#I adore the friendship between these three

[cece693]

With me hitting a writing block, I thought back to a childhood series I adored—The Hunger Games! This idea is simple, but was easy to write as you are lovers trying to survive the games, but is that really possible? Don't know what else to say, except, that I hope you enjoy!

FIGHT FOR ME

pairing: finnick odair x male reader tags: you and finnick go back, friends to lovers, Annie doesn't exist in my realm, you're a fellow victor from district 10, district 10 specializes in livestock (so killing animals and providing meat to the capital), you are a man who is very calm, which pisses finnick the fuck out

The first time Finnick Odair saw you, he was still raw from the saltwater of his own Games—seventeen years old, paraded through the Capitol on his Victor’s Tour and sick of being beautiful for other people. He’d escaped a banquet by slipping onto a penthouse balcony, chest heaving with too-sweet air, when he noticed someone already leaning on the rail: you, District 10’s victor from three years prior, tuxedo unbuttoned and head tilted toward the constellations as if mapping a route home.

“Careful,” Finnick muttered, meaning the cameras inside.

You didn’t turn. “They’re all busy applauding themselves. We have five safe minutes.”

Something in the weary certainty of your voice cracked Finnick’s practiced charm. You offered him a silver flask—clear water, not liquor—then spoke of tides, ship knots, the glide of moonlight on coral. It was the first conversation since his crowning that hadn’t felt like being filleted. When he finally laughed—really laughed—you smiled and said, “I hoped that sound still existed.”

In the months that followed, your paths crossed whenever the Capitol trotted its trophies out: interviews, charity galas, private auctions none of the sponsors called by their real name. Finnick collected jewelry; you collected secrets—tiny acts of rebellion like pressing a note into his palm (“Meet me on the roof in seven minutes”) or blocking a Capitol lackey from drugging Finnick’s drink with a casual shoulder-bump. He started counting on the solid weight of you at his side, the unspoken code that if one disappeared, the other would go looking.

Affection snuck up on him in increments: the way his breath hitched when you ruffled his sea-damp hair during training sessions for new tributes; how jealousy burned when Capitol aristocrats laid greedy hands on your arm; the warm twist low in his stomach whenever you said his name without the purr everyone else used—just Finnick, bare and simple, like a real boy instead of a legend.

By the time he admitted, alone in his mentor’s quarters, “I love him,” the word felt too small for the tide inside his chest.

10 YEARS LATER

District 4—Victor’s Village, Sea-glass Lane

Your visits had become ritual: once every moon-cycle you traded cattle fields for Finnick’s weather-bleached porch, dropping your overnight pack beside the rope hammock and letting the salt wind unknot your shoulders. You told yourself it was friendship. Finnick told himself it was safer that way—love unnamed was love unexposed.

That bright autumn afternoon began like the others: gulls wheeling over the breakers, Mags humming in the kitchen, Finnick showing you how to splice line without fraying the fibers. You were teasing him—“Your knots look jealous of each other, so tight they can’t breathe”—when the Capitol emergency broadcast hijacked every screen in the house. The image of President Snow flickered across the living-room holopane.

Finnick’s laugh died. Your hands stilled, rope half-braided between you.

“As a reminder of the Capitol’s benevolence,” Snow drawled, eyes reptilian, “the Third Quarter Quell will draw its tributes from the existing pool of victors.”

Silence—vast, tidal—before Mags’ china teacup shattered in the next room.

Finnick’s stomach plummeted so violently he tasted copper. Not him. Anybody but him. He lurched to his feet, nearly tripping on the coil of rope, and reached for the remote with hands that suddenly wouldn’t obey. The holopane kept hissing—Snow listing dates, times, protocols—until Finnick found the power switch and cut the feed. The room plunged into hush broken only by surf, by the distant clang of a harbor bell, by Finnick’s pulse roaring in his ears.

You turned, expression almost peaceful. “It was inevitable.” You eased back onto the couch, folding one ankle over the other with that maddening calm he’d never managed to crack. “We always knew the Capitol wouldn’t let us die peacefully in old age.”

Finnick knelt before you, uncaring that his knees hit hardwood. “Stop. Don’t you dare put that resignation mask on. You fought harder than anyone I’ve ever seen—in your Games, in the years after, every time you kept another tribute from breaking.” His throat tightened. “You think none of that matters?”

“Finnick—”

“Stop.” Panic made his voice a brittle thing. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to go back into that place. Don’t tell me you’ll lie down because Snow snapped his fingers.”

Your calm ignited something furious inside him; he felt it flare through every scar the Capitol had ever kissed. “You think your death will satisfy him?” Finnick shook his head, curls whipping. “They’ll drag us both in anyway. They’ll kill us on screen. Don’t make it easy for them.”

“Finnick,” you repeated softly, brushing a strand of sea-tangle hair from his lashes. “I have no illusions. I’m twenty-six. I have been living on borrowed time since I won the games at thirteen. If dying keeps another child out of the Arena—”

“Don’t you dare dress suicide in charity.” Finnick's voice cracked; he forced iron into the next words. “Your life isn’t a bargaining chip. It’s mine, too—do you understand that? I’m in love with you. That means your heartbeat is mine.”

Shock flickered across your face—the confession he’d whispered only to empty walls now alive between you. It trembled there, fragile as a soap bubble, until you lifted a hand and rested your palm to his chest, over the tattoo of knots near his heart. Your thumb stroked once, twice, the way you smoothed rope before pulling it tight.

“Finnick Odair,” you murmured, voice turned rough, “I don’t deserve that kind of devotion.”

“Then fight until you do,” he fired back, desperate. “Fight for every stolen night like this. Fight because I can’t stand if you’re not beside me.”

The holopanel continued to drone outside—people celebrating that their young children wouldn't be reaped, the Capitol anthem swelling—but the two of you stood in a pocket of stillness. Finally you nodded, as if accepting command aboard a doomed vessel.

“Okay” you said. “I'll fight to stay alive, but that doesn't mean I won't protect you out there.”

“You’ll protect me?” Finnick echoed. “You realize how backwards that sounds?”

You arched a brow. “I’ve watched you cart more than one Career across the ground with a spear through your calf, Odair. Someone had better keep you from playing hero.”

For the first time since Snow’s card, a laugh—thin but real—broke from Finnick’s throat. It felt like breathing after surf had pinned him under. “Deal,” he whispered, resting his forehead to yours. “We protect each other. Always.”

You bumped noses, conspiratorial. “Always is a long voyage, sailor.”

“Not when it comes to you.”

[spideyjimin]

Break my heart | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: college au, roommates au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, kind of friends to enemies, and enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: jungkook, a mask, and a party. three things that made you weak enough to break all the rules of friendship. you did with him what you usually do with strangers… but he was never supposed to be a one-night stand. there’s too much history. too much comfort. and now, the aftermath of that wild and steamy night has made living with him unbearable, but also impossible to walk away. because you’re falling. fast. deep. and maybe deep enough to let each other break your own hearts.

—  words: 535 for the teaser

—  warnings: tension, flirting, strong language, and implied sex

—  author’s note: soooo i've already worked on this & i'm posting the little teaser to give you a little taste of what's coming 🫣 this is the college au i teased you about some time ago & i've been working on it for a little while, but i don't know when it's going to be released. this fics is inspired by many shows and movies i've watched lately (because i've done only that for the past 2 months 😫) i hope you'll enjoy it ❤️

— you can find another teaser here

— join the taglist ✨

“Will you be home at two?” you ask as he walks past you.  

“Why?” he says, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk like he couldn’t care less.

“Some guy is coming,” you answer, your eyes following his strong figure.

You watch his muscles flex as he reaches for a glass. It’s almost unfair how someone so infuriating can look that good. Buff. Strong. Dangerous in all the right ways. If he weren’t such an asshole, you might just let him ruin you again.

“Who?” he asks without looking at you.  

“Why do you want to know?” you counter, eyes glued on him.

He avoids your gaze, pouring the milk like the carton suddenly became fascinating.

“Because you’re the one talking about it,” he mumbles

A devious smirk grows on your face as you step closer—dangerously close now. He straightens up, facing you, eyes finally locking with yours.

“Are you looking for a guy?” you ask, cocking your head with a teasing grin.

“What?” his scowl is immediate, and you try as hard as possible to repress the smile growing on your face.  

You almost laugh at his expression. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to rile him up. But you hold it in. No cracks. Not yet. You're about to push him further. Annoying him is your new favorite pastime.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” you tease him.

Thank God he wasn’t drinking his milk. Otherwise, he would have choked. His brows draw together, clearly caught off guard.

“I’m not gay,” he says flatly, casually even, but his tone is clipped.

“Jungkook,” you shrug innocently. “You can be whoever you want. I support you, bestie.”

He rolls his eyes and drinks a sip of milk from the cup. Despite being annoyed, his heart skips a beat when you call him ‘bestie’. He hasn’t heard that nickname since that infamous night. You’ve called him jerk, asshole, idiot, stupid, fuckboy, dickhead, and many other things like that for the past three weeks.

“Why are you insisting?”

A little mustache of milk forms on his upper lip when he removes the cup. He looks absolutely adorable, like a little boy trapped in the body of a man who could destroy you with a single touch.

“Because I get it,” you smile. “I like men too.”

He wipes the milk mustache off with the back of his hand, but this time, the playful glint in his eyes disappears. He’s serious now.

“Stop it, yn,” his voice is sharp, like a warning. “You know I don’t like men.”

“Me?” you pretend to be innocent. “I don’t know anything. You’re very mysterious lately.”

Without a warning, he steps closer—your heart hammers in your chest with this sudden proximity. The air thickens between you, and you feel his hot and minty breath against your cheek. This reminds you of that wild night in the ballroom

“Yes, you do,” he whispers, voice dropping into something husky. His lips graze your ear. “And if you’ve forgotten, I can remind you.”

His fingers brush your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

“I can make you moan my name again…” he pauses for a split second. “Or scream it, if you’d prefer.”

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

CAN WE HAVE DOEY BEING A PLATONIC YANDERE TO THE PLAYER?? I WONDER HOW HE WOULD ACT GIVEN HIS CONFLICTING PERSONALITIES AND EMOTIONS DUE TO BEING MADE OUT OF THREE KIDS

Yes, you absolutely can! This ended up being way longer than I first planed and I'm actually pretty proud of it :)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me.

Platonic yandere Doey & Reader

★ When Doey first meets the Player, he is intrigued. It's not every day you meet someone who keeps cheating the grim reaper. As Doey spends more time with the Player, he realizes that they are different than most employes. You are nice and treat him kindly.

★ His conflicting personalities create a strange mix of curiosity and adoration inside of him. Especially after you stay to help the Safe Haven instead of working with Poppy. Plus, the Player has been through so much already. They really should take a break.

★ He goes above and beyond to make them feel comfortable and secure in their new home. He introduces them to the other toys, making sure they feel included and part of their little community. Tries to help them relax after what they have been through, also.

★Doey becomes emotionally dependent on the Player, deriving a sense of purpose and stability from their presence. The thought of losing the Player or not being able to protect them fills him with fear and anxiety, fueling his yandere tendencies.

★ All three parts of him agree on one thing, protect the Player at all costs. That means not letting them leave the Safe Haven. At least not without him. It comes from a place of genuine care, having concern for the Player's well-being.

★ He prioritizes their needs, ensuring the Player feels safe and loved. If the player were to reciprocate his care by doing things to make him feel valued, it would mean the world to him. If it's not too much, could he pretty please hold your hand? (please say yes)

★ The player's consistent care builds trust between them. That trust is very important. Never break it or you might regret it. Doey is still unstable at times, and he could still lash out at you if the wrong button is pushed.

★ Yandere Doey is very possessive, he is aware of this and tries his best not to be. He really wants to give the Player the freedom they deserve but at the same time he fears losing you to others and may become anxious if you spend too much time with another toy.

★ Those thoughts are silly, he knows it, you would never abandon him for a new friend. However, that nagging voice in his head tells him differently. It may end up with him subtly manipulating the Player. It was for friendship though so it's okay!

★ He might use guilt or even fear to keep the Player close, making them feel responsible for his emotional well-being. The thought of the Player getting hurt when he's gone fills him with all sorts of bad feelings. Ones he doesn't even want to think about.

★ By this time it's too late to go back. He is too afraid of being abandoned, if you suggest going off to finish what you started and killing the prototype he would have a panic attack.

★ His conflicting personalities are unified in their fear of the Player facing danger and he becomes visibly distressed. It's too dangerous! If you leave and never come back, what will he do? Doey may even go as far as physically putting himself between the Player and the exit if it comes down to it.

[delugyu]

not that same og anon but *i* am ovulating right now and i think if pt3 never sees the light of day i *will* cry

here u go bae!! each of these parts are just gonna get longer and longer until it’s ridiculous to call it a drabble 😭

part one / part two / part three

(wc: 4.7k / warnings: searing hot jealousy, possessiveness, corruption kink, oral (f rec.), lots of heavy petting, marking, grinding, overstimulation, cumming in pants yayyy)

when beomgyu sees taehyun’s caller id on his phone, he almost doesn’t pick up. he knows that would be awful, though, and that maybe he shouldn’t ruin one of his closest friendships over you, so he puts his pride aside and accepts the call. it doesn’t make it any easier to listen to taehyun’s voice, though.

he’s zoning out, just letting taehyun ramble without really processing his words, until he hears him say your name. his full attention snaps to taehyun’s words, suddenly completely interested in whatever he has to say.

it sounds a lot like taehyun’s bragging. he’s going on and on about this light festival he took you to last night, how much you loved it, how you just adored your time there. 

beomgyu might be a maniac. he’s scared of how bad his urge is to fight taehyun, all because he got a little too hung up on you. taehyun probably has no clue you were with beomgyu just a few days ago, that you had his dick in your mouth, that you swallowed his cum and behaved so well for him. he wonders if that would piss taehyun off. he wants to do a hell of a lot more that would piss him off, too.

it’s when taehyun tells him that he kissed you for the first time yesterday that beomgyu decides he’s had enough. he really doesn’t need or want to listen to this shit. there’s an ugly and confusing feeling sprouting in his chest that he doesn’t care to foster any longer, so beomgyu makes up some excuse and tells taehyun he has to go.

he hangs up and puts his phone down on the table with more force than necessary, holding his head in his hands. he lets out a heavy sigh as he tries to summon tranquility back to him, willing away the bitter jealousy that made itself way too comfortable inside of him.

beomgyu’s not even a jealous person. he doesn’t even care. it’s your life—if you want to go make heart eyes at taehyun all day, then you can go on your merry way and do just that. it doesn’t concern him at all, seriously.

he thinks about taehyun stealing your lips for a quick kiss, and he tells himself that it only makes him feel sick because taehyun’s his friend, and thinking about your friend kissing anyone is gross. but he didn’t care when it was taehyun kissing mina. he didn’t care when it was yujin, or chaewon, or minji. he only cares cause it’s you.

you haven’t even talked to beomgyu since you left him that day. he’s been stuck replaying memories of his tongue inside your mouth, your hands on his body, your legs shaking with pleasure, your little gasps and whimpers as you came with your fingers over your cunt. he’s been dying here, and you haven’t reached out once.

it’s not like you guys talked that much before this, but he figured that maybe you’d care a little more now. he wants you to ask him to spend time with you, wants to hear your voice and touch your skin. he wants you to want him half as bad as he wants you. if he’s being really honest, he wants you to need him more than he needs you.

he pictures you in tears, clawing at your clothes, shoving your hand between your thighs as his name falls from your lips. you’d be a desperate little thing, waiting impatiently for beomgyu to come save you with his gentle touch on your bare skin. only he’d be able to give you what you need. no other man—and certainly not taehyun—would be able to satisfy you enough.

you prove yourself yet again to be the thief of his sanity, because he finds himself staring at your contact profile, thinking of what to say if he calls you. do you want to come over? ugh, no, that’s so sleazy. what are you doing? let’s hang out right now. that’s one way to make himself sound desperate. he doesn’t want to stoop quite that low.

his fantasies of you are just going to get worse and torment him more if he doesn’t grow a pair and call you. maybe he could do something productive with all this pent up energy instead. go to the gym, hang with some friends, get some work done…

his leg bounces rapidly as his phone rings, waiting for you to pick up. to hell with productivity, you’re more important.

“hello?” the second your voice reaches beomgyu’s ears, his cock throbs in his pants. you’ve got him conditioned like some animal. he doesn’t have it in him to feel humiliated by that, but he knows he should be.

when your name spills from beomgyu’s lips, it sounds absurdly close to something like a moan. he holds his head in his hands, exhausted and frustrated, unable to take this anymore. it’s disgusting how much of beomgyu’s energy is being used toward not fisting his cock right now. just knowing you're on the other end is enough to get him going. fuck, he hopes you’re all hot and bothered too.

“are you doing anything right now?” beomgyu asks. he knows you’re smart enough to understand why he’s asking. he shouldn’t have to elaborate.

“not really,” you answer. he hears you shuffling around—you must be getting ready to head out. he likes to think that you’re just as excited and ready to jump at the opportunity to be with him as he is with you. “why?” you ask.

are you serious? he’s not going to spell it out for you. “you know why,” he says. he can’t sit still now, itching to get his hands on you. he paces around his apartment and convinces himself you’ll be here soon.

“i can’t,” you say, and it makes beomgyu freeze. “i’m going to see taehyun tonight.”

beomgyu’s quiet as he processes your words. this is probably some test from the universe to see how good of a person he is. he should laugh it off and tell you to go have fun, but seriously? you fucking saw taehyun yesterday! it’s been days since beomgyu last saw you! so no, beomgyu’s not going to be a good person. the universe can condemn him to however many eternities in hell it pleases. he’ll take his twenty minutes with you.

“don’t,” he urges. “don’t see him. come here tonight instead.” you wouldn’t have half as much fun with taehyun as you would with him, beomgyu knows it. he’s got so much to show you. frankly, at this point it’s going to ruin his pride if you choose taehyun again.

“i just texted him though.”

“i don’t care. please come here.” he’s reduced to having to beg for you again.

you sigh. you must be contemplating it. beomgyu worries for a second that he’s going to have a heart attack if you say no.

“alright. this is the only time i’m cancelling plans for you, though.” beomgyu feels his soul return to his body. god, he needs you to hurry up and get here.

the minutes spent waiting for you might as well have been hours. his dick is fully hard just from the anticipation of getting you to himself again, of being able to touch you in ways no one else has. the moment he hears you open the door to his place, he’s bolting to you and getting his fix. you barely even get to shut the door behind you before he’s on you like some fiend. he’s got no time to waste.

you look surprised when he captures your face in his hands, kissing you so hard that your body’s forced back against the door. he sucks at your lips like it will be enough to erase taehyun’s traces from them, to replace any memory of what his lips felt like on yours. you moan into beomgyu’s mouth, and it only makes his wanting worse.

“fuck,” he growls out, pulling away only long enough to talk. he kisses you again quickly. “i need you right now. i need you all the time.” he dives right back in, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. he wants to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

he’s not in control of himself, letting his instincts take over and throwing rationale to the wind. he leaves one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your thigh. you’re wearing another one of those stupidly short skirts, giving him the easiest access to your core. it’s like you wanted this just as badly as him. the thought makes his lips tilt up in amusement.

you jump when beomgyu’s hand cups your core over your panties, pressing his fingertips against you needily. “gyu..!” you sound scandalized, like he’s taking things further than you expected, like you didn’t know he’s been dying to feel your cunt in his hands. you must be lying to yourself if you really think that. beomgyu’s been making his intentions more than clear.

you bring your hand to his wrist, holding it but not pulling it away. beomgyu takes that as a sign to keep going, continuing to rub against your clothed folds. he brings his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. he’s been waiting for so long to feel your pussy, even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded.

you’d think he’s a sick freak if you knew how much he thought about you. you’d run away if you found out what kinds of things he fantasized about when he can’t fall asleep at night. he’d try everything, play around with your body as he pleases, work you past your breaking point, leave you ruined for anyone else forever—anything he could possibly do, he wants to.

his tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. he has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you. he’s been so patient. he’ll show you everything, you’ll never want to leave his side again. he’ll turn you into something more desperate than himself, make sure you’re the one left haunted and longing. the idea of it all makes him whimper, dick aching in his pants.

he wants to see your knees buckle, wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. he wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. he’s sick, he can’t help it, you did this to him.

he feels your panties dampen up, and some evil sense of satisfaction hits him knowing that he did this to you. you cancelled your plans with taehyun to get your virgin pussy played with by him. something like a power rush gets to him, and it makes him want to wreck you all the more.

“how is it, baby?” he asks, smiling meanly at you because he knows you can’t give a proper response. he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. he steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

he holds your hip still when your legs start getting unsteady. he thinks it’s so cute how you’re already wobbling—you really are that inexperienced. it’s so entertaining to watch you fall apart over something so simple. he wishes taehyun could see you now, getting beomgyu’s hand all wet and giving him all your little gasps and mewls.

he wants to rip his hand away and watch you cry, but he thinks that might be too mean. he’s got something better to show you, though. he can’t rip his hands or lips off of you as he walks you into his room, coaxing you down against his bed until he’s hovering over you.

he’s reminded of the last time you two were in this position, when you left him to go straight to taehyun. did he know that you were just with beomgyu that night? that your hand was wrapped around his dick, that you were so eager to milk him dry? he’ll make sure you don’t head straight to taehyun again.

he holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin. your skirt is useless—it covers nothing when you’re spread out like this, soaked panties on full display. he wants those as a keepsake. he might be able to pocket them if he’s discrete and you’re delirious enough.

his stomach is in knots, he almost can’t believe this. he feels the way your legs keep shaking in his hands, and he knows you must be feeling so needy. you don’t even know what to do with yourself. your hips roll up, trying to seek pleasure that isn’t there, and it almost makes him want to keep you like this until you go crazy. it wouldn’t take long, you’re already whimpering and whining like you can’t handle a minute without his touch.

“let me go down on you,” beomgyu says, dropping his head between your thighs. he kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you. you’re holding yourself up on your elbows so you can stare at him, and he smiles up at you reassuringly when he sees how unsure you look.

he eases his hands up and down your thighs, calming your nerves. he has to remember that this is all so new to you. as much as he wants to go wild and do everything the way he wants, he needs to make sure you’re comfortable. he wants you to be all in on this too.

“how does it feel?” you ask, something in your voice sounding a little shaky. “i mean, i just heard from my friends that it’s not even… that good. for a girl, anyway.”

beomgyu laughs at your nervous rambling. he gives a gentle kiss to your thigh again and rubs his thumbs soothingly across your skin. “it will feel good,” he says.

you look away meekly. it’s sweet how shy you get, but beomgyu is very needy and wants your attention back on him. he kisses your clothed cunt just barely, so lightly that he’s not even sure you feel it. your eyes are back on him, though, so he supposes it worked. he runs his finger gently over your folds, waiting for you to tell him to go further.

“wouldn’t it be wrong?” you ask. your body jolts a bit when he applies some pressure to your clit.

“why?” beomgyu doesn’t see why you think it’s fine to give him head, but he can’t do the same for you.

“cause of taehyun,” you answer, voice dying out at the end. any sort of amusement leaves beomgyu in a heartbeat.

“he’d probably care a hell of a lot more if he found out about you sucking my dick and jerking me off.” his fingers get a little angrier against your cunt, dipping down to push at your entrance through your panties. your eyes widen, thighs clamping shut. all it does is trap his hand right where it is, though. 

“t-that was cause i was learning!” you defend. beomgyu draws his hand back and studies your face. he’s trying to see if you really don’t want this or if you’re just being difficult.

“so why’d you come over then?” he asks.

that seems to shut you up. you stare at him all guilty, no answer even attempting to leave your lips.

“that’s what i thought,” beomgyu continues, hand creeping back up your thigh. “will you let me eat you out now?”

your thighs stay pressed together, and beomgyu thinks it’s so cute. you must be embarrassed now. he feels a little bad for you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, a gentle hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat against the mattress. “i’m sorry, that was mean.” he pecks your cheek in apology, then looks back at you with a smile. he peppers a few more kisses across your face for good measure.

beomgyu grins when you open your legs back up a little, making room for him. he steals a quick kiss from you before descending down your body, stopping every now and then to nibble at your collarbone, push up your shirt and lick at your waist, suck a mark into your thigh.

his hands sneak under your skirt to find the hem of your panties, tugging at them slightly. “can i take this off?” he asks, watching you blink sweetly at him. you nod eagerly, and it makes his heart skip a beat for some reason.

he peels your panties off slowly, but it feels more like he’s teasing himself than he is you. his head is spinning as soon as he sees your cunt, hands forcing your legs further apart so he can get a better view. he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world.

he’s already thrusting against the mattress, he can’t help himself, he doesn’t care how pathetic it is. his tongue is desperate as it works over you, slobbering over your cunt as you writhe and squeal beneath him. he keeps a strong grip on your thighs, not letting you dare try to close them even a little. you’re gasping and lacing your fingers in his hair, motivating him with every little tug you deliver.

“you’re going—nngh, gyu! fuck! going really fast..!” you cry out. he feels how much you’re shaking already, even your hand is unsteady against his scalp. it just turns him on so much fucking more, though. he needs to see you ruined, see how far he can push you.

his tongue pushes into your tight little hole, and his eyes almost roll back from how much resistance he’s met with. fuck, you really are inexperienced. he can’t imagine how he’ll even fit his fingers in there, let alone his dick.

his nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. you’re moaning out much whinier than he’s heard from you before, and it does crazy things to him. he wants to fuck you so bad. he’d ram his dick into you, relentless and mean, and you’d take it so well because you’re so wet and so good to him.

he has to make you cum, he needs to feel you fall apart over his tongue. shit—you’ve never even had a guy make you cum before, he’s gonna be the first. the thought fuels him further, doubling his efforts, fingers digging into your skin to keep you still. he feels your walls start clenching down on his tongue, and he wonders how much more it will take before you’re spasming wildly around him.

he pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. he needs this more than he needs air, aching to finally taste your orgasm after days of longing for it.

“oh my god, gyu—gyu! i’m..!” you can’t even form coherent sentences, and your words are barely decipherable with how high pitched and whiny they are. you're putting up a hell of a fight against his hold on your thighs, but he doesn’t give. he moans into your pussy once he feels your cunt clamp down on his tongue like a vice, trapping him in so all he can do is curl his tongue up inside you. you’re squirming beneath him, sounding so beautiful and pathetic that he almost cums in his pants.

he only stops once you’re pulling hard at his hair, forcing his head off of you before he can overstimulate you any more. he pulls away panting, catching his breath and licking his lips, staring at your cunt like he’s entranced. the way your arousal still leaks from your entrance is teasing him, making his brain get all foggy.

he has to pull himself away before he gets too ahead of himself and dives into you again. he hovers over your, smiling at how fucked out you look. pride fills his chest knowing that he did this to you. your hand falls onto his shoulder, trailing up his neck and landing on his jaw, cupping his face gently. he decides to kiss you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you must have used up a lot of energy when you came, cause your lips move against his much slower than before.

beomgyu’s still just as needy, though, dick throbbing almost painfully in his pants as he grinds against your thigh. he wishes he had some shame, but that left him the moment you let him take off your panties. he pulls away from your mouth to suck your neck instead, unable to control himself, barely able to cling onto reality right now at all.

“not too hard, don’t mark me there,” you say, trying to pull his face away. he doesn’t even really register your words, too far off in his own world in which you’re some pretty little virgin lying on his bed waiting for him to fuck you.

he just wants to get you all cute and bruised, purple hues all over your body from his mouth or his fingers gripping you tight. you’d never be able to go back to taehyun like that. you’d have to stay right here with beomgyu, be his pretty little toy to use whenever he wants to get you wet and pliant.

you successfully tug him off of you when you pull his hair particularly hard. he pouts at you, finally coming back to reality as he watches your eyes dart across his face. he wonders what you must be searching for.

“how was it?” he asks.

“really good,” you say with an innocent smile that doesn’t match the situation.

“told you,” he laughs, tugging you up and moving you around until you’re sitting in his lap, your back to his chest.

“what are you doing?” you look over your shoulder, eyes big and shiny, and it’s almost like you’re tempting him to kiss you again. he rolls his hips up and grinds against your ass, pulling a gasp from you.

“can’t i get off too?” he asks with a grin, guiding your head back to lean against his shoulder, wanting you to get comfortable. his hands smooth up your thighs and stop at your hips, holding you tight there to keep you in place while he thrusts against you.

he’s obsessed with this, could stay in this moment forever with you. some domestic feeling comes over him, something that urges him to keep you happy, keep you feeling like this all the time. his hands get greedy on your thighs, drawing closer and closer to your core, wanting to feel your heat once again.

he brings a gentle hand to your center, spreading your folds and collecting your arousal. you sigh dreamily, tucking your face into his neck. he feels your lashes flutter as your eyes close, and he wants nothing more than to please you again. he brings his fingers to your clit, rubbing soft circles there, carefully watching your face.

you look so peaceful like this. his heart is aching now and he doesn’t know why. you’re painfully beautiful. why can’t this last forever?

he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing you right into him so he can grind against you deliciously. he moans at the feeling, hastening his pace as he chases his high with more determination. his fingers tease your entrance, wondering what you’d do if he just pushed in a little, only up to his first knuckle. he doesn’t, though, because he wants you to trust him.

“a-are you close?” you ask, hand reaching blindly behind you until it tangles in his hair. he pecks your nose, finding you awfully cute like this.

“yeah. are you?” he returns his attention to your clit, rubbing a little more wildly now. you let out a strangled moan as you nod. he watches your stomach clench and your hips roll. he’s so greedy; he wants to pull away just to keep you here a little longer. anything to keep you from leaving.

his hips work harder against you, blinded by the need to make you his and take you from anyone else. you're twitching uncontrollably, and he realizes that you’re cumming again, which satisfies him so much that he crashes right into his own orgasm. his arm fastens around you tighter, pressing himself as close to you as he can while his seed spills out of his cock.

“so good, so good,” he babbles, fingers flying over your clit, not listening to your protests and whines. he can’t let you go. he doesn’t want this to end.

“too much!” you gasp out, body defenseless to his ministrations. he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead.

“don’t leave yet,” he begs. “there’s still more i wanna do.” he’s selfish, he won’t hide it. he’ll wear his desperation on his sleeve now if that’s what will work.

“gyu!” he doesn’t even know if you’re registering his words. you might be too busy running away from the next orgasm he’s trying to bring you to. he feels how you keep getting wetter—you’re soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs.

“could show you so much,” he rambles, letting his mouth run wild. “i have some vibes we could use. those feel nice, you’d like those. i could get my fingers in you, stretch you out. whatever you want.”

you’re a mess of moans, and your body’s trembling more than he’s ever felt before. you must be getting close again.

“could teach you how to take dick,” he says into your ear, grinning when he feels you shudder. his fingers continue to rub recklessly at your pussy. he doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow—he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d shed tears.

“ah, fuck—i’m cumming!” you moan, body going limp as you finally succumb to the feeling. beomgyu feels so proud.

“good job, fuck, just like that. what a good pussy, so perfect,” he praises, words falling past his lips without a thought in the world. he wonders if you’ll be worn down enough to spend the night with him. that’s much more than he should be asking for, but he wants it just as badly as anything else he wants from you.

he finally lets up once you come down, smoothing your skirt back into place. you look so tired as your chest heaves, getting your breathing back to normal. he thinks you’re pretty like this, too.

“do you wanna sleep here?” beomgyu offers, testing his luck. he’s summoning any spirit that wants to be on his side today, chanting prayers in his head that you’ll give in without him having to beg.

you blink up at him slowly. god, you’re already falling asleep. he’s not letting you walk back home like this.

“i shouldn’t…” you say, but you’re already lying back against his mattress. he grins at you and pulls a blanket over your body.

“yeah, you shouldn’t,” he teases. your eyes flutter shut, and he almost wants to take a picture of this. “i’ll get you some water,” he says quietly, walking out of the room to do just that.

he comes back to your sleeping figure, slow breaths filling the room as he places your cup on his nightstand. he might have to buy some lottery tickets tomorrow, he’s feeling insanely lucky.

he changes out of his soiled boxers and sweatpants, quickly throwing on new ones so he can hurry up and lay with you. before he can get in bed beside you, he spots your panties on the floor. he looks back at you, making sure you’re asleep before bending down and swiping them up. he wonders if you’ll believe him tomorrow morning when he says you must’ve lost them.

this is unedited so plz excuse any errors lmfao

[ninikrumbs]

what gave it away?

Satoru gojo x dense reader. fluff.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest, the honored one. The world practically shifted on its axis the moment he was born. Curses feared him, fellow sorcerers respected him, and women swoon at the mere sight of him. He is indispensable in the battle field and the head of one of the three prominent families in the Jujutsu World meaning he was rich beyond his means. Yet to your bewilderment, here he was, standing in your little kitchen, cooking an omelet for you, with fresh coffee ready in the pot. The morning light made his snowy hair look radiant, his eyes glowing, and a small smile decorating his lips. He looked absolutely ethereal.

A hand on the hip of his luxury pants, another on your cute pastel pink spatula, eyes so focused on his task before he saw you eyeing him at the corner of his eyes. Instantly all his focus directed to you, a gentle smile forming on his face. And it was a type of smile that reached his eyes, nothing but pure contentment grace his beautiful features. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

You felt something clicked in your head, but like a missing puzzle piece you didn’t even know you were looking for. Almost speechless, you mumbled a low good morning back.

“Morning.” you eye him suspiciously as you slowly sat down on the bar stool in front of your kitchen island. He did not seem to notice your sudden perplexities of him as you studied him intently.

"Satoru, why are you here?” you asked hesitantly, propping your hands on your chin.

He looked at you, blue eyes puzzled as he turned off the stove. “What do you mean? I vaguely remember offering to cook you breakfast yesterday. Did ya forget?”

You shake your head. “No, I meant why are you cooking breakfast for me?”

Confusion and worry graced his features as he gazed at you intently, his eyes wandering all of over your face. “Are you okay? Feeling sick?”

His hand flew to your forehead before replacing it with his own forehead. You pulled away from his close proximity, your cheeks burning before clumsily saying “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sighed. The sight of Gojo in his teachers uniform in your kitchen was a common occurrence, but it hasn't occurred to you until now about the why. Why is he in your kitchen during the mornings, cooking you breakfast? Why is he randomly giving you flowers,cause he thought you would like them? Why would he drop a mission for you because he thought you were sick?

You always thought that Gojo's act of services were just the results of a life long friendship built on mutual respect and trust, and of course you liked to think you did care and love each other on a platonic level, but could it be something else?

The late night visits after his missions, the endless souvenirs, the unabashed physical affection. His sulky moments when you don’t give him your attention and how he always tries to make you happy. Were you really this dense?

Your head tilted to the side, pure and utter disbelief in your voice as you speak, “You’re in love with me.”

Surprise passed his features. His bright azure eyes wide, and jaw falling slightly slacked. He was silent for a moment, before giving a low chuckle. “What gave it away?”

Now, It was your turn to be taken aback. He wasn’t even trying to denying it, in fact he looked relieved like a weight was lifted off his shoulder. His lips curved into a teasing smile, but his eyes. Oh his eyes, they were full of unfiltered adoration.

“You are?” You breathed in disbelief. Did he really shower you with his love all this time without ever knowing that it was gonna be reciprocated?

He huffed a laugh before making his way to you, squeezing himself between your thighs and pressed his forehead against yours. “For a couple of years now, thought you’d never notice.”

[indecisivemuch]

Lovesick & Lovelorn

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending).

Note: Ahh, I'm so happy the show got renewed for season 2.

Word count: 3.3k

You were deeply convinced your fate was tied to one with eternal lovelorn. 

Three years ago, you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and settled into the Hermes cabin before you were claimed by your Godly parent. It was there that you met Luke Castellan - one of your soon-to-be best friends. Though, you knew you were doomed from your first glance into his eyes. Then came his friendly smile and an offer of a handshake, where his hand engulfed yours.

At first, you thought that silly little crush would dissipate. But over time, as you became close friends with the Hermes cabin counselor, you were almost convinced he was faultless. You seemed to adore every little thing about him. Along with the fondness that grew in your heart was also self-pity. At one point, even looking at him hurt because you knew he did not return your feelings.

Hence, the letters.

In between your memories of Luke were letters you wrote throughout those years just to cope with the unreciprocated feeling. It was painful, but what else could you do? You truly believed confessing would put your friendship at risk. Neither did you feel like dealing with the heartache of a rejection. So you never uttered any of your feelings to him, continuing to imprint it on lined papers instead.

You scowled as the pen you were using ran out of ink, leaving the latest edition of unspoken words unfinished. Wordlessly, you fold the incomplete letter into an envelope and shove it into the turquoise box you bought while returning from a quest once. You neatly put the box under your bed.

“Y/N, it’s time to head out,” one of your sisters repeated. Two minutes ago, people were starting to leave, so those on cleaning duties could clean up your cabin. Since you were mid-writing, you hastily asked for a few more seconds. Now, you were the only one left besides two of your sisters.

“Yes, sorry,” you quickly muttered, exiting the cabin and almost immediately bumped into Luke. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I’m here for you. I thought we should hang out,” Luke answered ever so casually. Yet, your heart swelled at the thought that he was there for you. Before you could reply, you two were interrupted by another camper, who told you that one of your other best friends needed you and that it was an emergency.

“I’m so sorry, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that hangout,” you informed Luke. You slowly started walking backward and away from him. “I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Come find me whenever you’re done, yeah?” Luke requested, hoping to spend time with you later. His soft look made you pause mid-step, almost as if your foot had been cemented to the stones beneath. You nodded absentmindedly before snapping out of that state to comfort your friend.

After two hours of listening to your friend and comforting them, you finally left their cabin to search for Luke, who previously told you to find him after. However, around half an hour later, you slowly gave up at the thought of doing so, feeling almost defeated.

As you turned to head back to your cabin, you spotted the Hermes counselor exiting his. You called out his name, watching his back stiffen before he turned to you. You ignored the odd behavior and recalled, “I’m free now if you’re down to hang out.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”

“Uhm, well, I guess I’ll just meet you at our spot whenever you’re done then?” you suggested. You and Luke fell into a routine of star-gazing every night.

Laying under the dark sky that painted your whole horizon often made you feel small. But something about that was so calming, especially considering most of the time, you were suffocated by the weight and duties of being a Demigod. You wondered if it was the moment or if it was Luke’ presence that aided your momentary peace.

“I really, really can’t tonight, I have a lot of things to do.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’ll see you around?” you replied, watching as Luke fidgeted and gulped while attempting to look normal. It was futile, really, because being best friends meant you could sense when the slightest thing was even off. He nodded, and you retreated to your cabin with thoughts swirling in your head.

Then came the next few torturous and confusing days. For the last two years, Luke would always approach you - almost daily, and vice versa. Being best friends with Luke has been wonderful. Every day together felt like a blessing.

Now, it seemed almost like he was avoiding you. He would find a new excuse whenever you approached. He wouldn’t even look in your direction. Yesterday, you made eye contact with him, and he turned away abruptly, facing his back towards you.

You had enough after day three. You went to your cabin after dinner and reached under your bed with one hand. You did not want to, but this would perhaps be your first-ever letter of anguish about Luke Castellan.

The box…where is the box?

You peered under your bed, mouth hanging open when your eyes could not spot it either. You looked up and around, hoping maybe you had misplaced it somewhere, even though part of you knew you had put it under your bed. You have always done so.

“Hey, have you seen a turquoise box?” you asked your sister as she walked by.

“Oh, the rectangle one, about this big?” your sister reconfirmed, using her hand to show you the size she indicated.

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh, I gave it to Luke.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was cleaning the cabin three days ago, accidentally knocked it over and saw letters addressed to him. He was right by the door, so I thought maybe I should just deliver them to him.”

Blood drained from your face, and your heart plummeted. Anything else your sister seemed to be talking about started sounding like murmurs, and you could not focus on a word she was saying. Your worst nightmare seemed to have arrived. Somehow, your friendship with him had ended without you knowing. No wonder he has been avoiding you these past few days. He has read them all.

“I need to go,” you quickly muttered, storming out of your cabin. You could feel your body slightly shaking from the panic. No amount of Demigod training had prepared you for moments like these. Then you saw Luke walking over you…with the box in his hands. You took a deep breath and practically forced your voice box to work.

“Listen, Luke—”

“I didn’t think you’d buy birthday gifts that early, Y/N,” he interrupted.

“What?” you questioned and observed the sweet smile gracing his Adonis-like face.

“This?” he gestured to the box. “Your sister gave it to me and said it was from you. Though I thought I should give it back ‘cause it’s not my birthday yet, you might have wanted to give it to me yourself.”

“Oh…” it was the only thing you could utter as it dawned on you what he had perceived the situation as. “Wait, so you haven’t opened it?” you clarified.

“Nope.”

“...So we’re ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. As you scrunch your eyebrows, you could see how his fingers fidget somewhat, almost as if he could tell you would bring his odd behavior up.

“You’ve been acting really odd the last few days, Luke. It had me worried. I thought I did something wrong. It seems like you were avoiding me.”

“I was just really busy with counselor duties,” he dismissed it. However, something about it made you a bit hesitant to believe his words. You did it anyway, nevertheless. You blamed it on your stupid heart.

“Yeah, but—” you stopped, not wanting to stir anything. “Ok then, I’m going to put this away, but I’ll see you later, yeah? Maybe we can finally not rain check again?” You hated how hopeful you sounded. You’re glad that the sun had set a few minutes ago, blessing you with enough degree of darkness to hide your facial expressions from being as evident as they would be in daylight.

“Of course, I’ll see you later, Y/N,” despite the dark and only dim lights from nearby, you noticed there was something different about him. Luke was wearing a nervous smile, almost sheepish like a schoolboy. There was a glimmer of amazement in his eyes like he was in disbelief. Though it was definitely overpowered by a glaring degree of warmth. He was looking at you like all those writers have written down in the books you have read before - something along the lines of adoration and love.

You shook those thoughts away again, refusing to somehow fool yourself into believing he could reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, see you,” you muttered, hand gripping tightly on the box as you took it from his hold. As soon as you reached your cabin, you opened the box to peer inside. You immediately sighed in relief upon seeing the copious amount of letters with your handwriting on them, all with Luke’s name on the front.

However, your eyes landed on one unfamiliar one. It had your name on it, written in a familiar wonky handwriting that you have always found endearing.

You sat on your bed, taking the letter out delicately, almost in disbelief. Then, dread overtook any other emotion. Was this Luke’s way of letting you down easy? By pretending to not have read any of your letters and rejecting you through the form that you express your love to him? — you had to physically shake your head at that thought.

You took the letter out of its envelope and started reading: 

‘Dear Y/N,

This is probably the 40th time I tried writing this letter. It feels impossible to try and convey everything onto one piece of paper.

You deserve someone to at least view you as their muse rather than always being the writer. 

Hence why, for the past few days, I had to physically drag myself away from you every time you tried approaching me because I knew if I didn’t, I would just end up spilling my feelings out right then. I knew if I even looked at you, I would have just abandoned this letter idea and run to you. You should have seen me yesterday. When we made eye contact, I had to turn away from you because having the knowledge of you liking me back was enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. I was a flustered mess from just that eye contact.

I doubt my words could rival what you have written about me. You once wrote how it hurts to love someone this much and to always be the poet but never the poem. Well, I’d like to thank you for making me your poems. However, now it is your turn. Allow me to be your poet.

You occupy my mind like it’s your castle. If I had to name everything I love about you, this letter would never end. But for starters, here are some of the first times:

The first time Chiron introduced you to the Hermes cabin, I could not take my eyes off you. Chris had to nudge me away. Just from that alone, a part of me knew I was in trouble. I think I came to the conclusion that I did not want to hold anybody else’s hand after just shaking yours.

2.5 years back during a campfire in June, even when the fire had died and the air grew cold, our voices still filled the air. Conversations just flow when I am with you. I remember never wanting that moment to end. Then you started talking about constellations and told me about the ones above us. Right there and then was the first time I had the urge to kiss you, and to show you that I was just as obsessed with you as you were with stars.

The first time I realized I was in love with you was while coming back from a quest 2 years ago. I remember feeling so numb coming back. The world almost seemed monotone, and I wondered for a second, what if I had made one wrong move? Just as I returned to camp, you bolted and hugged me. Somehow, it felt like I had just taken my first bit of fresh air after drowning for so long. I vividly recall shutting my eyes as I hugged you back because I felt like I was finally home. I remember never wanting to be away or out of your hold as others approached and rushed to get me into the infirmary for checkups.

It was only when I was lying on the infirmary bed that it hit me like a train that lost control. A large proportion of why I fought so hard was to come back to you. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and my place of solace and peace. Then came the realization that I was in love with you. I remember everybody else’s voice drowning out as I focused on that thought. It was strangely calming, as if my heart had known all along but was waiting for my head to catch up. Then I remember just smiling as I looked at the ceiling, unafraid of the new feeling.

Last year, the day we went on a quest together lapsed with Valentine’s Day. Every moment felt extra sweet. Us sitting on the train, staring outside the window together like a couple going on a trip. My mind savoured the small things like you falling asleep on my shoulder with my coat around you and us holding hands as we walked through the crowd to not get lost among couples - which I like to imagine that others had thought we were one as well. It was the first time I allowed myself to pretend this is how it would feel like if you were mine and how our lives together would be if we were not Demigods.

I thought for sure you would have realized something by the way I was staring and acting around you that I was irrevocably in love with you. After reading your letters, I realized that you did see it. But you refused to believe that I could ever be in love with you. Well, I hope my letters will reverse all your doubts, because Y/N, it is so easy to fall in love with you. 

In fact, the world I built up in my head during last year’s quest had consumed my thoughts enough to make me frown at the idea of returning to camp, where it would not just be the two of us anymore. Loving you has never been something I was afraid of. Loving you has been an honour every single day, even if you never knew of it. 

It’s also somewhat funny that I was heavily lovesick while you were lovelorn. But I promise, Y/N, that from this second on, I intend to make you know that you are loved and that I am so deeply in love with you.

Again, I never intended for you to wait for three days, but I ended up throwing away every letter I started because I felt like none had suffice. I didn’t want to mess it up and give you something less than you deserved. I wanted to do something nice for you. I promise I’ll make it up for those three days if you allow me to. But one chance is all I need.

If you are willing to give me that chance, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Luke Castellan’

Upon reading his last words, you immediately left your cabin with the letter in hand. You jogged to the spot where the two of you would always meet to stargaze together. Almost instantly, you saw his tall figure under the moonlight. As if he could sense your presence, the Hermes boy turned around and gave you a sweet smile.

“You meant it?” you asked as you raised the letter up, slowly approaching him.

“Every single word, including all the unspoken ones I intend on telling you from now on,” the way he said it felt like he was swearing it on his own heart. “In fact, I would have written more down, but I knew I was keeping you waiting for too long,” he explained as you stopped right before him.

Something about this moment felt cathartic. Three years of dancing around unspoken words and yearning led to this moment. Luke grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckle. You peered up at him, and it was then that you finally accepted what his looks meant: he was in love with you, and there was no doubt about that. There was no more denial on your end that Luke Castellan was enamored with you.

“Will you let me be your poet, Y/N?” he breathlessly referenced the words you and him had both previously written like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime.

“Of course,” you answered almost without hesitation, watching his eyes soften even more, if possible.

“Is it ok if I ask you another question?” he asked again, his other hand caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” Your face flushed as you saw his brown eyes dart to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t say anything. You’ve written down way too many words in the past three years. You decided actions would speak louder in this case. So you pulled Luke down by his camp necklace, hands gripping the beads on it as you tiptoed up to reach his lips. 

Luke physically melted as he brought one hand to your waist to hold you up as he leaned down from the height difference. Everything Luke had imagined before could not match the kiss he was finally sharing with you - the kiss that seemed to seal his lips into a spell that would forever leave them unable to belong to anyone else. It felt like heaven and hell combined because he knew that this was going to ruin him forever, and every second he spent with his eyes shut would be one where he had this feeling and moment sown behind his eyelids. 

You had the same line of thoughts. The wait was long, but you felt like it was worth it. Under the stars, you may feel small. But standing there next to Luke, you finally realize it doesn’t matter. Because he was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were his sun, moon, and everything in between - no constellations could ever measure to you.

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

masterlist

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[studioeisa]

first love/late spring 🌸 wonwoo x reader.

humans have four lives. a life of planting seeds, a life of watering seeds, a life of harvesting, and a life of enjoying those harvests.

🌸 pairing. first love!wonwoo x reader. 🌸 word count. 2.5k. 🌸 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, romance, friendship. 🌸 includes. first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation. prose-heavy. synopsis from goblin: the great and lonely god. title from mitski’s song of the same name. inspired by this wonwoo post i made way back when. 🌸 notes. this was my planned enlistment fic, but it took me a while to polish. much thanks to my dearest, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, for beta-ing and assisting with the final line. this goes out to @gotta-winwin, who i’m fairly sure i would find and adore in all my lives. my masterlist

Every morning at 7:42 A.M., you see him on the train.

He always boards two stops after yours, dressed in earth tones and quiet silences. There's a softness to him—the slope of his shoulders, the way he leans ever so slightly against the pole even when there’s a free seat.

He carries a book some days, a plain black umbrella on others. You’ve never heard him speak, but you’ve built a voice for him in your head anyway: calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.

You don’t know his name. 

You know how he tucks his hair behind his ear when it falls forward, though. You know he reads with his thumb pressed between pages, like he’s holding space in more than just one chapter. You know the way his eyes flicker to the window, then away, like he’s still not used to being seen.

This is your first life: the planting of seeds. 

A glance, a passing thought, a what-if rooted in the mundane. You sit with him in silence, three bodies apart, and imagine what it might be like to bump into him at a coffee shop, to hear him laugh, to say something that earns you a second look.

Once, the train jerks too hard at a stop and he stumbles. Your hand shoots out before your brain catches up, steadying him by the forearm.

He murmurs something—a thank you, you assume— and offers a brief smile. It’s not quite the real thing, but it’s enough to keep you warm the rest of the day.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

You begin to notice the little things. The way his shoes are always a little scuffed. The tiny pin on his tote bag shaped like a cat. The crease between his brows when he reads something particularly intense.

You wonder if he’s single. If he likes rainy days or prefers the sun. If he’d like the sound of your laugh. If he’s ever looked at you and thought, maybe.

You don’t know it yet—you won’t, not for some time—but you’ve already begun loving him. Not in the way that demands. In the way that simply hopes. That soft, shapeless kind of affection that asks for nothing in return.

Your mother calls this phase infatuation. Your friends call it a crush. But it feels deeper than that, doesn’t it? 

Something older. Like a seed you’d forgotten you planted, blooming in the background of your everyday life.

You don’t talk to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You still show up every morning at 7:42 A.M., and that feels like something sacred.

Some people meet under fireworks. Others, under streetlights. 

You meet under the hum of subway rails, in the hush of early morning.

And even if nothing comes of it, you’ll remember this as the time you first saw Jeon Wonwoo—when your first love took root on a train that always ran late.

Your second life starts with an assigned seat.

It’s the first day of the semester, and the classroom hums with new pens, old anxieties, and the sharp scent of whiteboard markers. The teacher calls out names alphabetically, and when she says “Jeon Wonwoo,” you don’t flinch.

You don’t remember him from the train, of course—not in this life. That’s how these things work.

He slides into the seat beside yours. A quiet presence that feels oddly familiar. You glance over, and he nods politely, lips pressed in a near-smile.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies. His voice is calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.

This is your second life: the watering of seeds.

What started as quiet curiosity now stretches its limbs toward the light. You’re no longer strangers in motion, but classmates. Partners in the second row.

Wonwoo is the kind of student who doesn’t speak unless he has something to say, but when he does, it sticks with you. He lends you a pen on the second day without you asking. He shares a pack of sour candy with you during long lectures.

He passes you a note during a film screening that just says: This movie is terrible.

You laugh, quietly, and write back: You’re just saying that because you have no taste.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You wound me,” he murmurs, the words only for you to hear. A lot of Wonwoo’s words are that— yours and yours alone. 

You get partnered for a project. Your topic is obscure and boring, but somehow, working with him makes it bearable. You bicker. He rolls his eyes at your messy notes. You start staying late after class to finish the presentation.

One night, you’re both hunched over his laptop in the library. It’s raining outside. The air smells like paper and distant thunder.

“Do you believe in past lives?” you ask him out of nowhere.

He looks at you, long and unreadable. “I think we meet the same people over and over. Just in different ways,” he eventually says.

He’s indulging you. You’re not sure why. You push it, as if somehow wheedling an answer out of him might solve the pitter-patter in your chest. “So, maybe we’ve met before?”

“Maybe,” he says. Then, softer: “Feels like I’ve known you longer than a month.”

Your heart does that thing again. A steady lurch, like a train car that turned a corner a little too fast. 

It’s nothing. But it’s also everything.

He walks you home after. You share his umbrella. He offers the dry side of the sidewalk.

You don’t hold hands. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

But your sleeve brushes his once, twice. He doesn’t pull away.

The seeds are growing. They don’t know what they’ll become. They reach out of the soil and towards the sun anyway.

In your third life, there is yield. Something that bears ripe fruit, enough for you to pick and take a bite of. 

Your mothers meet in the hospital nursery, trading horror stories about labor while you and Wonwoo cry in tandem from two separate cribs. Dual births, dual baby albums, dual high chairs at every party.

The houses share a fence, your families share garden tools and barbecues, and you and Wonwoo—well. You share everything else.

From the moment you could speak, you said his name like a reflex. 

Your first sentence was reportedly, “Where’s Woo-woo?” and his was your name, mispronounced and gummy.

The tapes your moms keep are a blur of toddler feet and wonky camera angles. There’s one where he’s in your kiddie pool wearing a bucket on his head, and you’re laughing like he just invented comedy.

No one ever sat you down to explain your friendship. It just existed, like gravity or rain. And maybe that’s why the feelings sneak up on you. You’ve never known life without Wonwoo—how are you expected to know when the air has started to shift?

The day it happens, you’re sixteen. Lying on the warm roof of the garden shed while he’s reading aloud from some fantasy book you insisted on but couldn’t get through. 

You’re not listening to the words. You’re watching the way his lips move, the way his lashes catch the sun. You’re trying to memorize the curve of his jaw, and then you’re thinking: Oh. Oh no.

You spend weeks pretending it didn’t happen.

“You good?” he asks once, when you nearly fall off the roof trying to avoid sitting too close.

“I'm fine,” you say, too fast.

He frowns, puts his book down. “You're acting weird.”

You sit up, brush dust off your shorts, make a face. “You’re weird.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“Shut up and read, Wonwoo.”

He does, but the silence between his sentences stretches.

It becomes harder to lie the more he smiles at you, the more he brushes dirt from your cheek or laughs at your jokes. You feel like you’re drowning in something warm and familiar, something you’ve known all your life but never named.

One night, after a school dance you don’t attend, he climbs through your window like always, hoodie slung over his shoulder. You’re sitting on your bed, and he flops beside you like gravity yanked him there.

“You ever think about stuff?” he asks.

You side-eye him. “That’s vague.”

“I mean, like... why some things feel easy. Like how we never had to try to be friends.”

You don’t say anything. The warmth in your chest is unbearable. He’s right there. He’s always been right there.

“Do you ever feel like we’ve known each other longer than we should’ve?” he continues, eyes on your ceiling. “Like, before this?”

You blink. Your heart pounds so loud, you’re sure he hears it.

“Sometimes,” you whisper. “Sometimes I think I’ve been in love with you before I even knew what love was.”

He turns to look at you. And Wonwoo—quiet, steady, unshakable Wonwoo—smiles like he’s been waiting all his lives to hear it.

“Me, too,” he says. 

Your first life—

You wonder about him for years. His quiet demeanor, the books he read, the way he always stood near the door but let everyone pass him when it was his stop.

That was the first version of this feeling: Something sudden, warm, and unearned. Like the sun through a window. 

You never know his name, but you built stories around him on every ride, convinced that maybe, just maybe, he’ll turn around one day and say something. 

He never does. 

And when you graduate, change routes, move cities, you never see him again. He becomes nothing more than that. A story. A seed. A start—for what, you don’t know yet. 

Your second life— 

He had felt like a miracle, like fate circling back to tap you on the shoulder. You thought that love would bloom into something permanent. It felt like it should have. 

But timing is cruel, and the feelings—though mutual—couldn’t survive the storm of adolescence, the fear of messing up something tender. You tell yourself you weren’t meant to be.

You carry him with you anyway, in the songs you send each other, the paper cranes folded during long lectures, the way he once said your name like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

He walks you home, still, until he can’t. Until a lovely girl takes your place under his umbrella, and you find someone else to share your snacks with. 

At reunions, you exchange polite smiles and aborted nods. Both of you find happiness beyond each other.  

And then, the hardest of them all— 

The one who knew every bad haircut and birthday wish. The one who saw you through braces, heartbreak, and every awkward year in between.

You loved him with the kind of ease that novels try to replicate; for a moment, you thought that might be enough. But when the time came, when the feelings were named and returned, you both pulled back. 

Not out of fear, but reverence. 

Some things are too precious to touch. You’d rather have him forever as your constant, your anchor, than risk a goodbye too painful to bear.

“Maybe in our next life,” he breathes, forehead against yours, breath warm. “Maybe then we’ll be brave.”

You nod, your fingers curling over the front of his shirt like it might somehow keep him in place. “We always find each other, don’t we?”

He smiles. It looks a lot like a promise. 

In that life, you yield. 

At least you get to keep him. He delivers a tearful speech at your wedding. He makes you the godmother of his children. Your love reshapes into something else. One that still matters, even if it’s not the kind that you might have expected. 

Three versions of a first love. 

None of them last. All of them linger.

You don’t regret a single one.

The fourth life begins like the others—quietly, without fanfare.

You meet Wonwoo at a time when everything is finally still. 

No childhoods to tiptoe around, no adolescent crushes that tilt into heartbreak. You aren’t sitting across from him in a classroom or watching him disappear behind the closing doors of a train.

He is simply there—on a late spring afternoon at a mutual friend’s dinner, wearing a gray sweater and a small, uncertain smile.

You don’t know it at the time, but this is the life you get to keep him.

It starts slow. There’s time, now. You learn him from the beginning, with no earlier version to compete with. And yet something familiar pulses beneath it all.

You know how he likes his coffee before he tells you. You can predict the rhythm of his speech, the slope of his laughter. You fall in love with him easily, steadily—like gravity pulling you to the ground.

He is your first love in this life. You don’t tell him. Not yet.

And then one day, you lose him.

The details don’t matter. A job offer. A choice. A goodbye. Whatever it is, you let go. It feels like the end of a story you’ve lived too many times before. You think: This is the harvest, and it was never mine to reap.

But you were promised joy in this life, weren’t you?

Years later, you see him again. A bar, this time. Familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten. He hasn’t changed much—still soft-eyed, still shy with his smiles.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, unsure if you want it to be him or not.

He turns. Freezes. His voice, calm and deep, amused and affectionate, shapes the words in the back of your mind: “I was hoping it’d be you.”

You sit. You drink. You talk.

You tell him, somewhere between the second and third beer, “You were my first love, you know.”

Sure, you’re talking about this life, but a part of you feels like it goes beyond that. You’re not sure how many iterations of this story exist in the book of the universe; all you know is that this simply cannot be the only time you’ve counted Wonwoo’s eyelashes, as if you might be able to make wishes with them. 

He looks at you for a long moment. Studies you. As if, he too, is mapping out the features of your face against versions of you that no longer exist.

“You were mine, too,” he says.

You laugh, disbelieving. “Really?”

“Really.” 

There’s silence. A good one.

And then finally, finally, he kisses you. No fanfare. No salty tears as you resolve to stay friends. It’s not a daydream on the subway, not a fleeting thought in a library. 

It’s just that same, steady gravity of eventuality. 

When his hand finds yours, when your lips press together, when he pulls apart with a half-smile, you know. Jeon Wonwoo is your first love, and this time, he’ll be your last love, too.

In this life, you finally reap what you sowed.

In this life, the love lasts. 

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day three: Age Gap!

cw: age gap (that is legal), dads best friend trope, virgin reader, pervy John Price, oral sex, mentions of oral sex on John, mentions of bondage, ‘good girl’, degrading names mentioned, mentions of manipulation, riding, creampie, facial

Dad’s best friend John who is always staring at you, eyes lost and almost dizzy looking- like he’s stuck in a trance or deep in thought. Dad’s best friend John who will smile at you, patting your shoulder as he greats you, his hand slipping slightly just skimming over your delicate breasts. Dad’s best friend John who is way too fucking old for you: i mean way too old.

You sat on the guys knee before you could even remember, he helped raise you, taking you to places- picking you up, teasing you like a normal man to his best friend’s daughter would. Not some sick and twisted pervert thats mind has been taken up with thoughts ever since you’d became legal. Naughty fucking thoughts.

He’d wonder what colour panties you were wearing as you pranced around the house, a small smile on your face and you greet him nervously. Maybe they were frilly and pink, so sweet and adorable just like you were- just like you’d taste. God he wanted you on his tongue- riding his face softly as you cry and wail for him to not tell your dad.

And of course he wouldn’t darling, he couldn’t risk his sweet little thing to be taken away from him. He knew it was sick, and for a while he’d tried to silence his thoughts, put a nail in his disgusting sexual fantasies, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t take one look at you without wondering if you were as wet and turned on as his cock was, but hey, he wasn’t going to fuck you. It wasn’t bad to think of them thoughts if he’d promised to himself to keep his hands to himself- he can look but not touch. Not until tonight at least.

Your dad was out of town, thanks to him- leaving you home alone this halloween. You’d be sat by the door, bowl of candy in your hand and you gave children handfuls with your soft innocent smile, soft innocent smile he’d ruin later.

Your movements were so youthful- looked angelic. He’d wait in the shadows, eyes locked onto the outside of your abode, waiting for the heard of family’s in costume to leave before quickly climbing the steps of your porch and giving your door a loud knock.

It was silly really, fucking ridiculous taking into account all he could lose. He could probably lose his job- as he and your father worked together, could lose his long friendship with your dad definitely and most importantly, he could lose you. If you were to reject him- he wouldn’t know what to do with himself- luckily enough he wasn’t counting on that happening. He’d feel your folds against his dick even if he has to tie you down to do it.

Through the blurred glass of the door he watched you hurriedly pace over, stalking you like prey as your hands gripped the halloween bowl full of vibrant little candy bars, opening the door with a smile before blinking in suprise.

“John?” You spoke, voice almost cracking from the surprise because you weren’t expecting him to arrive. Not today when your dad was away at least.

“Trick or treat.” He teased, pushing past you as he waltzed his way to the kitchen: no invitation needed. Waiting for you by the expensive marble island your dad had recently installed, back perched and arms crossed. Price hated the modern look people gave their homes nowadays, he liked the simple- warm cozy atmosphere over the bland and boring ‘expensive’ type.

You could see the muscles beneath his simple black t-shirt and despite his age he sure did look good. Subconsciously finding your lip caught between your two teeth. What was happening to you tonight? You’d been alone with John before so why did it now feel so.. different?

“My dad’s not here this weekend unfortunately..” You spoke, planting the bowl down on the island, hands placed on the top of the surface and he couldn’t help but watch as your tits buldged so shamelessly, like you were just asking for him to touch, showing off to get a reaction. The sexual atmosphere was enough to send Price over the edge but he clicked his jaw, taking a deep breath and began the conversation.

“I know he isn’t. I gave him the job to do.” It came out sharply and more truthful than he wished it to, taking into account the little eye twitch you did as your store into his. His cock slapping the material of his underwear, leaking more precum than he had ever. The way you were looking at him was pornographic, dirty: you fucking knew what he was here for and you wanted to give it to him.

He didn’t want to waste anytime, instantly walking over towards you, tucking hair behind your ear as he breathed in your scent, grunting in response. He looked down at you, so small and so obedient below him, a good girl. His tongue met your neck and he licked a warm hot line up to your jaw, groaning slowly as he whispered inside your ear.

“Tell me, darling. You a virgin?” Your face heated pathetically as you nodded and heard his chuckle, he was so desperate to get inside you now. Knowing how tight and wet you were bound to be, knowing that he could fuck and fuck all the innocence out of you until you became his personal little cum whore- he could keep you as his if you let him inside. Having leverage and something to hang over your head when you are misbehaving or forgetting who owns you. ‘Oh you don’t want to get on all fours and beg for my dick? That’s fine, I’ll just call your daddy and let him know how bad you wanted it inside you not long ago.’

His hands fell from your face and ear, down to your hips. Falling to one knee as he looked up at you from the floor. Fingers tugging down your bottoms and panties showing your cute little pussy.

“I’ll be gentle okay- it might feel a little strange at first but then you’ll love it.” He whispered, his breath hitting your clit and sending aches of need and desire around your body. You nodded hesitantly because you shouldn’t be doing this- your dad would go fucking insane. His tongue hit your clit, flicking up then down slowly as he sucked- beard rubbing against your thighs. Smirking as you wail in pleasure, fisting his hair quickly and trying to grind your pussy against his tongue. You needed more, god you wanted him to make you feel so good.

He ate you messily, hungry and wanting to drown inside your flavour. It was fucking delicious, his nose and chin dripping with your juices, his mouth busy before he pulled away from your pussy. Grabbing your side and bringing you down to the floor with him, fishing his leaking length out his jeans and and forcing you to ride him.

He was bouncing you up and down, guiding you through it, forcing you to take him despite the tears trickling down your face. He was thick and fucking long, and he hurt like a bitch. The door knocked and rang loudly a few times as you whimpered, trying to standup but he pinned you down, getting on top of you. Fucking you while looking at your face.

“They can get their treat after I get mine.” As he fucked you faster, all the doubts and worries he had vanishing. John just wanted to cum, he was like a dog in heat, pounding his gorgeous little sweetheart on her dad’s kitchen floor. His dick twitched as your hole tightened around him, sucking him inside again before he felt himself undo. Already shooting out his warm cum as he pulled out coating you in his white semen. Your tits shone in the light as beads of white hit your skin, your face and hair dripping with it and he couldn’t have seen a better sight. He could barley look away, his poor little virgin girl infront of him, defiled and fucked out- covered in his cum as your chest heaved for more air. Panting and probably throbbing from the pain.

He stood up shakily, pulling up his underwear before heading back for the door, taking one last look at the mess he’d made before slipping out. He’d have to come back again because one little fuck wasn’t enough. He was addicted to you now and there was no going back.

[crescenthistory]

slight air and purging fire

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: He's your person and, apparently, you're his flame. Your more-than-a-best-friend spends the evening with you when Regulus needs a break, and you're both happy for the excuse.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: gn!reader, no use of y/n, pyromaniac!barty, best friends to lovers, undiscussed relationship, just sweet fluff, physical affection, barty is always a bit suggestive, vague references to barty's mental state/trauma, cuddling, banter, implied autistic!regulus, background bsf!moonwater

Note: i haven't written a full barty fic since december, this was so cathartic<33 i still have some small drabbles from my celebration to release but wanted to share this with you before. and yes the title is from shakespeare even though i reference woolf in this, sue me. much love xx

It wasn’t an as common occurrence anymore, as Regulus had become more grounded the closer he got to Remus, but it was an ingrained habit regardless – every now and again, the dark haired boy would come to pull at your sleeve and give you a look.

A desperate exhausted look that clearly read “come get your beast under control”.

Over the years of sharing a dorm with Barty, Regulus had grown not only passionately loyal and affectionate towards him, but also rather sensorially detached. Meaning that most days, he was able to just tune his best friend’s antics out when they were too overstimulating or in his face. When Barty either talked a mile a minute for too many minutes, couldn’t sit still or couldn’t help from physically engaging with Regulus in some capacity, causing him to switch his brain off to deal with all the inputs. However, even the best soldier occasionally needs backup, and lucky for all the boys in their dormitory, said backup waltzed into their lives in year three and had been the only one fully able to quiet and anchor the hotheaded boy.

Your friendship with Barty came as naturally as a sunrise when you were paired together for a Potions project – you were his first desk partner that could thread the balance of stopping him from blowing up your cauldron and still having fun. 

He adored you for it.

You found he wasn’t half bad either.

The nature of your relationship and dynamic changed over the years as you grew up side by side, but the overall sentiment remained the same; you were each other’s person. Barty managed to catch every aspect of you both metaphorically and physically, and with you, Barty could move at a regular pace without losing himself.

You became Regulus’ secret weapon rather quickly when you were integrated fully into their friend group. 

“How do you do it? Why is he… like that with you?” Regulus asked you once in fourth year when Barty had fallen asleep with his head in your lap after three days of refusing to sleep. 

His legs were hanging over each side of the sofa, one shoe mysteriously missing, but he seemed perfectly at peace in your lap. You carded your fingers gently through his hair, separating the green and brown strands with a small smile on your face. “Like what?”

“It’s like he goes quiet.”

You snorted. “Barty is never quiet, even when I’m around.”

Regulus gave you a so-so shrug. “Not literally – but he kind of is, though. He will always be Barty, but it’s like he’s more… at peace. With you.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but you couldn’t meet Regulus’ gaze since he started this line of questioning. “I don’t know. If he is, I’m grateful for it, though. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

It was probably never fully platonic between you and Barty, you recognise now. Laying on your stomach in your dorm while reading a book only half-focussed with your mind straying away to silver piercings, canine-grins and that laugh. 

He was the best friend you could have, but more so in the same way a dog is or, you’d hope, a husband would be. You shook the thought from your head.

It was a slow development – while you became inseparable friends within a week, the journey away towards a spoken, outlined romantic relationship was a long one. Not in the same way a queue is long, though, more so a cross-country roadtrip with, well, your best friend. 

Barty hugged you properly for the first time a year into your friendship. He cried in front of you for the first time in fourth year, and held your hand in fifth year. Last year, he kissed you for the first time. 

It had been quiet in that complex way Regulus had tried to put into words, where it was very clearly Barty so it was far from calm, but there was a certain peace hanging over the moment anyway. He had been having nightmares the last few weeks of term, so the two of you had taken to co-sleeping in the Room of Requirement, with your dearest prefect Regulus covering for you. Originally, Barty had conjured up two beds, but you swiftly pushed them together and charmed the gap away, giving him some snarky comment about “be sensible, Junior” that he laughed loudly at. 

There was no suggestive intent behind it, not really, just an insatiable desire for closeness. The same desire that had Barty at your side like a magnet from all the way back in third year, the same desire that flared in you each time his father or his pain came near, as if you could protect him with an embrace. 

He would have told you that you could.

It wasn’t clear to you anymore how it began, how one thing led to another. All you knew was that several days into your arrangement, you were still acting like small kids at a sleepover, staying up late because you couldn’t help but giggle. You had been in a half-cuddle but far enough apart to laugh with your entire bodies – one moment you made eye contact with your faces close to each other, your giggles spilling out across his face, the next he was trying to swallow your sounds with his smiling lips. 

There had been a lot of kisses since then, and not too many words about it. 

You would have thought it would tear you apart to live like this, having crossed the boundary over from best friends to something more without outlining it – but as with everything else, this was Barty. There had been no real boundary to cross, it was just waves in water, hand in hand. You knew inexplicably that you were safe in his hands, heart included. 

The oddest aspect of it was discovering that you had discovered a new level of comfort when you thought those had already been exhausted. Lips on lips, lips on skin, air on skin, clothes wherever, hands everywhere. 

With your finger caressing the page, a smile was still faint on your lips, and so was his touch. 

You were brought out of your idyllic mental landscapes by a physical tug on your sleeve. 

Your eyes darted down to the fabric on your left arm, seeing the jumper ruffle as if someone pinched it and be dragged out, as if you were being pulled out of your bed. The sound that escaped you were equal parts laugh and sigh, endlessly endeared by Regulus’ determination to avoid social or overstimulating situations – going to the extent of crafting spells specifically to save him. 

You slapped absentmindedly on your arm, hoping it would notify him with the energy of “okay, okay, I’m on my way”, as you rolled out of bed and made for the stairs.

The development of your relationship with Barty hadn’t come up with your friends yet. Or, you hadn’t let it, always steering the conversation away when Dorcas gave you knowing looks or Regulus whispered with you. This once, you indulged yourself to be selfish and keep him to yourself for just a bit longer.

Which is part of the reason why you leaned over the railing overlooking the common room, whistling as you spotted your group of friends around their favourite fireplace.

Regulus sat in Remus’ lap on the edge of a settee, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, looking picturesque in a way that made your heart ache with happiness for him. Evan was draped across the other side of the settee, feeding grapes to Pandora sat cross-legged on the floor with Emmeline’s head in her lap. Dorcas was absent, likely out training with Marlene, which was a totally normal thing to do with your quidditch rival, shut up you guys.

Your dearest Barty was currently laying balanced on the back of the same settee his friends were in, casting sparkling spells above him, likely to entertain himself in the calm atmosphere.

You understood why Regulus called on you. 

At the sound of your whistle, your friends’ heads whipped around to look at you, recognising the specific tune you only used for them – them being mostly Barty. You got a few greeting cheers from Barty, Evan and Emmeline, but it was the former’s grin that made your own spread.

“B!” you yelled. “Come read with me.”

You could have gone down to sit with them, but the comfort of your dorm was too overpowering tonight. Plus Regulus really really hated when Barty played with physical fire, so you figured you were doing him a double favour, too.

Anyone else making the same request – or rather, demand – to Barty would have received a scoff or a pout, but for you, Barty simply rolled off of the back of the sofa and used the momentum of his fall to run towards the stairs. He ruffled Evan’s hair on the way who flipped him off without looking up.

“Later, losers, love ya,” Barty called as he made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

He took them two at a time and before you knew it he was in front of you, placing his hand right beside yours on the railing as he looked at you with a lop-sided grin. “Thought you’d resigned for the evening.”

You bumped your fingertips into his. “Sort of. Got bored, though.”

His grin widened as he pushed off the railing to walk backwards towards your vacant dorm. “Can’t have that, can we, darling?”

You shook your head with a smile and followed after him, leaving just enough time to look over your shoulder and lock eyes with Regulus, pointing two fingers from your own eyes to his before intertwining them in a symbol of friendship. Regulus rolled his eyes at you with a smile, but Remus – his clearly better half – blew you a kiss. 

When you moved your attention back on the short walk to your dorm, you caught just the end of Barty jogging ahead so he could open your door for you with a theatrical flourish. You paid it little mind, kissing his cheek in thanks as you moved in past him, not waiting to see his reaction, if there was one.

“Where’s your roomies tonight?” Barty’s tone was half-mocking, referring to the endless saga of your two constantly absent dormmates. They were lovely people but so scattered, always either with their various partners or at events or simply just missing somehow.

Though you could hardly criticise as you do guess this is a saga of three, considering how you occasionally would stay over at Barty’s or even the Room of Requirement. You three were a perfect match. 

“Don’t know honestly,” you replied as you made to lay back down on your bed, keeping slightly to the left side. “Something about a breakup for one of them, so either partaking in a good cry session with a friend or making up once again.”

Just a year or two ago, Barty would have transfigured your small dorm bed to extend so he could sprawl out across it to his heart’s content, but to your heart’s content, he didn’t this time – he just laid down on top of your duvet with you, turned over on his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Or maybe making out with someone else, if they know what’s right for them.” Barty knew all about your dormmate’s turbulent relationships from the nights he stayed over while they were there, ranting to the both of you.  

“Oh you know all about what’s right for them, do you?” Your voice was teasing as you got more comfortable on the bed, laying your book on your bedside table.

Barty scoffed, as if to say duh. “Weren’t you going to read to me, sweetheart?” He nodded his head towards the book your fingertips were still lingering on.

The smile that spread across your face was outside your control, but you still maintained an air of sarcasm. “I believe I asked you to come read with me, I didn’t say I would read to you,” you clarified with a raised brow. “And I didn’t think you actually would.”

Barty leaned across from you and nipped the book off the table to hand over to you, the small paperback and his hand barely fitting between you two given the cramped space. “I want to hear you read.” 

He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and you supposed it was. You would occasionally read to Barty when he needed help falling asleep, memories that though born from a bad situation rested fondly in your heart.

You took the book from him, opening it to the right page with one hand before looking up at him with appled cheeks. As soon as his hand was off the book, it settled on your hip instead, fingertips sliding beneath your jumper to rest against your skin there.

“Please,” he added when you didn’t reply right away. 

“Whatever my boy wants, right?” Your tone wound up being more affectionate than teasing. “Do you want it read softly or theatrically?”

When he tilted his head sideways to read the book’s spine, some of his hair fell into his eyes, which you promptly pushed back. “Is it possible to read Virginia Woolf theatrically?” he asked with a humoured tone.

“Oh, you have no idea. Obviously I have to do it theatrically now.”

Barty squeezed your hip as he all-but giggled. “Alright, show me the ropes then.”

He folded his arm to lay his head down to rest as his gaze fixated on your face as you read to him. Perhaps you would have felt self-conscious in any other situation, but with Barty’s legs tangling with yours, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose and his hums of approval, you were everything but. 

As you read, Barty pushed your jumper further up so that your side was exposed, enabling him to trace various patterns there while you read. Whether there was any sense to the chaos you wouldn’t know, eyes focussed on the page to give him the most proper experience of how theatrical Virginia Woolf truly could be. 

With Barty, time trickled by in an odd way. You felt as if you were spending centuries together without any of it wearing you down – in the sense that time passed quick but the minutes always carried more meaning when together. You got through two chapters, interrupted by long bouts of laughter when Woolf’s comedy struck through or when your attempt at one of the character’s accents thoroughly failed, before you began to tire out. 

His hand never left your side as you read, and when you laughed, Barty seemed to tackle you in a hug so he could feel every vibration of your laughter run through his own body. 

As you finished up the second chapter, a shiver ran down your spine for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Barty propped himself back up on his elbow to grab his wand from the nightstand and bring the duvet you were laying on to spread out over you without disturbing your position.

“Want to give that beautiful voice a break, darling?” Even as Barty asked, he was already gently – almost disproportionately so – taking the book from your hands and putting your water bottle into them instead.

You nodded as you put the bottle to your lips, swallowing greedy mouthfuls of water, though not regretting the activity in the slightest. Barty’s eyes followed the movement of your throat, eventually letting them trail up to meet your own as he took your bottle and placed it beside the bed with ease.

When you laid back down against your small mountain of pillows, Barty scooted closer to you and pushed your jumper back up where it had fallen down. He stared at his own fingers’ movements as he dragged just the tips over the curve of your hip, swirling around near your ribs before making the journey back down. He looked hypnotised by the movement, but your own eyes never left his face.

You heaved a large sigh, the one that drags itself from your lungs when you’re completely relaxed after a long day.

Without looking up, Barty asked, “Okay?” You were unsure if he was asking if you were okay, if his touching you were okay or something else entirely. 

Either way, the answer was: “Yes, love.”

At the term of endearment, Barty looked up at you at last, his teeth flashing as he smiled. He let his fingertips trail up the side of your body to your face as his eyes flitted across it, seeming increasingly content with what he found.

The silence was comfortable as you let him trace the lines of your face – your jaw up to your ear, cheekbones, browbones, forehead, nose, lips.

You almost wondered if you could have fallen asleep like this, safe and comfortable in this atmosphere he created that you almost dared call reverent, until he spoke again.

“My flame.” 

He said it absentmindedly as he caressed your face, almost as if he didn’t even notice he said it. His hand couldn’t stay still, using its quest on your face as a form of stimming, sensory seeking in his affection.

“Your what?” you asked quietly, humour laced into your voice that automatically tugged on the corners of his lips. 

“Flame,” he clarified, as if it was obvious. 

When he didn’t elaborate, you poked him teasingly in the ribs – simultaneously taking the opportunity to slip your hand up beneath his shirt to splay across his bare back.

“Just thinking about something Evans told me in Muggle Studies.” His smile grew slowly as he recalled more and more of the memory.

“Since when do you pay attention in Muggle Studies?” When you laughed, your face moved too much for him to trace, and he moved his fingers back into your hair until it evened out again.

He huffed in faux offense for only a second before relenting with a smile and an eye roll. “Only when Evans tells me weird fun facts. She understands what I find entertaining. None of that rain-wear bullshit – I want to know about the crazies.”

“Understandable. Game recognises game.”

Barty pinched your cheek lightly and stuck his tongue out at you. “Is that why we’re friends?”

“You tell me.” Your smile had an undertone he didn’t seem to miss as his expression turned just a fraction more bashful. You pressed your hand more flat against his back in encouragement. “What did Lily tell you about?”

“Oh, nothing.” He looked past you for a second with an absent yet pleased gaze before returning it to your awaiting expression. “Just about how some muggles believe in something called twin flames. It’s basically the same soulmate crap as everything else, divine connections and whatnot. Just people finding another way to explain their love. But I liked the name.”

His eyebrows moved emphatically as he spoke in quintessential Barty fashion. It filled you with a sensation only eased by moving your free hand to wedge beneath his cheek, resting there as a makeshift pillow, thumb brushing across his cheek. “Did you now?” 

He hummed in the affirmative. “I like flames.”

You snorted at that, which made his eyes light up and crinkle.

“No, I mean it–”

“I know you do.”

Barty rolled his eyes but his teeth were still on full display. “Do you want to hear my reasoning or not?”

You pressed your lips together to keep from continuing the banter and nodded. You wanted to see where this would go.

“I like flames. I like how they look, their warmth, how they make me feel. I’m always just itching to see one, to light something on fire or see sparks fly. But not when I’m with you.” 

His expression had neutralised as he kept studying you with an observant gaze – it felt like every twitch or movement held grand meaning to him. You felt like poking fun, but your voice came out almost as reverent as his. “Is this you saying you’re not bored when you’re with me?”

“This is me saying I’m not insane when you’re with me.”

Your smile instantly softened, hand on his back increasing pressure as it slid further up to rest over his heart. “You’re never insane, B,” you whispered. “Not actually, regardless of if I’m there or not.”

His eyes crinkled as if he was smiling, but his lips were pressed together, as if in thought. It wasn’t often you saw him thinking over his words before opening his mouth.

“This is me saying I love you.” His brows twitched into a furrow as he tilted his head sideways into your palm. “I don’t need that… that distraction when I’m with you. My flame.”

Your lips parted momentarily, as an oh died on them. Your eyes moved across his face rapidly, drinking in the expression, committing every open window into his soul to memory. He seemingly let you, a soft smile resting on his lips, though it was more vulnerable than you thought you had seen it.

“Love ya” was common in your friend group after Pandora went on a mission to normalise it between you. Elaborate practical jokes about proposing to one another or being secret lovers were a longstanding tradition. Your special bond with Barty was a given to you.

This, though, this was new – yet it did not feel like uncharted territory as you moved to respond.

Your face gravitated closer and closer to his as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. “Then you might forgive me for saying I love you too, then?”

Barty’s breath hitched, but the sound was quickly taken over by a soft laugh as he leaned his forehead forward the last few centimetres that separated it from yours. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t forgive you for, darling. Though it might mean you’re more insane than I am.”

You shook your head softly. “Again, you’re not insane, B. That is an oversimplification made solely for jokes – same as how Regulus isn’t actually boring, even when you joke he is.”

Barty furrowed his brows deeply. “Who told you those were jokes?”

Your hand beneath his shirt pinched him, drawing a yelp from him followed by a deep giggle that you happily mirrored.

“No, I know, I know,” he said through a laugh, locking gaze with you through his lashes. “But I do feel crazy without you. That’s how I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. You looked down between you for a moment as you could not contain your smile. A comfortable warmth began to spread through your body, as if something was carved in stone with each touch, each smile.

“I do suppose it’s safer you entertain yourself with me rather than light fire to innocent structures and civilians.”

Barty hummed appreciatively as he took on a theatrically wolfish expression. “And Salazar, do I know how to entertain myself with you.”

This time you pinched him harder as a scandalous bark of laughter escaped you – both of which seemingly triggered Barty to roll his body forward and over you, winding up on the very edge of the bed with you now held flush against him, laughing together like the kids in love you were.

You shrieked as he manhandled you into the chaotic embrace, laughing against his neck as you held onto him tighter. “You beast!”

“Your beast,” he corrected, pressing his forehead back against yours while his palm cupped your cheek fondly. “Right?”

You weren’t ashamed to admit you melted into him; your expression surely lovestruck. “Right.” You nodded, dazed. “Mine.”

His smile twitched repeatedly as he maintained eye contact. “My flame?”

“Yours.”

There was a certain glossiness to his gaze as he pressed his lips together and nodded faux matter-of-factly. “Sounds like a fair arrangement?” 

You had never been more grateful to be fluent in Barty. It made that one sentence hold so much more sentimental worth in your heart.

“I reckon that’s fair, yeah.”

You didn’t wait for Barty to kiss you before you closed the distance between you with enough force to push him off his side onto his back – nearly off of the bed.

Just like the first time, you were laughing against each other’s lips, swallowing more and more of the sounds as you devoured the other, heart and soul.

Unlike the first time, when you intertwined your fingers beside his head and squeezed, there was no question in your heart left in your heart.

[msmk11]

Best Friend’s Mom

MILF!Wanda Maximoff x college age!fem!reader (Billy and Tommy’s best friend)

Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Word count: 5k

CW: Age gap (legal), best friends’ mom, MILF!Wanda, fluff, consumption of alcohol, mention of absent parent, light smut

Summary: You get invited to spend spring break with your best friends Tommy and Billy Maximoff and their mother, Wanda. But Wanda is not just any mom you soon discover. She’s a MILF. And god do you want her badly. Only in your wildest dreams could she ever be attracted to you too- or so you think.

A/n: It’s finally here per your votes on my poll! This is only part one of (probably) two however. A) I’ve never written for Wanda before so I’m having a harder time saying what I need to succinctly. B) I have the fattest crush on Wanda so perhaps this is just my rambles. I hope you enjoy!!

When your twin best friends Billy and Tommy had invited you on their beach family vacation over spring break, you had obviously said yes. The thoughts of sand between your toes, the warm sun on your skin, and the calming crash of the waves sent a shiver of excitement down your spine every time you thought of it. Of course, you were also just excited to spend time with your best friends, but the beach was at the forefront of your mind. Though your daydreams had already crafted a vision of perfection for this trip, the reality, surprisingly, far exceeded it. This was all thanks to one sinfully sexy Ms. Maximoff.

From the early budding of your friendship, you knew that Billy and Tommy adored their mother- especially since their father had left them all behind at a young age. Their descriptions made her seem sweet, loving, and remarkably kind. While your first introduction certainly reassured these claims, it was her beauty that struck you. Perhaps in your head you had imagined someone a little more….motherly looking… rather than the mortal goddess before you. With the way her auburn hair fell down past her shoulders in waves, her blue skinny jeans hugged the curve of her waist just right, and her soft, pink lips were always adorned with a smile, you were certain she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

When you, Billy, and Tommy pull up to the beach house in their small gray sedan and a redheaded woman, who you assume to be their mother, comes out, you are dumbfounded to say the least. Before her boys can even get their luggage from the trunk, she sweeps each into a bearhug and exclaims, “hello moya lyubov!”

Their unconvincing protests fall on deaf ears as she continues to smother them in love. You’re sure to tease them about it later.

When Ms. Maximoff breaks away from Billy and Tommy, she turns her attention to you and smiles sweetly. As she makes her way towards you, your heart begins to beat quickly as you realize how beautiful she is.

“Hello, dear,” she greets, “Billy and Tommy have told me all about you.”

Before you can respond, she too pulls you in for a hug. The burn of her touch, even through your shirt, is almost too much to bear, and her flowery perfume that fills your nostrils makes your head feel all woozy.

As she pulls away you can feel your cheeks burning and you try to act calm despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Maximoff, and thank you for letting me stay with you all this week.”

“Oh honey, no. Please don’t call me Ms. Maximoff, it makes me feel old. Wanda is just fine. And the pleasure is all mine, really. I’ve been eager to meet you ever since you became friends with my boys at the start of college.”

“Well, I’ve uh- been eager to meet you too. Billy and Tommy speak very highly of you.”

Wanda nearly coos as she turns to her sons brightly, “Awe moya lyubov, you two are too sweet.”

Your best friends flush red with embarrassment and the glares they shoot you as their mother hugs them again let you know they’ll berate you later for making them “look uncool.” Finally, Wanda pulls away and she urges you all to grab your stuff and follow her into the house.

Once inside, Billy and Tommy kick off their shoes haphazardly and start down the hall to the bedroom they’re sharing (so you can have a room to yourself). You, conversely, slip your shoes off gently and leave them by the door neatly. Wanda waits by your side and then motions for you to follow her once you’re done.

On your way to your room, Wanda gives you a mini tour. You pass through the small kitchen with light wooden floors, white cabinets, and seafoam blue walls. The living room is similarly beachy and charming, with big glass doors opening onto a wooden porch in the back and a smattering of brightly colored furniture organized around the room. At the end of the hall from the living room sits three doors, each leading into a separate room.

“Here we go, honey. Your room is this door on the left, the bathroom is the door in front of us, and my bedroom is here on the right. I hope you don’t mind being my neighbor and sharing a bathroom with me, but I figured it’d be better for the boys to have the master this week since they’re sharing a space,” Wanda tells you.

“No of course not Ms. M- Wanda. I feel bad that Billy and Tommy have to share, though. I honestly don’t mind sleeping on the couch!”

Wanda reacts as though you’ve just slapped her, “Oh honey, no! I’d never make a guest sleep on the couch! I want to make this place as comfortable for you as possible. Plus, the boys will be just fine. They spent the first half of their lives sharing a room, they’ll manage.”

You chuckle a little and smile kindly at her, “Well, thank you, seriously, I appreciate it.”

She waves her hand as if it’s nothing and then motions for you to go see your room, “I’m going to go finish up dinner honey, but let me know if you need anything.”

Wanda saunters off down the hall and you curse her for even walking sexily. Shaking yourself out of a daze, you go inside your room and promptly shut the door behind you. You drop your bag on the floor and then throw yourself on top of the fluffy, blue comforter, groaning into the mattress. You really hope you can survive this trip.

*****

It seems you must’ve fallen asleep on the comfy bed that feels more like a cloud, because suddenly you are jostled awake by a body landing on top of you. You let out an oomph as the air is expelled from your lungs and the weight of Tommy’s body settles on top of you.

“Tommy, you big lug,” you groan, “get off of me.”

You push the boy off of you and he rolls onto his back, “Had to wake you up somehow, you freak. I kept prodding you and nothing happened besides your continued snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” You protest, propping yourself up on your elbow and looking at him.

“Do too” he teases, “mouth open and all.” He then opens his mouth dramatically and lets out an obnoxiously loud snore.

You smack his stomach a little and he groans. In retaliation, he sweeps your elbow out from under you, forcing you to fall flat on your back again.

“Prick,” you grumble.

“Hey you should be a lot nicer to me, you know. I could’ve left you here to sleep and starve.”

You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, “I doubt your mom would allow that.”

The brunette snorts, “Touché.” He stands up and nods his head towards the door, “let’s go eat.”

You and Tommy make your way down the hall to the kitchen, playfully teasing and shoving each other a little on the way. When the longer-haired brother gives you an especially playful push into the kitchen, you nearly fall right in front of Wanda. You’re a little more than embarrassed, so you try to hide your face from her by turning back towards Tommy and glaring. He’s smirking until he’s not- when Wanda gently chides him for “being rude to the guest.”

“Mom she’s our friend, she can take it,” Tommy reminds her.

“Plus,” you add, “I can take either of them, easily, any day. I was just caught off guard there.”

“Really now?” Billy challenges.

You hum in confirmation.

“Fine, then I suggest a game of chicken after dinner.”

“Who’d be our fourth player?” you ask, confused.

“I will,” Wanda answers with a slight smirk, “I love a good challenge. And I’d love to see you beat my boys.”

“Oh you’re so on, Mom,” Tommy answers with a grin.

The twins look at each other with evil, cocky smirks on their face, and you can tell that they’re confident they’re going to win. You look at Wanda nervously because a) you don’t want to lose to the twins and b) you don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of her. Her confident smirk, however, so similar to her sons, eases your fears just a little.

They come storming back after dinner, however, when you first see Wanda in a bikini. Though you wouldn’t say it’s skimpy by any means, for goodness sake she’s around her sons, it still certainly shows a lot of skin. The butterflies are beating around aggressively in your stomach as you admire the red swimsuit she’s wearing- the color compliments her skin tone so very well, the top shows just enough cleavage to leave something to the imagination, and the bottoms hang low on her hips, flaunting her soft, white stomach.

You become even more nervous when you realize that you are going to have to sit on top of Wanda’s shoulders. While Billy and Tommy jump into the pool, you cautiously discard your towel on a chair and turn to Wanda, “I didn’t even think about the fact that I’d have to be on your shoulders. We can just call off the game, I’ll probably be too heavy for you.”

The redhead shakes her head and chuckles, stepping a little closer to you, “Honey, I know how chicken works. I wouldn’t have offered to play if I didn’t think I could carry you. I’m a lot stronger than I look, you know.”

You want to believe her, but you are just so nervous about hurting her that you can only weakly smile and nod.

“Hey, are we playing chicken, or are you two too chicken?” Billy calls out mockingly.

“Oh we’re more than ready, boys,” Wanda answers confidently, hands on her hips.

She walks forward and slides down into the pool, the turquoise water riding up to her waist. She beckons you over to the edge, “I’ll stand here and you can hop on, since I know you’re a little nervous about getting on my shoulders.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Wanda turns around and you step forward. Tentatively, you hook one leg over her right shoulder and her hand immediately comes up to grab your thigh. You tense at the skin to skin contact and it sends a little shiver up your spine. Thankfully, Wanda can’t see your face, so she hopefully just assumes that you're nervous about getting on her shoulders and not for….. other….. reasons.

“You’ve got it, honey,” She encourages you sweetly.

You quickly lift your other leg up and hook it around her left shoulder. She grabs your other thigh tightly and squeezes it, as if reassuring you.

Problem one million- Wanda being this strong is really hot, adding to your already insanely high level of attraction towards her. You fear you might pass out on the spot.

“Good to go?” The redhead asks you softly, craning her neck a little to look up at you. Her green eyes are soft but determined and they send a surge of confidence through you, “Yes, I’m ready to take them down.”

Wanda easily wades through the water over to Billy and Tommy, who have situated themselves with Tommy as the anchor and Billy on top. You look your opponent in the eye and smirk, sending him a playful glare, “You’re on, Maximoff.”

Billy only scoffs at you cockily and then waves you forward, challenging you to go up against him. Wanda and Tommy move in towards one another and you stick your arms out, bracing for Billy’s attack. He comes in swinging, bringing his right arm down to your side trying to shove you off. You are braced for it, though, and Wanda’s strong grip keeps you in place. You retaliate by grabbing his wrists, simultaneously trying to keep him from hitting you and also jostle him around. After a few seconds of back and forth, Billy rips his left arm free, the force causing you to wobble a little.

“I got you, honey,” Wanda calls up to you when she hears the sharp breath you take.

You shake it off and head towards Billy with double the amount of determination. Letting go of his other wrist, you go for the shoulders and give him a hard shove. This alone does not push Billy off of Tommy’s shoulders. However, the former twin’s movement throws the latter twin off balance, sending them plummeting backwards into the water. They land with a loud splash and you and Wanda cheer loudly. When the boys come up for air they are spluttering and groan at your victory.

“You two are stronger than you look,” Tommy concedes.

“Never underestimate your mother,” Wanda chides teasingly. She then looks up at you, “do you want me to take you back over to the edge to hop off?”

Your newfound victory, especially with Wanda on your team, has caused your confidence to soar. You shake your head, “No that’s okay, you can just drop me in the water.”

The redhead smiles sweetly, “If you insist.”

Before you have a second to think, she is lurching backwards, sending you both crashing into the water just as the twins had. The water is much colder than you anticipated and it overcomes your senses as you flail around. When you breach the surface you let out a gasp of air and shake the water from your eyes, “Holy fuck that’s cold!” you shout, then immediately cringe for cursing in front of Wanda.

Luckily she only chuckles, an evil glint in her eye, “You asked to be thrown in, honey. I was only doing what you asked.”

“A little warning would have been nice,” you answer with a playful pout.

She only laughs again, her head thrown back a little, and it’s quite the sight to see.

*****

The next morning, you wake to soft, yellow sunbeams falling across your face. The sound of gentle waves can be heard just slightly through your window at the back of the house and you sigh contentedly. You could get used to this. After laying sprawled across your bed for an undetermined amount of time, you finally decide it’s time to get up. You wander down the hall into the kitchen, on the hunt for food, and find Wanda sitting at the kitchen table, book in one hand, coffee in another, clad in a silk, white slip nightgown.

“Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?” She asks sweetly.

“Like a baby.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What can I make you for breakfast?” Wanda asks, already rising from her chair.

“Oh, Wanda, no. Please. You don’t need to make anything. I can just snack on something for the pantry. I don’t usually have much for breakfast anyways.”

Wanda tsks at you and waves you off, “Well that just won’t do honey. It’s more important than ever for you to fuel your body at this age- what with all the studying, busy work schedules and… other things.”

Wanda winks at you then and you choke on your spit a little. Had she just implied…? No, she couldn’t have. But…

“Yes, well, school and work keep me busy enough to not have time for other things, Wanda. And I make up for a light breakfast with more filling meals later.”

It seems as though Wanda ignores the latter fact as she asks how you like your eggs and pulls out a frying pan.

“Well, honey, I really can’t believe what you’re saying. Someone as beautiful and sweet as you must be overwhelmed with social obligations- parties, friends, dating.”

You try to hide the blush on your cheeks from Wanda’s flattery, “No really, Wanda, I don’t have all that many. And I’m happy with my small group of friends.”

“You know,” Wanda starts, turning towards you as the eggs cook, resting her back against the counter, “I have to ask, and I hope you’ll excuse me for wondering, but I wanted to know if you were seeing or were interested in one of my boys. You just seem awfully close and I can’t help but wonder…”

You burst out in laughter at the heinous suggestion and Wanda’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment, “Oh god, no. Never in a million years would I date them.”

Wanda purses her lips and you realize how that sounded, “Please don’t take that the wrong way, Wanda. You’ve raised such lovely boys, you know. And I love them dearly, but not like that. They’re like my brothers. And even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t go for them. Or any guy for that matter… I like women.”

All the confusion and maybe even a little defensiveness drains from Wanda’s face at your confession and she visibly relaxes. She turns back to the eggs and picks up the pan, “I see. Well, the boys are grateful to have you in any way they can.” She walks over and sets the plate down in front of you, “And that makes me pretty grateful too.”

As she stays behind you, Wanda tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver.

“Thank you, Wanda.”

“My pleasure, Detka.”

*****

The tension is so thick it is unbearable as you sit on a chair across from Wanda. At this point, you know it isn’t hot enough outside for you to be feeling this flushed. Rather, the way Wanda keeps looking over at you not so sneakily as she nurses her wine is leaving you all hot and bothered. When she takes another sip you are entranced by the way her soft, red lips wrap around the rim of the glass. And when she pulls the cup away, a drop of the wine is still on her lips. You nearly gasp as her tongue darts out, seemingly in slow motion, to lick it up. At this point, you know your staring is obvious, but Wanda just looks so pretty in that sundress, and one too many glasses of wine has left you feeling a little reckless.

“Want another sip?” Wanda muses teasingly, pointing the glass towards you.

“Oh no, I’m okay, Wanda, thank you.” You answer softly.

“Come on detka,” she says huskily, “just come have one more sip. I don’t think I can finish it alone.”

Really, you can never say no to this woman, so you oblige, standing from your chair and walking over to sit down next to her. Her perfume wafts over you as she leans in and hands you the glass, and you feel woozy.

You take a sip of what little wine is left in the glass and swallow as Wanda watches you the whole time. You turn to the redhead and hand her the glass. She sets it on the table without once breaking eye contact with you.

“Oh Detka, you have a little drop of wine on your lip. Let me get that right-“

She reaches out and cups your cheek. Instead of wiping it away with her thumb like you think she will, she leans in and captures your bottom lip between your own. She sucks on it softly and you nearly moan. Before you can really process what’s happening, she’s pulled away, a knowing smirk on her face, “There baby, all better now.”

“W-Wanda- I.” You stutter.

“Hmm?” She asks, sickeningly sweetly.

“Can you do that again?”

“Do what again, baby?”

You almost whine at her teasing, “Kiss me, Wanda. Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she whispers, already pressing her lips to yours again.

You sigh deeply as the flame rekindles in your belly and your heart beats faster. Your kisses are fast and sloppy, your tongues battling for dominance. Keeping your lips on hers you shuffle, straddling your legs on either side of her lap as you wrap your arms around her shoulders.

Wanda groans and grabs your hips tightly, digging her nails into the slight bit of bare skin showing as your shirt rides up.

She tastes like chocolate strawberries and wine and you chase her lips like you’ve been starved for days. Wanda just smells so good, and feels so good, and tastes so good that you’re insatiable. Unknowingly, you rock your hips a little, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through you at the friction between your legs. You moan into her mouth and try it again, this time rolling your hips more aggressively. Combined with Wanda’s kissing, it feels really good.

“Careful Detka, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Wanda warns lowly.

You pull away suddenly, gasping for air, “Wanda, I want this. I- I want you right now. I need you.”

She looks at you intently, those green eyes both soft and loving while also glazed with lust, “you sure, baby? There’s no going back after this.”

“Please,” you say, this time really whining.

“Start with my thigh,” she orders.

You lean back in and kiss Wanda again like before, but this time with the repeated motion of you humping her thigh, chasing your own pleasure. Wanda’s hands slowly travel down your sides, one stopping to grope at your breasts while the other makes it’s way to cup your ass. The added stimulation to your ass and tits makes you moan into her mouth again.

She pulls away and shushes you quietly, “gotta be quiet, baby. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear.”

You nod meekly and bite your lip to keep any more moans from slipping out. Wanda takes the chance to place her lips elsewhere, assaulting your neck and exposed collarbone with bites, licks, and sucking. Before you know it, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, tension building in your belly. Maybe it’s the pace of your hips, or Wanda just has a sense for these things, but she can tell you’re close. Before you can get there, however,

“Wake up. Stop sleeping the day away.”

You are rather rudely awakened, you think, by Billy. His wet hair drips onto your face as he hovers over you, “Come swim with us and quit being boring.”

“But I’m getting my tan on,” you whine.

“You can do that in the water,” he retorts.

When you don’t make any sign of movement, Billy huffs, “You always have to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Before you can protest, the boy grabs your waist and pulls you up, flipping you over his shoulder.

“Billy,” you screech, “Put me down!!”

He ignores you and starts off towards the ocean. You smack his back and flail your legs but that doesn’t stop him. Before you know it you are met with a blast of ice cold water as he flings you into the salty ocean. When you burst to the surface spluttering you send Billy the biggest glare.

“You’re dead meat Maximoff.”

You quickly wade through the water towards Billy and lunge forward. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down into the water with you. You’re a mix of flailing limbs under the water. You get an elbow to Billy’s face and him a blow to your stomach before you both swim upwards and gasp for air. Tommy is there, laughing at you both, so you and Billy share a sneaky look before grabbing him by the ankles and pulling him down too.

Though you may have been peeved at Billy for throwing you into the water, it does feel rather nice on your hot skin. It also curbed your rather lusty thoughts of your best friends’ mother. The three of you stay out in the ocean for awhile, play fighting, throwing a football and diving for seashells. It makes you feel like a bit of a kid again, and you notice the recent stress of exams, school, and work fading away.

After a few hours at the beach, the three of you make your way back to the house. You drag your gear- sunscreen, towels, snorkels, and the likes to the back porch and collapse on some of the patio furniture. Tommy wanders inside for a moment and returns with a few beers for you all to share. As you sip and make light conversation, Wanda appears from the house, a tray of snacks in hand.

“How was the beach moya lyubov?” She asks, setting down the tray in front of you three.

“It was great, Mom. You should’ve joined us,” Tommy replies before stuffing a few carrots in his mouth.

She takes the fourth chair, which happens to be next to yours, “I wanted you all to have your fun. Plus, I’ve been to that beach plenty of times.”

“Next time though,” Billy tells her and Wanda smiles a little.

“Yes, next time.”

You reach forward to grab a cracker off the tray, and you’re not unaware of the way Wanda’s eyes follow you. You lean back again and munch happily on your cracker, trying to not be self conscious under the woman’s stare.

Suddenly, Wanda reaches out and pulls on the strap of your bikini top, “I like this swimsuit, honey. Where’d you get it? I’m looking to buy some new suits so I can throw out my old ones.”

Wanda’s deliberate touch excites you, and you keep your legs crossed to hide the way your thighs sort of squeeze together.

“Uh Target, I think. The boys got their trunks there too.”

She hums softly, “It’s so hard to find flattering suits nowadays don’t you think? Either they’re two thin pieces of fabric that cover nothing at all or they’re boxy, ugly one pieces that do no one any favors.”

You groan loudly, “tell me about it. I think Billy and Tommy almost left me behind when we went shopping because of how long I was taking. Not that I blame them, though I told them it’s also not my fault there are so few good options.”

“Mom, one swimsuit had fur,” Billy says with a shudder.

“Another looked like a disco ball,” Tommy adds, “like are you going to the beach or a strip club?”

You all burst out laughing at the sadly true comparison.

“All I can say is that I really was lucky to find this swimsuit.”

And as you lean forward to grab another cracker you swear you hear Wanda mutter under her breath, “Lucky for me too.”

*****

Much of the rest of your afternoon had been spent on that back patio talking, snacking and playing cards. Dinner had been light, and with a few booze in your body you were feeling pretty good. You’d wandered off to shower after dinner, wanting to get the sunscreen and sand off your body. The hot water and soap in your hair feels amazing, and you are appreciative of the privacy to process all of the thoughts and feelings from the day. You still haven't gotten over the comment you are sure Wanda had made earlier. A part of you wonders if you’d just made it up, your horny mind so desperate to believe that she finds you attractive too. But even though it was just above a whisper, the words echo in your mind loud and clear- “lucky for me too”. How could you make that up?

It feels wrong and, frankly, rather inappropriate to pursue your suspicions further. Wanda could’ve meant anything by what she said.

Maybe she was grateful that you bought that swimsuit, so now she knew where to buy hers too?

Maybe she was grateful she didn’t have to be subject to some ugly swimsuit you’d have been forced to wear.

Or maybe. No. You couldn’t even let yourself consider the possibility of Wanda being attracted to you. That would be a bad idea that would only get you in trouble.

You decide there is only one way to solve the problem.

After your shower, you slip out of the bathroom into your room only scantily clad in your small towel. You firmly shut the door behind you and drop your towel, making your way onto your soft bed. You lay on your back, head resting against the pillows, and spread your legs a little. You’ve been desperate to ease the ache between your legs for hours and you can’t wait any longer. You hope that maybe, if you do this, your horniness will dissolve and you can go about your business the rest of your trip happily.

As your hand trails lower between your legs, you sigh at the pressure very much needed to cure the intense ache. It feels good, really, but you only wish it was Wanda’s hand instead of your own. You shut your eyes and your breaths become heavier as you indulge for a moment, imagining that Wanda was here. You think about the way she’d say your name huskily, how her perfume would invade your nose as she held you close, how her fingers would know exactly how to make you feel good, and in no time, you’ve reached your high. Though you try to be quiet, you can’t help the semi-loud pleas of her name that leave your lips as pleasure wracks through your body.

You collapse back against your pillows, panting and your hands at your side. You can only revel in your bliss for a few moments before there is a knock on your door. You scramble up, your heart beating fast in your chest, feeling as if you’d been caught. You throw on your pajama t-shirt at the end of your bed, and it just barely covers your ass. But you figure it will work well enough to answer the door. You rush over and pull it open, and are shocked to find Wanda on the other side.

“Hey, Wanda, what’s up?” You ask breathlessly.

It’s then that you notice how her pupils are dilated, and that she has this look in her eyes. One so reminiscent of your dream.

“You know if you needed help, Detka, you could’ve just asked. I’m more than happy to help someone as pretty as you.”

[tsunodaradio]

the thrill of the chase ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 somewhere in the rush of outlines, clerkship interviews, and caffeine-induced breakdowns, you forget to hate lando norris.

♫ starring: law students!lando x reader. ♫ word count: 3.3k. ♫ includes: romance, friendship. alternate universe: non-f1, alternate universe: law school. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity. one-sided rivalry, feelings realization/denial, 3 + 1 fic -ish. @piastriprincess requested r u mine? by arctic monkeys. ♫ commentary box: a very, very late response to this request, and also a very late birthday gift. but we ball! i adore u so very dearly, lily; i hope u get a kick out of this one 💫 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Law school is supposed to be miserable. 

That’s what everyone says. You show up already bracing for it, spine rigid under three overpriced textbooks and a warped Hydro Flask. It’s only the first week and your eyes already burn from too many case summaries that all end in dissent. Your brain is fried. Your Stabilo highlighters are drying out. You think, dramatically, that your soul is too.

And then there’s Lando.

You meet him on day three, Contracts. He’s late. 

Like, five full minutes late, walking in as if this is a fucking café and not the carnage grounds of Section B. He wears a hoodie. He’s got sunglasses hanging from the collar and a pen stuck behind his ear, which you never see him use once throughout the class. He grins as he takes the last open seat beside you and says, with a British accent that makes three girls turn their heads, “Morning, love.”

You don’t look at him. You don’t dignify trust fund babies with eye contact.

Word spreads fast. His full name is Lando Norris, and his parents—or maybe it was his grandparents—donated a wing to the law library. Rumor has it he was accepted before his application even hit the portal. Someone swears they saw him get dropped off in a McLaren. Another person claims he doesn’t even need a JD; he’s just here for the ‘experience.’

You decide you hate him almost immediately. 

It’s not personal. It’s ideological. He represents everything you’re here to destroy: old money, soft hands, people who smile their way out of consequences.

He makes it easy for you. He calls the professor ‘mate,’ shows up without notes. He draws little race cars in the margins of his casebook. You see them once, a full page of doodles and only one underlined sentence: Consideration must be mutual.

And yet he never gets cold-called. Or when he does, he somehow pulls it off. He frowns thoughtfully, tilts his head, and gives a half-decent answer that makes your blood boil. Either he’s smarter than he lets on or he’s lucky as hell.

“He’s harmless,” your roommate says.

You don’t buy it. Harmless is a trick. Harmless is what people say about boys who have never had to sharpen themselves against anything.

By October, he knows your coffee order. By November, he says it like a joke: “Oat milk latte, no sugar, because you’re sweet enough already.” You glare. He winks. You consider transferring.

But you’re in too deep now. There are study groups. Shared outlines. The occasional late-night panic over Civil Procedure where you end up texting him for help and he actually replies. He’s infuriatingly decent in those moments. A little too sincere as if he’s not playing any game at all. You’re not convinced.

It gets worse when you’re paired together for a mock negotiation project. The professor calls your names together and something in your stomach sinks.

“Guess it’s fate,” Lando says with a lazy grin you want to smack off his face. “You and me, legal dream team.”

You sigh through your teeth. “God help us both.”

You’re walking out of class when he says it again, twirling a pen between his fingers. “So, are you mine?”

You know what he means. The project. The pairing. The assignment that's going to ruin your weekend. Still, it lands wrong. It lands sideways. You mutter, “Unfortunately.”

Lando blinks, caught off guard for half a second. Then he laughs. Bright and delighted, like your hostility is a gift he’s been dying to unwrap.

“God, you’re sharp,” he says. “I like it.”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. Something in your chest is already shifting, bracing.

Second year, and you stop expecting to drown.

You still choke sometimes—overdue readings, group projects that implode, cold calls that catch you in a daze. But you’ve grown gills. You know which professors demand citations and which just want opinions dressed in precedent. You highlight with purpose. Your backpack doesn’t give you shoulder pain anymore. You’ve adjusted.

What surprises you is that Lando has, too.

You expected him to drop out. Or transfer. Or realize here isn’t where he wants to be. Someone like Lando, who treats deadlines like loose suggestions and writes in loopy cursive like he’s signing autographs instead of briefs? He shouldn’t have made it past 1L. 

And yet he’s still here. Still in your section. Still floating just outside your line of vision like an inside joke the universe won’t explain.

You catch him sleeping in Torts. Not just dozing. Full-on, tilted head, mouth-open sleeping. The professor says nothing. When you glare, Lando shrugs like he can feel it. Like he knows.

“Up late prepping my oral argument,” he says later, unbothered. “Had to make sure my metaphors were air-tight.”

“It’s a legal argument, not a stand-up set.”

“Shame,” he says. “I had a great one about negligence and banana peels.”

You hate how often he makes you want to laugh.

By winter, you’ve stopped denying the rhythm of your rivalry. You anticipate his presence like a minefield, treat him like a fucking migraine. You look for his name on class rosters and feel a weird spike of something when it’s there. He drives you up the wall with the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he carries himself. He skates by with just enough effort to avoid disaster. The worst part: he keeps flirting.

With everyone, at first. Then with a select few. Then, eventually, mainly with you. 

He holds doors open with exaggerated bows. He calls you ‘counselor’ like you're both in a legal drama. He leaves doodles in your notebook when you’re not looking: a tiny judge banging a gavel. A cartoon of you glaring. A car with hearts for wheels.

You never say thank you. He never expects it. Sometimes you think he doesn’t even take you seriously. Like your rivalry is a solo act he’s accidentally wandered into.

But he remembers things. Your moot court topic. The fact that you hate peppermint. The specific way you line up your pens.

He offers to split his notes when you miss class with a fever. You take them, reluctantly. They’re annotated with tiny smiley faces, like you’re both still in middle school.

You don’t ask him why he hasn’t flunked out. You don’t ask him why he stays. You just keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, waiting for the moment he finally cracks, or quits, or gets bored of bothering you.

But he doesn’t.

It hits again during a study night in your block’s shared kitchen. There’s pizza grease on your notes and someone’s playing Arctic Monkeys too loud through a Bluetooth speaker. You’re explaining proximate cause to a bleary-eyed 1L when Lando strolls in, steals a breadstick off your plate, and plants himself beside you like he belongs there.

“Back off, Norris,” you grit out, not looking up from the poor soul in front of you who looks like they’re about to have a nervous breakdown.

Lando leans in anyway, elbow brushing yours. You hate that your skin notices.

“You mine tonight?” he says casually, flipping through your outline. The one the two of you made on Google Docs for days, arguing in comments and grappling with Suggestion Mode. “For the study group, I mean.”

The entire table of blockmates goes quiet in that grinning, knowing way. That’s another thing that ticks you off. People claiming you’re playing the field, that you’re acting hard to get. Lando is supposed to be irresistible, and yet—time and time again—you resist him.

Someone snorts. Another mutters, “Just admit you’re dating already.”

You give Lando the middle finger without missing a beat.

He bursts out laughing, delighted. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You go back to your notes, jaw clenched. The rivalry isn’t a game, not to you. But Lando’s always smiling like you’re the most fun puzzle he never meant to solve.

You don’t realize until much later—maybe months from now, maybe longer—that part of you flipped him off just to hear him laugh.

The years go by faster than you thought they would. Law school has a way of folding time. The first year stretches like taffy. Long, sticky, unbearable in places. But your second year moves quicker. Your third year hits like a freight train.

Somewhere in the rush of outlines, clerkship interviews, and caffeine-induced breakdowns, you forget to hate Lando Norris.

Not completely. He still gets under your skin. Still shows up late to lectures with a Jamba Juice in hand and a sleepy grin like the world bends just a little for him. But it stops being about irritation. Somewhere along the way, it just became how things are.

You crackle with him. That’s the word. Like static clinging to wool, like sparks leaping between wire tips. Never quite a fight, never quite a flirtation. Just tension, humming under your skin, winding tighter every time he calls you ‘counselor’ or bumps your shoulder with his. He’s still in your periphery. 

Third year is supposed to be easier, but you’re juggling everything. Final clinics, last electives, prep for the bar that looms like a guillotine. Your life shrinks into flashcards and study groups and long nights staring at outlines until the words blur.

Lando sticks around. Unchanged. Relentless. Infuriatingly consistent.

You catch him in the library one night, feet on the table, headphones in, mouthing something that definitely isn’t a legal doctrine. He pulls one earbud out when you walk past.

“Fancy seeing you here, star pupil. What’s the damage today? Constitutional crisis or caffeine overdose?” he teases, but his voice is light.

A concession. A white flag. He knows the type of week you’ve been having, knows satisfaction feels like a distant memory when you’re not the big fish in the pond anymore. 

You grunt. “Both.”

He smiles sympathetically. You hate how it lands.

You find yourselves sharing more and more space. Study tables. Elevator rides. The quiet corners of the library where no one goes unless they’re desperate or hiding. 

He doesn’t flirt as much now. Or maybe he does, and you’ve just stopped recognizing the difference between teasing and attention. It all blurs together under the fluorescent lighting.

Sometimes, you catch him watching you when he thinks you won’t notice. Sometimes, you let him.

You’re too busy to ask why it feels like something’s building. Too busy to admit the way he still makes your stomach tighten when he tosses you a highlighter like it’s an offering, or mutters an answer under his breath just before you do. Too busy to do anything about it.

But the pressure’s there. Always. Like the bar exam isn’t the only thing coming for you. Like Lando Norris is a deadline you’ve been dodging for years, and now there’s nowhere left to run.

Your fate is sealed on an inconsequential Friday night.

The kind that doesn’t need a reason, just the collective desperation of law students teetering on the edge of responsibility, clawing at the last scraps of their recklessness. Your friends text a location. You show up. Everyone is overdressed and under-slept, slurring bad jokes and clinging to drinks like lifelines.

The speakeasy is half aesthetic, half claustrophobic. Exposed brick. Bartenders in suspenders. A jazz band playing something neither ironic nor sincere. You down your second gin and tonic too quickly. It doesn’t burn. You wish it did.

Lando’s there, of course. You didn’t come together, but he finds you anyway. It’s inevitable, like gravity and hangovers and legal liability as a principle of substantive rather than procedural law.

He slides in beside you at the bar, smelling like something dark and expensive. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be unfair. You say nothing. He smiles like you did.

Your blockmates are scattered across booths and stools, bodies draped over each other like coats. There’s a girl asleep against her boyfriend’s shoulder. Two guys arguing about the difference between fraud and misrepresentation, voices rising with every syllable. You should care. You don’t.

Hours pass in fragments. Laughter. Another drink. Someone suggests shots. You lose track of whose idea anything was.

You end up outside.

The alley behind the speakeasy is slick with rain and shadow. You shouldn’t be here. You don't know who followed who out the back door, only that Lando is pressed against the cold bric, and you’re kissing him. He kisses you like he never expected he’d be allowed to.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s urgent, messy, tasting like lime and gin and whatever this thing between you has curdled into over three years.

His hands are on your waist. Yours are in his hair. Everything spins.

Your tongue traces his bottom lip—and then he pulls back. You hate that you instinctively lean forward, mouth chasing his. You hate that he tightens his grip at your hips, holding you back, staring you down with the watercolor eyes that have plagued your dreams. 

“Are you—” he’s breathing, but he doesn’t get to finish that question. You don’t let him.

You kiss him again. Harder. Stealing the words, the chance to make this mean something. You know what he wants to ask. You don’t want to answer. 

Are you mine?

Not tonight.

Tonight, you’re just drunk and young and unfinished. Tonight, you’re still allowed to be thoughtless. To make out with the guy who was a silver lining in the otherwise bleak, hectic rush of law education. 

Lando exhales into your mouth like he gets it. Like he’s not surprised. He kisses you, just kisses you, until you’re both breathless and dazed. There’s a lipstick mark on the collar of his polo shirt. He leaves an infinitesimal hickey just above your collarbone. 

Neither of you talk about that night again.

Not when he hands you a coffee the next morning like nothing happened. Not when your knees brush under a library table. Not when he looks at you like he remembers.

Because maybe you do, too.

By the time you graduate, you begrudgingly call Lando your friend.

You say it with a sigh. With an eye roll. With a jab to the ribs when he’s said something infuriatingly British or smug or both. But you say it.

And when he hears it, he lights up like someone handed him the sun. He wears the title like a tailored suit. You wish you hadn’t given it to him.

The night you two kissed sits in the space between you like a folded letter neither of you open. Not when you cross the stage in your rented gown, your name echoing through the auditorium while your blockmates cheer and Lando wolf-whistles. Not when everyone tells him to calm down, but he cheers and whoops like he fucking funded your education himself. 

Not when, afterwards, you introduce him to your parents with a diplomatic “This is the friend I was talking about. Lando.” Not when he shakes their hands with a grin and half-jokes, “I definitely could have been more than a friend.” 

Your blockmates scatter like dandelion seeds into internships and clerkships and private firms with names that sound like inheritance. Your days blur into outlines, footnotes, and caffeine.

Your bar prep books get heavier, and your spine curves around the weight of them. Life becomes dictated by outlines and mnemonics and a calendar that seems to laugh in your face.

You and Lando study together because neither of you say no. Because he’s persistent and you’re tired. Because it’s easier than being alone with your thoughts. Because it’s easier than being alone with him.

The rhythm becomes familiar. He brings you coffee without asking. You steal his highlighters. He hums under his breath when he reads, and you threaten to throw your CivPro book at him at least once a week.

The bar exam feels less like a milestone and more like a storm. A test you’ve been preparing for your whole life, and still aren’t ready for. Two days in a cavernous convention center with bad lighting and too much silence. You sit three rows apart. It might as well be miles.

You catch a glimpse of his profile once, and it calms you more than you’d admit.

Afterwards, you both look like you’ve aged five years. He makes some quip about suing the NCBE for emotional distress and irreparable damage to the soul. You want to laugh. You want to cry. You settle for stealing the muffin out of his hand, and he chases you down the sidewalk, screaming bloody murder.

Then the waiting begins.

It’s worse than the test. Purgatory with a deadline. Time stretches, bends in on itself. The 44% pass rate in your jurisdiction becomes a mantra and a curse. Every time you think about it, your stomach drops. You text Lando late at night, just question marks and anxiety. He replies with terrible memes and gentle reassurances.

When results go live, it’s early. Barely sunrise. Your stomach is lead. You meet Lando at a quiet café you both like, the one with chipped mugs and a broken sugar dispenser.

The city still feels half-asleep. Your fingers are cold. He’s already there, laptop open, waiting. You’re the only people there, which is both a blessing and a curse. 

You sit beside him, close enough to feel the heat off his arm. He looks at you.

“Ready?”

You shake your head. He smiles anyway. He checks first. Types in his ID number. You both watch the screen.

He passes.

“Lando!” 

You throw your arms around him without thinking. He melts into it like he’s been waiting all year, all four years, even, for this. His arms wrap around you, firm and grounding. He holds you like you matter. Like you’re his victory, too.

“Easy,” he chuckles, but he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck and breathing you in. 

Not easy. Not as easy as he might’ve liked. But he made it, he made it, and you—you feel pride. Something you never expected to feel for that infuriating boy late to Contracts. 

You pull back, a little shaken by how badly you needed that. Then it’s your turn.

You log in. Hands trembling. You miss a key. Type again. Lando doesn’t make any jokes or snide remarks about it. He keeps one hand on your shaking knee, his palm warm over your thigh.

The page loads.

You pass, too.

You barely whisper it, but it escapes you in a rush, disbelieving and stunned. Lando doesn’t wait for confirmation. He sees it on your face.

He’s on his feet in the next minute, swooping you up, but this time tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll float away. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you feel him laughing with relief into your hair.

And then, gently, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Then another.

And another.

Like he can’t help it. Like you’re a prayer being answered. Your throat goes tight. You try to push him off, but it’s a feeble attempt; he keeps on showering you with the affection he’s held back for years and years. 

You stand there, caught in the kind of silence that says everything. Grinning and breathless. Changed. Gone are the days of misbehaving, of teetering near the deep end, of begging and borrowing for tonight and tomorrow. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” you murmur, voice muffled against his collar. “My on-call.”

He laughs, soft and bright before pulling back, just enough to look you in the eye. “Are you mine?”

No smirk. No teasing lilt. Just a question.

No, it’s the question, and it lands exactly where it has to. 

This time, you don’t dodge it. You don’t deflect. You meet his gaze, steady. Heart loud in your ears. 

“Yeah,” you say, “you got me, baby.” ⛐

[daycourtofficial]

An Autumn Courting

Pairing: Eris x winter court!reader | WC: 12.5k | warnings: sexual tones, mentions of hunting

Summary: coming into his role as High Lord of the Autumn Court, the first thing Eris does is make a proposal of marriage to you, something you’re going to make him work for.

A/N: this has been in my drafts since October 2023, I’m so glad to let this be out in the world. Happy @sjmxreaderweek !! This is way too long but enjoy anyway

Eris Vanserra had three soft spots.

First: his mother - a female who spent her life trying to make his better. The first and perhaps only person to show him pure, unconditional love. Someone who did not balk at the terrible things he had to do and endure to survive. One of his most complicated and long lasting relationships where nothing truly made sense.

Second: Lucien. He had a soft spot for all of his brothers when they were born. Being raised by Beron sucked the life from most of them. He watched as they slowly became apathetic at best, cruel at worst. All except Lucien.

Lucien, his baby brother, who remained a good, loyal male, despite everything Beron tried to do to him. Lucien, who looked at him with wide eyes and a big heart. Lucien - his first contact leading up to his father’s death, the only person he wanted there.

Third: his hounds.

Eris adored his hounds. He spent thousands of hours training them, breeding them, and preparing for the next litter. Their kennels were a refuge for him, a place no one in the family ever ventured out to. Only a handful of servants ever got close and they merely mucked out the stalls and changed feed for the dogs. They were the first things to ever truly be his.

Eris had three soft spots. Now it was four.

Your continued presence, skirting on the outside of his periphery for years meant more to him than you could ever possibly know. The only fae willing to talk back to him but keep a twinkle in their eye.

He spent years trying to figure out why your eyes plagued his dreams, how the wind would blow past carrying your laugh. He could never quite pinpoint an exact reason.

Staying away from you during court events was the best course of action for everyone. He knew if he got too close to you, Beron would notice and insist on exploiting this weakness of Eris’s by either a) trying to arrange a marriage between the two of you, putting you under Beron’s control and driving Eris further under Beron’s thumb, or b) keep you far away from Eris.

He knew which one was worse.

-

You had known Eris for centuries, a tenuous friendship due to his lack of trust and your uncertainty as to where you stood with him. Something inside of you always felt there was more to him than the mask he wore to the public, but you could never truly be certain if it was just naivety and hopefulness.

Years of seeing each other at inter-court events, culminated in the two of you finding each other, having occasional moments that left you wanting to see more of him. You could never linger together for too long, lest Beron catch on to how his eldest son’s eyes bore into yours for a second longer than appropriate. Every meeting, dance, or word shared between you two always left you flustered, every moment shared was dissected at length afterward.

One night, while under the mountain, Eris took a risk and found you in your chambers. He had to know that you were okay - as okay as one could be in such an environment. He was used to this environment- he knew how to play the game, how to endure the atrocities in front of him. But you didn’t.

Eris had pushed his way into your chambers, quickly shutting the door behind himself. The intrusion had left you so flustered, you ran to him, prepared to chastise him.

Instead he grabbed your shoulders, quickly spinning you before he rested your back against the door, ensuring no one could burst in without his knowledge. He caged you in with his arms on either side of you, his amber eyes roaming your face, inspecting for injuries.

“I don’t have much time. But if this ever ends, it will not be long until I put the pieces into place to better my position.”

You understood the meaning behind his words, ones too worried to utter the real truth out loud.

He was going to kill Beron. Or someone was.

You knew he was concerned about ears in this place, so he didn’t speak freely.

“I cannot promise you much, but if you wait, I will do things properly. But I would not hold it against you if you cannot wait.”

He hung his head, his long, red hair falling into his face before taking a deep breath and slipping out the door before you could say anything.

So, you waited.

You had survived the atrocities that happened under that cauldron-forsaken mountain and helped your brother Kallias rebuild the Winter court.

Then the war with Hybern happened. You continued your work trying to provide security and sanctuary to your citizens, but it was hard and draining.

The years carried on, until one day Kallias was called off quite quickly by mail, leaving you and Vivian quite confused but not for long. News of the death of Beron Vanserra traveled quite quickly through all of Prythian.

Kallias had returned for mere minutes before a letter arrived in front of you, a second one appearing in front of Kallias a moment later.

The envelope was sealed with the Autumn Court insignia, one that you’ve admired for many years now: a fox curling around a fire. It felt homey.

It was the Court’s official crest - and the Vanserra family’s familial crest resembled it. You broke the seal, reading the letter.

Fawn,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I am writing this as a formal declaration of my intentions.

With your agreement, it is my intention to court and wed you, making you the Lady of the Autumn Court. It would be my honor to serve my court as your husband with you at my side.

This decision lies solely with you. I have, however, written a similar letter to your high lord, Kallias, so he will not feel blindsided should you accept.

Take your time over this decision. I will be busy in the coming weeks, adjusting to life as High Lord, however I will make whatever time is necessary for you shall you wish it.

Yours,

Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court

You smiled at the title in his signature, sure that this was the first time he got to write it out.

Your eyes glanced up to find Viviane and Kallias’s peaking glances at you as they read the letter Eris had sent them.

“It would appear as though you’ve caught the eye of Prythian’s newest High Lord.”

It was no question that you would attend his coronation. Autumn was a direct border to Winter and Kallias had been waiting decades for Beron to die to potentially work with one of his sons on building better relations. He had always hoped it would be Lucien, the easiest and most diplomatic Vanserra. The two had a working relationship and he would be a lovely neighboring ruler.

During the whole affair, Eris’s eyes hardly strayed from yours. They followed you, not straying to any of the hundreds of fae gathered, not to the other court nobility that had arrived.

Just you.

His eyes had followed you as you lingered after the ceremony, finding Lucien just as the letter had instructed. You kept his gaze as you spoke to the youngest Vanserra, giving him the answer to Eris’s letter. You nodded just enough for the new High Lord to see, and his posture immediately relaxed. You stood taller knowing on a day all about him, he clearly had only been thinking of you.

-

You had written back to Eris after the coronation quite quickly, much more quickly than a proper lady should, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Excitement coursed through your body, almost impossible to sit still.

Corresponding with Eris was more fun than you had anticipated. It took a few letters, but he began opening up more and more, telling you stories about his day or some memory long forgotten. Most letters include some story about Lucien, but they felt much more relaxed than the version of him you knew at court events. He even stopped signing them with his full name, shortening it to just ‘Eris’ eventually.

You had made the mistake of mentioning to Kallias about Eris’s intentions. Your brother had been upset at first to find out his sister had caught the eye of a Vanserra - he had never trusted the family, always on guard in their presence. But when he heard the words ‘courting’ and ‘traditional’, you swore his eyes danced with amusement as he plotted something.

Official courting was very similar across Prythian, with minor details changed for each court. For members of nobility and highly esteemed families of the Winter Court, it was usual custom for the betrothed pair to visit each other’s villages. Time spent partaking in the customs of each village was essential - life in Winter could often feel very insular. Villages less than a day’s travel from each other could be quite different, even language differences occurring. Holidays across the court looked similar to outsiders, but traditions held a wide range of activities.

Kallias would allow you to do as you wished as long as you weren’t tricked or coerced into anything. However, your brother would make Eris regret his exact words of a ‘traditional courting’.

Eris had agreed to the terms, but sent many letters about his brother in forewarning and to not take him seriously. Having met the youngest Vanserra on several occasions, you were well prepared for what he might do.

An agreement was formed - Eris was to spend two weeks in Winter before you would spend two weeks in Autumn. At that point, you would provide some form of answer. You had some idea of what you would say - you wouldn’t be wasting everyone’s time otherwise. But it would be foolish and rash to wed without spending any time alone with the male.

Eris was set to arrive in a week’s time, coming to your home, coming to Winter. It felt surreal, not quite allowing yourself to believe it until the male was standing before you. A week was nothing for a High Lord - Kallias’s visits to other courts usually required several months of notice. But seven days still felt too long after seeing him at the coronation. You did anything to make yourself busy - planning activities for the two of you, reassuring your brother once again that this was what you wanted, trying to showcase Winter in the best light.

Still, every night when you laid in bed, everytime you closed your eyes, you were brought back to the coronation, how his eyes followed you across the room. A room full of the most powerful and important people in Prythian, and his gaze never left yours.

-

You hardly slept the night before he was set to arrive, waking with the sun as if it would bring Eris here more quickly. The morning went by at a snail’s pace, the palace unhurried for the day. You had bathed, dried your hair, paced around, tidied your room. You did anything you could think to keep busy, to keep your mind off the clock.

Eventually enough time passed for you to make it to breakfast, sitting across from Kallias and Vivianne’s amused glances. They chatted idly, amused smiles directed at you that you pretended to ignore. You only pushed the food around on your plate, watching the sun through the window, trying to will it to move faster.

“Something wrong?” Kallias’s question made its way through the fog, the only words he had spoken you had been able to make sense of.

“Sure, sure.” You waved him off with your fork, eyes moving to the entryway to the dining room every so often. He laughed, amused at how little you were listening to them, but you had tuned him out once more. Doubt crept in as each second passed, your anxieties certain something would keep the two of you apart. Had he changed his mind? Was it all in the chase for a hunter like him?

As if your doubts had conjured him, he was striding through the entrance hall, his red hair practically melting the walls as he went past. Over the years, you had seen Eris in a variety of wardrobe: deep reds ranging to bright green, a variety of embroidery threads on every piece. He made every color his own, gravitating towards richer, earthier shades. The dark blue jacket that hung from his shoulders made the color seem so new and exotic, despite being a significant portion of your own wardrobe. The depth of color popped beneath his pale skin somehow, unjustly proving there truly was no color he couldn’t make his own.

The piece looked like anything you would find in Winter, but somehow like nothing you had ever seen before.

He had looked so sure of himself at the coronation, steadfast in a way a High Lord needed to be. In the few weeks since, he had somehow grown even more into himself, standing tall and sharp. His hair was much shorter now than it was under the mountain, the weight of that place chopped off with the fiery locks.

Eris stopped before you, smiling as he took you in, a bit of shock mixed in with the delight. Too caught up in your wandering eyes, you completely forget to even pretend to courtesy until it’s too late and you fumble a short bow. His face lit up with amusement, and you hoped he'd ignore it. Your prayers seemed to be answered until he leaned in and asked, “see something you like?”

The question sent chills down your back, your spine straightening. Your mouth became too dry to respond, and even if you could, you couldn’t think of anything to say. This thing with Eris, however mutual it may be, had alway been fleeting - small conversations, loose promises. No matter how your heart pulled to him, you still knew so little about him.

Kallias cleared his throat from behind you, his focus completely on Eris. The males only nodded to each other, not even attempting small talk. Kallias had been on edge ever since the first letter arrived - you heard him pacing at night, sure that the Autumn male was planning something. But those concerns hardly made it to your ears, your brother staying tight lipped about his reservations.

You didn’t think there was any validity to Kallias’s concerns for even a moment, especially not as he stood before you, a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would allow this. I expected to be thrown out of Winter.” His voice was soft, the usual sneer or jestful tone gone, leaving room for something more vulnerable.

“Do you take me for a liar, High Lord? Not a good look for a new bride.” The quip sent him slightly off balance, surprise or pleasure at the change in your attitude.

“My apologies.” He bowed low at the waist causing you to go completely still. As High Lord, he didn’t have to bow to anyone. The other High Lords were his equals, but they didn’t deserve this level of respect.

“I’m just kind enough to forgive you, Eris.” He straightened at the sound of his name, the slight smirk enough to let you know how much he enjoyed it.

-

You spent the afternoon showing him the palace and the grounds, noting the amusement on his face at the ice gardens. You showed him the deep blues of the palace, listening as he compared them to his own home, the Forest House.

“I have arranged for some private dining for us. Kallias wanted some grand banquet in your honor, but I shot that down.”

“Wanted to get me alone?”

“Oh, we won’t be alone.” He waited for you to go on, still keeping stride next to you. “There are eyes everywhere in Winter. Why do you think we don’t have a chaperone?”

Eris turned in a circle, moving around the landscape, searching for anybody. There wasn’t another living thing for miles in the vast wintery expanse.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded, leaning his face closer to yours. You did the same, leaning up on your toes to meet him. You lowered your voice, soft as the snow fall. “It’s the animals.”

“The animals?” A mixture of shock and delight came across his face, a hint of disbelief as well. You nodded, not elaborating further. As far as you could tell, the animals in Winter were vastly different from the animals of other courts. They were larger, better at hiding, and were connected to Kallias somehow. You had tried for years to get him to explain it - why arctic foxes lingered at the palace doors, hares burrowed beneath every window. He always stayed tight-lipped about it, but he always knew things he shouldn’t. He was always the first to know your business, even if you never told him.

“I don’t really get it, but they like my brother.”

Eris followed as you led him to the west side of the palace. Light snow fell, crunching beneath your feet as you made your way down the path to the stables. You finally reached the surprise the servants had set up - a massive sleigh fronted by a team of large reindeer, stocked with blankets and food.

“What is this?”

“Our chariot.”

Eris looked over the sled, the reindeer all standing at attention, dark fur accented with lush garlands.

“Couldn’t we just winnow?”

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?”

He huffed, his breath visible in the air. He followed you into the sleigh, his body pressing close to yours. You let out a low whistle, the reindeer taking off quickly. Eris fell back into the seat, unprepared for the quick takeoff. Your hand covered your mouth, trying to hide the laugh that escaped, but you knew he heard it from the way he looked over at you.

His magic made a warm bubble around the two of you, blocking out the wind as the reindeer picked up a good pace. The sleigh glided across the snow, making fresh tracks as it moved. Eris looked around, trying to find any hint as to where the two of you were heading off to.

“What are we waiting for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

He studied you then, really focusing on you. You did the same, studying how much he contrasted the wintry landscape passing behind. His blue coat helped him blend in somewhat, but he stood out too much from the ice and snow to ever be able to fully hide.

“Have you ever been to Winter?” Your voice was louder, trying to be heard over the wind. You’ve seen him in Winter three or four times, the Vanserras never lingering long, only here to discuss things related to the border. Your father despised having them around, always tense in the days leading up to their arrival. But you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know what your home was like to an outsider.

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Both.”

He leaned back on the seat, stretching out his long legs in the sleigh, his body still touching yours but not encroaching on your space.

“Officially, a handful of times. Unofficially, a few dozen times. I’ve snooped around the border a time or two.”

“To see the sights? Or do something a bit more?”

He gave a sharp look, some debate happening behind his eyes on how much to tell.

“I’d be lying if I said the land on the border between our courts was anything less than spectacular.”

You had never been so far north as the seasonal courts, but the lands connecting Summer, Winter, and Autumn were quite the sight. A blend of all three courts, a beautiful lake laid in the middle of the tricourt border. The wind blew falling leaves and soft snow across the water, but somehow the air was the perfect temperature to go swimming. It was a beautiful spot, popular with travelers.

“My excursions were less than savory.” His face was grim now, hard set with bad memories. Your breath hitched at how quickly the conversation had turned. It’s not too surprising to know Eris has snuck across the border - you have snuck off into Summer a time or two, emboldened by youth and recklessness.

But a few years ago, someone had done something so heinous the memory still made you gag.

“Have you ever harmed one of Winter’s citizens?” It still wasn’t known who killed those children, their deaths still a heavy tragedy for your court. Their wailing parents could be heard across the court. Your brother had long suspected the High Lord of the Night Court of it, but he had no leads.

“No. Mostly a neutral meeting site for discussions.” He seemed less than forthcoming, not wanting to linger too long, but willing to answer any questions you had. You only had one last question, needing it answered before letting this subject die.

“Did you have any involvement with the children?” You didn’t have to specify, you knew he’d know what you were referring to.

“No. I would never.” Relief washed over you. He seemed open in a way you’ve never seen before. You wanted to see more of it, let him tell you who he is in his own words.

The sled started slowing down at your whistle, halting in the middle of a barren field. The dark sky stretched on for miles, filled with galaxies of stars too numerous to count and too small to quantify. You unfolded the blanket, draping it across both of your laps, before opening the picnic basket. You passed him a small mug, filling it with hot chocolate from an enchanted kettle.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You tried for a more hopeful tone, the lilt in your voice asking to move on from the tragedy. He thought it over seriously for a few moments, watching the steam from his mug dissipate before settling on something.

“I have twelve hounds, all named after ingredients in pumpkin pie or apple varieties.”

“You have hounds?” He nodded, allowing you to continue. “I’ve only seen hounds from afar around here. In Winter, they work either with hunting or guardians. I’ve heard in Day it’s popular to keep them as pets. Are yours more pet or worker?”

“Anyone else, I’d say they’re workers. But in the interest of honesty, they are more pet.”

The mug of hot chocolate in your hands was the only thing keeping you from squealing in delight.

“Do you spoil them?”

“No.” You eyed him skeptically, not accepting his answer. “Okay, fine. I spoil them. But I make them work for it.”

“That’s so sweet. I’m sure they all love you.”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure it was the truth. You couldn’t imagine any being not falling in love with him, especially after spending years with him.

You slowly leaned into him, trying to soak up all his warmth. He turned, his face only inches from yours. His nose was a hair away from bumping into yours. Amber eyes flicked down to your lips and back up, but he stayed where he was.

You pushed back from him, catching the glimpse of color from behind his head, telling him to look up.

The sky above you, previously pitch black, slowly allowed streaks of green and light blue to ribbon across its landscape. The sky was a living painting, bright hues stretching across the blank canvas. The movements seemed random, smooth strokes looking for a place to rest. Every stroke looked intentional, every color carefully picked to complement the ones around it.

The hundreds of times you had seen it before didn’t matter - each time was brand new, never looking the same as the last. Eris was quiet beside you, the silence stretching up to the sky in appreciation of its beauty.

For a long time, neither of you say anything, but Eris’s hand slowly moved closer - first resting next to yours, each finger slowly and gently making contact, until he was holding your hand in his, gazing at this new beauty to bask in.

You smiled to the sky, thankful for whatever reason it was here. It would be the first thing the two of you would share, your shared focus on the same thing. The whole ride home would be devoted to talking about it, sharing feelings and observations, but now the two of you stared, necks craning at something that had stretched across Winter for as long as fae had existed.

-

On Eris’s second day in Winter, the weather was just right for an activity you were determined to see Eris try before accepting any proposals. You bundled yourself up, donning several layers beneath a coat before you bounced down the hallway. His room was several doors down from yours at Kallias’s input no doubt, but it gave you an extra moment to smooth out any wrinkles in your coat.

Deep blue skies filled the windows you passed, the day outside exceedingly bright. It was springtime in Winter, one of the warmer days that brought fae outdoors in droves, but your intended destination would be quite cold.

Your knock on his door was quick, three taps before his face greeted you.

“You’re quite chipper this morning,” he greeted.

You beamed, excitement for the day coursing through you. “It’s a beautiful day, of course I’m chipper.”

You looked down from his eyes to find his chest bare, no shirt to cover the pale skin littered with freckles. A set of two moles beneath his left clavicle caught your eye, before your gaze stuck on the red hair beneath his navel, leading into his trousers.

“I can meet you for breakfast downstairs if you wish to eat.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, a hint of arrogance lacing his words at having caught your ogling. He spared you from any other jabs at your expense, at least.

“No need, we’ll be getting breakfast out in town.”

A surprised look crossed his face before he quickly changed it for one of intrigue.

“Spare a moment so I can change.”

He came out exactly a moment later, not letting you wait too long. He stepped out in brown trousers, brown riding boots, a loose white shirt, and a beautifully decadent emerald green vest with gold detailing. He looked so autumnal, almost like a crisp apple you were dying to bite into.

Your lips puckered. “You’re going to need more clothes.”

“Oh? You seemed quite happy with the lack of layers I was wearing earlier.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the heat that was spreading up your face. “I am a lady, High Lord. Of course I am happy to see a lack of layers in my attractive guests.”

He laughed through his nose, an almost pleased snort at your unabashed comment.

“Any hints as to the day’s plans?”

“None until you get dressed.” He grumbled something as he turned back, leaving the door open before rifling through his trunks again.

“You do know I can warm myself quite easily with my magic.” He found a larger coat, probably the thickest one he owned, but it looked thin in comparison to the large, feather coats of Winter’s citizens. You followed him, standing in his doorway as he spoke to you.

“That’s cheating, though. Besides, your magic could be a hazard.” He stopped buttoning his jacket, fingers pausing mid movement.

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints until I was better dressed.”

“You are better dressed.”

“I would never leave with my buttons undone. I’m not an animal.”

You stepped aside, walking down the hallway and away from him. His door shut softly behind him and he quickly caught up to you, matching your stride through the palace. No matter how much he asked, you didn’t let up, leading him out of the palace and onto the cool paths that navigated around the property.

You thought he would give up - it would only be a ten minute walk, after all. But he was unwavering, determined to get the answer from you, so much so he wasn’t paying attention to the upcoming view.

“We’re going ice skating!” You declared proudly, pointing ahead at the frozen lake coming into view. Figures glided across the frozen surface, laughing loud enough to be heard from far away.

“Why are we going ice skating, my ice princess?”

The nickname caught you off guard, the title not sounding as stilted as it usually did. You tried to keep your composure, a difficult task as your tongue suddenly became very thick in your mouth. “It’s tradition.”

“Is it now? Or do you just want to admire me gliding across the ice in those tight uniforms your skaters wear?”

A sigh escaped you, careful not to let him hear your laugh.

“It’s tradition in Winter for betrothed couples to skate together.”

“We’re a betrothed couple now?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You still hadn’t technically given him an answer nor did you plan to until the end of the trip. Everything was going so well, you had to ensure you liked being in his company before agreeing.

“We’re something.”

“I suppose ‘something’ is the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Haven’t you been engaged to the Morrigan?”

“I was a child. I had met her all of a handful of times before it ended.”

“So us ice skating is the most serious romantic endeavor you’ve ever been involved with?”

“It would appear so.”

“If I may be so bold, that is quite sad.” A pair of ice skates appeared in your hands, the size determined by some servants who snuck into his chambers last night and measured his shoes. You held them out to him before gesturing for him to sit on a nearby bench to put them on.

“What’s sad is going to be seeing me out on the ice and that will be the end of my most serious romantic endeavor.”

You reached out, gently pinching his cheek between your thumb and forefinger.

“I wouldn’t end things with how pitiful you look on the ice. I find pathetic males endearing on occasion.”

“I will note to never allow you near Lucien again.”

Your own skates appeared in your hand as you sat next to Eris. The two of you laced boots in tandem, listening as a few kids played a game of hockey on one end of the lake.

“You’ll probably be a little wobbly getting out there,” you warned, standing up to help him. You held your hands out, which he gladly took, helping him find his balance on the mat.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, just wait.”

You helped him waddle to the entrance, his body instinctively reaching for the short walls that had been erected around the lake. Eris moved onto the ice, attempting to keep the blades beneath his feet connected to the ice. It was much slippier than he anticipated, his feet moving at an odd angle before he quickly moved back to grip the wall once more. His eyes met yours, your face barely able to contain your grin. Your eyes shone with delight, your tone laced with wicked amusement as you held out your hands.

“Forgive me, High Lord. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a skating prodigy.”

His jaw tightened at the jab, annoyance simmering beneath his skin. Everyone else on the ice made it look easy, skating past the High Lord in pairs. One male even did a jump right in front of him.

If there was one thing that would never change about Eris, it was that he was a sore loser if he wasn’t automatically good at something.

A skater passed by, ice shavings hitting Eris in the chest. It was enough to get him to remove himself from the wall, to move out toward your outstretched hands. He looked like a newborn foal, standing for the first time on fresh legs. You suppressed a giggle, reaching out for him.

He made it halfway between you and the wall when one of the kids from the other side of the lake hit the hockey puck too hard, the black circle skidding fast directly at Eris’s feet. It hit the blade of his left skate, sending him falling forward.

A loud, boisterous laugh fell from your lips. Your head tilted back, the sun nearly blinding you, but you couldn’t contain the joy you felt in this moment.

A beautiful male fell into your arms, looking more like a fresh fawn than the high lord he was.

He clutched at you, his feet giving out beneath him as he tried to find his balance. The blades slashed the ice, cutting and churning up slush until eventually he slowed down, his feet able to stay in place long enough for him to straighten up.

Eris still clung to you, but his face came close to your ear, whispering so only you could hear.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you’re enjoying it.”

“Very much so.” A meteor couldn’t wipe the smug look off your face at his struggles. You pried his hands from your shoulders, holding them tight in your hands as you slowly started skating backwards. The shock on his face had you biting back another laugh, but you held him tight, gliding backwards without a concern in the world.

He slowly began figuring out how to move his feet, making short glides. Each sweep of his legs brought more confidence, but his hands still remained tight in yours.

-

Eris didn’t have many courtly duties to take up his time while in Winter. He had spent most of the last week preparing for this, but he only had to put up with daily updates and light correspondence taking no less than an hour a day.

You took him everywhere you thought of: nearby villages, sightseeing, trying restaurants. He was more receptive to Winter cuisine than you had anticipated, but it shouldn’t be too shocking that there was some overlap between your courtly palettes.

Today the snow came down in massive heaps, a sheet of white covering the windows, making it impossible to see past a few feet.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going out to do something like see how much snow we can catch.”

You smiled, turning from the window to find Eris looking down at you. You stood, practically bouncing the balls of your feet at the plan for today.

“I’d never do that to you and your delicate constitution.” A huff escaped his lips at your taunt, but no retort came back.

“We’re going to bake and assemble a gingerbread house.”

It was too early for yule, the ingredients necessary for the traditional dishes out of season. But you craved to showcase Winter in all its splendor.

“A gingerbread house? To live in?”

“Not for us to live in. For the gingerbread fae to live in.”

He only stared blankly, the concept clearly a new one to the High Lord.

“Do you not celebrate Yule in Autumn?”

“We burn bushes and the like, but we don’t make gingerbread.” He said it with a grimace, like the cookie was offensive.

“Well, you can help me build it and decorate it.”

-

A few hours later, when the cookies were taken from the oven, the two of you took a break, venturing around the palace grounds, talking about everything and nothing. At some point you were sure the cookies had cooled enough to work with, but there had been a break in the snow and you weren’t quite ready to return yet. Instead you had detoured into the nearby village, taking Eris to get hot chocolate.

“I promise, I’ve tried so much hot chocolate over the years, but this is the best.”

“Very convenient that they live so close by.” You smiled over the mug, taking your first sip, the sweet rich flavor one you couldn’t get enough of.

“I may have persuaded him to move his shop here.”

Eris held his drink, waiting for it to cool more.

“Here I thought I was the scandalous one of us.”

“It all worked out! He met his wife here and they’ve been very happy for a long time. And they have me to thank for it.” Pride was etched into every inch of your smile, to see happy citizens and watch things work out for them was a joy.

“Winter’s own little matchmaker.”

After enough time (and Eris admitting it was the best hot chocolate Prythian had to offer), the two of you had wandered back to the palace, taking your sheets of cookies into the dining room. Servants had already arranged all your decorating needs neatly onto the table: icing, gumdrops, sugar. Anything sweet your heart could desire was on the table.

“The world’s supply of sugar was dropped off in our absence.”

It didn’t take long before he was sucked into the work, determined to make a grand gingerbread house fit for a High Lord. You watched as he carefully iced one of the walls, applying windows and doors to it. His lines were perfect, a steely look of determination on his face.

This was what this trip was about. Seeing Eris for who he was at all times: relaxed, enthralled, annoyed. After a moment of watching him, you turned back to your own house, hoping a distraction would quell the butterflies roaring in your stomach. You picked up one of the tiny ginger males, picking out the perfect red icing to make his hair with.

-

Before long, Eris’s two weeks in Winter were coming to an end. It felt surreal to watch him winnow away, feeling juvenile over the longing you felt in his absence.

Eris would head to Autumn a day before you, so the two of you hadn’t lingered long on saying goodbye. It had taken longer than expected for him to depart, as if the both of you were unwilling to give the other up for any amount of time. The pull you had felt toward him all these years, the seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping the two of you apart, and yet a whole day felt impossible.

Life had continued on in your whirlwind romance, but it felt different now. Two weeks away and it felt like being in someone else’s clothes, stepping into someone else’s life.

The silence felt louder, your room colder. The halls you grew up in, the room you’d known your entire life - they felt so empty now, so lifeless without a redhead blazing fires.

-

The next day Kallias winnowed the two of you to Autumn, somewhere about a mile from the perimeter of the Forest House. He spent the twenty minute walk probing you nonstop about if you were truly happy to do this.

“It would mean living here year round.” His arms spread out, sweeping across the landscape. It was so different from your home in the Winter Court, trees full of leaves that are about to shed, woodland creatures skittering all around, watching the two of you.

The air was always so still in Winter, but here it ebbed and flowed, carrying the scent of bonfires and apples wherever it went.

“I don’t think that would be so bad.” You failed to mention how excited you’d be to live with a certain male, not wanting to endure Kallias’s teasing or gagging noises from him.

Your brother escorted you through the woods, your arm tucked into his as you passed through the wards placed around the Forest House. The large, dark estate was tucked away in the woods, trees as tall as the sky surrounding it. The sun was hitting it just right, letting it shine in all its glory, as if even the weather was happy with the change in Autumn.

A servant had found the two of you - some guard, you assumed from the weapon at his side. He bowed quickly before the two of you, quickly turning on his heel for you to follow. You didn’t have to follow long, Eris already waiting in the front hallway for the two of you.

It was hard to decide what to look at - the male or the gorgeous interior of the home. You were set to be here for two weeks, plenty of time to ogle the decor and architecture, so you opted to keep your eyes on Eris. He looked different in Autumn, more at ease, but also brighter somehow, as if every room and background bent toward him, trying to complement his skin.

He kept his eyes on you the same way, likely figuring out how much you contrasted against the earthly shades of the court. You didn’t care, certain he would spin it in a more favorable light than you would. He eventually took his eyes off of you, turning towards your brother, reaching out a hand. Their hands met, slight steam coming off from their touch before your brother chuckled. It wasn’t until you peeled your eyes from Eris to find one of his brothers, Lucien, standing behind him

“Eris,” Kallias’s voice took on a more stern tone, one that had a groan coming from the back of your throat. Kallias’s blue eyes met yours, a silent conversation taking place while he was still shaking Eris’s hand. After a minute of glaring back and forth, he turned back toward Eris, patting his hand before retracting it.

“Eris.” It said all that Kallias wanted to. The threat hidden in the one word, the tight grip he had on Eris’s hand. Eris only nodded, a tight lipped smile at either Kallias’s rigid position or the tight grip he had on him. Kallias examined him for a moment before letting go, his arm moving to wrap you into a hug.

“Last chance,” he said quietly into your ear. You softly shook your head no as you leaned into his touch, the cool air enveloping you in such a familiar way. He patted your back before letting go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then.” This time he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, accenting every word in a ‘I’m the High Lord’ way. You chuckled softly as he turned, nodding at both Vanserras before walking out of the house.

The three of you stood in silence for only a moment, no one quite sure how to continue on after Kallias’s departure. Lucien’s eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile full of mischief and trouble sent your way.

“Would you like to walk around the estate?”

-

It was an interesting sight to behold - two fae, each over several centuries old, strolling about Autumn with a much younger and louder chaperone following behind them.

“I have to say you do seem quite different since the last I saw of you in Autumn, High Lord.”

Lucien’s steps followed the two of you, his whistling an overt measure to ensure you both remembered his presence. When you had asked for traditional courtship, you hadn’t had Lucien in mind.

“Autumn is seeing a great change.”

“You may speak freely, if you wish. I understand double speak is common around here, but I am unfamiliar with it and find it tedious.”

“Autumn is doing quite well now that the blight that was my father has been taken care of.”

Lucien’s whistling stopped, an almost choking noise coming from his mouth. Eris shot a spark from his finger at his brother. Even though he couldn’t see it, he heard Lucien patting the fire out of his breeches and smiled. Your eyes caught Eris’s, unable to stop the enjoyment at seeing him so happy.

“How crass, High Lord. To speak of your departed father in such a way.”

Eris’s eyes nearly bulged from his head, an excuse sitting on the tip of his tongue until he caught a glint of amusement in your eye. He clicked his tongue, looking straight ahead toward the path.

“You sound like Lucien, my least favorite brother.”

A cough came from behind, but Eris didn’t turn to look at his brother before replying. “Chaperones are merely to ensure our innocence and chastity, not to butt into conversation.”

“Yes, we are quite innocent and chaste up here. No deflowering has occurred on your watch,” you added.

“I do love a good deflowering, but watching it happen to my brother is not what I wish to see.”

Steam practically shot out of Eris’s ears at Lucien’s quip, but your giggles broke him from his anger.

“A virgin High Lord. How noble of you, your grace. And you picked me to deflower you? I’m so honored.”

The High Lord of Autumn had half a mind to forego the frivolity of tradition. Two weeks of his brother following him around was sure to end in murder. He knew you were quite a fan of them, some romanticized notion of courting traditions in your mind he couldn’t quite bear to see squashed.

Your first night there had been enough for him to put up with meddling brothers for a lifetime. He had shown you around the Forest House per your request. He listened intently during the tour as you compared the Forest House to the Snowflake Palace, comparing your current home to what was hopefully set to be a future one. You were now comparing balconies, ones you had shown him on his tour, balconies carved in part from ice in the upper levels of the palace.

“I’m sure you could remodel here with your flames a bit.”

A chuckle made you smile, happy to amuse him over such silly imaginings.

“I don’t think they’d be structurally sound to stand on.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. A flaming throne room would really make the place shine.”

The two of you moved through the house, wandering through centuries of history. Stories flowed from Eris’s mouth - items that were millennium old, passed down through the Vanserra line carefully. Things the high lord has grown so accustomed to seeing every day he had forgotten to enjoy the intricate details of them.

At some point on the tour, Lucien had stepped away, having to attend to some matter on his own.

“I could show you where your chambers would be if you moved here.”

You stopped, grabbing Eris by the elbow to get his attention. You held his arm as you spoke, the fabric of his jacket soft in your hand.

“Eris, if I am to wed, I would rather spend my nights with my husband. It’s no fun sleeping alone.”

He swallowed harshly, needing a moment before he responded. “Noted.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Then can you show me your chambers?” Eris swore under his breath, the direct question straining his pants.

“Lucien steps away for an hour and you’re already trying to deflower me.”

“Maybe the chaperone was for me, Eris.”

Eris was still staying in his old chambers, wanting Beron’s old chambers completely renovated before he moved into them. His room was somewhere in the west wing, the windows facing a large field that had massive stables at the end of the horizon. You walked to the window, ignoring inspecting the rest of the furniture in favor of the lush green pasture.

“Horses?”

“Hounds,” he corrected, his voice dripping with pride. It jogged your memory - the brief conversation you had earlier about his pack of hounds.

“Do they sleep in the bed with you?”

The silence stretched on for a moment before he asked, “how important is the answer to that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, squinting your eyes as you looked at the field, trying to make out any dog-like shapes. “I’m often incredibly cold during the night and a warm, furry friend would be nice.”

“It’d be a shame then to not tell you that they all end up here during the night.”

You whipped your head to him, incredulity coating your words. “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so.”

A laugh escaped from you. Eris Vanserra, a male supposedly cut from Beron’s cloth who had half of Prythian annoyed at him and the other infuriated with him, had a pack of hounds to keep him company at night?

“This is delightful.” Only a few hours into the trip and you had already learned so much about Eris.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You leaned against the wall, turning your body toward him. It didn’t go unnoticed when he stepped slightly closer, following to not let any more distance linger between you two. “The other courts think you’re the Mother’s curse upon faekind. If only they knew you liked snuggling.”

“Even cursed ones have hobbies when they’re not ransacking villages or plaguing the common fae.”

The day was supposed to end with a dinner in your honor, celebrating relations between Winter and Autumn, and a way for you to meet more people in the Forest House. Instead you had asked if you could share dinner in his chambers, citing the travels of the day making you weary.

An excuse Eris saw through, but elected not to say anything. He’d be damned to give up this much alone time with you, certain Lucien would make himself known at any moment.

The two of you ate and drank in Eris’s sitting room, not having ventured into his bedchambers. This trip was about you and he’d follow your lead, no matter how straining it became.

“We’ve been on our own for several hours now. Do you think our chaperone’s gone?”

“With any luck he’s fallen into an uncapped well or perhaps gotten lost at sea.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, Eris.”

He leaned back in his seat, the wood creaking as he stretched out his long legs.

“It’s night time. He’s likely off writing a letter, waxing poetry about how much he’s missing his mate.”

“You’re not concerned about any interruptions, then?”

“At this point Lucien should be old enough to know better. What he sees is on him.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you glanced down at his trousers, noting the clear outline of his bulge. You looked back up to find his searing gaze on you, amber eyes full of molten want, the air around the two of you hot enough to have sweat prickling at your neck. You patted his shoulder, trying to soothe the rejection before it came.

“Still, he only has the one eye. Wouldn’t want to completely blind him.” You wanted to - your legs practically shook with need. Something held you back from allowing him in fully, to take in every aspect of this potential relationship.

Eris had escorted you back to your room, unperturbed by the earlier rejection. He only waited as you stood across from him, not quite ready to open your door and bid him goodnight. The longer you stood here, his body heat practically inviting you closer, the more likely you were to cave into your carnal wants.

His own restraint did little to quell the ache between your legs. In fact, it made it worse. He was being respectful, never pushing or upset at the space you needed.

“I should go to bed.”

A half attempt at moving, to get your brain in gear, to retire for the evening, but as long as his eyes were on you, it was hard to pull away from his orbit.

-

If Eris had it his way, this whole visit would have been structured so differently. Every meal just the two of you, spending only a few hours apart for some necessary meetings he had.

But you had asked for traditional courting.

So he put up with more chaperoned walks through the garden, meals spent with others, hardly getting a moment alone with you for weeks until you slipped into his sitting room each night, recounting the time spent apart. You saw more of Lucien than you did him, his brother neglecting almost all of his duties in favor of entertaining at all hours of the day.

Eris was on the brink of wringing Lucien’s neck. Watching his eyes pop from his head would amuse him, wondering if the mechanical one would pop out too or if it would stay in its socket forever.

Most of Autumn’s rituals around love and commitment were saved for the day of the wedding or the ceremony itself. Fire night was a big event, but that was six months out and Eris couldn’t wait that long. He had been racking his brain for ages, trying to figure out something to showcase Autumn.

-

The proposal weighed heavy on your mind over the days you spent with him. While you were having a great time, Kallias never made you feel like you had to marry for political advantage. He actually seemed to prefer you to marry outside of it. Your brother desperately wanted you to marry any of the athletes of Winter, preferably from his favored teams.

You were having a great time being courted - finally being allowed to soak in Eris’s company was a delight. But you couldn’t quite say yes.

Eris had told you it would be an early morning and to dress in layers and to wear pants, but it was all he’d give you. You took his advice, layering well for the Autumn chill, lacing up your boots when a knock came at the door. Eris stood on the other side of the door, a tweed jacket unbuttoned, showing off a matching vest beneath it. Dark pants clung to his thighs, disappearing into the knee high boots hugging his calves. He said nothing, letting his gaze trail up the pants that hugged your thighs, a devilish smirk on his face that almost had you pulling him into your chambers.

“Ready?” He asked, extending an elbow toward you. You accepted it, letting him lead you on whatever adventure he wanted to show you.

“I thought I would show you one of my traditions.” You stayed silent, waiting for him to tell you more, but he didn’t say more, only looking forward as he walked. He guided the two of you through the house, up to some side hallway that led to the pasture behind the house. Barks came from the door at the end, either excitement or aggression you couldn’t say.

“And what is this tradition?”

“Whenever my mother would successfully give birth, I would take my hounds out and catch dinner.” He paused, one of his hands resting on the doorknob before he turned to face you.

“Would this bother you?” He fully faced you, close enough that you could almost touch him. You reached out, your hand brushing his, letting his warmth wake you up. Standing in the hallway with him felt like standing in the sun after a long, cold day, his gaze enough to warm your bones.

You shook your head, hunting for game a familiar one in Winter.

“I’ve never hunted with animals before.” The only movement was an eyebrow before his fingers held your hand. “Kallias is really into trapping.” Furs and meat were the two necessities to make it in Winter, most court citizens avid hunters.

He nodded, surprise evident on his face, but he said nothing. He squeezed your hand gently, looking deep into your eyes, fondness clear in his gaze. He looked on the verge of saying something, but only turned the knob, letting the early morning haze in, not quite clearing the lovesick haze that had settled in your stomach.

All the barking stopped immediately once Eris opened the door, the sound of dozens of paws hitting the ground thunderous in your ears. They quickly mobbed the pair of you, standing politely, tails wagging furiously. Several colors of fur tried to make their way to you, a dozen noses desperately trying to reach you. You giggled, reaching a hand out to pet one of them. You’d get to nuzzle one of their heads before another hound pushed it out of the way, trying to get your affection.

Eris gave a short, high-pitched whistle, sending the party into a frozen state, each one on high alert as they waited for his next order. It was almost terrifying how well they listened to his command, moving in tandem as if from one mind.

They all focused on him, a few with tilted heads. He let out a series of whistles, the meaning lost to you, but they understood. They moved as a group, their movements wispy and light, practically floating on air as they moved through the pasture, keeping a pace you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

“How do we find them?” Eris began trudging off after them, following the line in the morning dew they had made. From the front of the house, when you had arrived only a few days ago, you couldn’t have guessed at this large field hidden among the trees, this quiet sanctuary beyond a house containing Prythian’s greatest secrets.

“We follow as best we can. They’ll let us know when they find something.” A large crossbow was hung across his shoulder, not quite sure how you had missed it beforehand. It covered the muscles of his back, showing off his broad shoulders.

“What sort of expectations are there for the Lady of Autumn?” You had briefly met the previous one on this trip, Eris’s mother graciously inviting you for afternoon tea. You spoke for an hour with her, charmed by her while also being moderately terrified of her.

A woman married to Beron for centuries certainly had some skeletons in her own closet. You hadn’t thought to ask about her duties as Lady of the court, but rather mostly about Eris.

“There are a few, first and foremost being at court events.” Something you had expected - it would be silly to have a title and never be seen by the public. “My mother has her own passions and hobbies that take up her time, I don’t expect anyone,” he sent you a pointed look, “to do exactly as she does. Be present, be someone Autumn recognizes. Represent Autumn and see dignitaries from other courts. Other than that, it’s how much or how little sway she wishes to have.”

“Would I have to wear all green and red?” He laughed, the sound disturbing some roosting birds nearby, their wings taking flight.

“You may wear whatever color you like.”

“How often is Lucien around?”

“Not very. He comes usually for a day at a time, if that. He’s only here so frequently because he jumped at the chance to be a thorn in my side.”

Barks came from up ahead, the whole pack in an uproar, clearly catching the scent of something.

Eris grabbed your hand, the two of you running to catch whatever it was they found. You felt giddy at it all - his hand around yours, running through the trees. You felt so much younger and freer as the wind blew through your hair.

Could this be life with Eris?

-

The dogs had been unsuccessful. Eris did not want to admit it, but you were certain it had to do with how many questions you asked him, the chatter enough to scare off any nearby game, no matter the lead the dogs had on you.

The two of you spent the entire day outside, trying to find anything worthwhile, only calling it a day as the sun began to set. You had trudged back to the Forest House, unsure what you wanted more: a good meal or a long hot shower. Stepping inside, the house smelled divine - rich, fragrant foods that had your mouth watering.

The cooks must have heard your dilemma and answered for you. The two of you sat and ate, not much to say, too exhausted and gross to have anything of note to vocalize.

The silence gave you plenty of time to think. Eris had shown you a part of himself today, showing one of his favorite pastimes, it was only fair you did the same.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” It was the first thing you had said since coming inside, waiting until Eris was walking you to your chambers to ask it. The question clearly caught him off guard, his head lightly shaking in surprise.

“Of course.”

A rhythmic ceremony of sorts played out as the two of you prepared for bed. Taking turns bathing and changing into bed attire, nestling into bed, it all felt so comfortable and relaxing. The room smelled like him, coated in a smoky scent so thick it nearly made you dizzy.

As you lifted the covers laying next to Eris, two of the hounds jumped onto the bed, curling at his feet. You laughed, patting the bed next to you for one of them to come closer, but it only invited one of the ones on the floor to jump up.

Her brown fur was soft as it landed next to you, your hand petting her automatically. You curled around her body, an almost crescent moon shape to both of you. You felt the bed shift before Eris had done the same to you: contorting his body around yours, pulling your back flush to his chest.

The room smelled of Eris, but it also smelled like his hounds in the best way. The one in your arms, Cinnamon, nestled in for the night, and the contentment at being cocooned between their two bodies quickly lulled you to sleep.

-

A few hounds had made their way into the bed through the night, rotating as if in shifts to ensure they all got a turn. One or two were posted at each entrance, guarding both the bathroom and the door to his sitting room. One sat beneath a window, stationed there most of the night, her eyes on you whenever you woke up in the night.

Eris woke not long after you did, his arms circling tighter around you as he breathed you in.

“Does she sleep at all?” You asked, breaking the stillness of the morning. Eris only groaned, burying his face into your hair. His fingers dug into your hips, the millimeter of space between the two of you too offensive. He grumbled something incomprehensible into your hair, the words unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Who?” You nodded toward the dog beneath the window, her gaze already on the two of you. She had a dark auburn coat, her long hair perfect to disappear amongst fallen leaves.

“That’s Lady. Not a cuddler.”

“Not even with you?”

“She cuddles in her own way. Sits near me and I have to stay very still.”

The image was incredibly endearing - the High Lord of Autumn letting his dog come to him in her own way, accommodating her as best he could. It had your heart practically bursting in your chest. You didn’t ask anymore questions, letting the room grow quiet with laziness.

Nobody moved for a long while, even the hounds staying still as they sprawled across the floor. Eventually a stomach growled - yours or Eris’s, you couldn’t tell. One of the hounds, Clove, you think, came over and nudged his back, her long snout attempting to get him out of bed.

It took longer than the dog had wanted, reluctance in every movement from both of you, but eventually the two of you left the warmth of the bed and took a walk in the woods, dozens of paws following you around.

Your remaining days in the court went by in a blur of red hair, warm skin, and explorations of the house and the forest surrounding it. You spent your nights tucked in Eris’s arms, the sweet domesticity of sharing a bed enough for both of you.

Each day brought a new confidence, that this was where you were meant to be, but every day something would hold you back, some new question keeping you from saying yes.

Before long, your shared two weeks in Autumn were up, your last night spent in Eris’s chambers, tangled in his arms and legs. He had held you tight all night, not wanting to let you go even as he slept.

-

A few hours before you were set to leave, luck had been on your side. One of the servants had let slip that Lucien had set off early that morning, some business in the Night Court requiring his immediate attention.

The sun was rising through the trees, chasing away the darkness of the night, bringing with it new life. The sun, for all its glory, hadn’t warmed up the ground yet, unable to fight the cool morning air yet. The cold in Autumn was different from Winter. It was familiar, a few details exchanged. The cold in Winter was dry and bone deep. The Autumn chill clung to you, stuck like a second skin.

Eris walked beside you, a few of his hounds trotting around the pair of you. The rest of them were out in the woods, chasing each other, investigating every scent trail they could find. The ones left behind were a guard of sort, likely expected to raise an alarm should anything happen.

The air was heavy with humidity and uncertainty, neither of you ready for what the afternoon would bring. Once you left, he’d have a busy day, ironing out the details of all the things he had pushed aside the past few weeks.

You weren’t sure when you would be back, if you would be back. Your mind was telling you stay guarded, to not give in. But you remembered Lady’s bright eyes, how she watched Eris everywhere he went, how he made time out of his day to spend a few moments alone with her, letting her come to him.

But now he walked beside you, silent and sure, unwavering as he walked over roots and bramble, a dog weaving between his long legs on occasion.

You bent over, crouching low to the ground and picking up a fallen stick. The leaves on it were still vibrant, some perfect color between orange and red. You held it up to the light before holding it close to Eris’s head, comparing it to his long, bright locks.

“They’re the same color as your hair.”

He moved one of his hands through the air, vaguely gesturing all around. The movement caught someone’s attention, a ball of red fur sitting in anticipation for the stick to be thrown their way.

“Most of them look like my hair.”

“Well that’s not fun.”

“I’m the High Lord of Autumn. It’s not far-fetched to think my lands resemble me.”

You only hummed, marching onwards, more determined with each step. After a moment of pretending to ignore the dog, you threw the stick off to the left when you figured they would least suspect it. The two of you continued in silence, the crunching of your boots crackling through the woods as four legs darted after the stick.

After a moment, you stepped off the path, looking for what had caught your eye. Quickly plucking the flower from its stalk, you hurry back to the bewildered male you left behind. You presented the flower to him before holding it next to his face, pointed so you could see the flower. The bright orange flower flared to life next to him, the perfect companion to the hundreds of freckles dancing across his cheeks.

The flower practically glowed next to him, its petals slightly bending in his direction. You’re not sure which came first: the magic or the life of the land.

“It matches your eyes.”

“My eyes are not orange.” You pulled the flower back, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“Not the petals, the eye of the flower. The center.” You pointed to make it clearer for him, the deep amber middle a perfect match for his eyes. He watched you carefully before looking down at the flower, the orange reflecting in his eyes.

He smiled, his mouth curved in a gorgeous upward tilt. He looked made of the woods, the forest around him bending to be seen by him or to catch a fraction of his warmth.

The crinkles in the corners of his eyes were enough proof you would go to great lengths to see them more permanently.

“So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of your undivided company all morning? I haven’t seen Lucien running about today.”

Eris only looked ahead, picking up a fallen stick and tossing it as far as he could, two of the hounds circling you chasing off after it.

“It seems he found a new toy to play with.”

“Must be some toy to pull him away from any opportunity to bother you.”

“I’m quite skilled at bargaining when there’s something I desire.”

“It wasn’t just luck that sent Lucien off this morning, was it?”

He merely shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back, the air of nonchalance he was attempting not quite landing right.

“I’m sure my brother’s told you I’m a selfish creature.”

A coy smile made its way across your face.

“Perhaps.”

“He’s not wrong.” The look he gave you felt all consuming. Amber eyes peering through every defense, every blockade of yours. He looked down at you, more resembling his hounds on the hunt for their toys than a male. The look pierced through every defense you had, nearly crumbling at the sight of it.

-

You had one last meal planned with Eris, one last time to speak over everything. He didn’t ask - staying silent, waiting for you to come to him.

There was one last question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask yet. It was the one thing keeping you from saying yes. Your last inhibition. It could all end depending upon his response.

“Eris, how are you different from your father?” He had only touched on the subject of Beron your first day here. It had been in an unfavorable manner, but you couldn’t tie yourself to someone without knowing the full truth.

“I haven’t burnt anyone alive so far.”

Your fork fell to your plate, so surprised at Eris’s words all of your senses stopped working. You knew Beron was a cruel man, but the extent of the harm he was producing in his court was unknown.

“That’s diabolical.”

Eris put his fork down softly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Forgive me, it’s a question I am asked over and over again, even by myself. It’s a bit frustrating.”

His hand reached across the table, holding yours softly. His eyes were molten amber as they looked at you, honesty pouring out of them.

“I fear becoming like my father. I fear it’s inevitable. That is why I wish to keep people around me who will keep me in check. Lucien does a decent job, but he’s an emissary. He’s not always around. My mother wishes to spend her time between Day and Autumn.

“I need a life partner. Someone that will keep me from my worst tendencies. Someone that will keep me from becoming him. Someone that I like spending time with.”

“And I’m all of those things?” Your voice was soft, a murmur amidst the candlelight.

“And more.”

“Well, for the sake of honesty, maybe you should continue on with that list.”

His smile made your heart beat wildly, erratic beats you couldn’t calm no matter how hard you tried. The incandescent glow of the candlelight made him so striking it almost hurt to look at his beauty.

“You have always seen me. And I made a promise to you all those years ago. I know you aren’t seeing anyone else, and I’m a lovestruck fool who can’t help but hope that that is because of me. That you return my feelings toward you.”

You leaned in, desperate to close the space between you.

“And what are your feelings toward me?”

“Ones of yearning and love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his eyes pleading with you to return his affections.

“Eris Vanserra, the secret romantic.”

“Only for you.”

You reached a hand out, caressing his cheek. You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with movement. Your gaze kept flickering between his eyes and his lips, debating where to pay attention to.

All along, every decision was yours. You took the lead while he waited, letting you guide whatever this was. He did it with Lady, taking his time, putting her comfort over his wants.

“You were right. I was waiting for you.” You closed the gap between your faces, bringing your lips to his. He tasted sweet and warm, a bit of spice to it. His lips captured yours, melding perfectly to the shape of them. It felt perfect as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You almost fell out of the chair, breaking the kiss to squeal, but he caught you, pulling you into his lap. His lips reconnected with yours, more fervent this time. He had gotten a taste, and now he was desperate for more. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you flush to his body.

It felt right. This was the last thing you needed to say yes.

You pulled back from his lips just enough to speak.

“There’s one last thing I need to know before I can make up my mind.”

“Anything.” Looking into his eyes, you felt the truth to that one word. He would give you anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask.

“I’d never marry someone without spending the night with them.” Your low voice was dripping with innuendo. The smell of his arousal coated the air as you leaned in to kiss him once more. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping you tight against him. Too caught up in the moment, neither of you heard the door open, ana mused Lucien trying to look displeased.

“Well, well, well, High Lord. And you mocked me for needing a chaperone. I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re-“

Eris quickly pushed the door close with his magic, forcing Lucien from the room without leaving your lips.

He held you close to him, savoring the moment. His mouth curled into a smug expression, an arrogant look in his eye before he said, “I’m sure I was worth the wait.”

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[cumironi]

THE FUN THING BOUT HAVING TWO BOYFRIENDS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

there's one thing you like the most about having two boyfriends: dressing them up looking like twins and you often do that to your two boyfriends

[☆] MASTERLIST

dating the two most powerful sorcerers in the world was never part of your plan. yet, here you were, navigating the complexities of being in a relationship with both gojo satoru and geto suguru. It all started during your second year at tokyo jujutsu high. you, a skilled jujutsu sorcerer with a penchant for manipulating objects, find yourself increasingly drawn to the two enigmatic seniors. satoru, with his silver hair and azure eyes, exuded a playful confidence that was both intoxicating and infuriating. suguru, on the other hand, possessed a calm, commanding presence that grounded you in ways you never thought possible.

what began as a close friendship quickly blossomed into something more, something deeper. the three of you were inseparable, bound by the unspoken understanding that came with sharing the burdens and responsibilities of the jujutsu world. late-night training sessions turned into stolen kisses, and mission debriefs became quiet moments of connection. before you knew it, you were in a relationship with both of them, an arrangement that was as unconventional as it was exhilarating.

the one thing you enjoyed the most about this unique relationship? dressing them up to look like twins.

your love for fashion was no secret. you adored experimenting with different styles and looks, and having two handsome boyfriends was like having your own personal runway show. satoru and suguru, for all their differences, shared a similar physique, making it easy to dress them in coordinating outfits. they indulged your whims, sometimes with a smirk, other times with a playful roll of the eyes, but always with a willingness that made your heart swell.

you remember the first time you suggested the idea. It was a lazy sunday afternoon, and the three of you were lounging in satoru's expansive living room. suguru laying at the end of the couch with a book in hand and glasses covered his eyes, while you and satoru at the other end with you sitting between satoru's leg while he watches some movies. his large pale arm wrapped around your waist as he give your neck and shoulder a kisses from time to time.

you had been flipping through a fashion magazine, occasionally showing them outfits you thought would look good on them. satoru darted his eyes from the tv to look at the magazines at your hands. he smiles when he sees the man's clothes catalog. satoru, ever the joker, suggested you dress them up, “don't you think it would be cute for you to dress us up like a twins, baby?” he asks as he kisses your cheeks before pulling you closer. his eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a genuine curiosity in his gaze. suguru, more reserved but no less intrigued, nodded in agreement.

“you think?” you ask, looking up.

he shrugged, “i don't mind, I think it's cute, don't you suguru?” he nudges suguru feet that tangled with his and yours with his feet. suguru looks up from his book.

“why not?” he said, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. he looks at you smiling from his book, getting up for a moment to give your lips a quick kiss. “could be fun.”

from that day on, it became a tradition. whenever you had the chance, you'd scour boutiques and online stores for matching outfits, relishing the challenge of finding pieces that complemented both of them. casual streetwear, elegant suits, even traditional kimonos—no style was off-limits. each time they donned the twin outfits, you felt a surge of pride and joy, knowing that they did it for you, that they trusted you enough to share in this playful part of your relationship.

one sunny morning, you decided it was time for another twin-themed day. you had found the perfect outfits: sleek black turtlenecks, tailored grey slacks, and matching leather jackets. the simplicity of the ensemble highlighted their natural charisma and physical allure. as you laid out the clothes on the bed, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

satoru was the first to emerge from the shower, a towel draped loosely around his hips. his hair, usually gravity-defying, was damp and plastered to his forehead. he grinned when he saw the clothes, blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “looks sharp, baby,” he commented, reaching for the turtleneck.

“I like it.” he put his hand to your back to give you a kiss when the other hand held the clothes. suguru appeared shortly after, freshly showered and toweling off his long, dark hair. he gave you a warm smile, his eyes softening as he took in the outfits.

“you have good taste,” he said, pulling on the slacks. he held your cheeks to kiss you for a second and ended it with a kiss on your forehead. you smiling ear to ear, feeling content with how your boyfriends reacted.

as they dressed, you watched, heart swelling with affection. there was something undeniably charming about seeing them in matching clothes, their distinct personalities shining through despite the coordinated outfits. satoru, with his playful energy, made the ensemble look effortlessly cool, while suguru's quiet strength gave it a touch of elegance.

“well, well, well, it looks like a model needs to find a new job, I mean.. look at my boyfriends,“ you said, once they were fully dressed. “you both look perfect, oh my boyfriends, always so handsome me,” you take a step closer to gives them kiss on the cheeks.

they struck a pose, mirroring each other with exaggerated seriousness, and you burst out laughing. It was moments like these that made all the chaos and danger of your lives as jujutsu sorcerers worth it.

after an enjoyable morning of playing dress-up, you and your boyfriends, decided to visit a newly opened café in Shibuya. as soon as the three of you entered, heads turned and whispers followed, drawn to the striking presence of satoru and suguru in their matching outfits.

at the counter, the cashier, a young woman with a flirtatious demeanor, couldn't hide her interest as satoru confidently approached to place the order. he flashed her a charming smile, his charisma undeniable as he ordered for the three of you.

“three lattes, please,“ Satoru said, his voice smooth and warm. “and a couple of your best pastries. do you want anything more, baby?” he asked you, his hand gently resting on yours in a tender gesture. you smiled, feeling the affectionate touch. “that sounds perfect, toru.”

meanwhile, suguru stood beside you, casually placing his hand on your waist as he made his own selection from the menu. the cashier's initial interest wavered as she realized suguru was also your boyfriend, her demeanor shifting slightly. as you waited for your order, you settled into a cozy corner booth with satoru and suguru. the atmosphere was vibrant and welcoming, the café buzzing with conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

“you two certainly know how to attract attention,” you teased lightly, leaning against satoru's shoulder as suguru sat beside you. suguru chuckled softly, his gaze warm as he looked at you. “blame it on satoru's charm and your irresistible company, baby.” satoru grinned playfully, his arm wrapping around you. “can't help it if we make a good-looking trio, right?” the waitress soon arrived with your lattes and pastries, setting them down with a polite smile.

as the waitress hurried off after taking your order, satoru and suguru exchanged amused glances with you, their eyes twinkling with shared amusement. It was clear that the cashier had taken a shine to them, but they seemed unfazed, content in each other's company. suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“looks like we've got an admirer.”

satoru flashed a playful grin, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. “can you blame her? we do make quite the impression.” you couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head at their playful confidence. “you two are shameless.” suguru raised an eyebrow, his expression teasing. “oh, come on. You know you love being with the most sought-after guys in the room.” satoru leaned closer, his voice low and playful.

“and we're all yours, sweetheart.”

you rolled your eyes affectionately, enjoying the banter. “lucky me, huh? I'll have to fend off all the admirers.” suguru chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours. “we'll just have to remind them who you belong to.

“Indeed. It's like being with celebrities.”

satoru's voice dripped with playful cockiness as he leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. suguru and you exchanged amused glances, unable to suppress your smiles at satoru's confident charm. “well, you know, it's a burden being this charming.” you rolled your eyes affectionately, enjoying their banter. “oh, I'm sure it's so tough.” suguru chuckled softly, his hand gently squeezing yours.

“well, aren't we lucky,” suguru replied with a hint of dry humor, his tone light and teasing. you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “ I guess I'll have to get used to the paparazzi following us around.” satoru laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “hey, it's not easy being this famous. but someone's got to handle the attention.”

suguru shook his head in disbelief, “so humble, satoru.”

“suguru, my man, it's not easy being this charming,“ satoru quipped with a playful grin, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his latte. the corner of suguru's mouth quirked up in a faint smile, amused by satoru's jest.

“you've got a gift, satoru,” you chimed in, unable to hide your own smile at their banter. “but let's not forget who keeps you grounded.” suguru nodded in agreement, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Indeed. you're the heart and soul of this operation.” satoru chuckled, raising his latte in a mock salute.

“to our humble leader.”

the three of you clinked imaginary glasses, laughter bubbling up as you shared another moment of playful camaraderie. In that cozy corner booth of the café, surrounded by the comforting buzz of conversation and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, you felt an immense gratitude for the love and joy shared between you.

as the day unfolded, filled with more laughter, shared stories, and quiet moments of closeness, you knew that these simple yet profound moments with satoru and suguru were the ones that truly defined your happiness together.

as the day wore on, you found yourself reflecting on how far the three of you had come. there had been challenges, of course—moments of jealousy, misunderstandings, and the ever-present danger of your work as jujutsu sorcerers. but through it all, you had built a bond that was unbreakable, grounded in trust, love, and mutual respect.

dressing them up as twins was a small but significant part of that bond. It was a way for you to express your love, to show them how much they meant to you. and in return, they indulged you, embracing the playful ritual with a willingness that spoke volumes about their feelings for you.

that evening, as you returned home, the three of you settled into the living room, the day's adventures leaving you pleasantly tired. satoru stretched out on the couch, his head resting in your lap, while suguru sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders.

“today was fun,” satoru said, his voice drowsy. “we should do it more often.” suguru nodded, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “agreed. It's important to make time for each other.” you smiled, your heart swelling with love for these two incredible men. “absolutely. And next time, I have the perfect outfits in mind.”

they groaned in unison, but their smiles betrayed their true feelings. dressing them up like twins was a small part of your relationship, but it brought you immense joy. and as long as you had satoru and suguru by your side, you knew that life would always be an adventure.

[sl-vega]

💌 PROJECT: LOVE LIASON!

🌷 - a highschool social media au ll scaramouche x fem! reader -🌷

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

genre: strangers to friends to lovers, friends/classmates to lovers, pair the suitors, smau, high school au, modern au, social media au, crack, comedy

warnings: swearing, crude humour, potentially ooc, keys/kms jokes, suggestive/sensitive content, pictures used are not meant to depict y/n's physical appearance

status: ongoing

side ships: navia x chlorinde

additional notes:

this smau is heavily inspired by toradora (finished it recently and I adored it)

this will get more frequently updated (once the first chapter drops) as I have already made several chapters in advance

taglist is open! as per usual, just send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged!

💌 means that the chapter contains written material!

dividers by @cafekitsune a + @anitalenia

ᥫ᭡ STARRING:

0.1; retired theater kids // 0.2 abandonment issues personified

PROJECT LOVE LIASON IS IN ACTION!

00-PROLOGUE; fate hates me

ACT ONE; we wing-manning?

01; we need to stop meeting like this - [💌] // 02; stalker! // 03; tag along squad! // 04; next door nuisance - [💌] // 05; mixed signals // 06; girl talk! - [💌] // 07; smitten schemers // 08; operation: first (study) date! - [💌] // 09; devil's advocate - [💌] // [MORE TBA]

ACT TWO; cuz baby, you're a firework!!

[MORE TBA]

ACT THREE; pair the suitors

[MORE TBA]

🎀 - taglist!;

@agaygothicmushroom @035814 @freyao7, @sketcheeee @tsukimara @shyentsmissingink @peachystea @aries-afk @lxkeeeee @sakiimeo @sugxryratz @shutingstar @lalaloveallmydays @bellflower1257 @haruumei @kichiyosh1 @littlemisssatanist @dee-zbignuts @candyescapism @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @h3ll0-kitty-4lly @franaby @la-cursii @heusalettle @automaticpatroltragedy, @c4ttheart, @meigalaxy @misswetty @introvertaku02, @daiyunjin @trulyylee @lily-lmao @kazumiku @kunikuzushis-darling @vitanye @livelaughlovekuni @imnotyizhuo @akagi0021 @rook-kisser @mitsuribe @scaraenthusiast1 @chemiru @193i3 @matolka @tamikahoshiko @jayzioxx @samyayaya @dontmindtheevie @v3ntis-lyr3