#There is a moment where the two of you tangle together over the instinctive lines of ‘I’ and ‘You’

[starheirxero]

I NEED TO WRITE NON PHYSICAL ECLIPSE. SO BAD. SOOOOO BADDDDD

[push-the-heartbrake]

𝙄 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝘽𝙚 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 // 𝙎.𝙍

Second instalment | Series masterlist

Summary: “Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.” — or the one where Spencer finds in himself his first serious relationship and must navigate intimacy for the first time too.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.2k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Virgin!Spencer, dry humping, Spencer cums in his pants bc why not, fingering (f! receiving), some insecurities and sex used as a coping mechanism mentioned but otherwise very fluffy.

A/N: Happy (belated) Valentine! Set in the same universe as THIS, so go read that first if you want to know more about how they met and their dynamic. English is not my first language and please tell me what you think? That's all for now ♡

The early morning light seeped through the heavy curtains—thick and dark, softening the edges of the dawn—yet still, the light found its way, spilling in through the gaps, casting pale, golden shadows across the unmade bed. You stirred beneath the weight of the blanket, tangled around your bare legs, drifting in that fragile space between slumber and waking. The air was cold—the kind of raw, unrelenting cold only January could bring—lingering in the room, palpable even beneath the warmth of the sheets.

Sheets. They were Spencer’s dark green sheets. 

You stretched, finally waking up. The room was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radiator and the audible breaths from the man beside you. The world outside is still asleep. Soon, car engines would rumble to life, footsteps would slap against wet pavement, and the sky would brighten into daylight. But for now, your tired eyes had nothing else to focus on but his steady breathing. 

You shifted onto your side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. Spencer was lying there, still soundly asleep. His hair was a mess as it fell over his forehead, lips parted with the slow rhythm of his breath. Your heart did a… thing—an erratic, fluttering thing that Spencer would probably have a precise physiological explanation for. To you, it was just nerve-wracking. You wanted to reach out, to brush the hair from his face, to trace the line of his jaw, to simply exist closer. Alas, a small space remained between you, as if you’d drifted apart in the night. Cuddling wasn’t off-limits, but whatever was unfolding between you two was still new. 

So new that it was scary for you both.

New in the sense that touches didn’t come instinctively, that words didn’t fall from your lips without second-guessing yourself—that every. single. advance. felt like a make-or-break moment. 

Like—whoops—you kissed him too hard, too long, and now he was going to think that all you wanted was to sleep with him. 

You didn’t. Or you did, but it wasn’t why you liked him. 

You liked that he was smart, that he could ramble on for hours just like you could—except he usually made more sense. You liked that he was sensitive, that it felt like you could tell him anything (even though you never did). You liked that he was observant, that he noticed the small things most people overlooked. Like how he’d bring you dinner from your favorite restaurant during your evening shifts at the library. How he’d carry your bag on the way home because bringing work home with you meant lugging around a fuck-ton of books. How he knew you liked honey in your tea but couldn’t stand when it was substituted with sugar. The little things.

That he was stupidly attractive and that you had raging hormones inside of you truly came second to all of that. 

Right on cue, Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, pulling you from your train of thought. With tired movements, he stirred around in bed, finally finding you to look at. 

Your heart clenched at the sight of him. 

“Your hair is getting long, Spence,” you mumbled, your voice gruff from not having spoken yet today. 

Spencer’s lips pressed together in a small, sleepy frown as he blinked at you in slow, uncoordinated intervals. His hand moved from underneath the blanket to softly tug backwards at the hair that hung before his eyes. 

He’d gone from being terrified of you seeing him shirtless to almost always sleeping without wearing anything on his upper body. You heard yourself sigh at the view of his exposed neck and collarbones as the covers slipped down. His skin looked so soft. You knew that it was. Yet it wasn’t just yours to touch. You didn’t dare to. 

Flipping onto your stomach, you smushed your face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of the laundry detergent he used. A simple, clean, and understated scent that went up your nostrils and clouded your brain like it was a fucking drug. 

You saw in your periphery how Spencer rested his hand next to your face on the mattress, casually with his palm flat against it. It almost tickled in your fingers, wanting to reach out and touch him. 

A sound slipped from him, something between a sigh and a groan, low and strained. He shifted, but not closer. His hand twitched against the mattress, fingers flexing once before going still. Freezing, almost.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you look so uncomfortable?” 

“No, uhm—” 

You pushed up slightly, watching his expression. “Spencer, is something wrong?” 

“Stop talking, please,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.

You blinked at his sudden plea, concern creeping in just as he bolted upright, sheets falling from his body and landing messily on the bed again. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he announced. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows, brows drawing together. “That’s all?” 

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing his pillow with a clumsy sort of urgency. He held it in front of himself, almost like a shield.

Your gaze flickered between him and the pillow, realization hitting like a slow burn. “You’re taking your pillow to the bathroom—oh!”

Heat flooded your face as the truth settled. A grin threatened to pull at your lips, but you bit down on it, trying to keep your expression neutral. Spencer’s back went impossibly straighter, his grip on the pillow tightening like it had betrayed him. You fought the urge to tease him. His entire body radiated embarrassment, his cheeks a deep shade of red, and for all the things Spencer was—brilliant, logical, analytical—he was also so deeply, painfully shy about certain things.

Morning wood was a normal phenomenon. You knew that Spencer knew that. In a weird way, you felt a sense of pride because of it. It had happened while he was sleeping next to you. Sure, it was an involuntary response many times. But Spencer had also literally asked you to stop talking because you affected him. Didn’t make it any less mortifying for him, though. 

“Spencer, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” you said gently.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he all but rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door with a sharp, definitive click.

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head, falling back onto the mattress. “Did you just lock the door?” 

From inside the bathroom, you could hear rattling. His voice came, muffled but unmistakably miserable. “Can we please forget that this ever happened?” 

“I mean, yeah we could do that. Or we could talk about it like adults.” 

Silence.

Your lips formed into a grin.

“Are you at least taking care of it in there?” 

More silence.

Then, finally, a defeated, “I’m—I’m gonna wait it out.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, rolling onto your side to cuddle back into the covers. “Suit yourself.”

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open again. Spencer hesitated in the hallway outside his bedroom, looking both exhausted and like he wanted to disappear. His face was still a little pink, his hair a mess from sleep and, presumably, from pressing his forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. The pillow was no longer needed as a shield. No imprint could be seen through the flannel of his pajama pants, because of course, you looked. 

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Over now?” 

“I need to get to work,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “But we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

You sat up fully, resting against the headboard, watching as he moved toward his dresser, already reaching for a change of clothes. “You’ll get a case and be gone for a week,” you pointed out. “I know how this works.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“So,” you continued, “can I talk while you get ready?”

Spencer hesitated, then gave a slow nod. He kept his focus on his dresser as he changed out his sleepwear for his everyday attire. 

You took a breath. “I know that we’ve… experienced different things—” 

“I haven’t experienced anything,” Spencer cut you off. 

“You made out with Lila Archer in a pool. That’s something.” 

He huffed, throwing you a look over his shoulder. 

“Okay. Low blow. I’m sorry for that.” 

One drunken night out with the team (well, sober for you and Spencer), and you had found out so many things about Spencer that he probably would’ve never told you himself. 

You sort of knew to not make fun of him because of his lack of experience, but you also had this thing where your brain just said the first thing it could think of in every goddamned situation. It got you in trouble, but in this case it almost felt necessary to show him how casual a conversation about intimacy could be. 

You kicked the covers off of your legs and sat on the edge of the bed before you continued talking. “We’ve lived different lives, done different things, but if we want to figure us out together, then we have to talk about the sexual stuff too—” 

“But I don’t know how,” Spencer pointed out, walking around the room to face you, standing so close but not close enough. A few inches forward and his legs would be touching yours. 

You sighed. “I’m not saying we do it all right now. I guess I’m more asking how you feel about it. If you can explain it without running off to hide the next time you wake up with a boner?”  

Spencer’s face twisted at your direct use of words, and you could easily spot it. All for being casual… when your crude words might actually do more harm than good. 

He sat down next to you, still half-dressed with a button-up shirt undone and his tie in a tight grip in his hand. 

“I don’t take opportunities,” he simply stated. 

You frowned in confusion. “Yeah, you do.” 

He hadn’t reached his level of success without recognizing opportunities and pursuing them. His intellect alone wouldn’t have guaranteed anything. He had to view the world as something to learn from, to make something good or at least knowledgeable from it, which he had in your eyes.  

“No,” he corrected, turning slightly. “I mean, like social ones. I don’t put myself out there. And now I’m a grown man with no experience. That feels wrong.”

“Wrong in what way?” 

Spencer’s jaw clenched as he swallowed, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested in your lap. He exhaled, his fingers curling against his palm. “It feels like I should’ve just gotten drunk in college and gotten it over with.”

A surprised snort came from you before you could stop it. “Spencer, you were a child when you went to college.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted, “the first time.”

You shook your head, smile lingering. “Well, you still shouldn’t have done anything you weren’t comfortable with. And if you aren’t comfortable now either, that’s fine. But please, talk to me about it before you push me away.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed once before he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. You liked when he was the one to initiate contact because that meant you weren’t crossing any of his boundaries. 

“I don’t want to push you away. I’ve just never felt this way before,” he murmured, voice hesitant. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “And it scares me. Honestly. But the idea of never moving past this, of never trying for something more… that scares me even more.”

You squeezed his hand in return. 

“Okay. That’s good for me to know. We can work with that.” 

You hadn’t realized how tense the mood was until you saw Spencer visibly relax at your words, his shoulders slouching down as he let go of your hand to start buttoning his shirt. 

“I guess I should get ready too,” you murmured. 

Before your legs could even hit the floor, Spencer’s palm pressed against your bare thigh, his touch gentle but firm, halting you in place.

“You know you don’t have to leave just because I am,” he said. His gaze, soft and lingering, traced over your face. “You’re allowed to stay. Sleep some more. You’re working the night shift, right?” 

You hummed in confirmation, only focused on the warmth from his hand spreading through to your skin, creating a ball of fire in your stomach. Your little sleep shorts did nothing to cover the skin he was touching. He probably wasn’t even aware of how he was affecting you, seeing the contact as simply innocent. 

“Mhm, so stay,” he urged. “There’s stuff in the fridge to make breakfast.”

Spencer shifted, scanning the dimly lit room until he spotted his bag on the floor. Leaning over the side of the bed, he rummaged through it before pulling out his keys. With a small jingle, he dangled them in front of you.

“I’ll leave you my home keys. Lock when you leave and throw them in my mail slot.” 

Your fingers closed around them, the metal cool against your palm. He had a little keychain with the Las Vegas welcome sign. That the sweetest man you’d ever met was from Sin City was still a juxtaposition you almost couldn’t believe. 

“Spence?”  

He tilted his head, looking at you musingly. 

You smiled, your fingers treading to tug lightly on the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Kiss me before you go.” 

For a second, he just sat there. 

Then, slowly, the bed dipped as he braced himself against the mattress, his palm planting next to your waist. His nose brushed yours, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips. There was a pause—a heartbeat—before he closed the space between you.

He kissed you, soft and hesitant at first. 

If you asked Spencer, he probably knew the exact amount of kisses you’d shared. Or he could at least calculate some sort of estimated number. You just knew that it was still a new, almost paralyzing feeling for you. You couldn’t even begin to fathom the nerves that he was feeling. 

But when you kissed him back with more intent, when your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, you felt it. The way he melted, just a little.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, breath unsteady.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened, stepping back to finish getting ready. You crawled back beneath the covers, letting your head hit the pillow once again. 

You watched him with quiet amusement as he pulled on a sweater, smoothing it down with precise, almost methodical movements. His hands moved quickly—buttoning his cuffs, slipping on his watch—but there was an unspoken hesitation in the air, something that made him pause every so often. 

“You’re staring,” you pointed out. 

He huffed a small breath through his nose, shaking his head as he picked up his bag. “I’m… acknowledging.”

You raised a brow. “Acknowledging what?”

Spencer didn’t answer. He simply smiled and swung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, adjusting it absently before making his way to the front door. Just as his fingers curled around the handle, he hesitated.

And then, slowly, he turned back.

You were still in his bed, tangled in the sheets, looking entirely at home. He almost wanted to laugh at how it made him feel, seeing your bare foot stick out or how your hair was a little messy from sleep. 

Spencer wished he understood why his heart did a… thing every time he looked at you. The thing, where it felt like it was doing somersaults around in his ribcage. 

He swallowed, forcing himself to speak. “I don’t do this,” he admitted. “I don’t casually wake up with someone and… feel okay about leaving.”

You smiled, smushing your cheek against the pillow. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to work.” 

“You don’t mind me rushing out?” 

“I love having a big bed all to myself. Go to work, genius. I’m a phone call away.”

Spencer’s grip on his bedroom door tightened before he finally turned to leave. He stepped into the hallway but couldn’t help himself—one last glance. One last look at you in his bed, at the imprint he had left beside you, at the way you had settled into his space so effortlessly.

As he walked to the train station, a pep in his step, he had the time to reflect on what had actually happened this morning and how it was something that he had never actually experienced before. 

Someone else seeing him aroused. 

And his stupid inability to talk about sex. Well, he’d had to do it for a few different cases. But that was objective facts about the human psyche and sexuality as a concept. This was as subjective as it could be. It was literally about his own… penis. 

His inability to have sex was an even worse subject for him to think about. Inability was maybe the wrong word. Was it more about how he hadn’t wanted to? 

You were right, though. He hadn’t seen the point in doing it in college, not because he was emotionless and only focused on his studies and career, but because if he had done it, it wouldn’t have been meaningful. He needed sex to be meaningful to serve the purpose he felt like it would have in his life. 

It’d be pointless for him to have pointless sex. That was clear, and still true. 

But then you’d stormed into his life with your unapologetic way of being—your sharp wit and easy laughter. You had your own layers he had yet to peel back, but it didn’t scare him as much as it did excite him to know you that way. You, with your warmth and your patience, with the way you made him feel wanted without expectation, like he wasn’t some puzzle missing too many pieces to be worth solving.

And you were the furthest thing from pointless to him. Intimacy with you didn’t feel like something to analyze or rationalize. It felt like something to want.

Life felt futile without a sense of contribution, without the feeling that his experiences grew with him rather than passing by like scenery outside the window of a bus. The people around him changed, but he remained the same as he had been at age fifteen—only more rugged, more worn-out, and with a face that now bore the knowledge of what Dilaudid did to the body. He couldn’t let that stay the same anymore. He had to learn to see it differently.

Fuck, he needed to figure this out.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Spencer turned off the engine as he parked, letting the windshield wipers go one more time to take away the last lingering raindrops. It was late in the evening, and the streetlights reflected gold through the windows. He sent you a quick text that he had arrived before stepping out of his car. The cool February air hit him as he adjusted his scarf, his own breath fogging up his glasses that he had to wear when he drove. 

He scanned the street for the house number in the address you had texted him, spotting it quickly. The building itself was a modest townhouse. A little worn down but full of character, with overgrown and leafless rosebushes lining the front of it. The windows of your friend’s apartment glowed warmly against the night, the silhouettes of moving figures behind sheer curtains. He could hear muffled voices, occasional bursts of laughter, and the faint notes of an indie song playing scratchily from a speaker. He recognized it as something you’d listen to, but nothing more distinct than that. 

He hesitated near the entrance, slowly walking up the stairs to the front door, taking in the view showing through the curtains. 

Girls' night. Spencer was no stranger to the concept. He and Morgan had been turned down plenty of times when they’d tried to tag along with the women of the BAU after work. He’d also seen them the next day—giggly, whispering, exchanging knowing looks about whatever had happened. He wondered if you’d be the same. Would you come back all giggly, or did girls' night mean something different depending on the group? He didn’t know your friends, after all.

A second later, the door swung open, and there you were—stepping out into the night, huddled in your coat. You didn’t notice him right away, busy adjusting your bag over your shoulder as you waved something off behind you, closing the door with a thud. 

Something being one of your friends that Spencer could just about see a sliver of. 

Turning around, he watched as you almost got scared of his presence, not expecting him to be standing so close. You lifted your hands to your face in mild shock, and Spencer couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. 

“Red?” he asked, tilting his head in mild curiosity.

Your nails. Newly painted a bright red color. So painting nails was part of girls’ night. For weeks after you started seeing each other, Spencer had quietly wondered how your nails were always so perfectly done. He now knew that one of your friends was training to be a nail technician and would gladly accept anyone whose fingers she could practice on. 

You glanced down at your hands as if just remembering them. “For Valentine’s Day,” you replied matter-of-factly. 

Spencer hummed, taking the opportunity to hold one of your hands in his own. Was he supposed to ask you to be his Valentine? Before he could respond with anything more, the muffled sound of laughter and movement from behind the door stopped him in his tracks. And he watched you shift uncomfortably because of it. 

“Can we walk to the car, now?” you asked, almost dragging him down the entrance stairs, your eyes flickering between the door and where his car was parked. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he croaked out, almost immediately clocking what he thought was embarrassment from your side. Down the stairs, he gripped your hand stronger, making you unable to walk further. “Do you not want your friends to see me?” 

The way you instantly turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief, made something tighten in his chest.

“You really think that?” you asked, voice soft, a little breathless, like the idea alone was absurd. “Spencer, no—it’s the opposite, really.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly, but before he could ask what that meant, you sighed and pointed with your free hand up to the apartment again. “My friends are standing in the window trying to get a look at you.” 

Looking up, the sheer curtains betrayed them. All of them huddled close to the window to see… well, what were they supposed to see?  

“I’ll get a text in approximately 30 seconds where they will guesstimate the size of your penis and how you are in bed.” 

You deadpanned the words. Spencer would never understand how you did it. It didn’t faze you in the slightest, as you moved to get your phone from your coat pocket. 

Spencer choked. “What? But we’ve never—”

Sure enough, your phone buzzed with a new text message. He didn’t get another word in before you read it out loud. 

“Grower, not a shower. 4 inches soft. Probably kinky in a subtle way, like he’ll tie your hands up while asking about your day.” 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, adjusting his glasses like that would somehow hide the way his flustered blush was spreading up all the way to his ears. He barely managed to form a coherent thought, let alone a response. 

Instead, his brain short-circuited, flashing between two equally mortifying thoughts: (1) The fact that your friends—people he had never even spoken to—were speculating about his sex life. And (2), the fact that you were standing here, repeating it all so casually, without any indication that it embarrassed you in the slightest.

Did they really think that? Did you?

And worse—could they be right?

Because, if he was being honest, Spencer had thought about it. A lot. Maybe more than was healthy. He thought about the way it would feel, the sound you would make. The way he imagined your body to look naked was some sort of fictional image burned into his mind like some old TV screen. Would he like to tie you up? Would that hurt your wrists? 

He had thought about it so much that the idea of it actually happening made him feel like his entire body would shut down.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He was scared that you were so special to him, and that he could never be special enough to you. Because you’d done it all before. Even your friends knew that. To the point where they expected it from you—that your sexual endeavors were common enough that they became a casual topic of conversation. Spencer believed that Morgan might faint if he told him that he’d been thinking of having sex with you, like obsessively thinking. If it did happen, you’d always be special to him. Hell, even if it never happened, you were special enough to probably linger in his mind for decades. To you, it was possible for him to just be another number. A notch in your bedpost. Not that you’d ever describe it like that. He knew that. But still, the premise remained. 

“See?” you said, nudging him lightly, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “We should’ve started walking when I said it because now you’re all embarrassed.”

“I’m not—” he started, but faltered, because clearly, he was. “Could they really guess all that from just looking at me?” 

“I don’t know, you’re the profiler,” you pointed out, trying to drag him closer to the car again, but Spencer stayed rooted. “They’re mostly doing it to mess with me because I refused to share any gossip with them tonight.” 

“Is that what girls’ night means? You just sit around and gossip?” he wondered out loud. 

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, like you don’t know the ins and outs of Morgan’s love life?” 

“That’s different,” he argued immediately. “I never ask to know anything, but he tells me anyway.” 

You shot him a pointed look. “And you listen.”

He opened his mouth to counter, but quickly shut it again because, well… you had a point. Instead, he huffed, looking down at the sidewalk as he let you make your way to the car. 

After a beat of silence, he glanced over at you, still holding your hand in his. “But really, do I look like I would… act like that?” 

The hesitation in his tone made you pause, turning your head to take him in properly. He wasn’t just flustered anymore—he was genuinely unsure because he had never even considered how people perceived him in a… sexual manner. 

You exhaled, tilting your head at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say—that you practically have a sign on your forehead saying virgin? Would that be better?” 

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

Your expression softened. “I know that, which is why I wanted us to go immediately.” 

He opened his mouth, grasping for something to say that would make him feel like he had some semblance of control over the situation. “You didn’t have to read that text out loud.” 

“It’s impossible to lie to you. You know that.” 

By the time you both reached the car, Spencer rushed ahead, opening the passenger door for you. It was instinct, something he did without thinking. But when he turned back to see you watching him, something flickered in your expression. 

“I should learn how to talk about it, though.” He cleared his throat. “That’d be useful for when it eventually happens.” 

He watched you smile as he said it. He hinted at it actually happening. That it was something he wanted. 

“We don’t have to hurry,” you assured as you slid into your seat. 

Spencer swallowed hard, moving around to the driver’s side. He slipped into his seat, hands gripping the wheel, eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead as he started driving. He could feel your gaze on him, patient but knowing. 

You knew him. Even after quite a short time. He couldn’t exactly remember the date on which he first saw you at the library. But it had been 36 days since your first kiss on New Year’s Eve. And you knew him.

He didn’t have to hide a single part of himself from you. Because you seemed to like them all. Or, at least, understand them all. From the shy little boy who was too smart for his own good, seeing his mother get sick and his father turn absent—to the messy adult version of him who had struggled with addiction and closeness in any sort of relationship. You understood them all, though the layers. And you liked some of them to the point where it made you visibly affected. And you protected him in ways that he protected himself too. 

Spencer could only hope to get to know you well enough to understand all versions of you. That you’d let him in, even to your darkest corners. Because he liked you so much it hurt, and felt protective over you in a way that wasn’t even comparable to the most helpless of victims he’d encountered. 

“Don’t do that thing with your tongue.” 

That startled him enough to glance at you. “What thing?” 

“Poking the inside of your cheek with it and looking all smug.” 

Spencer blinked, confused. He hadn’t even realized that he was doing anything, completely lost in his own head. “Is it disturbing for you?” 

“No, it’s distracting. You look hot.” 

“Oh.” He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “S-should I drive to your place or mine?” 

Smooth segue, Spencer. Really smooth. 

“You’re assuming we’re spending the night together? Awfully presumptuous, Spence,” you said, placing a hand on your chest to mimic being offended. 

Spencer tried to keep his face straight, forcing a serious answer from you. 

“Drive to your place, it’s bigger.” 

“But I’ve never even seen your apartment,” he argued. 

“For good reason,” you muttered. “It’s messy.” 

“I do not care.” 

“Fine, my place it is,” you sighed, telling him where to drive. “But if you’re mean about it, I’m kicking you out.” 

Spencer only nodded. 

He saw you relax into your seat after that, turning the heat down in the car, humming along quietly to whatever was playing the radio. Spencer thought about how he could easily get used to having you next to him, especially in simple moments like this. Picking you up, or coming home from work and seeing you in his space. Or maybe him being in your space. It almost clouded his brain, the easy domesticity. He had to remind himself that he was driving a couple of times. 

And then he thought of it. A joke, really. He could do that sometimes—think of something to say in conversations long after they had ended. Usually it was to save himself from remembering something embarrassing or unfitting that he’d actually said, but this time, he just wanted to make you laugh. 

“It’s more like 5 inches soft, by the way.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You squealed, leaning forward while also staring at him with eyes wide open. Your hand gripped the car door, and Spencer was momentarily scared your nails would scratch the interior. 

He grinned, acting unbothered. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

You exhaled sharply, your hand still gripping the door, trying (and failing) at holding back a giggle. “I’ll deflower you right in this car if you want to.” 

Spencer felt the color drain from his face at the sound of your words. He couldn’t beat you at your own game. That game being dropping the most sexually charged remarks in casual conversation. 

“No?” you teased. “Then stop with the dirty talk.” 

This was going to be a very long short drive. 

.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

On Valentine’s Day, Spencer found himself at the train station after coming home from a difficult case in Detroit. It had been such a long and simultaneously hurried process that he hadn’t even realized that they were coming back home on Valentine’s Day. Garcia’s homemade pink cupcakes waiting for them at the office had refreshed his mind. 

So, now he stood at the train station in D.C., unsure of whether to go home, to the library, or to your apartment. Mostly he worried about you picking up his phone call, pacing the platform with his phone pressed against his ear. Or maybe he was worried you wouldn’t pick up at all. Your shift had just ended. You should be able to answer. He really should’ve asked you to be his Valentine instead of waiting until the 14th to even think about it, or what if you found it all to be capitalist bullshit anyway—

“Hi Spence! How’s Michigan?”

Your happy voice coming through the speaker in his phone halted his spiraling thoughts. 

“Hi—Uhm, I’m actually home, or at the station. We could wrap up early and not have to spend another night.” 

“Well, that’s good, I guess. Successful case?” you wondered, breathing heavily. He could picture you walking around the library with quick steps, which was what you were doing by the sound of it. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Spencer answered. He’d noticed that you were often too curious for your own good. Every time he could tell you details from a case, you regretted it afterwards, not actually wanting to know such gruesome things. “Why does it sound like you’ve just run a marathon?” 

You let out a breathless laugh. “We had a bunch of arts and crafts for the kids today, and they made a whole mess. Glue, glitter, paper scraps everywhere. And I swear, once kids figure out how to use scissors, they think they’re unstoppable.”

A faint smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he imagined it. You were so good with the kids coming to the activities organized by the library. 

“Sounds chaotic.”

“Oh, it was,” you confirmed. “Somehow, a three-year-old managed to glue his own sleeve to the table, which, honestly, is kind of impressive.”

Spencer chuckled, rubbing at his temple. “Remind me again why you do this voluntarily?”

“Because it’s cute,” you shot back. “And because somebody has to make sure kids don’t leave libraries thinking they’re just boring old book storage units.”

His smile widened, but before he could respond, you hesitated.

“So, uhm…” you started.

Spencer picked up on it immediately. “You’re running late?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He glanced at the clock. He hadn’t even made it home yet, and he already knew you were going to exhaust yourself staying behind to clean up. “You know, we don’t have to—”

“But I’ll tell you what,” you interrupted, voice decisive. “Since you’re on my side of town, why don’t you go to my place, and then I’ll show up when I’m done cleaning up?”

Spencer hesitated. He still wasn’t entirely used to the casual intimacy of something as simple as waiting for you at your place. But then again, this—the way you made space for him so effortlessly—was exactly why it had never felt overwhelming.

You didn’t press him for an answer, just kept going, voice slightly distracted like you were already multitasking. “I’ll tell my neighbor to leave my extra set of keys under my doormat right now.”

Spencer nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him. “That’d be great,” he said instead. “I’ll see you later.”

There was a pause, just long enough for him to picture you—probably still standing in the middle of the library, hands on your hips, surveying the mess before sighing and getting back to work.

Then, softer, “Mhm. Buh-bye, Spence.”

The call ended with a quiet click, and for a long moment, Spencer just stood there, staring at his phone.

Being in your apartment alone? Yeah, no. That was weird. 

* * * 

Spencer arrived at your building just as the streetlights flickered on, the city settling into early evening. A bouquet of tulips in his hand, clenched in a tight grip as he made his way up to your level. They were a mixture of red, white, and orange tulips. 

He remembered Garcia once going on a rant about how no woman had red roses as her favorite flower and that men only gave them as gifts as custom and because they hadn’t cared enough to get to know the woman’s actual favorite flower. 

At his quick stop at a flower shop, Spencer had cursed himself for never asking about your favorite flower. But he at least knew he couldn’t buy roses. If not for you, then for the sake of Garcia not being disappointed in him. 

So tulips it was. They were a symbol of affection, after all. He’d read about their symbolism stemming from the Persian tale of Farhad and Shirin. A tragic love story not too far from mirroring Romeo and Juliet. And the colors—red was for love, white was for honesty, and orange was for understanding. Spencer wasn’t sure if he’d tell you all of that. Maybe if you asked. But it was still a nice thought for him to know that his gift had a meaning as is, beyond his intention. 

He rounded the corner to your door, only to pause when he spotted an older woman standing by it, hands clasped in front of her as if she had been waiting for him. Her hair was a soft gray, pulled back into a bun, and she wore a thick cardigan. Kind eyes appraised him from behind gold-rimmed glasses, and when her gaze dropped to the flowers, her lips twitched in approval.

“Tulips?” she mused. “Good choice.” 

Spencer blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Oh—uh, thank you?”

Her smile deepened knowingly. “You must be Spencer.”

“I am, yes.”

She gave a small nod, then reached into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a keyring. “I’m Edith, the neighbor with her keys,” she explained simply. “She asked me to leave them under the doormat, but I figured I’d wait and hand them off in person.”

“Oh, right! Thank you,” Spencer said, taking them carefully from her outstretched hand.

The woman didn’t step away immediately. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, eyes twinkling with something he couldn’t quite place. And then, in a softer voice, she added, “I know it’s not my place to pry, but be kind to her.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly. “Of course,” he said quickly. 

The neighbor hummed, satisfied but not entirely done.

“You’re very welcome to take care of that girl,” she said gently. “Because I don’t think anyone else does.”

It wasn’t pity in her voice. It wasn’t sadness, either. It was just an observation, simple and steady, spoken by someone who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, possibly for a long time. 

He swallowed, fingers curling slightly around the keys in his palm, not having the time to overthink what she’d said. 

“I will.” 

The woman nodded once before turning to walk up the stairs, heading back to her own apartment. 

Spencer watched her go, then turned back to your door.

He let himself inside, stepping into your space. Spencer had adored your apartment ever since the first time you had him over, that time he’d picked you up from girls’ night. 

It was a small space, crowded with your things. You’d moved in fresh out of high school. It was something about not being able to wait any longer to get out of your mother’s house. Then you’d stayed in the same apartment all through college and when you started working at the library. 

And yes, it was messy. But you were a bit of a mess yourself, so it only made sense. It wasn’t unclean in any way, but you placed things around you without any rhyme or reason. You were still able to find everything, though. Spencer had noticed that quite quickly, observing you in your own space. While he’d lounged in the bed after one of your now very casual sleepovers, he’d seen you find your sweater hung on the kitchen door and your favorite tea mug on the bathroom sink. 

There wasn’t a pattern. He had a pattern for most things in his own apartment. But this made sense to you. 

Spencer dropped your keys in a bowl on a table in your entryway. He didn’t want to feel any responsibility over them. It was weird enough to be alone in your space. 

The apartment was eerily quiet as he kicked off his shoes and took a seat on your couch, the tulips placed on your coffee table. He’d wait for you to put them in water, not wanting to go through your kitchen cabinets looking for a vase. 

He thought he could read for a while or maybe turn on the TV. But he didn’t end up doing anything. He mostly looked around the room, twiddling with his fingers as his eyes lingered on your bookshelf and on the artwork you had decided to hang on the wall. 

The blanket draped over the couch, was it handmade? The coasters on your coffee table, were they souvenirs? The Polaroid pictures blu-tacked to your bedroom door, who were they off? 

Spencer could spend hours asking you questions, he thought. He’d find your reasonings interesting even if they weren’t. 

If it had gone ten minutes or an hour when you barged in through the door with the loudest sigh he’d ever heard, Spencer couldn’t answer. You didn’t even say hi when you saw him sitting on your couch, you just dropped your coat to the floor and smiled, taking in the sight. 

“Tulips?” you exclaimed, dropping your bag on the floor too the second you noticed the bouquet lying on the coffee table. Toeing off your Converse on the way over, you looked at him, eyes wide with excitement. “I freaking love tulips!”

Spencer shifted where he sat, lips curving into a small smile. “I hoped so.” 

“But why? For Valentine’s day?” 

His face warmed, and he hummed in acknowledgment as you picked up the flowers, inhaling their scent. 

Spencer watched as you busied yourself placing them in a vase of water, moving around the kitchen like it was second nature. He was about to tell you to leave them in their wrapping to soak for an hour before cutting the stems, but you seemed to already know that. It was supposed to make them last longer. You loved tulips enough to know that. Spencer saw that as a positive indication. 

“I totally didn’t plan anything special for today,” you admitted, walking back into the living room and placing the flowers back on the table. “Did you want us to do something?” 

“Not really,” he answered. “I just got home from a case, and you have acrylic paint on your shirt. Safe to assume we’re both too tired to go out?” 

You glanced down at your stained crewneck and groaned. “Ugh. Yeah. That tracks.”

Your next move shouldn’t have surprised Spencer as much as it did. 

Standing in front of him, you lifted the sweater over your head, the shirt you had on underneath rising with it slightly. The skin of your stomach exposed to him, but what he focused on was how your belt cinched at your waist and how your slacks basically fitted like a second skin before they flared out at the legs. 

“How do you get them to fit so well?” he asked before thinking. 

With your head peeking out from the sweater as you tugged it off, hair getting messy in the process, you raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Spencer, are you staring at my ass?” 

His mouth opened, then closed again. He had definitely been looking.

You only laughed, shaking your head. “I tailor them myself.”

Spencer exhaled, grateful for the shift in conversation. “That makes sense,” he mumbled. “They look nice.”

You walked off to your bedroom, throwing the stained sweatshirt into your hamper of dirty laundry like you were the next big thing in the NBA. 

By the sound of it, you were changing out of your clothes completely. If Spencer had stretched his neck, he might’ve been able to see it through the door. But he didn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate even though he suspected that you left the door wide open on purpose. 

You tiptoed back into the living room wearing shorts and a big t-shirt, your bare feet barely making a sound across the old wooden floors. Spencer should be used to seeing you look so casual, but he was unsure if he ever would be. 

“I got you that book you were looking for, by the way. Someone returned it today,” you started to say as you bent over to rummage through your bag. “And uh… this,” you hesitated, handing him not only the book but also a bright pink slip of paper. “A very insistent little girl told me I had to make my own.” 

You’d made a Valentine’s card. For him. You’d made it for him. Holding the pink paper in his hands, Spencer’s heart squeezed at the sight—messy crayon doodles, slightly uneven letters spelling out Happy Valentine’s Day. It was simple, kind of ridiculous, and absolutely perfect. 

He couldn’t get a word out, simply staring at it. 

You plopped down on the couch beside him, sprawling out with ease, moving pillows and blankets around. At first, you bent your knees to not touch him, but then on instinct you moved them to be in Spencer’s lap as he got the book and card out of the way. 

Your toes matched the red nail polish on your fingers. He hadn’t noticed that before. 

“Why did you want it, anyway? Didn’t think it was your kind of poetry,” you asked, not bothered by his lack of reaction to the card. 

Although, maybe his silence was enough for you to see through him like glass. He’d never gotten a Valentine’s Day gift before. Garcia got everyone cupcakes, sure, but he’d never received one with romantic intentions. 

“It isn’t. But you read it and seemed to enjoy it.” Spencer straightened, finally finding something to say. Answering questions was something he could manage. “Also, the poem about being a vacuum cleaner seemed too odd to ignore.” 

You’d mentioned it once at the library. The second time you talked to each other. He’d been reading a book on Nobel Prize winners, and you’d approached him, offering him tea and questioning him about his job. A John Cooper Clarke poetry collection in your lap. There was something about a poem and a vacuum cleaner. He remembered thinking that he had to read it, no matter how stupid it sounded. 

You snorted. “Yeah, it’s… weirdly moving.”

Spencer placed the card on the coffee table, patting it with his palm like it meant something. He’d have to save it. Put it on his fridge or make a shoebox of memories with you. 

He then started going through the book. It was muscle memory for him. If he had a book in his hands, he would read it immediately. 

The poetry was so simple, it only would’ve taken him minutes to finish the entire thing. But once he read a line out loud to you, seeing a happy and content smile, he knew he couldn’t hurry through it. So, he read it to you instead. 

The couch was just big enough for the two of you—him sitting upright against the armrest, and you sprawled across the cushions with your feet in his lap, half-buried under a blanket. With nervous fingers, he’d started to trace absentminded patterns on your shin.  

The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, your signature candle flickering softly on the coffee table next to the tulips. Every now and then, Spencer would pause between stanzas, glancing over at you like he was gauging your reaction. Most of the time you interrupted him yourself, feeling the need to question something. 

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust.” 

You blinked at the ceiling. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it’s a metaphor.”

“For what? Codependency?”

“Or devotion,” Spencer theorized. 

“I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust.” 

You squinted. “Is that a reliable car?”

“Pretty sure they’re not. Must be irony,” he answered. 

The next interruption wasn’t your doing. You felt the shift before you saw it—his gaze lingering, the gentle press of his fingers against your shin turning more intentional.

“What?” you asked out of curiosity. “Did I miss a spot when I shaved or something?” 

“No, uhm…” He ran his thumb lightly over a faint line near your knee. “Is this a scar or a birthmark?” 

“Scar, I think.” You twisted slightly to glance down. “Might be from when I tried to pick up skateboarding.” 

Spencer’s lips quirked. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Does it look gross?” you asked. 

He couldn’t fathom a scar looking gross. Not when it was healed. Because if he thought that about someone else’s scars, what would they think about his? 

“I’m not one to speak when it comes to scars,” he mumbled, hesitant.

“I think yours are kinda badass, from stuff you’ve lived through,” you reassured him, a light sparking in your eyes. 

“Skateboarding is cool,” Spencer tried to argue.  

“I never even managed to stand on the board,” you muttered, a smile shining through. “I have another scar on my ribs from scratching my entire side on the sidewalk.” 

He had momentarily forgotten about the book. His focus was only on the skin his fingertips traced and how the scar made a little indent from where it had been scratched open. 

“Can I see it?” Spencer asked without thinking. 

“Not without, like, flashing you my boobs,” you answered plainly. 

Spencer’s fingers abruptly stopped moving as he first thought he hadn’t heard you right. Then he realized that he had asked to see a scar on your ribs. And your ribs were close to your breasts. That was how the human body was shaped.  

“Oh—” His brain seemed to stutter, like a skipping record. “Would that…?”

“You don’t think it’d be a bad idea?” You sat up from your lying position, taking the book in your hands as you bent your legs over his lap. “I could do it. It’s not crossing any boundaries for me. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” he murmured.

You smiled back, shifting so you could press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. He tensed slightly beneath you—not in rejection, but in that way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Good,” you whispered.

For a second, you just looked at him. He could sense that you were trying to read his reaction. He wasn’t sure he had a reaction. Or at least one that was reasonable.

Tucking your lower lip between your teeth, a small sigh escaped you. Spencer only briefly had time to wonder if you were disappointed, but your attention turned back to the book, a finger tracing the page to find the next line of the poem. 

“If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot.” 

You snorted. “Okay, now he’s just saying words.”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on something other than the fact that you basically wanted to be shirtless in front of him. 

“Isn’t that the point of writing? Putting words together?” 

“Smartass.” You scrunched your nose at him.  

He let his eyes linger on the page for a while before he read the next words. He didn’t realize their meaning until they left his mouth. 

“You call the shots, I wanna be yours.” 

You were so close to him. He could hear your breaths, feel them if he focused. The bare skin of your legs touching his covered ones, a burning sensation through the fabric. It was like his ears started ringing by how quickly his heart was beating. He could only wonder if yours was beating even half as fast. 

Spencer wasn’t avoiding eye contact—not exactly—but he was looking at you like he was working through a puzzle, like he was waiting for the right words to magically fall into place before saying them.  

“I have to start thinking rationally about this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You furrowed your brows. “This meaning sex?” 

“I guess…” He hesitated, his lips pressing together. “It’s about you, in general.” 

“And by that, you mean?”

“It’s biology,” he stated, the beginning of a ramble. “Attraction is a chemical process driven by neurotransmitters. It releases dopamine and oxytocin that are associated with the feelings of reward and attachment. The limbic system is highly active in people experiencing romantic attraction. Essentially, the brain treats attraction like an addiction, reinforcing behavior that leads to emotional and physical closeness.” 

You tilted your head. “So… that’s what’s happening here? Biology?” 

Spencer let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It is. That’s why you make me incapable of thinking straight and why I get so nervous. I have to realize that it’s biology even though it feels like fiction to me. Does that even make sense?” 

“Nope.” 

“Great. Well—” 

“Spencer.” You sat up fully this time, your legs folding beneath you as you shifted to face him, placing the book on the table with a thud. “There is nothing rational about love.” 

Love. You’d used the word love.

He wanted to continue explaining, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to make sense. Maybe you were right. Even though there was a scientific explanation for everything he was feeling, there was also a reason as to why people turned to fictional stories when they searched the matters of love. The feelings were allowed to be so irrational that they felt impossible. 

“And that’s not me confessing my love for you, by the way. That’s kind of early, but we’re en route to love, right? Neither of us is in this only for sex?” you continued talking, your hand reaching out to hold his. 

Spencer heard himself laugh. It would be the shittiest sex-only relationship ever, because, well, you weren’t having sex. But then he nodded, agreeing with you—you were in too deep to call it casual. 

“Morgan called you my girlfriend today, and I didn’t even try to correct him. I used to always do that,” he said, something hesitant in the way he admitted it because he was still trying to make sense of it himself.

With an assertive move, you grabbed his hand. “Good. We’re on the same page.” 

Spencer looked down at your joined hands before glancing back up at you. He swallowed. “I’m your…” 

“You’re my boyfriend,” you confirmed, and the way his lips parted slightly, like he was tasting the word, made you squeeze his hand again.

“I’m your boyfriend.”

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. And don’t overthink it, okay? We can just… be.”

You said it so simply. Easiest thing in the world. Spencer wanted to believe it was. His mind couldn’t accept it so easily, though. It worked overtime in general, but he wasn’t sure he had ever thought so much about the same thing. Being in a relationship, having a girlfriend, sex. He almost wished he could preoccupy his mind with other things, some difficult chess strategy or some foreign literature. But no. It was all you up there. 

And what did you think about it? He didn’t know. 

Spencer cleared his throat, saying, “I’m not sure I’ve asked you how you feel about all of this.” 

“How do I feel about sex?” 

You made a little confused face, and Spencer nodded as an answer, letting the room go quiet as you thought of what to say. You fiddled with the fringe of a blanket with your free hand, the other still holding Spencer’s. 

“I think…” you exhaled. “I think you respect me more than I respect myself.” 

Spencer found it miraculous that you were able to keep eye contact with him even though the smallest of tears formed on your waterline. 

“What’s it been? Over a month? And you haven’t seen me naked,” you continued, almost a surprised tone in your voice. 

45 days. It had been 45 days. He had to force himself to not say it out loud. 

“You haven’t asked, or just… done. Nothing. I’m not sure I know how to react to that. I feel like I should have to throw myself at you to make you like me, but you’re not like that.” 

“I like you just as you are,” Spencer whispered, unsure if it was the right moment for him to speak. 

“I know that, but it’s new for me. I haven’t done all this with someone who actually cares before,” you said, voice sounding like you were constricting the words. 

Your grip around his fingers tightened, and Spencer found himself rubbing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t dare to reach up and touch your face, but he wanted to. 

Your lip noticeably quivered as you continued, “I haven’t always… valued intimacy the way I should have. And I haven’t exactly been with men who saw beauty in being with me instead of just lust.

It was strange, the way those words made his chest ache. 

You’d mentioned it before—when he admitted he was a virgin, you’d said something about finding it a little amusing that someone could go so long without sex, especially when it had been a coping mechanism for you. He assumed that meant earlier in your life, but truth be told, he didn’t really know. 

Spencer thought back to what Edith had said in the hallway. She’d said that no one had been taking care of you. That didn’t necessarily mean you’d been alone, just that you hadn’t always surrounded yourself with the best people.

And yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t see it. You made it look effortless—being warm, being kind, holding him close like it was second nature. How you were so well put together that no one would ever even notice things you’d been through unless you told them. And you didn’t tell anyone. 

He struggled to picture it—the same girl who had made him a handmade Valentine’s card, who curled up against him on the couch like she belonged there, had also been the girl who once used to stumble home drunk or high, clinging to some guy whose name would be forgotten in the morning. The thought alone made his stomach twist. Someone having their way with you and your mind having convinced you that you didn’t have a choice—thinking that you were so desperate to be liked that you didn’t even mind if it was only for a moment. 

It didn’t fit. You didn’t fit with that image.

Or maybe you did, and he just didn’t know it yet. There was still so much to learn about you, so much you hadn’t yet shared.

Spencer watched as you almost turned on yourself, his silence becoming too much for you to deal with. It hadn’t been his intention to make you uncomfortable, or to make your words seem even heavier than they were because of his lack of reaction. 

“You’re not too good at talking about this either, are you? About what you want?” he wondered, keeping his eyes on you, trying to convey that his silence wasn’t judgment. It was attention. 

A soft huff of laughter escaped you. “No, I guess I’m not.” You paused for a moment before adding, “But I like taking it slow. It makes it feel… different. Special, like it never has before.”

His chest tightened. Like it never has before.

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way it made him feel—some odd mixture of relief and sadness. He wished he didn’t, but it was relief he felt when he realized that while everything of this was new to him, some aspects were also new to you. The blind leading the blind in a way. 

“I’m sort of scared of being too much for you,” you murmured. “Or for everyone, really.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, shaking his head almost instantly. “But you’re not—”

“And you don’t think you’re ever going to be enough, do you?” you interrupted, watching as the words hit him like a direct shot to the chest.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. He blinked at you, caught off guard, his fingers tightening around yours like he needed something to hold onto. It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was an observation. A fact. One he couldn’t even bring himself to deny. He felt inadequate in every sense when it came to intimacy. 

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “We make an interesting pair, huh?” you mused.

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Interesting was definitely a synonym for dysfunctional in this case. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We really do.”

You smiled, leaning in until your forehead pressed against his. You were curled in his arms now, your chest touching his, hand resting on his shoulders as you searched his face. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers came up to rest gently against your jaw, his touch featherlight, reverent.

“Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.” 

“I—” He swallowed. “I think I’d like to kiss you for a while. If that’s okay.”

You nodded gently. “Can I sit in your lap?”

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence to answer, but he lifted his hands, inviting you to move closer. Not closer than you ever had been before, but it was by far the most intimate position you’d found yourself in. 

You straddled him, knees on either side of his hips and your ass pressed against his lap. Your exposed thighs painted before Spencer like a landscape of skin. Before he could look at your face, his eyes were glued to the slight pattern of your skin, with scattered scars and birthmarks. 

Close enough, Spencer snuck in a light peck on your lips. The first of many, he hoped. 

Your hands lingered by your side before you lifted them to slowly rest around his shoulders, tickling the skin of his neck, diving your fingers in his hair to stroke his scalp with gentle tugs. He liked it so much that a little noise left his mouth as he couldn’t help but feel his body melt against yours. 

Spencer’s arms were stiff, palms pressed against the couch cushion. He didn’t know if or where to touch you. 

You started to litter his face with little kisses—on his cheeks, jaw, and mouth. He canted forward to meet you halfway, overwhelmed by the feeling of your chest pressed against his. 

Pulling back, you cupped his face, simply looking at him for a moment. “Your face should come with a warning sign. You’ve got bone structure like you were carved out of marble by Da Vinci or something,” you said, leaning back in to kiss him.  

“You’re thinking of Michelangelo,” he mumbled, although the words got lost against your mouth. 

“Huh?” You didn’t stop kissing him.

“Nothing.”

Yeah, it was nothing to bring up compared to what was going on.

He always felt like he had gotten the hang of kissing someone, but with you it was a new sensation every time. And with your tongue slipping inside his mouth, your teeth grazing his lips—an open-mouthed and messy make-out session—he might as well have been fifteen all over again.  

You teased him, and he knew it. Panting in his mouth, gnawing his lips raw. And your hands, god your hands that never stopped wandering. It was innocent, fingers through his hair or running along his arms, but still enough for Spencer’s brain to go haywire. 

He wasn’t sure it was intentional the first time you did it, but he felt your hips move against him. A slow brush forward that could’ve just been you adjusting your position. Spencer’s response was instant, a sharp breath leaving his mouth, entering yours. He was convinced it wasn’t intentional when you simply continued kissing him. But then you did it again. Not once, but repeatedly. 

Spencer was getting harder with every instant your hips ground against his, and surely you noticed it too, because he could feel you smiling through the kisses. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, y’know?” 

His head snapped up at your words, stopping the kissing. 

“But—uhm, where?” 

You gave him a look—one of those knowing, amused looks. “Anywhere. Did you want to see the scar?” 

His throat went dry. He managed a nod.

“So, touch my waist and take my shirt off.” 

He didn’t expect you to be so direct. Maybe he should always expect that from you. 

Spencer took his time, gazing at you sat on his lap. Your lips were wet from kissing, and you had mascara smudged under your eyes. He found you breathtaking, sitting there in a frumpy old t-shirt, smiling at him like he was the dumbest thing ever. 

Carefully, he let his hand settle on your thigh, fingers barely touching your skin. He saw how your eyes followed the way his hands moved, slowly upward, sinking his fingers into the skin in a way that made it spill out between them. 

When he finally reached the fabric of your shirt, he pushed it up, letting his eyes find yours as a way to reassure that it was indeed okay. You did nothing but nod, helping him slowly peel it over your head. Spencer was too busy looking at how cute your face scrunched up when the collar got caught around your head to see that you weren’t wearing a bra. When you carelessly tossed the shirt onto the floor and then let yourself just sit still in his lap, that was when Spencer took in the sight of you, bare aside from your shorts. 

Spencer was pretty sure his eyes went as wide as dinner plates. 

Taking him out of his trance, you started talking, doing a little shift with your hips and crossing your arms over your chest. “This might be the first time I’m nervous about being naked in front of someone.” 

Spencer tilted his head, talking too fast for his own good. “You didn’t mind getting undressed when you had to help me shower after my injury.”

“Wearing a bra and shorts is not the same as being naked,” you stated. 

He dared to move his hands again, finding your arms, absently tracing the skin. You relaxed, uncovering your chest again, letting him see your breasts again. Admittedly, he had a hard time focusing on your face, but he tried his best. 

“What are you nervous about?”

He watched you hesitate, your lips pressing together before you shrugged. The movement was small, but Spencer saw through it. You were trying to sound casual, but the slight tightness in your voice betrayed you.

“What if you think I’ve got weird nipples or something?” 

“T-they’re not weird,” he blurted, far too quickly, and immediately cringed at himself. He scrambled to recover. “Perfectly normal, in fact.”

“Perfectly normal?” 

“Well…” He cleared his throat, cheeks still rosy. “They’re kind of pretty.” 

You giggled in disbelief. “You think my nipples are pretty, Spence?” 

“I think you’re pretty,” he corrected. “And they’re attached to you, so yeah. Pretty.” 

“Well, why don’t you touch them, then?” 

He couldn’t argue with that. As his hands traveled up the sides of your body, he began to stroke the underside of your breasts, taking in the way you reacted to his touch. 

That was when he saw it. The entire reason you were in this position. A puny little scar on the right side of your ribs. Scratched your entire side on the sidewalk. No, it wasn’t longer than an inch. 

Spencer could feel the faint ridge of the scar beneath his touch, but he wasn’t thinking about that anymore. He was thinking about how warm you were, how soft. He was thinking about how insanely close you were to him, how his breaths hit your skin as soon as they left his mouth. 

He cupped your breasts fully, admiring the way they fit in his palms and how the ample skin felt malleable to the touch. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and your breathing turned quicker as he twiddled them slightly between his fingers. 

“You can kiss them too, y’know.” 

Spencer took in the feeling of having some sort of control over his emotions and over the situation. Fuck yeah, could he kiss them. He started at your sternum with a soft peck, then traced down the valley between your breasts. He looked up at you through heavy eyelashes, his warm brown eyes staring you down as his lips explored. Your jaw slackened, nodding at him reassuringly.

When he took your nipple between them, he heard you hiss at how he purposely teased you. He sucked on the tender skin, mouth on one as he cupped the other. Spencer felt so lost in what was happening that he didn’t even realize he was almost biting down on your skin, grazing your nipple with his teeth until a high moan escaped you.

Your hips rutted forward again, his boner now something that couldn’t be ignored. And by the look of it, the friction was enough to cause you pleasure as well. Spencer wasn’t even sure he’d seen that as a possibility before. But your shorts were thin, and the material of his pants was rough enough to rub your heat every time you moved. 

Spencer only pulled away when his lungs burned for air, releasing your nipple with a soft, wet pop. For a moment, he stared, mesmerized by the way it glistened with his saliva, a fleeting mark of what he’d done. 

You looked at him, grinning. 

His hands found a comfortable space in the divots on either side of your waist as he watched your hands fall from his shoulders down between you. You didn’t touch, or take things any further. They just simply rested on him—on the prominent tent in his slacks. 

“Was, uhm… was this all that you wanted for us to try?” Spencer whispered. 

The air in the room had somehow turned harder to inhale. Humid.   

“I thought I’d start with something less explicit before I tell you that I want your dick inside of me.” 

Spencer now forgot how to breathe. Completely. 

A little giggle escaped you as you took his face in your hands, your palms cold against his skin. Or maybe he was just impossibly warm. He didn’t want to think about how he must have looked—hair a tousled mess, skin pinking, probably blushing all the way down to his toes.

You pushed his hair off his forehead, tilting your head as you asked, “I’ve made you all flustered, haven’t I?” 

Spencer groaned, pressing his head back against the couch like he was seeking divine intervention. His boner, the elephant in the room, lodged in the space between your bodies, wasn’t enough for you to notice? 

“Do you enjoy torturing me?”

You laughed, hands placed aimlessly on his chest. “I don’t. I just think it’s cute.”

He opened his eyes, peering at you warily. “What’s cute?”

“You.”

Spencer let out a long breath, shaking his head. “You can’t just call me cute after—” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile, leaning in again, your nose brushing his. “I mean it, though.”

His hands, which had remained mostly still against your waist, flexed slightly. “Me being cute?”

“No.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “That I want you.”

Spencer’s breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize this moment, like he wanted to capture exactly how it felt to have you in his lap, saying things that he never thought he’d hear from you. Or anyone for that matter. 

“We don’t have to be nervous,” you murmured. “I think we’re both allowed to want each other.”

“I do want you,” he admitted. “I just… I want to do this right.”

“You will. Let me take care of you, Spence.” 

He didn’t have much else to say when your lips were back on his, tongue slipping into his mouth. Your hips, god your hips, began to move with more intent, practically squeezing his bulge between your crotch and himself. And your tits, moving with every bounce you made. 

Every inch of his skin turned to goosebumps as your fingers sneaked under his shirt, ripping it from where it had been tucked in to his pants. You scratched his skin, and he could imagine the contrast between the red polish and his pale complexion.

Spencer no longer hesitated to explore you. His hands were in tight grips on your hips, wandering to the curve of your ass as he helped you move in rhythm. Glancing down between you, he swore he could see a damp spot blooming on the fabric of your shorts—but that wasn’t what captivated him most.

The best part was when you broke the kiss, gasping for air, your lips parted in a breathless moan. He could shamelessly watch how your face twisted in pleasure. You had an innocent delicacy to your facial features despite the raw need in your body’s movements.

Oh, was he really watching an angel… 

The both of you quickly got lost in the hazy feeling of not knowing where his hands on you started and where your hands on him ended. Spencer heard how he whined with each of your movements, but he couldn’t have cared less, hips bucking uncontrollably, canting forward to meet your thrusts. 

“Does it feel good?” you murmured, grazing your teeth against his lips. 

A strangled breath was all he could reply with, his hands roaming endlessly for something to grab, something to ground him. 

“Don’t stop, p-please.” 

So he could form words, only that they were pathetic. 

It didn’t take long between when Spencer realized that the friction alone would be enough for him to orgasm and it actually happening. He’d been too pent up for too long of a time to even think about holding it back. The feeling so rushed that he couldn’t warn you, or even say something to you. All that left his mouth were stuttered moans and curse words. He normally wasn’t one to use rude words, but this was uncontrollable. 

“Oh god, oh fuck—” 

He felt a warm liquid spreading from where his cock was tucked in pants, soaking through to stain the fabric. His body froze, and he tried his best to stop his panting breaths as ropes of cum continued to leak out. Out of instinct, his hands left your body, flying up to his achingly blushing cheeks. 

You abruptly stopped moving at his reaction, taking in the sight for a second before your hands clutched around his wrists, moving his hands from covering his face. 

“No, no. I’m not even giving you the right to be embarrassed right now, Spence,” you said sternly, your eyes flickering between him and evidence of his release. “That was like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He kissed you to shut you up. Soft, gentle kisses that calmed him down and made you rest your weight back down onto his thighs. Lost in the fact that he’d just had his first orgasm in front of someone else, his mind wandered to you, and if you’d enjoyed it as much as he had. But… you hadn’t finished, had you? 

Spencer pulled away, distraught at the thought of taking but not giving. “You didn’t—” 

“No, but that wasn’t the point of this,” you cut him off, further explaining, “Sex isn’t always about making the other person cum. This time, for instance, I think it was mostly about us getting more comfortable with each other.” 

“But we still didn’t have sex.” 

“Sex is whatever you want it to be.” You let out a little sigh, not out of annoyance but out of amusement. “If this is all that you’re comfortable with, then this is sex to you.” 

That made sense, even to him. But now that he had gotten a little taste, he couldn’t wait to be comfortable for more.

“B-but I do want more,” he argued. “More of you.” 

“We’ll get there.” 

“You don’t want me to help you out now?” 

He wasn’t sure where his sudden confidence came from, and by the look of it, neither did you. Your eyes went a little wide as you struggled to answer. Spencer felt a sense of pride at the fact he could make you nervous. 

You shyly looked away, mumbling, “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

“I am. I promise you that I am,” he assured you, turning your face by a light grip on your chin. 

You could move your hips against him with all intent to make him feel good, but you got visibly flustered at the thought of him doing the same to you. Adorable. 

“How—I mean, I could continue getting off on your thigh,” you said quickly, tucking your hair behind your ears in a practiced, nervous manner. “Or you could use your fingers.” 

“Fingers. Can I use my fingers?” 

You hummed while nodding, agreeing immediately, kissing him quickly. 

Making room on the couch, you both tossed some of the decorative pillows on the floor before Spencer laid you down on your back, him halfway spooning your side so that you both would fit.

The kissing continued as Spencer thought of what to do. He’d read a lot about it. He should be able to figure it out. His hands found home, massaging the plush skin of your thighs, thinking that was a simple way to start. Your chest rose as his fingers trailed over your body. You were desperate. 

But maybe so would anyone be if they’d essentially been very close to climaxing and then having it all ripped away. 

Spencer felt so unconvincing as his fingers fumbled with the elastic waistband of your shorts. You were about to be so naked, and he was still fully dressed. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Actually, you were very quick to untie the shorts yourself, pushing them down your legs and then onto the floor. 

Your panties were a simple white with little floral lace details. And he’d been right; you’d soaked right through them. He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the lacy upper hem. 

“Keep them on, just—fuck, touch me.” 

He looked at you, twisting and turning under his touch, words falling out of your mouth carelessly. 

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky skin. 

First over your pubic bone and then over a slight thatch of hair. 

Spencer brushed what he thought was your clit with featherlight touch, taking in your reaction before delving his fingers between your folds, a surprising feeling with how velvety smooth the pooling wetness he found was. His digits circled down over your entrance before retreating. 

You bit your lip to the point where it looked painful, keeping everything on the inside, turning your head into his chest. 

Spencer stopped moving his hand, using his free one to tilt your head right back, forcing eye contact. “I wanna hear you. Tell me what to do.”

“Move a little higher,” you said, a whine coming from your throat as soon as he followed suit. With a little calculating, Spencer concluded the little bud he was touching was your clit. “Oh, fuck—right there, Spence.” 

He used his pointer and middle finger to slowly explore, moving in gentle circles, touching a place that made your stomach tense and breathing sharpen and separate. Spencer could look at you all day as you enjoyed yourself, letting out a little floating laugh between moans, crinkling your nose as he touched the spot again and again. 

“Kiss me,” you asked between breaths, your eyelids getting heavy the faster his fingers moved. 

His free hand stroked against your jawbone before he leaned down to kiss you, not knowing if he was doing it right. But apparently he was, by the way you whined under his mouth, eyes rolling back. 

“Should I—” He swallowed. “Should I do something more? I read that many women can’t climax from penetration and that clitoral or oral stimulation is easier—”  

Your eyes went wide as he spoke, interrupted by his continued movements. “Fuck, Spence—You wanna use your mouth on me?” You shook your head, hiding into his chest again. “No, this is enough. You’re enough.” 

His fingers slipped between your folds with more ease, hearing the wet sounds he could bring from your pussy. The more he moved, the more he wanted to turn you into a sweet mess at the touch of his fingertips.

“God, you’re gonna make me—” 

You tensed up, and Spencer felt it. And then you let it all go. 

It was like you lost all stability in your bones, turning into a fluid source of warmth in Spencer’s embrace, as his fingers slid messily over your clit, losing momentum, your underwear soaked and stretched out over the back of his hand. 

Spencer had been unsure of if he could notice if you faked an orgasm or not. He now knew that there was nothing fake about you. You let out a last, long breath, and Spencer slowly circled your clit before he pulled his hand away, letting it linger on your naked stomach. 

“Was that okay?” he felt the need to ask. 

You looked up at him, breathing still uneven and your eyes slightly dopey, practically collapsing in his arms. “Okay? Spencer, you were fucking amazing.” 

As Spencer held you, right there on your couch, and you slid your palm over his his chest, resting it tight above the place where his heart was still erratically beating, he felt himself lose control over basically everything. The world narrowed down to you—your skin, your scent, your breathing. Not that much else mattered to him. He wasn’t sure it ever would again. 

“I wish I met you earlier in life.” 

The words left him before he could stop them, and maybe it was a little ridiculous—like meeting you earlier would have suddenly made life easier, like it would have changed anything at all. But still. He truly wished that.

You kissed his neck, murmuring, “We’ve got all the time in the world, Spencer.” 

His fingers skimmed along your arm before settling at your waist, holding you close. You felt so softagainst him, so warm, but after a moment, he felt the residual stickiness of sweat and everything else clinging to both of you. His nose wrinkled slightly, and he knew you caught it before he even spoke.

“Do you wanna go change? Wash your hands? Can’t imagine it’s comfortable being sticky.” 

You probably felt just as sticky as he did, but Spencer could tell—he knew—your suggestion had less to do with yourself and more to do with him, his germaphobia, and his sensory issues. Because you were always thinking about him, about the things that made him uncomfortable, about the ways you could make things easier for him without making a big deal out of it. And wasn’t that just the sweetest thing? Spencer thought so. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, helping you stand from the couch, legs looking a bit wobbly. “And you should go pee. Prevents UTIs.” 

“I know that,” you muttered. 

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched. Sitting up himself, he let you slip away, watching as you padded across the wooded floors. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing your body being so casually naked. But he would love the future time he’d spend trying to get used to it at least. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” you asked, voice sounding almost drowsy, as you picked up your shorts and t-shirt that had been thrown on the floor. “I got The Princess Bride on Blu-ray, and we could order Indian food.” 

Spencer could do nothing but smile, his mind echoing empty of thoughts. “Sure thing.” 

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think ♡ And yes, for those of you who didn't know, the Arctic Monkeys song is originally a JCC poem.

[favefandomimagines]

Tied Together With A Smile (f.l)

Summary: Y/N had done her best to never show Frank the messiest parts of her; until now.

AN: we got an angsty af one over

TW: drug use, abuse, really shitty parents

The soft hum of the city filtered through the open window, sunlight creeping across the tangled sheets. Y/N stirred before she opened her eyes, the weight of an arm draped lazily over her waist anchoring her in place.

A small smile curled at her lips as she turned her head, taking in the sight of Frank Langdon still half-asleep beside her.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. His hand skimmed up her back, his touch lazy and warm.

Y/N traced absent patterns on his bare shoulder, savoring the rare moment of quiet between them. “Morning,” she whispered back.

Frank shifted, eyes cracking open to look at her properly. “You okay?”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About what?”

You. Us. How much I like you. How much I don't want to mess this up.

“Just today’s shift,” she answered instead, forcing a lightness into her tone. “It’s always something.”

Frank sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple before rolling onto his back. “Yeah. Always something.”

He didn’t push for more, and Y/N was grateful for that. Frank was good at giving space, and maybe that was why she hadn’t told him about the anxiety that had followed her for as long as she could remember.

Or about her parents. Or about the fact that she was scared—scared that once he saw all the messy, broken pieces of her, he’d decide it was too much.

He’d already been through one messy relationship. She didn’t want to be another.

Instead of voicing any of that, Y/N threw the covers off and sat up. “Come on, Dr. Langdon. Time to get up.”

Frank groaned dramatically but followed her out of bed.

||

Y/N had seen chaos in the ER before. It was an everyday occurrence—a steady rhythm of trauma and urgency, where life and death hung in the balance of quick decisions. But this…this was different.

The moment she saw the stretcher being wheeled in, her body froze.

Her father.

She hadn't seen him in over a decade, not since she packed her bags for college and cut ties with him and her mother. But time hadn’t changed him.

His face was still lined with wear, his body still thin and frail from years of substance abuse. The only difference was that now he looked even worse—pale, sweating, his breath ragged and uneven.

“Severe dehydration, possible acute kidney failure,” the paramedic rattled off. “Found unresponsive at home, wife called 911. Track marks on both arms. Looks like a mix of heroin and Benzos, but toxicology is still pending.”

Y/N forced her legs to move, her instincts as a doctor kicking in even as her personal instincts screamed at her to run. She grabbed a pair of gloves and moved toward the stretcher.

Frank was already there, taking the lead. “Let’s get a full tox screen and start fluids,” he ordered. His voice was calm, professional, as always.

Y/N swallowed hard. “I’ve got his vitals,” she said, forcing her tone to match his.

Frank glanced at her briefly, as if something in her voice had caught his attention, but he didn’t question her. Instead, he nodded, trusting her to do her job.

Y/N stepped up to the stretcher, her hands trembling as she reached for the blood pressure cuff.

That’s when her father’s eyes snapped open.

At first, they were glassy, unfocused. Then they landed on her, and a slow, twisted smile spread across his face.

Frank had seen a lot during his years in emergency medicine—grief, loss, anger, even hatred—but nothing hit quite like watching the color drain from Y/N’s face as the man on the stretcher looked up at her and laughed.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he slurred. His voice was hoarse, wrecked by years of abuse. “Look who finally came home.”

Her stomach clenched, but she didn’t respond. She tightened the cuff around his arm and pressed two fingers to his wrist, feeling for his pulse.

His smile widened. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, sweetheart.”

Her grip on his wrist tightened. “Don’t talk.”

“Oh, but I’ve got so much to say,” he crooned, his voice thick with mockery. “Look at you. All fancy in your doctor clothes. Think you’re better than me now?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, focusing on the numbers, the numbers, the numbers.

“I asked you a question, girl.” His voice turned sharp. “Or did all that schooling make you too good to talk to your own father?”

Frank's brows knit together as he paused beside the vitals monitor, the words landing wrong in his ears. He looked at Y/N—her jaw tight, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for the blood pressure cuff. He was about to ask if she was okay when the patient spoke again.

Frank then glanced over at Mel on the other side of the gurney, who looked just as confused. Mel raised an eyebrow at Frank, silently asking if he knew what the hell was going on. Frank shook his head.

“You always were a disappointment,” the man said next, his tone now dripping with venom. “Selfish. Ungrateful. You ran off, thought you were better than us.”

Frank froze.

Not just because of what was said—but because of who it was said to.

Us.

Your mother.

Frank's eyes flicked toward Y/N’s face, and suddenly everything clicked into place. The tremble in her fingers. The way she refused to meet anyone’s gaze. The rawness in her silence.

The patient on the gurney wasn’t just another John Doe. This was her father.

Y/N didn’t look at him. She didn’t say a word. But the blood pressure cuff slipped from her fingers, and Frank caught it before it hit the floor.

Frank tried to get Y/N to look at him, to give her a silent a urge that it was going to be okay, as he handed the cuff back to her. But she grabbed it quickly, avoiding his gaze.

Across the room, Santos could sense that the atmosphere had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Y/N clenched her jaw as she tried to get the blood pressure cuff back around her father's arm. But the sound of her father's abuse made her hands shake.

“Sir, please stay still,” she said, her tone clipped, professional.

But he didn’t. He laughed—loud and bitter—and then his face twisted into something cruel.

Her pulse skyrocketed, but she didn’t let go of his wrist.

“You think this makes you special?” he continued, his words slurring together. “You think some fancy doctor job makes up for the fact that you abandoned your family?”

Y/N forced herself to keep counting his pulse. But her hands were shaking.

Y/N's mother was standing almost on top of her, trying to get her daughter to look at her.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother said softly. “Please, he doesn’t mean it.”

Y/N barely turned her head, but she caught the sight of her mother standing so close to her, her hands wringing together. She looked just the same as Y/N remembered—frail, meek, apologetic. Always apologizing.

“He’s just confused,” her mother continued. “It’s the drugs talking.”

Y/N’s hands balled into fists at her sides.

It was always the drugs. It was never his fault.

“Mom,” she said, her voice razor-thin, “don’t apologize for him.”

Her mother flinched, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

Frank blinked, stunned, along with the rest of the trauma team.

Mel stepped back, clearly uncomfortable. Santos looked like she wanted to disappear. Even the mother seemed startled, shrinking back toward the wall.

Frank watched Y/N, the way her shoulders rose and fell, her breathing uneven now. He saw the flash of something in her eyes—humiliation. Anger. Pain.

Dr. Robby walked in just then, taking in the frozen room, the pale woman by the door, the disheveled man on the gurney, and the tension radiating off Y/N like a thunderstorm.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he said gently but firmly. “You need to step out.”

Y/N finally looked up, her expression unreadable.

“You can’t treat family,” Robby said, softer this time. “Dr. King will take over.”

Y/N nodded, slowly. She turned away from the gurney, pulled off her gloves, removed her gown with methodical precision. Frank could see her hands shaking.

He wanted to reach for her. Say something. Do something.

But she was already walking out.

The trauma bay door swung shut behind her, and the room exhaled all at once.

Frank stood there for a beat too long. Then, without a word, he passed the chart to Mel and handed off the rest of the case.

||

The second Y/N stepped outside into the ambulance bay, the cold air hit her like a slap. She hadn’t realized how suffocating the trauma bay had been until now, until she was away from the lights and the beeping monitors and—

Her father’s voice.

You always were a disappointment.

The words echoed in her skull, looping over and over, growing louder until it was all she could hear. She pressed her back against the cool brick wall of the hospital, but it did nothing to ground her. Her hands were shaking, her breaths coming too fast, too shallow.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She tried to focus, tried to force her lungs to work properly, but no matter how many times she counted, the oxygen never seemed to reach her.

Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred at the edges.

Her mind, traitorous and cruel, dragged her backward through time.

She was ten years old, standing in the kitchen of their cramped apartment, watching her father rip open a bottle of pills like a rabid animal.

She was fourteen, clutching her mother’s wrist, begging her to leave, only for her to say, He needs us, sweetheart. We can’t just go.

She was eighteen, throwing a duffel bag into the back of a taxi, her mother crying on the porch, her father nowhere to be found.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, as if she could physically dislodge the memories.

Not now. Not here.

But her body had other plans.

Her hands trembled violently, her legs felt unsteady, her breaths became nothing more than panicked gasps.

She had handled panic attacks before. But this? This was worse. This was every nightmare, every buried fear, every wound she had tried so hard to keep stitched together—splitting open all at once.

Time stretched. The seconds felt like hours.

And then—

Warmth.

A hand on the small of her back.

She flinched at first, the touch being unwanted at first. But then she heard his voice.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” Frank said softly.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, willing her body to stop shaking, but it was useless.

“I can’t—I can’t breathe,” she choked out.

Frank didn’t hesitate. He stepped in front of her, his presence solid and unwavering, and without another word, he pulled her against him.

She stiffened for half a second before melting into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around her, his grip firm, grounding. He didn’t say anything at first—he just held her. His heartbeat was steady against her ear, his warmth enveloping her completely.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his lips close to her temple. “In through your nose.”

Y/N inhaled shakily, trying to match his rhythm.

“Out through your mouth.”

She followed his lead.

“In again.”

Another breath.

“Good. Keep going.”

Slowly, achingly slowly, the world started to settle.

The hospital lights weren’t so blinding. The cold air wasn’t so suffocating. The walls weren’t closing in anymore.

Y/N’s hands, which had been gripping the front of Frank’s scrub top like a lifeline, slowly loosened. But she didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

For a long moment, they just stood there.

Then, in a voice so small it barely felt like her own, she whispered, “I never wanted to tell you about them.”

Frank’s arms tightened slightly. “Tell me now.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. “My dad’s an addict. My mom—she enables him. I left home at eighteen and never looked back.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed through.

“For as long as I can remember he's always chose his next high over me and my mom. One time, it was so bad he threw a vodka bottle at my head. Five stitches in my cheek and we told the doctor I got into a fight at school. I've never even been in a fight. My life was a mess and I never wanted you to find out."

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. Frank caught it with his lips, pressing the softest kiss to her skin.

Y/N never thought she’d break down like this—not here, not now, and definitely not in front of Frank. She had spent years mastering the art of control, carefully compartmentalizing every wound, every scar, every painful memory.

But now, standing in the ambulance bay with Frank’s arms wrapped securely around her, all of that control had shattered.

And Frank was still here.

His arms didn’t loosen, his grip didn’t waver. He just held her, his warmth pressing into her skin, his heartbeat steady against her own.

He smelled like hospital antiseptic and something familiar—something that reminded her of safety, of home, of a future she had never let herself imagine.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling slightly against his scrubs. "You should go back inside," she murmured, though her voice lacked any real conviction. "You're still on shift."

"So are you," Frank countered, his voice low but firm. "And I’m not leaving you like this."

She swallowed, staring at the ground. The bricks of the hospital wall felt rough against her back, grounding her in reality, but Frank was what really kept her tethered.

For years, she had convinced herself that being alone was easier. That not letting anyone in meant she couldn't be hurt again.

But now, standing here with Frank, she realized how much she had been lying to herself.

"How long have you had panic attacks?" he asked gently.

Y/N hesitated. "Since I was a kid."

Frank exhaled slowly, his thumb rubbing soft, absentminded circles on her lower back. "And you never told me."

She bit her lip. "I didn’t want to scare you off."

His brows furrowed, and she could see the hurt flicker across his face. "Scare me off?"

Y/N forced herself to look at him, really look at him. His blue eyes were searching, his expression open. And for once, she didn’t see judgment. She didn’t see pity.

She just saw him.

She took a shaky breath. "You just got divorced. You were finally starting over, and I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with. I wanted to be the person you looked forward to seeing, not the person who dragged you down with all my baggage."

Frank’s jaw tightened, and he cupped her face, tilting her chin up so she couldn’t look away. "Y/N, you are not a problem. And you sure as hell don’t drag me down."

Tears burned behind her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from fear or anxiety.

"I know this isn’t easy for you," he continued, his voice softer now. "Letting someone in. But I want you to know—I’m here. I don’t care how messy it gets. I don’t care what kind of baggage you come with. I want you—all of you."

The sincerity in his voice undid her completely.

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, her hands fisting in the fabric of his scrubs as she let herself lean into him. For once, she didn’t try to push the emotions away.

She let herself feel it all—the relief, the exhaustion, the overwhelming warmth of knowing that, for the first time in her life, someone stayed.

Frank pressed his lips to the top of her head, lingering there for a moment. "You okay?" he murmured.

She nodded against his chest. "I think so."

"Good," he said. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And somehow, for the first time in a long time, Y/N believed him.

[thebluediner]

LOVE ISLAND USA SEASON 7: THE ISLAND TWIST

fem! billie x fem! reader

a/n: billie is not famous in this universe because she deserves viewers who aren't bullies and judgemental freaks. this is truly one of my fav works so far in my fanfic writting history so please appreciate it.

"on this episode of love island usa... there's trouble in paradise. but really, would it be love island without a little drama?"

billie is seated on a daybed. the sun casts a warm glow over the villa facing jesse, her partner since the most recent recoupling. they’ve been together a few days now, and according to billie, she's ready to lock it down and see where things can go.

unfortunately for her, jesse isn't on the same page. even though he claims to share the same feelings commitment isn’t on his radar just yet.

"I just don’t get why you still feel the need to explore," billie says, squinting at him in confusion. her lips go dry, but she quickly licks them. "I thought we had something going."

jesse lets out an awkward laugh shifting closer ,his hand casually landing on her exposed thigh.

"look," he says with a shrug, "don’t get me wrong, I do feel a connection but this is love island, babe. we’re supposed to be exploring."

billie presses her lips into a tight line trying to stay composed. a sudden giggle is heard across the villa, and she instantly recognises the sound, it’s you. her ears perk up and, almost instinctively, she turns her head toward the pool area.

there you were sprawled out on a lounger, skin glowing under the golden island sun. your partner, jason, sits beside you completely engaged in your conversation and laughing with ease. the two of you look like you're having the time of your lives, and for a moment, billie can’t help but compare.

"yeah... okay. I get it," billie mumbles, trying to shake the thoughts from her head.

without warning jesse leans in and kisses her. it’s short, smug, and leaves her feeling unsettled. she musters a small smile before standing up and makes her way towards you.

she wasn’t particularly close with the other girls in the villa just friendly enough for casual conversations, but with you it was different. from the moment you walked in something just clicked. no tension, no awkward vibes. just an easy, natural bond.

as she approaches, your head turns toward her. a huge smile breaks out across your face.

“billie, baby! come here!” you squeal with delight making room beside you.

her cheeks flush at the pet name, but she doesn’t hesitate. she lies down next to you resting her head against your chest with a sigh of relief.

“hey, jason” billie greets your partner politely.

“hey,” he replies with a warm grin. “I’m gonna head over to the boys, give you guys some space.”

with that he gets up and walks off, leaving you and billie nestled together on the shared lounger, your legs comfortably tangled in the afternoon sun.

you lift your hand and run your fingers through her hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands as silence settles between you.

then you speak, your voice gentle. “so...how was your talk with jesse?”

you’re hoping for the best. after all just yesterday, billie had come to you asking if now was the right time to tell jesse how serious she was getting about him.

"he... he's still exploring." billie's words come out soft, but you still catch the same sharpness in her tone. billie’s naturally loud, just like you, one of the things you two share, an indication that she's not okay.

you nudge her shoulder, rubbing it gently as comfort before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "don’t let that worry you, babe. you’re perfect. you deserve someone who’s sure about you, and you’ll find them, yeah?" your accent becomes apparent the words soft but sincere. her lips curve ever so slightly, a small smile breaking through.

billie lets out a deep breath, as if the heaviness of it all is finally starting to lift. "on another note... do you wanna go inside? your skin’s gonna burn."

she snickers before glancing up at you, her lashes fluttering. "what about your skin?"

you roll your eyes, laughing, "baby, I’m naturally protected. have you seen me?" your hand sweeps over your melanin-rich skin, the confidence oozing effortlessly.

''a new bombshell hits the villa and she seems to have peaked jesse''s interest. is this his chance to be dora the explora and go on an adventure?''

a new girl had arrived in the villa, and though the crowd of candidates had greeted her with warmth and excitement. all that energy quickly turned to jealousy at least for billie.

she sat at the bar in a sheer two-piece set of a noodle-strapped crop top and a short skirt, paired with shoes she’d shamelessly stolen from your luggage. billie still found it funny how you had separate suitcases for your clothes and your shoes but right now, her attention was drifting elsewhere.

you were right beside her, mixing drinks, but billie’s eyes kept wandering. across the lawn, jesse was sitting way too close to the new girl whose name billie had already started to forget. the girl’s smile was too big, her laugh too loud, and jess wasn’t that funny. at least not that funny. billie swore the only person who could make someone cackle like that was you.

she kissed her teeth resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she turned back to you, just in time.

"okay," you said, dragging out the word dramatically as you slid the drink toward her. "taste it and tell me what you think."

your eyes were wide and your whole face lit up with anticipation. billie didn’t know why maybe it was the way you looked at her, so excited for her approval but a small smile crept onto her lips. for just a second she forgot all about jesse and the girl with the annoying laugh.

billie took the glass in her hands and took a sip. woah. she hadn’t expected you to be horrible, but she definitely hadn’t expected you to be this good either. her eyes widened in surprise as they met yours.

“oh my god, are you a bartender?” she asked, already halfway to giving you a full-on compliment.

“I was, back in college. guess I still got it,” you said with a proud grin, turning your face toward the sun. the light hit your features just right, catching your eyes and making them shine brighter than usual.

billie followed your gaze, her own face turning toward the light and just like that, it caught her eyes too, throwing flecks of warmth and gold into them.

“gosh, your eyes are so beautiful,” you blurted, unable to stop yourself, the words coming out like a soft whine.

billie turned toward you, a slow smile creeping onto her lips as a pink hue touched her cheeks.

“thank you,” she murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

she’d been complimented on her eyes before ,plenty of times, but something about the way you said it felt different. not like the lazy pickup line jesse had tried when he awkwardly said something about “getting lost in them” and then winked.

this felt like being seen.

billie didn’t make a point to argue or bring up the new girl whose name, she was reminded, was gina when jesse casually mentioned the “great conversation” they'd had even though she hadn’t asked.

she just smiled faintly and changed the subject.

later that night things were different. billie didn’t cuddle him, didn’t stay up talking about their lives like before. she just turned away in bed and went to sleep. she somehow could already feel him slipping away.

the very next day, gina was awarded a date card ,the freedom to choose anyone she wanted. and without hesitation, she picked jesse.

“sorry girl, but it is love island,” gina said all sugar and chirpy confidence before dragging him off by the hand. and he went on it ,no last few words to billie. nothing. he just eagerly followed behind her.

billie’s heart sank and even if she wanted to put on a brave face, she couldn’t. her eyes had already gone glossy by the time they walked away.

you were the first to come to her, your words of comfort spilling out like you could erase her heartache with them. you cupped her face gently, brushing away the first tear that fell before pulling her into a hug, tucking her face into the crook of your neck.

billie didn’t try to hold the tears back she just tried to quiet them. her hiccups were muffled only by your skin her fingers clinging to the fabric of your shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

the rest of the cast seemed to take the hint and gave you both space.

only jason's eyes lingered watching the way you held billie, the way your attention didn’t even flicker toward him once.

you were too consumed by her.

during the day, a message came through, alerting the cast to a new recoupling tonight. that alone was enough to stir the pot.

“whilst the mood is a bit sour in the villa, here come the sunshines who will either brighten it up or most likely burn it all down.”

billie isn’t around to witness jesse and gina’s return. instead, she’s tucked away in the makeup room, sitting beside you as you braid your hair into a sleek style. her mind is far, far away.

she’s trying not to cry about it because somehow she has grown to be more sensitive than usual but it’s hard. It’s not just the embarrassment, it’s the reality she'll have to face if this recoupling doesn’t go her way. she's at the risk of going home.

but even with her thoughts flooding in her eyes are on you. billie's watching the way your hands move through your curls, twisting and guiding them into place with quiet confidence. there’s something calming about it.

about you.

as if sensing her stare, you glance over, your brows rising in question. but she doesn’t say anything she just keeps looking or as the viewers would later say, admiring.

you finish the last braid, your fingers slowing as you shift to face her fully, leaning in a little closer.

“don’t show them how hurt you are, okay?” you whisper, your voice barely louder than the intention being for only billie to hear. your hand brushes down her hair, smoothing it gently.

billie nods slowly and heavy showing you she's listening regardless of her heavy heart.

“you’re going to be okay” you reassure. “men are stupid anyway. somebody who really liked you… would never do that to you.”

there’s a pause before billie speaks.

“you wouldn’t do that, right?” billie’s voice cracks, soft and aching. a hot tear slips down her cheek before she can stop it.

“no,” you answer almost to quickly. “I’d never.”

your words soften, your eyes locked on hers not pitying her but feeling it all like her hurt is your own. your hand doesn’t move from her hair. neither do your eyes.

then billie does something she shouldn't.

she looks down at your lips.

and stays there.

she doesn’t look away right away. she doesn’t feel the need to pretend it didn’t happen.

she takes her time and when she finally looks back up, there’s something new in her gaze. something bold, broken.

something hopeful.

your heart picks up speed the moment you register it.

but even then, your hand stays exactly where it is. your fingers still threaded gently in her hair.

you don’t look away either instead your eyes flicker down to her lips too.

and once again neither of you pretend not to notice.

your eyes stayed locked for a second too long billie doesn't look away.

and slowly , so slowly the space between you began to shrink. your breath hitched when you felt hers ghost across your lips, soft and warm and close enough to taste. her eyes flickered down again, and this time, so did yours. her lips were slightly parted, waiting. so close to yours

none of you said a word.

your hand was still resting gently in her hair, and she hadn’t moved away from your touch. her breathing changed . it began shallower, more desperate like she didn’t want to break the moment but also wanted to feel your lips on hers immediately.

she leaned in a little more.

and you leaned closer meeting her in the middle.

your noses brushed. lips hovered. a shared breath.

so close to having you.

then

voices, laughter and shuffled footsteps echoing down the hallway disturbed the moment. the girls, coming back into the room.

you both froze but not in panic. just stillness.

billie pulled back first, slowly and calmly as if she’d only leaned in to whisper something. you let your hand fall from her hair but didn’t look away.

there was no awkward laugh, no scrambling to cover it up. just calm. the moment still pulsing between you like a secret only your bodies knew.

billie looked at you.

then she smiled softly. she didn't regret it one bit.

“I should, um…” she started, but didn’t finish the sentence.

''yeah'' you nodded.

not a second later the door swung open letting in a burst of chatter and different scents as the girls filtered into the room heels clicking against the floor, bracelets jingling, energy loud contrast to the silence between you and billie.

''fucking hell it's so hot outside ” one of them groaned, fanning herself dramatically.

“right I'm out there quietly thanking god for not making my makeup melt off''

a few of them laughed, dropping bags and makeup into scattered places as they claimed their seats. billie sat back slightly giving the impression she’d been relaxing the whole time, legs crossed, posture straight but you could still feel the thumbing of your heart.

then came gina, all energy and bounce, swinging into the room like she owned it.

“are you okay? you look sick,” she asked, her chirpy voice cutting through the air as she looked right at billie.

billie didn’t answer fast enough or maybe she didn’t want to but you answered faster than anybody could register gina's intent on asking the question.

“she’s good,” you said, your tone sharp. then you smiled casually mocking her. “might just be something she’s looking at that’s making her sick.”

it was so sudden and unexpected it's like everything stilled

a few of the girls glanced over, eyes widening, unsure whether to laugh or let the silence stretch. gina blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Oookayyy,” she said, drawing the word out like a slow shield, before pretending to focus on her makeup bag.

one of the girls snorted under her breath, pretending to be too busy with her lipstick to be paying attention. the rest smiled to themselves like right after looking between the two of you like they knew what was happening.

but billie didn’t even blink instead, she looked at you.

in that second, something shifted in billie's demeanor. it was sudden and so electric. it wasn't just admiration or comfort.

it was pride.

you said it without hesitation. without looking to her for approval. you defended her like you weren’t afraid of the tension in the room, gina or jesse.

that's when billie felt it and it was terrifyingly clear than the kiss you almost shared.

she liked you more than she has realised.

not just because you were kind or safe or solid but because you stood your ground. because you saw her even at her worst and still chose to show up for her.

''well if you like tension it's your lucky day because we some more to dish up at the recoupling tonight''

the sun had dipped low by the time everyone gathered around the firepit. the atmosphere was thick, humming with nerves. tension coiled tight in every glance, every nervous fidget, every heartbeat drumming in people’s chests.

the host stood tall in-front of the cast and even though her composure is commanding and calm she was neither of those things. she had seen all the things around the villa unravel just like the viewers.

''just a reminder to let your heart lead in love'' the host said peering over the cast her eyes landing on you last.

just like that couples began forming one after the other. boys stood up claiming girls they were most compatible with. some smiles were genuine, some forced. Some hearts soared others sank quietly.

and with every new couple that was formed, the numbers of the ones left got smaller. until only three people were left standing:

billie, jesse, gina.

an unsettling silence fell over the villa.

billie could feel it in her throat that sting of possibly leaving the villa not for reasons regarding jesse anymore but you. her chest tightened as jesse stepped forward, his eyes flickering between her and gina.

you were watching it all sat besides jason. still as a statue a silent prayer going over and over in your head while your pulse was hammering like crazy.

“the girl I want to couple up with…” jesse started, swallowing hard, “…is someone I’ve gotten to know recently'' billie didn't need to hear anymore of it that was enough of a message to let her know she was going home.

''she’s made me laugh, and she’s shown me a different side of myself. I feel like there’s more to explore.”

billie’s nails dug into her palm trying to restrain herself from being emotional.

“…gina.”

gasps erupted. a few hands slapped over mouths. someone whispered “no way” under their breath.

billie didn't move and neither did you.

but when she did her head hung low her hair cascading over her shoulders and shielding her face and the tears broke free. silently.

your words from earlier “don’t let them see your hurt” echoed somewhere in the back of her mind. but she couldn’t stop it. the tears had a mind of their own, and they fell.

gina hugged jesse. the kind of hug that was too giddy for the moment.

''billie... you are now the only islander left single which unfortunately means you are at risk of being dumbed from the island ''the host cleared her throat, voice crisp

the cast shook their heads in belief of what's happening.

billie’s sobs broke through. and that was it.

that was the reason you stood up.

without hesitation.

“I know the rules say that only those not in couples can choose to recouple…” you began, voice steady.

the entire villa was silent. jason besides you looked confused he himself eyeing you.

“I want to couple up with billie, please.” you weren't telling them but you were pleaded with the hope they'd allow it.

the silence shattered.

somebody screamed ''holy shit'' and the rest followed with gasps and murmurs. someone cursed under their breath.

jason blinked in stunned silence. the girls clutched their partners wide-eyed.

but you? you never looked away from billie. even if her eyes were bloodshot because of the tears.

your voice dropped softer, meant just for her now.

“she deserves to stay. she deserves someone who actually sees her. and I don’t care if it breaks the format I’m choosing her.”

the host was stunned not knowing if she was even allowed to make her own decisions over this or if she needed a producers permission. production buzzed somewhere behind the scenes.

but in the middle of it all, billie stepped forward.

she didn’t hesitate

didn’t ask permission.

didn’t look back.

she walked straight to you, and before anyone could process what was happening before the host could recover, before the producers could whisper “cut”

billie kissed you. hard and certain. like it was the only decision that made sense.

the villa couldn't be more louder than this. most people were screaming and clapping their hands whilst jesse and jason looked like somebody knocked the wind out of their lungs.

you felt her hands on your face and your waist. the desperate need in the way she pulled you in like she’d been holding this in for days. you didn’t pull away not even close. your hands found her hips, your mouth moved with hers, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the two of you.

not the lights. not the rules. not the camera's and definitely not the people watching.

it was just you and her.

[extinctlesspains]

hiiiiii Can you do Sae byeok x fem reader Where they are best friends but act like a couple (Holding hands, kissing each others cheek and Beck, cuddleing/spooning each other, reader sitting on Sae byeoks lap, ect.) and everyone/ her parents think that you two are a couple. Thank you and have a Good Day or night

𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡? [𝐾.,𝑆𝑎𝑒-𝐵𝑦𝑒𝑜𝑘]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴀɴɢ sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʙᴇsᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ sʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴏɴᴅ ғɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴀɴᴅ-ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ, ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ ᴋɪssᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ, ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴠɪɴᴄᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, sᴀᴇ-ʙʏᴇᴏᴋ ᴋɪssᴇs ʏᴏᴜ, ʙʟᴜʀʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴡᴀʏ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴋɪssɪɴɢ

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

You and Sae-byeok had been inseparable since middle school, bound together by the shared struggles of growing up and navigating life’s unpredictability. From the moment you met, there had always been something unspoken between the two of you—an unshakeable closeness that most people would mistake for a relationship.

It was just how you were with each other.

You held hands when you walked through crowded streets, Sae-byeok’s strong grip always tugging you closer when she felt someone brush too close. She’d instinctively kiss your temple whenever she saw you stress over exams, and you’d kiss her cheek in return when she did well on something.

Sitting in her lap wasn’t unusual, either. Whenever the two of you watched movies or studied together, it was the most natural thing in the world for you to curl up against her, your arms slung lazily around her neck while she absentmindedly twirled strands of your hair around her fingers.

Her parents, who adored you like their own daughter, had long since given up trying to figure out the nature of your relationship. “You two are so cute together,” her mother would say with a fond smile as she handed you a cup of tea. “When will you finally make it official?”

You’d always laugh awkwardly, glancing at Sae-byeok to see how she reacted. But she never seemed bothered by the assumption, simply shrugging it off or teasingly resting her head on your shoulder.

But the truth was… sometimes you wished it were true.

One chilly evening, you found yourself in Sae-byeok’s room, bundled up in her bed after a long day. She’d insisted you stay over since it was too cold to walk home, and you didn’t need much convincing. The two of you had shared a bed so many times it didn’t even feel strange anymore.

Now, lying tangled together under the blankets, you felt her arm drape around your waist, her breath warm against the back of your neck. Your hand reached back to rest on hers, tracing small circles with your thumb.

“Comfy?” she asked softly, her voice low and soothing in the quiet.

“Always,” you replied, turning slightly so you could see her face. Her dark eyes looked softer in the dim light of the room, and you felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

Moments like this made you wonder.

“Sae,” you began hesitantly, “do you think… maybe everyone has a point? That we act more like a couple than just friends?”

She blinked, her expression unreadable as she tilted her head slightly. “Does it bother you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… sometimes, I wonder if I want it to be real.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, and you held your breath, worried you might’ve crossed some kind of invisible line. But then Sae-byeok shifted, her hand slipping from your waist to gently cup your cheek.

“Maybe it already is,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced as her thumb brushed against your skin. You searched her eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was the same steady calmness that had always grounded you.

And then, before you could overthink it, her lips were on yours—soft, warm, and familiar in a way that felt like coming home.

The kiss didn’t change much between you, at least not outwardly. You still held hands, kissed each other’s cheeks, and cuddled like nothing had happened. But the energy between you felt lighter now, less burdened by uncertainty.

The next time her mother teased you about being a couple, Sae-byeok’s lips twitched into a barely concealed smile, and she laced her fingers through yours.

“We’ll see,” she said simply, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

And just like that, everything and nothing had changed.

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 HYBRID ENHYPEN REACTION TO YOU BITING TOO HARD . . !

enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon hybrid au fluff suggestive-ish — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : mentions of blood, reader panics a bit — REQUESTED : yes. ☆ — enha masterlist

HEESEUNG (deer hybrid) :

Heeseung had always found your little bites amusing, endearing, even. He’d chuckle whenever you nibbled at his shoulder or playfully sank your teeth into his arm, calling you “cute” while ruffling your hair. But this time? This time was different.

It happened so fast. You hadn’t meant to bite that hard, but something about the moment, the warmth of his skin, the way he smelled, the need to feel closer, made you lose control. The second your teeth broke through, Heeseung tensed, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Ah—” His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he didn’t move. His ears twitched, body going stiff as a dull sting pulsed through his skin. Then, when you pulled away, eyes widening at the sight of blood beading up from the fresh mark, you felt a pang of guilt.

“Heeseung, I—”

His eyes flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression. There was no anger, just shock, and then… something else. Something deeper. His fingers ghosted over the bite mark, smearing a bit of the blood before his lips curled into a lopsided smile.

“Damn,” he murmured, letting out a breathy laugh. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Despite his words, there was a flicker of something animalistic in his gaze. His usual gentle aura felt different, heavier, like you had awakened something in him he hadn’t expected. His tail flicked slightly, and his ears twitched as if trying to process the strange mix of pain and… something he wasn’t sure he should admit felt good.

You swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could finish, Heeseung cupped your cheek, his touch warm despite the sharp glint in his eyes. “I know,” he reassured you, his voice softer now. Then, with a teasing grin, he leaned in just enough to brush his lips near your ear.

“But if you’re gonna bite me like that, at least warn me next time.”

JAY (black jaguar hybrid) :

Jay was usually calm and collected, but something about you always seemed to make him lose his composure, whether it was your touch, your presence, or the way you always managed to keep him on his toes. So when you bit him this time, it was like he was both surprised and… something else.

It happened when you two were tangled together, his arm wrapped around you while his other hand gently traced the line of your spine. You’d been in a playful mood, leaning into him, your teeth grazing his shoulder. But, without meaning to, you bit too hard. You felt the sharp snap of your teeth breaking through the skin, and the moment blood bloomed from the wound, you froze, wide-eyed.

Jay immediately stiffened, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to control the sudden rush of instincts coursing through him. His golden eyes locked onto the spot where you’d bitten him, his hand gently running over the mark as if to confirm it was real.

“Jeez,” he muttered, his voice dangerously low. “You really had to go and do that, huh?”

But even as he said that, there was something in his gaze, something primal, something that told you he wasn’t mad… at least, not in the way you might’ve expected. His grip on you tightened for a moment, his claws instinctively grazing your skin, not in a harmful way, but as if he was asserting control over the growing tension.

“You know how sensitive I am when it comes to touch,” Jay continued, voice now huskier as he stared at you with a mixture of amusement and something darker beneath it. “But biting me like that?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression more playful than you expected, even as he licked his lips absently.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his jaguar instincts on edge, but you also noticed the way he leaned in just slightly, the pulse of his chest quickening. “Guess I can’t say I mind it… too much,” he murmured, his voice like a low purr, barely contained.

Before you could speak, his hand cupped your jaw gently, and he kissed you with a slow intensity, as if to prove that despite the wild energy bubbling inside of him, he still controlled it. But as he pulled away, he gave you a knowing look, tail flicking behind him.

“Next time,” he whispered, “Maybe try to go a little gentler, sweetheart.”

JAKE (wolf hybrid) :

Jake had always been a bit of a tease, loving the playful moments you shared. His wolf instincts made him particularly sensitive to touch, especially when it came to you. But this time, when you bit him a little too hard, he wasn’t expecting the wave of tension that followed.

You were cuddled up on the couch, his head resting against your shoulder, his hand lazily tracing your arm. He was always so warm, and something about being this close made you feel a bit wild, the need to bite him creeping up on you. Before you could stop yourself, you pressed your teeth gently into the crook of his neck, except, you’d bitten too hard.

A sharp, surprised inhale came from him, and when you pulled away, you saw the blood starting to trickle from the mark you’d left on his skin. His body immediately tensed, and his wolf instincts kicked in, but instead of lashing out, Jake just let out a low growl, his eyes flashing yellow.

“Oi,” he said, his voice rough, but there was no anger in it. “What was that for?” He smirked, but the playful glint in his eyes was clouded by something more primal, something more possessive.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could say anything, Jake’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your lips. He was still breathing a little heavier, his senses sharpening from the bite.

“You’re lucky I like it when you’re a little wild,” he murmured, his voice lowering, the heat of the situation not lost on either of you. His wolf nature had come to the forefront, a possessive edge to it, but he wasn’t angry. Far from it. He was far too focused on the feeling that surged through him, the way your bite made him feel wanted, in a way only his instincts could understand.

Jake’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as his lips brushed over your ear. “Next time though,” he said with a teasing smile, “Maybe keep it a little softer? Or I might just bite back, hm?”

Despite the playful warning, there was a fire in his gaze that told you, in no uncertain terms, that he enjoyed the bite more than he let on.

SUNGHOON (snow leopard hybrid) :

Sunghoon’s usual composed demeanor was what drew you to him. He was calm, cool, and always in control, and it was hard not to be mesmerized by his quiet confidence. But in moments like this, when the two of you were wrapped up together, something else always seemed to bubble to the surface.

You’d been lying next to him, his arm around your waist, both of you relaxed and cozy. Sunghoon’s sleek, snow leopard features were always so alluring, his soft fur, the way his tail flicked lazily from side to side. You couldn’t help but feel the impulse to bite him, the same way you would if you were a bit more playful. Only, this time, you bit a little too hard.

The moment your teeth pierced his skin, Sunghoon’s breath hitched sharply. His normally serene expression faltered for just a split second, before a soft growl escaped him. His amber eyes darkened, focusing on the mark you’d left, blood slowly trickling down his neck.

“Did you… just bite me?” His voice was low, a mix of surprise and something else, something you couldn’t quite place. The air seemed to grow heavier, his muscles tensing beneath you. Sunghoon’s instincts as a snow leopard were sharp, and even though he wasn’t angry, he could feel the primal urge surging within him.

He didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he gently cupped your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin. “I didn’t think you’d be this bold,” he murmured, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes glinted with something darker now, his leopard side coming forward just a little.

His tail flicked behind him, moving with an almost predatory grace. “You really think you can mark me like that and just get away with it?” His voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable edge to it. The tension was thick, but his hand never left your face. If anything, he pulled you in closer, the heat between you two intensifying.

“Don’t worry,” Sunghoon whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his breath warmed your skin. “I’m not angry. But you’ve definitely got my attention now. I might just have to make sure you don’t do it again… or maybe, I’ll let you.”

His teasing tone mixed with the intensity in his gaze as his tail flicked once more. You could feel his body humming with energy, a quiet, controlled desire now unmistakable in his touch. “But next time,” he added with a sly smile, “Let’s make it a little less… aggressive.”

It wasn’t a warning, not exactly, but it was clear that Sunghoon was enjoying the attention. The bite had awakened something deep within him, and you could tell that, despite his usual composure, he was more than willing to indulge in the heightened tension that had sparked between you two.

SUNOO (fox hybrid) :

Sunoo was always playful, his fox-like nature often causing him to be cheeky and mischievous. He was quick to laugh, to tease, and his soft yet sly demeanor made him incredibly endearing. However, like the clever fox he was, Sunoo could be sensitive to touch, especially when you got too close or, in this case, when your playful bite turned a bit too intense.

You had been teasing him all evening, your hands finding their way to his neck as you rested against him. He was looking at you with that familiar mischievous grin, his fox ears twitching with every word you said. As you leaned in closer, feeling a sudden surge of affection (and maybe something more), you couldn’t help yourself, nipping at his neck in a playful bite.

But this time, you bit a bit harder than usual, and before you could pull away, you heard Sunoo’s breath catch in surprise. His body froze, and you could feel the slight shift in his mood. When you pulled back, you saw the small bloodstain on his neck where you had left your mark, and his expression went from playful to something a little more serious, yet still somehow teasing.

Sunoo’s eyes, golden and sharp like the fox within him, narrowed as he gazed at you. His tail flicked behind him, a quick swish betraying his fox-like reflexes. “You didn’t just bite me like that, did you?” His voice was low but playful, as if trying to hide the real effect the bite had on him. His usual teasing demeanor had a new edge to it.

You felt a strange mix of regret and curiosity at how he was reacting. Sunoo wasn’t the type to get easily upset, but the mark you’d left was definitely a little more intense than he had expected.

He leaned closer to you, his hands gently taking your shoulders and pulling you in with a soft, controlled force. “I didn’t think you’d be this bold,” he purred with a grin, his lips brushing against your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, and his fox ears twitched once more as his playful side resurfaced.

“You know,” Sunoo whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “this is the part where I’m supposed to be mad, but I kind of like it.” His tail curled around your waist, the soft fur tickling your side as his gaze softened. “Though next time, maybe… don’t draw blood, yeah?” He added, giving you a playful nudge with his nose.

It was clear he was enjoying the tension, but his fox side was also reminding him to keep things playful. “But don’t get too used to it,” he teased, his tail flicking again. “If you keep biting me like that, I might just have to bite back.”

Sunoo was no stranger to a little mischief, and though he wasn’t used to this kind of intensity from you, he liked the playful shift in your relationship. After all, he was a fox hybrid, and everything had to be a little fun, even if it meant a bit of blood.

JUNGWON (panther hybrid) :

Jungwon, ever the composed and calm panther hybrid, had always prided himself on his self-control and his ability to remain cool under any situation. His movements were always graceful and measured, his eyes sharp, watching the world around him with a sense of quiet vigilance. But despite his usually collected demeanor, there was a part of him that couldn’t resist the urge to let loose when you were close, especially when you were playful and affectionate.

It started as it always did, gentle teasing, playful touches, and quiet moments where his presence felt like the calm center of your world. But today, something about his closeness, the way he’d leaned in just a little too much as you ran your hands through his hair, had you feeling bold, and before you could stop yourself, your teeth sank into his neck.

At first, Jungwon didn’t react. His panther instincts were sharp, and though he was surprised by the sudden bite, he held his position. But when you pulled away and saw the small trickle of blood where your teeth had left their mark, a soft growl escaped from him. His golden eyes gleamed with something a little darker, and his sharp, pointed canines flashed in response.

“darling…” His voice was low, tinged with something between amusement and warning. He reached a hand up to touch the mark, his thumb brushing the blood before looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You bit me hard. I didn’t expect that from you.”

You could tell he wasn’t angry, more surprised than anything, but there was something in his gaze that said otherwise. Jungwon, the usually gentle and reserved panther, was feeling something new, something that stirred deep inside him. His eyes flicked to your lips, and then back to the bite mark, and his body seemed to grow even more still, almost predatory in its focus.

“Panther hybrids don’t take well to being bitten like that,” he murmured, stepping closer to you. “You should know that.” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension now, as if he were calculating his next move.

Your heart raced as his fingers gently brushed your cheek. The contrast between his usual calmness and the tension in the air sent a shiver down your spine. “You didn’t think that would go unnoticed, did you?” Jungwon added, his lips curling into a small, teasing smile that didn’t quite match the predatory gleam in his eyes.

Before you could respond, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re lucky,” he whispered, his hand now resting on your waist, pulling you just slightly closer. “That I’m not the kind of panther to lash out in anger… but next time,” he added, his voice darkening just slightly, “you’ll have to be careful. I might just bite back.”

Jungwon’s playfulness returned in the form of a soft, almost smug smirk, but his eyes, still holding that glint of something dangerous, told a different story. He wasn’t mad, not in the slightest. He was intrigued. Maybe even a little pleased by how much control you had over him without realizing it.

He stepped back, his expression softening again. “But I’ll let it slide for now,” he said, his voice returning to its usual smooth, measured tone. “Just remember, panthers don’t forget easily.”

And with that, the tension broke, leaving you to wonder just how much the calm Jungwon really was hiding beneath the surface.

NIKI (tiger hybrid) :

Niki was usually the playful one, teasing you with his infectious grin and boundless energy. But as a tiger hybrid, he was also fiercely protective, with an intense and prideful side that surfaced when his instincts were triggered. He could usually hold his emotions in check, especially when it came to you, but sometimes… things just got a little out of hand.

It happened one afternoon when you were lounging together, lazily enjoying each other’s company. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of background noise, and Niki had gotten a little too close, his lips brushing against your neck in the most casual way, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It felt so natural, so comforting, that when you leaned into him a little too much, an instinctual urge took over. Before either of you knew it, your teeth sank into the side of his neck, just a little too hard.

At first, Niki froze, his breath hitching in surprise as he felt the sharp sting. His golden tiger eyes locked onto yours, pupils dilated in confusion. The blood began to bead at the puncture marks, and the sensation seemed to trigger something primal within him.

“Niki… I’m sorry,” you muttered, pulling away, immediately feeling guilty. But when you looked up at him, expecting him to pull away in discomfort, you found something completely different.

Niki’s expression shifted, a soft growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes darkened just slightly, his usual playfulness replaced by a look of quiet intensity. “You bit me,” he said, his voice lower than usual, laced with that underlying tension.

You could feel the air change, charged with an electric current. Niki’s hand shot up, touching the mark, his fingers brushing over the bloodied spot before his gaze flickered back to you. His usual playful nature was buried under the surface, replaced by something deeper, something instinctual. The tiger inside him had awakened, and he wasn’t going to let it slide so easily.

“You know,” he began, voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and something more heated, “tigers don’t just forget when we’re marked like that.” He stepped closer, his posture shifting, his body more rigid now, predatory in its focus. His gaze never left yours, and the way he moved was full of slow, calculated intent.

Your heart raced, not sure whether to apologize again or just let him take the lead. The tension between you two thickened, and there was a slight growl in the back of his throat, a clear sign that his instincts were fully awakened.

He leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear. “Next time you decide to mark me,” he whispered, his voice low and playful, but with an edge of something darker, “you better be ready for what happens after.”

Niki pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, that mischievous smirk of his returning slowly. “But for now,” he added, his tone teasing once more, “I guess I can let it slide. You might’ve left a mark, but I’ll leave one on you next time.” He gave you a wink, still holding that tinge of predatory confidence.

You shivered slightly, caught between both the heat of the moment and the lightheartedness that Niki always brought with him. It was clear that his tiger instincts had come into play, and though his playful side returned, you knew you’d have to be careful next time.

But one thing was certain: Niki wasn’t going to let you forget this little mark, not anytime soon.

Word count : 3300 serapharua, 2025.

[neumond-alte-sonne]

Vi x masc/butch!reader

+18

The party pulsed around—bass reverberating through the floor, voices tangled in the air and glasses clinking in the background. The lights were low, slipping over skin and sweat, catching on the edges of glass and collarbones.

But Vi wasn’t in it. Not really.

She stood near the hallway with a drink in her hand, half-listening to something Ekko was saying. Her eyes, though, were locked across the room—on you.

You, who leaned against the wall dressed in a black button-up, sleeves cuffed, a few undone buttons teasing a silver chain and just enough skin to make Vi ache. You looked calm but your gaze was all fire.

It burned through the crowd, locked on Vi intensely, ignoring anyone else who got in the way.

That stare—slow, consuming and undressing—dragged over Vi like a hand. Your gaze traced the slope of her neck, lingered on the open line of her shirt, where the fabric parted just enough to reveal the edge of the tape across her chest. Heat curled low, and when your eyes finally met the entire party fell away.

Vi tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a subtle dare. She tipped her drink up, took a slow sip, and began to walk.

As she passed you, she let her fingers drift across the back of your hand—nothing obvious. A whisper of contact but it landed like a lightning strike.

You froze just for a second. Then you handed your beer off mid-conversation without looking, muttered something that didn’t matter, and followed.

Vi was already slipping into a quiet, empty room, the door left just ajar. She leaned back against a table, bathed in shadows, hips tilted just enough—waiting, wanting. You stepped in a moment later and closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch sealing the heat between you.

The air snapped tight. In two strides, you were on her—fisting her shirt, yanking her close. Her mouth met yours halfway, all hunger and heat that had waited too long. You kissed her hard, fast—like restraint had never existed. Your mouths crashed together, open, slick and desperate. Vi groaned against you, clutching your back, dragging you closer like she needed you under her skin.

Your bodies collided—hips grinding, instinctive and urgent. You pushed Vi back against the wall, stepped between her legs, and kissed her like you owned every breath she took.

Your hands slid beneath Vi’s shirt, fingertips tracing the heat of firm muscle, slow and claiming. You weren’t searching for space—you were chasing more.

Vi gasped your name as your lips trailed down her jaw, tongue finding the soft, sensitive skin of her throat. Her head fell back with a sharp breath, offering more without a word.

Your hand caught her bicep, spinning her effortlessly to face the wall. Vi let out a low, breathless laugh, glancing back at you over her shoulder—eyes gleaming and daring.

You pulled her in by the waist, pressing her back flush against your body. Leaning in, you kissed just beneath her ear—soft and deliberate—while your hand slid down her body, finding its way to her aching heat. Vi bit her lip as your fingers slipped beneath her boxers, discovering the slick warmth waiting for you. You stroked her slow and deep, and she trembled in your arms, her mouth falling open on a quiet, gasping moan.

Your fingers found her swollen clit, circling it in tight, deliberate strokes that pulled a low moan from deep in her throat. You smirked against her neck, savoring the sound, then pressed your lips to the ink on her neck and sucked gently—possessive, claiming.

You let out a low hum as one finger slipped inside her, and Vi gasped softly, her body tightening around you. She leaned forward, forehead resting against her forearm, eyes fluttering shut. One hand slid back to grip your thigh—tight, anchoring—like she needed something to hold onto.

You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring how drenched she was—how her body welcomed every push. The wet sound of it, the heat, the way she clenched around you—it had your head spinning. A soft, filthy whimper escaped you as you imagined getting on your knees and tasting all of it straight from her pussy, just tasting her on your tongue.

A string of low, broken moans spilled from Vi’s lips, each one pushing you deeper into your need. You pressed your body tighter against hers, breath hot on her skin—your fingers thrusting into her, chasing the way she trembled for you.

You curled your fingers deep inside her and she cursed—legs already trembling beneath your touch. You didn’t let up. You kept that rhythm: stroking in slow, hard thrusts, then curling your fingers just right, over and over again. Each time, her body clenched tighter around you, like she was trying to pull you even deeper.

You felt her getting close, her body tightening and breath hitching—you brought your mouth to her ear, voice a rough whisper: "Do not cum until I say so."

Vi growled, "Fuck, I can't—"

"You can, handsome…" you murmured, voice low and coaxing. She instinctively started to pull away, trying to fight the orgasm building in her core—but you caught her, hand firm on her hip, holding her right where you wanted.

“Don’t run from it,” you whispered, lips brushing her ear. “Be good for me… please.”

Vi obeyed—because she knew you’d give her permission if she earned it. But the moment your free hand slid up her chest and wrapped gently around her throat, her resolve began to crack. She arched instinctively, and just then, your fingers sank deeper, hitting a spot that made her gasp.

It was enough to break her.

Almost.

She let out a low, guttural groan, body trembling, teeth clenched as she fought the orgasm clawing at her. You felt it—all that tension, all that need—and your smile turned wicked.

You drove your fingers faster, the pace relentless, then slid a third finger inside her—stretching her open as her legs started to shake beneath the pressure. She was unraveling, and you were giving her exactly what she couldn’t ask for yet.

She exhaled your name—strained, breathless, laced with frustration and raw need. It was almost a plea barely held back, as if the words 'please let me cum' were trembling on the edge of her tongue.

Instead, you hooked your leg between hers, nudging one thigh aside to spread her open even more. She gasped, and you took full advantage—pressing slow, burning kisses down the side of her neck, your breath heavy against her skin, heat coiling low in your belly like it was ready to snap.

She let out a sharp, frustrated moan—but you didn’t ease up. You drove into her harder, deeper, your fingers soaked with how much she needed you. Her slick heat coated your hand, her soft bush brushing your wrist with every thrust. The pressure built fast and merciless, ripping moans from her throat with each movement. Her body was trembling, overwhelmed, and as the pleasure surged higher, warm tears gathered at the corners of her eyes—too much, too good, and still not enough.

Satisfied with how beautifully wrecked Vi was—shaking, breathless and on the edge—you finally leaned in, voice low and full of heat. “Let go for me, baby… come.”

Vi gasped—loud and raw—as she came hard, body bucking beneath you. Moans spilled from her parted lips, tangled with deep, guttural growls. She clenched tight around your fingers, then trembled, completely undone. You held her through it, firm and steady, anchoring her as she shattered in your hands.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid, desperate breaths as she struggled to steady herself, still reeling. Her body stayed frozen in place, legs trembling, too weak and tingling to move—like even shifting might break the last thread holding her together.

Vi whimpered softly as you slipped your fingers out of her, her body twitching at the loss. Gently, you guided her upright, hands steady on her hips. You smoothed your palm over her tousled hair, then pressed a tender kiss to the nape of her neck—slow, grounding, laced with quiet affection.

“Hey… you okay? I didn’t go too far, did I?” you murmured, concern threading through your voice as you wrapped your arms around her—protective and grounding, holding her close like she was something you needed to keep safe.

Vi slumped back against you, breathless—her laugh soft, shaky, still wrapped in the haze of afterglow. “I’m more than okay…” she murmured, voice dazed and warm against your skin.

You let out a soft chuckle, nuzzling into the curve of her neck, breathing her in as your arms tightened gently around her.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

[tanobatcher]

heyyy!! I have a request for hunter x fem!reader. i'd love something sort of soft and domestic, taking place after the bad batch finale where they've settled down on pabu together. hunter's just gotten out of the shower, and reader is already in bed waiting for him. but when he walks in the room, all relaxed and shirtless with his curls still wet (literally screaming rn just thinking of it), and she can like absolutely not look at him. like, she knows if she makes eye contact she'll go into full flustered mode. Blushing, giggling, kicking her feet type of feel. she just adores how he looks like that, and it's honestly unfair how gorgeous he is 🥲. it'd also be cute if Hunter notices she's acting weird and he gently teases her about it and she tries (but totally fails) to keep it cool. just something fluffy and intimate, with warm vibes, soft teasing, and maybe a kiss or two at the end? thank you!! 💛

this had me blushing, giggling, and kicking my feet too ehehe hope u enjoy and ty for this <3 apologies for the delay, i had such a busy week!!

shower thoughts

hunter x fem reader summary: your nerves are hard to handle during a cozy night in with hunter. warnings: none!! a/n: i'm ngl i always listen to lana del rey while writing him

Hunter’s helmet is a lot heavier than you expected. It doesn’t fit quite well in your hands, too large and bulky for the right grip. Still, your fingers try to follow the lines crossing the dark, worn-out plastoid like veins devoid of blood. You haven’t asked him much about where he comes from—the life he’s escaped from—and you’re not sure if you can handle the answer. Maybe one day, when the days have long been spent on Pabu as time heals old wounds, he’ll speak. And you’ll listen.

The faint sound of running water from the next room over trickles into a tapping rhythm, stirring your attention from your queries. Within a few minutes that aren’t enough to let you catch your breath, the bedroom door opens slowly but steadily. Your instinct is to look up and smile, happy that he’s returned to your company. But that expression quickly fades when you drink in his presence—his appearance—just everything that he is.

He’s standing tall in nothing but loose sleeping pants hung low around his waist, about to step inside as he pushes some wet hair out of his face with a calloused hand. If he notices that you’re frozen and staring, he doesn’t say anything until he crosses the distance toward his bed, where you’re comfortably tangled in his sheets. A burning flush stings your face, becoming an itch that can’t be scratched with mere fingernails. Quickly averting your gaze from him, you stare into the black visors of his helmet and hear your heartbeat pound even louder when he asks, “What do you have there?”

“I was just looking,” you explain apologetically, “You left your case open, so…”

He’s in front of you now, looming over your figure as if waiting for you to meet his eyes. When you don’t, he simply takes the helmet from your lap and turns around to put this old relic away. You catch sight of some water droplets clinging to his bare skin as he crouches before tugging out a large case from a corner that has already started to collect dust. His back is turned to you, flexing with his movements. You watch his arms open up the top, feeling even more at risk of embarrassing yourself with every rippling evidence of his perfection.

“Um…I’m sorry,” you begin rambling, cringing at how nervous you sound, “I didn’t mean to go through your stuff like that. I was just curious…I’ve never seen something like this up close before…”

He takes a moment to observe the contents of this case—the rest of his armor—before shutting the top with a definitive click. “Don’t apologize.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine, only heightening the butterflies giggling and spiraling in your stomach. It’s like they’re echoing through your insides, distracting you from his next question.

“Sorry—what was that?” You laugh quietly, tucking your knees under your chin as he stands and steps closer to you again, “I wasn’t—I didn’t hear you.”

He cocks his head to the side a bit, staring you down with an amused smile. “I asked if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh…yeah,” you answer, “I was just tired before.”

“What about now?” He steps even closer, and his eyes flick between your face and your legs as you tighten your body together, “Still tired?”

“No!” You respond in an effort to sound normal, but it only comes across as more panicked.

He chuckles under his breath and brings the back of his hand toward your forehead. You’re about to exhale a breath until he slides his touch down to your cheeks, skimming across your jawline like he’s teasing you.

“You’re a little warm,” he points out as his hand retreats.

“It’s warm in here,” is all you can squeak out when you realize you’re at eye level with his abdomen. You feel as if he’s waiting for the right moment to pounce, drawing out your nerves just to consume them.

“Yeah?” He considers your response, “I can—”

“Are you going to put a shirt on?” you blurt out.

His head snaps in your direction, clearly surprised, but all that’s written on his face is something too mischievous for your comfort. He leans over the bed, over you, planting both hands around your body as he cages you into an inescapable position. It’s slow but deliberate, letting the tips of your noses touch for a fleeting second that leaves you breathless.

“Why?” He studies you closely, tilting his head.

You don’t speak, afraid the stammers bubbling behind your lips will slip out.

“I’m not…” he leans forward, “…making you uncomfortable, am I?”

His lips brush over yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You swallow the lump in your throat and try to level your expression, wanting to appear as unbothered as him. It’s not easy, though. Not when it’s him.

“No,” you whisper unconvincingly.

“You sure?” He lowers his mouth to your jawline, and you melt despite how lightly he kisses you there. Your hands tentatively squeeze his upper arms, hoping to use him for stability even though he’s the reason you feel like you’re floating off the ground.

“No,” you say again.

He laughs and climbs into bed, rolling you on top of him so that you’re chest to chest in his arms. The change is so sudden that you squeal a little, and your following laugh meshes with his behind the doors you wish could stay closed forever. Being here with him is the bliss you’ve been searching for your whole life, and little do you know that he just might feel the same. Thinking about this only warms your insides even more, though. You suddenly bury your face in his chest, unable to control the humiliating blush that can’t seem to go away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “Look at me.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you slip away from his embrace and turn over onto your side, away from him.

“What’s wrong?” He questions through a slight chuckle that tells you he knows exactly what’s wrong. His hand slides up your torso, tugging so that you’ll turn back around. You’re fully aware that he can just make you, but he doesn’t.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

“Then come here,” he insists.

“I am here.”

He sighs, and the conversation pauses for a moment that makes you believe he might just let you off the hook for this one. You’re proven wrong when he moves over you, now face to face, as he pulls you into him. You shift under the covers a little more, hiding slightly despite throwing your leg over his side. And even though you haven’t mustered the courage to look him in the eye again, you simply breathe in the fact that you’re just holding each other through your wild nerves. His arms feel so strong, so right when they’re around you. This truth only brings a smile to your lips, which he unsurprisingly catches.

“Something funny?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Is that the only thing you’re going to say to me?”

Your smile widens. “No?”

He rolls his eyes before setting his jaw, both expressions of exasperation that you’ve seen many times before. What’s unpredictable, though, is the moment he leans forward and kisses you slowly. Your body molds further into his as you push your hands through his hair, still damp and heavy from his shower. It’s also soft like his lips, reminding you that he’s your warmest source of comfort above anything else. Your faces are still pressed together when he pulls away with hardly any distance, just enough to tell you, “Relax. I won’t bite.”

You blush and press your thumb into his bottom lip. “Sure you won’t.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

He takes your hand and drapes it across his hair again, like a telling sign he wants you to keep touching him there. So you do, running your fingers back and forth while occasionally applying a little more pressure to your nails. His eyes flutter shut, calming his expression, other than the small smile that remains attached to the mouth that just kissed you. It’s like you’re given some more space to breathe now that you’re looking at him without his returning stare. Exhaling softly, your hand travels downward and caresses the side of his tattoo. The angular ridge of his cheekbones. The faded scars through his stubble. You touch it all so gently that he feels safe enough to fall asleep, which you believe he is, until he murmurs something under his breath. Leaning closer, you hear him say, “I want you in my bed every night. Can you do that for me?”

An excited flare brings a quiet laugh to your response. “Only if you ask nicely.”

He grins with his eyes still closed and turns so that he’s lying on his back now, bringing you with him toward his chest. You hear his heartbeat against your ear, and you can’t help but press your face into him even more to hear it louder. To feel it closer.

“That was me asking nicely,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“I figured,” you yawn, settling yourself in his arms, “But yeah. I can do that for you.”

He reaches for your jaw, caressing it lightly as he replies, “I’m glad.”

You hardly notice that the tumultuous butterflies in your stomach have calmed to a silent pause, replaced with a comfortable serenity you wouldn’t trade for the world. Your pulse still quickens when he touches you, but you’re not nearly as nervous as you were before. It happened much faster than you could perceive. Or, maybe, it was so slow that you missed the way this homely feeling snuck into your heart like a child tiptoeing through a sleeping household. Exhilarating, but quiet. You like that, just as you like him. The light shuts off, and his room darkens as you drop a kiss to his chest right above his heartbeat before smoothing over the same spot with your palm.

“Me too.”

[paucubarsisimp]

Pablo gavi x ana pelayo x reader poly headcanons relationship

𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 & 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨…

➳ constantly fight over who gets to hold your hand — until they both give up and just hold you instead

➳ leave you little notes around the apartment — pablo’s are messy and chaotic (“drink water dummy 🤍”), ana’s are neat and soft (“thinking of you always.”)

➳ take turns brushing your hair after a shower — pablo gets distracted and kisses your shoulder every two seconds, ana’s focused but always whispers “you’re so beautiful” like it’s a secret

➳ get ridiculously competitive over who spoils you more

“i got her flowers today.” “well, i bought her pastries and ran her bath, sooo.” (you just sit there loving the chaos)

➳ facetime you together when you’re away — ana all calm and glowing on screen, pablo interrupting every two minutes like “wait wait show her your outfit again, you looked so hot in that lighting”

➳ take you shopping and make it a full event — ana picks cute pieces, pablo brings the wild stuff

“you’d look insane in this, try it on for us.” “you look good in everything,” ana adds, smirking over her shoulder

➳ keep photos of you saved in secret folders on their phones — pablo’s are goofy candids, ana’s are soft moments where you’re not even looking at the camera

➳ light up every single time you walk into a room — like their eyes find you first, no matter who else is there

➳ argue over who you cuddle with at night until you end up smooshed between them, warm and sleepy, pablo kissing your temple, ana rubbing circles into your back

➳ show up to your bad days ready — pablo with snacks and bad jokes, ana with a blanket, a playlist, and calm

“you don’t need to talk. just stay here.”

➳ post you constantly — pablo’s stories are all caps and chaos: “GUAPAAA 🥰😍,” while ana’s are soft pics with no captions, just a red heart

➳ hold you like the world could end and they’d still be enough as long as you were in their arms

small little fluffy imagine

the sun was just beginning to rise, slipping through the curtains in pale gold streaks that danced across the duvet. the world was quiet — not silent, just still — as if it knew better than to disturb this kind of peace.

your body was tucked between them, legs tangled under warm sheets, skin bare but covered in a softness that had nothing to do with clothes.

ana was the first to stir, though she didn’t move much — just shifted closer, her nose brushing your shoulder, her hand sliding sleepily over your waist. her breath was warm on your skin, her voice barely a whisper.

“still sleeping, corazón?”

you made a soft noise, not quite a yes, not quite a no. just content.

pablo groaned behind you, arms tightening instinctively around your middle. “shhh,” he muttered, voice rough and low with sleep. “too early.”

ana giggled softly against your skin, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “you’re both so dramatic.”

“only ‘cause you’re warm,” pablo mumbled, nuzzling into the back of your neck. “and soft. and perfect. and mine.”

“ours,” ana corrected gently, brushing her thumb along your hip.

“ours,” he echoed, quieter this time.

you let out a quiet sigh, letting yourself melt into it — into them. pablo’s hand on your waist. ana’s fingers trailing lazy lines along your ribs. the weight of their love wrapping around you like a second blanket.

none of you said much after that.

you didn’t need to.

ana kissed the top of your spine once, twice. pablo pressed little kisses into your neck until he fell asleep again, mouth open against your skin. the sheets shifted with every breath, but no one moved.

outside, the city was waking up.

but in here, it was just you, tangled in warmth, wrapped in two kinds of love: ana’s quiet devotion. pablo’s loud affection. and your own soft sighs as the sun filled the room, and you let yourself belong to the both of them completely.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[steviebunny]

5. No Greater Tragedy

Paris

The Rusalka’s instinct was to pull away…to retreat into the safety of solitude. But with these two, that instinct warred with something else.

“Hope is a dangerous thing,” she whispered, more to herself than them.

“And yet,” Louis murmured, stepping even closer, “it’s the only thing that’s kept us both alive this long.”

Her resolve faltered. His touch was gentle, his gaze filled with an understanding that unnerved her. And before she could stop herself, she leaned into him.

Their lips met, soft at first—a meeting of breath and hesitation. But as the tension dissolved, the kiss deepened, her body molding against his as if it had always belonged there.

But in the pit of her stomach, something twisted…This is a mistake, and yet she could not convince herself to pull away. Once again she had fallen.

Faster than she knew she was in the arms of two vampires sped away to their bed far from the alley in which the three of them stood moments ago “We can prove to you there is power in giving in darling, all you must do is allow yourself to lean into it.” Armand's takes a place behind her- a hand curling into her hair pulling her back into himself- gently splaying her open for Louis to command…his other hand dips down to the edge of her costume pulling up the edges as Louis snarls, fangs descending with desire. He pulls at Armand sandwiching Rusalka between them he and Armand connect in a fit of passion.

Mouths warring with each other as they pull the cloth separating the three of them away.

He crouched before her, his touch reverent as he traced the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up so their eyes met.

“Let go,” he whispered.

And her resolve cracked.

The next kiss that followed was anything but gentle a plea and promise all at once. Louis’s mouth was warm, his fangs barely grazing her lips, teasing without drawing blood. But behind her, Armand’s presence was a constant reminder of the danger she was inviting.

She felt him move—his body tightening his hold against her from behind, His fangs ghosted along the column of her neck, her skin tingling with anticipation.

You’re trembling for your Maître, Ma crevette (French speakers don't judge me there were no good nicknames for fish),” Armand murmured, as his lips dragged down her neck, lingering where her pulse fluttered. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Good.”

Louis’s hands were not as patient as Armand’s. His fingers tugged at the fabric, pulling it away from her body with a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. The sound sent a thrill through her veins, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

The warm air kissed her exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the cooling sensation of the two vampires surrounding her.

Armand’s fingers found the bare skin of her thighs, pushing the fabric higher, bunching it around her hips. “So eager,” he murmured against her ear, his tone laced with amusement as his hand explored further.

Pushing along her spine, he traced the curve as they repositioned themselves, the rusalka's face now pressed to the fabric of Louis's underclothes her eyes met him as the feel of Armand's hands kept traveling across her skin. As she began to mouth at Louis her fate was sealed together they shall stay… the feral look in each of their eyes only lighting the pleasure that would be associated with the rest of the evening.

----

Brought awake as the morning hours crept in the Rusalka rose from her tangled position between the vampires… Claudia’s coffin was still open she had remained with the coven. The room was quiet now, the weight of their shared hunger had long since dissipated into the stillness and the soreness in her body for once was from something other than athleticism.

Looking over the two men as she picked from a mix of clothes in the apartment, a blouse of Claudia's that would be too tight across her chest, Armand's trousers in a loose fit, and a button-up of Louis to put together something wearable to a lecture hall. Staring at the mess of sheets and tussled hair her heart squeezed in a way she had long since forgotten- there was no going back now.

She would need to get going before she’d be late. As the woman tamed her hair from the evening rendezvous she suddenly felt a huff of air against the back of her neck. Sharply turning she was shocked to see Armand awake leaning up against his elbows, don't vampires sleep through the day.

“Abandoning us already?”

“We had an agreement, didn’t we? I’ll be back at the theater at sundown.”

Armand raises a hand to the rusalka, she places her own against his palm allowing him to pull her back down against his chest. He raises her wrist to his mouth, biting down into her arm the pleasure that comes from the action is inconceivable as the Vampire removes his fangs he licks up the wound healing it their gaze never disconnects.

“You’ll return,” he whispers into her pulse point

“I will.” she swears back.

He allows her to rise. Rusalka straightens herself up for the final time, making her way to the door. She looks over her shoulder before leaving. Armand has pulled himself back into Louis. Their arms now surround each other as the American continues his rest. A gimmer in Armand's eye is the last thing she sees before shutting the door. She’s sealed her fate…and she needs to get to class.

---

Dubai

Louis and Armand lingered on either side of her, Louis’s hand rested on her thigh, a grounding touch, and Armand’s gaze remained unreadable.

“Paris,” Daniel said leaning forward. “Youessentially said everything with the coven was a farce.” His gaze flickered toward Louis before returning to her. “... was that really true? Even after the two of them?”

The Rusalka’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers clenched slightly, knuckles tightening. A crack in her constructed mask.

“You speak as if I had a choice,” she said , her tone flat. “Survival isn’t a game, Daniel. It’s something instinctual. When you’ve been living on the edge of a blade for so many years... sometimes, you confuse survival with something else.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed. “Something else?”

Her gaze drifted toward the window. “Hope,” echoing her own words from that night. And hope is something that can be dangerous,” she said almost to herself. Louis, watched her with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable but his grip on her thigh tightening just enough for her to notice.

“But you gave in,” Daniel pressed gently, “To them.”.

“I did.” 

“And after?”

“There was a great bit of time after…we were kind of like a family, the coven, Claudia, Us. Until I learned some things I found more than upsetting there was a time where I thought loving them was a mistake.” She said as she glanced back over to Louis. “That took a bit of reckoning but that part is yours to tell.” She brought Louis’s hand up from her leg offering it a kiss before sharing a look with Armand. 

Louis hadn’t spoken through most of this section of the interview, as her words settled over the room, he leaned just for her to feel his presence more.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Louis told Daniel, his voice steady.

“No?” she asked softly.

Louis’s jaw clenched, but his voice remained gentle. “No.”

Her gaze shifted to Armand, who had been watching but his eyes betrayed the emotion he fought so hard to conceal.

“Do you regret it?” Daniel asked the weight of his question was palpable.

The Rusalka’s breath caught in her throat.

“Never.”

[chrattenthusiast]

hii can u do a smut femxmatt fic where they meet at a party and they like are kinda drunk and matt’s really flirty and touchy and they just end up fucking!! ty!!!

AN: yes but with a slight twist hope you aren't mad at me ;/ (This was inspired by a fanfic i read a while back, but i added a lil sprinkle) this is gonna be the last angsty smut I write for a while!!! the world is healing yay.

warnings: slightly rougher smut, alcohol, slightly toxic matt, not proofread, longish

AFTERPARTY - Matt sturniolo

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Entering the house, you found it filled with a thick haze of smoke, and intoxicated individuals occupied every corner. Taking it all in, you absorbed the chaotic atmosphere of the house party.

You spot the drinks lined up on the kitchen counter smiling instantly, your face lit up with anticipation as you instinctively reached for two shot glasses, intending to share the experience with your friend. Carefully, you poured the potent liquid into the glasses, aware of the complex emotions it always evoked within you - a simultaneous blend of affection and unease.

Taking a swig of the shot, a wince breaks across your face as you taste the acrid burn. Your friend, mirrors your grimace. Yet, undeterred by the bitter flavor, they reach for the bottle, repeating the action twice.

The room erupts with loud cheers from the other end of the house, where a spirited game of beer pong is in full swing. You see the excitement in your friend's eyes, knowing just how competitive she is. Urging her to join in, it takes a little convincing, but you assure her that you'll be perfectly fine on your own.

You take a moment to observe your surroundings in the house after pouring yourself a generous serving of alcohol. You make a deliberate choice not to mix it with anything, recognizing that doing so might result in an unsightly aftermath the next day.

Your phone buzzes, and with a sense of urgency, you swiftly reach for it. As your eyes scan the text message and the identity of the sender, your eyebrows knit together in a perplexed expression.

Matthew: you look so good, but you should slow down.

The text message verified the sensation of being watched. Instantly, your eyes scanned the surroundings, desperately seeking the presence that had captured your attention. Instantly locking eyes with him, you found him in the midst of individuals with whom you had limited conversations with. His gaze lowered as he held a drink cradled in his hand. You observed him while his eyes traced every contour of your body. Gradually, he raised the cup to his lips, taking a sip, his gaze remained fixed on your face.

The agreement between both of you was to keep things uncomplicated, though you disliked deceiving the ones you cared about, but deep down, you cherished the moments alone with him, away from others imposing their opinions on your 'relationship.'

He thought differently however, he wasn't planning on telling anyone about the two of you- although he was close to telling his two brothers about it- he liked the arrangement between the two of you, sneaking around, but mostly he wanted to 'protect your peace', away from his world of a sane but crazy fan base- he loved how the both of you pretend to not know of each other in public. but in private you were his, the same girl that always found yourself tangled under him

The sudden awareness loomed, casting a shadow over the quickly consumed alcohol's impact, and a wave of jealousy welled up inside. It bothered you that he seemed calm and indifferent, apparently unaffected by your need to be near him all the time. As usual, you pushed these emotions down, steering clear of further complicating the already complex situation. Yet, despite your efforts, the persistent realization lingered that this arrangement might not end well. In hindsight, you recognized that you should have probably considered the options before agreeing to such an arrangement.

Taking a sharp breath, you tucked your phone back into the waistband of your skirt, purposefully ignoring his text. Opting for a rapid consumption of a mix of assorted alcoholic drinks, you winced at the disagreeable taste. Turning your focus to the right, you caught sight of a guy in your peripheral vision. It took a moment to recognize his face.

"Hi," he greeted the instant he realized your gaze had landed on him.

"Hey," you replied, aiming to keep the conversation brief while maintaining a sense of respect.

And, of course, Matt observed from a distance. Despite once being enthusiastically engaged in the conversation,He now leaned back, adopting a manspreading position nodding as though still interested in the ongoing discussion. However, there was a noticeable tightening of his grip on his phone.

You nodded your head, forcing a smile at the guy, giving the appearance of genuine interest in his conversation. However, deep down, all you craved for was to escape the confines of the house, retreat to your bed, and wallow in the misery of your self-destruction. The weight of how you'd once again managed to sabotage everything for yourself loomed heavily on your mind.

Your attention shifted to your friend, and you couldn't help but notice the wide smile on her face. It seemed she was genuinely pleased to see you stepping outside your comfort zone and engaging in a conversation with the guy, her grin widening when she observed his arm touching your waist. Matt, too, noticed her reaction. He had heard about her in the extensive conversations you shared with him, during those moments when he played with your hair, absorbing every word you uttered. You spoke of her with deep love and adoration, and silently, he harbored a resentment that you couldn't speak of him in the same way to her. He cherished the importance of loved ones, and selfishly, he hated that he wasn't on your list.

What he hated even more was how you didn't pull away from the guy's touch, especially when he left lingering squeezes, emphasizing his words—just like he would. His gaze remained fixed on both of you, observing as the guy incessantly carried on with his conversation. Your irritation grew, and the breaking point came when he flagrantly crossed the line by violating your personal space- and is left dumbfounded when you cut him mid way muttering a poor excuse- speed walking away from him.

You step into what seems to be a hallway, choosing the first door and entering a dimly lit, spacious bathroom. Your hands find their way to the edges of the sink, and you lean down, allowing the exhaustion of the events to wash over you. The bathroom door opens and shuts, prompting your eyes to snap toward the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with Matt.

Leaning against the bathroom door with lowered eyes, Matt takes in your appearance. His gaze is fixated on your skirt, noticing how it's slightly hunched up due to you leaning over the sink.

"you get my text earlier?" he asks, returning his gaze to your face.

"Yeah, I got it. I was pretty occupied, though," you reply, turning your body to face him

"yeah? I couldn't tell" he replies laced with sarcasm.

You nod in response, and he begins to walk toward you. Instinctively, you move backward, feeling your lower back hit the counter. His arms trap you on both sides, eliminating any distance between you.

"you avoiding me now? Is that what's happening?"He says, leaning down to meet you at eye level.

The close proximity makes it a bit challenging for you to breathe properly. So, you turn your head to the side, suddenly finding the patterns on the wall much more interesting, despising how calm and collected he appeared- how much control he has over your mind, despite numerous reassurances from him. You can't help but wonder if the only time you get to be intimate is away from others because you question whether he's more concerned about being seen with you than genuinely "protecting your peace."

"Stop that," he says, aware that your mind is racing at full speed.

Your eyes finally meet his gaze, and it's unclear how long the intense stare has lasted. Matt is the first to break eye contact, stepping back. His hands move to the bathroom lock, twisting the metal and securing it.

"Classic," you mutter, still grappling with your self-sabotaging thoughts.

"what was that?" he says

"we're not doing anything in here " you reply ignoring his question

"Who said we were going to? We're just having a conversation"

"you look pretty" he continues due to your silence

"yeah? I've heard" Confidently fueled by the liquor, You aimed to provoke him, fully aware that he had seen you talking to the guy. What added to the satisfaction was knowing he wasn't pleased that you entertained the conversation, you turn your body to face the mirror again. Purposefully grinding your ass against his groin, already feeling the hardness.

"You having a change of heart, I thought we couldn't do anything?" he says,pressing you further against the counter. The cold marble makes you shiver.

You tilt your head to the side as you feel his hands brush up against the back of your thighs, making their way to the skimpy material of your underwear, smiling once he felt how soaked you were

lifting the bottom of your skirt to rest on your lower back he delivers a harsh slap to your ass, making you smile at how quick he is to give you what you want.

His hands grab your hair, bunching it up and pushing it to the side. Sneaking his hands around your torso, he plants a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

" you want this? you gotta be quiet though might be hard for you huh " he snarked

"fuck you" you reply annoyed with his snarky comment

"yeah i'm sure you'd like that, now wouldn't you" he pulls you flush against his chest,placing a gentle kiss to your temple, his hand palming your wetness, making you lean further onto his chest, your head settling in the crook of his neck

"Always so needy for me aren't you sweetheart" he whispers causing you to meet his gaze through the mirror. "I got what you want right here" he adds pressing himself harder against you

he pushes your underwear to the side, circling your swollen clit causing you to grip the edges of the sink harder, his hands make his way to the small of your back wanting you to arch further into him.

His fingers part from your entrance, causing a whine to escape your lips at the lack of his touch, You hear the sound of his belt being undone, and that sound alone intensifies the warmth between your thighs. you look at him through the polished glass as his hands make his way to your ass, grabbing your backside spreading it apart slightly giving him a full view of your wetness.

He positions himself at your entrance, guiding the tip of his shaft along the slickness of your wetness in an up and down motion , all the while maintaining eye contact and loving the needy expression you wear.

You start to turn around to beg him to fill you, but your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as he thrusts himself completely inside you, your head falls back in sheer delight, finally experiencing the sensation you've yearned for throughout the past couple of weeks. his thrusts are soft wanting you to get used to him

At that moment, he withdraws entirely, leaving just the tip inside you and then thrusting fully inside you without any warning. This elicits small moans from your lips, pulling you closer to him, and his grip around your waist tightens. The pace of his thrusts quicken, and you make every effort to stifle any sounds

Your fingers brush against his hands wanting to gain stability and comfort from his touch with him plunging inside you, it's a pleasurable ache, so intense that tears well up in your eyes. His lips move to tenderly kiss the top of your head, seeking to reciprocate the affectionate touch you crave. He gently squeezes your waist. In that moment. This action alone prompts a recollection towards the person who did the same to you just minutes ago, and his gaze narrows toward that specific spot.

his grip on that spot hardens, causing you to slightly wince knowing that it'll bruise later, you turn to look at Matt, but his fingers grasp your chin forcing you to look at yourself taking everything he gave you, his grip never leaves your face and you moan at the change in pace. It was overwhelming. and a smile was plastered on his face at the way he was breaking you, leaving you dumbfounded

"do you know who you belong to " he asks, his cheek coming into contact with yours. his soft hair brushes against your skin, pushing himself deeper inside you

"You matt"

" You positive ? " he asks moving your head to look at him, forcing eye contact while his thrusts get sloppier but deeper,not slowing down his pace, the feeling in your belly worsens.

"yes I promise"

His hips thrust against your backside, and you instinctively tighten around him, wanting to avert your gaze from his compelling eyes. You resist giving in to the impression that he has complete control over you. However, you find it impossible to look away as his firm grip on your face prevents any movement. Your hands grip his arm in a pleading gesture, silently urging him to allow you to finally reach climax.

He hates how delicate and kind you are, feeling an overwhelming need to protect you from any potential harm. He hates that he might be the cause of your emotional distance, fueled by the fear that his lifestyle could be too much for you to handle.

"don't get all shy now, you were confident when you let him touch you remember?"

"I'm sorry," you respond immediately, but he knows you're not to blame. Despite not being officially together, he doesn't care; in his mind, you belong to him, and he's determined to prove it. His thrusts show no signs of slowing down, and your hands instinctively move to the back of his head for support, irregardless of the tight grip he has around you

"If you ever let another man touch you the way that I do, you'll pay. got it?" you nod unable to articulate a response as your mind remains blank.

"Say it"

"yes matt" you choked.

he attaches his lips onto yours, for the first time in weeks and it shows how much you've missed each other, it was rough enough to bruise your lips His hand releases its hold on your waist, finding its way to your neck, exerting subtle pressure. He teeth delicately tugs at the bottom of your lip before letting go of his grip, ultimately granting you the freedom to lean fully against his chest.

he leans his head against yours, wanting to be as close to you letting you relax for a second until he's back at it, his fingers make their way to your swollen bud. The most audible sob escapes your lips as his fingers trace in circular motions, gently pinching the swollen area with his thumb and pointer finger.

"fuck i c-cant matt"

“you’re taking me so well baby, just a little longer for me " he replies to your plea, grabbing your hips to push back against his length, Handling you firmly, his fingers persist in vigorously rubbing your bud in circular motions, You thrash around him, overwhelmed by the intensity, but his grip around you prevents any escape,

"tell me how bad you want it " he says slowing down his thrusts, wanting you to suffer a little as his fingers skillfully work around the sensitive area, making you pant with the pleasant sensation. You squirm in response, caught between the pleasure and the firm grip that holds you in place.

"Really bad matt please" You cry in frustration, mascara staining your cheeks as you let the tears fall.

"come for me sweetheart" he encourages

Without a moment's hesitation, you comply with his command, and you feel yourself release all over him messily, Matt's hands swiftly move to your mouth muffling your sounds.

"That's it baby let it all out for me "

Your grip around his shaft is so intense that his body can only endure so much. His arms envelop every available inch of your body as he grapples to suppress his own noises.

you feel his release fill you, mixed with yours slowly spilling out from inside you and the sight alone cause him to harden. He gazes at your disheveled appearance, giving you continuous slow thrust, that drag out your orgasm, with smudged mascara running down your eyes and tousled hair. you may feel like a mess, to him, you appear vulnerable, and he likes that.

"you okay?" he asks

you curse him inwardly for consistently diverting your focus from reality. Both of you understand that this unhealthy pattern could lead to a disastrous outcome if left unaddressed. If either of you could set aside fear and selfishness, the nights wouldn't be consumed by your overthinking and He wouldn't harbor resentment towards those who are able to openly express their affections for you.

"yeah, you okay?" you ask him

A chance to resolve the indifference between you two presented itself, and he silently contemplated the options. The desire to admit his true feelings for you lingered, but the overwhelming fear held him back. He acknowledged that one day he might gather the courage, but for now, he selfishly preferred to keep things behind closed doors. He knew that he was being selfish, yet the thought of having you in any capacity seemed preferable to the prospect of losing you completely. Yet again, what started as a complicated situation only deepened in complexity.

"yeah" he replies leaning his head against yours, as he began to pull out from inside you slowly.

He hurriedly dresses, securing his belt, you make your way to the door, preparing to unlock it. Just as you're about to, he gently grabs your arm, pulling you close and placing his hand on your waist. "Are we really okay?" he asks, searching your eyes with a mix of concern and longing.

"mhm, i'll see you around?" swiftly, you reply and proceed to unlock the door The grip Matt has on your waist loosens, and the subtle detachment tugs at your heartstrings, leaving a slow ache.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

taglist: @loveesiren @christinarowie332 @daddyslilchickenfingers @mangosrar @kenzieiskoolaid @sturnphilia @lucvly @recklesssturniolo @mattslolita @ratatioulle

[whispersleo]

First Fanfic Lines

thanks for the tag @starfyredrabbles ! <3

tagging @dragonagegayz @flowersforthemachines @nyx-de-riva @starlightsupernovae and YOU because this was fun!

Rules: share the first line of the last fics you wrote and tag some people <3

Okay, so here are all of my current published fics first lines <3

Aguas locas: The last mission had gone so well that Brimstone agreed to let them throw a Halloween party.

Bunny: Conway estaba sumamente fastidiado.

Sweet Delusion: Conway juró sentir cómo las heladas gotas de agua le atravesaban el pecho al dejar de percibir el agarre del rubio.

(my intenabo era fr Gus y Conway vivan los nobioooos:)

Cure you: "Who would’ve thought that all we needed to do was open a bottle for you two to become best friends?" Rook laughed, a spark of amusement in his eyes as he watched the two men, Davrin and Lucanis, snort in unison. 

Poison: There were still a few weeks left before the eclipse, and amidst all their missions and tying up personal matters, the group agreed that they could take a moment to relax before facing what would be the battle of their lives.

La Fame: El restaurante La Fame en Brooklyn adquiría una serenidad especial al caer la tarde, justo después de las cinco.

Killing butterflies: The tension in the air was heavy, almost unbearable.

Tortured: Lucanis woke abruptly at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, his instincts honed to vigilance even in unconsciousness.

Goldwing: Zara couldn’t settle for simply putting a demon inside him—oh no.

Lose Control: Viago moved his head, his wavy hair now plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face burning.

Y el Señor le dijo a Caín: "Where is your brother?"

(fuck me) Like you mean it: He took a deep breath and let it out as he walked to his room.

(First) Reunion: Sienna was nervous.

Kintsugi: "You know, you really need to watch your face more," Illario said, making an obvious gesture of annoyance.

Boys will be boys: Illario couldn’t remember why they were fighting.

Blood in the cut: Tarquin rolled his shoulders and exhaled slowly, trying to release the tension from his body.

Take what is mine: Illario woke up drenched in sweat.

Petite Mort: "So, Rook, I have a question. A more specific one," said Emmrich.

Dirty, dirty boy: Spite pushed the door open gently, pausing in the doorway at the sight before him.

Something unholy: Illario returned to his room and stayed there for over a week without leaving.

Hermit the Frog: Illario reached for the bottle in front of him, his fingers growing less steady, less certain—yet still insistent, chasing his next drink as if it were water and he were parched.

No time to die: The sounds of battle were beginning to fade, giving way to the sweltering chaos of victory.

Affection: Omega. (LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

Arsonist's lullaby: He loved feeling desired, nothing more than an object to hold and look at.

The Last of the Real Ones: The air was thick with the scent of smoke and iron—oppression had a smell, and it clung to this place like a sickness.

Can't Stop the High: Illario had barely closed his eyes to sleep when the door to his room burst open with a crash.

Giver: Wake up.

Run Boy Run: "Alessio, are you listening?"

The Moon Will Sing: In one of the rooms of House De Riva’s main building, abandoned beneath a pillow for nearly one year, lay a small, well-worn book.

Now you’re a ghost in my bed: Lucanis woke with his head resting on Illario’s chest, their legs tangled together, one arm draped around his cousin’s waist while Illario’s curled over his shoulders.

How bad do u want me: Illario was utterly entertained and more curious than he had ever been in his life.

Run For Your Life: The Grand Necropolis was quiet.

I'll be louder: Illario smelled it before he saw it—thick, metallic, clotting the air like rust and salt.

[rottcn]

"YOU  ARE."  she  confirmed  instinctively,  voice  softened  and  silenced.  "The best  of  them  too.  I'm  quite  fond  of  you,  m'lord,  as  I'm  sure  you're  aware.  Too  fond...perhaps."  there  were  many  things  which  Nyarah  kept  hidden,  many  secrets  that  tangled  between  her  fingers  as  she  pulled  the  strings.  But  her  feelings  were  no  secret;  nor  were  they  an  issue  to  speak  on.  "I  would  gladly  slay  you,  Dramon.  Figuratively."  wink  was  offered  his  way,  carrying  with  it  a  tinge  of  flirtatious  intimacy.  She'd  enjoyed  holding  on  to  him,  enjoyed  the  warmth  of  his  skin  and  the  depth  of  his  words.  "You  know,  I  find  that  people  are  often wrongly  assigned  the  attributes  of  their  homelands.  Many  believe  Northerners  are  cold,  with  blood  made  of  ice,  and  faces  as  cool  as  winter  snows.  The  same  many,  believe  that  us  who  hail  from  the  lands  of  everlasting  sun  have  liquid  fire  in  our  veins,  spice  in  our  eyes.  Suppose  it  all  comes  down  to  how  similar  we  are;  ice  and  fire."  he'd  told  her  something  along  those  lines  once,  and  it  got  her  thinking.  "But  those  who  grew  up  in  the  extreme  conditions  had  to  adapt.  So  your  blood  runs  warm,  and  you  find  the  heat  of  this  here  city  alone...bothersome.  You  do  not  lack  in  fire,  or  warmth,  do  you  my  lord?"  she  flipped  the  wet  strands  of  her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  draining  the  water  further  out.  "And  I  do  not  lack  in  ice,  for  it  is  cold  blood  running  through  my  veins.  No  matter  where  I  go;  I  like  me  a  scorching  bath,  warm  sheets,  warm  bodies.  I  think,  when  the  divine  split  the  world  into  fragments,  they  were  especially  cruel  with  the  likes  of  us.  Together,  we  feel  complete,  in  a  way,  though  our  differences  can  make  it  difficult  for  us  to  see  eye  to  eye.  So  we  dance,  don't  we?  Dance  over  the  lines  of  what  we  want,  what  we  need,  what  we  believe  we  ought  to  have  --  and  what  we  never  might."

She  looked  at  him,  at  last,  smile  spread  deep  into  her  cheeks.  "I  am  a  woman  of  risk,  and  gamble,  as  you  know.  The  key,  I  have  found,  is  to never bite  off  more  than  I  can  chew.  Going  back  north,  back  to  you...well,  It  was  a  risk  too  grand  for  someone  who  enjoys  that  little  dance  as  much  as  I  do.  I  hope,  truly,  you  do  not  hold  it  against  me."  she  leaned  on  his  shoulder  then,  fingers  tracing  over  his  forearm  gently.  "You  can  rest  assured  I  --  I  have  missed  you."  but  all  beautiful  things  had  to  come  to  an  end,  and  one  could  not  risk  losing  control  over  matters  which  would  leave  one  devastated  should  they  disappear  on  their  own  terms.  So  she  chose  when  to  move  on,  she  controlled  everything  in  her  life;  everything  that  allowed  for  it.  And  sentiments,  outside  of  family  which  demanded  them,  were  most  difficult, so she watched over them with extra care.   At  the  mention  of  Ari,  she  pulled  away.  From  the  moment  she'd  first  met  Dramon,  she'd  gotten  a  picture  of  him;  walking  at  her  cousins  side.  She'd  wanted  to  see  them  happy,  and  perhaps,  if  given  the  chance;  they  could  make  each  other  so.  "And?  How  did  it  go?"  brow  rose  quick  with  curiosity,  lip  bitten  and  gaze  diverted  at  the  passing  wave  of  jealousy.  Then  his  question  caught  her  by  surprise,  and  she  took  a  second  to  think.  "Ari  and  I  are  similar  in  many  ways,  you'll  find.  But  she  is  a  better  woman,  on  all  accounts."  she  paused,  fingers  intertwining  over  her  knees.  "You  can  trust  her.  But  her  own  trust  is  earned,  you  see.  She  may  test  you,  may  even  push  a  button  or  two  --  all  I  can  say  is  that;  she  is  worth  it.  There  is  no  better  person  to  have  at  your  side.  You  can  trust  me  on  that."

“I am nothing if not a gentleman, Nyarah.” Her name felt warm on his tongue, in such ways that he seldom came in contact with. He had grown fond of her, whether he chose to admit such things or not. It was a fondness, in the way the sun favored wild flowers, growing with roots wherever they pleased. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards then, as she moved closer and he allowed such things from very few. His frame settled against the nook of stone, his gaze shifted down to where she sat closely. She smells of warmth, of amber and cinnamon just as he remembered her to. “Is that what you wish then?” His chin tilted only a proxy, umber irises flickering across her features with familiarity. “To have me slain?” The faltering tease on his breath was so often reserved, he barely remembered what it must have been like to let it so easily abstain from his breath.

“And yet in your travels, you have not ventured north since the last time you spent it in my company. I have considered you might have grown wary of the mountains.” His touch dips into the baths, a ripple beneath his fingers as he tests the temperature for himself. “Are our waters not warm enough for you?” His frame lingered, allowing her to fuss over him as he so often did, while his hand absentmindedly strings raven hair between fingertips, before pulling back. “Your cousin, has sought me out.” His chin tilted, eyes finding hers. “It is your doing, I wager?” Though he doesn’t ask outright, the question lingers on the weight of his tongue. “You have spent time in my company. In my lands.” There’s a pause there, a lingering as his attention is drawn to her with a flicker of something that may have been considered — softness. Assurance. “You are my friend.” There’s lingered on the word, however, one that gentled the edges of it. “Am I to trust her?” Another passing moment, his intention, his gaze holding far too much depth for it to simply be a moment in passing. “As I have trusted you?”

[potter-imagines]

Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!��� Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

[hmspogueobx]

Everything to me (Paul Lahote)

Chapter Fourteen: Everything to him...

The dead air on the phone is making me antsy. My dad hasn't said anything in a while and I'm starting to worry he's fainted or something.

"Dad? Are you still there?" I ask.

"Yeah honey. I'm here. Just... processing." His reply doesn't make me feel better. I've just filled him in on everything that's happened, and when I got to the part about mom, that's when the silence started.

"She's been alive all this time?" He sounds hopeful and I don't know what the right thing to say is.

"It would appear that way. But dad... I don't think she's really the same person we knew. I mean, she works as a professional hypnotist for the vampire king." I blurt out. Paul lets out a guffaw from my bed behind me but quickly covers it with a cough, mouthing an apology.

"Is that Paul there? What does he think about all this?" My dad asks. He'd taken to Paul immediately, knowing full well the details of imprinting. He knew I was in good hands.

"I don't know, we haven't had a chance to talk about it. I called you right away, I wanted you to know." I say.

"Well, I don't really know how to process this honey. I think I need some time with this."

"Ok dad. Call me when you can?" I say almost pleadingly.

"Of course. Bye for now." He says and the line goes dead.

Putting down my phone, I crawl onto the bed and curl into Paul's side. I'm completely drained.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Paul says softly.

"I wouldn't know what to say... How do you feel about this?" I mumble into his chest.

Paul shuffles down the bed so we're both lying down. "I've never been more scared in my life. You looked, gone. My instincts took over completely and I did everything I could to try and pull you back to me." I can feel the rising of his chest has picked up speed. Lifting my head up to look him in the eye, the look in his eye slowly changes. "We're going to figure this out together baby. I promise you."

"Thank you for pulling me back." I whisper, moving forward to connect our lips in a sweet kiss.

I've never felt so grateful for another person before. This man was my everything. We make each other stronger, happier, goofier, deeper, whole. I pour everything I'm feeling into this kiss, and it starts to get really desperate. I pull myself into Paul's lap and he lets out a moan.

I pull back slightly and rest my forehead on his.

"I love you." I breathe out. Paul closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, as if he's just feeling too much all at once. When his eyes open again, they're filled with a fire I've never seen before. He flips me onto my back and I let out a shriek at the sudden action. Now he's got me pinned and, damn, if looks could kill.

"I love you too baby. So much." He says vehemently. And his mouth is on my neck, sucking and licking and kissing his way down to my chest and back up again. I hook my fingers around the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head. He seems unhappy to be disconnected for a brief second and our lips meet again in a needy kiss. Refusing to pull away, he grabs the edge of my shirt and rips it in two, pulling it from my body. It might have been the hottest thing I've ever had happen to me and I almost combust right there. My hips grind up into his on instinct and he lets out a growl, grinding back down into me. I can't take it anymore and I flip him over again so I'm straddling him. Shuffling down his body, I kiss my way down his chest as my fingers start to make work of his pants. He stops me.

"Hey, are you sure about this?" He asks, pulling my chin to make me look him in the eye.

"More than sure." I reply. And we spend the rest of the night getting completely lost in each other, forgetting the events of this exhausting day.

When I awake the next morning, I'm tangled in Paul's arms. It's the most comforting feeling in the world. Despite the events of the previous day, I have never felt more safe than I do in this moment. This is where I belong, with Paul. We are two halves to one whole. I am everything to him, and he is everything to me. Forever.

[sukirichi]

happy little accidents

— Life is a series of unfortunate events, but sometimes, there are happy little accidents.

REQUEST. (accidental pregnancy, fuck buddies au) + childhood friends to lovers + baby moments with father! megumi

CONTENT/WARNINGS. slight smut, slight exhibitionism (I think? there’s a CCTV lmao) just daddy megumi uwu

NOTES. hi anon, thank you for requesting and joining the event! I have to admit...I don’t really know how to write this and I just had to ask my mother about her experiences in pregnancy LMAO. I apologize in advance if this sucks, I’m pretty good at fluff but domestic and cute stuff with children isn’t my expertise asggkhl I’m awkward around babies and kids so anyways, I hope you like it! OH AND ALSO I HAVE A CAMEO LMAO

Megumi’s hands runs up under your shirt, bringing about a shiver forward when his cold fingers come into with your warm skin. You feel him smile onto the kiss, his grip nothing but teasing before he brushes the underside of your breast, prompting you to grip closer to his hoodie. You and him were childhood friends; having always liked one another until playing house was no longer a game a but dream, but his family was too strict and controlling – they’ve made it clear long ago this relationship could never and would never happen.

His Uncle Naoya made sure of it.

But that didn’t stop the both of you. All the way from highschool until now in your university days, you and Megumi are still stuck together by the hip, occasionally fucking whenever time allowed. Weekdays are spent staring longingly at each other in the hallways, the weekends flourishing into finally’s and hushed kisses under the sheets, completely unaware of the world you both trudged in.

Today was one of those days, and you’re nothing less of passionate as you swipe your tongue out to taste his lips, smiling when you realize he’s also grown used to wearing your mint flavoured lip balm. “Mhm, Megumi, I missed you,” you placed your legs beside his arms, a contented sigh entering his mouth as he closed his eyes.

“You miss me? I’m always around you,” he reminds you, pulling away momentarily to tug your shirt to the side where he leaves a soft patch of kisses. “Never gonna leave your side, baby.”

“You better not. I’m the best you’ll ever have.”

Megumi nods wholeheartedly in agreement, not wasting time before he pulls you closer to him. You’re almost weightless as you crash on top of him, hands tangled into the other’s hair and his large palm squeezing your breast. It produces a breathy moan from you, a thread of saliva connecting your lips when it comes again – that hellish bitter and sour bile that flows up to your throat. You push yourself off him and run to the bathroom, the content of your stomachs poured while your groans echo around the room.

He’s beside you in an instant, crouching beside you to pull your hair up and pat your back. Once you’ve finished throwing up, you clutch at the indistinguishable bloating of your stomach, leaning back into his touch while you slowly regain your composure.

Your head is throbbing uncomfortably again, one that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you press your thumbs against it.

“Wh-what’s wrong? Are you sick or something?”

You chuckle a bit from the way he frets over you, hands tilting your cheeks side to side while he pales, a sheen of worry visible on his hairline. He’s always been such a worrywart. You look behind him and see the box of condoms in your half-open medicine cabinet, the sight making your heart drop in your chest.

“Megs...when was the last time we had sex?”

“Well,” he scratches the back of his head, “We’ve both been busy from uni, so...last month, I guess? It’s been a long time.”

You swallowed audibly. You’ve recently gotten that box of condoms because if you remember correctly, last time you both skipped straight to the deed after realizing you ran out of it. Eyes flicking over his confused ones, your throat ran dry and itchy from the throw up session, your voice low as you say, “I’m three weeks late on my period, Megs.”

He looks just as shocked as you are, but he doesn’t give you the time to recover before he rushes out into your apartment. For a moment, you’re left heartbroken at the cold bathroom tiles, thinking that he left, but Megumi comes back a few minutes later, a pregnancy test kit and some chocolates inside a plastic bag. Your eyes widen when he gently ushers you to sit on the toilet, his feet tapping impatiently on the floor while you both wait for the result.

And there it is.

The timer on his phone goes off. Megumi rushes beside you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he blinks at the test kit. He turns to you and blinks in question, wondering what the hell it meant.

“’Gumi...it’s positive,” you cry out, sending him into a stagger backwards when you jump at him. Thankfully, he’s carried you too many times to count that he’s natural at hoisting you into his arms, still rendered speechless as you announce, “You’re going to be a dad!”

It’s been five whole months since you and Megumi turned into being stable fuck buddies, intent on hiding your relationship from both your families, into homeless and young parents whose fear over life and the future only increased tenfold now with the growing baby inside you.

You still remember that dreadful moment when both of you are kicked out into your family estate, Megumi’s Uncle Naoya especially enraged over the news. He doesn’t even give his nephew a chance to pack his bags before he signals the bodyguards to escort you out, then takes away all Megumi’s privileges and former luxury of being part of the Zenin Clan. You assume he’d want to strangle his pitiful Uncle for the never ending mistreatment, but your now boyfriend is nothing but happy, relieved that he’s been freed from the tight reins that always got in both your way.

Unbeknownst to the controlling Zenin Clan head, his wife is much more cunning than he is. He knows his wife always had some sorts of tricks hidden up in her sleeve, but even you were surprised when Megumi’s Aunt Suki shows up in your college dorm one day, throwing a set of keys your way with a wink before driving off back to become Naoya’s beloved trophy wife.

She lent you one of her high-estate apartments and even a humble car, silently wiring fees into your bank account since Megumi’s was already shut down.

Truly, if it wasn’t for her, you and Megumi wouldn’t be able to live this comfortably no matter how much both of you worked your ass off.

Now, none of you had to worry about not getting to make ends meet, no more worrying about putting your health at risk by working two jobs a day along with university – you and Megumi agreed to take advantage of her kindness just until the baby was born, opting to live quietly and comfortably in your shared home that would soon be filled with more memories. Well, as comfortably as you both could anyway, since pregnancy – although a beautiful experience – wasn’t always rainbows and unicorns.

Megumi comes home one day, the food you’ve always been craving from the Chinese restaurant from the other town present inside his bag. He’s tired from uni, even more so that he shares your burden of becoming new parents, but every time he comes home to you, all his exhaustion is wiped away, especially with the evident growth of your belly.

Your boyfriend runs up to you after placing the food on the counter, his arms wide open to get a hug – he’s gotten extremely touchy ever since the pregnancy – when you reel away from him, face turning green.

Your fingers come to pitch at your nose, eyes narrowed at his confused pout. “Ugh, Megumi, your deodorant stinks.”

“You were the one who got this for me, though,” his brows furrow as he lifts his sleeve up to sniff himself. He doesn’t smell bad... “You said you liked it on me,” he mumbles more to himself than you, staying still in his spot when he sees how colourless you’ve become. “Why are you looking at me like that? I showered today.”

“I can’t stand the smell of you, I can’t, gosh,” pushing past him, you rush to the toilets, the morning sickness well present all the way until sundown as you throw up. Megumi stands at the doorway, hands extended in front of him as he’s unsure whether he could help you or not. You firmly shake your head at him, lips turned into a sneer. “No, don’t get near me or I will honestly whack you with my purse, Megumi. Get rid of that deodorant and find a scent free one or something.”

Megumi is left with a slack jaw when you hop into bed afterwards, too tired and irritated to finish your papers. Seeing that he should probably do the same and pamper you instead, Megumi is silent as he crawls under the covers, only to be kicked out with a harsh kick to his thigh and a fiery, “Get out!”

“Nobara,” he whines into the phone, too fearful to even look at the bedroom at the thought that you’d feel his gaze and get even angrier. Your instincts and senses sharpens with each passing day; he won’t risk it. “My girlfriend hates me!”

“I could see why.”

Megumi groans at his friend’s flippant tone, the sound of a nail file grazing acrylics mixed with lo-fi music playing from the other line. “I’m serious – she doesn’t even want me a foot near her! When I tried to join her on the bed, she literally woke up just to hit me with a pillow. Right in the face!”

“Let me guess, you’re banned from the bedroom and staying on the couch?”

“Yeah, I am,” he sulks on the couch, “I don’t know why she hates me. I can’t imagine what I did wrong.”

“You don’t have to do anything wrong for a pregnant woman to hate you, Fushiguro. It’s not your fault your face is just really annoying,” Megumi makes a sound of protest before slapping a hand over his lips, nervous gaze darting at your door again. He relaxes into the seat; you’ve probably fallen asleep. “But on a more serious note, I think it’s the hormones. She’s erratic right now and you can’t blame her, she’s literally growing a child inside of her, dude, are you crying?”

“She might divorce me because of my deodorant.”

“Idiot, you two aren’t even married!” Nobara bellows loud enough that Megumi pulls the phone away from his ear, waiting until she’s calmed down and continues speaking like she didn’t just burst his ear drums. “Listen, just be extra sweet and careful around her, okay? Don’t open your mouth as well unless you want to die. Now get a notepad or something, we’re going to devise the best Baby Mama Seduction Plan that is guaranteed to win her heart.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Nobara!”

“Hmph, you owe me tickets to that fashion show though. Get your rich ass uncle to pull some connections or something.”

“Nobara, you know I can’t—”

“Oh shit, is that your girl about to kick you in the face?” Megumi yelps as his body flips at the direction of your room, both hands raised in surrender with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He sighs – the door is still closed – he should be safe for now. Meanwhile, Nobara snickers cockily, almost as if she could see everything. As always, Nobara was triumphant. “That’s right, we both don’t want that to happen, so stick to your end of the deal man.”

Megumi stays up the whole night to execute Nobara’s plan. It’s tiring to run back and forth in the open convenience stores just to fill the fridge up with all your favourite food, but Megumi is determined to have you accept him again, even if he knows you’re not actually rejecting him.

By the time you’ve woken up, all beautiful and glowing as you pad out your room, Megumi stands up straight to conceal his body ridden with exhaustion. He just wants to make you happy.

“What’s all this?”

“You’ve been working hard,” he starts off unsurely, a hand scratching the back of his head as he gauges for your reaction. You plop down on the dining table and don’t scowl as you take a whiff of the food, blinking for a few seconds before you dig in. It’s enough for him to take as a go-signal, and he walks beside you carefully, his voice wavering and soft. “I just wanted to surprise you – show you how much I love and admire you...all that.”

“That’s suspicious,” you mouth through a mouthful of dumpling, but smile anyways with your arms extended. “Come here, give me a kiss.”

Megumi is beyond elated as he buries himself in the warmth of your arms again, sighing when you kiss his cheeks and jaw. “Are we good?”

“Did you replace your deodorant?”

“Yes...”

“Good boy,” you kiss him on the lips this time. Megumi has the audacity to blush as if he didn’t just fuck a baby into you, making you laugh before you slap his ass, last night’s irration now replaced with a reminder that this was Megumi – your first love and everything more. There was no way you wouldn’t be ‘good’ with him; you’d go to heavens and back for him, but maybe once you’re done birthing his child. “Yeah, we’re good. Get the mint choco ice cream pint for me?” Megumi sprints to perform your commands, and you reward him by pulling him in for a deeper kiss the time, his lips so sweet and minty. You can’t help but sigh, falling for him over and over again. “You’re such a sweetheart, Megs. This is why I’m head over heels for you.”

“You didn’t want me sleeping beside you for a week straight though.”

Your nose scrunches at the memory – that slight change in your expression making Megumi step back – as you wave a spoon at him, glaring at him in warning. “Like I said, you stank.”

But...pregnancy wasn’t all that bad for the both of you. There were times you’re unable to keep your hands off him. Although unexpected and mostly occurring in the most inconvenient situations, Megumi can’t say he’s complaining, especially not when you push him towards the wall just as the elevator doors closed.

“Daddy,” you moan, guiding his hands into your already soaking wet panties. Megumi breathes sharply as he cups your drenching core, wondering how you’ve gotten this aroused without him doing anything sexual in particular.

The nickname spilling past your lips is unforeseen though, as is his growing kink for it when he hardens immediately.  

“Please, please, please, I need you so much – make me feel good, will you?”

Megumi has to pin your needy, trailing hands all over his chest down to your sides, his pupils blown wide as the elevator ascends from one floor to the other. His eyes dart to the blinking red light from the cameras, his Adam’s apple bobbing when you don’t stop in the slighthest, only leaning forward to tug and nip at the skin of his neck. Megumi groans at your ministrations; you know very well that was his sensitive spot. “Y/N, we’re literally in the elevator, just wait until we get back home—”

When Megumi tries to push you away to stop your hands from palming his boner, you growl, eyes fierce and heated as you turn to him. “Do you want me to chop your dick off and prevent you from having a second child?”

“N-no.”

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

“Fuck, okay, don’t blame me if I make you sore, though.”

You roll your eyes at him, your hands moving expertly as you bunch your skirt up to your waist to show him that your bud was already swollen just for him. “Megumi, my boobs are already are its most sore point, I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Megumi makes quick work of shoving his pants down just to his knees, gentle yet needy as he pushes your chest flat on the walls, round and perky ass puckered for him to take you already. He could cum just from the sight of you bending over for him like this, your arousal already dripping down your thighs as you wiggle your hips at him, breathless in the desire to be taken once more.

There were still fifteen floors to go before you reached your destination. Megumi’s brows pinch together in anxiety that anyone could press for the lift, but you’re also submissively bent over for him, moaning and gasping his name even when it’s only the tip of his cock sliding into you.

He sees the way your fingers hover over the buttons, clearly more prepared to shut the doors and deny others entry than he was, and he thinks fuck it to himself before he buries himself deep into you, head thrown back at the heavenly and salacious feeling of fucking you raw. You’re somehow warmer and tighter, wetter with puffier lips during your second trimester. Just as he blanches at the thought he could hurt you, he remembers the doctor’s encouragement of more sex. Being the good boyfriend he is, Megumi fucks hard into you, groaning and panting when your walls clamp down on him.

He only wants to help you.

Days of rubbing your feet and singing to your belly were gone – now replaced with laughter pouring into your house and switching from listening to Mother Mother into actually enjoying nursery rhymes playing from the stereo.

It feels just like yesterday when he rushes you to the emergency room, your hand nearly crushing his during your contractions before you gave birth to his child.

Megumi has never really been much of an emotional person, preferring to be calm and stoic unless you’re around; the rare times he actually lets his walls down. Surrounded by a group of doctors, though, Megumi stops caring about saving face when they hand him his daughter. He isn’t the least bit embarrassed when he sobs upon seeing the tiny bundle of joy in his arms, so small and vulnerable that promised there and then – he’d do everything he can to protect his child and give them the best future.

Fushiguro Megumi is a hands-down helicopter dad. The moment you’re able to take your daughter back home, he’s already had the whole house baby proofed. Along with studying for his exams, he’s also switching back and forth to parenting guide books.

You can tell he’s taking his job as a dad very seriously. Megumi doesn’t hesitate to shoot out of the bed in the middle of the night whenever he hears his daughter cry, racing you to her crib while he rocks her back and forth and you prepare her milk. You’re both utterly tired and sleep deprived, your head resting on his shoulder as your baby calms down in his arms. Faintly, you feel him kiss the top of your head, encouraging you to go back to sleep with the assurance he can handle it.

But of course, you’re the stubborn parent, and you drag your boyfriend and daughter back to bed, making sure there was enough space to make her comfortable before falling asleep.

Being a parent – especially with the love of your life – has never felt any more magical.

Of course, it was hard and definitely not a walk in the park, but it was worth it. Every time you came home from school, Megumi would already be there, his daughter babbling nonsensically in his arms while he prepared her meals. At the sounds of the door opening, both of them would run to you, showering you with kisses while you did the same.

Both your families have still refused to accept you back – not that you both minded – but it was getting shameful to keep relying on his relative to provide for your family. Eventually, you and Megumi decided that the other stays to take care of your baby while you work after class.

You’re staggering inside your home like a zombie after a long day, muscles aching from too much work and brain barely functioning due to the lack of sleep. With a long, drawn out sigh, you plop on the couch next to your boyfriend who jolts back awake, still careful not to let his drooling daughter wake up in his arms. Upon seeing it’s just you, Megumi leans over to kiss you on the nose, smelling sweetly of floral detergent powder and baby cologne.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs at your skin, your eyes already fluttering close at the comfort and warmth of home. “Scarlet is fast asleep. She couldn’t wait for you to kiss her goodnight anymore.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Mommy will always come home to the two most precious people in the world,” Now, it’s your turn to kiss Megumi to remind him he’s also doing a great job. You know he’s working just as hard you are, and you honestly don’t think you could do this without him. “Megumi,” you begin, tracing soft circles into his wrist to feel his lulling heartbeat.

“Hmm?”

“Have I ever told you I loved you?”

“I think I know that already,” he smiles romantically at you – even after years, you’re still very much smitten with that smile, and the sight of him and your daughter alone has you relaxing back in your seat.

“Yes, but you need to hear it again,” you tell him, cupping his face into your palms. Megumi sighs as he leans closer into your warmth, his hands patting your daughter’s back to soothe her in her slumber. “You’re such a natural at this – being a father. I’m really lucky I had a family with you. It’s all I ever wanted,” Burying yourself closer into his arms and collecting the both of them into an embrace, you smile into his shoulder, feeling like you’re on cloud nine. “I don’t think life is gonna get better than this, Megs. I’m so happy right now I feel like I could die.”

“Don’t say the d-word around her,” he jokes, the two of you sharing tired and dry laughter. Once the amusement subsides, Megumi’s other hand shifts to squeeze your thigh to get your attention. “Y/N...do you ever think about...making us official?”

“What do you mean?” you mumble sleepily, “How else official could we get? We live together and we have a baby. Soon, we’re going to be employed too and then we can provide better for her and stop relying on Aunt Suki so much,” Megumi nods above you, but his lack of response is worrying that you look up to him, frowning as you see that his face is pulled deep into thought. “We’re already a family, Megs. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to marry you,” he blurts out, “I want to make you mine and mine only – I see a future and a forever with you,” Megumi looks you straight in the eye the whole time. “Marry me, Y/N. Please.”

You’re rendered speechless.

You love him so much, you really do, and nothing about that will change. After spending a lifetime with you, Megumi knows just by looking at your face that there’s a but coming afterward and he clenches his jaw, sadness swirling in his eyes that you have to stop him before his thoughts run off again. “I want that too, Megumi, believe me,” you reassure, brushing his hair back with your fingers; a gesture that always pulled him back to you. “I just don’t want to rush things, you know? We can still barely stand on our own and we have Scarlet to worry about. I think we should focus more on her future than ours.”

Megumi nods, albeit disappointed, though this doesn’t stop him from kissing you straight on the lips before he mutters, “I understand but...think about it, at least?”

“You already know my answer would be yes.”

“Scarlet! I wonder where my little princess is hiding,” Megumi announces from outside your room, your toddler giggling beside you as you both hide behind the closet hand-in-hand. Four years later, you and Megumi are married, and life’s gotten a lot easier – in addition to it being a whole lot more domestic since Megumi takes his husband title just as seriously as being a father. Right now, he’s crawling outside, his voice lowered in an attempt to be scary. “If I find her, she’s going to face the wrath of the tickle monster!”

“Tickle monster!” Scarlet gasps beside you, turning to you with wide eyes. “Mummy, I don’t want tickles!”

“Then we better be quiet so Daddy doesn’t find us!”

With your voice intentionally louder than a whisper, it doesn’t take long before Megumi opens the closet doors, carrying you both effortlessly before dropping you all down onto the bed. “I found you!” You all tickle each other and laugh, your daughter falling into panicked squeals while you chortle at the side. Megumi then hoists Scarlet up before the both of you kiss both sides of her cheeks, sending the giggling child into an utter ticklish mess.

While the two are busy tickling one another, you feign a gasp, clutching at your husband’s bicep.  “Megumi!” your eyes widen, pointing deftly at the kitchen with trembling lips for effect. “Can you please check the oven – I think I left something in there and it might be burning!”

“I don’t smell anything,” is all he says, but runs there anyway. Megumi stands in front of in confusion, Scarlet safely bundled in his arms while her father opens the oven, frowning as he takes the object out and inspects it. “Mittens? But Scarlet is already—” Just then, Megumi’s jaw drops, his grin stretched wide while Scarlet keeps poking at the mittens, trying to make them fit into her slightly larger hands. “No way. Another one?”

“Another candy?”

You laugh at Megumi’s beaming face that matches his daughter’s – the two looking too much alike – but for completely opposite reasons. “We’ll get you all the candies you want, sweetheart,” you swipe a candy from the counter and hand it to your daughter’s grabby hands, pecking Megumi’s cheeks who is still beyond flustered at the announcement. “But yeah we have another one – and it’s a boy!”