but in the sea, merpeople tell a story of a man who falls in love with a mermaid

a man who is ready to give up his life in exchange for his happily ever after

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[pucksandpower]

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

[justauthoring]

change in perspective.

you never thought jamie tartt could be anything but a prick.

a/n: i have no explanation for this other than i just finished ted lasso (fashionably late as always) and this man makes me giggle like a little school girl :) (this is also not spellchecked! i'll do it later ;))

pairing: jamie tart x f!assistant coach!reader

“Does someone want to explain to me just what exactly Jamie Tartt is doing out on the field?”

All three coaches turn to you at the sound of your voice, but it’s Ted’s eyes that light up the second he registers your presence. A smile curls onto his lips as he turns to face you, posture nonchalant with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Ah! Well, if it isn’t my favourite assistant coach, Y/N! I was worried something had happened.”

Blinking back at Ted, you simply cross your arms over your chest. “What is Jamie doing out on the field?”

Ted lets out a laugh but it comes across more as a grimace as he rubs the back of his neck, turning his head to glance at Nate and then Beard. 

It’s Beard who explains. 

“Ted invited him back to the team.”

The water bottle you’d been holding in your hands promptly falls to the ground with a thud as your lips part, mouth left wide open, staring blank faced at Ted who continues to laugh somewhat uncomfortably.

“What?”

Beard raises his hands as if to gesture that he is an innocent party in your accusation all whilst you shift your shocked expression to a glare at Ted.

“Well, you know… I–I just thought that, well… he’s a good player, yeah?”

Shaking your head, you huff; “regrettably so.” Because even you weren’t bitter enough to not admit that Jamie was a great football player. Fantastic really. But–But he was an absolute prick who you’d thought you’d never have to work with ever again.

“And this team needs a little something to spice us up, yeah?” Ted, in Ted style, does a little dance (that’s meant to make you laugh) to add to the effect of his words.

“No,” you say blankly, before Ted raises a brow at you. Sighing, your shoulders fall. “Yeah.”

Offering you a smile, Ted rests his hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Give him a chance, okay?” He asks, his eyes pleading as he nods down at you. “I think he really means to make up for it all.”

You seriously doubt that. But, you don’t voice that opinion.

“Fine,” you surrender, dropping your hands to your side. “But I’m allowed to laugh at him when this team kicks his arse. Which they will because he deserved it.”

Ted snorts at that, “don’t worry, Nate’s already got you beat on that front.”

Your eyes shift to said man, and he’s sending you a wide grin and a thumbs up in a way that makes you chuckle despite how truly unhappy you were with Jamie only a few feet away from you, on your team.

-

The only thing that had made practice somewhat bearable was seeing Jamie repeatedly knocked on his ass.

And then mocked by the rest of the team.

Truly, it brought a smile to your face.

You’re still laughing to yourself about it as you finish packing up your stuff in the office you shared with Nate. Him, Ted, Beard and pretty much most of the team were already gone or on their way out the door, but you usually elected to stay a little longer than everyone else trying to come up with new gaming strategies, plays and honestly, team bonding exercises since you found it incredibly important that the team genuinely care for one another if they were going to play on a team together.

You’re just sliding your laptop into your bag when a knock pulls you from your musings.

“Oh, Sam, just give me–”

Except, it isn’t Sam when you finally glance up. It’s Jamie.

You’re leaping to your feet before you can stop yourself, a surge of panic running through your body as your wide eyes meet his. He’s blinking back at you, as if as shocked by your reaction as you were, and before you know it you’re glancing around, half expecting Ted or Beard to be there because why else would Jamie be here?

But neither of them are there, of course, they’d left twenty minutes ago.

“Coach Lasso and Beard have already left,” you explain before he can say anything. “You’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow to talk to–”

Shaking his head, Jamie takes a step towards you. “I wasn’ lookin’ for them. I, uh… was lookin’ for you actually.”

You blink. Once, twice, before your brows furrow. “What?”

He steps towards you again, fully stepping into your office as he scratches at his face absentmindedly, looking just as uncomfortable as you felt. He glances around for a moment before his gaze focuses back on you, and the serious expression on his face is one you’re not used to or know how to react to so you continue to stare blankly at him.

“I wanted to, em, apologize, I guess? Actually, no, not I guess. I am sorry. And I want to apologize for how I treated ya in the past. You know, for all the shitty things I said and did.”

You must be dreaming.

Surely, you’re dreaming.

There’s no way that the Jamie Tartt, famed football star and resident asshole, is apologizing to you. Some random female assistant coach on a team he’d once laughed at for existing? Yeah. Not possible.

But… it’s either that or he’s taking the piss out of you.

Whatever it is, the shock fades in seconds and is quickly replaced by an indescribable amount of anger. 

Because, honestly? Screw him. Screw him for thinking he could walk in here, say sorry and it’d all be okay. After all that he did.

“You’re sorry?” You ask, pointing at him.

He nods, slowly. 

“That’s funny,” is what you end up saying, letting out a snort as he blinks at you in surprise. “You sure didn’t seem sorry all those times you laughed at me when I tried to coach you. What was it you used to say?” You quirk a brow at him as his face falls, the hopeful glint that you’d accept his apology fading from his eyes as you laugh at him. “Oh, that’s right! That I wasn’t meant to be a coach because I’m a woman and rather, I should just look pretty and help make you look good. And if it wasn’t you belittling me for my job, it was you trying to get in my pants and then laughing about it as if that’s some sort of joke.”

You finish your rant with a huff, shoulders rising and falling heavily as Jamie continues to stare back at you.

You hadn’t really realized how much his comments had truly hurt until that moment. Or, rather, you’d pushed them down so far to the back of your mind that it had been bubbling up until this very moment where he tries to apologize offhandedly like that was going to somehow make things better.

“I may have only known you for a little bit before you left us for Manchester, Jamie,” you add, voice considerably calmer as you frown at him. “But you sure left an impression. And one little apology is not gonna make up for the amount of times I went home crying and feeling worthless, because of you.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything. His lips part like he means to you, but he ends up just gaping at you like a goldfish, looking rather stupid, before there’s a light knock on the door and you’re pulled from your thoughts only to find Sam poking his head into the office. He looks concerned, eyeing Jamie out of the corner of his eye with a certain edge, before turning to you.

Biting your lip, you blink, hating the way your vision blurs and quickly you wipe at your face before any tears can fall.

You refused to cry in front of Jamie.

“Just a second, Sam,” you call, offering him a small, somewhat forced smile. You turn to your desk, grabbing your bag and doing a quick survey to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything before promptly pushing your way past Jamie and slipping past Sam. He sets a hand on your back to guide you forward, blocking you from Jamie’s view and you don’t see it, but just before Sam turns to walk away himself, he’s sending Jamie a rather nasty glare.

The message is clear; leave her alone.

-

The next morning there’s a vase of flowers sitting on your desk.

Nate is eyeing them when you walk in, before he blinks at the sight of you and quickly turns away as if afraid you caught him staring. You just blink at him, before looking at the flowers once more.

Poking your head out to the main office, you gesture over your shoulder; “where’d the flowers come from?”

Beard raises his hands in a silent gesture that they’re not from him, before your gaze falls to Ted.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “You’d know if I got you flowers,” he winks with a light chuckle and rolling your eyes as you make your way to your desk. There’s a card in front of the vase and as you take a seat, you take the card, flipping it open.

All that’s written on it is the name of the flowers; Lily of the Valley.

Frowning, you let your eyes wander across the white flowers, leaning forward to smell them and letting your eyes fall shut at the sweet scent. 

Only thing is, who sent them?

Leaning back on your chair, you peek into the locker room, trying to see who of the players is there. There’s not too many. There’s Sam, but you walked in with him so you know it’s not him, also he most likely would’ve just given them to you if he was going to get you a bouquet of flowers. Isaac’s there, but you doubt he’d give them to you. Richard and Dani are there, but they're much too forward to try and secretly give you flowers.

And then your eyes fall on Jamie. He’s already looking at you, but he’s quick to glance away the second your eyes fall on him, his cheeks turning a bit red.

Your brows furrow.

It couldn’t–

“Apparently, Lily of the Valley symbolizes apology. Specifically when one doesn’t know how to apologize.” Nate explains, reading off of his phone, the card from your desk in his other hand, before he glances at you with a curious smile. “I wonder who wanted to apologize to you?”

You glance at Nate, before the flowers, before peeking back at Jamie who’s tying the laces of his boots, pointedly not glancing up.

Moving back towards your desk, you stare at the flowers a moment longer.

What the actual hell.

-

“Oh, just–”

Before you can properly register the voice, a blur of blue is suddenly in front of you, opening the door you’d been about to open yourself before your hand can even reach for the handle.

Slowly your eyes flicker upwards to fall on Jamie as he stands beside you, holding the door wide open, a rather proud smile plastered onto his face.

“There ya go,” he offers, head tilting towards the door. “Ladies first.”

Quirking a brow, you nod at Jamie slowly, stepping through the door while you try to fight the smile that threatens to curl onto your lips.

“Smooth, Tartt,” you offer over your shoulder.

He grins back at you, nodding at you.

You can’t help the laugh, however, when instead of stepping through the door like you expected (assuming he’d only done it cause he needed something from here in the first place), he lets the door shut with a goofy wave, leaving you alone in the room.

Pausing, you shake your head.

That was new.

-

“And you, Coach?”

It takes you half a second to realize Jamie is talking to you and you only really realize it because Ted, Beard and Nate are all looking at you, waiting.

Blinking, you swallow thickly, eyes falling back on the team only to see they’re all staring at you as well, also waiting. Your eyes fall on Jamie and he’s smiling at you, happy and all teeth as he rocks on his feet, patiently waiting for you to say anything you might or might not have to say.

It’s not like the rest of the team hadn’t ever asked you for your opinion or if you had any pointers. And of course Ted made sure to consistently ask for your suggestions, wanting to make sure you felt your voice was heard and included.

As the only female coach for a male’s football team, you’d managed to find yourself an incredible group of boys who listened to you despite your gender and actively made sure to try out anything you suggested.

But never had you ever had all their attention like you do in that moment. All of them just standing there, solely focused on you.

And that was because of Jamie.

Biting your lip, you shuffle on your feet. “Oh, well… I–”

But your voice is shaky and you’re not sure how to say what you want, but as your eyes flicker back over to Jamie he’s still grinning at you, smile never wavering and he’s sending you a thumbs up.

As if to say; you got this.

And then the words just seem to pour from your lips after that.

-

The addition of Roy Kent to the line up of coaches is both positive and negative.

And really, it isn’t negative for anyone but yourself. Not that having Roy on the team was negative, just, well… It was already hard enough being the only women assistant coach with two other men, but now you were competing with three men and Roy was nothing if not an intimidating and commandeering addition to the team.

His desk had been squished in between yours and Nate’s and while the man was lovely, if not a little aggressive, by the end of his first day you found yourself drained and feeling like a fool. Roy wasn’t just another man, but he was a previous football star himself; he had the on field experience to back up his suggestions and he knew what he was talking about so that when he did say something, no one really batted an eye to his suggestions.

Or, at least, questioned them.

Worst part was you liked Roy. Sure he swore a lot, and sometimes he’d grunt instead of replying to you but before he’d had to leave the team, he’d always listened to your suggestions with an open mind and never made you or the suggestions feel less just because it was a woman saying them. He was an absolute sweetheart underneath all of the gruff, and you knew him outside of work quite well as well because he was dating Keeley.

So, with the jealousy that you couldn’t help but have, you also felt extremely guilty. 

“Are… Are you alrigh’?”

Gasping, you sit up at the voice, panicked eyes glancing around until you settle on Jamie.

“Jesus, Tartt,” you breathe, pressing a hand to your chest as you shake your head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he offers with a light laugh. “I didn’ mean to.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh, letting yourself relax once more as you slump against the wall behind you, pulling your knees closer to yourself. “I just thought I was alone. Didn’t think anyone would come wandering in here.”

Jamie steps into the room at that, letting the door shut behind him as he nods. “Saw you come in ‘ere,” he explains, taking a seat across from you. “Wanted to make sure you were alrigh’”

Shaking your head, you brush him off; “I'm fine.”

“You, um… you sure?”

Turning to Jamie, he’s staring back at you in a way that tells you he doesn’t believe you. He’s got a concerned look in his eyes and he’s fidgeting with his fingers, his knee rocking nervously as he tries to find the words to say.

Sighing, you shake your head; “it’s stupid.”

“Not when it comes to ya.”

Blinking, you turn to Jamie, lips parted in surprise. Except, he doesn’t seem shocked by what he said or embarrassed. He continues to stare back at you with that concerned look in his gaze, patiently waiting for you to explain what’s going on.

“It’s just… It’s hard,” you start, struggling to find the words. How do you explain to him, not only a man but the same man that used to belittle you for the exact same thing you’re feeling self conscious about, that you feel like you’re being tested in your own job everyday just because you’re a woman? You weren’t sure he’d understand. And honestly, although you’ve seen the changes in him and regrettably started to believe them, you weren’t positive he wouldn’t just laugh at you for it anyways.

And yet, you continue to speak.

“Being what I am at my job,” you add, eyeing him carefully.

Jamie frowns. “Being a woman?”

Inhaling sharply, you nod; “yeah. I know Ted and the rest of the guys would never belittle me or make me feel less because I am, but… It’s just hard being the only woman coach for a team of men. Even if you guys don’t mean to, and I know you don’t, you all naturally gravitate towards Ted and the guys more than you do me.”

Lips parting, Jamie stares back at you.

Avoiding his gaze, you glance down at your lap. “Makes me doubt myself sometimes.”

“Oh.”

Nodding, you pull at a thread on your pants. “Yeah. Oh.”

Silence follows and you feel ten times more uncomfortable as the seconds pass. You can still feel Jamie’s gaze on you, watching, waiting, maybe trying to find something to say, and it’s making you feel more and more embarrassed as time goes. 

Shaking your head, you suddenly move to a stand.

“Anyways, it’s late so you should–”

“I think yer an amazing coach.”

Lips left parted, you turn, only to find Jamie suddenly standing in front of you.

“You make great strategy plays, you are undeniably smart about the terminology and nobody cares about the wellbeing of the team more than you,” he continues, his gaze never once faltering. “You cheer us on and never ever make us feel like we’re doing something wrong or stupid for askin’ for help. I know it feels like we listen to the guys more, but every single one of us leans on your advice heavily and we’d be lost without yer support and guidance.”

Eyes widening, you don’t realize it until you blink that you’re crying.

Your hand falls to your cheek, feeling wetness.

“Shit,” Jamie curses and your eyes fall back on him. “I didn’t mean to make ya cry, I just–”

Your arms wound around him before he can finish, pulling him flush against you as you press your head into the crook of his neck. Jamie freezes at the touch, body tensing but just for a second before he eases, his own arms coming around to wrap around you in return.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, “I… Thank you so much.”

“O-Of course,” he murmurs, voice low and you can feel his chest rumble against your cheek. “I just… thought ya should know.”

Biting your lip, you pull back at that, quickly wiping the tears off your cheeks as you step away from him. Jamie lets you go with ease, both of your cheeks red, yours burning when you realize you’d not only just flung yourself at him but you’d gotten his shirt wet with your tears.

“I.. I’m sorry,” you whisper, gesturing to his chest. “I didn’t mean to cry on you.”

Jamie shrugs; “no worries, love.”

Meeting his eyes, the two of you stare at each other for a moment, before you’re quickly stepping past him. “Anyways, I should… I should go.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Me… Me too.”

Reaching for the door, you glance back at him; “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Nodding, Jamie grins down at you; “see you tomorrow.”

-

“We’ve got a problem.”

Both Keeley and Rebecca turn to you at your words, whatever they’d been saying promptly getting cut off the second they see the panic on your face.

Rushing you inside, they settle on either side of you on Rebecca’s couch in her office, Keeley’s arm wrapped around your waist and Rebecca offering you a cup of tea as they turn to you with concerned eyes.

“Okay, lay it out,” Rebecca says, “what’s wrong and who do I have to fire?”

Letting out a light laugh, you shake your head. “You don’t have to fire anyone.”

“Good,” she nods, “because I didn’t want to fire anyone.”

Rolling your eyes teasingly, you take a sip of your tea before reaching forward to set it on the table.

“Okay, then, babes,” Keeley speaks up, frowning at you, “then what’s the matter? You came in here looking like something horrible’s happened.”

Letting out a groan, you press your hands to your face; “that’s because something horrible has happened.”

“What?” Keeley presses, squeezing your arm.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitate a moment, eyeing the both of them, before you whisper in shame; “I think I fancy Jamie.”

There’s a beat of silence, before;

“Like Tartt?” Keeley asks, eyes widening in absolute surprise. “Jamie Tartt? Our Jamie Tartt?”

“Like on my team Richmond, Jamie Tartt?” Rebecca adds, pointing at herself before gesturing to her office.

Cheeks burning, you hide your face in your hands again. “Yes.”

Keeley and Rebecca eye each other for a moment, before Rebecca’s pulling your hands away from your face.

“Y/N.”

You just shake your head, trying to grab a pillow to further hide yourself.

“Babes, stop,” Keeley laughs lightly. “Explain to us why you fancy Jamie.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca encourages. “It’s alright.”

Hands falling to your lap with a huff, you frown. “It’s all his fault,” you whine. “Because he’s trying to be better now and I can’t handle that. Before, you know, when he was a prick, that’s just it! He was a prick. And I’m sorry Keeley for saying this but I always found him a little attractive.”

Snorting, Keeley shakes his head; “babes, why do you think I dated him?”

Biting your lip, you sigh. “But he was awful, right?” She nods and Rebecca snorts, clearly feeling that’s an understatement. “And when he came back, I was so mad. Mad because he was so mean and laughed at me and belittled me for being a woman, and not to mention he was terrible to the whole team. Like when he used to bully Nate or hog the ball and never give Sam a chance to show his skill.”

They both nod to your words.

“So I was upset. Upset because he was back and because Ted didn’t tell me or ask me how I felt. And I said to myself that this whole apology thing was just an act and he’d go right back to being his old self in a few days. I was proud of myself too because when he tried to apologize, I didn’t let him.” Keeley squeezes your arm at that and Rebecca smiles proudly. “But then the next day I came in and he bought my flowers!”

Their eyes widen.

“He did?”

“Yeah,” you nod at Keeley. “A big bouquet of Lily of the Valley and you know what Lily of the Valley symbolizes?”

Keeley shakes her head and Rebecca sighs, shoulders falling. “Apology,” she explains for you. “You give them to someone you hurt and don’t know how to apologize to.”

Keeley’s lips part in disbelief; “I never got fucking Lily of the Valley’s.”

Sinking into the couch, you cry out; “exactly! And then he starts opening doors for me and helping me pack things up… he’s listening to me in practice when he never used to, deliberately asking for my opinion after practice after the rest of the coaches have said their pieces. He tells the rest of the team to shut up if he feels they’re not listening to me and he asks me for pointers alone so he can get better. And! God! I was upset and he made this whole big speech about how amazing a coach I am and how the team appreciates me and shit and then I hugged him and cried on him and he didn’t laugh at me or make me feel like shit. He… he was actually really fucking sweet.”

The second you’re done ranting, Keeley and Rebecca glance at each other, before coming to the same conclusion.

“Well,” Keeley says hesitantly. “It definitely sounds like you fancy him.”

Pulling at your hair, you let out a cry. 

“No, no,” Rebecca shakes her hand, pulling your hands away from your face and holding them safely in her own. “It’s fine, love. Jamie has really turned himself around.”

“He has,” Keeley is quick to agree. “I mean, he never did any of that stuff for me and we were already in a relationship.”

“But it isn’t fine,” you argue, shaking your head. “Because he’s Jamie Tartt, and he’s fucking fit and now he’s nice too… and he’s a star football player and I’m just Y/N Y/L/N, some random assistant female coach on a team of male football players. No one knows me and I’m not special and I’m not a model or a celebrity or any of the usual types he goes for.”

“That is absolutely not true,” Rebecca says instantly, face appalled as if she can’t believe you’ve just said what you have.

“You are Y/N fucking Y/L/N.” Keeley adds, moving to grip your cheeks tightly between her hands. “The first and only female assistant coach of Richmond who has come up with more strategy plays that have helped us win than anyone else. Not to mention, you are proper fit. You are an absolutely fucking gorgeous and successful woman that Jamie would be incredibly lucky to have.”

Lips parting, you blink. Keeley and Rebecca are both looking at you in a way that leaves no room for arguments and feeling your eyes water, you pout; “you mean that?”

“Of course I fucking mean that.”

“Y/N,” Rebecca calls, squeezing your hands tightly. “I am so proud of you and the woman that you are and incredibly lucky to have you as a coach for my team. I know that, Keeley knows that, the team knows that and it looks like Jamie is aware of that more than anyone else. I know it’s hard to leave yourself vulnerable like this, but at least give him a shot.”

Biting your lip, you meet her eyes, finding the reassurance in them you needed before you glance over at Keeley who is grinning widely, nodding.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

-

You’d believed what Rebecca and Keeley said.

Of course you did because you know they’d never lie to you.

And you’d promised them you’d give Jamie a chance before simply believing there’s no way he’d like you. But promising and doing was a lot different, and it’s hard to find the chance to say anything to him over the next few days.

The whole team is anxious because of the game against Manchester City coming up, especially since the last time they’d played them, it was the match that had gotten them regulated. Adding even more to that, Jamie had been on the Manchester team when that had happened and even though you know he’d made great strides towards making up with the team since coming back to Richmond, he was just anxious as the rest of them.

For a multitude of reasons you didn’t understand.

So, there wasn’t a chance to say anything.

And there certainly wasn’t one now that they’d lost. You’d briefly wondered to yourself that if they won, maybe you could run to Jamie and just confess your feelings then, thick in the adrenaline of it all. Like they did in the movies. All sweet and romantic.

Only, Richmond hadn’t won and you certainly weren’t going to now.

Especially when you were just as disappointed as the rest of them.

You’re speaking with Ted and Roy in the locker room when Jamie’s father comes in, and any conversation you’d been having falls silent the second he does.

You watch in stunned silence as Jamie’s father makes an embarrassment of himself, laughing and joking as he makes fun of the team's loss before zeroing in on Jamie himself. He says the cruelest things, and everything clicks in that moment why Jamie was the way that he was before he’d left Richmond.

And when Jamie punches his father straight across the face, you jump and your hands fall to your lips but you’re not shocked and you don’t think Jamie is wrong either.

No one says anything and no one does anything as Beard drag’s Jamie’s father out of the locker room and Jamie stands there, still standing in a defensive position. You want to do something, you want to say something, but you don’t think it’s your place. And you don’t know if Jamie would even feel all that much comfort with having you do anything.

Roy steps past you in the next second, taking Jamie into his arms and he loses it then, his sobs echoing throughout the otherwise silent room.

Ted runs past you at one point, but you don’t notice, eyes stuck on that of Jamie and Roy.

Then, Roy’s pulling away, but Jamie’s still got tears in his eyes, pressing his hand to his eyes as he tries to hide away. Suddenly, Roy’s eyes are on you, and he’s smiling in a knowing way, before promptly kicking everyone else out of the room. Your eyes widen as he does, body tensing in panic as Roy nods at you just before shutting the door behind him, leaving just you and Jamie in the room alone.

You can hear him sniffling to himself, a small sob breaking past his lips as you stand there, feeling out of place and like you’re stepping past his boundaries. So, slowly, you step towards him. “I can, uh, leave too if you’d like some–”

“No,” is all Jamie says before he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you tightly as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. You freeze at the action at first, unsure what to do or say, before slowly your body eases, and your arms are raising, hands falling to his back as you squeeze him tightly.

He clutches onto you, sobbing into your neck, and you let him wordlessly, rubbing his back in smooth, slow patterns in a way you hope is comforting.

And the two of you stay like that for a while.

-

Your relationship from then on changes.

More than it already had.

You find yourself willingly hanging out with him when you would’ve avoided it otherwise before. Jamie always seems to be there, lending a helping hand or letting you talk his ear off about something or another.

The two of you never really spoke about what had happened in that locker room but you didn’t need to. It went without saying. You understood Jamie in a way that you hadn’t before, and although it didn’t excuse it, it made sense why he’d been the way had been before and it showed him trying to be better meant a lot more than it had before.

So, the season ends, and you watch the changes Jamie’s doing with a smile and a completely different attitude. When he gives Dani the shot, or when he joins in on team chants before matches. He’s still arrogant and cocky, but it’s in a more loveable way than it had been before, and now when he comes in every morning wearing his stupid ICON hat and dumb sunglasses, you can barely hide the smile that curls onto your lips.

Or the way that despite him wearing such stupid things, you think he looks ridiculously hot.

The season ends and then the new one starts up with one less coach after Nate had left only to join West Ham. It had certainly been a betrayal and you’d be lying if you said it hadn’t hurt. You’d always felt like Nate had understood you in a way maybe some of the others didn’t and the two of you had shared that office alone for so long that you couldn’t help the way you’d cried when you’d realized what he’d done.

Jamie holds you through it. 

A soft, gentle and comforting presence that never makes you feel silly for feeling so hurt and betrayed and for that, you’re eternally grateful.

Suddenly, Jamie is someone you can’t live without. You look forward to every morning you see him walk into the locker room, and you find yourself texting him at night, unable to stop the giddy feeling that floods you every time you hear your phone ding and see it’s him calling or texting you.

Keeley and Rebecca tease you all whilst constantly trying to get you to confess. You always say that you will, but you never do.

You’re mad for him, that you know but you don’t know if he’s mad for you and you don’t want to ruin the relationship the two of you have built just because of your stupid feelings. It was nice having him as a friend, and although every time you saw him you just wanted to kiss him, you didn’t want to lose that friendship either.

So you never say anything.

-

“So, I would suggest just–”

“Y/N–?”

Lips left parted at the sound of Sam, you turn to him as he pokes his head into the office. He freezes when he sees Jamie standing behind you, the two of you going over one of his plays, your hand left held with the whiteboard marker and he winces. “I’m so sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you two.”

Jamie is waving his hand in reassurance as you smile at Sam, letting your hand fall; “it’s fine, Sam. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be able to drive you home tonight,” he explains, chancing a quick glance at Jamie before focusing back on you. “I have to run by the restaurant before heading home and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“Oh,” you blink, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Sam. I can walk home tonight. It’s no problem.” Then, cheekily, you can’t help but add; “as long as when you finally do let me see your restaurant, everything is on the house.”

Laughing, Sam shakes his head; “it already was. And for you,” he points at you with a grin, “it’ll always be.”

Smilingly, you nod, waving him goodbye as he does the same, slipping out of the office. You laugh quietly to yourself as he does, before turning to find Jamie’s eyes on you, and you blink; “sorry,” you offer bashfully. “Where were we–”

“I didn’t know Sam drove you home?”

Pausing, you shift back to face Jamie. “Oh, yeah. He saw that I was walking home one night, offered me a drive and it’s been like that since.”

Jamie nods, slowly. “You two are close.”

“Um, yeah?” You agree with a shrug. “Sam is easy to talk to, I guess. Super friendly and kind.”

“Hm,” Jamie hums lightly. “He does look like he’d make a good boyfriend.”

It takes you half a second to register what Jamie’s said both because you feel that’s a weird observation for Jamie to make and also because when in that conversation did you say he was your boyfriend?

“We’re not dating,” you explain, shaking your head as you laugh. “We’re just friends.”

Jamie’s eyes widen, cheeks warming in faint embarrassment but… is that a hint of relief you see? Probably not, you’re just psyching yourself out.

“Oh.”

Nodding, you bite your lip; “yeah.”

“Cool,” Jamie hums and you raise a brow at him, before turning back to the whiteboard.

“Did you wanna…?”

Jamie is quick to agree, shifting on his feet to put his focus back on what you were saying before Sam had stepped in. But then, just as your lips part to continue, Jamie is interrupting you;

“I could drive you home.”

He says it so nonchalantly you think you imagine him saying it at first.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and he turns to you.

“If you’d like.”

“Um,” and you hate the way your voice shakes or the nerves that rattle your entire being. “Sure… Sure, that’d… that’d be great. If you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he assures with a grin. “Why would I mind having a pretty girl in me car?”

Cheeks burning you quickly glance back ahead of yourself to not let him see how much that simple comment made your heart flutter and your insides feel like jelly. Inhaling sharply, it’s hard to fight the smile from curling onto your lips as you move to continue saying what you’d been trying to say before.

You’re so focused that you don’t see Jamie watching you, a grin curling onto his own lips when he sees how flustered you are.

-

“Pretty coach.”

Halting in your step, you glance up, only to have to crane your head upwards when you find Zava, the star player Rebecca had managed to score, staring down at you. He’s tall, very tall, and you’re not exactly sure why he’s here, in the middle of the hall, or why he’s talking to you.

“Zava,” you greet nervously, offering a small smile.

He’s stepping towards you, effectively closing the distance between you as your eyes widen, freezing when he reaches forward to take your hand in his own. Before you know it, he’s pressing his lips against the top of your hand, a gentle, swift kiss as he glances at you through his lashes, smirking.

“I look forward to working under you as my coach,” he explains, accent thick as he pulls his lips away. It doesn’t escape your notice that he doesn’t let go of your hand, though.

“Oh, um, me–me too. But you’ll mainly be working under Coach Lasso since he’s the head–...”

Your words trail when you realize he’s not really listening. He’s just… staring. Directly at you.

Swallowing thickly, with your free hand, you touch your face; “is there something on my–”

“Oh no, no,” he laughs gently, squeezing your hand. “You just have the most beautiful eyes.”

Feeling yourself warm, you meet his eyes in surprise before glancing down at your feet, “oh, um, thank–”

“Oi.”

The new voice is sharp and your head is spinning over your shoulder only to see Jamie promptly making his way over to you. You’re surprised by how angry he looks, but his attention isn’t focused on you and rather Zava as he quickly makes his way over, pulling your hand out of Zava’s and gently pushing you behind him as he blocks you from sight from Zava. You flush when you realize Jamie’s still holding onto your hand, before slowly peeking over his shoulder.

“Tartt,” Zava grins, “it’s wonderful to see you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie huffs. “Just keep your hands to yourself, okay?”

Raising his hands in surrender, Zava laughs, stepping back as he moves to walk away. His eyes catch yours and he winks at you before turning to walk off.

“Prick.” Jamie hisses under his breath.

You pause at that, turning to him only to see his eyes set in a glare, watching Zava disappear down the hall before you let out a giggle. Jamie’s eyes fall on you the second you do, gaze softening when he sees you giggling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, biting your lip as you glance up at him. “Just funny. You're calling him a prick.”

Jamie’s eyes widen in mock hurt; “he is!”

“Sure,” you shrug. “And so were you.”

“But not anymore,” he teases, rolling his eyes at you.

“True,” you agree, shocking him by how easily you do. You just continue to smile at him, “definitely not anymore.”

Jamie stares down at you, eyes never leaving your face. “He’s right about one thing, though.”

Quirking a brow, you tilt your head; “yeah? And what’s that?”

“You do have the most beautiful eyes.”

That was the last thing you expected.

Lips parting, you’re burning red as you promptly slap Jamie in the arm.

“Ow!” He hisses, pulling away as his hand (regrettably) leaves yours. “What was that for?”

You just stare back at him, pouting, embarrassed, hoping he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating.

Or notice that the way he said it meant way more than it did coming from Zava.

“Prick.”

Jamie just blinks, pouting; “what did I do?”

-

You let out a laugh as Jamie comes running up on the bus cheering about seeing Windmills, shaking your head with a grin as the rest of the guys cheer him on.

He walks down the aisle, high fiving a few of the guys until his eyes settle on you. Leaning your head against the seat, you grin cheekily up at him. “Did you have a fun night?” You ask with a head tilt, biting the inside of your cheek.

Smiling down at you, Jaime nods; “yeah, you?”

“Perfect,” you assure. “Spent a quiet night in my room.”

“The boys didn’t keep ya company?” He frowns, and he looks like he’s about to say something before you quickly reach forward, grabbing his wrist.

“That was team bonding stuff, silly,” you roll your eyes. “Besides, I had the most relaxing bath. It was fine.”

He glances down at you, not saying anything, but you feel your chest tighten when you see the way his eyes glance across your entire figure at the word bath.

Ignoring the butterflies, you smile; “saved you a seat, see?” You gesture to the empty window seat next to you, and Jamie laughs.

“You want the window seat?”

“Yup,” you grin, shuffling over to the other side as Jamie takes your old spot. You settle down next to him, arm brushing against his as he grins over at you.

“You got lots of training done last night?”

Jamie nods, “yup. Taugh’ Roy how to ride a bike.”

Brows furrowing, you briefly wonder how that happened in the midst of training but you let it go all the same, shrugging as you laugh. “But you made sure to get some rest, yes?” You add, turning to him with a quirked brow. “Because you remember what I said about training? If you push yourself too hard, you’re not going–”

“–to help anyone,” he finishes for you with a chuckle. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good,” you nod, squeezing his arm. 

“And you?”

Blinking, you turn to him.

“Did you get some rest last night?”

You nod, touched by his concern. “Yeah,” you assure, “like I said, spent the night in my room, resting.”

“Good,” he repeats your words from earlier and you turn your head away to the window when you feel yourself smiling.

Yet, despite that, an hour later, you’ve passed out on Jamie’s very own shoulder, softly snoring away.

Jamie is careful not to move, not wanting to wake you up, but when Dani turns to take a photo excitedly, he doesn’t stop him.

“Hey,” he whispers to Dani, “send that to me, okay?”

-

“You need to talk to Jamie.”

Raising a brow, you glance up at Roy.

“...I do?”

“He’s a mess,” is all Roy says.

“Okay…?”

“And you need to talk to him.”

Biting your lip, you hum; “because?”

Huffing, Roy rolls his eyes like you’re the one being annoying. “Because you’re the only one he’ll listen to, so you need to talk to him and get him out of whatever funk he’s in.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’ll talk to him.”

-

You don’t get the chance to talk to him until you’ve arrived at the hotel the night before the game and even then it’s not really you talking to him.

The movie you’d all watched together is over and Ted had set a curfew but Jamie is taking your hand in his, throwing his hood up and leading you out of the hotel without another word. You glance over your shoulder to see Roy glancing at you in confusion, but you just shrug your shoulders and then Keeley is sending you two thumbs up with a bright grin and before you know it, you both are out the hotel and making your way across the street.

You let him lead, expecting him to say something, but he never really does. He’s eerily silent the entire walk, and it isn't until twenty minutes have passed that you finally tug on his grip and pull him to a stop. He glances back at you in surprise but you’re just shaking your head up at him, confused.

“If this is your way of getting me alone to murder me, I’m going to be really upset.”

He blinks at your words, confused at first, before he shakes his head. “No, no… of course not. I… I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh,” you mumble, feeling yourself ease as you meet his gaze. He’s staring back at you, obviously waiting for you to agree and with a gentle smile, you nod.

“Okay.”

It’s his mom.

He wanted you to meet his mom. 

You’re confused, extremely so, as Jamie leads you up the steps to a house, knocks and some older gentleman opens the door. He recognizes Jamie and invites the both of you in, and you’re left standing in the entrance way, baffled as you hug your coat closer to yourself, until a woman comes running down the stairs, screaming Jamie’s name and then suddenly she’s in his arms and he’s spinning her and calling her ‘mommy’ and it all clicks.

You can't help the smile that curls onto your lips at the sight, feeling like you’re being allowed to see a side of Jamie others rarely were.

And when Jamie introduces you to his mom, the smile turns into shock when she says; “you’re the one Jamie’s told me so much about!” And before you even have time to register those words or see Jamie glancing at you, she’s wrapping you up in her arms and hugging you so tightly as she gushes about how much she’s wanted to meet you.

You spend the night being welcomed by his mother and her boyfriend, before you leave Jamie to have his much needed conversation with his mom. Simon shows you around the house, before leaving you to glance around Jamie’s childhood bedroom yourself. You all but squeal at his Roy Kent poster, before rolling your eyes at Keeley’s, but happily glance round the rest of the room. You look at all his trophies and childhood photos, little drawings he’d done or books he’d read.

Before you know it, Jamie’s poking his head into the room and calling for you.

“Oh, Jamie,” you smile, “are you all done catching up with your mom?”

He nods, “yeah, you wanna get out of here? Go back to the hotel?”

“Sure,” you agree with ease, stepping toward him. He sets his hand against your back, leading you back towards the door where you say your final goodbyes. You thank Simon for the tour and give Georgie a huge hug, expressing how happy you were to meet her before she makes you promise you’ll come by and visit again.

You’re not quite sure how to reply to that, but it’s okay because Jamie does it for you, promising the two of you will stop by for an actual dinner soon.

And then, it’s just the two of you, making your way back to the hotel.

“So,” you call out, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You told your mum about me?”

Jamie rolls his eyes at that, huffing. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

That certainly isn’t the response you were expecting, so, with warm cheeks, you glance at your feet.

“Got it all sorted now?”

Jamie hums, “yup. Sorry if I worried ya.”

You shake your head. “Think you had Roy in more of a panic, if I’m being honest. Poor man couldn’t breathe, he was so worried.”

Jamie snorts at that, lightly nudging you with his arm. “So, ya weren’ worried at all?”

Turning your head, your smile fades as you meet his gaze. “No, I was. I just didn’t want to overstep.”

“You could never overstep,” Jamie assures, “I should’ve been open about how I was feelin’. Just needed to sort it out for meself.”

Smiling softly to yourself, you hug your hands behind your back. “Well, I’m glad you figured it all out, Jamie. Really. Now you can kick some serious ass tomorrow, yeah?” You’re smiling as you say it, nudging him back with your own arm as the two of you continue to walk.

Then, suddenly, Jamie stops.

Frowning, you glance back at him; “are you–?”

“Me mum helped me with somethin’ else.”

“Oh,” you mumble, not sure where he was going with this. “What’s that?”

“Said I should stop being such a pussy and tell you how I really feel.”

Lips parting, you freeze. “Oh.”

Jamie nods, slow, and you can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s shuffling on his feet. “So… here goes.”

Your eyes widen when he steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you until he’s right in front of you, inches away. Your eyes follow him, head tilted back as you stare up at him, unsure what to do or say. But you don’t need to, because Jamie is speaking up in the next second.

“I’m in love with ya,” he confesses, letting the words just slip past his lips. “I’ve been in love with ya since you hugged me after me dad in Wembley. Maybe before that, I dunno. All I know is that when I came back to Richmond, all I was focused on was makin’ everyone like me again and then you yelled at me that day in yer office and I realized it was more than that. It wasn’t just about makin’ people like me, but makin’ up for the cruel things I'd done. I’m so sorry for the way I treated ya before, but I want you to know that I think the absolute world of ya. You are kind and sweet and smart and proper fit and… I dunno, you might not feel the same but I don’t wanna go on another day not having you know how crazy I am for ya.”

His words settle, carry on in the silence, as you stare back up at him, lips left parted, disbelief coursing through your veins.

Jamie’s confidence wavers as the silence carries and he’s shuffling on his feet in worry as he swallows thickly. “You don’t have to say anythin’,” he assures, rambling now with nerves. “I just wanted ya to know, so–”

But you cut him off by pressing your lips firmly against his own.

Jamie stumbles back from the pure force of the kiss at first, before he catches his balance and the shock fades and his hands are falling on your waist as he squeezes, returning the kiss with just as much passion. Maybe more. He kisses you like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks, and you realize, he maybe has. He holds you like you're the only thing in that moment that matters and you let yourself sink into his touch, turning to putty in his hands as you thread your fingers through his hair.

Then, slowly, you pull away, breathless as he smiles down at you.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “since the day you left me those flowers.”

Jamie’s eyes widen and his lips part but you don’t have the care to be embarrassed by your confession; it just felt good to finally, finally be able to say the words out loud.

“And I am so excited to see you kick ass tomorrow.” You breathe out, pressing your hands to his cheeks as you smile up at him, eyes dazed and sparkling with delight. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, Jamie presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“And I can’t wait to see you kick ass tomorrow.”

[nejiverse]

NOT SO NONCHALANT

Ryomen Sukuna

cw: like two swear words, pregnant reader, mean (ish) sukuna

812 words

Sukuna currently had his elbow against his pillow, his hand propping his head up and he stared up at his lover who sat up cross-legged on the bed, mind you, it was 3am.

"What the hell is your problem?", he inquired. It was a justified question. What sane person sits up in bed in the dead of night and stares into space??

"I'm thinking", she responded, a hand on her chin in deep thought and her eyes narrowing in concentration.

Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh. "Maybe I shouldn't have gotten you pregnant 'cause clearly it's turning you into a mad woman", he turned to the other side and opted to go back to sleep. Maybe if he ignored her she would follow suit.

But no. This was a five month pregnant lady who wouldn't rest until she gets what she wants.

"I'm hungry Ryo".

Sukuna scoffed a laugh. "What's new?", he pulled the covers higher. "You can eat whatever you want in your dreams...so sleep", he ordered.

Y/n gasped, crawling over to his side and shaking his shoulder. "What do you mean 'what's new?'".

Sukuna rolled his eyes, unfazed by her actions. He wouldn't be surprised if she started crying any second now.

"That's so mean Ryo!", she wailed, slapping his arm yet doing absolutely no damage whatsoever.

Sukuna's eyebrow twitched involuntarily. "What did I say about calling me that?", he grumbled. It made his heart feel all funny and he didn't like it one bit.

The woman moved to straddle the king of curses, a heavy frown etched on her lips. "I want barbecue".

There it was, those damn eyes. The expression that Sukuna could never say no to which annoyed him. He pursed his lips, averting his eyes as a rough hand lifted her off of him with ease. "You want me to cater your cravings like some servant?", he clicked his tongue. "If that was meant to be a joke, i'm not laughing. Goodnight".

Y/n let out a drawled out whine, hovering over his body so she could see his face. "Pleaseeeeee Ryo!!".

"Fuck no".

She huffed, finally giving up. Sukuna felt the bed rise a bit, signalling that she had gotten up. "Fine. I'll just do it myself".

A smirk grew on Sukuna's lips. Surely she was joking right? She would simply walk out for a few minutes then come back in. It wasn't like she knew how to work the damn thing anyway.

Still, Sukuna couldn't go back to sleep. He could only think about her. What if she hurt herself trying to work the barbecue or something?

He rolled his eyes. It wasn't his problem.

So why did he jolt up immediately when he heard a loud crash? He wasn't sure but his body started moving before his brain could even process what he was doing.

"Damn woman," he muttered, throwing the blanket off himself and storming out of the room. The chill of the night air seeped through the hallway as he moved quickly, his mind racing with scenarios he'd never admit he was worried about. He wasn't the type to care, not really—at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

"What did you do?", he noticed how she was shaking her fingers in the air, clearly looking for some relief for her aching digits.

"I accidentally closed the cover on my fingers..", she said in a small voice.

Sukuna stood for a moment until he went back inside, soaking a cloth in cold water and wringing out the excess before quickly going back out.

"You're an idiot", he grabbed her wrist and wrapped the cold cloth around her index and middle fingers. "And I just know that baby's tired of your ass, you never sit still".

Y/n giggled at his remark, smiling up at the king of curses who raised a brow. "What're you smiling at?".

"You care", she said simply.

"Tch. Whatever", he rolled his eyes for the nth time that night as he opened the barbecue.

Y/n's face lighted up. "Are you actually doing it? You're so sweet Ryomen!", she approached him, arms wrapping around his bicep, making sure the cloth doesn't slip from her grasp.

Sukuna furrowed his brow."Sit", he pointed to the chair to the side.

Y/n pouted. "I wanna watch you!".

"Do you want fat fucking feet again?".

She wasn't gonna tell him that standing up wasn't the main reason her feet swell. She would simply take in the fact that he truly did care for her wellbeing.

But one thing was for sure. That night, Sukuna had lost the idgaf war.

a/n: Help i haven’t written on here since July LOL ive been writing on wattpad, but requests are open!!

masterlist :)

[moonstruckme]

Okay I’ve been thinking of request ideas for Thawing Out all day while I was at work 😂 What about if something happened with her on the way to practice (nothing serious but maybe it shook her up a bit) and she was late and clearly acting off? Obviously her boys are going to notice…

Love you as always, hope you’re doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Thank you Amber my love!!! Hope you like it <3

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of harassment

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

You come into the rink with quick, determined steps, blitzing past every door in your path until you get to the bleachers. Sirius is already on the ice, Remus leaned against the boards while he watches. Both boys turn when you sit down. 

“Hello,” Sirius calls, clearly chuffed to have you here as a buffer between him and your bristly coach. “Where’s my latte?”

“No time today,” you say back. You jam your foot into a skate. 

Remus gives you a scrutinous look. “You alright?”

“Fine. Sorry I’m late.” 

You get your skates on in record time, laced up tight enough to hurt. Sirius is ready for you in your starting position, his hands firm on your shoulders. He gives a little squeeze, meant to coax a smile out of you, but you’re in no mood. 

“I was just fucking with you about the latte,” he says lowly. “I don’t need it to get through practice, though he has been especially insufferable this morning.” 

You glance at Remus. He looks the same as always, half relaxed and half watchful. He and Sirius have fallen into a routine of petty spats that you suspect don’t exactly make him look forward to practice every morning, and yet he seems to be getting used to the both of you. He’s less curt than he had been during your first few days together. 

“You only say that because you were here alone with him,” you say. 

“It didn’t help. Without you here he’s in his most unfiltered, fogey form.” 

Your skating is as near to flawless as it’s been in weeks. You throw yourself into each jump with everything you have, using the hot emotions simmering beneath your skin to your advantage. And it works. Remus looks caught offguard but directs several nods of approval your way, whereas Sirius is all untempered joy. His grin widens with each flawless landing, and when you finish your most difficult move in the routine he actually whoops. You think you see Remus’ lips twitch at that. 

“There she is!” Sirius grips your hand, squeezing tight as you go into a synchronized arabesque. His hair is pulled back into a bun, but a couple of loose pieces flutter around his face as he skates backwards. He looks so happy for you, and some of that tight feeling you’ve been carrying around all morning dissipates. You smile back at him. 

You both go into a lutz. It’s a jump you’ve done half a million times. It should be a given, perfect every time. And yet you catch your mistake in midair. 

You land on your hands and knees. 

You pant a couple of times, and your next breath scrapes on the way in. Tears press at your eyes horrifyingly fast, like they’ve only been waiting for their chance. You press your nose to the ice. 

Skates hiss until they’re next to you, Sirius’ hand on your back. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” 

You shake your head, humiliated by your fall and even more so by this fracturing, how easily it came on. You feel pathetic. 

“Where is it?” Sirius’ voice climbs, growing shrill with panic. “Let me see. How bad is it?” 

He’s trying to sit you up, hands cold and gentle and frantic, but his touch stills when a warmer one meets your shoulder. 

“Are you hurt?” Remus asks. 

“No.” You finally find your voice, but it’s pitchy and awful. “I’m sorry.” 

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” In the next second you’re smushed against Sirius, who hugs you tight as soon as he knows he doesn’t have to be delicate with you. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Your face feels hotter than hot in the cold rink. You push into your eyes with your fingertips. “God, what the fuck! I thought I fixed it. I don’t understand why this is still happening.” 

You’re sobbing now, tiny explosions that start in your chest and ricochet all the way through you, but fuming all the same. 

“You were both right, I’m holding myself back. I thought I could stop, but it just keeps happening, and I can’t do this. I’m so incompetent I can’t even do a fucking lutz. We need to find Sirius a new partner. I can’t hold us back anymore, I—” 

“Hey.” 

Remus’ voice is harsh, but not as harsh as Sirius’ grip on you turns at the sound of it. Your partner’s face goes sharp and cruel in an instant, an animal bearing its teeth. 

Remus pays him no mind. He keeps his eyes on yours, firm and unrelenting. “Don’t speak about yourself that way,” he says. 

You feel Sirius’ hold slacken in surprise. 

Another tear trudges down your face, and Remus’ expression gentles. “Everyone falls,” he tells you. “You have been improving, faster than I thought was possible, but you can’t expect it to happen all at once. You’re still going to fall sometimes. It’s alright. We’re working on it, yeah?” 

You sniff, wiping underneath your eyes. “Yeah,” you squeak out. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry. Just give yourself some grace, yeah?” His lips press together in a little grimace that’s likely meant to be a smile. “It’s my job to be hard on you, not yours. You’re allowed to fuck up. It doesn’t make you incompetent, or unworthy of competing with Sirius. You are the best person to be his partner. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here, understand?” 

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath in. “Thank you.” It stutters a bit on the way out, catching on another tiny sob you can’t help. This one comes from a place of relief, but Sirius’ cold fingers dig into your arm anyway and Remus’ brows twitch slightly as though it hurts him, too. 

“No problem,” he says softly. “Are you sure you haven’t hurt yourself?” 

You nod, closing your eyes to will yourself calmer. 

“Good. Do you want to leave off early today?” 

You swallow and start to stand. “No. I’m okay.” 

“No.” Sirius’ voice is bemused enough to sound like a question. He rises beside you, looking at you like he’s trying to puzzle you out. “No, something’s up with you today. We should stop.” 

Remus seems to go along with him, starting back towards the opening in the boards, and you think wryly that if one good thing comes from all this it might be those two finally starting to get along. You also realize for the first time that Remus is out here with you on the ice. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so much as think about coming off of the bleachers, even if he is only in regular shoes and leaning heavily on his good hip as he makes his way back towards them. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat to Sirius. 

He shakes his head. “You’ve been weird since you got here. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” 

“Something did.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “Nothing relevant.” 

“But something did happen.” 

He’s steering you towards the exit now. It feels petulant to rip away and stay on the ice even if no one else will, though that’s what you’d really like to do. 

“Are you actively trying to piss me off?” you ask him. 

Sirius shrugs, stepping onto the floor. “If that’s what’s going to work. I only want to know what got you so upset.” 

“Nothing.” 

“Here we are again. Back to ‘nothing.’” 

Remus is watching you both like you’re a show his TV has randomly flipped to. Tentative of where he stands, but definitely entertained. 

You hate that this has become such a big thing. “It’s really nothing,” you say, planting yourself on the bench with a force that perhaps belies your claim. “It was just some git on the way here this morning.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows go up while Remus’ come down. 

“And what did this git have to say to you?” Sirius asks. 

You sigh, starting to unlace your skates since apparently practice is over. “It’s not what he said. He only asked me out, which is fine, but then he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He, like, grabbed onto my arm and wouldn’t let go for a bit.” 

Sirius’ expression goes stormy. It’s almost as bad as the look he’d given Remus earlier, only without a target to be directed at. “Are you fucking joking?” 

“It was fine,” you say. “I made it here, didn’t I? It just freaked me out a little. And pissed me off.” 

“Yeah, you should be pissed!” Sirius starts pacing, mindless of the indents his blades are putting into the rubber flooring. “Who does that? Did he think—what, you were just going to have to go out with him if he took you captive?” 

“I don’t know.” You give him a dead-eyed stare. “I didn’t ask him.” 

“God, you should be able to walk to fucking practice in the morning without being accosted by—by some—”

“Do you need someone to walk with you in the mornings?” Remus seems uninterested in waiting to hear what creative insult Sirius comes up with for the git. He looks at you steadily, his jaw tight but ready to accept whatever answer you give him. 

“No,” you say. “Like I said, it was really nothing.” 

“It upset you,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s not nothing.” 

“I can walk you.” Sirius plonks down beside you on the bench, seeming to have come to a decision. “Just wait for me inside tomorrow morning, and I’ll come pick you up.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. “If I leave it to you, we’ll never get here. There’ll never be another morning practice again.” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek like he’s repressing a grin. 

“Wha—so little faith!” Sirius sputters, straightening before he’s so much as touched his laces. “I’ll be there, okay? We will be needing to pick up my coffee on the way here, though.” 

You give him a skeptical look. “You realize I wake up a half hour earlier to have time to get those?” 

“Fucking hell! Do you really?”

[simplyholl]

Hunted

Summary: Hydra hosts a training exercise for their super soldiers. You can run, but you can't hide from the Winter Soldier.

Pairing: Dark Winter Soldier x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. This is a dark fic. Non con. Death.

See my Masterlist Here

You ran as hard as your feet would carry you. You were terrified, shaking so hard you were surprised that you could even move. Footsteps approached quickly, your breath hitches as you make a decision. You could run, but the super soldier could easily catch up to you. Or you could stay where you are and pray that you are hidden well enough that he won't find you.

Last month, Hydra caught your uncle's company trying to take them down. They killed all the men that worked there and captured all the women. They brought you all to cells under their headquarters. They fed you three meals a day, stating you all would need your strength for what they had planned.

This morning, you learned what they had meant. You were all brought out to the edge of the woods. The man in charge told you that they were training their super soldiers today. They would be practicing their hunting skills. A large van pulled up, and out came ten super soldiers. You looked around, counting the women who were with you. There were twenty-three of you. A second van halted to a stop beside the other. Two large men drug out another.

He was chained up, arms behind his back, black mask almost like a muzzle covered his mouth. His dark, shoulder length hair was messy, piercing blue eyes locking on you. You felt like you were going to faint. The Winter Soldier was the most brutal of all the super soldiers. A skilled assassin, he was sent on Hydra's most important missions. He did all their dirty work.

The Hydra leader who brought you outside explained the rules to the prisoners and soldiers. They were going to give you all an hour head start. Your job was to hide from the men. If they found you, they could do whatever they wanted with you as a reward. Bile rose in your throat, turning the contents of your stomach sour. Some of you wouldn't come out of this alive. But if you were fortunate enough to make it until sunrise, you would be free.

The footsteps grow closer, you close your eyes hoping he won't notice the footprints you had left in the mud. Then you see him, the man was tall, blonde hair shaved off. He walked toward the bushes you were hiding in. Your hand flies to your mouth to hide your cries. To your dismay, one escapes anyway. The soldier's head whips toward the noise, across the way from you.

You realize it wasn't you who cried too loudly. The soldier smiles wickedly, reaching for the poor woman who just gave up her hiding spot. He flings her out of the bushes onto the hard ground. More tears fall when you notice that it's Claire, the secretary from your uncle's failed company.

The soldier begins pawing at her as she tries to fight him off. It's no use. He holds her down with one knee on her torso, as he strips off his clothes. "You're my second one today." He brags. "Let's see if you're luckier than the last one. I choked her too hard." His evil laugh echoes through the quiet forest. When he rips Claire's clothing from her shaking body, you take the opportunity to run.

He looks up when he hears you leaving your shelter. "I'll catch up to you next!" He yells after you. The sun has started setting, you take a precious minute to catch your breath. You know if you stop for too long, you'll lose your momentum, or someone could catch up to you. You hear the screams and cries of your fellow prisoners as you make your way further into the woods. You search for a new place to hide, since it would be dark soon.

They could have at least equipped you with flashlights, you think to yourself. That was the whole point of all of this, wasn't it? You weren't meant to survive. Hydra expected the super soldiers to kill most of you. The women who survived would be brought back to the prison, probably made to work for them now that their spirits had been broken.

It was almost too dark to continue, so you took shelter in a cluster of bushes, shrinking yourself as small as you could underneath it. Night fell, and you laid on the cold ground, the horrendous sounds of the others getting caught filled the air. Finally, you rested your eyes. You needed the rest if you were going to make until the morning.

You woke up, sensing someone was nearby. You silently prayed that it was just another prisoner and not a threat. You release the shaky breath you were holding when they leave the area. The dark sky turns reddish - pink and you sigh with relief. It shouldn't be long now. Sunrise was so close you could almost taste your freedom.

You close your eyes, hoping that when you opened them the next time, this torture would be over. Your few moments of peace were interrupted when the blonde super soldier from earlier reached down into the bushes, pulling you up by your hair. Your scream rips through the woods, the soldier slings you back onto the ground, kicking you. "Shut up, bitch. I told you I was coming for you. You're my sixth, and from the looks of it, my last." He gestures to the sky.

He rips your shirt from your body. You try to cover yourself, but he moves your hands away. A metal hand wraps around the soldier's neck, a sickening crunch filling your ears as The Winter Soldier snaps it with ease. The soldier slumps over, his lifeless body landing with a thud.

"Mine." The Winter Soldier states, blue eyes locked on your exposed bra. A cold metal finger slips under the bra between your breasts, tearing it from your body with no effort. "No please! I almost made it. Please don't do this!" You cry, pleading with him. His hands find your breasts, squeezing roughly. His eyes land on your peaked nipples, taking them between his fingers.

He twists and pulls too roughly. When he's finished his assault on them, he reaches for his face, removing the black mask from his mouth. He's beautiful, you think for a split second. His blue eyes and pouty, full lips seemed like they didn't belong on the same man who was trained to kill. "Like what you see?" He smirks, when he notices you staring at his face. He pushes your breasts together, face lowering toward them. He runs his tongue from one pointed nipple to the other. Chapped lips taking one between them, sucking harshly.

He bites down, pulling your nipple with his teeth. You cry out, hands on his face trying to push him away. He chuckles, as you fight him, biting down your torso to your pants. He pulls them down along with your panties, discarding them immediately. One thick finger runs through your folds, disappointment evident as it comes out dry. "You're not even wet for me? We can't have that. I won't fit if you're not ready."

You shiver at his words. You didn't want to know how big he was. You had studied the super soldier serum enough at your old job to know that the serum enhanced everything. He brings his mouth down against your core, lips brushing your clit. He swirls his tongue around it, metal arm hooking under your legs to bring you closer. His full lips tug on your clit, you can't help but moan for him.

"That's it, good girl. If you're good for me, I'll convince them to let me keep you." You spit at him, kicking your legs, to push him away. "Why would I want that?" He smiles, because Hydra's gonna kill anyone left in these woods when this is over." You gasp, you should have known. "You didn't really think they would just let you go? You know too much. They will let me keep you as my little plaything though. All I have to do is say the word."

You didn't doubt him for a second. “Stop fighting." He commands, lowering his face again. His nose brushes your clit while he works his tongue inside you. You try to fight back, but he misinterprets your movements. He thinks you're enjoying it now. "That's it." The Winter Soldier suckles your swollen clit, hot tongue lapping up every drop of arousal. You bite your lips so hard; it bleeds trying to keep a moan in.

He grabs your chin, jerking your face towards him. "Do not hold back from me, kitten." His warm tongue drags over you slowly before his plump lips suction around your clit. Your thighs close against his ears as he draws a forceful orgasm out of you, legs trembling as you flood his face. Your moan rips through your throat, earning a satisfied smile from the soldier.

He spreads your legs with one hand, his other freeing his hard cock. You were right about the size of it. You were so fortunate that he got you wet first. You'd be lucky if he didn't split you in half. He plunges inside you, you squirm from the painful way he entered you. "Hold still." He says, holding your stomach down. "I can't, it hurts too much." You whine. The Winter Soldier rolls his eyes, lifting you like a rag doll.

He sits on the ground, lowering you onto him. This position was worse for you. He hit even deeper than before. But he could hold you better this way. His metal arm snakes around your waist, holding you close. He bounces you on his cock, your arms wrap around his neck. His fingers dig into your hips as you get used to it and start to grind on him.

Your clit brushes his dark curls as you ride him. "I knew you would be worth it." He grunts. "I wanted you the moment I saw you this morning. I found you immediately. You're not great at hiding, you know. But I waited. I knew it would be better if I let you think you could escape." He chuckles, "You should have seen those other broads, they would piss themselves when they saw me. But I only wanted you, so I left them for the others."

His dark pants rub against your thighs as he fucks into you. You roll your hips, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. "You feel incredible." He moans into the crook of your neck. You scratch at his leather clad back, as the Winter Soldier's mouth latches onto the exposed skin of your neck. He sucks harshly, making sure it will leave a mark. You clench around him as he cums inside you.

His metal hand reaches between you, icy digits colliding with your heat. His thumb circles your clit, causing you to unravel. You shake in his arms, too exhausted to move as he pulls you off him. He takes his shirt off, handing it to you. "Put this on. I don't want anyone looking at my little doll." You take it, looking up at the sun coming up in the distance.

Tags

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[moonselune]

Hi! Could I request something? I just saw you accept new request again! I was thinking of yearning. Them yearning for oblivious tav.

I just love a good old yearning prompt

yesssssss the yearning the pining the dramaaa

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach was trying her best to keep it together. As she sat by the campfire, her eyes kept drifting toward you, her massive frame leaning slightly forward as if she could somehow close the gap between you just by willing it. You were tending to a few weapons you’d scavenged earlier in the day, completely oblivious to the way her molten eyes lingered on you, the way her hands fidgeted with a piece of stray leather to distract herself from the ache in her chest.

Wyll, sitting nearby with a mischievous grin, had noticed. Of course, he had noticed. The Blade of Frontiers had a knack for picking up on unspoken emotions, and Karlach was as subtle as a roaring forge.

“You know,” Wyll began, his voice low and teasing as he leaned toward Karlach, “if you keep staring at them like that, you’re liable to set the poor one on fire.”

Karlach froze, her cheeks flushing as embers flickered to life along her horns.

“What?” she whispered sharply, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—”

“Yearning?” Wyll supplied with a grin, leaning back casually.

“I don’t yearn,” Karlach snapped, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, come now,” Wyll said, his tone smug. “The sighing, the pining, the tragic glances when he’s not looking—it’s downright poetic.” He tapped his chin theatrically. “It’s almost enough to compose a ballad.”

Karlach shot him a glare, her flames flaring slightly around her shoulders. “Wyll, I swear, if you don’t shut it—”

But it was too late. Her embarrassment sent her infernal engine into overdrive, and the flames on her body surged. The sudden flare caught your attention, and you glanced up from your work.

“Karlach?” you called out, your voice filled with concern as you stood and crossed the campfire toward her. “Are you okay?”

The sheer earnestness in your tone made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. She quickly tried to wave you off, her hands fanning at her shoulders as if she could dampen the flames.

“It’s nothing! Just—hot, you know?” she stammered.

“Well, yeah, you’re always hot,” you said, grabbing a nearby waterskin. “But this seems worse than usual.”

Karlach froze, her eyes going wide at your words. Did you—did you just call her hot? Surely, you didn’t mean it like that, right?

“Here, let me help,” you said, uncapping the waterskin.

“No, no, really, I’m fine—”

Too late. You doused her with a splash of water, and instead of calming her flames, it only made things worse. The steam hissed around her, mingling with her rising panic, and her flames flared even brighter.

“Gods, I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, looking horrified. “Did that make it worse?”

Karlach buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “No, no, it’s fine, just—don’t worry about it.”

Wyll, watching the scene unfold, laughed openly now. “You’re really outdoing yourself, Karlach. I think the entire camp will see those flames soon.”

You shot Wyll a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

Karlach peeked through her fingers, her flames dimming slightly as her mortification reached its peak.

“Nothing! He’s just… being a prat,” she said quickly, glaring at Wyll, who only grinned wider.

“I’d call it encouragement,” Wyll said lightly. “After all, someone here needs to take a hint.”

You blinked at him, clearly puzzled, but before you could ask what he meant, Karlach stood abruptly, the ground under her feet crunching as her weight shifted.

“I’m gonna, uh, go check on—anything else,” she muttered, stomping off toward the edge of camp.

You watched her go, bewildered, before turning back to Wyll. “Did I do something wrong?”

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head. “Not wrong, no. Just oblivious. Don’t worry—you’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe.”

You frowned, glancing back toward where Karlach had disappeared into the shadows, her flames still faintly flickering in the distance. You didn’t know what you’d missed, but something about the way she’d looked at you before she left lingered in your mind, warm and unexplained.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled gently, casting a warm glow across the assembled group. You sat on a log, sharpening your blade, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents running through the evening.

Minthara, sitting a few paces away, had her sharp red eyes trained on you, a faint furrow in her brow. Her usual composed demeanor was slightly off tonight—her movements a touch too deliberate, her glances toward you lingering just a second too long.

Shadowheart, one of the resident camp gossips, noticed. She always did.

“Why don’t you just say something, Minthara?” Shadowheart drawled lazily, her lips curling into a smirk as she toyed with a loose strand of her hair. “It’s not as though subtlety is your strong suit. Or theirs, for that matter.”

Minthara’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, irritation flashing across her face.

“I do not need your advice, cleric,” she said coolly.

“Oh, I think you do,” Shadowheart said, undeterred. “Because whatever it is you’ve been doing clearly isn’t working. They haven’t even noticed.” She tilted her head toward you, who were now carefully oiling your weapon, oblivious to the tension building around you.

Minthara’s grip on her dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white. “They have other matters to attend to. The fault lies not with my approach but their… distraction.”

Shadowheart chuckled. “Distraction? They’re so dense they probably think the moonrise is flirting with them. You’ll have to carve it into the side of their tent before they catch on.”

That was the last straw. Minthara stood abruptly, her dark cloak billowing behind her as she marched across the campsite toward you.

“Minthara?” you said, startled as her shadow fell over you.

Before you could say another word, she grabbed you by the front of your tunic and pulled you to your feet with a surprising amount of force. Her crimson eyes burned with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You,” she snapped, her voice ringing out across the camp, “are impossibly blind.”

“W-what?” you stammered, your mind racing to figure out what you’d done wrong this time.

“I have fought by your side,” she began, her voice rising. “I have trusted you, protected you, respected you. I have given you every sign imaginable, and yet you remain oblivious to the fact that I—” She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath, as if even saying the words aloud were a battle she needed to win. “That I desire you, you fool!”

The camp went silent. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer as everyone turned to stare.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You… you desire me?”

Minthara groaned, her head tipping back in exasperation before she fixed you with an incredulous look. “Yes! Must I spell it out further? Or perhaps I should inscribe it on your blade since that seems to be where your attention is always focused!”

Shadowheart, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely suppressed laughter, finally burst out into an uncontrollable giggle.

“Oh, gods, this is better than I could’ve hoped,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.

Minthara turned her glare on her, her lips curling in irritation. “If you say one more word, Shadowheart, I will—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, holding up your hands. “Everyone calm down.” You turned back to Minthara, your voice softening. “I’m sorry if I missed the signs, Minthara. I honestly didn’t realize.”

Her anger seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

“How could you not?” she asked, almost to herself. You hesitated, then placed a tentative hand on hers, still gripping your tunic.

“Because I’m an idiot,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m an idiot who’s honored and… maybe a little thrilled by what you just said.”

For the first time that evening, Minthara seemed at a loss for words. Her lips parted slightly, her sharp demeanor softening as she searched your face.

“Thrilled, you say?” she murmured, the barest hint of a smirk returning.

“Thrilled,” you confirmed, your cheeks warming under her intense gaze.

The tension in the air shifted, no longer charged with frustration but with something warmer, something promising. Minthara released your tunic, smoothing it out almost absently. “Then perhaps next time, you won’t require such… dramatic measures to understand me.”

Shadowheart made a kissy noise behind you, and you shot her a glare over your shoulder. Minthara, however, ignored her entirely, her focus solely on you.

“Now,” she said, her voice back to its usual measured tone. “Shall we continue this conversation somewhere with fewer interruptions?”

You nodded, feeling a grin spread across your face. “Lead the way.”

As you walked off together, Shadowheart’s laughter echoed behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. For once, the fog of obliviousness had lifted, and you were exactly where you wanted to be—at Minthara’s side.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel had always been a force of nature—her sharp tongue, battle-hardened demeanor, and unyielding confidence left no room for doubt. And that’s exactly how she preferred it. To anyone observing her, she was the epitome of githyanki discipline and control. But deep down, behind the steel exterior and fiery eyes, she was at war with herself.

She had a massive, undeniable crush on you.

It was maddening. Every time you smiled at her or even so much as glanced her way, her heart would race—a sensation she would have sworn was impossible for her kind. She had tried everything to make her interest known: sparring sessions where she pushed you to your limits (and a bit beyond), blunt declarations of your 'adequacy' in her eyes, and even offers to 'crush your enemies together in glorious combat'. But somehow, none of it seemed to land.

Instead, you remained oblivious, flashing her that infuriatingly kind smile and treating her like a valued ally rather than someone she desperately wanted to claim as her partner.

One day, during a training session, Lae’zel’s frustration reached its peak. She had you pinned beneath her, her blade at your throat, and instead of fear or admiration, you chuckled.

“Nice move,” you said, your grin wide. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She grit her teeth and growled, pressing the blade a little closer—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.

“You do not take me seriously!” she snapped.

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most serious people I know.”

“Not in battle, fool!” she snarled, pulling back and stalking away, her blade sheathed with a sharp clang, as you walked bewilderdly back to your tent.

From a short distance, Halsin, who had been watching the training with an amused glint in his eye, stepped forward to intercept Lae’zel. She stopped abruptly, glaring at the druid as if daring him to speak.

“Lae’zel,” Halsin said in his calm, measured tone, “may I offer you some advice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You may offer. I will decide whether it is worth hearing.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve noticed your… interest in our leader.”

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed her arms. “And what of it?”

“You are a warrior, and I admire your strength,” Halsin began, “but perhaps your methods of courtship are… misplaced.”

“What nonsense is this?” she scoffed. “I have made my intentions clear. I have praised their competence. I have challenged them in combat. What more is required?”

Halsin smiled gently. “Perhaps a softer touch. Words that reveal your feelings without the shield of aggression. A gesture that shows your care rather than your strength.”

Lae’zel looked utterly baffled, as if he had just suggested she surrender to a mind flayer.

“Softness is weakness,” she spat.

“Not always,” Halsin countered. “Sometimes, it takes more strength to be vulnerable than to wield a sword.”

She opened her mouth to retort but found herself at a loss. Instead, she grumbled something unintelligible and stalked off, leaving Halsin shaking his head with a knowing smile.

The next morning, Lae’zel approached you at camp. There was an uncharacteristic stiffness to her posture, as if she were preparing for battle, yet her hands were empty.

“Leader,” she began, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up from your map, offering her that same smile that never failed to undo her. “What’s up, Lae’zel?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For a moment, she considered abandoning this foolishness and returning to her usual methods. But Halsin’s advice echoed in her mind, and she forced herself to continue.

“I… value your presence,” she said, the words sounding foreign and awkward.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, thanks? I value yours too.”

“No, you do not understand,” she snapped, then took a deep breath to steady herself. “I… value you. Your strength. Your wit. Your… idiotic charm.”

Your confusion deepened. “Lae’zel, are you feeling okay?”

She growled in frustration, her hand twitching toward her sword out of habit before she forced it to her side. “Do I need to spell it out for you, fool?”

“Apparently,” you said, still clueless but clearly trying to follow.

She stepped closer, her amber eyes burning into yours. “I desire you, leader. As my equal. My partner. My… lover.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw Lae’zel in a new light—not just as a fierce warrior, but as someone deeply passionate and utterly vulnerable in this moment.

“Oh,” you said, the realization dawning on you. “Oh.”

Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “If you find this amusing, I will—”

“I don’t,” you interrupted, a small smile playing at your lips. “I just didn’t think—well, I didn’t know.”

“Because you are blind,” she muttered, though there was no real venom in her tone.

You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively. “Lae’zel, I’m flattered. Truly. And… I’d like to see where this goes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she looked as though she didn’t quite believe you. Then, with a sharp nod, she straightened her back and let a rare, genuine smile grace her lips.

“Good,” she said simply. “Now, let us prepare for the day. We have enemies to slay, and I will not let them distract you from what is ours.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. Lae’zel might not have mastered the art of softness, but in her own way, she was perfect.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been composed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality, but recently, every time she caught sight of you, her calm façade wavered. Her chest tightened, her thoughts scattered, and her usually sharp words became softer, laced with an uncharacteristic warmth. She knew the truth of it: she had fallen for you. Hard.

And yet, despite her every effort to show you her feelings, you remained utterly oblivious.

At breakfast that morning, Shadowheart decided to take another approach. She brushed past you as you prepared the fire, the faint scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but laced with what she thought was a hint of allure.

You looked up, smiling warmly. “Morning, Shadowheart. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, sitting beside you with deliberate closeness. “As well as I could, knowing what awaits us each day. And you?”

“Fine, thanks. Just trying to get this fire going,” you replied, your focus returning to the task at hand.

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re very skilled with your hands. It’s… admirable.”

You blinked at her, utterly missing the meaning behind her words. “Thanks! I guess all those years of camping have paid off.”

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but she refused to give up. Throughout the morning, she found small ways to stay near you, brushing her fingers against yours when you handed her something, complimenting you with what she thought was a sultry tone, and even laughing at your jokes—some of which, she had to admit, were terrible.

Still, you seemed completely unaware.

By midday, Shadowheart was frustrated beyond measure. She found Karlach near the edge of camp, inspecting her weapons, and stormed over.

“Karlach,” she said, her tone clipped but tinged with exasperation.

Karlach looked up, her fiery heart pulsing warmly. “What’s up, Shads?”

"Please don't call me that," Shadowheart crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been dropping hints—no, practically throwing myself at them, and they just… don’t notice!”

Karlach blinked, then grinned, clearly enjoying the situation more than she should. “Wait, you’re talking about—?”

“Yes,” Shadowheart snapped, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, her flames flickering slightly brighter. “Oh, this is rich. You? Pining? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shadowheart glared at her. “This is not amusing. I need advice, not mockery.”

Karlach wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Let me think. So, you’ve been… what, flirting?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Shadowheart admitted, throwing her hands in the air. “Compliments, proximity, even subtle touches. And nothing! They treat me the same as everyone else.”

Karlach hummed, tapping a clawed finger against her chin. “Maybe they’re just really dense. Or, y’know, not used to someone as… uh, mysterious as you.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do? Write it out in blood on their tent?”

Karlach snorted. “Hey, that might actually work. But no, maybe you need to be more direct. Like, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute, let’s share a bedroll tonight.’”

Shadowheart stared at her, aghast. “I am not saying that.”

“Your loss,” Karlach said with a shrug. “But seriously, just talk to them. Be honest. I bet they’d love it.”

Shadowheart sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Honesty. Of course. The one thing I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, they like you for you,” Karlach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Well, they would if they had half a brain and knew what was good for them. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Later that evening, as you sat by the campfire, Shadowheart approached you with purposeful strides. She was determined to take Karlach’s advice, even if it made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

“Can I join you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Of course,” you said, shifting to make room for her.

She hesitated for a moment, then sat beside you, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned to her, your expression curious but kind. “What is it?”

Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and looked into the fire.

“I… I care about you,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, completely misunderstanding. “I care about you too, Shadowheart. You’re a great friend.”

She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No, I mean I care about you in a… different way.”

Realization dawned on your face, your eyes widening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she echoed, feeling both vulnerable and absurdly exposed.

“I didn’t—Shadowheart, I had no idea,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise and warmth.

“I noticed,” she muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I’ve been clueless. I guess I just… never thought someone like you would feel that way about someone like me.”

She looked at you, her expression softening. “And why wouldn’t I? You’re… remarkable.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You… feel the same?”

“Yeah,” you said, your cheeks flushing. “I guess I was just waiting for a sign.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, the sound lighter than you’d ever heard from her. “Apparently, I need to be less subtle.”

As the fire crackled between you, the tension that had been simmering for so long finally gave way to something warmer, something real. And for the first time in weeks, Shadowheart felt at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira was not a woman who pined. Or so she told herself. A High Harper, disciplined and pragmatic, she had weathered countless battles and heartbreaks. Yet, here she was, sneaking glances at you across camp, her chest tightening whenever you smiled or laughed. It was maddening. How had you managed to worm your way so deeply into her thoughts?

Despite her years of wisdom, Jaheira found herself at a loss. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two of you, not without risking her pride or the delicate balance of your group.

The worst part was your complete and utter obliviousness. She’d tried subtlety—lingering conversations, offering you extra help with tactics, even sharing stories of her youth that she told no one else. You simply smiled warmly, thanked her, and went about your day as though her heart hadn’t been laid bare in every word.

One evening, after another frustrating day of yearning and getting nowhere, Astarion finally had enough.

“Jaheira, darling, may I have a word?” Astarion said, sidling up to her as she sharpened her blade near the fire.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, her tone brusque.

He smirked, clearly unbothered by her irritation. “Oh, nothing much. Just to offer my… expert services in matters of the heart.”

Jaheira blinked, her sharpening stone pausing mid-stroke. “What are you talking about?”

Astarion gestured dramatically toward you, where you sat chatting animatedly with Karlach. “I’m talking about your obvious pining for our dear leader. It’s positively tragic to watch.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to her blade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion said, rolling his eyes. “You practically glow whenever they’re around. It’s adorable, really. But I must say, your approach could use some… finesse.”

Jaheira scowled at him. “I am not some lovesick fool, and I certainly don’t need advice from a vampire with more charm than sense.”

“Perhaps not,” Astarion said, unfazed. “But consider this: have your current tactics worked? Have they so much as noticed your affection?”

Jaheira’s silence was answer enough.

“I thought so,” Astarion said smugly. “Now, listen closely. You need to be bold. Direct. Use your natural charisma and authority to your advantage. And if all else fails, a little flirtation never hurt anyone.”

Jaheira narrowed her eyes. “I am not a charlatan like you, Astarion. I won’t lower myself to cheap tricks.”

“Who said anything about cheap tricks?” Astarion replied, feigning offense. “Think of it as… a strategic maneuver. After all, you wouldn’t hesitate to outwit an enemy in battle, would you?”

Jaheira sighed, considering his words. As much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Fine. I’ll listen. But if this backfires, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

“Splendid,” Astarion said, clapping his hands together. “Now, let’s start with a little more confidence in your approach…”

The next morning, you noticed something strange about Jaheira. She was… different.

She approached you with a faint smile that seemed just a touch too practiced, her movements deliberate and graceful in a way that reminded you of someone else.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “Did you sleep well?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. I did. And you?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, her eyes lingering on you in a way that felt… odd. “Though I couldn’t help but think of our conversation from yesterday. You truly have a fascinating mind.”

You tilted your head, trying to piece together what was happening. Something about her tone, her body language—it was familiar. And then it hit you.

“Wait a minute,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you acting like Astarion?”

Jaheira froze, her carefully crafted façade slipping for just a moment. “I… what?”

“You’re doing the thing he does,” you said, mimicking a dramatic hand gesture. “The suave, overly charming thing. It’s not like you.”

Jaheira’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, muttering something under her breath.

From across camp, Astarion burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Oh, this is too good!”

Jaheira shot him a withering glare before turning back to you, her expression softening. “Perhaps I’ve been… trying too hard. Forgive me if I seemed unlike myself.”

You smiled, your warmth cutting through her frustration. “You don’t need to try so hard, Jaheira. I like you just as you are.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, with a small, genuine smile, she nodded. “Thank you. That means… more than you know.”

As she walked away, Astarion approached, still grinning. “Well, that could have gone better, but at least they noticed you.”

Jaheira shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Never again, Astarion. Never again.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the riverside in warm golds and soft shadows. Gale, waist-deep in the cool water, had his arms crossed in front of him as if the sheer act of holding himself together could quell the maelstrom of feelings raging inside. His crush on you was a storm that refused to abate, leaving him with sleepless nights and days filled with longing glances.

From the riverbank, Minthara watched him with a look of abject irritation. Minthara had ordered him to take a dip in the cold water after he had decided to unleash his love-filled ranting unto her ears as they collected water. She assured him she would be fine to take the water back by herself, and when he thought she had left he keenly stripped and waded into the water. But Minthara had not left, no, Gale's lovesick demeanor had created a vendetta against her and she decided to take action.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She didn’t think it was possible for wizards to get worse, but Gale was proving her wrong. With a smirk, she moved silently to where Gale had left his clothes folded neatly on a nearby rock. With the swift efficiency of a seasoned tactician, she gathered them up and strode back toward camp.

You were enjoying a moment of quiet when Minthara approached, holding a bundle of robes in her arms.

"The wizard is by the river," she said bluntly. "It seems he’s in need of assistance."

You frowned, glancing at the clothing. "Assistance? With what?"

Minthara’s lips quirked into a thin smile. "He appears… indisposed. Perhaps you should go and see for yourself."

Before you could ask more, she tossed the robes into the fire and strode away, leaving you thoroughly puzzled but intrigued. You could have sworn those were Gale's. With haste, you made your way towards the river and when you arrived at the riverbank, you called out, "Gale? Everything alright?"

Gale startled, his head whipping around to face you, his hair slicked back and glistening in the sunlight. Clearly he had been searching for his robes. "Ah, no! I mean, yes—yes, everything’s fine!"

You raised a brow, stepping closer to the water’s edge. "Are you sure? Minthara said you needed help."

At the mention of her name, Gale groaned. "Of course, she did. And I suppose she also absconded with my robes?" He shot a wary glance toward the shore, clearly trying to maintain some distance.

"Unfortunately so. What’s going on?" you asked, scanning the area. Then you noticed the way his face burned red, his expression a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Why are you still in the water? It’s getting late. and the river's current is about to pick up, you need to get out, now."

He hesitated, his fingers flexing nervously beneath the water’s surface. "It’s… complicated."

"Complicated how?" You looked around, spotting no immediate danger apart from the increasing current. "Do you need a hand getting out? I can lend you my cloak."

"You don’t understand!" Gale blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "This isn’t about the cold—or the current. It’s…" He trailed off, visibly warring with himself.

You tilted your head, curious and slightly amused. "Then what is it about? You’re not exactly making it easy to help you."

Gale sighed deeply, sinking a little lower into the water until only his nose and eyes peeked out. Then, in a low, hurried tone, he confessed, "I’m afraid my feelings for you have… manifested in a rather inconvenient manner."

Your brow furrowed. "Feelings for me?"

"Yes!" Gale said, his voice growing more desperate. "Feelings. Strong feelings—romantic, longing, entirely improper feelings for someone as… exceptional as you."

You blinked, the weight of his words settling over you like the warmth of the setting sun. "You—wait. You like me?"

"Yes," he muttered, his face practically steaming despite the cool water. "Which is precisely why I can’t leave this river at the moment."

The realization dawned slowly, but when it clicked, a grin spread across your face. "Oh," you said, fighting back laughter. "Oh."

"Yes," Gale grumbled, his mortification complete. "You see now why this is problematic."

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped. "So, let me get this straight. You’re saying your feelings are… visible at the moment?"

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist on phrasing it that way, then yes."

You laughed harder, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Gale, that’s not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You’re not the one at risk of a compromising exit."

Still laughing, you crouched by the water’s edge, your cloak in hand. "Come on. I promise I’ll look the other way. Just wrap this around your waist - tightly, and let’s get you back to camp."

Gale hesitated, clearly torn between his pride and the practicality of your offer. The river was rising, and the current becoming less forgiving. He didn't know what would be worse, coming out in this state or having to have you rescue him whilst he was in this condition. Finally, he sighed. "You’re infuriatingly kind, you know that?"

"Only to people I like," you teased, winking at him.

That earned you a small, genuine smile, despite his predicament. Slowly, cautiously, he edged closer to the shore, his blush never fading. You diligently kept your eyes closed, but there was that little devil inside you willing you to take a peak. He wrapped the cloak around his waist, only for you to hear a small, defeated sigh.

"You cannot laugh at me, but please may I request that I carry your shoes back to camp?" He asked, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow you must really like me-"

"-The shoes please!"

Still giggling to yourself, you took off your shoes and passed them to him, allowing him to use them as a shield to his nether region.

You were finally able to look at him, his cheeks flushed beet red as he murmured, "I am going to kill Minthara, or at least try to."

"You know, Gale, I think Minthara might have done us both a favor."

Gale groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Never speak of this again. And especially do not encourage her behaviour."

"No promises," you said with a grin, walking beside him as you both headed back to camp. "Perhaps, I might want to get caught short with you."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Astarion was not accustomed to being ignored, least of all by someone who had managed to captivate him so thoroughly. Yet here you were, brushing off his every flirtation, every lingering glance, every word dripping with a charm that could make others fall at his feet.

You were different, infuriatingly so. Every smirk, every sly compliment, every touch of his hand to your arm was met with a polite laugh, a nod, or—worse—a casual thanks before you moved on as though he hadn’t just thrown his best seductive lines at you.

For someone like Astarion, whose every move had been meticulously calculated for centuries, this was unbearable. He was practically seething with frustration as he watched you across the camp, laughing at something Karlach had said. He sighed dramatically, slumping onto a nearby log, the perfect picture of a man whose heart was in shambles.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand why you might be cautious around him. He wasn’t blind to his own past or the scars it had left on his soul. But this? This obliviousness wasn’t caution—it was sheer ignorance of his very obvious yearning.

And so, out of options and desperately needing help, he did something he never thought he would: he sought out Gale.

Gale was sitting by the fire, absently flipping through his spellbook, when Astarion approached him. The vampire’s usual smirk was replaced with something that looked suspiciously like a grimace.

“Gale,” Astarion began, his voice unusually subdued.

Gale looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Astarion? To what do I owe this… peculiar honor?”

Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, spare me the preamble. I need your help.”

“My help?” Gale blinked. “What kind of apocalyptic disaster requires my assistance? Surely not something involving a certain someone we both know?”

Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Them.”

Gale set his book down, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see. You’re pining.”

“I am not pining,” Astarion snapped, though the blush creeping up his pale cheeks betrayed him. “I am… strategically pursuing. Subtly, I might add.”

Gale snorted. “If by subtle, you mean utterly transparent, then yes. You’ve been as subtle as a fireball in a wheat field.”

Astarion scowled. “They don’t see it that way. They think I’m just… charming. Which, of course, I am, but there’s more to it than that.”

“And you want my advice?” Gale leaned back, crossing his arms. “Me, the man you’ve spent weeks mocking for my ‘tragic romanticism’?”

“Yes, yes, revel in the irony if you must,” Astarion said impatiently. “But you’re annoyingly good- most of the time, at all this grand gesture nonsense, and clearly, I need a new approach.”

Gale chuckled, a little too pleased with himself. “All right. Let’s see. The key here is sincerity. You can’t just charm your way through this one. You have to show them how you feel.”

Astarion frowned. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Think of something meaningful to them,” Gale suggested. “An act that demonstrates you understand them, that you care about them deeply. And,” he added with a smirk, “maybe tone down the smirking and innuendo for five minutes.”

The next day, Astarion put Gale’s advice into action—or at least, his version of it. You were sitting by the riverbank, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when Astarion approached you, holding something behind his back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

You smiled up at him. “What’s up, Astarion?”

“I, uh… I noticed something the other day.” He cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically awkward. “You mentioned how much you missed those silly little biscuits from Baldur’s Gate, the ones with the sugar glaze.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I did?”

“Yes, you did,” he said quickly. “And, well… here.” He produced a carefully wrapped package and handed it to you. Inside were a handful of the biscuits, slightly crumbled but still intact.

Your eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he said, his smirk creeping back despite his best efforts. “Just enjoy them.”

You looked up at him, touched by the gesture but still utterly oblivious to the deeper meaning. “Thanks, Astarion. That’s really sweet of you.”

He stared at you for a moment, waiting for something—anything—to click. When it didn’t, he sighed dramatically and flopped onto the grass beside you.

“Are you truly this dense, my beautiful fool?” he muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he said, flashing you a too-bright smile. “Enjoy your biscuits, darling.”

From a distance, Gale watched the exchange with a shake of his head, muttering, “Some people are beyond help.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll was not used to being ignored, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He prided himself on his charm, his courtly manners, and his ability to woo with a single smile. Yet, when it came to you, all his gentlemanly gestures seemed to bounce right off you like a deflected blade.

He would offer you his hand to help you over rough terrain, only to receive a simple "Thanks, Wyll!" and a cheerful pat on his shoulder. He’d bring you breakfast, perfectly arranged, and you’d compliment him on his “team spirit.” He’d even tried a few subtler lines, but you always brushed them off as his natural charisma, as if his feelings weren’t entirely focused on you.

So, after one particularly frustrating evening where you didn’t even notice how his gaze lingered on you by the firelight, Wyll decided he needed help.

And who better to consult than the camp’s most direct and fearless member, Lae’zel?

Lae’zel was sharpening her sword when Wyll approached, his usual confident demeanor slightly crumpled under the weight of his unspoken affection. She glanced up, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Wyll,” she said bluntly, “you look as though you’ve swallowed a blade sideways. Spit it out.”

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “It’s about… them,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the object of your obsession.”

Wyll winced. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Call it what you will,” she said, shrugging. “You pine for them like a fledgling seeking a mate. What of it?”

“I don’t know how to… tell them,” Wyll confessed, his usual eloquence failing him. “They seem entirely immune to my advances.”

Lae’zel snorted. “Perhaps because your ‘advances’ are weak. Soft. You dote on them like a mother hen, not a warrior. If you want their attention, you must assert dominance.”

“Assert dominance?” Wyll repeated, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Yes,” Lae’zel said firmly. “Challenge them. Best them in combat. Show them your strength. Then, when they are weak and trembling, you proclaim your intent to claim them as yours.”

Wyll’s face turned scarlet. “That’s—That’s not how courtship works!”

“Of course it is,” Lae’zel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You prove your physical and sexual prowess through battle. What better way to ensure compatibility?”

Wyll sputtered, his composure unraveling. “I—I don’t think they’d appreciate being ‘claimed’ like a prize after a fight.”

“They would respect it,” Lae’zel insisted. “And likely find it arousing.”

“Lae’zel!” Wyll’s voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, his flames of embarrassment rivaling Karlach’s.

From across the camp, you noticed the commotion and Wyll’s obvious distress. Concerned, you got up and made your way over. “Wyll? Are you okay?”

Lae’zel’s smirk widened as Wyll’s blush deepened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling for words. “Ah—Yes! Fine! Everything is fine!”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you sure? You look like you’ve just lost a sparring match.”

Before Lae’zel could open her mouth to make things infinitely worse, Wyll quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you aside.

“Just a minor… disagreement,” he said quickly, his voice cracking again. “Nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a curious look, but his obvious flustered state distracted you from pressing further. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Lae’zel watched you go with Wyll, shaking her head and muttering, “Coward. They would have respected a proper duel.”

Meanwhile, Wyll was doing his best to calm his racing heart and come up with a less mortifying way to tell you how he felt—ideally without Lae’zel’s "help."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Halsin prided himself on his control, his connection to nature, and his ability to remain grounded in even the most chaotic of circumstances. But when it came to you, all of that composure seemed to dissolve like frost under the morning sun.

You were utterly magnetic to him—your presence so compelling that his heart would stutter every time you entered the same space. He found himself enchanted by the curve of your smile, the warmth in your voice, the kindness in your touch. And it was unbearable. Literally, because every time you touched his arm or leaned in to speak to him, his instincts would flare wildly out of control.

The first time it happened, you’d brushed some stray leaves off his shoulder after he returned from foraging. “Halsin, you’ve brought back half the forest,” you joked, smiling up at him.

Halsin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a rush of heat overtook him, and— bam—he was suddenly a large, startled elk.

You jumped back with a yelp of surprise, staring wide-eyed at the animal in front of you. “Halsin?”

The elk gave a deep snort, its head hanging low as if mortified.

It happened again not long after, when you touched his hand while passing him a flask of water. This time, he transformed into a wolf, looking up at you with ears pinned back, practically radiating sheepishness.

“Halsin,” you laughed, kneeling down to scratch behind his ears, “you’ve got to warn me if you’re going to do that.”

By the time the third accidental wildshape happened—this time as a squirrel after you had simply smiled at him—Jaheira had had enough.

The older druid cornered Halsin after dinner, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face. “You’re a leader, Halsin. A figure of strength and wisdom. Yet here you are, hiding in fur and feathers because of a crush.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Halsin muttered, his deep voice unusually uncertain. “It’s… consuming. Every time I try to speak to them, I lose myself. They are radiant, Jaheira. I can hardly stand near them without—”

“—turning into livestock, yes,” Jaheira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a druid, not a child. Get a grip, Halsin. They won’t notice your feelings unless you make them clear. And for the love of Silvanus, do it without shifting.”

Halsin sighed heavily but nodded. “You’re right. I must face this head-on.”

Jaheira clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go before you sprout wings or something ridiculous.”

Halsin found you sitting by the campfire, a jar of honey and a piece of bread in your hands. The firelight danced across your features, and Halsin felt his heart thrum painfully in his chest.

“Is everything okay, Halsin?” you asked, looking up at him with a concerned smile.

Halsin cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain steady. “Yes, I… there is something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, some honey glistening on your lips. “Of course. What is it?”

And that was it. The sight of your lips, the gentle curve of your expression—it was too much. Despite every ounce of willpower he had summoned, Halsin’s body betrayed him. With a flash of light and a muffled groan, he was suddenly a massive brown bear, sitting heavily on the ground.

You blinked, staring at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Halsin! You did it again!”

From across the camp, Jaheira let out a long, exasperated groan, throwing her hands up. “I give up!” she muttered, stalking off.

The bear lowered its massive head, letting out a low huff of frustration. You reached over and gently placed a hand on his fur.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you said, grinning. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

If Halsin could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he let you pet him, resigning himself to the fact that his feelings were much harder to control than he’d ever anticipated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so so much fun to write !! Especially Gale's icl hehehe. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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