#I planned to only go and look up the eye colour meanings again but ended up rereading a comic or two

[bumpen-underbeds]

It's a university, everyone's doing something or someone, but what if there was a bet on who could do you? And let's be honest, he was more of a puppy than a dog to most people, but that didn't mean he wouldn't act like an animal if given the chance.

This is the first part of my little multi-chapter story that I had planned, the reader in this is stated to have afab genitals but nothing else is specified.

The Dog hybrid is named Oli in this.

Part Links: Introduction | Werewolf | Vampire | Demon | Bunny Hybrid | Satyr | Dog Hybrid

The Dog hybrid in your project group is truly not cut out for this class; he is an art-focused kinda guy, nothing outside of his art theory and practicals can draw his attention. There's also the fact that he doesn't seem to have a lot going on in his mind, despite how eager and excited he is about this project and getting to work on it with you.

He's very sweet, but the last thirty minutes of this impromptu 'study' session have been spent trying to get Oli to understand that this is a project, not a presentation, and that there won't be a slideshow or speech that he can give or read from. He's now pouting and lying with his head against his arms on the library desk, tail hanging limp and lifeless, unlike a few moments ago when it was wagging so fast that the papers on the table had been moved from its little wind gusts.

"So I can't make slides, and there's no speaking at all? Then what's the point! I'm no good at anything else..." Oli whines loudly, and there are a few sets of eyes that turn and glare at the two of you for disturbing the soft quiet in this part of the library, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it softly as you comfort him, telling him there is still things that he can help with, offering to let him pick the graph colours and styles so that they look the most pleasing.

It's a small thing, but the moment the words are out of your mouth, his tail is wagging again, eyes bright and ears perked up as he nods eagerly.

From there, he was hovering over your shoulder, watching as you entered the data into the correct areas for the diagrams and graphs, letting him have control after you were done typing so that he could spend a good ten minutes choosing between the pie chart or the plain graph format and then another twenty on the colours, mumbling about making sure they don't clash.

It would be cute and endearing in a way, if you didn't already know that he was using these sessions with you to try and win a stupid bet. It's okay, though; you have a plan of your own to ensure neither he nor the werewolf, Xavier, wins the bet.

Watching Oli as he focused, you could understand why it would be easy for him to win, had you not known there was a bet; he was sweet and quite cute when he acted like an excited puppy, rather than a slathering mutt. There had been a few times you had watched him through a reflection out of the corner of your eye, rutting against a couch cushion or rubbing his hand across the front of his pants as you did something or other, he did seem genuinely interested and attracted to you in a way, even if it was just a FWB situation.

He had made several attempts at getting you to come over to his dorm, offering to kick out his roommate so you could study there instead of the library, only to end up on the familiar plastic seats, pouting as you made him help you with putting the project together.

It was late, much later than your sessions with the group you had been dumped with usually ran, sighing and rubbing your eyes as you tried to fight off the exhaustion of dealing with this group of right neanderthals. Each one thinking their sly as they try to single you out or get you alone with them, each attempt making your skull throb and fingers ache with how you had tightly gripped your own to keep from throwing something at one of them.

Leaning against a wall as you try to ease the tension headache that has steadily built a place behind your eyes for the last thirty minutes, you can help the yelp you let out when a cold hand comes to rest on your shoulder, Oli loomed over you tail wagging slowly as he tilts his head at you.

Bless the dog hybrid as he simply sits in front of you as you groan and dig through his satchel for a painkiller, offering you the sealed tablet pack and his water with a little whine.

Once the meds kick in a little, you thank him, unconsciously reaching out to pat him on the head, running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp a little as you do, watching his eyes flutter closed and lean into the touch. He is quite cute, as you keep petting him and enjoying the carefree way he enjoys it, you ponder an idea and settle on a course of action, inviting the dog hybrid to your dorm the following day to hang out, offering to feed him as thanks for the meds and comfort.

However, it's not a traditional meal that you're going to present to him as a thank you; he won't be considered a winner of his bet if he doesn't get to knot you after all.

The following day, Oli is outside your dorm bouncing on his feet, tail going a mile a minute as he watches the people come and go from the dorm, his hair a mess of red moving side to side as he looks around. Opening the door and waving him in, you sign him in as a day visitor before taking him up to your room, having been very lucky in scoring a solo dorm for the semester.

Getting him into your room is easy, but getting him to stop touching all your stuff is hard. Shirts, socks, and even a pair of underwear have to be rugged out of his hands as he follows smells and curiosity openly in your room, getting him to sit on your bed feels like a real triumph, and getting him to trust you when you tell him to lay back and close his eyes feels like winning a whole ass war.

Even if you have to shake your head as he buries his face into your pillow and groans openly, rocking his hips into nothing on instinct.

The moment he is lying down, you work fast, pulling off your comfy pants and underwear, it's harder to crawl up the bed and settle in a way that doesn't frighten him too much but reaching down to sink your fingers into his hair as you scratch behind his ears and make him take a deep breath as he whines, the spook he gets doesn't seem all that bad.

There is a single long moment of suprise and then hunger, for all the puppy like features Oli has being presented with your cunt as a meal reminds you his is just as much a mutt a the other dog hybrids you have met in your life, his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you down onto his face, broad wet swipes of his tongue mix with panting growls as he makes messy work of eating you out.

Tail thumping against your bed as you keep your hands in his hair, holding and supporting his head as he trys to push his face further against your folds, making disgustingly loud slurping and sucking noises as he presses his tongue against your clit, working to make more and more of you fill his mouth. One of his hands stays heavy against your thigh, pushing down and keeping you seated on his face as the other scrambles to push his pants down and wraps around his cock.

Saying he was a messy eater is an understatement, his chin, nose and cheeks are smeared with slick and sweat, the few times you had made to pull away, he growled, a deep rumbling noise that was followed by a sharp nip to your inner thigh, he was not done eating yet not by a long shot.

Letting him waste the day away between your legs, jerking himself raw and making a mess of himself with wasted cum, sweat and your slick was the perfect way to make use of this stupid bet without actually giving him the win.

[mashtatosworld]

calm in the chaos

summary: you give birth to your first baby

You should have known when Jiyong walked into the room with a beret perched on his head and a set of fine paintbrushes in the other, that today was not going to go as planned.

You had thought you were going to start painting the nursery.

You had been excited, even, having selected a range of pink shades together weeks ago. You’d imagined the two of you working side by side, getting messy with paint, making this space a home for your little girl.

But instead, you found yourself sitting on the nursery floor, your maternity dress rolled up over your stomach, as your husband carefully dragged a paintbrush across your swollen belly.

You sighed, watching him dip the brush into a soft pastel colour before sweeping it over your skin. "Ji, why are we doing this again?"

He didn’t even look up, his lips pursed in deep concentration. “She gives me inspiration.”

You arched a brow. "She?"

“Our baby,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m waiting for her to tell me how she wants the room painted."

You blinked. "You don’t know what colour you want the nursery to be?"

He had a vision board, a Pinterest board and even hired interior designers to help plan the nursery. But in the end, the two of you went to the store and picked out your favourite swatches of pregnancy safe paint - of which he was now painting on your stomach.

“I thought I did," he admitted, sticking a tiny flower to your belly, right where he had just painted. "But then I realised, I should wait for her input."

You stared at him, bewildered. "She’s going to decide?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course."

You sighed again, shaking your head. "And how exactly is she going to do that?"

At that exact moment, a small but firm kick pressed against your stomach, right where he had been painting.

Jiyong grinned, eyes wide with excitement. "Ahhh, see? She’s choosing!"

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Or maybe she’s just done with you poking her all the time.”

He ignored your teasing, his expression turning softer, more thoughtful. He ran a hand gently over your stomach, his wedding ring cold against your skin as it grazed the painted surface.

"I feel so connected to her already," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your belly. "I think she’s going to share my artistic vision but have your beauty." His eyes flicked up to you, filled with so much love it made your breath catch. "She’s so lucky."

Your heart melted, and you reached out to touch him, feeling closer than ever. "We’re the lucky ones, Ji."

He smiled, rubbing a hand over your belly again before picking up another flower petal and sticking it carefully to your skin.

After a few more strokes of paint and some deep, artistic pondering on Jiyong’s end, you finally asked, "So… now that she’s chosen the colour, can we start painting the nursery?"

Jiyong froze, slowly pursing his lips. His expression instantly shifted from serene to guilty.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jiyong."

He cleared his throat. "Well… we could… but, you know, it's a lot of labour, and - "

"Ji."

"And you're pregnant, and I just - ”

"Ji."

"I don’t want you moving around too much!" he finally blurted, eyes pleading. "It’s not safe!"

You stared at him, incredulous. "That’s why you’ve been delaying? Because you don’t want me painting?"

He nodded quickly. “I mean, you are involved! You’re growing our princess!”

You threw your hands in the air. "Jiyong, come on. I want to help. I’m not going to break!"

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to protect you and his desire to make you happy. After a long pause, he finally sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

"Thank you."

"But only sticking flowers to the wall," he warned. "No climbing ladders. No stretching. No actual painting. Just decorating."

You rolled your eyes but took what you could get. "Deal."

He'd been like that your whole pregnancy.

You weren’t allowed to carry anything. Not a grocery bag, not the laundry, not even your own shoes if he was feeling particularly protective. The man had damn near wrestled a glass out of your hand once, insisting it was too full and too heavy - until you nearly bit his head off.

After that, he reluctantly allowed you to lift a drink or your phone. But everything else?

Off limits.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, the nursery was transformed.

The walls were coated in the perfect shade of soft pink, the door dotted with tiny, delicate flowers. Jiyong had even painted a subtle mural on one wall - gentle brushstrokes forming a dreamy, almost ethereal heart. It was beautiful.

You both stood in the centre of the room, looking around in awe.

It suddenly felt real.

This wasn’t just a room anymore. This was your baby’s room. The space where you would rock her to sleep, where she would wake up every morning, where she would play and grow.

Jiyong took your hand in his, his grip warm and steady. He gave you a small, almost disbelieving smile. “This is really happening, huh?”

You squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Briefly, you were pulled back to when you first met him. At the time, you'd been too afraid to even look him in the eyes. And yet now you would touch your stomach and wonder if your baby would have those same, curious eyes...

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The three of you - already a family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You should have known.

You should have known when Jiyong didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night - not even during Youngbae’s toast.

You should have known when he stayed practically glued to your side all night, his hand permanently resting on your belly like some kind of monitor.

And you should have known when he kept looking at you with that knowing little smirk every time you shifted uncomfortably.

But you?

You were in denial.

Sure, there had been some cramping earlier that day, but that was normal at nine months pregnant. It was not the start of labour.

No way. Not tonight, of all nights. Not when you were supposed to be enjoying Youngbae’s big concert, surrounded by your closest friends.

So, you pushed through.

You swayed lightly in the VIP section, singing along with Hyorin. And you breathed through the discomfort when Jiyong leaned in, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple.

And then the concert ended.

You were all backstage, congratulating Youngbae, when a sharp pain rippled through your stomach. Your hand immediately shot out, grabbing the nearest thing - which happened to be Jiyong’s forearm.

You squeezed, fingers digging in.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head with that same knowing smirk. "Right, jagi - your contractions are within five minutes. It’s time to go to meet our baby."

Silence.

Then -

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Every single person in the room turned to stare.

Youngbae, still towelling off his sweat, froze. Hyorin’s jaw dropped. Daesung, mid-sip of water, choked violently.

"Is this really happening?!"

"How could I have not noticed?"

"I'm going to be an uncle again?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Yes, ok, she's in labour. Time to go. Let’s move."

"Yah!" Hyorin smacked your arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You can't smack a pregnant person!" Daesung jumped in, standing in front of you like a personal bodyguard.

You tried to protest, but another contraction hit, and all that came out was a pained groan.

"What are we waiting for!" Youngbae ushered, grabbing his wife as Daesung threw on his jacket.

"This isn't an afterparty." You muttered, shuffling out of the room with Jiyong at your side as the others followed closely behind.

"We were there when you met, we'll be there for this too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car ride was complete chaos.

You were wedged in the back between Hyorin and Daesung, who were gripping your hands like they was the ones about to give birth.

Youngbae was in the passenger seat, throwing out directions that he believed was the fastest way to the hospital.

"Take a left here! Hyung! Hyung! You missed the turning," He instructed Jiyong, his maps up on his phone. "Go right here! No! Jiyong!"

Your husband ignored his frantic shouting as he continued straight ahead. "I know the way." He'd been studying every route to the hospital since you entered your third trimester.

Daesung, squished in the back, was losing his mind. “Drive faster! Why are we not driving faster?! This is an emergency! Run the light!”

Jiyong stayed silent.

Completely calm. Not panicked. Not frantic. Not hovering.

He just gripped the wheel, eyes steady, jaw set. Cool. Collected.

Which only made it worse because nobody expected this.

“Why is he so quiet?!” Daesung hissed from the back.

"Maybe he's in shock!" Hyorin whispered back. "Youngbae fainted when I had our son."

"Hey... I was tired and simply closed my eyes," Youngbae muttered in return. He then looked to his bandmate with wide eyes. "You're not going to faint right? Tell me and I'll grab the wheel."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

"That makes it weirder, Jiyong!” Daesung exclaimed.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction hit, gripping Hyorin’s fingers like a vice.

Jiyong found your eyes in the mirror. His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Breathe, jagi," he murmured. "We’re almost there."

Everyone else was in full-blown meltdown mode, and yet he was here, anchored, pulling you back down to earth.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time you got to the hospital, Jiyong immediately sprang into action.

The moment the car stopped, he was out, grabbing the hospital bag from the trunk - which he had secretly packed without your knowledge.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group spilled out of the car like a panicked clown parade.

"Move, move, move!” Youngbae yelled like it was a military drill.

Jiyong opened the door for you, helping you out carefully, and wrapped an arm around your waist as he guided you inside. The others trailed behind, all talking at once -

"We’re here for the birth!”

"She’s having the baby right now!”

"We need a wheelchair!"

"I can still walk Daesung.” You declined even when he nearly tripped you up, trailing closely behind at your heels.

Jiyong ignored all of them. He was only focused on you.

Hyorin was on the phone with your mother, giving her updates in hushed tones. Youngbae was already calling Jiyong’s mom. Daesung, pulled out his own phone, not one to be left out.

"I'm calling Seunghyun," He muttered.

Another contraction hit. You clenched your jaw, voice shaking. "Ji... I’m scared."

And just like that, his entire demeanour softened.

He turned to you, his hands framing your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, baby," he whispered. "But you’re going to be okay. I’m right here."

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you were wheeled into the delivery room, the chaos of your friends faded.

It was just you and Jiyong now.

He never let go of your hand.

Not once.

Through every contraction, every moment of pain, he was there. Whispering reassurances. Kissing your knuckles. Smoothing your hair.

"You’re doing so well, jagi."

"Just a little more, my baby."

"I’m right here."

And when your daughter finally entered the world - when her tiny cries filled the room - Jiyong let out the softest, most broken breath.

The doctor placed her in your arms, and Jiyong just stared.

He looked at you, his eyes wet, his lips trembling. "She's here," he whispered. "You did it."

You nodded weakly, exhausted beyond words.

And Jiyong - your calm in the chaos - just broke.

Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your daughter’s tiny head, his hands shaking. "She's perfect," he whispered.

You smiled sleepily, watching the love in his eyes as he gazed at your little girl - the masterpiece he had been waiting for.

The one he'd been waiting for his whole life.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a throwback to the birth of baby diva! i thought i should post this before Angel arrives - which is not long now!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

[bratbarzal]

you said i could send multiple requests and you wouldn’t block me

could you do roommate (or neighbour) nico with ³⁾ “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” with neighbour!nico!!!!! bc of course neighbour nico joins your boozy galentines, wears pink fluffy cowboy hats and sings horrific karaoke duets with you. why wouldn't he? not to toot my own horn (again) but beep beep this is a dream that I have had since lunch and I am not giving up on it now.

“I’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything I need to know about how your date went.”

You're locking up your apartment when Nico emerges from the elevator down the hall, shoulders slumped and face downcast as he trudges over to his door.

You'd seen him when you got home from work, earlier - dressed in a dinner jacket, hair all styled, shirt tucked neat - and he had told you he had a date. On Valentines Day.

And yeah, your heart had pretty much plummeted to the very core of the earth, but at the very least, you got to see him looking so good - a vision to store in your memory bank for a rainy day, when you're thinking too hard about how close he is, just across the hall, but so far away, only being your neighbour, and all.

And that was only an hour ago. Just enough time to get ready, yourself. Hair curled all nice, makeup done - the sexiest outfit you could possibly throw together, because it's girls night, and you deserve to feel your best.

A good date doesn't last an hour. Doesn't end up with a guy slumping home, hair all mussed from running his hands through it, jacket slung over his arm and his heart crushed into pieces.

"Got stood up," he huffs, reaching into his pocket for his keys, "Said she didn't realise I was a hockey player, and didn't think I had the brain cells to hold a serious, thoughtful conversation for a few hours."

"Ouch," you frown, feeling anger more than pity - because, wow, what a bitch!

"You look nice, though," he throws out the compliment almost as an aside, but you can tell by the way his eyes linger that he means it - fixated on the spot where your skirt ends and meets bare thigh. You're probably gonna freeze, but you're going to get some great pictures for your Hinge profile, so does it really matter? "Didn't realise you had plans."

"Going out with the girls," you tell him, "Galentines, 'cause we're all single this year."

He nods, his gaze trailing back up your body until your eyes meet, torturously slow, only enhanced by the darkened colour of his irises. "Have a good night."

"You should come," you tell him without thinking better of it - hypnotised by the low, sexy tone of his voice. It goes straight through you - almost takes control of you like a puppet on a string.

"I'm not a gal," he frowns, although he makes no move to go into his apartment.

"You're single, though," you shrug, "I don't think they'll be too fussy on the criteria once we get a few drinks in."

"Are you sure your friends won't mind?" he asks, eyebrow wiggling and head tilting in the adorable way it so often does.

You press your lips together as if you're rethinking it, casting your eyes slowly down his figure - broad shoulders, big arms practically bulging through his shirt, slacks clinging to his thick thighs for dear life. Your friends will have the time of their lives with this.

"Considering a night out only won the vote for what to do by fine margins, I think they'll be okay with it." You smile, knowingly, nodding toward the elevator, "C'mon, we don't want to be late."

"I don't get what that means, what came second?"

"Magic Mike." You smirk as you walk backwards, reaching to press the button and laughing when his jaw drops. "You take your shirt off later and we'll be golden."

The poor guy has no idea what he's in for.

--

Your girlfriends don't mind when you and Nico meet them at the bar, not once you've introduced him - his name not ringing a bell until you mention he's from the apartment next door, and you see the flash of recognition wash through them almost like cascading dominoes, knocking each other over one by one.

They don't know him as Nico, he's much more fondly referred to in your group chat as sexy neighbour, after all.

You've only been telling them about him for the past 18 months you've lived across the hall - regaling them with stories of bulging muscles carrying grocery bags for you, compression shirts sticking to him when he comes back from the gym, and the one time the fire alarm went off in summer, and he hadn't thought to put a shirt on when you met out the back of the building.

Yeah, sexy neighbour is pretty much a celebrity in your friend group.

They welcome him with open arms, and the night evolves, as they so often do in your friend group, in highly chaotic fashion.

It starts with a round of shots, because of course it does. The bar is rowdy, the music loud, and those tiny little glasses of you-don't-even-want-to-know-what loosen lips all around. Nico picks up on the dynamic of your group pretty quickly, shifting the shyness he had walked into the establishment with and charming them all with that same dimpled smile he got you hooked on the day you met.

Shots turn into drinking games - chugging cocktails, taking on dares, spilling secrets, and you learn so much about Nico that you would never have known otherwise, so much that you would never have had the guts to ask.

Drinking turns to dancing, which starts in a crowd on the floor, bodies all smushed together, and ends up on tables, Nico by your side the whole time, hooking an arm around your waist so that you don't fall.

You end up bar-hopping to an extent, the second place you go being a little quieter, and you're all way too drunk to stay, so you end up at the karaoke joint further down the street.

Your friends all pick the girls night classics, Man I Feel Like A Woman, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and there's even a full dance intermission for three of your friends to perform Single Ladies.

You all end up adorning fluffy pink cowgirl hats from god knows where, fluffy feather boas slung from your shoulders, and Nico is suddenly grabbing your hand, dragging you on stage, and handing you a mic before you're fully aware what's going on.

But by then you're too drunk to care, belting What Makes You Beautiful at the top of your lungs with him, still conscious enough to blush when he directs the lyrics towards you - as out of key and awful as they may sound.

And you don't know what happens between that and ending up at the club, bass thumping in your ears, blood pumping, skin sweating, and your back is pressed against his chest. You can still see flashes of feathers in your peripheral, your friends close by, but you can't really focus on anything else.

Anything other than the heat of Mr Sexy Neighbour, himself, flush against you, one of his hands holding yours to keep you steady, the other in the dip of your waist, and his breath warm on your bare neck. You lean into him more than you probably should - more than the sober you of tomorrow will be comfortable with, when you're bumping into him again and unable to look into those pretty eyes - and he leans in right back, nose at the junction where your jaw and ear meets, lips flush against your skin, where you hear him mutter, "I should get you home."

You nod, because what are you supposed to do, speak? With him looking at you like that?

Fat chance of that happening.

And he takes your hand in a firm, clammy grip, doing the rounds between those friends that still remain - the ones he hasn't had a chance to personally see off into a cab - telling them to text him if they need help getting home, and to text you when they eventually make it there.

He guides you practically the whole way home - helps bundle you into the back of a cab, buckling you in for safety and sitting in the middle, where you can lean on him with a heavy head, and your hand in his the whole way.

He throws an arm around you to help you stumble your way through the lobby of your apartment building, holding you up in the elevator and pressing the button for your shared floor. And then he props you up beside your front door, taking your keys from your purse and unlocking the door for you as you watch him with a tired but focused gaze.

God, you want him.

Is the world really so cruel that he would never want you back?

When he finally tries the right key and pushes the door open, he looks over at you, a heated gaze assessing if you're fit enough to send in on your own, and you imagine it's the way you blink slowly at him that tells him you're not.

You were just admiring him, really - your buzz wearing off, and the stumbles added for dramatic effect so that he wouldn't stop touching you - but he doesn't need to know that.

He makes a come here motion with grabby hands, and you practically launch yourself back into his arms, him accepting you with an amused smile as he walks you into your apartment, throwing your purse onto your counter and leaving your keys on the side.

You tug a little to steer him down the hall - in the direction of your bedroom, because if he's gonna play white knight, he may as well go the whole way.

"I had fun tonight," you tell him once he's dropped you off onto the safety of your bed, the bouncing motion only making you slightly dizzy again as you watch him stand before you, hands on his hips. "I don't want to say I'm glad you got stood up, but-,"

"I had fun, too." He tells you, dark eyes landing straight on yours as he slowly lowers, dropping to his knees in front of you and reaching for your leg. He starts unzipping your boots for you, and you watch him with what you can only assume are hearts in your eyes, a slow, dreamy sigh wracking through you.

"Wish I got to see you with your shirt off."

He laughs, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners and his shoulders shake - genuine amusement flooding through him as he looks back up at you, the angle straight up sinful and sobering.

He holds your other leg behind the knee, large hand warm against your bare skin, and slides your other boot teasingly slow - your gazes locked for the whole manoeuvre - his hand following down your leg until he discards both boots to the side.

He stays down there, kneeling in front of you, staring up at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen - a flush to his cheeks and a million thoughts racing through his brain.

You lean forward before you can think, and he meets you half-way in a kiss that's slow - sensual and pressured, firm and assuring - the taste of tequila on his tongue as it swipes against yours, which no doubt tastes the same.

He's the first to pull back, but it isn't all the way - just until your lips smack apart, his nose still pressed to yours as he avoids your chasing with a big grin.

"You're drunk."

"Don't care, wanna kiss you." You just about manage to catch him before he pulls back again.

"Not like this."

And then the touch of him is gone, the bump of his nose and the press of his forehead to yours disappearing in a way that makes you pout.

The way he kisses you again is quick - too quick to react, really - before he retreats again.

"You know where to knock when you're sober."

You let out a groan as you watch him leave, unashamedly watching his ass as he goes, eyes still lingering when he stops at your door and catches you with a knowing smirk.

"Happy Valentines Day, sexy neighbour."

[jgracie]

dating percy jackson headcanons

main masterlist | rules

percy jackson x gender neutral reader warnings mention of a scary quest in which percy almost dies

. . . or the one in which he pauses and says, “you’re my best friend”

Dating Percy is like dating your biggest fan, because he is. You are dating your biggest fan

It takes him a while to realise he likes you and that all the things he’d do for you aren’t just because you’re his friend, but once it finally clicks, it's all he can think about 

From that moment, he becomes the ultimate loverboy

scenario one: colour theory

“Percy, what are you doing?” Annabeth asked, watching as Percy frantically sifted through his many blue t-shirts. Acknowledging her presence, Percy breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled two of them out of his closet and held them up next to his face.

“Gods, Annabeth, I’m so glad you’re here! Now, I’m about to go see Y/N at the beach and I need you to tell me which looks better with my eyes: the teal or the aqua.”

(They are one hex letter apart)

It's very endearing and he doesn’t even try to hide it! But of course, you’re the only person who doesn’t notice, thinking he just really wants to be your friend. Percy's this nice and friendly towards everyone, after all :)

He follows you around everywhere trying to find out more about you so he can plan the perfect first date

You’re an Apollo kid who works in the infirmary? Percy’s first in line for Will’s first aid summer course. You harvest strawberries with the Demeter and Dionysus kids? Percy’s there before everyone else with three wicker baskets on each arm

Eventually, you do end up becoming really good friends because he’s just always there and really fun to talk to and super nice and good with kids and maybe he’s a little cute, so what? You’re allowed to have cute friends! 

You would’ve been teetering the thin line between friends and dating for ages if it wasn’t for Annabeth, who devises a plan to get you alone and somehow managed to get the whole camp in on it

scenario two: tell them or i will

That’s how you both ended up at the beach: you with your hair styled in a way that makes Percy so flustered even the fish start to notice, and Percy with a note in his jean pocket that read, “tell them or I will - A” 

Turning to you, the corners of Percy’s mouth couldn’t help but lift as he watched you admire the way the waves lapped over the shore. That moment would be ingrained in his memory forever, because it was the moment he fully understood he had to have you

His nerves betray him

When you ask, “what’d you wanna tell me?” Instead of saying some heartfelt confession that’d make you swoon, Percy states a simple fact: “You’re my best friend.”

You looked up at him, confused before you saw the look on Percy's face. You knew what it was - he was in love, and so were you.

Once you start dating, you are practically attached at the hip. People didn't think you and Percy could physically get any closer than you were before, but they were wrong. Wherever you go, so does Percy and vice versa

Dating Percy means truly getting the best of both worlds because not only is he your boyfriend, he is also your best friend and someone you can lean on when needed

Loyalty is his fatal flaw so expect a concerning amount of loyalty. He would find ways to justify you murdering a whole family if he had to

However, what comes with loyalty is protectiveness and jealousy. He doesn’t get that jealous because he knows that you two were written in the stars by Aphrodite herself (his words, not mine), but he still can’t help but get a little jealous when he sees you with some other guy

Just kiss him a little and maybe stay the night at Cabin 3 and never speak to that guy again... and he’ll be fine

He inherited motherly traits from Sally. Percy's always checking you for cuts and scrapes after capture the flag, making you a lunchbox before quests and then insisting he goes with you to make you more food when needed and definitely not because he’s worried you won’t come back alive!

He knows you can handle yourself and all but he can’t help it. Out of everyone at camp, Percy’s your number one guy when it comes to dangerous quests

One of his biggest fears that kind of kept him distancing himself from you when he was crushing on you was that he didn’t want you sucked into all the dangers he goes through on a daily basis. He’d rather watch you date someone ‘safe’ from afar than put you in harm’s way 24/7

You’d choose him over a literal God though, so he has no choice but to be stuck with you

scenario three: stuck forever by the glue (oh, and you)

After a really bad quest, one where he almost died, Percy sat you down at his cabin for a talk. Part of him didn’t want to tell you what happened, but he knew it’d be unfair to you if you were left in the dark

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to stay with me. If it weren’t for Grover’s quick thinking, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me, and it’s not right for you to be stuck with a guy who’s basically friends with death. You deserve someone more sta–”

You shut him up with a heartfelt kiss. Eventually letting go, you replied, “Percy, when I agreed to date you, I didn’t just agree to all the good things, I agreed to the uglier parts of your life too. Sure, I was really worried while you were gone, but that’s just part of being a demigod, and it's a price I’m willing to pay for all the amazing moments we have together, so don’t even think about me leaving you.”

He introduces you to Sally and Paul as soon as humanly possible. They already know a strange amount about you considering you guys never met, but that’s just because Percy would rant to them about his crush on you on a daily basis

He's so incredibly happy watching you get along with his family. Seeing all of his favourite people gathered in one room makes Percy very emotional (he once full on ugly cried while trying to deliver a speech before Christmas dinner)

He also loves to see you interact with Estelle! Percy is a huge fan of kids so he can’t help but stare as you play peekaboo with his younger half-sister

Percy introduces you to the ocean and everything about it. You liked it before, as it was beautiful and reminded you of camp, but Percy painted it in a whole new light

He’d constantly take you on trips under the sea, using his Poseidon kid powers to allow you to be able to see and breathe underwater like he does

This also means lots of making out underwater. After that one time you two got caught kissing by the Stolls and suffered major consequences, he hasn’t been able to risk it

(The only downside to this is that sea animals gossip and gossip travels fast between them. Lets just say it didn't take long for you to meet none other than Poseidon himself)

Overall, dating Percy is very fun and your relationship never ever gets boring

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 30 - Yandere!Fallen Angel!Seonghwa + Somnophilia & Body Worship

Anonymous Said: Seonghwa from ateez. Consensual Somnophilia & Body worship. Yandere & fallen angel or guardian angel. A/n: I am SO sorry that this is late, life has just been a bit hectic lately. Again, it's Hwa, so I couldn't help myself. It's not as long as I was originally going to make it, but I like where it ends honestly. He's intense in the best ways imo, and I do really love how this turned out. I also have a yandere angel ateez series planned at some point where Hwa is an archangel, so I'm also really excited about that. It's heavily inspired by his Will To Power solo stage, so I hope you all can look forward to that at some point! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Possession, Monster Features, Yandere, Blood mentioned in brief (not in a kinky way), Lots of religious metaphors, Overstimulation, Oral (fem. rec), Fingering (fem. rec), Squirting, Minor Dacryphilia (if you squint), There's a lot :) Word Count: 4,821 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Park Seonghwa is a man of many emotions.

Well… technically he’s not a man, but there is no one in this universe that makes him feel more human than you. 

There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you. You are his one saving grace in this hellish landscape called earth, and he will do anything to protect that fact. No one is off limits. Nothing is too much. For when it comes to you, you deserve nothing but the best this world has to offer. 

His best. 

Seonghwa will always make sure of that.

The water feels cool against his skin despite the steam rising through the air. One of his hands is braced against the stone tiles of the shower wall, letting the flow of water cascade down his back and pool around the drain. Red streaks against his skin, little rivulets creating vein-like patterns across his figure as he washes away the horrific events of the evening.

You can never know. You will never know. 

Seonghwa has spent his whole life guarding those most precious to him. Now, you’re the only thing left that matters.

You. Who still sleeps soundly beneath the thick covers of his duvet as he steps out of the bathroom a short while later. Your features rest in a soft expression of pure bliss, chest rising and falling steadily. The light of the moon only serves to make your skin glow, illuminating every inch of you that he has always loved more than anything else in this godforsaken world.

A pleased smile tugs at his lips, eyes shining with nothing but adoration as he observes you through the dark. Lightly, he fluffs his damp hair with the towel held in his hand, the one wrapped around his waist hanging dangerously low. Small droplets of water cascade down his chest which he is quick to wipe away.

After all, you’re expecting him to join you, and he hates to keep you waiting.

With his lips curling upwards into that all too familiar loving smile, he takes a step towards the bed. Large, fluffy wings emerge from his back, deep red in colour. As he fluffs the feathers lightly, he lets the towel fall from his waist. The other is quick to join the growing heap on the floor, knowing you’ll more than likely scold him in the morning for tossing the damp material in the middle of the room.

Sometimes, Seonghwa swears he does these types of things on purpose just to hear you scold him. The way you shake your head in exasperation, muttering about whatever it is he’s done this time makes him all giddy inside. It means you’re paying attention to him. It means you care.

Or maybe he just enjoys making things up to you in any and every way he can.

A massage here. Breakfast in bed there. Perhaps even you allowing him to get lost in that glorious heat that rests between your legs, making you shake in uncontrollable bliss.

After all, it is one of his absolute favourite pastimes.

Seonghwa thought he knew what it meant to worship something, or someone, wholeheartedly. That is, until he met you.

All of the time in the world is still too short of an eternity to be spent with you by his side.

The stars pale in comparison to you, for you hold entire galaxies in your eyes. Your smile warms his very soul each and every time he sees that glorious expression stretch across your face. All music sounds dull whenever the melodic symphony of your laughter filters through the air. Not to mention how strong and intelligent you are. 

Kind, witty, caring… The list of your perfections continues to grow everyday, and everyday he knows you is a blessing beyond his wildest dreams. Seonghwa could spend hours lost within the confines of your mind, learning everything there is to know about you, and so much more. Each new discovery is a revelation of the highest regard, and he strives to satisfy in every way.

Every word you speak is gospel, and he is your most devout follower.

Lifting the covers gently, Seonghwa slides into bed beside you. He’s extra careful to not disturb you, not wanting to accidentally wake you at this time. Still, he cannot help but shift closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. The way you subconsciously turn into him, snuggling deeper into his embrace only serves to make him smile.

Even in your dreams, you always know how to find your way home. To him.

Subtly, his arms tighten around you, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. His wings wrap around you, encasing you in a soft red cocoon and ensuring your safety. Your comfort and wellbeing are his number one priorities, and once he knows you’re settled in his embrace, he fully allows himself to relax. 

Soon, his own eyes are fluttering shut, drifting off to meet you inside of your dreams.

A few hours later, Seonghwa is blinking awake. His head now rests on top of your chest, your arms cradling him to you in your sleep. 

Despite such a short bout of rest, he feels refreshed, having slept deeper with you safely wrapped in his arms. Gladly, he melts into your embrace, breathing in your scent and letting everything you completely surround him.

The moon still rests high in the sky, a gentle breeze drifting through the slight crack in the open window. The room is quiet, nothing but the soft sounds of your mingling breaths filling the space.

Seonghwa holds you tighter. Turning his head, his lips press tenderly against your chest, just above your heart. His hair tickles your skin, and you shiver lightly from his touch.

Peeking his dark gaze upwards, Seonghwa studies your features. Your brow seems to be furrowed slightly in discomfort, and a moment later, you squirm lightly beneath him. Your nails suddenly dig into the skin of his shoulders, a soft, muffled whimper escaping your lips.

Worry tugs at his features as he reaches a hand up to soothe your brow. He’s quick to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin as he lifts himself slightly above you. Intently, he studies your face, searching for any signs of what may be the problem.

That’s when it hits him. You must be having a nightmare.

Just as he shifts his hand to your shoulder in attempts to wake you up, you let out a sound that has him freezing above you.

His name. You moan his name.

A smug grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he realizes what’s really going on here. Pride swells in his chest at the fact that he could make you dream of him like this, knowing how often he dreams of you. What serves to make this moment ever better is when you let out another small whimper, tightening your hands on his shoulders as your hips jerk upwards against his own.

“Pretty Girl,” His low voice purrs out. “What could you possibly be dreaming of, hmm?”

Cocking his head to the side, he stares down at you. His chest is pressed flush against your own, forearms supporting him on either side of you as he settles more comfortably between your legs.

Leaning into you, he begins to place soft kisses against your cheek. Slowly, he trails his lips down your jawline, tracing over your pulse, then back up again. All the while, that same smirk tugs at his features.

His nose nudges tenderly against your jaw.

“Why live in a fantasy when I can make all of your dreams a reality?”

More kisses are placed upon the skin of your neck as he slowly begins to make his way down your body. His touch is feather light, wings twitching excitedly in the air behind him as he tugs your shirt down gently. The straps of your tank top easily slide down your arms, and with a quick movement, he’s snapping them as if they were nothing but brittle string.

The sound of tearing fabric echoes around the room as he shreds through your shirt, pausing lightly to check on you. He forgot how loud that could be, his mind having been focussed on exposing you to the most pleasure that he can give you. Of course, that meant exposing you, but he doesn’t want to wake you from your blissful slumber quite yet.

Not even his chest rises or falls with breath as he hovers above you, watching you closely for any signs of movement. After a little while passes with your eyes still shut, steady breathing and soft whimpers still falling from you, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Slowly, carefully, he discards your shirt, hands beginning to trace over your sides. His touch is gentle, eyes taking in every bare inch of skin presented to him. Nothing but admiration shines in his gaze, a dark, primal sort of lust hiding within. He’s hoping beyond anything to have you smoothly transition from your dream into reality. For when you do, he’ll be ready and waiting with open arms.

There is nothing more rewarding to him than your pleasure. The fact that he alone is the only one able to bring you to such ecstasy makes his heart swell with so much love and pride within his chest. Only he can touch you like this. Only he lives to serve you, to make you see the far reaches of the heavens each time your eyes flutter shut in bliss. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and he could spend eternity worshipping you, all while making you scream his name.

Ever so gently, he presses his face against your chest, right in the valley of your breasts. His hands come up to cup such tender flesh, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles against you. Again, his lips press a tender kiss directly over your heart, wings fluttering in content as his thumbs tease over your nipples.

Fingers trace languidly against your skin, needing to feel every inch of you beneath his touch. Slowly, Seonghwa begins trailing feather light kisses down your body, heart fluttering in anticipation. Every second that passes, your scent becomes stronger, your thighs subconsciously squeezing around his sides. He knows you need him just as desperately as he needs you, and he does not want to waste any more time than he already has.

Reaching the hemline of your sleep shorts, Seonghwa dips the tips of his fingers beneath the band. A tender kiss is placed onto the skin of your stomach, nose nudging against you affectionately. The corner of his lips quirks upwards as he slowly begins tugging your shorts down your thighs, being extra cautious not to wake you.

Of course, Seonghwa cannot help himself. How can he when he has the most perfect being laid out before him? Temptation wins out as he presses loving kisses against your thighs with each inch revealed to him. Once he fully removes your shorts, he nearly lets out a low moan when the sight of your bare pussy, needy and already shimmering with your arousal, is presented to him.

Tossing your shorts somewhere in the room, Seonghwa is quick to run his hands up the length of your legs. His fingers ghost against your skin, breathing deepening as your scent completely immerses him in everything you. Once he reaches the tops of your thighs, his thumbs begin to softly brush against the sensitive flesh. The way you shiver beneath his touch, even while still asleep, makes him smile.

Again, he leans into you, pressing delicate kisses against the skin of your thighs. His teeth graze your flesh, teasing at you as he continues to brush his thumbs over you.

Every little sound you make, every twitch and shudder of your body, has his cock absolutely throbbing against the mattress. A carnal ache resides within him. A desperation only you can satiate. Yet, when it comes to you, he always wants more.

Finally, unable to wait even a moment longer, Seonghwa presses his face against your cunt. He noses along your slit, inhaling deeply as his whole body shudders from your scent. Teasingly, his tongue flicks out to taste you, and even the briefest touch of your arousal on his lips has him moaning shamelessly against your core.

Something within himself snaps. 

With his whole body shaking in need, Seonghwa buries himself deep in your cunt. Desperate, guttural moans escape him as he drags his tongue through your folds, eagerly suckling at the sweet nectar that flows from between your legs. His lips place a few chaste kisses against your clit before he’s wrapping them around such a sensitive little bud, suckling at you eagerly.

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, tongue flattening against your clit before rolling in circles. His hot breath hits your cunt with every exhale, wings fluttering above him as he groans lowly. Desperately, his hands tighten over your waist, pulling you even closer into his touch.

A pleased rumble shakes his chest once he feels your fingers tangle in his hair. The way you hold him to your cunt, tugging him in closer has him redoubling his efforts over you.

Heavy breathing permeates the room, your hips beginning to grind against his face in time with his movements. Sleep still clings to the corners of your vision, eyes barely cracked open to peer at him through the darkness. Each flick of his tongue over your clit has pleasant jolts of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins, already feeling so close to the edge as that familiar pressure builds within.

His movements are desperate, shaking his head back and forth while sucking your clit between his lips. Sharp, hooded eyes glint up at you through the shadows, his hips beginning to grind against the mattress as his fingers dig into your skin.

Again, he tugs you in impossibly closer, tongue slipping down to dip between your folds. Swirling the muscle around your entrance, he hums, pressing himself firmer into your cunt. His nose grinds against your clit, tongue buried as deep as possible within you as he licks and sucks almost uncontrollably.

The sound of your moans create a beautiful symphony around him, urging him on. He can tell you’re close. The way your thighs begin to shake around his head makes his cock twitch. His hips grind harder against the mattress, silently begging for you to fall apart with him as he brings you to ecstasy.

Wrapping his lips around your clit once more, it’s like you answer his every prayer.

Back arching from the bed, you come with a loud cry of his name. Your thighs squeeze around his head, holding him in place as he flattens his tongue against you, letting you ride out your orgasm as you grind your hips against him. Whimpers and moans echo alongside blissful sighs of his name, your heart racing as pleasure floods your veins.

The moment he feels you flooding his tongue, his eyes roll into the back of his head. With your thighs closing around his head, his pleased cries get muffled against your cunt as he comes with you. Hot spurts of his come soak into the sheets beneath his hips, fingers digging harshly into your skin. His wings flare out behind him, shuddering along with his whole body as he keeps himself buried against you.

Slowly, you begin to catch your breath.

Bringing your one hand up, you rub at your face. Blinking a few times to clear your vision, you spare a glance at the seraphim between your legs.

Dark eyes already stare up at you lovingly, a soft chuckle shaking his chest. His fingers smooth over your skin, leaning in once more to place a tender kiss against your clit.

“Good morning, My Beloved.” At the way you simply groan in response, a knowing smile begins to tug at his lips. “Good dream?”

“Mmmh, the best…” Humming, you rub lightly at your eyes. A moment later, you pause in your movements, brow furrowing slightly as you take in just how dark the room still is. “What time is it?”

Seonghwa, who has begun placing tender kisses along the skin of your thighs once more, smiles up at you from between your legs. “Not yet dawn.”

You stretch lightly, brushing a hand over your forehead as you take a deep breath in. “What time did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you come home.”

That single, simple word makes him smile, heart warming inside of his chest.

“Not that long ago.” He noses along your thigh, drifting closer and closer to your core with each movement. “I’m glad my return didn’t wake you. Though, it was a treat seeing you wearing those Tweety Bird pyjama shorts I got you.”

Your face flares with heat, averting your gaze to the side.

“They’re comfy.” You mumble, the cutest of pouts tugging at your lips.

Seonghwa chuckles, a soft expression resting on his features as he admires every inch of you before him. The way your fingers lightly begin to play with some strands of his hair has him leaning into your touch.

A pleased rumble shakes his chest, hands caressing over the sides of your thighs and up your hips. Lightly, his gaze flicks downwards, shifting between staring into your eyes before glancing hungrily at your dripping cunt.

“Beloved…”

The desperate moan Seonghwa lets out goes straight to your core, causing you to clench around nothing. A movement of which he eagerly catches.

“Yes, Seonghwa?”

A shiver caresses his spine as you coo his name so tenderly.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“More.” His voice trembles in need as his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. He pulls your closer, chest beginning to rise and fall dramatically as he stares, transfixed, at your weeping cunt. “Give me more.”

“Greedy little angel…” You chuckle, tracing your fingers over the side of his cheek. “Don’t you know that gluttony is a sin?”

“But I made a mess, Beloved.” Wide eyes peer up at you, a dark lust swirling behind the guise of innocence. “A beautiful, intoxicating mess. It’s only right that I clean you up.”

“You can’t fool me, Angel.” The corner of your lips quirk upwards in amusement, eyes shining as you peer down at him. “I know you only want to clean me up just so you can make a mess out of me again.”

A pout tugs at his features, eyebrows drooping dramatically. “But I love making a mess out of you.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, then.” You smile, gently brushing some hair out of his eyes. “I love it, too.”

Seonghwa does not need to be told twice.

Without wasting another second, his tongue is back on you. This time, his movements are a lot slower. More precise. No drop is to go to waste. He wants to take his time, letting you feel every ounce of his love and passion for you. He wants you to know just how much he desires you, and just how much he enjoys this.

Pleased hums escape him as he drags his tongue through your folds, laving his mouth over your entire pussy. Dark eyes lock onto your own as he suckles and licks at your cunt, wings fluttering lightly in the air. His hands creep up your sides, touch trailing against your skin as he shifts to cup your breasts. He pinches at your nipples, rolling the pert buds between his fingers before tugging at them gently.

A low moan parts your lips, arching into his touch. Almost immediately, your hands come up to cover his own, pressing them firmer against your breasts. The content rumble that shakes his chest goes straight to your core, clenching around his tongue as he buries the muscle into your tight cunt.

Curling his tongue, his nose brushes tenderly against your clit. He pinches at your nipples once more, squeezing the flesh of your breasts appreciatively. As your hips begin to grind against him, he smirks. Humming contently, Seonghwa shifts to wrap his lips back around that sensitive little bundle of nerves, suckling lightly before flicking his tongue against you.

Soft moans and whimpers slip passed your lips, fingers returning to his hair to pull him in closer. Your whole body feels as if it’s floating, completely relaxing beneath his touch as pleasure courses through your veins. 

Everything about him is sinful. From the way his dark eyes shine beneath the light of the moon, captivating you in their loving, lustful pools. To the way his hands trace over your skin, burning multiple paths of desire, comfort, safety, and fulfillment all at the same time. You cannot count the amount of times he’s lost himself in you using just his tongue, and you know that tonight is no exception.

Your heart swells with nothing but love as he reaches out for your free hand. Almost instantly, he’s intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing gently. 

He’s right here, and he always will be.

Using his opposite hand, he parts your folds with two fingers. His tongue licks a long strip up your cunt before flattening over your clit. Now that he’s opened you completely to him, there is nothing in the way for him to be able to give you the most pleasure that he can.

A deep groan reverberates against you, hot breaths hitting your cunt with every exhale.

“Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure to worship.” A tender kiss is placed upon your clit. “Perfect, delectable little cunt… Only one I’ll ever want. Only one I’ll ever need.”

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head, thighs shaking from his words. Your fingers tighten in his hair, squeezing his hand in your own as you whimper his name.

“That’s it, Beloved,” He coos, bumping his nose against your clit affectionately. “Say my name. Scream my name to the heavens and tell them who your eternal servant is. Tell them who it always will be. In this life, and the next. For all eternity.”

Your whole body begins to tremble as he wraps his lips around your clit, gently suckling on that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He purposely keeps you suspended in bliss, teetering right on the edge as he watches your whole being flood with ecstasy.

Pride fills his chest at how you whimper and whine for him, your hips desperately rolling against his tongue as he teases at your cunt.

“Tell me, Beloved,” A harsh suck is given to your clit, his eyes flashing as he locks gazes with you. “Who does such a delectable pussy belong to?”

All that you can manage is a desperate moan, chest heaving as that building pressure becomes almost unbearable within you. You can feel your clit practically pulsating, beginning to clench rhythmically around nothing.

“Who’s pretty pussy am I allowed to worship? To devour?”

“Seonghwa-“

“Say it.” Dark eyes flash beneath the moonlight, tone sharp as he growls lowly. “Come on, Pretty Girl. I want to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches, nearing choking on a whine. Squeezing your eyes shut at the pleasure overwhelming your every nerve, you attempt to steady your shaking form. Taking a deep breath in, you go to speak.

However, the moment the words begin to form on your lips, Seonghwa wraps his own back around your clit, sucking harshly.

“Fuck-“ Inhaling sharply, your eyes fly open. Your voice borders on a scream as you just manage to choke out, “My pretty pussy is all yours to devour-“

Your words get caught in your throat as another loud curse escapes you, tossing your head back onto the pillows.

Seonghwa snarls against your cunt, shaking his head back and forth rapidly as he eagerly continues to suck at your clit. His hands tighten over you, pulling you impossibly closer as his wings flare out behind him.

A scream of his name tears from your throat, whole body shaking as your back arches from the bed. Your orgasm crashes into you unforgivingly, feet lifting slightly in the air from the intensity. Desperate whines and moans of his name escape you, clenching around nothing as your release floods out of you.

Only, Seonghwa doesn’t stop there.

Your cries of ecstasy only serve to spur him on as he slides the two fingers he had been using to spread your pussy open for him into your cunt. The feeling of your walls sucking him in, squeezing around his digits so delicately makes him groan. A shudder wracks his whole body, eyes closing briefly in bliss as his cock throbs against the sheets. Already he’s so close to coming again, but first, he needs to see you falling apart for him again. Because of him.

With practiced ease, he curls his fingers right up against that special spot inside of you. His tongue flicks at your clit, placing delicate kisses against that sensitive little bud before sucking harshly at it once more. The lewd, wet slurping sounds of his tongue on your cunt fill the room, only serving to make him even more feral than he already is.

High pitched moans escape you, tears of pleasure beginning to line your eyes as your whole body shakes beneath his hold. Your thighs squeeze around his head, not even deterring him in the slightest as you wither and whine. Every little touch makes your head spin, pleasure overwhelming your every sense.

You both wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Fuck- Seonghwa!” You gasp out, eyes squeezing shut as you practically curl into his touch. “Don’t stop-“ A catch in your breath as you cling to him for dear life. “Please, don’t fucking stop!”

A snarl of agreement fills the air, adding more pressure to his fingers as he massages over that special spot deep inside of you. His lips never once leave your clit, hooded gaze locked on your figure and practically demanding that you to fall apart for him right now.

With one final flick over your clit, you do.

Like lightning streaking across the sky, your orgasm crackles through your veins like a flash of electricity. Another scream of his name tears from your throat, broken and desperate as you squirt all over his face. Each movement against your cunt has you shuddering beneath his touch, vision blurring at the corners as the first of your tears of pleasure begin to slide down your cheeks.

Your hold on him is like a vice, grounding yourself to him as your chest heaves with every breath. You can feel something warm and wet splatter lightly against your thighs, Seonghwa’s deep moans beginning to harmonize alongside your own.

The way you notice his wings trembling in the air through your blissful haze causes the corners of your lips to twitch upwards. Knowing he’s just as affected as you are right now makes warmth swell inside of your chest, nothing but love flooding your very soul.

Seonghwa rests his forehead tenderly against your thigh while he catches his breath. His head swims with nothing but you, overwhelmed in the best of ways. Every ounce of his desire for you flows beneath the surface of his skin, drowning him in an undeniable ecstasy that only you can bring him. Seeing you like this - your pure and unfiltered form indulging in all that he has to offer - is unlike any other sensation he has ever felt in his entire existence.

He could never tire of this.

He could never tire of you.

Sliding his fingers from your cunt while releasing his hold on your hand, Seonghwa begins trailing kisses back up your body. Each press of his lips against you is soft, taking his time to admire every contour of your body. Every dip and curve of your glorious figure is sacred to him, and he never wants you to forget how beautiful you truly are. 

How beautiful you have always been.

Finally, his lips return to your own, giving you a deep and tender kiss which conveys his undying affections for you. Soft hums are breathed out against you, Seonghwa cupping your cheek gently in one hand while he slides his opposite arm around your waist. Pulling your chest flush against his own, he settles himself comfortably between your legs.

The feeling of his cock sliding through your wet folds, already hard and aching for you once more, makes you smile.

“My insatiable Little Sinner,” You coo, threading your fingers gently through his hair.

“When it comes to you?” His lips quirk upwards against your own, eyes shining with nothing but pure devotion as he openly admires you before him. “Always.”

[babyleostuff]

── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🛹] DISCIPLINE: SKATEBOARDING

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers(ish), introverted reader, vernon being the greenest flag of them all PAIRING: skateboarder!vernon x athlete!fem reader WARNINGS: explicit language and a couple of sexist comments WORD COUNT: 3.1 k

“not the anti-sex beds again,” katie groaned, like it was the end of the world.   

rolling your eyes, you threw your duffle bags on the bed next to the window. though, as dramatic as she could get sometimes, and as much as you couldn’t wait for the games to begin - you were not looking towards sleeping on the cardboard monstrosities. the amount of massages you had to get four years ago because of them was not something you’d like to go through again.

“it’s not like you’re going to have sex anyway,” sam nudged katie with her shoulder and threw her own stuff on the bed next to yours.

“i’m not talking about myself, stupid,” katie said. “our friend over here,” she put her arms around you and squeezed your shoulders, “needs to get laid. she almost managed to bang that rugby dude the last time, and i can feel it in my bones,” she took a deep breath, ”she’s going to succeed this year.” 

you tried shoving her away, as sam erupted in a loud laugh. 

“hah hah, very funny,” you mumbled, and flicked katie’s forehead. “i’m here to win medals, not to find a hookup.”  

“mhm, sure,” sam said. “we’ll see about that.”

the next morning you stood up with the first rays of sunshine, a lot earlier than most people in the village, with a plan to make the most of your only day off before the eliminations. it’d get crowded quickly, so you figured it’d be nice to soak in the surroundings without hundreds of people bumping into each other. you didn’t bother to wake the girls up - you were eternally grateful you could share this amazing adventure with them, but you needed some time alone. 

besides, there was a 99% probability that sam would skin you alive if you tried cutting her beauty sleep short. 

before leaving the building, you managed, to your delight, to find the gym and the swimming pool, which surely would become really handy in a couple of days. then, you found a small farmacy a couple of blocks away, and a post office where you took a couple of pictures in a photobooth and wrote short letters to your friends at home, before throwing them into the mailbox. 

though the streets were starting to get busier and busier, because well - the athletes, their trainers, the volunteers, staff - everyone wanted to see what this year’s host had to offer, it was still pleasantly peaceful, and you could enjoy your time alone to the fullest. and apart from the cardboard beds, the village was so nice. the purple colours especially. 

just as you turned around the corner of south korea’s apartment complex, you felt and heard your tummy rumble, and thatwas your cue to find the dining hall. fortunately, it didn’t take you long. apart from the big ass signs with “dining hall”written all over them, most people that you passed were walking in one direction, which could only mean one thing.

after a short while, you entered the big room, all purple and pretty, already filled with hundreds of athletes and staff. 

scanning around the huge hall, you tried looking for someone, anyone you knew, but to no avail. most of the tables were already taken, but somehow, to your misfortune, none of them were taken by anyone from your country. you sighed and twisted the pendant hanging around your neck, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you’d be forced to sit at a table with people you did not know. 

there went your peaceful morning. 

without wasting more time, and before you’d completely spiral over the lack of familiar faces, you picked up a plate and cutlery and made your way to the queue for food, standing behind two chinese athletes. 

the line moved slowly, but you didn’t mind. as much as you weren’t particularly overjoyed with the loud noise and chaos, it was nice to do some people-watching. the different races, heights and widths, cultures, languages - all within one building - that had to be one of your favourite things about olympics. 

“isn’t that the chick kyle fucked last time?” suddenly a male voice pulled you out of your thoughts, as if your brain knew that the comment was direct to you. drowning out the noise around you, you tried your best to focus on the people behind you. 

“he didn’t fuck her, she ran away the second he touched her tits,” another guy said. “fucking prude,” he snickered. 

you felt your cheeks heat up - in embarrassment because you were right there, and they knew you could hear them, but also in anger because what they were saying was just not true. 

“i told him to go for the track runner, she had a better ass anyways,” the first guy said, as the other laughed. 

comments like these were nothing new. men like these were nothing new, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful. worst part was that you’d let them, you wouldn’t stop them - you couldn’t. anytime you tried standing up for yourself you felt at loss for words, your throat closed up, and your mind went blank. 

“excuse me, guys,” a new voice joined in. “the last time i checked this was the olympics, not who has a better ass competition.” 

you didn’t have the nerve to turn around to see who that new voice belonged to. you just clenched and unclenched your fists, trying to control your breathing. 

“also if i may suggest one thing-,” 

“you may not-,” 

“you may want to check out your own ass… or the lack of it,” you could hear the smile in his voice. 

the two guys grumbled something and left the line, but not before one of them bumped into you with too much force for it to be just an accident. muttering a curse under your breath, you massaged your slightly sore arm and prayed to whatever force for the two fuckers not to pass their eliminations. 

“are you okay?” you could feel the guy's breath on your neck. 

fuck, now you had no other choice but to acknowledge what had just happened. if it was up to you, you’d happily skip breakfast and run back to your room. who would’ve thought that the cardboard bed would be the equivalent of a safe haven. 

“uh,” you took a shaky inhale, “i’m okay.” 

“just turn around, smile politely, thank for the help, and move on,” you thought. but as you did that, your eyes went wide, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

you found a set of hazel brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a tad of softness as if asking a silent question if you were really okay, a kind smile that managed to calm your pounding heart on its own, and cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as if he had just finished his morning run. the guy couldn’t be much older than you and was the perfect height. you didn’t have to tilt your head in an uncomfortable way to look him in the eye, and he didn’t have to look down at you as if you were a dwarf. 

his dark brown hair was hidden under a beanie, and despite the oversized shirt and shorts, you could make out his lean build, which made him stand out from the other bulky men around. you quickly figured he was part of the us team by his outfit, but you couldn’t rack your brains around what type of sport he could be doing. 

he looked so… laid back compared to everyone around.  

“are you sure?” he asked, his gaze still attentive to you and you only. 

you nodded your head. “sorry you had to listen to that,” you said. 

“i’m sorry you had to listen to that,” the guy muttered. “you know those dudes are total douchebags, right?” annoyance flashed across his face for a second, “people like them shouldn’t even be here and-,”

“it’s okay, really,” you said with a stern voice, cutting him short. grateful - that’s what you were - and it was really nice of him to stand up for you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that he saw you as nothing more than a weakling that couldn’t even stand up for herself. and that had to be more embarrassing than the comments.  

he must’ve noticed your sour expression, because he quickly said, “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t, i… i’m sorry for snapping at you,” god, you really messed this up. this gorgeous boy just saved your ass from getting harassed, and you were acting like an ungrateful bitch. “i’m just not the best at dealing with… whatever that was,” you cleared your throat. “but thank you, it was really kind of you, and you didn’t really have to say anything, but-,” 

“but i would’ve been the biggest asshole if i hadn’t said anything,” he chuckled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “i couldn’t just let those two fuckers say those things about you. about anyone for that matter. what kind of person would that make me?” 

you nodded, though if you had to be real - you were too distracted by his eyes to focus on what he was saying.

“okay, that sounded so pretentious,” he said, frowning, as if cringing at his own words. you couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. he looked really adorable despite his disgusted look. 

and that didn’t mean anything good. you knew yourself, and you knew how easily it was for you to fall for a person that showed you an ounce of kindness, even if they did it just because they were a good person. and that was probably what was happening now - he saw you getting harassed, he stepped in, said a couple of words, and that would be it. 

but you. you’d think about this for the rest of the olympics. about his teasing voice, the slightly curly hair coming out of his beanie, the fact that you’d never know what kind of athlete he was. the freaking hazel eyes. 

“i’m vernon, by the way,” he, or vernon, extended his hand. 

you cringed at the thought of your sweaty palms, still closed in fists. and it wasn’t like you could wipe them right in front of him. now that would just send you straight into a coma. but you took it anyway, it couldn’t get worse than the comments about your flat ass, you figured. and if he noticed he didn’t say anything, just smiled and nodded when you told him your name. 

“so, do you have any plans for today?” he asked, letting go of your hand way too soon for your liking. 

“i was planning on eating breakfast, but…,” you shrugged. 

“well, i might have an idea then,” he said, a proud smile on his face. “have you ever tried skateboarding?” 

…

you did not think this through. 

trying to skate on a wooden board with four wheels sounded kind of appealing at the moment, but now - now that you were about to actually stand on it? huh yeah, you’d rather stick to keeping your own two feet on the ground.

“it’s not going to kill you, you know?” vernon laughed, as you looked at the board in front of you with pure horror. there was no way anyone could survive skating on that thing, let alone doing tricks and flips or whatever they did with that torture device.  

“just,” he pulled the board closer to you with his foot, “lean your weight on me first and i’m going to hold you, just so you can get comfortable standing on it,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. 

would he think you were a complete loser if you ran away? maybe you could blame it on a sudden stomach bug or something. 

“mhm, yeah,” you breathed, grabbing his extended hand. “easy peasy.” 

luckly for you, the skatepark was still relatively empty since most of the village was trying to fight others in the queue for food, so the chance of you skating into someone by accident was almost non existent. but that did not change the fact that you were on the verge of a panic attack. why did you say yes to this? why did you step out of your comfort zone so easily? comfort zone was good - you loved your comfort zone. that was what kept you safe from agreeing to skateboarding on a whim. 

but it was so easy to say yes when vernon looked at you with so much kindness. you just weren’t able to decline - there was something about him that put you at ease, whether it was his voice or mannerisms - he oozed with so much calmness that even your erratic heart was screaming “say yes!” 

“put your right foot in front of the left one,” he said, still grasping your hand tightly. “and keep your knees bent, it’ll help with keeping your balance.” 

you watched him as he showed you how you were supposed to stand correctly, and tried to mirror his stance the best you could. 

“that’s perfect,” vernon said with a bright smile, as if you just won the gold medal for not falling off the board on the first occasion. “told you you’d do a great job.” 

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, as your legs wobbled. “i’m looking worse than a baby trying to walk.” 

he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, making you giggle. “i love your form of self motivation. now,” still holding onto you, vernon walked around the board, “uh, is it okay if i put my hand on your waist?” he asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

usually, you’d immediately say no, but… there was nothing usual about vernon as it turned out. if this was your day of breaking your walls then so be it. you nodded in agreement. “try to put your left foot on the ground and push yourself forward,” he said. 

your thin t-shirt did nothing to conceal the warmth coming from vernon’s hand, but somehow, instead of making you more nervous, it only calmed your wobbling feet and shaking hands, grounding you on the board, making it less scary by the second. you’d never met anyone before who had been so gentle with you, so patient and understanding so quickly. 

“like this?” you took your left foot off the skateboard, but before it could reach the ground you wobbled backwards. “vernon!” you shrieked, ready to fall ass first on the asphalt, but that never happened. your back met his solid chest before you could move more than an inch. 

“‘s okay,” he said, gripping your waist tighter. “i’m right here.” 

you breathed a sigh of relief. “i don’t think this is a good idea,” you looked over your shoulder at him. “what if i break your board?” 

“i have ten others,” he stated as a matter of fact, not bothered at all even if you actually broke his board. “try again, i’ve got you.” 

the next try went a little bit better, at least you managed to put your foot down without bumping into him again.

“okay, now push yourself forward.” 

“just… don’t let go, okay?” 

“i won’t,” vernon said. you could feel him so close to you, his breath creeping down your neck. “i won’t.” 

you never thought you’d feel so accomplished by such a simple thing, you were a gold winning athlete for god’s sake, but when you finally moved, when the board skated forward and you were still standing on it - you felt a flicker of pride settle in your chest.  

“that’s it,” vernon said, giving your hand a squeeze. “you’re doing great. try doing that again.” 

and so you did just that. you pushed yourself forward, again and again, until your feet weren’t wobbling at all, and your moves were getting more confident.

“i’m doing it, i’m…,” you laughed, “vernon, i’m skateboarding,” you said, pushing once more. 

“yes, you are!” 

wait. why was his voice so distant? 

that’s when you realised you couldn’t feel his hand on your waist anymore, nor were your fingers intertwined with his. 

“vernon?” you asked, alarmed. 

“just don’t turn around-,” 

but it was too late. you took a look behind you to see vernon standing a couple of metres behind you, and that was enough to lose all of the balance, all of the control. 

“shit,” you heard him scream, right before you closed your eyes shut, readying yourself for the impact. 

the board flew forward as you slipped backwards, your hands flying to your slides trying to hold onto something. but there was nothing, just air. 

but then - the strong grip, the warm embrace, the hands that you trusted so much - you could feel him all around you. no pain, no broken bones - just vernon. 

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he said, still holding onto you. “i shouldn’t have let you go.” 

gently, he helped you sit on the ground, his eyes scanning all over your body, looking for any injuries. 

“it’s fine, i just panicked,” you said, and put your hand on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back to your eyes. “seriously, it was actually quite fun.” 

at that, vernon’s expression softened a bit, and after a second he even flashed you a smile. 

“that’s good, that’s…,” he exhaled. “that’s a lot for one morning i think.” 

you laughed, and shook your head. “yeah, i think you’re right. but you know,” you looked over at the board that was still rolling on its own. “i think i’ll stick to watching you skate. i don’t think i’m built for this.” 

his body shook with a silent giggle. “i’m still proud of you.”

“thank you,” you said quietly. and you truly meant it - not only for catching you, or trying to teach you how to skate - but for standing up for you when he could just ignore it and move on with his day, for pulling you out of your little safe bubble. that thank you meant a lot of things and you hoped that vernon knew that. 

“were you serious, though?” 

you frowned, not really sure what he ment. 

“that you want to watch me skate?”. 

any other day you’d say no, but… 

“yes. i’d really love to.” 

a beautiful smile bloomed on vernon’s face, and you knew right there and then that the feeling of gratitude was forming into something more than just that. 

“my eliminations are in two days, uh and maybe, only if you want, you could come?” 

you nodded eagerly. at this point you weren’t sure you were able to tell this man no at all. 

and you couldn’t wait to see where that would get you. 

[kentwos]

SAY YOU WILL — lessons

cw. simon riley x f!reader. situationship.

#05 guilty pleasure | masterlist | #07

You’re in bed when Simon finally asks.

The anticipated question, both curious and confused all the same. You figure for him it means something different to how others ask it, a want to understand you and the patterns of your life. Maybe even entirely selfless as he asks, waiting there, looking up at the ceiling as you do the same and not pressing or demanding or turning to try and gouge every wrinkle and twitch of your face. 

It’s what compels you to give him that explanation, sighing deeply next to him, dragging a hand over your face as you figure out where to begin.

“It was the first guy,” you smile to yourself, bittersweet. “You know he was great, first love kind of thing. Thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. We had everything planned out, the house and kids and careers. Even what pets. I loved him and sometimes I think that I still do, but we outgrew each other. I’d known him since we were teenagers, and that time we spent together was good but by the end we were different people. We needed space to grow.”

You hear the faint sound of the pillow rustling next to you, feeling the way Simon nods and then hums after a few seconds in acknowledgement.

“And then, you know, after that it’s never really been the same as the first time.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

He doesn’t ask for more from you, the air thin as he remains still, mimicking your body language as though to make you feel safer. You get the sense that he’s still mulling over your words, piecing together fragments of your life like a puzzle and working out why the pieces connect the way they do. Always calculated in that sense and somehow it makes you more curious about him.

Simon’s like a clamshell that you can’t pry open no matter how you try. Shoving a knife between the slips in his facade has nudged him slightly, only for the faintest sign of weakness to clamp him shut again. You’ve tried, God knows you have, and although you respect his space you can’t conceal your own curiosity. Spending nights without him savouring little details he’s given you. Warm smiles, cups of tea, a chain around his neck that disappears somewhere a few minutes after you’ve seen it, the scars, God. The scars all over his body. The muscle. The turmoil. The bulk of him.

“How about you?” A shot made in the dark.

“Oh,” he exhales. It’s quiet for a long while, something you expected yet can’t bear to deal with. An urge to crane your head and watch him: just the way you’ve despised others doing to you in anticipation of their judgement. You wonder what you’d see if you did give in. The colours of longing written over his features or maybe a glint of hope, sparkling so bright in his eyes.

“There was someone,” it comes out breathy, followed by a small laugh. “Long ago. But her parents didn’t really see me in their daughter's future.”

Your heart sinks and thumps that much harder against your ribcage all the same. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“Don’t be,” you can sense his smile in the words. “Learned a lot of lessons from that. You know, we tried so ‘ard to make it work. Both of us sneaking out at night. She thought she could convince them, y’know. That I was good enough. Not that I ever mistreated her.”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to listen.”

“There’s not much else to say really.” He sighs. “One night I was helpin’ her back into the house through the window and her dad was waiting for us. Never thought there’d be a day where I’d run as fast as I did that night.”

You huff, amused, your hand on your chest rising and falling with your heavier breaths: more aware of the way your body’s reacting to his stories.

“Got a phone call the next day and it was over. Parents sent her off, can’t even remember where anymore. Never spoke to her again.” A pause, him shifting, then repeating your own sentiment: “It’s never been the same as that first time.”

Smiling you reach for his hand across the bed, fingertips brushing over cotton until they reach his forearm, working down until you find the roughness of his knuckles. He twists his palm and then makes space for your fingers to link together, hand hot and heavy in yours but grounding.

“It’s easier like this,” you say, turning to face Simon, the long profile of his face darkened. There’s stubble dotted along his jaw that you know he’ll shave away before he gets in the shower; the purple trace of the scar that he’s yet to tell you about. Your gaze must disturb him, his head falling to the side so his cheek presses into his pillow, amber irises burning through you.

You watch with strange happiness the way his face moves when he speaks.

“Without the labels?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly. “Yeah, I mean. I don’t want to go on a tangent but it’s like, all these guys I’ve been on dates with, they don’t see value in themselves if I don’t say I love you. It’s like I could give them everything they want, but if I don’t mention love they can’t understand why or how I do these things. I don’t know….I just get frustrated with them after a while because they expect it from me like it’s a requirement for a relationship. But I don’t think they even understand what love is, you know?”

He rolls his lips together, says: “I think so.”

The room falls quiet and you notice your heartbeat in your ears, how warm you feel now even though it’s cold outside. You watching Simon. Simon watching you. An unrecognisable force telling you to move closer towards him: so you do. Shuffling closer and closer until your body is pressed against him, not a single protest made against it.

“I like this,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” Simon smiles.

“I do, really. You’re really nice, Simon. And cool.”

He chuckles then, squeezing your hand in his, folding it upwards so your hands are close to his lips, wet breath over skin. “I dunno about cool.”

“Cooler than any other guys I know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Clearly don't kno’ a lot of guys then.”

Faking exasperation you roll your eyes. “I know enough, trust me.”

He brings your connected hands up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of yours, cracked lips somehow so soft against your skin. You sigh, content, closing your eyes. Then you feel his lips brush over each eyelid and you melt into the bed.

In your ear he whispers I trust you.

[megapteraurelia]

COMFORTABLE SILENCE. — part 2.

🫧 SUMMARY; — kozume kenma and gn!reader are just really bad at tiptoeing around their feelings for each other, tbh.

🫧 WARNINGS; — super fluff if you don't have a sweet tooth. (the barest tiniest grain of molecule of angst if you squint hard enough)

🫧 WORD COUNT; — 1360.

🫧 AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i still very much love kenma. i actually didn't plan on the ending but then decided to roll with it :o i hope that this holds up with what anon wanted T_T so sorry if i completely butchered it!!

please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | final pt.

“you forgot your book.”

the muscles in your hands locked as you were leafing through the documents the teacher had given you. you were staying behind after the last class of the day — most, if not all, of the other desks, were cleared off the other students’ belongings.

you knew that kenma was supposed to be at volleyball practice, yet there he was at the entrance of your classroom, still in his school uniform. you didn’t even hear his steps when he came closer to drop the book onto your desk, even though you were watching him shorten the distance between you.

and just like that, the air suddenly felt awkward and charged. 

you refused to look at him but felt his gaze trained on you, roving from the top of your head over your hair to your neck and shoulders, going further down to your fingers to note how tightly you gripped the sheets of paper.

you knew that if you reclined your head and looked up to the side, you’d meet the curious and vigilant widening of his pupils, the little cock of his head, his blonde-coloured hair crossing his field of vision like a curtain. 

but you also knew that if you were to look at him, you’d want the ground to open up and swallow you whole. his eyes would remind you of how he averted his gaze every time you looked at him after you had entered his personal space and kissed his cheek, of how he had grown quieter than usual. 

“thanks, i didn’t mean to...forget it,” you mumbled, fingertips caressing the paper for a change of sensation, to forget the tension in your pulled-up shoulders.

“yeah.”

he didn’t move. you didn’t move. it was embarrassing. it was intimate. 

it was the way he was standing close to you, neither of you talking; the air pregnant with even more things left unsaid than before, the afternoon sun shining through the windows, painting everything in a light that said i’m here to make memories. the opened window sent a light breeze and the clock ticked in the background, the bell chiming in harmony to signal the start of a new period, yet he made no moves to get to practice.

instead, the only thing that changed in motion was a steady blush crawling over your skin at the silent presence next to you, at the golden sheen on the paper in your hands that made it difficult to escape the golden of his eyes.

“kenma.”

“hm?”

you forced your eyes shut, forcing the words through your lips, every letter burning your tongue and wishing to be left hidden, “i didn’t mean to do that. it kind of...just happened. i didn’t mean to make it weird or anything.”

you couldn’t even mention the stupid kiss, and you don’t think you needed to. you were sure that kenma was more than capable of understanding what you meant, yet he still didn’t say anything, still close enough for you to smell him, still just standing there, hands twitching at his sides as he gripped his phone tightly yet kept it closed and turned off lest anybody of his teammates could try to spam him with calls to get his attention.

you hesitantly glanced up a little bit, seeing the open collar, the lazy knot of his tie, and just a bit higher: the sharp line of his chin, the soft caress of the tip of his hair strands, the uncertain press of his lips together — and just as quickly as your gaze was going to search his, as fast it dropped again at the reminder.

another avalanche of nonsense tumbled through your mouth and out into the world, “i mean, i was just— i don’t know. i wasn’t thinking and then i’ve already— i don’t— and i’m making this super awkward, n—ugh.”

your face was burning, teeth digging into your lower lip. there you went and made a whole fool of yourself, and would the ground please just open up and swallow you?

“uh, it’s fine,” came the response, soft-spoken and nervous, almost too quiet in comparison to the thunderous beat of your heart, so you had to look up to him if only to connect his words with the movement of his mouth. 

meeting his eyes and knowing he was studying you intently with his eyes, catching each shiver running down your back, each whitening of a knuckle, the gulp of your throat swallowing despite your mouth completely dried out — it sent another flash of mortification through you. the golden of his eyes were competing with the rays of the sun, attentive as usual.

hesitantly, you asked, “are you uncomfortable?”

“not really.”

again with that assured tone of voice, yet still carrying elusive words, evading questions and assumptions. the wind blew softly again, hugging your skin, but it made no difference to the heaviness sitting between you, didn’t blow away the expectations racking up for something you weren’t even sure existed outside of your head. 

your neck started hurting at looking up from the side, so you went back to staring at the long-forgotten documents in your hands, the book he brought to you — just another pretense, another excuse that felt safe to hide behind. 

your voice was still meek, “really?”

in lieu of an answer, he instead moved from your side to stand in front of you, leaning forward in such a certain manner that seemed so at odds to the usual lethargy he carried around. your perception was long used up to note all the tiny details and minimalistic gestures that you barely had any left to understand what was happening until it was happening. 

a timid meeting of lips and skin again. the corner of your mouth warming up at the contact, the closeness of his face, his half-lidded eyes reading you, his nose kissing yours, and then he stepped back again, one hand going up to rub his neck to relieve his nervousness. 

he took your breath away. 

kenma in normal lighting was already pretty, but flustered kenma bathed in the sheen of the afternoon glow with deep pink stealing itself on his cheeks and across his nose, eyebrows drawn over intense gold, teeth worrying his mouth was gorgeous. his voice murmured, almost sheepishly, “i guess i’ve been thinking about it too.”

you stared at him; your face in the same shade of red, breathless, heart stuttering like mad. by his accelerated quiet breathing you could only guess that the same type of adrenaline was rushing through him. 

a beat of silence, and then both of you blurting out at the same time:

“i have to go—” 

“i like you. lots.”

like a deer caught in headlights, he finished his sentence dazedly as his ears registered your words,”—to...prac...tice.”

more silence with the leaves rustling outside. more staring at each other as if blinking would make this real. more of red cheeks, red ears, red necks, red, red, red. the air was brimming with all the vibrations of emotions ready to spill over, and before you could scramble to apologise, to run away, to destroy the bud of a flower before it was even able to bloom, kenma reached out and took the book on your desk.

he used it to point towards the door, yet glanced away from you, the blonde strands falling into his eyes; his voice quiet and hesitant, “i forgot what you just said. you also forgot this book at my home. so, you have to— you— should come pick it up later. when practice is done.”

you blinked, and then nodded, “okay then.”

he left in a hurry unlike him, similar to the way you rushed away from him in search of water a couple of days ago at his house. head bowed with golden eyes studying the ground, wiping his hands on the grey pants, a small and unbelieving smile hidden behind the curtain of blonde, skin on fire, though you weren’t better off. 

leaning back in your chair, hiding your face from the world, you thought that water would be really good right now.

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 14

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy woes, anxiety, fluff, angst, poor Dean's out of his element again, nesting (I love the concept so damn much), nerf guns, pup gender reveal

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Oh.” Dean looked back at you, finding your eyes lit up and hopeful. He couldn’t help but smirk at the heightened interest in your scent.

“Oh?” 

And your demeanour.

He gripped harder on the cushioned handle and pushed down again, feeling the layers of steel, rubber and plush padding sway beneath his fingers. “The suspension on this thing is awesome.”

“And?” 

He shrugged. You were way too eager, hanging off his every word, and he needed to be tight-lipped.

“And…it might be handy.” Yeah. That would placate you while he thought this through.

Sure, this stroller had more going for it other than just being fire engine red in a sea of white, beige and black. Didn’t mean it was a good thing. The colour had drawn him to it, which meant others would be drawn, too.

Yes, he could pack a lot down the bottom of that basket. Even hide an angel blade somewhere in the handle there if he got his welder out. Engrave a devil’s trap into the chassis, but…no. No, no. You’d said you’d be able to take the pup out for walks when he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to consider that.

Being there in that nursery store wasn’t something he’d considered either. When he’d said he wanted to take Baby out for a spin to break in the new tires and test his handy work after her incident with old Alice, he never intended you’d end up as far away from the bunker as you had. 

Stupid him. He’d had plans for a simple drive. Get some groceries. Take you out to eat.

But then you’d seen that family in the diner while you were chowing down on his fries. He caught a whiff of jealousy in your scent as you saw that mom playing with her pup. The googly eyes at their fancy stroller, and Dean realised so far you’d bought nothing for your son, aside from the stuffy he’d chosen months ago.

So, what did he do? 

Well, his dumbass suggested it was time you went to a store and looked at stuff for him. He was an awesome mate, after all, and he was excited - at first. 

You’d buy a crib, a stroller. Maybe some essentials like wipes. A book or two. Blankets and pillows to build your nest with, which were all fine. Perfert. Wonderful. Until he stepped foot inside this joint and he was reminded why he’d tried sourcing as many of Baby’s needed parts online as he could.

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing? 

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know. 

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals. 

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet. 

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t for his little man. Nope. He’d watch Scooby and the gang. Maybe the Jetsons or the Flintstones, but there’d be none of this modern crap. Cartoons, not equipment. He could see the benefit of Wi-Fi connections and GPS. 

He huffed. Tilted his head on the idea. That would definitely be handy, and his eyes travelled the length of the red stroller before him, up and down, side to side. Was there space? If he could make an EMF reader out of a Walkman, he could add a tracking device to the frame of this thing. It was big enough.  

He rocked it. Pushed it back and forth under the large metal racking that housed it and then out into the otherwise empty aisle.

The wheels turned well. The front smaller ones spun around a full three-sixty and into some crumbs on the floor… Those at the back were big and thick. He touched the sole of his boot to the top of the right one and pressed hard against the rubber. Good pressure. Great shock absorption. The brake was a little flimsy, though. 

“This one’s kind of expensive,” you said, taking the little swinging tag hanging off the bright red hood in your fingers and flipping it over for him to see. 

Dean gawked with you at the numbers. How much? For something the kid was gonna grow out of in a year or two, this thing should’ve been made of gold and angel feathers. He stretched over the handle and pushed the padding of the seat down, and his chin into his neck. 

He wouldn’t find it comfortable. Then again, his full-blown adult ass would crush the frame. 

He turned back to the swell of your stomach, though. His little mango wouldn’t. Sammy never had either. He didn’t have one, being carried everywhere until he could walk from what Dean remembered. 

Motel cribs and scratchy blankets that smelled like smoke - and not the good kind. A different room every other week in a shitty town, off the beaten track where they likely never returned to. That was their life. And he couldn’t even remember his mom’s nest because of it.

He’d once said he’d freak out over manicured lawns and an omega who greeted him with a “how was your day?” after some crappy office job. But this stroller with the little stitching and embossed cursive logo under his fingertips. You. The bunker, in its own way. It all represented a stability he could only ever dream of, and now, with the strong chance of it staring him in the face and in his grasp, he wanted it for his pup. 

“Is this something you like?” he asked through another shrug and a slight dig of his toes into the cookie crumbs beneath him. Not sure which answer he was hoping for until it left your mouth.

“I mean. Maybe not so expensive,” you said, still holding the tag. Your face frowned as you read over the numbers again, and though you tried to hide it, he couldn’t miss the twinge of disappointment in your tone. “I’d rather get something…simpler. Especially if you’re not on board with us walking without you.”

Dean studied you a moment longer. It wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t deny you normalcy. He couldn’t deny you anything if your history was anything to go by, and the apple pie lifestyle was something you and the pup deserved.

“Maybe the red is a bit too conspicuous.” He pushed the stroller back under the rack, as if it were the real problem, and took a step over to the next one down the line. 

The handle was just as soft. The suspension, sensitive, easy to move and lighter. “This is nice.”

At least, he thought. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be standing here in this store with you, shopping for this stuff, he would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, here he was, and it was nice. And brand spanking new. 

He brought it over to you and pulled you to stand in front of him, pushing his chest flush against the warmth of your back. He then leant over you, encompassed you and your bump between him and the display. His head, coming neck and neck with your own, nuzzling your mark, breathing it all in. The apple, the citrus. The odd sweetness of new plastic. 

When your hands ran over the leather, he covered them with his own. Soft on soft. Soft under rough.

“You think you can imagine our little guy, all comfy in here?” he said into your ear.

When you hummed, he knew before you even spoke that you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time, but someone else said something first.

Dean had been so busy focusing on you, the stroller and trying to ignore the stench surrounding yours, he hadn’t noticed the approach. 

Okay. He was overzealous on the safety front, too. He clearly had good reason to be, and his fingers gripped yours tight, squeezing your bones under the skin. Yeah, you were in a store. That didn’t mean his inner alpha wasn’t gauging anyone else as a threat, even if they worked there.

‘Too close,’ it snarled.

‘She’s a beta. Same as Donna,’ he said, and when he turned around, she was.

Yay high. A healthy dose of extra meat to her bones. If her red and white candy striped shirt was blue and donned a silver sheriff’s badge instead. 

“Oh. Didn’t realise I snuck up on ya there,” she said in a voice way too cheery to be in a place like this, exactly as Sheriff Hanscum would have. “Can I help you folks choose a stroller?” 

Before he could even decline, you jumped in, your thumbs gaining his attention with a squeeze of their own to loosen his grip. “We’re just trying to decide if we need one,” you said, and Dean lost a few feet off the top.

“Well, that comes down to preference.” Fake Donna nodded and approached with a casual step. Her open palms pointed to the handle, her eyes at him.

He could take a hint, and before anyone could lower his stature further, he pulled you with him to the side, keeping a hand on your waist at the ready. 

“Some pups prefer to be worn, so you can get away with a carrier, especially when they’re younger, but if it’s a stroller you want, you can’t go wrong with this one.” Her foot pushed down on the brake. 

“She’s sturdy.” She shook the frame. 

‘Already done that.’ His tongue swept over his teeth.

“Great price too.” She patted the hood near the tag. 

Well, he hadn’t looked at that, and he stretched out and grabbed it, flipping it over in his hands as you had done with the other. It was better, but he couldn’t help the deep inhale and the straightening of his spine.

“And as I said, comes with a travel system. Great for more cantankerous pups.”

Travel? Can…travelling? Dean handn’t wanted you walking without him. Screw travelling. There was no way the two of you were coming on cases with him, either. Of course, she didn’t know his ‘job,’ and thankfully, you were just as dumbfounded as he was judging by your scent.  

You exchanged glances, his eyes wide, yours flitting between him and her; but when you opened your mouth to reply, she cut you off before you’d even formed a sound. 

“Oh. Bless your cotton socks.” She clapped, making Dean flinch at the enthusiasm. He may have gripped you tighter. “Don’t worry. All first timers are clueless. Comes with the territory.” She chuckled, but Dean wasn’t laughing. 

It was uncanny. Along with the missing badge, if you just swapped the stroller for a donut and a cup of coffee, that snort was Donna to a T. 

Did she have a twin? A cousin? Was there a mirror around to check her eyes?

‘C’mon man, you’re getting paranoid.’ 

‘She snuck up on us,’ said his inner alpha as she got mighty close to you.

Dean soon realised he wasn’t leaving this place with just you and a stroller. Nope. With the way she was buttering you up like a sacrificial lamb with retail-speak and mentions of how you were glowing like you were old friends, you were walking out with the whole damn travel system. Maybe more.

“They’ll only stay in this for about six months, or until they can sit up, so you’d need to get both, not just the capsule,” she said. How convenient.

“Or you can get the bassinet attachment. It’s much more comfortable for their tiny tushies.” She was taking lines outta his book.

“But the capsule is probably the best choice. Don’t have to wake them if they fall asleep in the car.” Of course, it was the most expensive of the attachments, too. 

“How far along are ya, hun?” 

More like, how the hell did she do that? She’d pulled said capsule out and away from the frame in one fluid motion. The click, the only obvious sign something had gone down.

But then you answered. “Ah, nineteen weeks,” you said, and your smile filled your cheeks and eyes with a warmth he’d never forget. 

Suddenly, he didn’t care how much the thing cost. He didn’t care if his pup was can…tan…whatever. You standing next to it, one hand tracing the cursive lettering on the handle, the other smoothing over your dress and highlighting the slight bump below it, had Dean captivated. 

You made that stroller look good, and he could just picture you pushing your pup in there, all round with another one in your belly. Chuck. He couldn’t help but smirk. The apple pie life was looking mighty fine from where he was, and he closed in on the conversation, now eager to join.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes flicked to him with a sparkle, welcoming and friendly. She was actually enjoying talking to you. 

“A boy.” He beat you to the punch. He took the capsule she’d picked up out of her hands, hovering it over the empty slot in the frame.

“Dean thinks it’s a boy.” Your gaze narrowed at him, and his tongue receded through a grin in retort, which she chuckled at.

“You’ll find out I’m right on Monday.”

And you would. 

Just not before.

You were shown more of the store by fake Donna though, and soon that leather cushioned handle turned into the plastic rounded one of a shopping cart. A box with the stroller and its matching capsule inside that would transfer in and out of Baby once he got the right parts for her. Again.

But her candy stripe uniform had to leave you mid crib talk, having had a ‘clean up on aisle two’ kind of situation happen - right on her foot. 

“Maybe for the first six weeks, he should stay with us,” Dean said. “Til you’re healed up.”

Okay, some might call researching how soon your mate could have sex after giving birth was a bit of a dick move. Yeah, no, that fit. It was exactly something Dick would do, and Dean felt guilty, even when most parts of him were curious about your healing. Whether he needed to call in a favour with heaven and get you on the mend faster. He couldn’t help if the condition of your vagina came up. 

“I could set up my nest in whichever room we decide.” You were half statement, half question on that line. Your hand once again brushing over a store display.

The white wooden finish would get dusty in a place like the bunker. There had to be a reason the old geezers had chosen all dark furniture, and Dean wondered if he could also pull some strings and actually track down Mrs Butters. 

“You don’t want your nest in our bed?” he said, unknowing he’d just set himself up.

“I wanna keep it free of monster guts and whiskey.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he pulled a grin from somewhere. 

“I can’t help it if I miss ya when I’m gone.”

A brow raised, and he couldn’t help the husk that spiked his voice when he then said, “It was one time.” But though you smiled at his antics, the air surrounding you remained serious. 

You were on the other side of the crib to him. Too far for his liking. It was harder to hear. You were closer to the front, seeming oblivious to the potential threat of the many other alphas, just as cautious as he was nearby. 

Who knew if one of them would turn? He would if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

So he watched, helpless to appear collected from his distance as your fingers moved over the pattern of little ducks on the display mattress with an upturned lip. Your palm pressed into the springy foam, much like he’d done with the stroller. “Still have to decide about a nest birth or a hospital one.”

Hence the angels.

Dean clenched his jaw. You seemed wistful, and he wasn’t sure why.

The appointment was in four days, but the doc hadn’t given you a cut off date on anything. He’d just mentioned it last time, so you’d start thinking about it.

And he had.

It’d been on the back of his mind even before Doctor Cameron had brought it up. They couldn’t bring a doctor to the bunker if things went wrong, and your mom was out of the question even before he’d convinced you not to contact her. 

He’d also convinced himself that the decision was yours, though he was hoping you’d choose the Pack Planning clinic. Cameron could be a smartass, but he trusted him to take care of you, especially when he knew he’d be useless.

Beating up Dick for hurting you was one thing. Dean, knowing he was indirectly responsible for causing you pain, was another.

“What do you think?” you asked, looking up when you realised he’d said nothing. 

“You, ah, you’ve still got months to decide,” he tried. Hands darting from the cart to the pockets of his jeans. His bow legs pushed against the slats of the cribs side. The thing was sturdy.

“You mean we have.” 

No. He really didn’t. Not an out loud one, at least. Opinions on taking the pup for a walk? Yeah, he had one on that. You’d just changed it with your doe eyes, and the help of fake Donna and her sales skills, but this? With his ‘I want you to be safe and in a hospital’ mindset? What if you misconstrued him to mean something else?

You were the strongest omega he knew. Granted, you could get emotional at the drop of a hat these days, which was exactly his point.

“I dunno, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s gotta do all the work. I just put him in ya.” 

Your nose creased more in the middle as you circled around back to him. Your head, down and deep in thought, until you stood before him. Slid your hands in between the gap his arms formed next to his waist and gripped his hips. Played with the loops holding his belt as you brought yourself back up to search his gaze.

“You must have some input,” you said. “You get a choice, too.”

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but what to say? You were pushing it, and like the mention of hurting the pup in his argument for taking suppressants, he spoke a half truth and focused on his concerns. “I just want you both safe.”

“So do I,” you said. Bit your lip. “It’s why I’m kind of leaning towards the hospital.” 

Halle-freaking-lujah. Though why you couldn’t have said that without giving him the third degree, he’d never know.

“Doctor Cameron did say I could bring some of my own nesting supplies closer to my due date. It won’t be a full nest, but there will be other omegas close by, and—”

“Hey.” Dean’s hands were up and out of his pockets, both palms caressing your cheeks. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m on board with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled you in closer, inhaling your sweet scent. The chocolate and citrus swirling through it had him smirking.

He kissed your head first. Right on the crown. Fingers tracing little circles over your lower back, hips almost swaying, dancing, blocking out the noises and everyone else around you. 

If it wasn’t for the gush of air that mimicked a cracker startling him from behind, he would’ve forgotten where he was. Lost in his own world. 

His arms pulled tighter ‘round you and his head turned over his shoulder like a deer in headlights, finding a small boy holding a bright blue plastic gun, still pointed at him. A grin bigger than any of Dean’s plastered over his face. 

“James!” a fellow customer screeched. “I’m so sorry,” she hissed in your direction before grabbing his hand and scooping something off the floor. “I told you not to shoot that thing inside.”

That thing was a Nerf Gun. Something Dean had never seen before, and damn straight, he went looking for it in the toy aisle the second he’d wrangled you and your shopping cart away from the cribs. 

You’d purchase one another time when he could fit more in Baby’s trunk. The crib. Not the Eaglepoint RD-8 Blaster. 

He bought four of them (and extra ammunition).

So what if they were for eight years and up? He’d just passed forty. He didn’t want to risk them not being around anymore when his pup came of age. 

So what if he opened it to check it out and then waited up for Sam two nights later in the armchair on the landing? In. The. Dark. It was late, and the bunker had switched down into nighttime mode. The lights and buzz from the old machines below gave off just enough glow for him to see his target and keep him company.

It wasn’t his fault he got Eileen in the nose instead. Her and Sammy’s figures blended together as one, thanks to Sam’s giant Sasquatch physique.

“Hey. Woah. I’m sorry! Sammy didn’t say he was bringing anyone home?” He grit through his teeth and a head tilt, forgetting in the heat of the moment that the omega couldn’t hear him.

“Was I supposed to?” Sam scoffed. “How did you not scent her?” He’d raced to the light switch on the wall and turned it on for Eileen to see them, thus illuminating Dean’s bright red skin amongst the freckles. “I’m sorry,” he signed, before scowling at him. “You remember my brother?”

“Hey.” Dean waved his hand, Eaglepoint still in it, like the fool he felt, switching positions with them and scooting to the edge of the staircase. “I’m just gonna leave you two, to ah…see you in the morning.” He thumbed behind him. He’d find the foam bullet then, too.

“Goodnight,” Eileen said. 

Sam was still giving him his best bitchface.  

“Night.” He half bowed, spinning around to descend into the war room and further to room 11. He may have sniffed the air as he did, but it would appear neither Sam nor Eileen’s scents had changed. 

When Dean had last left you, you’d bid him goodnight. A tender kiss. An ass grab. A gaze deep into those brilliant green eyes of his. You were tired, and even though you hadn’t had as big a day as others, you still found yourself ready for bed earlier than usual thanks to your changing body, among other things, keeping you up at night.

No, it wasn’t morning sickness. What little you’d experienced had subsided. Somehow lucky on that front. But things like leg cramps, not being able to get comfortable because of frequent bathroom visits and a bump that stuck out just enough to be in the road of lying on your stomach were causing you grief.

Now you didn’t want to sleep on your side or back. No. Tummy sleeping is what you craved, and the only craving so far. 

You held that pee in as long as possible, disturbing Dean in the process when you caved and shuffled around the bed so as not to trip. Damn balance was already off centre, and as much as you insisted he stay, he still got up to walk with you down the hall or soothe the muscles cramped in your calf from the slightest movement. 

And then you were excited. Anxious. All week. The nerves about deciding where and how you wanted to deliver frequenting your mind the most. 

So even though you’d told Dean you were going to sleep, you hadn’t laid down at first.

No. You’d sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of you, a no longer neat pile of nesting supplies in front of them. They still lay scattered on the floor, and though it should’ve bothered you, they were a drop in the ocean compared to this feeling.

Trying to work out which items you’d take to the clinic seemed important two hours ago, even if they wouldn’t be joining you on the drive tomorrow.

What if Doctor Cameron showed you the birthing suites? Knowing what was here at home would surely help you plan. 

Like Dean needed to be in control of all aspects in his life, you, at the very least, needed to be in control of this. You were an omega after all. Giving birth and nests and pup rearing were something you were meant to be good at, and being good at it required practice and planning.

There was a matter of scents and getting the balance just right on the pieces you’d chosen. As much as Dean hated the cushion with the blue fur, his reluctance when you’d added it to the cart at the store meant your omega wanted his musk all over it. 

You’d picked it up, ran your fingers through each whispy strand. The little hairs tangled ‘round each of them, though bringing it up under your nose had been a mistake. It smelt wonderful, like talcum powder. But it tickled your nostrils and made your eyes water, too.

It’d be perfect under a nursing arm, though. Or resting behind your head, presuming Dean wasn’t there already.

Just another thing you needed to discuss at the appointment. 

You’d leant back, arms stretching out behind you, your palms flat on the cool cement of the floor. But as you’d strained your neck to chase a glance at the clock, you could’ve sworn your stomach did something weird. 

A flip? The kind you got after a small dip in the road or that one time you went on Space Mountain. 

Nah.

Yeah?

Maybe.

You were twenty and two now, and you’d been waiting since week sixteen to feel them. You’d been waiting since your first. 

But was that it? Would you feel it again? Because you hadn’t.

You’d sat on that floor longer than you cared to admit, waiting more, still and…patient. But when nothing seemed to come of it, you’d heaved a heavy sigh and butt-shuffled back to the bed, leaving that pile scattered. Disappointed, as you used the baseboard to prop yourself up into your non-nest.

It had to be your imagination. You were too eager because of tomorrow and the possibility of finding out. Yeah, that was it.

You’d switched off the closest light, screwing the rest. Snuggled under the blankets, lay on your back, then your side, then the other. The crisp sheets, no longer crisp, pulled and remained loose at the sides, twisted half off you in your feeble attempt to relax. 

Only you’d moved back to your back. Wiggled your rear against the mattress. Felt a niggle in your middle. Like a single pop from a piece of popping candy or a throb from blood passing through your veins or Dean’s knot. 

From then on out, you were still again, waiting under the low light of the usual lamp for more. 

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twelve.

You sighed. Nope. It wasn’t happening. Must’ve been your imagination, and you rolled over. Rubbed your head into the fluffy pillow. Pulled your top knee up and leant in on it. A compromise between side and tummy that’d worked the night before. 

But there it was again. A pop, a flip, a throb. Like a little gas bubble deep within your womb…and… Holy shit. You couldn’t put it down to anything else. That was your pup. It had to be. Right there below Dean’s shirt, your skin. Your pup. Alive and healthy, heartbeat, and all.

You sat up, shoved the covers off. Your fingers moved from it to grip the faded black cotton and pull it up over your stomach to see it protruding over your mound and heels, tucked in and not quite under your rear. Your bump wasn’t large enough to cover your toes when you stood, but it stuck out further than your boobs, sitting or no. Soft and pudgy, though, depending on the angle, it was firmer like then. 

“Hey there.” You smiled. A well of wet forming under your eyes. “You gonna do it again? ‘Cause I need to be sure before I tell your dad,” you whispered. 

Was it wrong to poke them? Probably, but it was a little too late to question it.

Your index finger picked up and pushed the pad down close to your navel. Gentle, of course, but hard enough to make a nail shaped dent when you twisted it just right. You, ignoring all the information you’d read that said they couldn’t feel or hear you yet. 

The experts knew nothing when your pup had the stock of an alpha as perceptive as Dean. It was the door in front of you that clicked with his head poking out from behind it soon after. His gaze alight in mischief turned to confusion when he saw you, your exposed stomach, and the mess of nesting supplies.

“You know, saying you’re tired is an excuse for sex, right?” He shut the door and ditched his new toy on the table in the corner. “Not setting up the floor is lava for your unsuspecting mate.” 

“I was going through stuff for tomorrow,” you said in a huff as he toed off his boots. “Don’t you want to know why all this is hanging out?” 

Even though your face was beaming. Dean still scanned the situation with a lick on the edge of his lip. He’d started undoing his belt and fly, but the process stalled as his brain geared up to fight or flight. 

“Is this the real trap?” he asked.

“No. I can feel them.” 

“Yeah?” His grin returned, and your head jiggled with excitement.

“He kicked?” And when you nodded again, it only grew wider.

“He-they’re moving,” you said, but Dean ignored the correction. 

His bow legs darted around the unravelled blanket and the other, still folded with a bow. He then hopped over that cushion you’d decided he’d be sleeping on tonight and flopped onto the mattress next to you, spreading out like a partner in one of those fake family portraits would. 

“My man. Something else to tell the doc, huh?” His arm cradled your swell, fitting snug as he leaned over and kissed your exposed skin first. “Hitting all them milestones. Making his momma crazy already?” His brows wagged as he stretched up to kiss you too before you could retort. 

He’d had a whiskey. The smoky remnants on his tongue, just another reminder of something you couldn’t have, making you savour it, and him, all the more with a greedy foray of extra nips.

“So.” He indulged you again, keeping the tip of his nose on yours when he pulled back. “What’s it feel like?”

You had to think about that. The flip? The candy popping? The throb? He’d appreciate that. 

Your palm slid over his thigh, close enough to his pelvis to bring the point home. “You know when your knot pops and there’s that pulse?”

“When I shoot my load?” 

“Yeah. It’s like that, only stronger.”

He huffed. Part snicker. Eyes, half lidded and lecherous, joined the smirk and twitch of his head. “You mean you’re getting an orgasm in your stomach?”

“It’s not pleasurable.” Wait. That wasn’t right, either. Of course, it felt good. 

This was your pup. 

“I mean, when you feel your blood passing through your veins. I thought you’d get a kick out of the analogy.”

“Oh. I did.” He looked down at your hand still in his lap only to lift again, expression changing the scene as an actor would on stage. “Next question.”

You repeated the phrase.

His chin pointed towards the mess. “What’s with the nest? No offence, sweetheart, but even I could do a better job than that.”

Obviously, it wasn’t one. Half of it wasn’t even out of its packaging and the shape was all wrong. “I told you I was preparing for tomorrow.”

Tags still hung off the corners of the cushions you’d chosen. They’d be scratchy on your skin, let alone the delicate fuzz-lined completion of a newborn, and none of it washed yet. Nothing from a store was going anywhere near your precious pup unless you’d sanitised, then scented it.

“We’re taking all that?” 

“No.” It was three blankets and a few more cushions. Didn’t even fill up half of Baby’s usable trunk. There’d been room with the stroller, its attachments, the Nerf guns and the multiple bags of extra foam ammo. “Not even half.”

How much leeway would you have delivering in a hospital? Rooms you’d seen visiting friends and family were probably about the same size as yours here in the bunker. But as much as the Pack Planning clinic tried to make their space warm and inviting for its patients, a clinic was still a clinic, and nothing like home. 

The walls that could use a lick of fresh paint. Outdated furniture lining them collected dust you dusted every other day. 

Dean’s scent. 

Yours. 

It was all a charm surrounding you that calmed and soothed like no other. It didn’t take an idiot to know that’s what you’d be needing most when the time came. 

“I just want to go in knowing what I have so I can plan for the space,” you said, and Dean swallowed. Nodded. 

“Alright.” 

He sat up, whipped his phone out of his back pocket and dropped to the floor with a groan and a definite crack from overused bones.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, because him picking up and pointing the camera point blank at the unravelled blanket while obvious, hadn’t computed with your brain. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“Getting rid of the trip hazard. There’s gonna be enough bumps in the night with Eileen here. Don’t need you makin’ more.”

Wait. “She’s here?” You picked yourself up and knee-walked to the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve gone and—”

“Played host? I’m sure she’ll understand why you were sleeping. You can make up for it in the morning.”

Only you couldn’t, because both she and Sam were MIA when you left for Salina. Lost to the depths of his room. Thank god for Dean. With your mind occupied by your nest and your birthing plan, you weren’t too concerned about your territory.

You talked non stop to avoid all of it. Everything and nothing at the same time on the way. The weather. Potential names, Bobby, John and Henry. Dean even humoured you with girls’ ones like Mary and Charlie, while you avoided your moms on purpose. Thankful he had too when he listed every other female who’d been prominent in your lives. Grateful he didn’t bring up the night before or your need to pee.

Of course you couldn’t. Doctor Cameron needed a full bladder for the anatomy scan, and it was hell. 

Well, not the actual one, but you doubted, very much, that he or Dean could hold on for as long as you had. All that pressure in your pelvis, aching like the throes of a heat. If Dean had cracked a joke, you’d have no hope.

Each press of the cool gel into your exposed stomach from the transducer, another jab closer to leakage. No wonder multiple pregnancies drove people with vaginas into incontinence. Your bladder, a punching bag for the doctor and your offspring, could only hold so much — oh shit.

The doc pushed the damn thing into your stomach for the umpteenth time on your left side, where you figured one of your ovaries to be. The blunt head dug into your flesh, firmer on account of the recline of the exam table. Your sensitive skin, wetter where you didn’t want wet to be...

“Have you taken the time to think about your options?” he asked, like he’d done nothing wrong. If it weren’t for his hands occupied by the ultrasound equipment and his keyboard, you’d have considered him bored. It was okay when you were the prodder.

“We’re leaning towards here,” you said. “Presuming there’s time?” Just another thing you wanted to discuss. 

How long did it normally take? Movies made most births seem like your water broke and that was it. Pushing, grunting, groaning in your nest with loved ones, or on the way to the hospital, finding yourself stuck in the back of a car in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

No in between and never an estimate. No, ‘three hours later,’ or ten or twenty or thirty, and you had no one to ask how it felt or what to expect. Besides Cameron, a beta, presumably with the wrong bits.

Dean gave you a reaffirming nod. He was at full attention, in awe, and on edge. You could sense it in his scent. 

He’d squeezed your hand in his. Brought your knuckles up to his lips when he’d heard the sharp exhale on yours with the last poke. “No problem with my Baby, sweetheart,” he said, clearly concerned by the drive itself. 

Doctor Cameron nodded too as he typed in another measurement. “So long as things stay low risk and you’re happy to travel the distance.”

“Ah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Low risk?” 

The doc lowered his head and looked at him and then at you, “All medical procedures come with risks.” 

“Right, but, ah, what’s the risk the risk could be higher?” Dean’s feet shuffled beneath him, and this time it was the doc clearing his throat in response.

The pause didn’t help your nerves. That look in Doctor Cameron’s eye, typical. He chose his words carefully. So either there was a risk or it was unknown because you had little history to go on, and your guess was on the latter.

It had to be. The world just worked that way. It was Murphy’s law or some other guy you’d never heard of and theirs.

You didn’t know how long your mom had laboured with you. You didn’t know if she’d needed stitches or lost any blood. When you were asked to fill out that form at your first antenatal appointment with the doc, you couldn’t list any next of kin besides Dean, which was fine. He was your true mate, and you trusted him with every and all decisions if you were ever… incapacitated. 

But it was nothing the doc could go off of now, and he didn’t say it. Not directly, at least. What he did, though, was far more valuable, albeit accidental, leaving you surprised, and Dean insufferable. His grin the widest you’d ever seen it, rosy cheeks of pride contrasting his brilliant green.

“Your mate is in fine health, Dean,” Cameron said. “And so is your son.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are! I was honestly really torn on what to give them, me being a boy mum wanted to live vicariously, but I know little boys too damn well, and it will be easier for me to do some timestamps in the future with the nerf guns this way.

I have a name in mind, but if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it! Just know I plan on avoiding Bobby and John.

Chapter 15 - Disappointment 30/05

“Why’re we getting this stuff again? They’re the ones cooking,” he grumbled as he leant over the cart, pushing it forward to let an elderly beta past.

This position was becoming more and more frequent, and he’d become rather skilled at navigating the metal cages. Gold medal material with the way he turned the damn thing. Whether that was good was still up for debate.

“It’s the least we can do,” you said, examining the mound of onions, a piece of vegetable at a time. Turning them over. Inspecting the flaky skin and differences in the colour underneath it. Weighing each piece with your hands.

“No. The least we can do is eat what they cook. You should be taking a load off.” 

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[moonlightdawn1102]

'You Had Me At Hello'

Pairings: Single Mom Reader x Mob Boss Bucky Barnes, Slight Reader x OMC

Word Count: 2516

Warnings: Verbal Abuse, Slight Physical Abuse

Being a single mom wasn’t something you’d ever envisioned for yourself. You’d always thought that you’d be the type of woman to have the whole white picket fence lifestyle with a husband that loved you deeply. That didn’t happen though and instead you ended up dating some jerk of a businessman for three years until he left you at eight months pregnant for his secretary.

You should have seen it coming considering how pretentious and conceited he was, but you were a fool in love who held out hope that he’d change for the better. You thought the pregnancy would help the two of you become closer again, but it did the complete opposite.

In the long run, you supposed that walking in on Tommy fucking his secretary was a blessing in disguise. At the time you’d been heartbroken but now you were glad to no longer have him in your life despite the hardships you’d faced. You’d been able to get emergency housing due to the fact you were eight months pregnant when he kicked you out, but it hadn’t been easy and money was hard to come by, you'd done whatever you could just to scrape enough money together to get all of the necessities for your baby before they arrived.

When your daughter was born everything in your life changed, you’d never experienced a love like it before and you knew from that moment on that she would always be your number one priority. When Gracie turned one was when you officially went back to work, your neighbour helped out when she could with taking care of Gracie, but for the most part you’d have to take her with you. It wasn’t the best plan but you had no other choice, you needed the money and couldn’t leave Gracie alone.

That plan worked just fine until Gracie started attending preschool and your landlord decided to put your rent up by fifteen percent. After that you had to work two jobs just to make ends meet, ideally you would have worked three but you needed that time to spend with Gracie.

Today was one of those days where just about everything that could go wrong did. Firstly two people called in sick at the diner you worked at which meant that apart from the cook, you would be the only one working. Then Gracie’s preschool called and told you that you needed to pick her up because she’d bitten another student. By some miracle you’d managed to get a hold of your neighbour who picked Gracie up for you and dropped her off at the diner.

You hadn’t spoken to her about the incident at school yet because you were far too busy, but you planned on it once your shift finished. Currently, Gracie was sitting at the counter doing some colouring while you worked. If only that had been as stressful as your day would get, but apparently the universe hated you.

You walk over to the corner booth and smile brightly when you spot one of your regulars, James Barnes. He'd been coming to the diner for around four months now, he was always kind to you and always made sure to tip you generously. He tended to flirt with you, but it was never taken seriously on your part, you were sure that someone as handsome and as charming as James wouldn’t ever be interested in you. That didn’t mean you didn’t feel good when he’d make sweet remarks and flash that award winning smile at you. 

“Hey Sugar, you look beautiful today” he says with his signature smirk. You roll your eyes playfully and giggle gently, “James, I’ve been running around this place like a crazy woman. I couldn’t look less beautiful. Now would you like the usual?” you say with a smile. James leans back in his seat and looks you over, “Firstly, I’ve told you to call me Bucky. Secondly, you look as beautiful as ever. Thirdly, you shouldn’t have to run around this place to begin with, you should have someone to take care of you. But yeah, I’ll have my usual please” he says softly. You blush and nod your head, “I’ll bring it over in a minute” you say with a slight smile. 

Bucky always ordered the same thing which was a black coffee and a slice of pie. You grab the coffee pot and pour him a cup before placing a slice of lemon meringue pie on a plate. You turn around to walk back over to Bucky, but are stopped in your tracks at the man walking inside the diner. What the hell was Tommy doing here?

You hadn’t seen him since he’d kicked you out on the street. Your hands were shaking and you threw the cup and plate down on the counter, “Pumpkin, come here” you said quickly to your daughter. Gracie hopped down from the stool and came over to you, Tommy was walking this way and you felt like you were going to pass out. 

You picked Gracie up and held her on your hip, you couldn’t let her be a part of this especially considering the fact you’d told her that her father was in heaven. You look around for a way out before your eyes land on Bucky, you swallow thickly and walk over to him, “I..I’m really sorry to ask, but could you please just watch my daughter for a minute? I need to take care of something and I..” you begin to ramble.

Bucky shakes his head and gestures for you to put Gracie in the booth opposite him, “It’s no problem. I love kids and she seems like an angel” he says softly. You felt relief flood your system and you set Gracie down, “Be good Pumpkin. Stay here with Mr Bucky” you say before pressing a kiss to her head.

“Y/N, I want to speak to you. Is that her?” you hear Tommy call out from behind you. Taking a calming breath, you walk over and grab hold of him before pulling him out of the back entrance. “Who the hell do you think you are Tommy?! I haven’t seen you in over three years. You don’t just get to turn up and announce yourself to my daughter!” you exclaim.

Tommy scoffs slightly, “Our daughter, Y/N. I’ve spent two months tracking you down. I’m her father and I want to see her. You either let me see her, or I file for custody. Who do you think will win that court case? The struggling mother who can barely afford to clothe her or the father who has the capability to send her to the best school in the state?” 

“Y..You can’t do that. You can’t take her away from me. I won’t let you, Tommy” you say firmly. He laughs and takes a step closer to you, “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on stopping me? You’re still the pathetic little fool that you’ve always been. You were just an easy fuck, Y/N. That’s the only reason I put up with you for so long, but I’ll be damned if I let my daughter grow up to be like her mother” he says flatly.

You couldn’t handle his words of torment any longer and slapped him hard across the face, it was the only time since you’d met Tommy that you’d ever stuck up for yourself. It might not have been the brightest idea though, because the next second Tommy had his hand around your throat and had knocked your head against the wall. You groan out in pain and try to pull his hand away, “You stupid fucking bitch” he snarls out, he raised his fist to hit you but it never made contact.

Suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere near you and Bucky was standing in front of you. He lifted your chin with his fingers to check over your face before turning your head gently to check the cut on the back of your head from when it had hit the wall, “Hey Sugar, are you alright?” he said softly. You nod gently but wince at the pain in your head, “I don’t think you are. I’ll take you to the doctor, you’ve got quite a nasty cut” he says sympathetically.

Tommy stands back up from the ground where Bucky had thrown him, “Hey man, get the fuck out of here. My girl and I were just talking” he shouts. Anger flickered behind Bucky’s eyes at Tommy’s words, he turned around to stare Tommy down and you saw the fear that immediately consumed Tommy, it was almost as if he recognised Bucky. 

“M..Mr Barnes..I..I didn’t know it was you” he stutters out. Bucky laughs darkly, “So you know who I am? And what do I do for a living, correct?” he asks calmly. Tommy quickly nods his head and holds his hands up in defence, “Yes..Yes of course” he says, you’d never seen Tommy look afraid of anyone so why did he look like he was about to cry in front of James? Bucky hums gently, “Right, so do you want to explain to me why you put your hands on my girl?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker to Bucky in confusion, you weren’t his..Not that you hadn’t dreamt about it. Tommy glances at you, “Wait..Wait..You’re dating him? You let a man like that around our daughter but won’t let me speak to her? Do you even know who he is?” he spits out. You swallow thickly and fiddle with your fingers, “You kicked me out and left me for your secretary while I was eight months pregnant. You don’t get to dictate who I date or sleep with, and you definitely don’t get to tell me who I bring around MY daughter” you say firmly while taking a step forward to stand by Bucky’s side.

He looked proud of you and subtly reached for your hand squeezing it softly. Tommy looked like he was about to blow a gasket and scoffs loudly, “You know what, you’re not even worth it. You’ll come crawling back when he moves on to his next whore” he says before straightening his suit and making his way out of the alleyway.

You let out a sigh of relief and let go of Bucky’s hand but he just holds it tighter refusing to let you part ways, “What do you think you’re doing Sugar?” he asks. You blush and look up at him, “Well..I..erm..I figured that you were just putting on a show to get him to leave. I can take myself to the doctors, it’s no big deal” you say quietly. 

“Oh Sugar, I wasn’t putting on a show. I meant every word that I said. You’re my girl. You have been ever since I walked into this diner. I’ve just been waiting for you to realise it” he says with his usual charming smile. Your mouth drops open in shock at his words, “Wh..What? But I’m..I’m not..You could do so much better, I’m not the type of woman you want by your side. I mean, you’re..You know..From a certain societal class and I’m a single mother working two jobs” you say quietly.

Bucky laughs softly, “None of that matters to me, Sugar. I’ve been trying to do this at your pace, but clearly I wasn’t obvious enough. So, Y/N would you please let me take you out on a date?” he asks with a smile. You were about to answer when you heard crying, a tall blonde man walked out the back of the diner with Gracie in his arms. You felt your body freeze up at this strange man holding your crying daughter, you were about to lose it when he spoke whilst looking at Bucky.

“I’m sorry Buck, she won't stop crying” he says while bouncing Gracie up and down. You walk over and Gracie immediately calms down, you take her from the man and glance back at Bucky. He shakes his head with a smile, “Don’t worry about it. Y/N this is Steve, he’s my right hand man, but more importantly he’s like my brother” he says to you which allows you to relax.

At least Gracie hadn’t been left with some random man, “It’s nice to meet you Steve” you say softly. He nods his head with a polite smile, “It’s nice to finally meet you too. Buck hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks” he says with a chuckle. You let out a laugh and smile brightly before remembering what Bucky had said, “Wait, you said that he’s your right hand man. What is it you do for work?” you ask curiously. Steve stares at Bucky and shakes his head, “You haven’t told her? Jesus Buck. You need to tell her, I’ll wait for you in the car” he says with a sigh. He gives you a friendly smile before walking back into the diner.

Bucky scratches the back of his head which makes you narrow your eyes in suspicion, “What is it? What do you do?” you ask firmly. He sighs softly, “I’m..erh..involved with some not so legal activities” he says vaguely. “What kind of illegal activities?” you ask. He looks at the ground before making eye contact with you, “I may or may not be a mob boss..” he says with a slight laugh.

You just stare at him in shock for a few minutes and try to process what he’d just told you. There was no way that this sweet and lovely man could be a mob boss, he was like a damn cupcake half the time and made you feel safer than anyone had in years. “I know it’s a lot to process and if you want me to leave and never come back then I’ll do it. But I just want you to know that I like you Y.N, I want you in every way imaginable and I want to take care of you. I want to be the man that you deserve. I want to be there for you and Gracie if you’ll let me” he says softly.

His words made any resolve you had left crumble into pieces, you decided that you didn’t care what he did for work as long as he treated you and Gracie in the way that he’d promised. You smile up at him before leaning up and pressing a deep kiss to his lips, “Eww mommy..” Gracie whines which makes you laugh and pull away from Bucky.

You look at him with a light in your eyes that hadn't been there since you were a child, “Well, I can speak confidently when I say that we want you. I just want to know if this is really what you want. Are you sure you want us?” you say softly. Bucky chuckles gently and shakes his head fondly, “Sugar, you had me at hello” 

[inmyheaddd]

walkin’ out the door with your bags - part 4

⤷ “but what’s the rush? kissing, then my cheeks are so flushed.”

summary: grayson drives you home, and you can tell he isn’t feeling the best, so you insist the perfect remedy - on hosting an impromptu movie night while your roommate gigi is at her new boyfriends house! a/n: this takes place immediately after end of part 3!! warnings: little tiny sad grayson flashback, kissing, (friends to lovers is finally friends to lovering) wc: 4k masterlist || series masterlist — other parts!

…previously on part three

“ finally, after an intense game of eenie meenie miney mo —suggested by gigi, noah payed. 

grayson reluctantly put his card back in his wallet, tucking it back in his pocket as noah flashed gigi a nervous smile. 

when they caught eachother’s eyes, grayson offered noah a slight nod, almost of respect. noah returned it with a smile.

you and gigi once again glanced at eachother. in both your eyes, that seemed like a success.”

—

grayson was driving you home, the roads were bustling and crowded, and the ride was taking much longer than anticipated. 

you weren’t staring— staring was a big stretch. you think taking notice, observing, perceiving, even, were all better words to describe what you were doing. 

you were simply taking note of grayson’s features. 

the way his jaw slightly clenched when someone’s bad driving annoyed him, the way his hands grip would momentarily tighten on the wheel, the way the soft dim lighting of the night interrupted by headlights passing and traffic lights coloured his face— not staring. 

flashback - 12 years old…

maybe standing outside the huge hawthorne house with no plan at all wasn’t the best choice. your parents weren’t home, the house was empty, and you were bored out of your mind, and it was only 1pm!

so, 12 year old you did what sounded like the most fun: called grayson. annoying him was maybe your favorite past time.

you went straight in, not even waiting for him to say anything when he answered. 

“hey grayson, do you wanna go hang out?”

the other end was silent for a moment. “excuse me?”

“you know, hang out?” you laughed like he’d been talking nonsense, “like, when two friends go somewhere and—“

“i know what hanging out means.” he cut you off, and you could hear the annoyance in his tone. he didn’t speak for a second, “… i suppose my schedule is free today.” 

that was his way of saying yes. you rolled your eyes jokingly even though he couldn’t see you, what kind of 12 year old has a schedule?

“okay, i’m outside.”

“what?” he breathed out, sounding more shocked than ever. “sorry,” he corrected himself, and if your ears weren’t deceiving you, he almost sounded amused. 

“what if i had said no?” he added.

you laughed softly into your phone, “well, i just knew you wouldn’t.” you said, “now hurry up, it’s freezing out here.”

you stood outside in the brisk air, and grayson came down no less than a minute later, opening the door and being met with your cold-air-flushed face. 

you beamed, “grayson! hi!” it was muscle memory for you to hug your any of friends whenever you saw them — but you quickly stopped yourself, retracting your hands back to your sides awkwardly.

he raised a single eyebrow at you, “i spoke with you less than a minutes ago.” he deadpanned. “why are you so happy to see me?” 

if it was anyone else, you would’ve felt severely judged. you suppose that was his intent, though, so you didn’t let it affect you.

“i’m not happy to see you, i’m just happy. stop trying to dull my spark, hawthorne.” you rolled your eyes as you both began to walk, the cold december air hitting you. “let me live.”

he muttered something under his breath about an “annoying glare, not a spark.”before handing you something. “take this.”

you looked down at what he was handing you, “what?” you said quietly. 

you hadn’t even noticed before, but he had brought a sweater with him. 

“you mentioned you were cold earlier,” he stated matter-of-factly. “please, take it.” 

“oh,” you said, sounding too surprised at the casual action for your own liking. 

“thanks,” warmth instantly spread over you as you put it on, and when you noticed some sort of rock band logo on it with lots of writing. 

you furrowed your brows, did grayson have a complete closet change overnight?

“it’s not mine.” he said, eyes flickering back up to yours like he could read your thoughts. “it belongs to one of my brothers.”

“you wouldn’t want to spoil one of your precious hoodies on me?” you remarked sarcastically.

“i don’t own any hoodies.” 

oh. 

“wait,” you stopped in your tracks when you let that sink in, “not even a single one?” 

he just blinked at you, “no.” 

“why?” 

“it’s not my preferred style.” he said like it was clear. i mean, of course grayson hawthorne of all people wouldn’t own a hoodie; it was kind of clear.

“okay well, our next stop is obvious,” you said, and graysons brows knit. “the mall! we need to get you some hoodies.”

based on the look on his face, you don’t think he liked that idea…

but he went anyway. 

present…

you stopped infront of the red light, the colour sending a reddish hue over everything in the car.

grayson’s side profile was on full view, eyes not leaving the road as he broke the comfortable silence, “i may have misjudged his character.” 

“hm?” you hummed, snapped out of the trance-like state you were in, as you looked more intently, trying to decipher at the emotion behind his eyes.

“noah.” he made himself clear, “i presumed him to be…” he trailed off, thumb running up and down the wheel methodically, “different. worse.” 

you chuckled, “me and gigi both told you he was a good person,” you pointed out, “what, you think our taste is that bad?” 

is lips turned up for a flash of a second, “no,” he said as he shook his head slightly, “that’s not what i meant to imply.” 

“oh?” you said, leaning your head back against the head rest as your eyes stayed fixed on grayson’s face. “what was your intended affect then, hawthorne?” 

his head turned, his eyes narrowing jokingly as they finally met yours for a moment, before going back on the road. there was almost a full smile on his face. 

he redirected the conversation as he steered the wheel, “he seems like a nice fit for gigi.”

“aw,” you fake cooed, bringing a heartfelt hand to your chest. “you really think so?”

in all seriousness, though. the date had actually been much better than you had anticipated. gigi’s smile didn’t leave her face once. 

you saw him side glance at you, “yes, i do.” he said, “that, however, does not mean i’m agreeing to one of these ‘double dates’ ever again.” he quickly reiterated, like he could read your next thought. 

the way he said double dates made it seem like the last 2 hours were living hell for him.

you rolled your eyes and laughed under your breath, “don’t lie. i know the word fun isn’t in your dictionary, but i know you enjoyed yourself.”

“enjoy is a very large stretch.” he deadpanned, glancing at you momentarily.

“you had the best time ever. be honest.” 

“it was bearable.” 

“okay, sure. whatever you say,” you rolled your eyes jokingly, you said, just before started you noticed the familiar turns, and before you knew it, the the car was parked infront your house. you could see the stars twinkling in the night sky through the dashboard window— stargazing was one of your favorite activities.

flashback - 12 years old…

after a semi-successful shopping trip — grayson bought 3 hoodies, a black, grey, and navy one (gosh, the variety!) — you came across one of your favorite ice cream spots as you walked back together. it was nearing 3pm now and there was, by some miracle, no one around.

the 50s theme of the this cream store always brought you a sense of comfort, even with its bright overhead lights. you smiled as you and grayson walked in and the bell on the door rang upon your entrance.

the conversation was dulling down, mostly consisting of you making dumb jokes or making fun of him, and him maybe cracking a tiny smile once every 45 minutes, if you were lucky. 

you had a cup of cookies and cream ice cream in front of you, half eaten as you took your eyes to the photo booth placed in the corner of the store. 

there were hundreds of photos stuck on the sides of it— so many faces, so many smiles, friends, families, couples. 

you didn’t know any of their stories, but simply seeing them smile made you want to smile. 

then, you took your eyes to the boy sitting in the chair in front of you: grayson. 

he was sipping on his black coffee —that you relentlessly made fun of him for picking— but, the weird thing was that he was just… staring at you. 

“what are you looking at?” you snorted, putting your spoon down in your ice cream and leaning back in the booth seat. 

he shook his head slightly, “nothing.” 

it wasn’t nothing, because then after a second, he spoke again. he put his cup down, “why’d you take us here? it’s essentially empty, and it’s the middle of winter.”

your cheeks flushed— only because of the cold air hitting you. 

you shrugged with a sheepish smile, “i don’t know…” you trailed off, but you did know. “i kind of remembered you saying you haven’t tried ice cream, and i remember thinking in that moment, “i need to get this kid to have some ice cream.” then i saw this place, and thought, why not?”

he was silent for a moment, and a thousand thoughts overflowed in your mind. 

“i said that 3 years ago.” he finally said, sounding surprised, and it was like you could see his guarded mask slowly slipping away. 

“yeah,” you said, “i know.” 

his eyes flickered between yours, and then he did one of his barely there smiles that made you want to squeal — how come he got to make you feel like that? it wasn’t fair.

“if it’s any relief to you,” he said half jokingly, “i went home that night and asked my older brother to get me ice cream.” he spoke with softness in his voice; you noticed it was always that way when he spoke about his siblings. “it wasn’t as bad as i had anticipated.” 

you smiled softly at the emotion in his voice, “yeah, well, you’re literally drinking a specially made black coffee in an ice cream shop right now,” you stated. “so… my mission has failed, sort of.” 

he narrowed his grey eyes slightly like he was in deep thought, before briefly glancing at the counter. a server sat behind it, bored and staring his phone.

he looked back at you and then stood up, heading towards the ice cream counter.

you gasped in mock amazement. truthfully though, you were actually pretty shocked. “grayson hawthorne, actually living his life a little? i can’t believe i’m witnessing this in real time. this is extraordinary.” you got up and stood beside him, looking at the ice cream flavors in front. 

he offered you a side glance. “the possibility of me leaving is still very high.”

“oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “the possibility of me slapping you is very high.” oh, good comeback…

he seemed surprised at that, “oh, is that so?”

your cheeks flushed, but you stayed stubborn. “yes.” you didn’t look at him, but you could basically feel that stupid half smile of his. “now pick your ice cream already.”

he picked mint chocolate chip.

as you sat back down at your tables, you went right back to teasing him. “is this you attempting to be a little different, trying something new?” you asked teasingly as you sat down, with an oreo milkshake infront of you now. “i’m surprised you didn’t pick vanilla.”

he gave you that single eyebrow arch again. “why would that be?”

“because vanillas just… vanilla. and you’re so… you.”

his brows furrowed ever so slightly, and you could tell he was trying to keep his face completely unreactive. your heart suddenly felt 50 pounds heavier in your chest. 

the next time he spoke, he hesitated. his expression actually looked like he was his age for once, not way beyond his years. 

you always wondered if that was what other people forced him to be, or if it who he really was.

or, did they start to merge into the same thing at some point? that thought made your stomach feel cold. 

“so you really think i’m,” he paused slightly as he found the words, “… boring?” 

no, not actually, you wanted to say. 

he was that one mystery you decided you wanted to uncover since the day you met him. he was funny when he wanted to be, and despite everything, he actually cared for what you had to say. 

that was why you were here right now.

“oh yeah, for sure.” you grinned, nodding vigorously as grayson’s expression changed to one that looked less sad. “you’re about as interesting as a blank piece of paper.” 

grayson seemed to have gotten the answer he was looking for. his smile slowly matched yours, “so i’ve been told.” 

his eyes twinkled a little, you raised your eyebrows in a way to say, “shocker,” as you sipped from your straw, and then he laughed.  

you joined in, your combined soft laughs being the only sound in the ice cream shop apart from the soft 50’s music, before his phone began to ring and interrupted the moment. 

“sorry,” he said quietly, a hint of a smile still in his voice. “if you’ll excuse me.” he pressed the phone to his ear and answered promptly with, “grayson.” 

you heard a loud voice from the other line, and it all you could roughly understand was:

“GRAYSON! why do you answer like that?we’ve missed you! …. xander… movie night… pillow fight … broke his arm…. where are you?”

whoever was on the other line said that and more all in the span of 30 seconds, and didn’t stop once.

grayson listened to every word intently, and his little expressions of frustration, shock, and sheer annoyance as he looked at a spot on the table, almost made you burst out laughing as you stared.

in hindsight, you probably should’ve kept yourself busy, make it any less obvious you were eavesdropping, but you couldn’t help but stare at him. 

one thing was clear, though, and it made your heart feel fuzzy: he cared very deeply for whoever was on the other line, even if he didn’t show it. 

“listen, jameson. i’m currently out, however—“

“you’re out? doing what?” you heard a laugh from the other person—his brother, jameson, —and grayson rolled his eyes. 

“nothing that concerns you.”

you couldn’t stop the snort that followed at the sight of grayson so frustrated, and his eyes immediately flickered to yours. 

“sorry,” you mouthed. 

but to your surprise, grayson wasn’t glaring at you. if anything, he was holding your gaze with a glint of humour in his eyes, and he smiled at you as he held the phone to his ear. 

you heard shuffling on the other end, and then shouts. 

“xander! go call grayson on your own phone, and stop trying to steal mine!” 

“but he blocked me after i kept yodeling in his voicemail! i need to—“ 

grayson ended the phone call just as promptly as he’d answered it. 

he sighed, rubbing his temples, then you saw him power off his phone. he took a bite of his ice cream and then met your eyes. it looked like he almost paused when he did, maybe because you had been doing nothing but stare at him for the past few minutes. you’d probably be a little weirded out too. 

“your brothers seem funny,” you commented, taking another sip of your milkshake. 

he shook his head slightly, “i believe chaotic or headache inducing would be more fitting,” he put his spoon back down, “but, i suppose funny works.” 

you laughed, “yeah, but you still love them.” you told him with your voice a little quiet, “more than anything, right?” 

he nodded, “of course i do. they’re…” he trailed off trying to find the right way to put it, but there was just no better way to put it.

“they’re my family.”

present…

grayson cut the engine and got out of his side of the door, and walked around to yours to open it for you. it was a a small gesture, but it was one that made you pause slightly.

“thank you,” you muttered to him softly, and he nodded as he closed the car door behind you. 

he walked you to the doorstep, and you both stood infront of the closed door.

“is gigi not home?” he asked, nodding his head towards the windows, and the fact that all of the lights were closed.

“yeah, she uh, she went home with noah.” you responded, pressing your lips together in a line momentarily.

grayson was really trying to be supportive, you could tell, but the way there was a slight tick in his jaw and his shoulders sense told you everything you needed to know.

he nodded once again, a slight clench in his jaw. “right.” 

you chuckled as you hit his shoulder slightly, “relax, she’s really happy, gray. he’s not an axe murderer.” 

“i know, i know that.” he said, as he combed a hair that fell into his face, back in its place with his hand.

“but?” you sensed.

“like i said before, with everything that’s happened in our lives… it’s hard to trust anyone fully.”

“it’s not that hard,” you shrugged, trying to ease the tension, because trust issues with was not a topic you wanted to delve into right now. “i trust you, and i know that you trust me. it’s easy.” 

“of course, because we know eachother. i trust you more than most.“ grayson said, but the way he said the word ‘know’ felt like there was more to it, like it went deeper than just the fact that you ‘went way back’.

“yeah,” you sighed, understanding what he was getting at— but you still had to defend gigi. “and gigi knows noah. you should be able to trust her with her choices.”

he didn’t speak for a moment, thinking before he finally spoke. “you’re right.” he almost sighed, his neck strained like he wanted to say more. 

“… is she,” he paused, “is she truly happy?” he asked. you’d said it before, but maybe he just didn’t believe you. 

you smiled, thinking about all the sleepless nights spent with gigi of her giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush, sleepover sessions - even when you lived in the same apartment - with face masks as you laughed and talked about life. she was happier than you’d ever seen her, healed from the things she wouldn’t quite tell you about.

“yeah, gray.” you said softly, “she is happy.”

he tore his eyes away from you, nodding as he looked at the floor. “that’s good, she deserves it.”

after a moment of silence standing under your door, you grinned, trying to take away that pained look on his face as you changed the subject. “you know, earlier that was the second time you’ve said i’m right today. i’m sort of on a streak.” 

the tension broke away from his face as a slow grin spread across his face. “i’ve began to think; when are you not right?” 

“pretty much never.” you put your hand on the door handle, smiling up at him.  “and another one of my perfect, right ideas, is that having a movie night will make you feel infinitely better and stop your overthinking.”

you cracked the door open further as you took a step in, and he quirked a brow up. “i have no room to say no, i assume?”

“oh please,” you scoffed, “you don’t even want to say no.” grayson walked in, and you were already making your way to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

he shut the door behind him, and you couldn’t see it, but a smile stretched across his face. he shook his head and exhaled a long breath, just before you called out to him.

“i’m going to go do my skincare now, you can pick the movie this time!” 

—

you stood infront of your bathroom mirror, rubbing your cleanser in circular motions on your face. you hummed to yourself, with no particular song in mind. 

you were recalling the whole night in your head, a replay of your favorite moments, and how even the car ride back was fun. 

you wondered what gigi was doing right now, if she was feeling the same sense of happiness.

before you could dwell on that any longer, a soft knock against your bathroom door cut through your thoughts. you splashed water on your face and washed away your face wash.

“come in!”

the door opened softly, revealing grayson on the other side without his suit jacket on, white sleeves rolled up to his forearms for more comfort. 

“are you nearly done?” he asked softly, shoulders leaning against the door frame. not in a way to rush you, or with any sense of annoyance, but because he was genuinely getting bored without you there. 

“almost,” you said as you squeezed out your serum into your hands. 

then you realised you were only on the first step of your routine, ”actually…” you mumbled as you looked at your hands, “this might take a while.” 

when you brought your eyes back up to his, he was looking at you in the strangest way, in a way you’d never seen him look at you before, and let out a breath of a chuckle.

grayson was still standing oddly in the doorframe, though you doubt odd was the right word, you said. “you can um, come in, if you want.”

he walked in, the door shutting softly behind him as he stood next to you behind the sink. 

he picked up the serum you had just put down, and began to read the ingredients on the back of your skincare as you finished up. he offered a slight hum of approval. 

that must’ve been a good sign you weren’t burning your skin off.

grayson turned an unlabeled green tube to you. “what’s this?” 

you hummed, taking your eyes to the product. “oh, that’s a face mask. the label somehow just rubbed off.” you answered half-paying attention.

you took your eyes back to the mirror, before they quickly snapped back 

“wait.” you piped up. “i have an ideaaaa.”

grayson raised a brow as you turned around, “i’ve learned to not trust your ideas.” he said, almost sighing. “what is it?”

you pulled out a pink fluffy headband, one that had bunny ears. “here, wear this.”

“i am not wearing that.”

2 minutes later, grayson davenport hawthorne was wearing a pink headband, with pink eye patches underneath his stormy eyes, and a green face mask on. 

he insisted on applying it himself. 

he also insisted on washing it off just as quick as he had applied it. 

and of course, you were laughing the entire time. he grumbled something under his breath about, “the things i do for you.” 

—

now, you and grayson sat on your couch, opposite ends, a meter ish or so apart. you were halfway through the first movie of the ‘before’ trilogy. there were no lights in your living room apart from the lit candles and the large tv with the movie playing, the room a mix of golden and blue light.

you yawned, reaching for your cold water bottle to help you stay awake. 

the icy water you drank didn’t help though, and you could feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier. 

why were they so goddamn heavy?

maybe it was the sleep talking, but grayson hawthorne’s arms looked extra inviting tonight. 

you shook lightly your head at the thought. you felt grayson look at you in confusion from the corner of your eye, if you were him, you’d be thinking, “is this girl schizophrenic… why is she shaking her head?”. 

you wanted to laugh out loud at that thought, but then you’d look downright mental. you placed you water bottle back on the table infront of you.

you propped your elbow on the armrest of the sofa, your head resting in your hands.

as the two main characters in the movie talked on a train, your eyelids were begging to close. your head shot up slightly every time you’d reopen them, willing yourself to stay awake. 

you took your arm off the armrest and sat with your knees on the sofa, curling up slightly to the other side.

i’m just going to my eyes for a 5 minutes, you told yourself, i’m not even tired.

you stayed true to your word, and your eyes opened 5 minutes later.

only, you weren’t resting on your hand anymore— you were on grayson’s chest, and one of his arms were around you.

you hummed in confusion, using all your energy to get yourself off of grayson’s chest. you rubbed your eyes as you sat up, elbows rested on your knees and face in your hands as you leaned slightly forward.

you took your eyes to the tv in your confused, sleepy state and realised something: the credits were rolling. 

maybe it wasn’t just 5 minutes.

grayson watched you in amusement - only really seeing you from the side and back, “we can turn off the movie, if you’d like. it’s getting late.”

“oh, no. it’s okay,” you attempted to stifle a yawn, but you failed.

“i’m sorry,” you turned your head to look at him, “your movie choice wasn’t boring, i swear,” you giggled, your voice sleepy as you nearly zoned out and fell asleep again. 

“i’m just so exhausted.” you said finally, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “today was so much fun.”

“it was alright, wasn’t it?” he replied, and you saw the corner of his lips turn up a little. 

you blinked at him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “grayson hawthorne having fun and admitting it,” you chuckled slightly, “who would’ve thought i’d live to see the day?” you nudged him with your elbow, and a smile finally split on his face. 

“you know i always enjoy myself with you, i don’t need to say it.”

“i know,” you said softly as you turned to look at him, the dim candlelight making his eyes look warmer than ever. “it’s still nice to hear, though.” 

“then i’ll tell you more often.” 

your heart did a somersault. “okay, deal.” you hadn’t noticed, but he had sat up fully now — closer to you, and you felt yourself wanting the space between you to be even less. “i tell you my amazing jokes, and you tell me how amazing i am to be around.” 

his eyes traveled your face, “i’d tell you regardless.” he said.”you’re an extraordinary person with a mind like no other. i often find myself fascinated by you.” god, only grayson hawthorne could give compliments that made you feel like you and him were the only people existing. 

“you really think so?” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“i know so,” he murmured quietly, “and i know you.” at this point, every nerve in your body was screaming for you to break those few inches between you and just kiss the boy already. 

you didn’t, though. 

it looked like grayson was facing the same internal dilemma as you, because his eyes were on your lips far too much for it to just be friendly. he leaned in slightly, and you felt your own breath hitch.

you whispered against his lips, “what are we doing?”

“we can stop,” he said. “we should stop.”

he didnt sound like he wanted to stop.

in fact, he didn’t even look like it, with the way his eyes were so trained in your lips.

you hesitated for a second. all the times you’d spent with grayson played on a loop in your mind, like all the time waiting, not understanding your feelings, and loving him silently were suddenly so worth it. 

“i’ve never been too good at should.”

you noticed his lips twitch upwards at your words, just before he finally pressed them to yours. the way his breath hitched did not go unnoticed. 

the kiss was soft and tentative as you finally crossed the border you’d been tiptoeing around for the past few years.

one of his hands moved to hold your jaw, the other steady on your waist. they felt cold yet somehow comforting.

maybe this was what you needed.

he began to lean forward into the kiss, his weight shifting until you feel him pressing down slightly. you let yourself fall back and feel the couch arm against your shoulders as he kept leaning, his arms bracing on either side of you. 

he was close, closer than before, closer than ever with his chest almost brushing yours, but for some reason, neither of you stopped.

until you remembered: oh, right. oxygen.

when you pulled back you were breathing heavily, both of you were. 

your whole body felt like it was on fire,

you never understood what people meant by their face feeling hot or knowing that they were blushing, but now you got it.

you just hoped you didn’t look as flushed as you felt.

your hands quickly moved up to his face, pulling him down into another kiss again.

it was like, now that you knew how it felt, you had to keep having it.

you were addicted to grayson hawthorne’s lips. 

and by the looks of it, he was addicted to you too. 

this time, when he pulled back, you propped yourself up on your elbows and fully let yourself breathe.

“was that—“ grayson hesitated, “are you alright?”

here you had grayson davenport hawthorne, sitting right next to you on your couch, with ever so slightly messy hair and flushed lips, asking you if you were alright. 

“yeah,” you ran a hand through your hair as you exhaled, “yeah, i’m alright.” 

grayson’s smile almost matched yours after you said that,  “i’m glad,” he said.

“are we…” you trailed off, not knowing exactly what to ask. especially with grayson’s gaze so focused on you— your mind felt blurry.

“are we going to finish the movie?” you managed to come up with; the next installment of the trilogy you had started to watch with him already began to play.

“you’re tired,” he answered, grey eyes cutting through yours, but they still felt soft somehow. “you should sleep, get some rest.” 

“yeah,” you nodded, mind hazy, barely hanging onto his words. you really were tired.

“you couldn’t possibly understand how long i’ve wanted to do that.” he let the words fall off his lips, eyes trailing down to your mouth before he looked all around your face.

“do what?” you knew exactly what.

his eyes focused on yours. “kiss you.”

your cheeks reddened, but you couldn’t not tease him. 

“i mean, how long, exactly? a timeframe would be nice, maybe, or even like a rough estimate—“ 

you cut yourself off at the sound of his low chuckle as he shook his head, as he ran his hand over his mouth.

you felt like you could skip through a million fields, jump up and down for days, and at this rate, never stop smiling. you were so keenly aware of your heartbeat, of every nerve ending buzzing with energy. 

“sorry, i just…” you cut yourself off with a laugh, you seemed to be finding eveyrthing funny. you weren’t sure if that was the lovesick haze in your mind or the lack of sleep making you delirious.

“i’ve also, um. you know…” talking about your feelings was never easy for you, even when it was with someone you knew better than anyone. “wanted to— i mean, i’ve liked you.” 

he slightly narrowed his eyes jokingly, “you don’t seem that assured of yourself there.” he deadpanned, making you push away his shoulder playfully.

“stop,” you mumbled, hiding your face with your hands for a second. “you know better than anyone i can’t say talk about my feelings like that without wanting to throw up.” 

his eyes softened even further, even though you were taking a humorous tone and chuckled at the end. “i know.”

the corners of your lips turned up slightly, for no real reason other than how happy you felt, “

“i should leave, it’s late. gigi will be coming home soon.”

“yeah,” you nodded as you ran a hand through your hair, “you probably should.” 

“i wouldn’t like to,” he specified, “but, it’s more sensible.” 

“yeah. sensible.” you nodded once again, “sensible is good, you’re right. it’s really late.” you laughed for no reason, not even too sure if the words that were spilling out made any sense.

you said goodbye at the door once again, and this time, you felt brave enough to his kiss his cheek goodbye. the action took a lot of courage, even though he had practically been on top of you 30 minutes prior. 

it was actually time for you to go to bed now, and you rolled over relentlessly. you couldn’t count how many times you replayed the moment over and over in your head. 

you brought a hand to your mouth as you fought a smile.

grayson, the boy you’d known since forever. his lips, yours. 

seriously, what was your life? 

part 5

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams

@hermesenthusiast

[hencheri]

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. toxic ex bf!ten x fem!reader

| warnings. ten is super manipulative, he's mean too, mention of harassment, toxic relationship, dubcon-ish.

| wc. 1.6k

your phone is ringing again. the melody echoes in the room, breaking the heavy silence that was once installed in your kitchen. your phone vibrates on the marble counter as you look down at it, the familiar number showing up on the screen. 

you gulp down, letting it ring until the call eventually ends. you get notified of a new message on your voicemail and you reluctantly pick up your phone. 

you have 10 missed calls and 4 messages on your voicemail from the same exact number.

it’s been like this every night since your breakup with your ex-boyfriend, ten. it was 6 months ago, but he hasn’t accepted the fact you’re not together anymore. at least that’s what you think with what his messages say.

he wasn’t as insistent in the beginning, he was playing the sad and apologetic boyfriend card, telling you how much he regrets the way he was treating you and that he wishes for a second chance. you didn’t give him one, of course.

well, not exactly. 

you used to answer his calls and entertain the idea of forgiving him. you were wrong for that, you now realize, but ten has always been so convincing, and with how soft-spoken he is, everything he said seemed trustworthy. 

after letting him in your apartment a couple of times, after letting him touch you and kiss you, but as the night always ended horribly with tears in your eyes and insults thrown at you, you gave up and never answered his calls again. you were done with him — officially. 

you decide to listen to his most recent message, putting your phone to your ear. you start to anxiously bite down on your bottom lip, pacing around in your kitchen.

“answer me, please. i’m outside, just let me in. we have to talk, baby, you know we have to…” 

you rush to the window in your living room, pulling the curtains aside to look down where ten should be if he was really outside, but he’s not. did someone let him in?

when it’s the end of his message you click on another one, bringing your phone to your ear. 

“i’m doing the most for you, you know? and that’s how you treat me? ignoring my calls, throwing my letters in the trash, making me wait here little an idiot…” you listen to his rambles, walking to your front door. “remember those flowers you found outside your door? they weren’t from that little brat… what’s his name again?” he pauses for a short moment. “yeah, yangyang… they weren’t from him, baby. it was my gift.”

“nobody will do what i do for you. you know why? ‘cause you’re just a seeking attention whore, and men don’t like that. you should know by now that i’m the only one generous enough to put up with you.”

you hear the beep that signals the end of the message and you look at your phone, defeated, eyes welling up in tears. he knows where to hit. he knows where it hurts. 

you unlock your front door and step outside, going to check around for ten. you lean over the railing, glancing down, but he isn’t there either. maybe he left and didn’t get in the building like you thought?

“so, you finally decided to show up?” 

you turn around, startled by ten. you breathe out, calming yourself down, even though your heart races faster. 

his black hair hides his forehead, some wild strands peeking out in every direction. his white shirt is also unbuttoned all the way down, showing his tank-top of the same colour underneath. 

“ten…” you call his name, unsure of what he’s going to do — of what he’s planned to do. 

he can see the clear tears in your eyes, looking oh so desperate. he still has you trapped in his weebs, he knows it. you’re still affected by his words, by what he thinks of you. you’re so weak, but that’s why he likes you. you’re so easy to manipulate.

“let’s get inside, yeah?” he proposes, but you know you don’t have a say in it. 

you let him in after you, closing the door and looking at him anxiously. ten checks out your apartment, noting that it hasn’t changed since the last time he was here. everything is the same, it’s like you’re unconsciously afraid of change. 

you stand there, tears threatening to fall, but you wipe them off quickly before ten can say anything about it. you take a huge breath, “did you mean it?” you ask, and he turns around, facing you. “your message,” you specify, “or was it… i don’t know…” a way to hurt me. 

he steps closer to you, passing a hand through his dark hair, and it’s like reviving all those moments you had with ten as your boyfriend, all the good and bad ones. he looks down at you, staring into your eyes, “do you really want to know what i think? is that what you want, baby?”

he gets closer and closer, his face inches away from yours. he only has to lean in a little bit and he’d be able to kiss your lips. 

you think about his words and shake your head as a no, gaze shifting between his eyes and pink lips. what does it mean if he says no? and what if he says yes? it’s simpler if you don’t know. 

you turn your head to the side, cowering in front of your ex-boyfriend’s stare. it’s embarrassing how easily he can trick you. you’re so gullible, it’s pathetic.

he takes a hold of your chin and brings your face back toward him, forcing you to look at him. “tell me one thing, love,” ten begins, his breath fanning across your face and making your eyes flutter, “do you love him?” he asks and his question catches you off guard. “do you love him the same way you did for me?”

you frown, guessing where this is going. he’s trying to make you doubt… and it’s working. you could never love someone as much as you did for ten. as much as you do…

you’re unable to speak, words caught in your throat, but he already knows the answer; of course you don’t. 

“see, that’s what i think… you shouldn’t play with someone’s heart when yours isn’t even available,” he softly says, articulating each word perfectly. “that’s dishonest, baby.”

“you wouldn’t hurt a poor guy like yangyang who thinks he has a chance with you, right? you wouldn’t want that…” he continues, adding more salt to the open wound. 

ten is right. you can’t be with someone else when you’re still not over your ex-boyfriend. but you want to be over him, you wish you could turn the page, finally. you just can’t, though. not when ten is always there. he’ll never leave you.

he’s the only one that could ever love you, anyway.

ten kisses you softly, but he bites into your bottom lip, as if emphasizing on the fact that his love will always come with pain and misery. you accept it nonetheless, and he leans in, making you arch your back as his lips follow yours. 

he’s always chased you, and you’ve always played hard to get, even though your heart is the most accessible thing. nothing hiding it, just out on the outside for ten to take and he of course did it gladly. 

it’s like that even now, pushing on his chest, but he tightens his hold, keeping you secured against him. he brings you away as his mouth explores yours until you feel the counter of the kitchen island hitting you in the lower back, caging you there. 

ten puts his hands on your shoulders and lowers you down to your knees, his fingers finding their spot in your hair. “i know you want it, baby. just take it,” he purrs, pulling your face into his growing bulge as your eyes stare up at him through your eyelashes. 

your mind is fuzzy, you don’t know what to think anymore, but your desires will always have the best out of you. you just can’t help it. you blink a few times, getting the water out of your eyes while reaching out for his zipper. 

you tug down his jeans and boxers, and ten guides your mouth to his erection with a hand behind your head. you oblige, feeling the familiar taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. you gently suck on his tip, going slowly until he pushes your head down on him, taking the entirety of his length inside your mouth. 

“f-fuck,” he moans and grips the side of the counter, your hair still wrapped around his fist. his bangs fall in front of his eyes as he titls down his head and you’re a little relieved to not feel his intense gaze on you anymore. “good girl, that’s it… take all of it.”

despite blinking the tears out of your eyes, they’re fast to come back as you struggle to breathe, ten keeping your head steady in place. he eventually pulls out and you gasp out for air, but he’s rather focused on your glossy lips, a strand of spit connecting them to his tip. 

“so, so pretty. didn’t you miss it, baby? didn’t you miss my cock in your pretty little throat?” he asks in his sultry voice, tempting you to answer yes to everything he says. 

you bob your head and he smiles, something you haven’t seen in a while that inevitably makes your heart flutter.

[snazzynacho]

— Emperor of Time

Chapter 1/?: Vivamus, Moriendum Est / Let Us Live, For We Must Die

Emperor Geta x female oc

Read on ao3. Masterlist. Words: 1.7k. Part 2

Summary: Emperor Publius Septimius Geta somehow time travels to the future. With no way home and no idea how he ended up in a random woman’s living room in—he later works out to be—modern-day Britannia, he is forced to adjust as well as he can. And, maybe the woman talking a funny-sounding-gibberish-language to him, might not be all that bad…The gods have plucked him from his wealthy imperial-born path and plunged him deep into the unknown—a time of the modern world. Will he accept this fate or brutally shove it back into their mocking faces?

Tags/warnings: Gladiator 2 spoilers. She/her pronouns used, time travel, red string of fate, fluff, angst, humour, eventual romance, possible smut, female reader, atheist reader, mental breakdown, suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced past child abuse/abusive father, Christianity/Catholicism hate, British English lessons, Latin lessons, references to ancient Roman religion, mythology and lore. (I am no expert so sorry for Latin language/historical inaccuracies.) No beta we die like Geta.

Geta has always wondered what the gods have planned for him.

Of course, he knows his birth rite is being emperor, albeit grudgingly a Co-emperor, with his mad brother. Yet, he still enjoys the power and wealth that comes with being emperor.

Still, his mind also wonders to the inevitable…his death. How have the gods panned out his life? When will he die? Much to his ego, he always assumed it would be when he is old and has lived a full life as a rich emperor, with a grandiose funeral and many people mourning—the entirety of Rome, he hopes.

But, he never foresees this…

One moment Geta is in the palace and the next he is…nowhere?

His vision goes black. It feels like he’s floating in an endless abyss. It reminds him of when he and his brother Caracalla would go swimming as children. He always loved how freeing it felt to lie flat on his back, letting the ocean guide him away from any troubles that were tormenting him.

But in this case, in this pitch black atmosphere, he feels slightly uneasy. He cannot see a thing. He only senses his heart thumping in his chest and hears his breathing rapidly increase by the second.

His mind takes a moment to comprehend what is happening and soon is full with endless questions.

What is this place?

This is no—dare he says it—Elysium.

Unless, there is no such thing as—

He stops himself. He is in no mood to denounce his religion now.

Geta inhales a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He tries to take a step forward, but he finds his leg is stiff. He slowly realises his limbs feel as though they weigh a ton.

He attempts to move again. He uses all his strength, groaning at the strain on his body to move. Slowly, he starts to move, gliding through the unknown.

A flicker of light emits in the distance. An exit perhaps? His legs pick up speed, running to, what he hopes to be, safety. As Geta reaches closer to the light, he makes out a field of wheat under a blanket of blue sky—the Elysian fields.

He cannot help but grin. A feeling of warmth and protection grows in his body at the familiarity of it. He will be safe there, even if it means he has died.

His outstretched hand reaches the doorway to Elysium, but just as his finger grazes it, it vanishes before his eyes, plunging him into darkness again. He gasps. Dread fills his body.

No, no, no, no.

Is this all a trick?

Geta grows cold again. His head lowers in shame and he feels tears prick his eyes.

Before he can let them fall, he sees two glowing hands reach out and hold his. He looks up, blinking away the tears so he can clear his blurry vision. Is he seeing what he thinks he is seeing?

The glowing hands belong to a woman, her hair flows all around her as if she is standing in a gentle summer breeze. He cannot make out what colour her hair or robe is, or what shade her skin is.

She glows a white almost blinding light, with a thin orange fire outlining her figure—similar to a flickering candlelight.

Her face is still blurry, with no features to be seen. He blinks again, thinking it is a few tears being stubborn. But he still cannot make out her face.

He does not feel scared though. This great presence is all too calming. He wants to speak, to ask who she is, but he opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He does not know what to say exactly.

“You are not ready yet, my child,” her soothing voice lands in his mind.

His mouth is dry. He goes to speak again, but the same problem arises. She lets go of his hands, cradling his cheeks. Her hands are warm and comforting. He closes his eyes, unable to resist leaning into her touch further. Finally, she places a kiss on his forehead.

Abruptly, she pushes him away gently.

Geta’s body glides backwards fast. Her shining figure becomes smaller and smaller, shrinking in the distance. With his limited information about what is happening, he can only assume this means he's going back home, to the palace in Rome. How will he explain this to anyone?

Suddenly, the atmosphere around him rips. It tears like a piece of paper, revealing a blinding white vision, his eyes burning. His arms wrap around his head, covering his eyes. His eardrums pound as the environment shakes as though he is in the middle of an earthquake and rumbles with incredible volume.

He cowers and moves his arms, trying to also cover his ears from the noise, but it's no use. The deafening sound, unsteady oscillation, rumbling, and, blinding light—it's excruciating.

Geta screams in pain and fear, praying that it ends. The blinding white grows and grows until it swallows him up.

And then, it all goes still…silent.

He opens his eyes, blinking. His ears ring loudly, almost as deafening as the rumbling. He's lying flat on the ground, but not outside. He's inside. But it does not look like a building he recognises.

He rises and is immediately hit with a pounding in his head. His legs wobble but he ably regains stability. He looks around the room. The interior design, from the furniture down to the walls and layout, is completely alien to him.

By the gods, where is he?

He stands there for gods knows how long, contemplating his life and purpose when a presence enters the room, rubbing his temple with a trembling hand.

He turns, meeting his gaze with a young woman. However, she is dressed in the most bizarre clothing—thick blue fabric wrapped tightly around her legs and held together around her waist with a shiny metallic object which looks a bit like a silver coin to him. On her top half, she wears a cloth, loose and light pink with short sleeves, and stitching around the hem. And the most bizarre of all, a contraption that looks like two big round pieces of glass in front of her eyes, that rests on her nose and has two arms reaching behind her ears. It looks like a second pair of eyes, like bug eyes.

They stare at each other in shock for a few long seconds until the woman lets out an ear-piercingly loud scream.

Geta covers his ears quickly, clutching the sides of his head. He glowers from the ringing in his ears and the pounding head he already feels added onto this newfound pain from her screaming.

The scream finally stops but she still looks petrified, as does Geta, probably. He watches her eyes dart frantically around the room, landing on the broom resting against the wall. Her hands reach for it, dropping a small rectangular device from her hand in the action. Geta wants to inspect whatever contraption it is—if he were in a different circumstance, that is. Right now, he believes the best thing to do is to stand completely and utterly still, like a statue. He's afraid of this new environment.

Why have I been sent here?

She jabs the broom close to his torso, like she is wielding a spear. He notes that she is clearly not a gladiatrix, since her angle is off. And her feeble arms are too weak for her to even be considered one. He concludes that she is a very poor fighter.

Still, he looks utterly shocked at her blasphemy. Does she know he is an emperor? Purposefully trying to inflict harm or kill a god-emperor calls for the punishment of death!

She shoos him, continuing to jab the broom in his general direction, but never actually hitting him.

Geta’s eyes snap down at the broom which, from her jabbing motion, has blown dust into his face and, most importantly, his luxurious robes. He coughs, flapping his hands to rid the dust cloud from his face. Once cleared, he tries to brush the dust particles from his robes. A scowl forms on his face. He shouts at her in Latin, his language, but she has no idea what he is saying.

She then yells at him in her language, her frustration evidently reaching the surface. To which he grimaces at her foreign words. A foreigner committing sacrilege against her emperor? How unsurprising, he thinks to himself.

She seems to growl out of exasperation, letting go of the broom. The wooden handle clackers against the hardwood floor.

Suddenly, a loud unrecognisable noise from outside resounds around the room, having flown in through the open window.

His head snaps to the direction of the noise, alert.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her outstretched arm, seemingly trying to stop him, but he's already running to the window. He leans over, holding onto the window sill for leverage, gazing out into the surrounding view—detailing roads, buildings, and other establishments. It is nothing like he has ever seen before.

The noise sounds like it should belong to some sort of animal or beast, but he sees nothing of the sort—only big chariots, all of different colours, which emit smoke and have four black wheels in each corner, driving on the road.

Throughout his life in Rome as Emperor, he held the privilege of being endowed with hundreds of gifts from all over and had been granted the opportunity to travel all around the world, to places where they had occupied new territories—and not once has he ever seen buildings or technology like this. It is mind-boggling.

Where is this place?

Behind him, she grabs her device from the floor where she dropped it. He feels her footsteps thud on the floor, stopping beside him. She stares at him, desperately wanting to know what is going on inside of his head, as does he.

It all becomes too much for Geta. He slowly steps back away from the window, yet his eyes forbid him to look away from the unfamiliar sight outside. His breath quickens as his boundless thoughts race through his dizzying head. He feels as though he is on a different planet, if that is possible. Maybe he can find a soothsayer to help him…anyone…anything.

His head feels weightless, the blood rushing far too rapidly. His stomach churns. His legs grow weak, his body is suddenly too heavy to uphold. His hearing starts to go, unhearing the noise of the funny chariots. His vision goes speckled, black spots appearing, before they swallow him whole. He does not remember falling backwards.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N: ummm hey yes I am publishing another Gladiator 2 fanfic when I haven't even finished the first one (yet) <3 It’s because I am way too impatient and need to share this with you all NOW. I hope you liked it! Comments are always lovely to read and reblogs are appreciated! :)

Tag list for this fanfic: (comment if you want to be added)

[sentientcave]

Masquerade

You've come to this masquerade ball to finally dispatch the man you've wanted dead for nearly ten years, but he's always ruining your plans, one way or another.

Contains: 2nd POV OC (sorry about all the blushing), werewolf MMC (sadly he doesn't do any fun werewolfy things he's just a guy with sharp teeth here), vague fantasy setting, murder attempts/reminiscence of murder attempts, a long and storied history only alluded to, what do you do when your bitter enemy turns out to be a silly little guy who just wants you to love him?, oral sex (w receiving), P in V sex, this spawned a whole ass novel and it's so so different but this lowkey holds up.

See end for Notes

~10k words - NSFW - 18+ MDNI

“My, don’t you look exquisite,” a voice purrs in your ear.

You freeze in place, glad that the mask hides the colour that springs to your cheeks. You feel like a naughty child caught with your hand in the cookie jar, an unwelcome guest at his masquerade. You thought you could escape notice, slip through the crowd of finely dressed nobles and plunge your knife into his chest at last. But he had managed to find you first. You weren’t ready. You hadn’t been to the garden to pick up your hidden cache of weapons, you had nothing but your silver hair-stick to dispatch him with.

His heavy hands land on your shoulders. “Don’t muss up your pretty hairstyle just yet, darling,” he whispers in your ear, his voice rasping like sandpaper. It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Or perhaps, after all these years, you’re simply predictable. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

You flinch at the cold press of his mask against your bare shoulder. You shouldn’t have disguised yourself as a guest. You feel defenceless, wrapped in silk and sheer chiffon, a neat little morsel delivered straight into the wolf’s jaws. He could shift in a second and shred you into little pieces, like he had threatened to do so many times before. You try to still your frightened, thumping heart, and pull away, turning to face him at last. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, because it’s worth a try at least, but he’s laughing before you can even finish, the smiling mouth of his gold wolf mask mocking you. His yellow eyes glitter from it’s depths, watching you.

“Oh darling, I would recognize you anywhere. I hoped you would be unable to resist my invitation.”

“Your invitation?”

“Yes, dearest. All of this was for you. I knew you could not resist the chance to get so close to me again.”

“To kill you,” you remind him hoarsely.

He chuckles and takes your hand. “Perhaps. For now, a dance, I should think. You haven’t danced all night.”

You dig in your heels, trying to resist his insistent pull, but he simply wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I don’t dance,” you tell him sharply. “Let go of me.”

“You’re a liar,” he replies, spinning you into place, one hand on your lower back, pinning you against his chest, and the other still clasped around your wrist, sliding up to engulf your hand. He simply tugs you along with him as he moves, sweeping you along to the music, holding you so unbearably close. He could lift you off your feet with ease, if he chose to, and you don’t have enough power to resist. His scent clouds your mind, cedar soap and clean, animal musk, one of many hints of the wolf that dog him even in his human shape. “You forget, I knew you in your past life. Or have you forgotten that I once sat in your father’s halls? I have seen you dance.”

It was so long ago now, another life, before he was only the wolf to you, and before you were the thorn in his paw, that you almost had forgotten. You had hardly given him a second thought at first, he was just another visiting knight, here one day and gone the next, handsome, but beyond the concerns of the girl you once were. “You failed to make an impression,” you tell him sharply, although it’s not true. You do remember his yellow eyes watching you one night, though he never asked you to to dance. He never spoke to you at all.

Not until after. He saved you, of course, from the bloodbath, because he had claimed you. He hadn’t so much as said a word to you before he burst into your bedchamber, monstrous jaws dripping with your fathers blood, yellow eyes wild. You still remembered beating him back with the fire-place’s iron poker, and jamming the tip into his chest before you ran for your life.

“I knew you were mine from the first,” he continues. He seems frighteningly aware of your thoughts, as if his own version of the memory is playing out behind his own eyes. “My lioness, avenging her wicked father with a poker. I still bear your mark, just above my heart.” He presses your entwined hands to his chest for a moment. “I’m certain you remember that, at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The only unfortunate part,” he says patiently. “Is that I did not take you as my mate that night.”

His words lance through you like lightning, burning everything in their path. Your knees nearly buckle, and if he were not holding you so securely, you would sink to the floor in a useless puddle of silk. How dare he make you weak, after everything he’s done to you? But anger gives you strength, reinforces your spine with steel, and you wrench away, glaring at him, wishing you could set him ablaze with your eyes.

The music falters. You look up, at the musicians gallery, then around the room. Everyone watches, pretending not to, jewelled masks concealing furtive eyes and whispered words. Your own mask feels insufficient, lightweight and flimsy under the wolf’s eyes when your eyes return to him. He takes your arm, his grip tight, but not bruising, and guides you out of the ballroom, into the cold night air. The dark gardens are just a little too far for you to jump down from the wide stone balcony, and there are no stairs leading down. If you jump, you’d probably break your leg, and then you’d be helpless.

“What do you think of our home?” he asks. “Have you snooped around yet, my darling? Planned all your exits and hidden away your weapons and armour? I made sure you’d have plenty of opportunity. I know how you love to prepare.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found them already.”

“I have been busy with other preparations,” he says mildly. “But I thought I smelled something of you in the corridor by the library.”

You flinch, only confirming that you had in fact been there, hiding your leather armour inside a large vase. “Preparations for what?”

“Your homecoming. The king has made it clear that it’s time to reign you in, or he will have someone else deal with you.” He pulls the mask off at last, setting the golden wolf on the balcony. Sweat glimmers at his temples, catching light from the ballroom behind them. He offers you a wry smile, his sharp white teeth flashing. “I’ve been too lenient with you.”

“Lenient?” you ask, incredulous. “I’ve been trying to kill you.”

“Those who attempt such things do not usually live long,” he reminds you. “I don’t often show mercy. I’ve allowed you to live free, in the hopes that you would come to me willingly, in time. Now it seems I can no longer afford to continue our little game. You will stay with me, or someone else will be sent to arrest or kill you.”

You press your palms into the smooth railing, wishing desperately that you could absorb the cool, dependable steadiness of stone through your skin. You look at him for a moment while he stares out over the dark gardens, his yellow eyes tracking movement you can’t see.

He’s always dressed in black, like a man in mourning, his black curls cropped short around his slightly pointed ears, beard neatly trimmed. He wears little jewellery for a man of his station, just the yellow-gold signet ring with it’s heavy, dark blue sapphire on his finger, and the gleam of jet buttons down the front of his tunic. You were more used to seeing him in his armour. The heavy black plate suits his brutality better than black-embroidered silk.

Silk offers no protection, no shield over his wicked black heart.

You pull the hairpin from your own neatly arranged curls and move fast, striking at his chest, but he catches your hand easily, his amber eyes meeting your fury with amusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks. “Stubborn creature.”

He plucks the pin from your hand and spins you around, pushing you into the railing with the oppressive weight of his presence. Your protests are weak and hardly noticed, but you fall silent when you feel the rough pads of his fingertips on the back of your neck. He gathers your hair up and pins it back in place, not as neatly as you had done earlier, but sufficiently.

“What are you doing?” you ask numbly.

He turns you around, still standing far too close. You stare forward, at the point where his skin meets the collar of his tunic, your eyes glued to his pulse. You wish for teeth as sharp as his own, so you could tear out his throat. His fingers curl under your chin, nudging your face up, forcing you to look him in the eye again. “Just returning your pin,” he says, smirking. “Why do you seem so flustered, darling?”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” you ask. Your hand lifts up to knock his away, but you touch him instead, fingertips ghosting over his knuckles. You know he’s capable of crushing you with hardly a thought. You’ve spent the last ten years learning all you could about him, hunting him down again and again and again with a single-minded determination. He likely could have killed you a thousand times over, if you’d been just a little less careful, or he a little less eager to capture you instead. He should have killed you. You don’t know how to stop anymore, you don’t know how to let go of the terrible anger that burns you up every time you think of him. You want him to suffer, to lose everything, to hurt the way he hurt you. “I’ll never stop.”

There is a flicker of sadness in his eyes, and it pings against your heart uncomfortably. “I never could,” he says, all traces of his smirking, superior air gone. His thumb strokes along your jaw. “I begged the king for your life. Your father may have been a traitor, but you were an innocent girl, and I do not enjoy killing innocents.”

“I’m not innocent anymore.”

“No, I suppose not. But you’ve committed no crimes that I cannot forgive.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” Your voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper. You want to shout, but his hand on your skin seems to leech all the power out of you.

“You have it regardless,” he whispers back, low and intimate as a lover. He touches his forehead to your mask, his eyes boring into yours, twin suns scorching everything in their path. “And someday I will earn yours.”

“Never,” you hiss. You return to your senses and push his hands away, shoving hard against his chest. “I hate you. I’ll always hate you.”

He tugs your mask off and tosses it to the side, tired of pretense. “If you hate me so much, why does your heart beat like that?”

“I’m afraid of you,” you snap.

He laughs harshly. “No you’re not. You’ve never been afraid of anything, my darling. It is one of the things I love best about you.” He leans in closer, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. You can feel his breath on your skin, the sharp smells of whiskey and mint setting your nerves on edge. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you, and you freeze, heart pounding, face turned towards him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But he withdraws instead, leaving you to face the consequence of unrealized want. His words prick at you like the point of a sword. Love. As if he would know the first thing about it. As if he knew you.

But he does know you, you realize with a start. He made you. His actions had set you on your path, and his choice not to kill you, each time that he should have, had created the determined, single-minded, furious woman that you had become. The carefree girl who you had been was long gone, dead the first time the wolf’s jaws closed around your throat. It burns you to think that he’d shown you mercy all along, that you had escaped capture or death by his leave, rather than by your own cunning and skill.

His eyes remain on your face, reading your thoughts like you’re a book laying open, waiting for him to happen by and discover all your secrets. “You have become worthy of me,” he continues ardently, pressing your hand to his chest again, anchoring it with both of his own. “I would have kept you like a bird in a cage if I’d taken you then. A pretty thing to amuse me and adorn my halls. But you are no trophy, my love. You will not survive in captivity. Even now, with the king’s sword hanging over your head, I will not force you to stay.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”

“I used to wonder the same thing. A cruel trick of fate, that my mate would hate me so fiercely.”

“You killed my father,” you hiss at him. You yank your hand away, desperately stoking the anger that has kept him at bay all these years. Each time he calls you mate and darling and love your resolve quakes, and you have no sword in your hand to make him regret it, like you usually would.

“He was a traitor. I had orders.”

“And what comfort will that be when your orders are to kill me?” you ask, sneering up at him. “What will you do when your orders are explicit and undeniable, and you are to kill me on sight?”

“I’ll never see you again.”

You aren’t sure what you expected, exactly, but it always trips you up when he speaks plainly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

“What do you think it means?” He hurls the words back at you, his anger lighting from your own. “It means I would pluck my own eyes out before I’d kill you. If the king ordered me to hunt you down I’d stay one step behind you until we reached the very ends of the earth. If he came outside this very moment and told me to snap your neck—” He shudders, shaking his head like a dog shakes off the rain, and when he looks back at you the anger is gone, hidden away again behind his steely resolve. “Loyalty only goes so far. He knows not to make an order I cannot follow. If he truly wants you dead, he’ll ask another.” He glances over his shoulder, keen yellow eyes fixing on a point somewhere inside. “I hope it does not come to even that.”

“But why?”

He lets go of your shoulders and turns around, stalks a few feet away, and turns again, pushing both of his hands through his hair in frustration. Because I love you!” he snarls. “You had me the first day you tried to run me through. Oh I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, beautiful thing that you are, but it was the first moment that you tried to cut my heart out that I knew there could be no other. You have no idea what it’s like, to love such a stubborn, foolish, bitch of a woman? Do you understand what it will do to me, when you leave? But I have never been able to keep you by force.”

“But you let me go,” you say numbly. “You said—”

“Let you go?” He laughs, striding back towards you. “Oh my love, you misunderstand. Just because I couldn’t kill you does not mean I didn’t try to keep you. But you have slipped every chain I’ve placed upon you. I’ve never pulled my punches. I would not disrespect you so.”

“You called it a game—”

He inclines his head towards you. “I did. Perhaps I should not have. But it was easier to think of it as a game. A test of my own worthiness. I admit, I have always looked forward to your attempts on my life. It’s good, I think, for a man to be beaten once in a while, to keep him sharp. Otherwise he forgets to be vigilant.” He sighs, touching the edge of an old, silvery scar on your shoulder, brushing a loose strand of your hair out of the way. “Besides. We’ve both made our marks upon the other.”

“I’ve gotten you more times than you have me,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously. “Two or three times I really thought I’d finished you off.”

“Are you so certain of that?”

You think about it. “Yes.”

“Care to make a wager, dearest? If you’ve left more marks on me than I on you, you may ask anything of me.”

You draw in a steady breath. “And if I lose?”

He grins. “Not so confident now, are you? I only want what is freely given, so you needn’t worry. You can name your own penalty.”

“How magnanimous.”

“I can be,” he says. “Now, shall we inspect each other here, or would you prefer somewhere more private?”

The thought of being alone with the wolf makes you shiver, but it’s not revulsion that you feel, it’s something far worse. The dark, cold balcony seems a world away from the golden ballroom with all it’s legions of beautiful, elegant guests, but it’s only panes of glass that separates you from them, hazy from condensation, opaque enough that you doubt anyone can see through them. It makes no material difference, in the end, but it’s winter, and the cold seeps through your dress easily, your skin only warm where he touches you. “Ah, yes,” you say nervously. “Perhaps somewhere more private.”

“And warmer,” he adds. “As stunning as you look, I do not believe you are dressed for the weather.”

As if on cue, a snowflake descends from the dark sky. You reach out your hand, catching it against your palm. A moment later, the sky is thick with snow, fat, fluffy flakes catching the light and turning the world white. You look back at him. He looks softer, somehow, with that little dusting of snow catching in his thick curls, melting flakes glittering like diamonds on his shoulders. For the first time, you’re struck by how young he looks. He was a man grown at your first meeting, and you had always thought of him as much older, but you know now that he couldn’t be ten years your senior. You suspect it’s much less than that.

It changes something in your perception of him. Softens him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, stepping in close again. Although you’ve hardly moved an inch since you came out to the balcony, he’s full of restless energy, moving away and back again like he’s tethered to you by some invisible string. He tilts his head to the side, his keen predator eyes practically glowing in the soft light.

You were glad your face was already flushed from the cold. “I was just thinking. You look so…” You trail off, thinking of the best way to phrase it.

“Handsome?” he suggested. “Strong? Irresistible?” He wiggles his thick black eyebrows, grinning wickedly, making you laugh despite yourself.

“I was going to say young, actually,” you say. “I was wondering what sort of boy you were.”

He holds a hand out to you. “I’m sure there’s a portrait somewhere, if you’re curious. Now come along, pet, I don’t want you catching a cold out here. I do have a wager to win.”

You hesitate. All the ancient, bitter anger and sadness wars with something new in your chest. It’s been so long since you wanted anything more than vengeance. Ages since the last time you felt deep, aching want for someone’s hands on you, if you ever even had. The obsession between you, at least, was mutual, and you had traded the excitement of romance for the thrill of the hunt, the clash of your sword against the wolf’s. His taunting sounded better than flowery poetry to your ears, and you could not help but seek him out every time the loneliness of your new life became too much to bear. He had been your focus, your centre, your reason for existing for so long that you can no longer deny what this is.

Love is not always kind. Between the two of you, it’s become a desperate, wretched thing, living on scraps of attention and hungry looks traded in battle.

His fingers close around yours, and you realize that you’ve reached out and taken the offered hand. You look at him, and he’s smiling in a way you haven’t seen before, half-hitched up on one side, almost shy.

He twines his fingers through yours and leads you back through the ballroom, slipping around the edges of the crowd like the wolf he is. No one seems to pay either of you any mind, although you feel curiously bare without your mask, as visible as a hare in a field to the eyes of a hawk. But your hunter is holding your hand, his thumb stroking over yours soothingly, like he can sense your unease.

Despite that small reassurance, you’re grateful when you step into a nearly empty corridor. A few well-dressed servants carrying trays bustle between the ballroom and the kitchens at the far end, but your wolf leads you the other way, through a few hallways littered with decorative items and portraits of long-dead nobles with eyes that seemed to follow you. You had been there only a few days earlier, but it looks different now. Perhaps it’s that you aren’t on constant guard for the wolf. He’s already here, holding your hand, pretending that he’s not watching you, just as you pretend to look at the portraits and statues and expensive looking vases you pass by, stealing glances at him only when you think you can get away with it.

The silence between you is almost comfortable, both of you too caught up in your individual tumble of thoughts to put anything to words. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. You wonder if he feels like he’s won already, but there’s none of his usual taunting or his infuriatingly handsome smirk. He looks serious, black brows lowered in a sort of pensiveness that you’ve never seen from him. Of course, you had only once gone so long in his company without attacking him physically, and you had been tied to a chair, at the time.

“Do you remember, a few years ago, the hunting lodge just above Lake Pym?” he asks.

You laugh. “I was just thinking about it. Why?”

He stops in front of a door and leans against the frame. “Do you think you’ll be able to go as long without trying to stab me this time around?”

“That depends on whether or not you tie me up again,” you quip back.

“Don’t say such things,” he warns you, opening the door and holding it open, letting go of your hand for the first time in ages. Your fingers feel cold without his touch. “You’ll give me ideas.”

“You’ve made far too many confessions tonight for me to believe that you didn’t already have ideas,” you tease. Funny how easily that comes, like you’re old friends and not enemies. A tidy little fire burns in the stone fireplace, with a cozy arrangement of rugs and furs laid out before it. A low table sits ready, carrying wine and glasses and a few plates of the sort of interesting finger-foods that they had been serving in the ballroom. Raising your eyebrows, you look back over your shoulder at him. He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the way in, which meant that it had been all prearranged.

He closes the door behind himself and leans against it, grinning sheepishly. “I live in hope.”

The room - his room- is neat, a big bed with four posts carved like small trees, green-velvet curtains tied back neatly, is the first sign that he might actually like colour. You imagined him always in sombre black and white, dark hair, white teeth, dressed like the reaper and often so employed. But perhaps he isn’t as stark as you’d always thought. His furniture is solid and well-made of warm-toned wood, and the bookshelves that flank the fireplace are stuffed with books, the odd space cleared out for knick-knacks and trophies. You had never considered that he might like to read. It isn’t something that has ever come up before.

The wolf sits down on the furs and nudges a black lump by the fire. The shape uncurls into the biggest, fattest, blackest cat you’ve ever seen and pads over to you, sniffing your skirts suspiciously.

“You have a cat?” you ask, because it seems unlike the picture you’ve built up of him over the years. Another thing you missed. You had been so focused on him as an enemy that you had hardly stopped to consider him as a man. You sit, and the cat drapes itself across your lap, purring already in anticipation of a good scratch.

“I don’t have a cat,” he corrects you loftily. “Smudge is the matriarch of a proud line of excellent mousers, and she is a valued member of the household. One cannot own a cat, I have learned. One co-habituates with cats.” He leans over and gives the cat a little scratch under the chin, his knuckles just barely brushing your knee as he withdraws. “She isn’t usually very friendly, but she must recognize a fellow assassin when she sees one.”

“I’m not much of an assassin, I’m afraid she’d be terribly disappointed in me. I’ve failed to kill my only target, and I have been at it for quite some time.” You give the cat a scratch behind the ears. “I’m sure her record is much more impressive.”

He frowns and looked at you in a funny way. “Have you never taken a life?”

“I’ve tried very hard to avoid it. You’re the only person I ever wanted dead, and I— I wanted to be better than you. I wanted my hands to stay clean, so I could beat you and still keep my sense of…” You look down at the purring black puddle of fur in your lap rather than at the wolf. “Oh I don’t know. Righteousness, I suppose.”

“So sweet that you wanted me to be your first,” he teases.

You know he means first kill, but you turn pink anyway, and there is no cold wind to blame for your rosy cheeks this time. There were many firsts that you had missed out on, in your bid for vengeance. “Perhaps I still do,” you snap, not thinking about the double meaning until after the words have left your mouth. You scramble to clarify. “My first kill— Not— Ugh.” He begins to laugh, and you cover your face with both hands, wishing the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. “Stop laughing!” Your voice is muffled by your hands, but there is no way that his keen wolf’s ears don’t hear you perfectly. “That’s not what I meant!”

He snorts. “I know, pet. It’s a bit late for that, I should think.”

You peek at him between your fingers, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Darling.” He leans over and gently takes hold of your wrists, prying your hands away. He is mercifully no longer laughing, but the look in his eyes only makes your face burn hotter. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never taken a lover.”

“There was never a good time,” you manage to squeak out. It was half true. There had been offers, and moments when you’d been sorely tempted to share someone’s bed for the night, but the few fumbling kisses you’d shared with young men had failed to thrill you the way that crossing swords with the wolf did.

He sits back with a groan. “You’re always throwing wrenches into my plans.”

“How on earth could that have anything to do with your plans?” you ask hotly.

“Darling, don’t be so naive. My plans were obviously to seduce you into my bed so I could out-perform every man who had ever touched you, forcing you to admit to yourself that we belong together. But I suppose that would have been too easy.”

“Too easy!”

“I would never imply that you would be easily seduced, my love, only that I am fairly confident that you would have a harder time denying what we are if I were to employ my considerable athletic ability with the task of making you come undone.” He smiles ruefully. “But seduction isn’t fair if you’re a virgin. I’ll have to win your heart the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” You stare at him, incredulous. “What, you’re going to court me?”

“I’m certainly going to try,” he says, turning toward the table to pour you a glass of wine. “It’s the long road, but you’ll find I’m usually more than willing to take the scenic route.”

“You’re insane,” you say weakly, accepting the offered glass. “You must be.”

“Must I be? Like you said, I’ve made far too many confessions tonight, you must know that I do not mean this as some passing fancy. I think it would be a waste to continue this bloody crusade of yours. For both of us. I confess my bias in the matter, as I rather enjoy living.” He shrugs, looking at you over the rim of his own glass. “Do you? Has your life been all you wished for, these past ten years? You’ve forgone comfort, education, friends, romance, children— Do you want none of those things?”

“Of course I do—”

“Then take them. Everything you want is yours if you stay.” He takes a sip of wine and winces, face screwing up like a child tasting something bitter. “Ugh, I hate wine.”

“I know. I was wondering if you were going to drink from that glass you’ve been waving around.”

“I just wanted to indicate that it wasn’t poisoned.” He sets the glass to the side, still grimacing. “Just in case you were wondering if I was still trying to trick you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He stretches out in front of the fire, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve laid down my arms. If you must end this once and for all to free yourself, so be it. But I do think my alternative is better.”

You set your wine to the side as well and reach back to pull the silver hair-stick from your curls. You consider it, for a moment, pressing the point into your fingertip, not quite hard enough to draw blood. He watches with an inscrutable expression, making no move to disarm you. The cat slips out of your lap and stretches, moving off into the shadows again, either unaware or uncaring of the danger to her house mate. Or perhaps she’s simply more aware than you that there is no longer any danger.

You reach out and place the make-shift weapon on the rug in front of him.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment. The wolf was rarely rendered speechless— getting him to shut up was usually the more difficult task. But he simply looks at you, like you’ve performed a miracle in front of his very eyes.

You slide one of the plates of food off the table and set it on the floor between you, something to hopefully distract his attention a little. You pick up one of the little triangle pastries and take a bite, catching crumbs with your other hand. You eat two more, realizing that you haven’t eaten in hours, and wait for him to break the silence.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, tucking both hands under his head. Firelight dances over his skin, burnishing his features like well-polished bronze. Although you have known him a long time, you’ve never studied him like this, while his eyes are closed and his usual grin is smoothed out into a peaceful smile. He looks noble, like a hero from the epics you used to read as a girl, more like you remembered from the days before everything changed.

“You’re staring,” he says without cracking an eye.

“How would you know? You haven’t opened your eyes in ages.”

“And how would you know that, if you haven’t been staring?”

He has you there. “Alright, fine. I suppose I was. I was just thinking about… about before.”

He opens his eyes. “How long? We do have a rather storied history, don’t we, love? I myself have been thinking of Lake Pym.”

You smirk. “I bet you have. I had a feeling you were rather enjoying yourself.”

“I was. It would have been more fun if you were a more willing guest, or if I at least didn’t have to keep you tied to a chair the whole time.”

“You wouldn’t even let me feed myself,” you lament, though you can’t help the traitorous note of amusement in your voice. “It was terribly humiliating.”

“Revisionist drivel!” he snarls playfully. “I did untie you so you could feed yourself, and you tried to stab me. You forced my hand.”

You blink. “I suppose I did.”

He leans closer. “I suspected you just wanted me to take care of you. You were too proud to ask me for what you wanted, so you forced the situation. And snapped at my fingers the whole time like an absolute menace.” He holds up his right hand and displays a white mark around the first knuckle of his thumb. “That’s one, by the way.”

“I only bit you because you stuck your finger in my mouth,” you reminded him.

“Ah, I suppose I did get a bit carried away, didn’t I? There was just this moment when I touched your lip…” He reaches out as if he wants to repeat the remembered gesture, perhaps hoping for a better outcome, but he hesitates, dropping his hand. You almost wish he hadn’t. “Are you still too proud, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He senses your weakness. The way the answer drips with doubt like blood from a wound. “Will you let me kiss you?” He moves closer, anticipating your answer before it leaves your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Yes.”

At long last, he closes the distance between you, hands cradling each side of your face. He just barely brushes his lips against yours, and holds you back when you try to chase him, his familiar wolfish smile lighting up his face. “Not so fast, my darling. You’ll have to ask nicely, if you want a proper kiss.” He unbuttons the cuff of his black shirt only a moment later, his eyes dropping away from yours for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves. “Two and three, respectively,” he says, pointing out two more scars along his forearms. They were both from similar situations. Two times that you had disarmed him and made him bleed for it. You reach out and touch the silvery marks, feeling the smooth gap in his arm hair and the fully repaired muscle underneath the flawed skin. “You’re a better swordsman than I,” he says, reaching up to unlace the top of his tunic. “I might have had the edge of experience, at the beginning, but you quickly caught up to me, didn’t you? It was a good thing you were so scrupled about killing people other than me, or I’d have lost far too many good men to your blade.”

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Is it working?” He pulls the tunic and shirt off in one go, baring his chest. There are a few scars there that you could not claim, and two that you can, although your eyes are drawn to one in particular. The ugly, uneven star right next to his heart, where you had run him through with the iron poker on the night of the wolf. “This one is my favourite,” he tells you, pressing one of your hands to the scar. “The first time you tried to kill me. Jon had to half-heal me himself, or I wouldn’t have made it to a proper healer in time. It’s partially why there’s such a scar. He’s always been terrible at the more subtle magics, but if you want something blown up, Jon’s your man.”

You laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Make sure you also note, in that treacherous little mind of yours, that he will not employ his considerable magical gift with the task of making me explode. He is still rather fond of me, even after all these years.”

“It is good, I think, to have a king that is so well-versed in the art of restraint,” you say mildly.

“Oh yes, I imagine it is.”

“So is it really just the five scars?” you ask. “That’s all?” Despite the truce the two of you had settled into, you felt strangely disappointed that your obsession with killing him over the last decade had resulted in only a handful of scars. It all felt like a waste. You try to console yourself with the knowledge that he heals more rapidly than most men. The scars you have left are despite that.

“There’s one more, on my thigh, but I imagine you probably don’t want me to take my pants off.”

You do want him to take his pants off. “Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you say instead. “I suppose you’ve won, anyway. I have a lot more than six scars from you.” You had expected that his life as a warrior would have marked him more significantly. You’re covered in scars, faded and fresh alike, and there is no getting around the fact that you feel like you’ve stitched yourself up so often that you look as worn down as your oldest, ugliest shirt.

The disappointment in his eyes is gone so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

“You’re just trying to get me out of my dress,” you say hotly.

“Obviously. You look very lovely in it, of course, but I have been hoping for the chance to peel it off of you.”

You shake your head. “I think you’ll be a bit disappointed.”

“Never. What would possibly deter me at this point, darling? If stabbing me through the heart didn’t erode my affections, what could?”

“Oh I don’t know,” you say thoughtfully. “I could have scales, or a tail—”

“I have a tail,” he reminds you. “And I’m quite positive that you’re human, so I’m not worried about scales. Or strange birth-marks or stretch-marks or scars, either, by the way.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, turning your back to him. “It would help if you could undo all these buttons for me,” you say, sweeping your hair in front of your shoulder. “There are so many of them.”

He jumps to his feet and scrambles to help. A few buttons plink to the floor, torn free in his haste. “I’ll have it fixed,” he says hastily. “And I’ll buy you new gowns. As many as you can stand.”

You glance over your shoulder, nervous laughter stilling on your tongue when you see the look in his eyes. You turn forward again, sliding your arms through the sleeves and shimmying the gown to he floor. He gives you a hand to steady yourself as you step free. “I— I don’t want— I won’t stay.”

He hums in response, gathering up the gown and laying it over the back of a chair.

“I won’t,” you repeat yourself, as if the words will sound convincing the second time. They don’t.

“I already told you, darling, I won’t make you stay. It’s up to you.”

He draws you back to your seats in front of the fire, and you offer him your arms. You’re riddled with fine scars, most of them faint, little nicks from his blade. His hands slide up to your shoulder and gently tug the capped sleeve of your chemise to the side, baring the imprint of his jaws. His thumb runs across the marks, his other hand landing on your knee.

“I wondered if I’d bitten you that night.” He moves closer, his tongue moving over his sharp canines as he sighs. His fingers trail down your arm as his touch drops away. “You never turned, so I wasn’t sure.”

“It doesn’t always take,” you say, using his shoulder to help you back up to your feet. “I think it depends on the moon. New moon, that night. If you were any other wolf you never would have shifted.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” He settles back on his heels, looking up at you. “I can’t say I’ve thought about why some bites take and some don’t. I’m not as observant as you, my love.”

Laughable, when his senses are many times greater than your own. It’s not his observations that are the problem, it’s the connecting cause and effect, thinking about consequence for more than a moment. He’s faced so few consequences in his life that it doesn’t come naturally to him. You, on the other hand, are a mess of consequence, action and reaction measured and weighed, failures poured over until you can see every mistake you’ve made, follow the tracks to how things could have been, if you’d done it all just a little differently.

You pull your skirt up so you can untie the ribbon that holds up your stocking, and he slides it down to your ankle. “This one’s only indirectly your fault,” you say, angling your leg so he can see the trail of pocked scars that wrap around your knee and up your thigh. “When I jumped down that ravine. Scraped myself up on the rocks.”

He tuts, hands reaching for these scars too. It’s just an excuse to touch you, certainly, but you make no move to stop him. You just hold your skirt up, giving him unfettered access to your skin. His amber eyes flick up to your face, and he leans forward, pressing his lips to your knee.

There’s no halting the soft “Oh” that falls from your lips, but he would have heard even the softest catch of breath. There’s no hiding from him, and it terrifies you, leaves you so unsteady.

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, his exhale warm against your skin. “You shouldn’t show me any more,” he tells you. “I find myself wanting to kiss every inch of skin you show me, and I worry that you won’t stop me if I try.”

You sink back to his level and pull your stocking back up, tying the ribbon around your thigh again. “Would that be so bad?”

He groans and lays back on the furs, hands neatly folded on his stomach. “I am trying to be a good man for you, darling. You deserve more than I can give in one night. I need at least a few weeks to make you fall hopelessly in love with me before I can do anything that would tempt me to take you to bed.”

You run your palm over his stomach, feeling the soft pelt of hair over his warm skin, letting your curiosity guide your fingertips. You feel the expansion and contraction of muscle as he breathes in and out, tucking one hand under his head so he can watch you more easily, his eyes barely open.

You have to admit, he is handsome, especially relaxed like this. Only a few short hours ago you would have found the idea of him kissing any part of you abhorrent, but now you find yourself similarly compelled. You take his hand and kiss his knuckles, the tips of his fingers, the palm of his hand.

“Come here, you little minx,” he growls, trying to pull you down on top of him. You pull back, and he lets go, still worried about pushing you when you’ve made so many overtures in such a short time.

You had expected him to hold on tightly, however, and overbalance, tipping over the other way with an inelegant little squeak. He laughs as he sits up, and you do too as he helps you back upright. He lays back again, and there’s no resistance when he takes you with him this time. He tucks you into his side, and you look down at him, chin propped on your hand.

“I rescind my earlier statement,” he says.

“Which one?”

“You don’t have to ask nicely for a kiss, darling. I worry that you’re too prideful to admit that you might like one, but if you can steal one whenever the mood strikes you, I might be lucky enough to receive a few impulsive ones that your good sense isn’t fast enough to stop.”

You huff. “Is this your way of asking for another?”

“It’s my way of asking for as many as you might want to give me,” he says. “There is, of course, a standing offer of anything you might like that is within my power to supply. I think it prudent to remind you.”

He’s a ridiculous kind of man. You’d always thought his tendency toward verbosity was just him grandstanding, but now you see it for what it really is. He wants to be understood by you so desperately that each sentence becomes overwrought, less clear for his efforts to imbue each word with meaning. Your own tendency toward blunt, inelegant language is an almost laughable counter. You say little, and hide everything you can, and he reads you plainly. He speaks like a poet, puts everything out in the open, and you misunderstand him on purpose.

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t see this for what it is a long time ago. If you were not so determined to make an enemy of him, perhaps you would have noticed the softness in his eyes, the way he looks at you as though you’re the sunrise and set, like you’re the moon and all the stars in the sky.

You kiss him, before he can open his mouth to speak again. There’s nothing lacklustre about the way your lips slide over his, the way your breath mingles, the way he makes little noises of satisfaction, unable to be quiet even with his tongue flicking over your top lip, encouraging you to open up for him. Angling your head to keep your noses from smushing together, you oblige, letting him lick into your mouth, his arms circling you, holding you tight against his body.

You can't put a name to the feeling that sparks between you, but it's the thing that's been missing from every kiss you've had before.

The heat, the need of it all burns away all that remains of your carefully maintained resolve. He loves you, fool that he is, and you're not sure you could survive without him now. Is that what love is? To mourn even the thought of their absence from you, to cling tightly and never let go? To sink into each other until you're one, two halves of the same whole?

He kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen from the tug of his sharp teeth, jaw curiously sore from moving in a new way. You pull back first, braced on one arm as you look down on him. He's beautiful, more than human, wild-eyed and fey, but solid and warm beneath you in a way only a man could be. His imperfections make him dearer to you, not just the marks you've drawn on his skin, but the gap between his two front teeth, the way one brow arches a little more than the other, giving him that permanently skeptical look that had always made you feel he was making fun of you. The crooked smile, the notch in one ear.

You know his face more intimately than your own, but you still want to look at him, especially through this new lens.

“I don’t think I want to wait,” you admit. You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you?

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I don’t see what difference it makes, really.”

“It makes a great deal of difference. I’ve taken enough from you, I don’t want you to regret it.” He gazes up at you, tracing along your jaw with careful touch.

Your heart races rabbit-quick in your chest, and although you're the one looking down at him, you feel pinned in place by the wolf's eyes alone. "Then make sure I don't," you say softly. "I can even promise not to make another attempt on your life until the morning."

"Darling…"

"Please. I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow, but tonight I think I want your hands on me."

"You think?" His fingers catch around the back of your neck, as though he's waiting for some cue before he pulls you back into his arms.

“I know.”

He pulls you down for another kiss, rolling the two of you so his big body stretches over yours, your underskirts bunching up as he slots his thick thigh between yours, pressing against your core. He holds most of his weight off of you, but you’re still trapped beneath him. For the first time in a long while, there is no panic, no desire to fight furiously for freedom. You feel quite content where you are, especially when his thigh flexes, rubbing against you firmly, sending a shower of sparks through your belly. You gasp against his mouth, your hands skimming down his sides gingerly. When he does it again, you dig your fingers into the muscle of his back reflexively, murmuring apologies as his lips leave yours and slide down your bared throat.

“Don’t,” he growls against your pulse, dragging his tongue roughly over your skin. “Don’t apologize. You won’t hurt me.”

His teeth graze the slope of your shoulder, finding the older scar from his lupine jaws. You let out a shuddering gasp when he bites down lightly, not even hard enough to leave a mark. There’s a part of you that wants him to leave a mark, a bruise if not something more permanent, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to convince him out of gentleness tonight.

He kisses down your chest, grinning up at you when he reaches the top edge of your corset. “You are still wearing far too much clothing, my love. Come here.” He stands in a smooth movement, and you’re untethered without the weight of his body against yours, but only for a moment. He helps you to your feet and leads you to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pulling you between his knees, turning you so he can loosen the laces of your corset.

You shed the garment as soon as you’re able, as well as the extra petticoats. Your chemise is thin, loose material, obscuring little, but you leave it on while you sit beside the wolf, toeing your heeled slippers off and nudging them under the bed and out of the way. Hands folded, you wait, heart beating like a drum. You feel so strange, almost outside your own body, watching him unlace his boots and tug them off impatiently.

He stands to strip off his trousers, and you quickly avert your gaze, looking down at your hands rather than see him in his fully undressed state. You have a rough idea of what you’d find, you’ve been in the public baths more than a few times, and even doing your best to be respectful, it’s hard not to see something. But seeing something in a setting where everyone is minding their own business is a lot different than seeing something up close, especially when you might be expected to do more than just look.

“We don’t have to do this, love,” he says, kneeling in front of you, clasping his hands around yours. Your eyes fly back up, landing on his face. His chuckle makes your cheeks burn. “If you’re nervous—”

“No,” you say quickly. “I want to. I’m just— I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that darling. It’s your first time, I should think the responsibility rests on my shoulders. All you have to do is tell me when you like something and when you don’t.” He leans forward, forcing your thighs apart to accommodate the bulk of him, and kisses you, all sweetness. “And if you want to stop, we stop. Anything more than that can wait at least until the second or third time.”

It sounds so simple, put like that.

“Besides,” he adds, giving you a wicked grin as his hands move to your hips, the movement rucking your chemise up further on your thighs. “You’ve always been a quick study.”

Well, he’s right about that. His lips find your throat again, pressing languid kisses down your chest until he reaches the edge of your chemise. His eyes flick upwards, seeking permission before he goes further. You untie the simple knot with one hand, the other petting through his soft curls.

He noses aside the thin fabric to find your nipple, latching on with a contented hum. The act sends tremors down into your core, intensifying as his tongue flicks across. You pull in a shuddering breath, and your exhale becomes a whimper when his teeth nip at you, his other hand coming up to grope at your other breast, his touch warm and appreciative before his grip slides down to your hips and he tugs you to the edge of the mattress.

He pulls away from your breast and kisses you properly again. “Do you want more?” he asks. “Can I taste your pretty cunt, darling?”

The desire in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, and he sits back on his heels and kisses all the way up your thigh, although he pauses and pulls back to your other knee, kissing his way up again, this time sinking his teeth into your inner thigh, not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to make you jolt, your pearl begging for any kind of friction. When he passes over your cunt to mouth at your other thigh, you whine, shifting even closer to the edge of the bed. You can feel your cunt dripping, the air strangely cool on your wet skin.

A pair of mischievous eyes glance up at you. He’s doing this on purpose. He started all of this, and now he has the gall to tease you. Glaring in response, you grip him by the hair and pull him in, determined to put his clever mouth to better use than smirking and biting you when you need him elsewhere.

To his credit, he makes no complaint and does what he’s directed, slipping his tongue between your folds, lapping up the slick arousal. His big hands push your thighs up so he can get a better angle, and he kisses your cunt with as much passion as he did your lips, if not more.

The feeling is electric. His mouth scorches, sets you alight in ways you’d never imagined, the occasional scrape of his too sharp teeth against you thrilling. It’s too good, has you fighting his grip even as your fingers are still tightly wound into his hair, holding him close. It’s too much, but if he stopped it would be so much worse.

If he minds your writhing, he doesn’t show it. You can’t help the sounds he pulls from you, but he’s louder, as though this is more for himself than for you. He groans when your hips buck against his mouth, pants when he lifts himself away enough to breathe, his amber eyes gleaming, fixed on your face, except the few times they flutter closed, just for a moment, savouring your taste.

His nose nudges your pearl as his tongue presses inside you. You grip him so tightly to your core, your hips shaking so hard that you’re surprised you don’t break his nose. The hot, molten cataclysm that’s been pooling somewhere behind your belly button overtakes you, sweeping you away, limbs seized, unable to out-swim the current. You can’t see past the stars in your eyes even after your legs relax and you force your hand to unclasp his hair, finger by finger, so you can lay back on the mattress, breathing hard.

He crawls up onto the bed and pulls you toward the centre, a self-satisfied grin on his face. His cock presses into your thigh, insistent for attention, the tip peeking out and leaking against your thigh. He ruts against you when he kisses you again, his close-cropped beard soaked with your arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and bitter-sweet.

You lay twined together, forehead pressed against his as you both catch your breath. One hand gently brushes up and down your spine, the other pulling your leg up over his hip. “How was that?” he asked.

There may not be words for what you feel. Maybe there are, but they’re beyond you right now, washed away with all the resistance in your body. You settle on nice, which makes him laugh.

“Only nice, hm? I suppose I’ll have to work harder.”

“Better than nice,” you assure him. “I— I liked it a lot.” It’s still insufficient, so you kiss him again, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

He does, after a long moment. “Are you ready for more?”

“There’s more?” you ask. “Or— for you? Do you want me to—”

“No, there’s no need for you to do a thing, love. The next part is for both of us.” He rolls onto his back, taking you with him effortlessly. He reaches past you with one hand while he kisses you sweetly, tongue pushing into your mouth at the same moment you feel his cock slot against your entrance. He pushes in gently, halting when he meets resistance, fucking shallowly into you until you relax enough to let him bury himself deeper into your body.

You tuck your face down against his chest, focusing on the feeling of his cock stretching your cunt, so deep inside you that his presses against your womb. He tries to keep himself still, but his hips buck slightly, tearing a groan from your chest. There’s no stopping the way your cunt squeezes down on him in response, nor the way your hips grind against him. He makes a choked sound, breathing out shakily when you push yourself up to look at him.

The angle change nearly has you collapsing back down, but he takes pity on you and flips you both so he can take the lead. “Hello, pretty thing,” he says, giving you another kiss and a firm grind into you before he starts moving his hips, slowly working himself in and out of your cunt, lips settling against your ear so he could tell you how well you’re taking him, how good you feel around his cock.

Any ability to respond is quickly fucked out of you, your breath punched out with every deep thrust, your world shrinking down to a handful of sensations: his lips on your ear, the weight of his body and the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls.

He works his hand between you to rub at your pearl, the heel of his hand pressing down on your lower belly. The thought that he can feel himself inside you with your hand is one of the last fully formed ones that cross your mind, because he growls and picks up the pace, unrelenting until you’re shaking and babbling and clinging so tightly to him that you’re certain you’ll leave permanent marks.

He drags you up another precipice and throws you over, his forehead pressed to yours, watching your face as you shake and cry out. He ruts into you, and you can feel him fill your cunt, his cock twitching, rooted firmly inside you. He doesn’t pull away, just throws himself onto his back, holding you tight to his chest.

His heart beats like a drum under your ear, slowing gradually as he catches his breath. His cock slips free, and you stiffen slightly as his spend leaks from your swollen cunt, spilling onto his belly. He pops his head up as soon as you tense, and huffs out a laugh, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Sex can be a bit messy. Come on, love. Let’s get cleaned up.”

Your legs wobble when you try to stand, but he happily slides a supportive arm around your waist, leading you into the adjoining tap room. Once you’re both cleaned up, he coaxes you out of your sweat-soaked chemise and wraps you in one of his shirts and you both sit back down in front of the fire.

You pick up your abandoned wine glass, holding it with both hands as you eye the wolf. He looks content, satiated, like he’s had his fill of you. There’s a little tremor of unease that settles in your belly. Now that the chase is over, will he still want you? Do you still want him to want you? At the beginning of the evening you had been determined to kill him, and now…

He looks back at you through half-closed eyes, and unfurls his arm. “You’re too far away,” he tells you, voice a warm purr. “And you’re thinking too much.”

It’s still unfair, how easily he reads you. An open book, pages left open for him to flip through at his leisure. Despite your trepidation, you walk forward on your knees and sit against him, knees tucked under his arm. His fingertips trail up your thigh, over your knee, down your calf, and back, over and over, as he waits for you to speak.

“What happens now?” you ask at last. “Do we go our separate ways?”

Hurt flashes across his face before he can hide it behind a neutral mask. “If that’s what you want.” His fingers continue retreading their path while silence builds between the two of you. At last, he pulls in a fortifying breath. “Is that what you want?”

There’s raw desire in his eyes, not tempered in the least by your coupling. He offers you everything so easily that it feels like it must be a trick, but he wouldn’t work so hard to hide his feelings if he didn’t care for you, if this were a trap. If you stay, it has to be your choice, not made because of his own want for you to remain by his side.

The anger that kept you warm in all your years out in the cold is gone. Killing him won’t bring your family back from the grave, it would just place another soul in one. The desire for revenge truly burned out a long while ago, and you couldn’t admit that only embers remained. It was why you were so desperate to end it tonight, to close the chapter and look forward to something new.

It’s so like your wolf to ruin your plans. This time, you’re not sure you mind.

“I’d like to stay,” you say at last.

He’s on you so fast that you drop your wine glass, spilling red over the furs. It’s hard to stop laughing enough to kiss him back, trying to point out the mess to him. He growls something about not giving a damn as he gives up trying to kiss you through your smile, and presses his lips to your pulse instead.

In the end, with all the history between the two of you, what’s one more mess?

It's been almost five years since I started writing this short story, and I had fully expected not to finish it. I was caught up in the story in the peripherals, the potential history between Cat and Valter. This scene no longer fits in the overall narrative, even if there are still threads of it that remain unchanged, so I feel like it's safe to share. I'm working on the third draft of The Night of the Wolf, sorting out the mess of my second draft (so many changes it might as well be a second first draft) and I think there's a very real possibility that I can actually finish it, and that's in no small way thanks to all of you. I have been writing for a long time, but it's only been in the past year that I've shared my work with anyone, and it's been a really lovely experience. Thank you for reading my silly fanfictions, thank you for reading this, and I hope to share more bits of original work going forward, if there's any interest. (But don't worry, I'm still gonna finish the fanfictions. I show no signs of stopping yet)

C. T. Cutter

(Also, special thanks to my best human person @dragonnarrative-writes for making me finish this and being so so kind to me about my work and encouraging me always. I am bad at accepting compliments but I appreciate them all the same)

Image Credits: 1 - 2 ~ Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[cameronspecial]

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: With Drew's birthday on the horizon, Drew's daughter and wife wanted to do something special for him.

A/N: Happy Birthday to someone who absolutely makes butterflies in my stomach! Hope this day is amazing!

Masterlist

November 4th. The day Josepth Andrew Starkey entered the world thirty years ago. Drew doesn’t like to do anything big for his birthdays. He prefers to spend the day with his family rather than partying in a crowded club with annoying drunks, but for this milestone birthday, his family had other ideas. His daughter wants to make a big deal out of her father’s birthday and has helped her pregnant mother plan a surprise party for him. This has been kept from the man up until the morning of his birthday. Y/N is up earlier than expected because of the tiny kicks the human growing in her uterus is giving her. Her rolling back into bed in a struggle pulls Drew from his dreams of his wife and daughter. “Is mini-me giving you a hard time again?” he whispers, bringing her back into his hold. She nods against his chest, “Yes, the little bugger seems to think my bladder is a kickstand.” Drew gives a small chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then her stomach. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. You only have three more months,” he reassures, rubbing her belly to help soothe her. Her hand finds his, “It’s okay. It will all be worth it in the end. Happy Birthday, my love.” 

She leans over her stomach and kisses him on the lips. He smiles in the kiss, “Thank you. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m thirty. I’m so old.” “No, you aren’t! You are young at heart, love. Just yesterday you were eating an Uncrustable and colouring in a book,” she giggles. The image of yesterday comes to his mind, “I was only doing that because Millie wanted me to do those things with her. Speaking of Millie, what time did you guys go to bed? I swear I felt like I heard you guys up pretty late last night.” In her tiredness and pregnancy fog, Y/N lets the secret slip out of her mouth. “She went to bed at twelve and I was in bed by four I think. I was going over everything for your surprise party so it took me some time because I kept getting hungry and needing to pee.” Her eyes rival the size of the moon when she realizes what she has done, her hand finding way over her mouth. 

Drew chuckles as he processes the words and tries to end her endless apologies, “It’s okay, Sweetheart. You didn’t mean to. You were up late and have a lot on your mind.” “Right. Well, you have to act surprised at the party. Millie is so excited to surprise you; it would crush her if she knew I spoiled it,” Y/N warns, looking him directly in the eye to make sure her point is getting across. Drew gives her a nod, “Got it. I’ll be so surprised that it’s almost like I act for a living.” Y/N giggles at his joke and her smile grows at the pitter-patter of their three-year-old’s footsteps. 

——

Millie shooed her father out of the house right after lunch, sending him with a laundry list of things he needed to do before he got home. As he drove around doing the chores, his heart would warm every time he looked at the non-sensical scribbles that were his daughter's “writing”, which had a translation written by Y/N beside each scribble. Even if he didn’t know about the party, he knew he would gladly do these errands for his girls on his birthday because all he could ever want was to take care of them. 

His hand meets his front door and he takes a second to get into character, almost like he is on set. The handle is pushed down to reveal a dark room, which is suddenly set alight with the screams of ‘surprise’ by his family and friends. He lets his shock show on his face, both hands covering the o-shape of his mouth. “Wow, this is amazing. Thank you guys so much,” he thanks the crowd, looking around for his girls. It isn’t long before Millie is running into her father’s arms. “Happy Birthday, Daddy,” she greets him, letting herself be picked up into the air by the older man. He gives her a massive grin, assaulting her cheek with multiple kisses and thanks. “Daddy, your moustache is tickling me,” she complains with joy in her voice. He pulls away, letting the hand not holding up his daughter adjust the dad hat on his head, “I’m sorry, Baby. Maybe Daddy should get rid of his moustache.” 

“No! Mommy likes it. But Daddy… Were you surprised by my party?”

“Yes, I was, Baby. I was so surprised. I love it so much.”

She looks at him in disbelief, “You are lying! You weren’t surprised.” Drew doesn’t know how his acting doesn’t seem to fool his daughter. “No, I’m not. Daddy really was surprised by the party,” he promises, starting to bounce the girl, who is about to cry. “Okay, maybe Mommy accidentally told Daddy, but it’s okay. Daddy still doesn’t know what you have planned for me.” This causes the girl to pause her cries, “Can we have cake now? I want you to see the cake.” Wanting her smile to return to her face, he nods his head, booming to his party guest that it is time for cake. Nobody objects that the cake is being served before dinner or other party activities. Instead, they all gather around the kitchen table and begin to sing the famous song. “Happy Birthday dear Daddy! Happy Birthday to you.” Millie’s loud singing is the one mainly invading his senses. Maybe because of her proximity to him with her being on his lap or maybe because his focus is mainly on her. “Make a wish, Daddy,” she orders. He obeys, blowing on the candles in the form of a thirty.

“What did you wish for?” she questions. Her eyes bore into his with curiosity. He is about to tell her when Y/N speaks up, “If Daddy tells you, Millie, it won’t come true.” Drew shakes his head, smiling down at his daughter. “It’s okay, my wish is already coming true so it can’t hurt to tell. I wished for more happy days with you and Mommy and everyone else that I love.” The crowd awes at how adorable his words are. “And the baby?” Millie clarifies with concern that her father forgot her baby brother or sister. He nods, “And you baby sibling.” He gives her a kiss on the forehead, allowing her to help him with cutting the cake. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // twenty-one

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: oh- you guys wanted them to be happy and in love in peace?? my bad. anyway, good a time as any to wish you guys a happy valentines day! lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

"Where are ya takin' those?" Lennox asks you as you're quickly scanning through your piles of books, pulling out one or two at a time and holding onto them.

"I will bring them to Coryo and Sejanus." You smile to yourself, standing up straight as you finish picking out most of your favourites.

"Coryo." Lennox scrunches his nose up. "Why bother? They can't read that many books in a week. Especially when he'll hardly get his hands off you long enough to do literally anything else."

"Oh, Lennox hush. That is not true." You shake your head pointedly, cheeks burning red.

"It is true."

You had kind of explained to Lennox what happened, that Coryo explained, apologized, and that you were wrong about him. Your mother was right, of course, but Lennox still wasn't buying any of it. Although, he wouldn't deny that you seemed happier.

"Ma!" You call out, coming out of your bedroom with the stack of books in your arms. Trying to talk to Lennox about this would never end in him actually listening to you.

"Just out back, honey!"

You follow her voice out onto the back porch. "Ma, do you know if there's a limit of things you can take on the train?"

She looks up at the question, laughing at the stack of books you have steadied under your chin.

"It's not a passenger train, honey. I don't know." She chuckles. "You want to give him all of those? Won't you miss them?"

"Well..." You think about it, placing them down on the ground to rest your arms for a moment. "I don't know when I'll see him again, and books are expensive to post. Besides, I know they'll be in safe hands, and if I want to read them again I can take them from the library."

Your mom smiles sadly at you. "I suppose that's true."

"Yes." You grin, crouching down to pick the books up again carefully. "I shall go drop these off."

"When will you be back?" She asks, just as you're about to walk back inside.

"Uh, I'm uncertain, but I shouldn't be long! We don't have any plans."

"Maybe you should take your brother with you, he can carry those." She suggests and you sigh.

"No, Ma. He's mean." You pout.

"He only wants to keep you safe. Take him with you, please. He'll be driven mad here waiting for you to get back." She insists and you groan, dropping your head back. "I won't ask again, I promise."

"Okay, Ma." You relent, stepping back into the house and letting the door swing shut behind you. "Len! Ma says you're coming with me!"

"So... how do you know where they are staying?" Lennox asks you, half the books in his arms as you practically skip ahead of him.

"Coryo showed me the other day."

"Oh, he did. Of course he did." You can practically see him rolling his eyes behind your back. "Have you ever considered that he could just be using you? I mean-"

"Lennox, that's not a rational thought process. I have nothing that he would want, he already won his prize." You interrupt. "He just came here to spend time with me, we talked about that when I was in the Capitol."

"I can think of something he wants..."

"Lennox!" You turn on your heel, pointing a finger in his face so fast he almost stumbles as he stops. "That is enough. You have so little trust in me!"

"It's not like we haven't been down this road before!" He argues, and you quickly look around as he raises his voice. The path is deserted this time of day.

"And you don't think me capable of learning?"

"Clearly not! Him and Cole are practically the same person!"

"Don't you say that- I didn't like Cole and you know it." You narrow your eyes at him. "Coryo is different. He wouldn't hurt me."

"You do realize that those are like, the famous last words that every teenage girl ever has said and regretted it, right?"

"Do you just not want me to be happy?" You ask bitterly. That wasn't true and you knew it, but you were upset and you knew it would get your point across. He was being cruel.

"The opposite, actually! I just want you to think realistically about fallin' into the open arms of your 'knight in shining armour' who you've literally had nightmares about for weeks on end."

"I am not a child! I am an adult, and I am capable of making my own decisions." You spit. "He's not using me. He loves me, and I love him."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll say that until-"

"Lennox you are such a.. boy!" You groan. "If you must know, if you must insist that I am so stupid, no, I have not slept with him. Is that what you needed so desperately to hear?"

"Gross." He mumbles, shaking his head with disgust. "I don't care what you do with your alone time, actually I'd really rather not know! All I'm saying is you need to be more careful."

"I'm not going to fight with you. You can trust my decisions or not." You grumble, turning back around to keep walking. He follows behind you silently, neither of you saying another word the whole walk there.

You knock on the door, taking a step back while you wait for it to open. You can hear your brother breathing behind you and it's driving you up the wall. You would drop off the books and send him home- maybe you would stay for a while, go for a walk, something.

The door creaks open and you smile when you see Sejanus. "Y/N!" He grins, opening the door wider for you to come in. "Coryo! Your girlfriend is here!" You blush at the term as you walk in past him.

You hadn't discussed any kind of title to what you had, the looming ache of him leaving again so soon holding you back from wanting to mention it. You assumed he didn't want to discuss it either, both of you silently agreeing just to enjoy the time you still had together.

"Y/N/N." Coryo grins, eyes lighting up as he enters the room.

"Hi." You smile, ignoring your brother pretending to gag behind you.

"What brings you?" Coryo asks. "I didn't expect to see you today, I was thinking of coming to see you myself."

"Yes, well, I went through my books and brought some over that I would like you to take." You look back over your shoulder as Lennox is placing the large pile of books on the dining table.

Coryo hums as he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. "That's a lot of books." He chuckles.

"You don't have to rush through them, keep them as long as you'd like." You assure him. "I just thought they were some you may enjoy."

"I'm sure I'll love them." He kisses the top of your head. "Thank you."

You turn in his arms to look up at him, ticking your head slightly when you hear Sejanus speak quietly. Clearly, not to either of you. "Hey, I just want to show you something. Come outside with me?" And then the door is shut, and you and Coryo are left alone.

"What's he showing him?" You ask, and Coryo watches through the window as his friend and your brother circle around to the side of the house.

"I am not sure." He answers. Immediately, he's thinking of the note Sejanus had scribbled out for himself. It included your brother's name alongside the dates and times, and those dates were creeping up quickly, the seventeenth being in three days- if he had today's date correct.

"Coryo?"

"Hm?" He looks down at you again. "You were thinkin' for a minute there. What's wrong?"

You were always so concerned. All he had done was take a moment to think, and you seemed genuinely worried. Maybe there was something in his face that showcased his confusion. "Nothing, love." He assures you, but you don't seem inclined to believe it. "Okay, uh, just... Come with me." He grabs your hand, watching out the window to make sure they aren't coming back yet as he leads you to his room.

You step into the small space and smile. He wasn't here for long, but the room already had little touches of him. The bed was made, and there was nothing on the walls but the bedside table had the copy of Romeo and Juliet he had got for you, a folded-up note, and a comb for his hair he had yet to put back in his bag despite him not needing it anymore.

You turn to face him after he shuts the door, smiling. He almost looked normal here, now. Like he was getting used to being here with you, living your life. It certainly wasn't like what he left behind in the Capitol, but to you it was special.

"Y/N, I have something to tell you." Coryo says, serious with a lowered voice. He didn't want anyone to hear it, even though you were still likely alone in the home.

"Okay." You reply, feeling your brow crease as you nod at him. His tone makes you nervous- your heart skips a beat in your chest. For a moment, you feel trapped. Tell him what you need. He won't mind.

"Can you... can you move away from the door, please?" You ask quietly before he has the chance to speak again.

He nods, not wasting a second before passing you and you turn with him, now with the door to your own back. "Is that better? You okay?" He asks and you nod.

"Fine just fine." You smile, trying to be reassuring. "What were you going to tell me?"

"Right, so..." You watch as he runs a hand over his head, still in the habit of pushing back his hair. "I was in Sejanus's room the other day, and I found this note. It had two dates and places on it, and then your brother's name and that was it."

"Oh." That's the only thing you can think of to say. "Well... do you remember the places? Maybe he was just trying to remember Len's name?"

"I don't know, I was hoping you'd know more." Coryo sighs, reaching for the bedside drawer. He had written down what he remembered from the dates and times, because he did want to ask you about it. "But he's been leaving and coming back at odd hours, he won't tell me what he's doing. Is he with Lucy Gray?"

"I don't think so." You frown, shaking your head. "But they have been getting close."

"But that doesn't really feel relevant to the note, or your brother."

"No... It certainly doesn't seem that way."

"Here, so... I wrote it down. Uh... The Hob, August seventeenth at ten pm, and broken fence August eighteenth at four am." He reads off what he remembered enough from the note to write down.

You tilt your head.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

"Well, on the seventeenth The Covey is performing at the Hob, so maybe he planned on going to that." You explain. "But broken fence... there's so many of those around here I couldn't tell you. Although, four am is an incredibly odd time to be meeting anyone."

"That's three hours before our train leaves."

"Oh." You shake your head slightly. "That's very weird."

"I know." Coryo sighs. "He won't tell me either, I've asked if he has any plans that night and he said no."

"Well... We should go." You offer. "Tell him that we're going to the meadow that night, and we'll just go after him. See who he's with."

Coryo raises his eyebrows at you. "I didn't take you for the nosy type."

"Well, I'm a big sister at heart and if it possibly involves Lennox I have to know." You argue. "It could be dangerous. He's always had a few friends I didn't love."

"Are you okay to go back there? I can go without you." He offers.

"I'll be fine." You insist. It's more so out of necessity, you have no choice but to be fine. You have to know- you have to make sure your brother and friend are safe.

"Are you sure about this?" Coryo asks, stopping you outside the entrance to the Hob. "If you want to go home I can take you, I just want you to feel safe."

"I know." You give him a small, reassuring smile as you squeeze his hand. "If I need to leave I'll tell you. I promise."

He nods, taking one last look at you to make sure you still seem okay before he pushes the door open and you both head in.

The building is buzzing- as it usually is when The Covey performs. You smile at the music, letting Coryo pull you close to the side wall as he scans the crowded room for his friend.

"Do you see him?" You ask, and he somehow hears you over the music and shakes his head.

You frown, looking around as well. No sign of Sejanus, no sign of Lennox. Lennox isn't even old enough to be here, but he wasn't at home when you left- and it's not exactly hard to sneak in.

"There," Coryo says, nodding in the direction of the opposite side of the room. You follow his eyes, and spot Sejanus talking to someone you recognize. "Who's he with?"

"Spruce." You explain. "His sister is scheduled to be executed tomorrow afternoon." You add, leaning closer so no one else will hear.

You watch as they head toward the back hall, the same one you ran down just a couple of weeks ago. "Should we go after them?" You ask when Coryo doesn't reply and he nods, watching them as he pulls you down the outside wall toward them.

You make it back to the hall without Lucy Gray spotting you, as far as you can tell. Standing outside the door, you hear shouting. You watch Coryo as he clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

"Wait out here." He tells you, dropping your hand.

"No- I, I should come." You shake your head and he grabs your cheeks, lifting your head to look into your eyes.

"I don't know what they're fighting about but it doesn't sound good. Wait out here." He's stern as he gently brushes his thumbs over your cheeks. "Listen to Lucy Gray, just watch the door. Okay, love?"

"Okay." You agree quietly, slightly nodding.

He kisses your forehead before letting you go, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open and disappearing behind it.

You chew your nails as you wait with your ear to the door, trying to decipher who is inside with them. It's hard to tell with all the shouting going on, but you hadn't heard Lennox.

"Y/N." You hear your name, quickly jumping back from the door and turning to face the voice. "What are you doin' here?"

You chew your cheek, trying to avoid Cole's gaze. "Just waitin' for Lucy Gray." You lie, looking down.

"Ah." He hums, nodding slightly as he steps closer to you. "Where's your purebred Capitol attack dog?"

"What are you doing here, Cole?" You ask, ignoring his question.

"We got leave passes for the weekend." He answers. "Hoff said something about 'boosting morale'."

"That's nice." You smile nervously. "Well, I don't want to keep you, so..."

"You aren't." He smirks, tilting his head as he looks down at you. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, you know that, right?"

"I know." You say softly.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Cole..." You sigh, looking down again. "We talked about this I just... We're too different. I'm sorry."

"Oh, because you have so much more in common with that prick- right?" He laughs sarcastically. "He's Capitol! He'll never know you like I do. Honestly, I'm offended that you'd choose him over me."

"I'm not choosing him over you." You frown. "I already knew we wouldn't work before I ever met him. This is very, very different. I'm sorry."

"You are? Oh, I'm glad to hear that." He nods and you eye him suspiciously. "Maybe then after he leaves, you'll give me another chance. He's taking the next train, tomorrow morning, right?"

"I can't do that, Cole." You shake your head.

"That's an awful shame." The evil smile on his face doesn't fade. "I'll have no choice but to report your father."

Your heart drops. "My Pa hasn't done anything."

He sucks in through his teeth. "Well, suspicion is enough to charge, and I don't know... I get a bit of an off feeling from him. It's actually my duty to report any suspicions we have, so honestly I've been protecting you, and I'd like to keep doing that, you know?"

You finally picked up on what he was saying, and immediately could taste the bitterness of fear on your tongue, a metallic tang that seemed to linger in the air.

"So? Do we have a date?"

"Sure." You mutter through gritted teeth.

"Sweet, thanks for finally coming to your senses, bug." Cole smiles, patting your shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon!" He calls back as he walks away.

You don't even care what's going on inside, you can't be alone in this dark hallway anymore.

You pull the door open and rush in, but you're quickly stopped by Coryo's arm as he takes a few steps back, pushing you behind him. "What- what's-"

"She can't be in here!" Spruce spits at Coryo as you look past him, gasping at the sight of several guns on the table and the one in his arms.

"Listen, she's not involved." Sejanus promises.

"Her brother is gonna help us, it's cool. She won't tell." You look at Billy Taupe when he speaks, eyes wide.

"No- this is crazy." Mayfair shakes her head. "She's not coming with us. We're not bringing her or Lucy Gray. I'm leaving."

"No, they aren't coming. I just said I'd ask. Now she knows, so she probably should." Billy Taupe replies and your eyes flick between the couple. You had no idea what was going on, where he wanted you to go, and what this had to do with Sejanus or your brother.

"No! My daddy will have you all strung up for this." She throws her hands up and starts to walk toward the back door. Your heart is pounding in your chest as Coryo reaches for one of the guns.

"Don't!" You cry out, forcing yourself in front of him just as he aims the gun at her. At you.

"Y/N, you gotta move right now." He says quickly, and you hear her footsteps stop behind you.

You can only look at his eyes as they flit between anger, instinct, and fear.

"Coryo." You say, voice cracking and it's only then that you feel the tears dampening your cheeks.

The barrel of the gun is under an inch from your chest, and you can see his hands shaking as he holds the heavy weapon in his hands. He won't shoot you- he won't.

The world around you seems to blur as your focus narrows on the overwhelming sense of fear gripping you tightly. Right now, if someone asked where you were, you wouldn't know. You just as easily could have been standing in the arena. 

He doesn't dare move as he stares at you, eyes wide. He doesn't want to hurt you, but that's why he has to do this. He can't let whoever that girl was have you killed. Still, you stand in front of him. Shaking, but not moving. This was the girl he knew from the games who offered a rose to Coral who in the moments before was threatening her. The girl who so thoroughly hated the idea of bringing harm to others that her own mind blocked it out completely and replaced the story with something else. This was the girl who was willing to give up her life just to be able to give the other tributes an honourable burial that she knew they wouldn't otherwise receive. 

The girl who saw him kill another boy and despite all of that, still had it in her heart to forgive him.

You don't even hear Mayfair laugh and begin to walk away again, you only hear the gunshot that follows. You jump, immediately looking down to assess the damage. Coryo wasn't pointing the gun at you anymore, he had dropped his arms in defeat- and you had mistaken the loud noise for an impact you were expecting.

He didn't shoot you.

"What did you do?" You turn as Billy Taupe screams, eyes widening as you see Mayfair bleeding out on the floor.

"Oh god- oh god..." You mumble, stepping back until you bump into Coryo. He drops the gun back onto the table, pulling you into his arms.

"Don't look, don't look..." He tells you, turning you and pressing your head to his chest so you can't see anymore even if you wanted to.

You can't even make out what Spruce and Billy Taupe are yelling at each other over the sound of your blood pumping through your veins. Until the second gunshot.

You must be sobbing now, clinging onto the front of Coryo's shirt so tight your knuckles are burning. "You're okay, it's okay." He tells you. You don't know what's going on- you don't want to.

Coryo stares between Spruce and the body of Billy Taupe now slumped down next to Mayfair. He needs to get you out of here, now, but he doesn't know how. This has to be handled first.

He's letting you go only to grab your cheeks and get you to look at him. "Go back outside, you have to go back outside, I will handle this."

You can't even speak- can't even move. You try and shake your head. You couldn't leave him, not right now. You feel like you'd die the moment he ceased touching you.

The door slides open again, followed by an angry voice you know too well. "What the fuck?" Cole must have been watching you. He must have heard.

"No..." You cry, shaking your head. If Cole saw this you were absolutely all screwed.

"What the fuck did you do?" Cole shouts again. "Nobody fucking move! You're all-"

Another gunshot. Silence.

"Oh no, no, no..." You try and look behind Coryo but he doesn't let you, holding your head firmly into his chest again.

"It's okay. Don't look." He says again, staring at Sejanus who looks like he's panicking just as much as you are now.

"Why'd you tell them where we were? Now you've gone and screwed us all over! I just shot a peacekeeper!"

"He didn't tell anyone." Coryo defends him. "We followed him, Cole followed us."

"Fuck." Spruce sighs, throwing the gun onto the pile of others still laid across the table. "We gotta bump this up. We have to get Lil now, go tell Lennox to get the stuff and hide it for us like we said."

"Get rid of the guns and pretend this never happened."Coryo hisses. "And leave the kid out of this. It's too late for whatever plan you had now- we don't know where he is."

You can't even hear a single thing going on anymore. You're actually sure you might faint.

When you go from shaking to completely still in Coryo's arms, he knows you have. "Shit..." He mumbles, trying to steady you as your knees give out. He quickly readjusts so he can lift you with an arm under your knees and the other under your back.

"I gotta get her out of here and you have to move quick. Get rid of the guns. Now." He instructs, and surprisingly, Spruce listens. He throws the weapons into a bag and steps over the two bodies by the door before leaving.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Sejanus cries, gripping onto his hair and breathing heavily. "No one was supposed to get hurt!"

"Sejanus, for once just shut up!" He grabs his attention from where his friend is staring at the dead couple, clearly losing his mind. Coryo doesn't have time for this- an unconscious girl in his arms and his friend looking like he's about to be in the same state in a matter of moments.

"It's all my fault..."

"All of this is your fault!" Coryo agrees, looking around at the mess of the room. "It's only gonna get worse if you don't pull yourself together."

"Oh, god..."

"If you breathe a word now, all three of us are finished. Just like in the arena. We came here to see her. If we go down, she goes with us." He holds you tighter to his chest as your hair falls over the curve of his arm, your head limp against his skin. "So now we have to go back to the house, gather all our shit, and act like nothing is wrong. We have to board the train tomorrow like nothing is wrong. Do you understand?"

"I- I don't know." Sejanus sniffs.

"Hey." Coryo says, taking a few steps closer. "Look at me. You have to pull it together. I know you wanted to go with them but now they aren't going. We've got to stick together. You won't get in trouble. I won't let anything happen to you, but you have to listen to me." It was obvious that it didn't matter that none of you pulled the trigger- being in the room was enough; especially when a peacekeeper had been murdered. If you were caught, you'd all be executed. "We're brothers, yeah? Brothers. Whatever you've done, I swear I will keep you safe."

"Brothers. Yeah." Sejanus mutters, still obviously in shock.

"Those guns were the only loose ends besides the four of us, so we're gonna be okay as long as we leave tomorrow." He breathes. "Okay? Not a word."

"O-Okay." Sejanus nods slightly, trying to keep his focus on the boy in front of him rather than their unconscious friend in his arms.

Coryo tried to give him a reassuring smile, but inside he was panicking too. They could escape it all on the train tomorrow, but now came the problem of what to do with you.

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