#and I think he's regretted letting so much go in his panic and ever since has been much more careful about it

[brighttears]

Stranger Chapter 1

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description

Summary: Joel has just arrived in Jackson, and immediately finds out that you’re here, too, forcing him to face his former actions, speak to you again after he split 6 years ago. The ensuing argument shows a fire within you that you didn’t have when he knew you before, and he’s left reeling. 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Angst!!! Argument, yelling, harsh words are exchanged. Joel hates himself.

A/n: chapter one lets goooo, I love writing arguments tbh so this was fun. 

series masterlist

—

Joel shifts his feet in the snow, blinking. He’s still reeling, eyes still adjusting to seeing his brother’s face for the first time in years, his heart having not ceased pounding since the group of riders circled him, still trying to breath again after the wooden gates of Jackson creaked open, when Tommy drops this second bomb on him, within about twenty minutes of conversation.

“She’s here?” Joel makes his voice work to ask, a mix of relief and dread swirling in his gut.

Grinning, Tommy nods. “You wanna see her?” 

Joel pauses, nerves needling him as the question instantly tugs at him of if you’ll want to see him. But he can’t stop himself from nodding. 

It’s been six years now since he saw your face. Six years since he left you. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see you again, at times he wasn’t even sure if he ever wanted to again. He left because you’re better off without him. It wasn’t a pretty picture, the way he shut the door on you and walked out, leaving you all alone, to fend for yourself. He's been force feeding himself that idea to himself ever since, that he was right, that he was protecting you, but, he’s had six years to reflect, and over that time, regret has been a incessant case of the fleas. Now, he’s being thrust into its maw, about to be going toe to toe with the consequences of those actions, moments away from being face to face with you. And he has no idea what he’ll see. 

He was ready to see Tommy, he was expecting, counting on, relying on him being here. But you? It hadn’t even occurred to him, and now he has to figure out what in the hell he’s going to say as his feet carry him to follow his brother through Jackson, not even having the space to fully register the new environment around him, with its lights and intact buildings and people wearing clean coats and smiles. 

As the houses come into view and start to pass—two stories, with basically fresh paint jobs, porches with sturdy wood, some with snow dusted chairs and wicker benches, lights on in windows, real fucking houses—Joel’s hart rate spikes, each step heavier than the last as Tommy veers towards a door that must be yours. 

Your house. You have a house. 

“How long has she been here?” Joel asks, the sudden question stopping Tommy before he actually knocks and forces Joel to confront you. 

“About 9 months now.” He answers, “Actually found her in a pretty similar fashion as we did you, wanderin’ around outside, some people on patrol took her in.” 

Joel hums. So you beat him to it, huh? “Did she know you were here?” 

Tommy shakes his head. “Had no idea this place even existed. Pure coincidence. How about that, huh?” He replies with a smile, and Joel hums again, a sound deep in his throat. 

Questions start to flood his mind, of how you ended up across the fucking country, all the way from that little cabin in Pennsylvania. Maybe you just decided to go as far in the opposite direction of where you knew he was going. Is that why? Because of him? Were you thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you? He said you were alone—how long have you been alone for? 

Joel’s urgent ponderings are interrupted by the sound of Tommy’s knuckles rapping against the door, and a shot of panic bolts through his chest. 

Fuck. Shit. He still hasn’t figured out how in the hell to handle this. All he manages to do in the moment before the door opens is brace himself for a righteous blow to his face. 

When you finally show through a narrow crack of the door, wearing a wary expression, the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. By the way your face drops, it’s fair to say you feel about the same. 

There’s a pause, the only sound a gentle whip of cold wind, and it’s the only thing that tells Joel time itself hasn’t stopped. It’s as if he’s seeing a ghost—after years of not knowing if you were even still alive… here you are. And here he is. Right in front of you. 

Joel’s heart thuds and churns and squeezes, and he swallows, willing your name out, for the first time in six years. 

There’s another pause, your lips almost mouthing his name before a sound finally comes out, quiet as you say it, “Joel.”

He almost gets chills, hearing his name in your voice again, and he’s frozen in place. But when he sees your eyes glancing around, he turns, and finds Tommy to have disappeared. Fuck. 

After a beat, you ask, tone tight, “Do you… do you want to come in?” At the obligation in it, Joel’s stomach drops. But, once again, he can’t stop himself from nodding, letting out a breathy, “Yeah.” 

When you step aside and open the door for him, Joel hesitates, the act of stepping through the threshold feeling like a step into a new reality. One where you’re back in his life. You’re alive, and you’re here. And you have a fucking house, and you’re an established part of Jackson, your jacket is hung on a rack beside the door, boots wetting the floor beside it, and you’re physically here, watching him. 

Completely lost, and cringing before the words even leave his mouth, Joel decides to make small talk. 

“Nice place.” He murmurs, though he can barely tear his eyes away from you long enough to really look around. 

“Thanks.” You mutter back, folding your arms over your chest. Once again, his heart tightens at how stiffly you address him. 

You traveled together for almost eight years. He’d met you with Tommy, at the tail end of the banding of the small group that didn’t stay intact for very long, as that usually goes. You stuck with him after Tommy left for the Fireflies, and the plan was to get to the Boston QZ, stay there for a little while, catch your bearings. It wasn’t how he expected things to go. In fact, he didn’t like you very much when you first met. You were young. Good with a knife and gun, but too hesitant to pull the trigger. Too kind. And too god damn quiet, you were always sneaking up on him. And, once you got comfortable, a bit of a buffoon. 

But you grew on him. Like a weed, like a flower that just wouldn’t fucking die, despite the fact that he didn’t think there was enough nutrients in his heart to sustain any kind of life; at least, he didn’t want there to be. He had his brother, and that was it. That was all he could afford to care about, really care about. But, when Tommy left, all of his attention turned onto you, and it made him realize how attached he’d become. How indisputably, agonizingly attached he’d become. 

By then, you made a good team. You could have life or death determining conversations through only your eyes, could read each other aggravatingly well, had traded mannerisms like baseball cards, and even cried to each other a couple of times. Being around each other 24/7 for eight years will do that to you. Something else it’ll do, too, is make Joel feel his heart is poked and prodded with needles and spikes and repeatedly hit with a bat. 

There were also, however, moments of profound softness and warmth, ones where for a moment or two, he could forget, everything other than your smile, or your laugh, or the shifting colors of your hair as the sun would shine on it, or the quiet sound of your voice, carrying a tune in the dead of night. Short moments, where everything was just, alright. Moments where he felt safe, happy, at home.

He cared much more than he ever intended, and had more than he felt like he deserved, having you by his side. His partner. His best friend. 

But now, your chest guarded, eyes wary, stance ready… you’re looking at him like he’s a stranger.

“Look… we… should talk.” He finally says. 

“Yeah.” You reply, scratching your head and shifting your weight, the near immediacy and curtness of your reply making Joel’s stomach turn. 

“Can we uh, sit down?” He motions towards the table by the stairs, almost trying to stall, because fuck, he still hasn’t figured out what the fuck he’s supposed to say to you. After a pause, you nod with a quiet, “Yeah,” going to the table and pulling out a chair, then watching him expectantly as he follows suit, feeling himself start to sweat. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and knitting his fingers, running his tongue over his teeth, inspecting the grain of the wood, trying to mentally piece this conversation together in his head, or at least find somewhere to start. But all he can think about is how god damn heavy the silence is getting, so he can only come up with the most obvious thing—“Look I’m, I’m sorry. For what I did.” He starts, feeling almost like he’s choking on the words. It’s easy to be sorry, hell, he’s been carrying the guilt ever since that day, hoping maybe, that somehow, someday, he’d get a chance to make it up to you, but now you’re here, and he feels like he’s drowning. Keeping your gaze no matter how much he wants to look away, he forces out, “I should’ve never… I never should’ve left you. I regret it, and I’m sorry.” 

Not even a beat goes by before you return, tone even, though he sees the way your jaw clenches, “Do you regret it because you feel guilty or because you were wrong?” 

“Both.” He answers, forcing his voice not to break as he looks back into the cold intensity of your fixed gaze. The guilt has been eating at him for six years, and though it’s always been an open debate, like a wound he’d never let the scab stick on, if what he did was wrong, he knows that at least the way he went about it, the way he spoke to you, treated you, the last time he saw you, was. 

At his response, you look down, nodding, a slight pinch between your brow, a certain tightness still present in your body language. “Alright.” 

Joel watches you for a moment, expecting more. Something, some kind of reaction, but you’re almost stoic. He can’t read you, like he always could, and it’s starting to make him feel like he’s going insane.

“Can you—” he shifts in his seat, “Can you tell me how you feel about all that?” He asks despite his fear that you might start screaming, or hit him, or just throw him out of your house, tell him you never want to see him again, because he knows that you have every right to, that he’d deserve it. 

You shift as well, eyes glued to the table. “Well… I’m glad you regret it, I guess…” The words are almost measured in a way that makes Joel’s skin itch. The air feels like static electricity. “I’m, um… glad you’re not dead. Glad you found Tommy” You add, finally looking back up at him, but that pinch is still between your brows, and that paired with your set jaw are the only things keeping your face from complete neutrality. It’s agonizingly obvious you’re holding something back, and at this point, he can’t stop himself from needling it loose. “But…?” He prods, practically on the edge of his seat. 

Looking back down, you sigh, a slight edge in your tone. “There’s no but. I’m glad you’re alive, glad you made it to Tommy.” 

Joel nods, but he can’t help but be irked by the plainness of your reply. “Y/n… I need you to be honest with me, alright? No bullshit.” He says, leaning further over the table, trying to catch your gaze. 

You sigh back, and he can tell you’re holding back from rolling your eyes. “I’m not bullshitting you, Joel—”

He holds his hand up, cutting you off. “I’m not saying you are.” He says matter-of-factly, gaze not leaving your face. “I just wanna know how you feel, how you actually feel. I know you’re glad I’m not dead, and you don’t have to say anything for me to know you think I shoulda done things differently, but—I’m not sure how else to ask,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes and knitting his brow, “You pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I’m pissed at you.” You answer instantly, expression almost offended at the question—the first spark of actual emotion he’s seen from you yet. “Of course I fucking am.”

Joel huffs, almost relieved at your directness, but he’s not satisfied yet. “How pissed?” 

There’s more bite in your words when you reply, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, “Jesus, well I’m not about to maul you, so you can relax.”

Rubbing his hand over his face, irritation seeps into Joel’s tone. “Damnit, Y/n, I’m tryin’ to have a serious conversation here.” Immediately, he kicks himself for the way it comes out, sighing heavily. He knows he has no right to be irritated at you when he’s the one who started all of this, and that he deserves whatever reaction he’s going to get from you. “I am being serious.” You reply, “I could maul you, but I won’t.” Joel fights to keep himself from rolling his eyes this time. “Fine. Point taken. But would ya just tell me something other than you’re happy I’m not dead? Cause I can tell you’ve got more you want to say.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda fucking complicated.” You huff, turning your head away. 

Mirroring your stance, Joel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Try me.” He’ll take anything at this point, he’s been thinking about this conversation for years, and he’s getting tired of the pussyfooting. 

There’s a sudden glare as you look back at him, but he still doesn’t look away, watching your jaw clench and unclench. The beat of silence only aggravates him further. “Come on, spit it out.” He insists, “Why won’t you just talk to me? Why can’t I get a straight answer outta you, Y/n?”

“Well can you give me a goddamn second to think, Joel?” You shoot back. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for you to show up at my fucking doorstep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be call ahead and schedule a fuckin’ meeting.” He returns sharply, actually rolling his eyes this time. 

“Don’t get fucking smart with me.” You nearly hiss. “You’re the one in my fucking house.” There’s a cold glower on your face now, and you might as well be baring your teeth as you press your finger into the table. 

“Oh, I’m well aware of whose house I’m in.” He replies lowly, eyes narrowing. He doesn't like how this conversation is going, doesn’t like the venom in your voice, doesn’t like how bristled he is by it—he knows he deserves it, and yet, he can’t get himself to back down. 

“Are you?” You say, eyes narrowing right back at him. “You’re in my fucking house. Mine. I fucking made it here. I know you think I’m some incompetent fucking weakling that can’t do anything for herself, and I’m sure you went through hell getting here, but so did I, and you’re the one who fucking left me, so don’t you dare disrespect me in my own fucking home.”

Joel’s expression hardens, jaw clenching as you speak. No, that’s not what he thinks, that's never been what he thinks of you! He came here to apologize to you, but you’ve twisted this into some sort of petty accusation, and he won’t have it. “I never said that. I don’t think you’re incompetent, I don’t think you’re weak, I’ve never thought that about you. I was just trying to protect you.” He shoots back, stamping his own finger into the table. 

“Oh, fuck you you were. Bull shit, Joel. You ‘protected’ me,” you air-quote, only piquing Joel further, “because you thought I was weak, that I needed you, and then you left, because you thought I was weak, because you thought that I needed you to survive, that I was just dead weight. You never respected me. And you know what? I’m glad you left, so I wouldn’t have to deal with that fucking bullshit anymore. I never fucking needed you. I hope you know that.”

“Oh no?” Joel returns, unable to keep the hurt from souring into venom, “You like handling everything on your own like a tough little soldier? Yeah, I’m sure you did great handling Infected by yourself, or the raiders, or the—”

“I did! Fuck you, Joel, I fucking did. I fucking have, by my fucking self. Don’t act like you’re the only fucking person who’s been through things.” 

Joel scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “Oh really? Is that what you’ve been doing? Surviving all by yourself?”

“Yes!” You let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I’ve been alone ever since you left. Six fucking years, I did it alone.”

This takes Joel aback a little, anger faltering for a moment as the weight of your statement sinks in. You’ve been on your own, all this time? The realization is a little difficult to process, and it shows in his tone when he finally responds, his voice softer now than a moment ago. “…You’ve been alone? This whole time?”

“Yeah. I was.” You glare, losing no fire. “Believe it for fucking not. Who fucking cares. That’s how it fucking goes.”

Joel doesn’t like how easily you say the words, and he doesn’t like that you claim to not care. He never wanted you to be alone. Especially not for that long. Sure, he’s been alone for most of the journey to Wyoming, but he had someone in Boston. But you… ever since he left… you never let anyone in? A part of him wants to believe you’re lying, just to spite him, but he knows that’s not what this is. 

There's a pause before he speaks again, tone still much softer than yours. “You might not care. But I do.”

“Boo fucking hoo.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” He suddenly snaps, like your flippant, mocking response was only salt dumped onto his wound, shooting up from his seat, palms slamming on the table and chair screeching on the floor. You jump right up with him, slamming your own hand down and shoving the other out towards him, glare ablaze, and shout back, “Sit the fuck down.”

Joel fumes, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t like being talked to like this by anyone, but you… you’ve never been like this with him, even the times you have fought. There’s something about this that is completely brand new. Sure, he’s seen you pissed, hell, he's seen you fight and kill, dozens of times. But right now, you have this edge, this ferocity, and, it’s intimidating and near unnerving, but more than anything, it makes him feel sad. 

You’ve been fending from yourself for six years, and it’s changed you. 

He stays quiet, only slowly lowering back into his seat with a heavy huff. 

You sigh right back, glaring down at him for a moment more before sinking back down into your own chair. 

“I don’t care what you think about me.” You start, tone more even but no less bitter. “I don’t care if you think I’m weak, or strong, or a bitch, or a cunt, I don’t care. I’m fucking over it. Nothing you think will change a god damn thing.”

Joel runs a frustrated hand over his face, closing his eyes for a moment. Upon registering some of the effect of all those years all alone out there, seeing that there are things he doesn't know about, changes you’ve undergone, his tone is softer, though still firm. “I never thought that, Y/n. And I sure as hell don’t think you’re a bitch. Or a…what’d you say? A cunt?”

“Didn’t I just say I don’t care?” You reply immediately, still glaring, not taking the bait of the almost lighthearted tone he ends with. It’s something that would’ve made you laugh before, or at least crack a smile, but he can see that sort of approach is a lost cause at this point. He's not going to be able to jump start any sort of lightheartedness right now.

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Joel feels a wave of exhaustion, the long trek here, along with this conversation itself, has him worn out. All he wants right now is to have an honest talk with you, some sort of heart to heart, but you’re making that very difficult. So, he decides to approach it a different way, try to spark some familiarity, comfort, his eyes free from anger as he looks at you again, a soft concern written on his face instead. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He should have expected it not to work. 

“Why the hell not?” He answers, dropping his hand from his face. Why can’t you calm down? Why can’t you see that he cares about you? That he never meant for things to go this way, to end up like this? That he’s just trying to apologize? He’s not giving up. He’s not backing down. If you’re going to keep glaring and giving sharp glares, he's going to keep trying to chip away at that facade you’ve built up over the years, find that friend he used to have. 

“Because I don’t want your fucking pity.” You spit, and now your face just looks fucking mean. 

Joel takes a deep, huffing breath, hurt shifting into irritation again, but he knows that losing his temper entirely will get him nowhere. “I’m not pitying you. I’m concerned. There's a difference.”

“I don’t need your concern. I’m fucking fine.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” He narrows his eyes, shocked that you would even try to pull that kind of bullshit.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you slap your forehead sarcastically, “I guess I shouldn’t have, I should have known that you’ll only ever view me as some baby bird with a broken wing, that I need worry and pity and a big strong man to keep me safe. Cause of course I can’t do that on my own. Jeez, I guess I forgot who I’m talking to for a second. Forgive me.”

“God damn it, Y/n.” He grits out, eyes closing, heart panging in sorrow, anger, and hurt. He’s hit with an urge to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, make you see that he just cares, that he wants to be there for you. “Stop twistin’ my words. I already said that that’s not how I see you. It never has been, and it never will be. You’re strong, you’re smart, you're capable. But goddamn it, you’re different. Now I don’t know what exactly happened to you out there, but somethin’ did, and I know I shouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself, and now that I’m here, I just want to help, for Christ's sake!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You scoff. “That is pity. You still think I need you, because—“ Suddenly, you cut yourself off, almost shrinking back. 

“No. Tell me what you wanna say. Go on. Say it.” He replies, a sour frown on his face. He’s tired of this bullshit that's been pouring out of your mouth, dying for something real from you, and it’s starting to really piss him off that you won’t just fucking say what you mean. 

You pause, lips in a tight line, before sighing, looking to the side and wiping a hand over your brow as you grumble, “This is fucking pointless.”

“No.” He says, firmer this time, gesturing with his hand as he talks, poking the table with his finger. “You’ve been dancing around this conversation the entire time, and I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of it. So just tell me.”

“No, because I’m mature enough to know when I’m about to say something I’ll regret.”

“Mature?” He grimaces, eyes narrowed, irked hard by the jab. “You call this maturity? This is cowardice, Y/n. You’re bullshitting around while I’m trying to face this shit, head on, like a fucking adult. Talk to me, god damn it!”

“Fine.” You spit, a fierce frown on your face, eyes almost wide as you suddenly lean towards him over the table. “You wanna know what I think? What I know? You need someone to need you, you need to feel like you’re protecting someone, so you don’t feel like such a fucking failure, but you’ll never stop feeling like one, because you have some perverted relationship with guilt—all this bullshit that you refuse to deal with, because you feel like you need to punish yourself to make everything right. Can you even comprehend what a load of fucking shit it is?! How you fuck up every relationship because you won’t fucking fix the one you have with yourself?”

Joel falls silent, all the anger he had just a moment ago suddenly replaced by a sort of hollowness. You may have hit the nail on the head just then. He wants to argue, wants to shoot you with a read just as raw and unforgiving, but he can’t bring himself to. 

He wants to just get up and leave, walk away from this conversation and never reopen it again. But he can’t bring himself to. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

He’s quiet for another moment, heart thudding in his chest. 

“Yeah. I guess it was.” He finally speaks, voice gruff. 

“Great. Glad I could scratch that fucked up, masochistic itch of yours.” You clip. 

“Glad I could be your punching bag.” He shoots back. 

“Fuck you.” You spit, face splitting back into a harsh glower. That sudden animosity back in you catches him off guard, and his heart tightens and heavies. 

But at least you’re being honest. If aggression is what’s needed to finally get it out of you, so be it. He’ll pry it out of you, and he’ll take every punch, every sharp word, every wrathful look, just to have something from you. “You gonna cry about it?” He replies, a grimace on his face, his own words make his heart pound, immediately regretting it. He shouldn’t be talking to you like this, shouldn’t be trying to be cruel to you. But the words are already hanging in the air. 

Your eyes narrow, and there’s almost an electricity about you now. Hitting a nerve seems to be an understatement of what he's just done. “Fuck. You.” 

The freezing ferocity of your tone with the almost feral anger suddenly contorting your face causes a startling shoot of fear in Joel’s chest. He’s never seen you this sharp before in his life, this level of hostile, especially towards him. Never. You’ve never been this. It’s unsettling. 

He’s quiet for a long moment. 

“You’re different.” He finally says, a bitter acceptance in his tone. It’s an obvious observation, but he can’t help but air it anyway. You’ve been through hell these past few years, that much is clear; he's sure you have every right to be the way you are now. But he can’t help but think of the girl he used to know, the girl he now believes may be long gone. 

Slowly, you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Yeah. I am.” You respond, tone dour and icey. “It’s been a while.”

Joel nods slowly, eyes glued to you, taking in this new version. The extreme guardedness of your posture, the stony look in your eyes, that tone of your voice reverberating through him. “Yeah. It has.” He replies, voice soft in reluctance.

Silence hangs in the air for a while as Joel tries to take it in, almost at a loss for words. You’re not just different, you seem to be almost a different person entirely.

Eventually, he rubs a hand over his face, a feeling of exhaustion washing over him again. He just wants to tell you that he misses you, that he wishes things could go back to the way that they were before, to have his friend back, that he’s sorry, so, so sorry, that he’ll do anything to make it right, tell you how much he regrets it, how it’s been eating him alive. But he knows that you won’t want to hear a word of it. That you’ll brush it off as pity, spew some more bullshit about how he just thinks you’re weak, that he views you as some helpless child. 

“Well,” you suddenly cut through the silence, voice full of icy sarcasm, “this has been great. You can go now.”

Irritation immediately flares back up in him at it, and he crosses his arms. “No.” He says, face hard and determined. “I’m not leaving. We are not done here.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” You announce, almost before he’s even finished his sentence, nodding towards the door. That feral ferocity is back, and paired with the near monotone tone to your voice, Joel gets a bad feeling in his gut. But he brushes it off, doesn’t budge an inch, arms still crossed, gaze evenly on you, expression hard and determined. 

“No.”

Suddenly, you’re lunging towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, catching him completely off guard. His chair scrapes loudly on the floor as you drag him out of it, his boots scuffing as you push him back towards the door. Your teeth are bared, face right in his as you seethe through them, “Get the fuck out of my fucking house.” 

Joel’s eyes are wide, unable to fight back out of pure shock by your sudden belligerence. Every muscle of his body tenses, gripped by a sudden, almost primal fear. He’s strong enough to fight back, but the wildness in your eyes stops him from doing a god damn thing, and before he knows it, he’s being thrown through the threshold of your door and out into the cold, and the door is slammed in his face, hard. 

Joel is left standing there, huffing harsh puffs of white air, heart pounding, the only thing running through his mind being, who are you?

[pttucker]

The first one to react was Han Myungoh. "Hmm, hmm. So that's what happened. I think I understand everything." …But, that's plainly not possible? Everyone was now looking at him. So, Han Myungoh added one more thing. "It seems to me that you actually enjoy dying or getting kidnapped."

adlfkdjfsldfkdjs

WHERE IS THE LIE, DOKJA? HUH? WHERE IS THE LIE???

It's 454 chapters in and I think this may very well be the first time Dokja has actually sat down with his companions (any companion) and properly explained something (anything!) to them, aside from completely random one-on-one conversations with various people here and there where he barely eked out the smallest bit of information.

The closest he's probably come to being this informative and honest is when he's had his big blowouts with Joonghyuk or when he was scheming with Sooyoung...who already had most of the information herself.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Seeing kny men shirtless for the first time

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Gyomei x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader (bonus: all hashira men x fem!reader)

Word Count: 3,2k

Warnings: this might be a little shitty so be nice pls, this is actually the first time I ever wrote for Gyomei so please please please let me know what you think! not 100% proofread 🥹🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“Have you seen Rengoku-san? There’s something I want to ask him about our upcoming mission.”

Tengen tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, lips unable to keep that dirty grin off his face. Yeah, surely you’re asking for a mission and not because you’re having a crush on the flame hashira since joining the pillars.

“He went outside in the gardens to view the blooming roses”, he lies oh so innocently.

A bright smile creeps up your face, heart already skipping a beat in excitement. If you were only brave enough to finally ask Kyojuro out, how easier your life would be if you’d just keep your distance to him. But the prospect of seeing him alone is enough for your mind to go blank. Hopefully, the others don’t notice.

“Thank you so much, Tengen”, you blurt out with a hasty bow before yanking out of the room.

“Didn’t he say he wanted to change since he sweated so much during training?”, Shinobu thinks out loud.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a lot of fun”, Tengen replies with a smirk plastered onto his face.

Your mind races back and forth as you make your way to the gardens. What will you even ask him? Maybe what he has planned, if he already knows something? What if you mess up? This is actually the first time you and Kyojuro got assigned a mission together. You have to make a good impression or otherwise, he won’t take you with him again.

“Rengoku-san, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have a few questions regarding the ne-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat immediately, feet coming to a rapid stand.

There he is, the flame hashira.

Shirtless, his upper body soaking wet while he empties a bucket of water over his head.

“Oh, (y/n)! I didn’t expect you here!”, he announces with his eyes widened.

You can’t even blink, mind going dull. You always secretly imagined what Kyojuro might look like underneath that uniform, if his muscles look as buff as they feel underneath your touch while training.

And they do.

Oh god, they definitely do.

“I-I…Tengen told me that…You’re here to see…the roses”, you blurt out, still unable to look away.

“Indeed! But before that, I really needed to change my uniform since I sweated a lot during training.”

“Yeah, I can see that”, you mumble.

“(y/n), are you not feeling well? You look quite red from afar. Allow me to check on you.”

When he suddenly starts walking towards you with his chest muscles tensing with each and every step, you feel like fainting. Of course you never doubted that this man looks good underneath that uniform, but this?

“Your cheeks are really hot”, he comments while running his wet hand up and down your cheek.

“I…I…”

Your mind is a mess, not a single thought is making sense right now. Are you dreaming? Is that really Rengoku Kyojuro standing in front of you with his abs glittering in the heat of the sun, so close that you’d be able to touch him.

“Maybe you should go and see Shinobu-“

“I’m flustered!”, you finally cry out like an idiot.

Only to regret your words immediately.

His hand stops right in its tracks, the piercing presence of his orbs forcing you to look up at him.

“Why would you be flustered, (y/n)?”, he questions innocently.

May the ground swallow you whole in hope you’ll never return. God, why does this have to be so embarrassing? You’ll definitely have a word with Tengen when this is over.

“Because I…I have a crush on you, Kyojuro.”

The words you never dared to say out loud, that lingered through your mind each and every time you saw him. Like a rock, they fall off your chest while a wave of pure panic starts rushing over you.

You just confessed your feelings to him.

Him, Rengoku Kyojuro.

“I think I need to go now”, you blurt out, already starting to turn away when Kyojuro grabs your wrist gently.

“Please don’t go, (y/n). Actually, I feel the same way about you.”

He sweeps you around so rapidly that you are forced against something as hard as a wall. Did he accidentally throw you against a wall, the nearby tree?

The second you open your eyes again, you stare at his bare chest, only millimetres away from your face.

That wasn’t a wall.

“I had an eye on you since the first time I saw you. You are just…so amazing!”, he confesses with a passion that is even unusual for him.

“Kyojuro, I…”

Your bare face touched his naked chest.

“I…”

And don’t get started on his sight, his broad chest, the muscles that flex when he grabs your shoulders passionately.

“I…I can’t…”

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? A cat got your tongue?”, Tengen jeers from behind.

All your senses seem to come back to you in the split of a second when a wave of anger washes over you.

“You little…Why did you do that!?”, you cry out while storming towards the much taller man.

“Because your face looks very flashy when it’s this red.”  

 Gyomei Himejima

To say that you are exhausted would be the understatement of a century. Being out in the scorching sun all day really took its toll on your already bruised body.

Not to mention the training methods of none other than the stone hashira himself.

Gyomei is not a stranger to you. You’ve known each other for quite some time by now, joining the demon slayer corps almost simultaneously. And that force of a man never failed to impress you.

You wrench your sweat-soaked clothes in the river while staring at your own reflection. Why are you even here, though? You might not be a hashira yet, but you trained with Gyomei countless times before. Over and over, you shoved rocks around and almost drowning in that exact river. At this point, the basic training of the corps members isn’t even enough for you to break a sweat. You find yourself shoving that rock 10 cho by now while carrying tree trunks on your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. Now that you think of it, you didn’t even catch a glimpse at Gyomei himself since being here. Apparently, the hashira training does keep him busy.

That sting of agony that pierces through your heart can’t be stopped, though. Over the span of those last years, you got to know the stone hashira better. Despite his tall and threatening appearance, he is the softest man you’ve ever known. So kind that he brought tears to your eyes more than once, so considerate that it’s hard to believe that this man lives alone.

It was inescapable for you to fall from him head over heels. And now you find yourself longing for his presence even though you know all too well that he is busy training the corps members.

“I didn’t expect to greet you here at this late hour.”

You almost trip over head-first into the water, caught by a strong hand last-minute before you take another dive into the river.

“I’m beyond sorry for scaring you like this, (y/n)”, an all too familiar voice continues while pushing you back on your feet.

Normally, the first thing you see is his demon slayer uniform and cloak draped around him in a somehow elegant way.

But not today.

You swallow hard, widened eyes blankly staring at his naked chest. This man standing in front of you…Gyomei wears nothing but his uniform pants.

“I…uh…don’t w-worry”, you stutter like an idiot, his arms still holding you in place gently.

“Did I interrupt you? I didn’t know that you were taking a bath.”

His soft voice paired with that sight in front of you. You’ve never seen him shirtless, never witnessed the way his veins pop out of his arms and how well formed he is underneath that uniform. It would be so easy to allow your fingertips a taste and let yourself discover his muscles even better, to just stretch out your hand and-

“Does it bother you that I am shirtless? I came here to take a bath myself.”

“Bother?”, you press out.

“I…I’m not bothered at all!”

“I guess I’m just a little…flustered…”

“Flustered?”, he repeats in confusion.

“If I make you feel uncomfortable, I’ll cover myself of course. I just noticed you were here and we haven’t seen each other for a long time by now.”

“I missed you”, he adds, forcing your world upside down for a minute.

Since you’ve got to know him, there was never more than friendly words between Gyomei and you. Not more than a shoulder rub, not more than motivating words from time to time. You never allowed yourself to compliment him or talk about anything apart from missions.

Until now. Until Gyomei confessed out of nowhere that he missed you.

While being shirtless

“I…missed you too”, you finally give in.

You allow your eyes a little glimpse at him. Just a little taste of his broad shoulders and how his veins stand out. Just a little something of his rock-hard abs, his enormous upper body that is usually covered by his uniform. Just one look at-

“I thought about you all the time, to be exact”, you breathe out before you even realize what you’re talking about.

“I’m feeling the same way, (y/n). Let me assure you that my heart beats just as fast as yours at the moment.”

Gently, he cups your hand with his and presses your palm against his bare chest, straight against his racing heart that pulsates against your skin.

Oh god. You feel like fainting any given minute, your very own heart pounding so hard that you might get a heart attack.

“Now, allow me to put on my uniform again so that we can have a proper-“

“Wait!”, you blurt out.

“Let’s just stay like this for uh…a little longer…”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It’s hard to keep your palms from sweating when you know exactly where you’re going. To him, the wind hashira. The man who swept you off your feet without even trying, the man you haven’t seen in such a long time by now.

While Sanemi always kept himself busy with missions, you were assigned to a mission far away from home. It took you over a month to finally find the demon who was responsible for this mess. And eventually, Sanemi just stopped writing you letters or replying to your messages. Even though you were so sure that he might feel the same way about you, he proved you wrong.

In the most painful way.

“I can’t go any further, that’s exactly where he is”, you complain while following your crow around.

You know this path uncomfortably well, the way it leads you next to a river, through a field of strawberries. Straight into the wind hashira estate.

“Direct orders from Kagaya-sama! You need to undergo the hashira training!”

“I just returned from an exhausting mission, did you tell him that?”, you bark back only to get attacked by your stinky crow.

“So cheeky! Watch how you talk to me!”, it cries out, literally dragging you along with it while its beak bursts the skin of your cheek.

Your heart almost stops beating, pounding rougher and rougher against your ribcage with every step you take towards the wind hashira estate.

What if the man you still love rejects you? What if he breaks your heart in front of everyone else, if he speaks out those words you imagined when you waited another day for his reply?

You want to escape, want to get as far away from here as possible. But your unforgiving crow drags you with it until you find yourself at the front doors of his estate.

“Get yourself together, dumbass! Go inside and talk to him! GO!”

With one last bite it finally leaves you alone, right at the opened front door.

There’s nothing you’d like more than vanishing from this earth, to get swallowed whole. Why on earth does it have to be him first? Why aren’t you allowed to train with Tengen, Giyu, basically everyone else? Your heart races so hard inside your ribcage that it takes your breath away, eyes staring into the dark estate.

Is he even home?

You allow yourself to take a few steps into the building, to look around. No cries, no voices? Maybe he isn’t even home. Are they training somewhere else, in the nearby woods, maybe?

“Fuck!”

His voice almost sends you over the edge, forces your eyes to dart around in sheer horror. That was Sanemi, without any doubt. But is he alone?

What if he’s not?

What if he’s with a girl?

You swallow hard, the ugliest thoughts taking over your head when you hear water splashing from a room nearby.

You can’t help it. As quiet as possible, you make your way towards the room the sounds originate from, ready to find literally everything. What if that’s the reason he didn’t write you back? What if he fell in love with another woman and simply forgot about you?

Your eyes peek through the ever so slightly opened door.

And your jaw drops to the floor in an instant.

There he stands, nothing but a towel covering his private parts while droplets of water run down his naked back. Sanemi just washed himself.

But oh…

You can feel your mouth watering just by looking at the scars that cover his back, how delicious the water than runs down his neck seems.  You’re only a few steps away from that force of a man, only a few steps in order to touch him. You always wondered what his skin feels like, if his outside is as rough as his inside. And what does he smell like straight out of the shower? Does he still smell like himself? And what about his abs-

All air drains from your compressed lungs as you suddenly find yourself pinned against the wall straight in Sanemi’s bathroom.

“Why the hell are you spying on me like some little freak?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…wasn’t spying”, you press out, his distressed orbs meeting yours.

Fuck, you’re screwed.

“Oh yeah? Why were you standing outside my bathroom then? I didn’t even know you were back!”

“Because you never fucking asked”, you finally bark back.

He draws even closer, lingers over you like an unpromising shadow with his naked upper body still dripping. No, you have to concentrate on the fact that you’re mad as hell right now, there’s no room for inspecting his upper body.

But his abs definitely look as good as they feel.

“You were out on a mission, how the hell was I supposed to ask? I thought you’d just let me know when you’re back”, he bites back.

“Oh, could have tried answering my damn messages, maybe? Did you ever think about that!?”

“Me answering your messages? You never replied to me!”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about? I sent you countless messages and you never answered. I even asked Kagaya-sama if you died or something! I…I was so fucking worried…”

His heavy breath mixes with yours, caresses your oversensitive skin.

“But Sanemi…I did the same”, you finally mutter.

Sanemi’s chest rises and falls rapidly, a few water drops escaping the force of his skin. His oh so glowy skin. Of course you knew that this man would look good shirtless. But this? How are you supposed to stay focused when his skin turns pink ever so slightly, when his muscular chest moves like that?

“Can you stop staring at my abs and focus on me for one minute?”, he barks while flicking in front of your way too focused eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up in an instant, glossy eyes staring at him like a caught deer. If there’s one thing that’s worse than checking Sanemi out, it’s definitely getting caught.

“Sorry, I have to go”, you mumble while pulling yourself away from him.

Only to find yourself wrapped in his naked arms even tighter.

“You’re not going anywhere. I just asked you something”, he warns you.

“Let go of me!”

“Did you…miss me?”

Your arms stop right in their tracks, widened eyes staring at his flustered face in sheer disbelief. There he stands, Sanemi Shinazugawa, straight out of the shower while asking you if you missed him?

“Yeah, always”, you reply out of instinct.

“Good. Because same.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to second-guess your answer. In the split of a second, you get devoured by his muscular arms, your very own kimono soaking wet in an instant.

Are you dreaming?

“Wait, what?”, you breathe out.

“And you totally checked me out”, he adds proudly.

“I didn’t check you out-“

“Oh yeah?”

He lets go of you just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his delicious upper body again.

“Maybe a little bit…”

-Bonus-

You huff out in exhaustion. What the actual fuck were you thinking when you agreed on training with all hashira? Well, apparently not that you’d literally vomit all over yourself after getting hit without any mercy by all of them.

“That little fucker Shinazugawa”, you curse under your breath while stomping towards the wind hashira estate.

“I’ll kick your puny ass next time.”

Your feet drag you back to them with last strength. Rengoku, Tengen, Obanai, Shinazugawa, Tomioka…why on earth are all of them so damn strong? Super unfair.

“Have you seen how I beat the shit out of her?”, you hear Sanemi jeer from afar as well as the constant mumbling of the others.

“It wasn’t necessary to hit her this hard”, Giyu comments.

“Hell yes it was. Now that brat knows what she’s dealing with!”

All you see is red. Even though your body begs you to stop, you storm towards their voices.

“Listen up, you little shit-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, eyes darting around without a real aim.

There they stand. Shirtless. Every single one of them.

Oh.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault that you’re a loser-“

Just this once, you’re actually able to ignore Sanemi’s shitty words. That toned abs Rengoku has, Tengen’s veiny arms, Obanai’s athletic build, the scars that compliment Sanemi’s muscles so well-

Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Are you okay, (y/n)?”, Giyu questions while rubbing the back of his head with a towel.

How is it possible that he looks this good underneath that loose uniform? You always expected Giyu to be rather athletic that muscular given his fast movements. But that mountain of a biceps definitely doesn’t lie.

“I…”

Not a single logical thought is left in your blank mind, eyes roaming back and forth between them.

“I need to go.”

In the matter of seconds, you disappear inside the wind hashira estate without a trace.

“Is (y/n) alright? She looked rather pale”, Rengoku thinks out loud, still staring at where you last stood.

“She was definitely checking me out”, Tengen announces proudly.

“You? Bet she was looking at me”, Sanemi jeers at the tall man.

“How are they so hot?”, you mumble to yourself while inspecting them through the window.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

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ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡʀᴀᴘs

[4.4k] Pairing | bsf!Luke Hughes x bsf!afab!reader Summary | luke and y/n are tired of feeling left behind and help each other out…but in the company of their friends. but it makes a good story, right? Warnings | 18+ smut, kinda slow start, best friends to lovers, long haired luke!!! Bc I love long hair, umich!luke, (basically public) fingering, swearing, appearance and sex insecurities, tiny bit of angst but not really, mutual pining, making out Authors Note | im in such a luke brainrot it’s painful, this was supposed to be a blurb but I can’t control myself but anyway, this is my first hockey fic i hope its alright. Based on this after hours post! This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes

Luke felt like a creep. But she looked so at peace sitting on the lake's docks, feet dangling and toes skimming the water's surface. While she was nothing but a silhouette in the distance, the sunset cascading on the horizon complimenting her like a portrait in a museum. He also wasn’t sure on how long he’d been standing at the sliding patio doors, the UMich boy’s voices blended out into a white noise while his mind wandered to crevices of thoughts he’d been avoiding for months, but anything to escape Ethan and Luca’s conversations about girlfriend stories. Yes, he was happy for them, found it cute in fact, but when was it his turn to have that chapter in his life? He could have it if he didn’t panic and fumble at every party they threw, just a bit more alcohol and maybe he’d have a chance but like all victims of tragedy, no one would ever be her. Could ever replace her or even substitute her. So, while his curls bounced in the gentle breeze, Luke Hughes admired the only girl in the University of Michigan that’s ever made his heart ache and contort in bittersweet ways.

With a firm slap to his back, Luke’s daydream snapped back to reality, to Dylan Duke grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. The most painful thing Dylan had to endure since he met Luke was watching his friend follow y/n like a lost puppy begging for attention, and there was nothing more he wanted than for the two to just kiss already. They almost did, once, at someone’s birthday party when they both nursed a bottle of tequila. But Dylan never told them that, he wasn’t entirely sure if he dreamt it, if he was honest.

“Just go talk to her, be honest,” Dylan said with a light chuckle, nudging Luke towards the porch steps.

Luke’s legs stopped stiff, and spun to face Dylan in protest, “No! What do I even say? ‘Oh, hey y/n I know we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with you haha hope this doesn’t make it awkward’? Like, come on.” With the way Dylan’s grin turned almost menacing, Luke felt his heart almost stop, his stupidity catching up with him, “This stays between us, Duker.”

He groaned and watched Dylan giggle his way back inside. Wingman or menace? Fine line, but at least he was better than Jack. Who quite literally tried trapping him and y/n in a closet when he found out, hoping for the best. Perhaps Dylan would actually help him get somewhere, he’d spent many parties coaxing Luke into making a move but Luke being the humble soul he took pride in, let her have her peace. Oh, how much he regretted it every time he heard her laugh because of another guy.

Thankfully the docks were at the far end of his garden, out of earshot and almost out of sight, if you weren’t spying. He stood silently, just taking in her very existence alone. If she weren’t wearing his hoodie so proudly, he would’ve sat down by now but the heat that flushed into his cheeks prominently just had to ease before he could show his face. Maybe she’d find it cute that his face flushed so easily, or maybe she’d think he was a fool for thinking he had a chance. Girls were hard to read, so many codes and hints, he couldn’t keep up with them all and God forbid you had an ugly code name. Watching her like that did raise the thought, what was his code name? Did he really want to know?

“I can feel you starin’,” her voice chimed, their eyes meeting as she craned her neck, “you gonna join or just stand?”

Luke’s lips pulled into his famous half-smirk, “I like lookin’ at pretty things, can you blame a man?” He sat next to her, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder like they usually did, the weight of his boldness lifting off his chest. “What’s runnin’ through that mind of yours?”

“Who said I was thinking about anything? Maybe I was finally catching a break from the zoo. Maybe I was thinking that you need a haircut.” Her laugh was like music to his ears, her voice his favourite song and every word that rolled off her tongue felt like ecstasy surging through him and freezing the world around them.

Spending a summer in a lake house was the only way y/n ever wanted to live. An oasis of serenity and laughs, endless memories, and an escape. But while she dipped her toes in the water, watching her reflection ripple, the everlasting thought that it was fleeting crawled its way back to the surface whether she wanted it to or not. The boys had been doing this longer than she had, it was her first time at the lake house and possibly her last. But there was nothing wrong with enjoying it while it lasted, being trapped under the same roof as the boys wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed. Except for the smells, they were straight-up disrespectful. Would she still love it as much if she was with other friends? Hard to say, if Luke was there, everything would be fine. Maybe a couple more girls would’ve been nice too, though.

“Please, you’re staring blankly, don’t try me.” Luke scoffed playfully, shoulder gently nudging hers as she rolled her eyes, unable to resist a gleaming smile. As much as she wanted to rebuttal, he was right. They’d met on the first week of university, Luke starting hockey practice and y/n starting as their new social girl and since then the pair of them had been two peas in a pod. Completely enamoured with each other, attached at the hip, where Luke went, he’d bring y/n, his person.  “Wait, you think I need a haircut? Is it that bad?”

She laughed, Luke, stooping so she could thread her fingers through his unruly curls gently, something only she was allowed to do, “Nah, I like your hair long, cut it and I’ll cut you.” They pulled back, sitting in their original postures and watched the sun’s pinks fade to oranges, “I was thinking about how many girls you’ve brought here.”

He blinked twice, turning his head slowly to face her and to his surprise his eyes met hers. There was a gloss to them, illuminated brightly by the sunset but like glass as if she were about to break. Heart beating in his ears, he licked his lips, almost quivering when he began to speak.

“Just you.” His voice just above a whisper, husky, “Only you. Always you.” Their gazes lingered, and his eyes fluttered to her lips for just a split second before he found himself licking his lips again, feeling his throat dry at the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. His heart ached, he didn’t have half the guts the Fantilli brothers did, if he had then maybe he would’ve at least wrapped his arm around her. Instead, he sat like he was paralysed, just shoulder to shoulder as she rubbed her bare foot against his leg, their skins touching, lighting little fires up his body and his stomach gaining a warmth he’d only felt in the after-hours of his bedroom.

“Lu?” she rested her head on his shoulder, staring back out towards the horizon, “Do you ever feel like you’re so far behind the people around you? Like you’re missing out.”

Luke leaned his head against hers, almost nuzzling into it as he thought. It was a heavy question, one that’d been weighing on her for a while. Or he assumed, considering she’d never openly asked the group. That’s what made him feel special. Her feet hung still, ending their teasing game and just fell limp. He exhaled, could he let his pride go and agree? Or could he completely one-up himself and disagree, which made him braver? He loathed the storms she started in him, thoughts he never imagined he would think in his hockey brain. One girl could change his entire train of thought, change his heartbeat, change his mood. One woman he pined like a lost puppy over.

“Sometimes. What do you mean?”

“Like, all my friends have these insane hook-ups and embarrassing sex stories and I have nothing. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was younger and stupid then. I go out with my friends and I’m basically invisible to any guy who approaches us, just feel unlovable. And now here I am, twenty years old and a fucking virgin with little experience and no wild stories.” She vented, barely taking a breath as the words spilt from her mouth. Luke’s chest twisted, his face softening when she snuggled into his side. “I don’t know where I’m going wrong, Lu.”

He paused and bit his lip when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into his chest. She melted into his touch, getting a whiff of his woody, amber cologne, her favourite one at that, the one he always wore. She’d never had the chance to properly relish in his touch, was his chest always this firm? Arms always bring this much security? Fuck, when did his hand get so sexy when on her body, gliding down her arm to nestle in the curve of her waist. With her ear pressed to him, the thundering in his chest surrendered his cover entirely. Cool and collected Luke Hughes was secretly a bumbling mess.

“I get you.” he finally spoke, ears burning when her finger traced shapes on his thigh, “My entire life has been hockey, so not a lot of space for experiences either. Not enough time for relationships between practice and games, development camps and time with family. A lot of the girls who liked me didn’t really like that. That or they liked my brothers and friends more, they are a lot more attractive than me, so I don’t blame them. M’just average.”

Y/n pulled away almost instantly, her eyebrows knitted and jaw agape. For a moment she thought she heard him wrong, ‘a lot more attractive than me’, ‘just average’? Delving into Luke’s psyche turned out to be an entirely different road trip than she had thought, heartstrings tugged as her lips fell to a frown. Who in the world made him feel like that? Who did she need to hunt down? But then again, Luke’s blood boiled hearing how insignificant she felt and who exactly made her think that to start with?

“Luke Hughes you are not average! You’re the hottest guy I know!” she yelped, the hand that drew gentle patterns now clutching his thigh tight. Luke gulped but didn’t retract away from the noise. His brain was too busy short-circuiting over the fact her fingers were dangerously close to his crotch, doing his best to contain himself with slow breaths, “They just didn’t give you a chance, if they really knew you, they’d be heads over heels. You’re so fucking smart, and passionate. And-and if they saw you smile for real, not a half-smile, your full smile with your teeth, the one that feels like a warm summer’s day. It’s their loss, they’ll never know how sweet you are, that after a bad game, you want steak and head scratches, that you’re sentimental as fuck- like you wear that Yankees hat because Quinn got it for you when you fell ill and couldn’t make the game. You’re not average.”

Luke blinked, once, twice and thrice as her eyes bored into his, glazed with fire as the words tumbled from her mouth and circled his head. He watched the way her body rose and fell as she caught her breath, the grip on his thigh tightening and heat rising through his body. He felt the sweat building on the back of his neck, his collar suddenly becoming too tight. She thought he was hot? She remembered such little details about him like they’d known each other since they were kids. The hand around her waist slid to her lower back, his thumb rubbing the fabric of her (his) hoodie unconsciously.

He smiled, his warm smile she mentioned, where his eyes wrinkled and his chin tilted up triumphantly, “The hottest guy you know, huh?”

Y/n’s face dropped. Never in her life had she experienced her heart stop the way it did hearing those words. She stared like a deer in headlights, she slipped up and the heat rushing to her cheeks burned. This is what happens when you let your feelings take over, you make a fool of yourself in front of the one person who would never want to. She sighed, hung her head and hid her face in her hands, the butterflies in her stomach choking her when Luke let out a saccharine chuckle that made all the flowers bloom.

Large, warm hands wrapped around her wrists with a feather touch, and slowly pulled her hands away from her face and into her lap, soothing her nerves with a gentle rubbing of her knuckles with his thumbs. Although his hands felt clammy, the tingling in his stomach became too addicting to care about it too much anymore.

“Don’t hide,” she was radiant under what was left of the tangerine hues, eyes almost sparkling, “let me see that pretty face.”

She hesitantly raised her head, eyes meeting his and her body relaxed. She had no idea why she was so embarrassed, he hadn’t gagged, laughed in her face nor had he physically repulsed. Instead, he looked at her like she’d hung out the stars for him, wide eyes with rose-tinted ears.

“I think you’re very pretty too. Beautiful even, I-“ he hesitated, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about kissing you, asking you out. Honestly, the idea of you rejecting me is terrifying so I never did, plus, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

Her eyes fluttered to his lips, the world around them falling silent until it was just them in their own bubble. Luke gulped, his eyeline following the way she flickered between his eyes and his mouth before he found their bodies leaning into one another, noses ghosting. His hands released her wrists, one arm snaking around her waist sending an electric tingle through her veins and holding her firmly close. They’d been this close before, sure. Multiple occasions of having his arms around the back of the sofa they sat snug on, arm hooked around her shoulders because some guy couldn’t get the memo at bars, in fact, the root cause of their problem was undeniably because everyone assumed they were together except them.

Y/n’s palm held his cheek tenderly, the hot, carnal desire to devour the boy only being released from its cage when he melted into her touch as if he was opening his doors to vulnerability.

“I can teach you if you like,” she whispered, her thumb tracing across his bottom lip. Luke’s fingers gripped her waist as if she couldn’t be any closer than she already was, but he couldn’t risk letting her slip from his grasp again. He wanted to erase all those other guys who’d kissed her, he would be the last guy on Earth to taste the lips that words and giggles laced with a honey-like sweetness that cradled his heart.

“God, please-“  his heart beat twice as fast, y/n leaning in, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips gently to his. If he were to die right there, he’d die the happiest man alive. Her lips were soft and warm, igniting every firework inside of him and adrenaline shaking him back to life. He could do this for hours, drinking in her citrus fragrance, lips mimicking the way she moved hers against his. If she was a match, he was kerosene and he’d let her set him ablaze over and over if it meant he could feel like the only man in the world until the end of time.

They pulled away, eyes fluttering open to an exchange of giggly smiles. Despite it being a closed-mouth kiss, nothing extra, just soft and sweet, Luke’s thoughts raced at a million miles per hour. All the weight on his shoulders lifted and he nuzzled into her palm, placing a kiss on it.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, his puppy-like gaze almost distracting her from how his skin burned pink in her palm. But in a way, all her previous anxieties dissipated like dust in the wind, tummy flipping at the pathetically sweet and lovestruck expression spread on Luke’s face, “Your face is so red. Are you okay?-”

“-Can we do that again?” He pleaded, quickly, desperately, a certain yearning feeling on his lips that he couldn’t quite describe, except that he needed to taste her again. He needed more, so much more to quench his thirst, a kind of fuzziness he felt in his core.

“Uh- yeah, let me show you what a real kiss is.” No hesitation was needed, y/n’s hand slid from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his curls as she roughly connected their lips again, messier, teeth chattering from the impact. Luke’s other hand found comfort on her thighs, pulling them over his lap and giving gentle squeezes, moaning when y/n bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth with ease, failing to hold back another moan when her tongue lapped his. He wasn’t sure how to react, he’d never made out with anyone and it’s not like his brothers would’ve explained it well either. So, he repeated her movement, his tongue dancing with hers with saliva lubricating their lips each time they dove back in to devour each other. Y/n tugged his curls lightly, pulling him closer, savouring the kindling arousal leaking into her panties with the way he craved her.

Luke pulled away to breathe, his chest heavy but shorts becoming tight with the intense and fiery eye contact that screamed nothing but lust, “You,” he kissed her again, fervently, “taste,” another kiss, “amazing.” He mumbled into her lips and their tongues stirred again, whimpers drawing from the back of her throat when his hand travelled further up her thigh, under her shorts and found solace on the skin only he could touch. Any further and she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t pounce, her underwear was soaked through and sticking to her folds and even one measly brush on her clit would open the floodgates.

A foreign burst of confidence washed over him, and he detached their lips, a string of saliva between them and her hand still tugging at his curls and whether intentional or not, he discovered something carnal clawing away inside him. Wetting his lips, he dove into her neck, planting wet kisses along her column and nipping in the hope of hearing her mewl again. Y/n tilted her head to the side, giving him free rein over her skin and her jaw slacking, whining his name with her thighs clenching together for any kind of friction. As he began to run his hand along her thigh, his pocket vibrated continuously, earning a growl to rumble from his throat.

“Fuck, why’d you stop?” y/n whined, hand falling from his hair to his chest. Luke pulled his phone from his pocket with a disgruntled look, of course, his moment was ruined. Swiping the notification away, he clicked his tongue, sliding his phone back into his shorts.

His arms wrapped around her waist, and looked back into her adoring yet disappointed eyes, “Dylan wants to know if we’re joining them for a movie.”

“I’m quite happy staying here with you.”

“Who says we have to watch the whole movie?”

Silence hung over the living room, only the TV blaring and the light crunching of popcorn from different directions. The lights were off, just the TV and three boys crammed on one sofa, and three plus y/n on the other. Luke, y/n, Rutger and Adam on the sectional directly opposite the TV, Luke occupying the end with the chaise for his legs, and y/n sat between them and huddled under a blanket. Rutger sat in the middle with Adam on the furthest end. Dylan, Luca and Ethan huddled together on the sofa adjacent to the TV, popcorn littered between them from missing mouths and flinching.

Luke’s hands wrapped around her waist, keeping her snug against his chest while she slowly chewed Haribo’s, feeding them to him now and then. While his heart skipped beats, feeling like a meadow of tulips blooming in the Spring, y/n’s wiggling against his crotch lured all the heat and butterflies from earlier straight back to his stomach, sending it into twists and turns. Heat flushed to his neck when she pushed her arse back into him, in an innocent attempt to readjust. A deep exhale through his nose and his hands slithered to her thighs, fingers kneading the flesh like dough as his head dipped into her shoulder, breath hot on the skin and making her hairs stand on edge.

“Stop wigglin’, pretty girl,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, placing a kiss, “you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

She froze, body falling limp into his as he ran his hands under her hoodie, his stiffened cock poking into her backside as she caught on to what his problem was. The sex-deprived whore in her awakened with a jolt, his cock solid because of her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to feel him pressed up against her, unable to find his release and have the rasp of his voice reverberate through her being as her vibrator. 

“And if I don’t?” she whispered back, as close to him as possible without being heard. Instead of answering, Luke dipped his fingers down her shorts, middle finger brushing against her clothed clit. His eyes locked to the screen in front of him, resisting the urge to smirk when her breath hitched but continuing to glide his finger – in what was a lucky guess – over her bundle. She squirmed, clamping her thighs together, only to have them pried open by his free hand.

“Be a good girl and keep quiet, unless you want to be caught.” His playful tone sent chills down her spine, goosebumps swarming on her neck but melting into his touch. She plopped another sweet into her mouth, chewing intensely when Luke drew his long fingers away, only for her to feel them caress over her skin, cold on her warm body, and down her panties. To describe the sensation that zipped through her when the pad of his middle finger reunited with her clit would be the same shock if you were to be struck by lightning: sudden and sharp, rattling up the spine.

Y/n placed the bag of sweets in her lap, tucking both hands under the blanket with the hope of seeming less suspicious, but her hand skimmed down his arm and placed itself on his, slowly guiding his movements on her nub until he got the idea. Firm yet gentle circular movements, the slick seeping from her warm on his fingertips, so inviting he wished he could have a taste. She pulled the blanket to her chin, not only to cover Luke’s sudden mood but to form some form of distraction from the fuzzy feeling rising to her head. No, she’d never had this before, so the experience itself embraced her tight, addicting like nicotine.

He kissed her temple, two fingers sliding into her cunt almost perfectly, too perfect that another Haribo was abused between her teeth as her breathing struggled to remain neutral. The moan that would’ve slipped past if she hadn’t been concentrating would’ve been embarrassing enough. Luke began languid plunges into her, relishing in the way her walls squeezed his fingers tight, keeping shallow at first. The more her pussy swallowed him in their wetness, the faster his mind spiralled in greed and his pace sped up, y/n’s nails digging deep into his leg, leaving crescent shapes on the skin. The heat pooling in her stomach was riveting, knowing she would finally have an insane story to tell even more so. No one could say that Luke Hughes’ tongue tasted theirs like it was the best meal he’d ever lapped up and that he’d watched a movie with his friends while pushing the limits of both his and their sanity publicly.

With a rush of adrenaline and her nails marking him, he buried his fingers deep into her cunt, driving swiftly and curling in places that made her wriggle against him, his free hand having to hold her hips still with a bruising grip and his cock begged for attention in his shorts. Y/n popped two more sweets in her mouth, relying on their gummy nature to suppress the moans that threatened to tear through her as the knot inside her came dangerously close to snapping with the way he bullied her pussy with his bare hands. His breathing fell deep and shuddered, his heart infatuated with the ecstasy of finger-fucking the woman of his dreams in front of an entire room of his friends hammered in his chest while his face struggled to stay indifferent and jaw tight like his cock isn't throbbing violently and straining against her arse. Like she wasn’t bucking her hips into his touch like he couldn’t tell that her heart was going haywire because of just him alone. If this was what foreplay was like, the idea of piledriving balls deep in her until she couldn’t remember her name was divine.

He dragged out his last pumps, the knot in her stomach snapping and coating his fingers in hot, sticky release, kissing her temple upon her body physically shuddering. Y/n pulled the blanket up to her chin as if she had shivered naturally, stuffing her mouth into the fluffy material. Luke pulled his fingers out, wiping the residue on his shorts, practically drooling over the image of milking her dry. His arms snaked around her waist, snuggling close. Y/n sighed, slumping back into him. On the outside Luke was his collected and cool self, his breathing stable and attention on the movie, the heat in his face and hands that rested on her stomach, soothing her heart rate screamed that he was the happiest guy in the room. With every gentle stroke of his thumb on the flesh of her stomach, her heart soothed and her eyelids became increasingly heavier.

"Was that story worthy?" He whispered, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Luke’s pocket buzzed and he tutted, carefully sliding it from his pocket and unlocking it, trying his best to prevent the screen from blinding everyone.

Duker idk if ur freaky or brave u dog

Luke closed his phone and looked up towards Dylan, who sat with a shit-eating grin. He smiled and shook his head, mouthing a subtle, ‘this stays between us’.

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

2024 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost any of my works. Please let me know if you notice that any of these have been done to my work.

Banners & dividers belong to @/cafekitsune

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Two

Summary: Penelope hosts a brunch, Derek tells Spencer not to force you to talk to him. You make a new friend with a client, they convince you to go to the brunch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, regret of past decisions, Penelope playing match maker

Word count: 8k

a/n: Spencer and you finally talk!!!

main masterlist prologue part one part three part four

You’ve been avoiding every time Derek invites you to go out with the BAU team since the embarrassing incident at the bar. Each time you decline, you can hear the disappointment in his voice, but the anxiety bubbling up in your chest whenever you think about seeing Spencer again is enough to keep you from saying yes. The embarrassment of that night still haunts you, and every time Derek mentions the team, you feel your heart squeeze with panic. 

To keep your mind off everything, you throw yourself into your work, accepting new clients and piling on extra projects. You stay late at the office, ensuring your schedule is so packed that you don’t have time to think about anything but deadlines, designs, and color schemes. It’s easier to focus on creating beautiful spaces for other people than it is to deal with the mess inside your own head. 

Meanwhile, Spencer is struggling. Ever since that night at the bar, the memory of you running out haunts him. He keeps replaying the look on Derek’s face, the way you bolted the second he walked in, and it twists his gut with guilt. But it’s not just that moment—he’s also haunted by the memory of how he left you all those years ago, how he slipped out of your bed without a word, too scared to stay and too ashamed to face you. The weight of those two moments presses down on him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Spencer's work starts to suffer. During cases, he’s distracted, zoning out during briefings and losing his train of thought mid-sentence. Hotch notices first, his brows knitting with concern as he watches Spencer fumble through his notes during a meeting. JJ, too, picks up on the change, her subtle glances in his direction filled with quiet worry. They don’t push him—yet—but Spencer knows they’re watching, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn’t. He just keeps burying it, trying to push it all down.

Spencer also finds himself trying to be around Derek more often, finding excuses to stop by his desk or catch him after work. He never outright asks about you, but it’s clear that’s why he’s hovering. Whenever Derek casually mentions having seen you, Spencer’s eyes light up, a flicker of hope in the midst of his guilt. But Derek’s updates are always brief, never giving away too much. He knows you’re still hurting, and he’s not about to let Spencer think everything is fine when it’s not.

Spencer hovered near Derek's desk, tapping his fingers nervously on the edge as Derek typed away at his computer. The bullpen was quiet for once, just the low hum of conversation in the background. Spencer cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything right away, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound too obvious.

“Hey, uh, Derek,” Spencer started, his voice a little too casual. “You have any plans this weekend?”

Derek didn’t even look up, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what this was about, but he played along. “Yeah, got a few things going on,” he replied, his fingers still tapping at the keys. “Why, you got something in mind, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room as if he wasn’t really sure what to say next. “No, I just... thought maybe we could grab a drink or something.” He paused for a beat. “Or, you know, if you’re hanging out with anyone else...?”

Derek chuckled softly, finally glancing up at Spencer with a knowing look. “Anyone else, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You mean, like Y/N?”

Spencer’s face flushed immediately, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean... I wasn’t... just curious,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

Derek sighed, leaning forward on his desk and crossing his arms. “Look, man, she won’t just magically want to see you. You know that, right?”

Spencer’s face fell, the small flicker of hope that had sparked just moments ago snuffed out. He swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just... I guess I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

After a long silence, Derek finally spoke up again. “Look, man,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “You can’t keep hovering around me, hoping I’ll tell you she’s suddenly okay with everything. It’s gonna take time. And you’ve got to give her space.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he whispered. 

Derek gave him a small nod, watching as Spencer turned to leave, his shoulders slumped under the weight of everything left unsaid. But just before Spencer walked away, Derek called after him.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his tone a little softer now. “For what it’s worth... I think she’ll come around. But you’ve gotta be patient. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Spencer looked back at Derek, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes again, but this time tempered with the understanding that it might take more time than he’d like. “Thanks, Derek,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back to his desk, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

At this point, the rest of the team is fully aware of why you keep declining their invitations and why Spencer’s been so off lately. Penelope, in particular, can’t stand seeing anyone so miserable. After hearing about your history with Spencer from Derek, she’s taken it upon herself to figure out how to fix this mess. Penelope’s always been a sucker for a happy ending, and she refuses to believe that this is how your story should end.

So, she starts plotting. She ropes Derek into her schemes, convincing him that if anyone can get you two to reconcile, it’s them. Derek, though hesitant at first, agrees. He knows you, and he knows Spencer, and as much as he wants to stay out of it, he also wants both of his friends to be happy. 

Penelope sat at her desk, typing furiously away, when Derek walked up, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her with a raised brow.

"Alright, Penelope, spill it," Derek said, voice low with suspicion. "What are you up to?"

Penelope’s fingers paused on the keyboard as she slowly turned to face him, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said sweetly, though her eyes betrayed her scheming.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. I know you too well. You’ve been up to something ever since that mess at the bar.”

She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m plotting just a little, but it's for the greater good.” She sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “I mean, you want Y/N and Spencer to make up, don’t you?”

Derek hesitated, running a hand over his head. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want that, but... you’ve met Y/N. She’s not going to be happy if we force them together.”

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “Pish posh! I’m not forcing anything. I’m simply creating a situation where fate can do its thing.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Picture this: we invite Y/N to one of my brunches, or maybe to your next team gathering, and oh! Surprise! Spencer’s there. They bump into each other, sparks fly, and—boom! Reconciliation.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Penelope's eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “Of course not. But it’s better than both of them moping around like lovesick teenagers.”

Derek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mama, I want them to figure it out, but Y/N’s... she’s been through a lot. I don’t want to push her too hard. If she finds out we’ve been scheming, she’s going to be pissed. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”

Penelope leaned forward, placing her hands flat on her desk. “Which is exactly why we need to be subtle about this, my sexy, sculpted cupid. We’re not going to push them. We’re just going to nudge them in the right direction. And if it doesn’t work? Then we back off. But I refuse to sit by and watch Spencer be miserable, and know she’s miserable too, when we could help.”

Derek looked down at her, his jaw tightening as he considered it. “And what if Y/N doesn’t want to see him? She hasn’t exactly been jumping at the chance to hang out with the team since that night.”

Penelope shrugged, giving him a hopeful smile. “Then we let it be. But Derek, what if this is the closure they both need? Or better yet, another chance? We owe it to them to try.”

Derek groaned, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. “Alright, fine. But if this backfires, Garcia, you’re taking the blame.”

Penelope grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “Trust me, Hot Stuff, it won’t backfire. This is going to work.”

Derek shook his head, laughing under his breath as he turned to leave. “You better be right.”

Penelope’s voice followed him as he walked out. “Oh, I’m always right when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek Morgan. Just wait and see!” 

Derek muttered under his breath, “We’ll see about that.” But deep down, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.

Their plan starts simple—just trying to get you both in the same room again, even if it’s by accident. As the wheels of their plan start turning, both you and Spencer remain blissfully unaware of their scheming. You’re too busy drowning in work, and Spencer’s too tangled up in his own guilt to notice the subtle nudges Penelope and Derek are starting to orchestrate. 

—

The lunchtime crowd hummed quietly around you as you sat across from Derek at your favorite corner table. The restaurant had always been your go-to, a cozy, familiar space where you could relax and enjoy the food without worrying about the outside world. Today, though, you were feeling anything but relaxed. Derek was giving you that look—the one that said he was about to bring up something you’d been trying to avoid.

“So,” Derek began, cutting into his sandwich, his voice casual, but his eyes watching you carefully. “Penelope’s throwing one of her infamous brunches this weekend. Thought you might want to come.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I don’t know, Derek. I’ve been really busy with work, and—”

Derek held up a hand, interrupting you gently. “I know, I know. You’ve been taking on a lot of new projects lately.” He paused, his tone softening. “But you’ve been avoiding hanging out with the team since... well, you know.”

Your heart tensed a little, but you quickly pushed the feeling away, forcing a smile as you sipped your drink. “I’m just not ready to jump back into all that. It’s been nice keeping my head down and staying focused.”

Derek leaned forward, his eyes full of understanding but also a hint of concern. “I get it, sugar. I’m not saying you should force yourself into anything. But maybe... maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little fun again. No pressure, just brunch with some really cool people. Penelope’s dying to see you again, and so is the rest of the team.”

You hesitated, your fingers tapping lightly against the rim of your glass. The thought of seeing everyone again made your stomach twist. But what if Spencer was there? What if you had to see him? You weren’t sure if you could handle that yet.

“Is Spencer going to be there?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Derek paused, his fork hovering over his plate. He looked at you thoughtfully before answering, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to overwhelm you. “Honestly? Probably not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Probably?”

Derek shrugged, setting his fork down. ���I haven’t heard anything about him coming, and knowing Spencer, he’s been pretty distracted lately. I doubt he’ll make it. But... even if he did, it wouldn’t be about him. It’d be about you. Hanging out with people who really want to get to know you better.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to stay in your bubble and knowing Derek was right. You’d been keeping yourself so busy with work that you hadn’t given yourself much time to just... exist outside of it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you really did like hanging out with Derek and Penelope and the rest of the team. 

But there was still that nagging worry—what if seeing them all again just brought back memories of Spencer? Of what happened at the bar, and everything that came before it?

Derek seemed to sense your hesitation, and he reached across the table, placing his hand on yours. “Hey, you’re not gonna be alone in this, alright? We’ve got your back. And if it gets weird or uncomfortable, we’ll bail. No questions asked.”

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity there, the way he genuinely wanted to help you move past this. And honestly, maybe he was right. You couldn’t keep avoiding the world forever. Eventually, you’d have to face things—even the parts that hurt.

After a long moment, you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Alright,” you said, though your voice still held a trace of uncertainty. “I’ll think about it.”

Derek grinned, clearly pleased with your response, even if it wasn’t a solid yes just yet. “That’s all I’m asking, sweetheart. Just think about it.”

You smiled, though your mind was still turning over the idea. It wasn’t a decision you were ready to make just yet, but the fact that you were even considering it felt like a step in the right direction.

—

Derek found Spencer sitting at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers, though it was clear his mind was miles away. His usual hyper-focused energy was absent, replaced by an air of distracted tension that had been hanging over him for weeks now. Derek knew it wasn’t just the cases that had Spencer like this. It was you.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said casually as he leaned against the side of Spencer’s desk, crossing his arms. Spencer looked up, startled out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as if he hadn’t even noticed Derek approach.

“Oh, hey,” Spencer replied, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “What’s up?”

Derek didn’t waste any time. He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the rest of the team. “Listen, man, I wanted to give you a heads-up about something.”

Spencer sat up a little straighter, already sensing that this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his words carefully. “Y/N might be coming to Penelope’s brunch this weekend,” he said, watching Spencer’s reaction closely.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he processed the news. “She is?” His voice was quiet, a mixture of hope and nerves in his tone.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Derek continued, his tone more serious now. “You’ve gotta give her space, man. Let her come to you when she’s ready. She’s not gonna want you chasing after her or trying to force a conversation. If she shows up, it’s a big deal for her.”

Spencer gave Derek a sharp look. "I'm not a child, Morgan. I can handle this."

Derek nodded, lowering his hands. "Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect you to. Just... give her the space she needs, alright?"

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Understood. I know I messed up, and I’ll give her space. But I’m not going to act like she doesn't exist. I care about her too much for that."

Derek gave him a small, encouraging smile. "That’s all I’m asking, man. Just be ready when the time’s right." With a final pat on Spencer’s shoulder, Derek straightened up. “See you at brunch, man. Just... take it easy.”

Spencer watched as Derek walked away, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his chest. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But for your sake, he was willing to wait.

—

On your most recent job, you quickly hit it off with Austin, the person you’re helping redesign their living space. They’re warm, funny, and easy to talk to, and the two of you click almost immediately. 

After finishing up the day’s discussion on design plans, Austin smiles and offers, “How about a cup of coffee before you head out? I make a mean brew.”

Grateful for the break and their company, you nod. “I’d love that.”

Austin heads to the kitchen, and you follow, feeling like you’ve made a new friend as much as a professional connection.

As you sit in the newly remodeled kitchen with Austin, the atmosphere feels warm and cozy. The soft glow of sunlight through the windows highlights the potted plants neatly arranged on the shelves, while the scent of fresh coffee fills the air. Austin hands you a mug, their smile easy and comforting as you settle into a chair.

You and Austin chat aimlessly for a while, exchanging stories and making easy, lighthearted conversation. The topics flow naturally—favorite movies, travel dreams, and funny stories from work. Eventually, the conversation shifts when Austin starts gushing about their partner, eyes lighting up as they tell you about the recent proposal and how they’re working to finish the house before their partner officially moves to Virginia.

“So, they proposed right there in the park,” Austin says with a dreamy grin. “I swear, I didn’t even see it coming. I was still thinking about what we were going to have for lunch, and then bam, ring in my face!”

You smile, warmed by their excitement. “That’s amazing. It sounds perfect.”

“It was,” Austin beams, looking star-eyed thinking about their fiance. Then, they turn to you with a curious glint in their eye. “Okay, so spill. Anyone tickling your fancy lately? I don’t see a ring.” They gesture to your bare hand with a teasing grin.

You laugh lightly, rubbing your ring finger absentmindedly as you sigh. “Yeah, maybe, well, no. There’s this... guy. But it’s complicated.”

Austin’s grin widens as they lean in, clearly intrigued. “Complicated, huh? Oh, now you have to tell me. What’s the tea?”

You take a breath, then dive into the story. You don't name names—you never know who’s going to know Spencer now—but you tell Austin about the guy from your past who broke your heart, the one who ghosted after everything. You explain how, years later, he's suddenly back in your life, and how seeing him has stirred up all those old feelings again, leaving you confused and unsure of what to do.

Austin listens intently, nodding as you talk. "That sounds rough," they say softly when you finish. "It’s totally valid to feel hurt, and it’s understandable if you don’t want to rush back into anything."

"Yeah, thank you—but... it’s been years. Shouldn’t I be over it by now?" you ask, feeling the familiar frustration rise in your chest. "I’ve been ignoring him, avoiding anything or anyone that might bring him back into my life, but now I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing."

Austin leans back, resting their mug on the table. "It’s not about how long it’s been; it’s about how it affected you. It’s okay to still feel hurt. But maybe... hearing him out could give you some closure. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive him or let him back into your life, but it might help you move forward."

You bite your lip, considering their words. "I don’t know if I can face him. What if he just makes things worse?"

Austin smiles, their expression soft but encouraging. "Only you know what you need. But remember, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. What do you need to feel at peace with all this? If hearing him out helps, then maybe it’s worth considering. If not, that’s okay too. Just make sure you’re doing what’s best for you, not what’s easiest."

Their words settle over you like a comforting blanket, making you feel understood. Austin seems to have a way of turning serious conversations into lighthearted moments, and you’re grateful for it.

"Plus," Austin adds with a grin, "if it goes badly, you can always stage a dramatic exit at the brunch. I’m talking about flipping tables and storming out—full soap opera style."

You laugh, the weight of the situation lifting just a bit. "You know, that might actually make it worth going."

"Exactly!" Austin beams. "But seriously, I think you should go. If nothing else, you'll get some great brunch food, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get the closure you're looking for. Worst case, you can leave and we’ll plan the perfect revenge."

Feeling more confident with their support, you finally nod. "Alright, I’ll go to the brunch."

Austin claps their hands together excitedly. "Good! And I’ll be here, ready to hear all the details afterward."

With that, the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing, the heavy weight of indecision lightening with each joke and bit of encouragement. Austin’s easygoing nature and advice give you the nudge you need to face the upcoming brunch—and Spencer.

—

That night, as Spencer lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to wander, slipping into the memories of a time he hadn’t let himself revisit in years—college, the late nights in the library, the quiet moments spent with you. 

He could still remember the first time he saw you on campus, walking across the quad with your head down, focused on a book you were balancing in your arms. You hadn’t noticed him then, but he had noticed you—how could he not? The way you carried yourself, the quiet confidence in your demeanor. At first, he admired you from a distance, his heart catching whenever you passed by in a hallway or sat near him in the library. You had no idea, and he was too shy to ever approach you.

Then came the nights in the library, when fate—or maybe just a shared dedication to studying—brought you together. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above, the rustle of pages being turned, and the way your pens would scratch in unison over notebook paper as you both worked. He remembered how, over time, you grew comfortable with each other’s presence, exchanging little smiles, shared inside jokes, and eventually conversations that lasted longer than either of you planned.

There was one night, in particular, that stuck in his memory—a night when you two had stayed so late that the library lights started to dim, signaling closing time. The campus was quiet as you both walked out together, the cool air brushing against your faces. You had laughed about something, your eyes lighting up in the moonlight, and Spencer remembered how his heart had fluttered in that moment, wondering how someone could make him feel so at ease. He never thought he’d get to know you, let alone be someone you’d spend your nights with, even if just for studying.

And then came the night that changed everything. The night you had invited him over after finals, and things became more than just studying. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t even dare to imagine it, but when it happened, it felt... perfect. 

You had fallen asleep on his chest that night, your soft breaths a rhythm against his skin. He remembered lying there, tracing small patterns on your back, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his. It should have been the best night of his life—and in many ways, it was—but his mind, his insecurities, had taken over. He remembered thinking that you were too good for him, that someone like you wouldn’t want to stick around for someone like him. And that fear, that crushing fear of losing you, had driven him to leave.

Spencer swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. He had been so lovesick, so desperate to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak he assumed would come. But in doing so, he had created a heartbreak that had lasted for years—for both of you.

Now, on the eve of seeing you again, the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a heavy stone. The regret was unbearable, but so was the longing—the memory of your laughter, your smile, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Spencer felt a deep ache in his chest, his heart pounding with the knowledge that he might never get the chance to tell you how much you had meant to him, how much you still did.

He had been infatuated with you all those years ago, and now, he realized, that feeling had never truly gone away.

Unable to sleep, Spencer tossed and turned, his mind refusing to quiet. Every memory, every regret, kept replaying on a loop. With a sigh of frustration, he finally threw the covers off and dragged himself out of bed, padding down the hall toward his office. 

He knew it was pointless, but something inside him—maybe it was curiosity, maybe guilt—compelled him to open his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before they moved almost automatically, typing your name into the search bar.

Within seconds, your business page appeared. Spencer hesitated before clicking, his heart racing, his palms suddenly clammy. It felt intrusive, like peeking into a part of your life he no longer had the right to know about, but he couldn’t stop himself.

As the page loaded, his eyes immediately went to the gallery of your work—beautiful, thoughtfully designed interiors that gave him a glance into you, your mind. He scrolled through the images slowly, taking in the details. The colors, the arrangements, the way you made spaces feel both warm and elegant. He had always known you were talented, but seeing the breadth of your work now, years later in a professional sense and not just sketches for class, filled him with a sense of pride. 

And then he saw it—your headshot, nestled at the top of the page alongside your name and title. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the picture. There you were, smiling, your eyes bright, your expression so familiar it made his heart ache.

Spencer leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixating on the details of your face. He studied every line, every angle, as if trying to memorize you all over again. It had been so long since he’d seen you up close, but here, on this screen, you felt so near and yet so far. 

His fingers grazed the edge of the trackpad, hesitant, before he clicked on the image, enlarging it until it filled the screen. He stared, lost in the sight of you—how much you had grown, how much you had changed, but still so much the same. The emotions welled up inside him, a mixture of longing and regret, so intense he could hardly breathe.

He had left you, walked away when he was too afraid to face what he felt, and now, all these years later, here you were, thriving in a world he no longer shared with you. Spencer wondered if you had moved on, if you had someone else in your life now, someone who appreciated all the beauty and warmth you brought into the world.

But even more than that, he wondered if you would ever forgive him.

Spencer stared at your picture until the screen blurred, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness—he knew that much. But as he sat there, in the silence of his office, staring at the face he had missed for so long, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you would give him the chance to try.

—

You showed up to Penelope’s place early, just as promised, with Derek by your side. He immediately went to help her hang up string lights while you and Penelope stayed together, fussing over the final touches. The atmosphere was lively and fun, and you were glad you came today.

When you entered her kitchen, Penelope lit up. "Oh my God! Look at you! I am in love with your outfit!" she exclaimed, her hands clapping together in excitement. You grinned, feeling the compliment ease some of your nerves.

“You’re one to talk,” you gestured towards her own colorful ensemble, the vibrant red and playful green perfectly matching her quirky style. “You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine—one that I desperately need a subscription to."

Penelope twirled dramatically, her beret perched at the perfect angle, making the charm bracelet on her wrist dangle and jingle. "Stop it, we’re just the most fashionable duo, aren’t we?" She winked at you before handing you a mimosa. "Okay, now drink up. We've got some brunch magic to make happen."

As you sipped the bubbly drink, you couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety loosen in your chest. You and Penelope moved around the kitchen, arranging pastries and fruit trays, talking about everything except the one thing you knew was still looming in the background—Spencer. But for now, with the lights twinkling outside, the mimosas in hand, and Penelope by your side, you allowed yourself to feel a small sense of peace.

As the morning drifted into late brunch hour, the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first guests. You exchanged a quick, encouraging glance with Penelope before taking another sip of your mimosa, the fizz tickling your nose as you set the glass down.

“I’ll get it!” Penelope sang, already halfway to the door. You watched from the kitchen as she swung it open with her signature flair. “Elle! JJ! Look at you gorgeous queens!”

Elle was the first to step inside, her calm confidence radiating as she gave Penelope a warm hug. “You’re too much,” Elle smirked, though you could see the affection in her eyes as she gave Penelope a squeeze. 

JJ, all smiles, followed closely behind, her sunny personality lighting up the room the second she entered. “Garcia!” she exclaimed, leaning in for her own hug. “This place looks amazing, as usual.” She cast a quick glance around the room, taking in the string lights, the vibrant color scheme, and of course, the immaculate spread of food that had been lovingly arranged.

Penelope didn’t miss a beat. “Girls, you remember Y/N!” she called over, practically skipping as she gestured towards you. “She’s my stylish new partner-in-crime today.”

Elle and JJ turned toward you with warm, inviting smiles. JJ was the first to step forward, her kindness evident in her expression. “Y/N! Of course we remember. I’m glad you’re here!” She opened her arms for a quick, friendly hug, which you returned, grateful for her easygoing energy.

Elle followed suit, her smile softer but no less welcoming. “Good to see you again,” she said, giving you a nod of approval as she took in your outfit. “You’re definitely keeping up with Penelope in the style department.”

You laughed lightly, feeling the tension start to ease as you hugged Elle too. “I had to step up my game, knowing she’d outshine all of us,” you joked, throwing a playful glance at Penelope, who was already bouncing back towards the food to check on the platters.

Derek, meanwhile, appeared from the other side of the room, finishing up with the string lights. He clapped his hands together, grinning as he walked over. “Ladies! Looks like we’re in for quite the brunch.”

JJ raised her glass in response, smiling. “Cheers to that. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a proper get-together.”

Elle nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope the food tastes as good as it smells. You and Penelope outdid yourselves this time.”

Penelope shot her a cheeky grin. “Oh, honey, just wait until you taste it. Y/N’s been helping too—she’s a natural!”

You felt a small flush creep into your cheeks at the compliment, but the easy laughter and casual conversation swirling around you made it hard to feel too self-conscious. It was starting to feel like maybe this day wouldn’t be as nerve-wracking as you’d feared.

Next to arrive, in a much more subdued manner, were Hotch and Haley. Hotch entered with his usual calm presence, while Haley smiled warmly, her arm linked with his. She radiated a gentle energy that put you at ease immediately. As they approached, Hotch offered a small nod of greeting, his serious demeanor softened just slightly by the casual setting.

“Penelope, this place looks amazing,” Haley said, her voice filled with admiration as she took in the setup. “It’s so cozy and beautiful.”

Penelope beamed, twirling slightly as she accepted the compliment. “Why, thank you! Y/N helped with all the setup. We’re a dynamic duo today,” she said, sending you a proud wink.

Haley turned her attention to you, her smile genuine as she extended her hand. “Y/N, it’s great to meet you. I’m Aaron’s wife, Haley. Penelope mentioned you have an eye for design, and I can definitely see it.”

You shook her hand, grateful for her easy manner. “Thank you, Haley. I’m glad you like it. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Hotch gave you a polite smile as well. “Good to see you, Y/N,” he said simply, his voice carrying its usual quiet authority but without the edge it often had in more formal settings.

“It’s good to see you too, Hotch,” you replied, matching his composed tone.

The group began to chat casually, the energy shifting to a more relaxed rhythm with Haley’s calm presence balancing Penelope’s excitable nature. You found yourself blending in more easily than you expected, the unease you felt earlier starting to fade away as the conversation flowed naturally.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that, so far, everything was going smoothly. The brunch was shaping up to be a success, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment without worrying about what—or who—might come next.

But then, just as you were starting to relax, there was a knock at the door. The sound sent a jolt of anxiety through you, your breath catching in your throat as the lighthearted atmosphere suddenly shifted. You choked on a breath, your fingers tightening around your glass. 

Derek, noticing the slight change in your expression, patted your shoulder reassuringly before heading to the door. He swung it open with his usual confident ease, his grin widening as he greeted the new arrivals.

“Gideon! Reid!” Derek’s voice was full of his usual warmth, but when your eyes caught sight of Spencer standing just behind Gideon, your pulse spiked.

Gideon stepped inside first, laughing as he shook Derek’s hand. “You know how much Spencer hates driving. He practically begged me to pick him up,” he joked, casting a sideways glance at Spencer, who was lingering just outside the doorway.

Spencer offered a small, awkward smile, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as he gave Derek a polite nod. "Yeah, driving... not my favorite thing."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw Spencer—looking the same, yet different. His hair was longer, his expression a little more weathered. He seemed hesitant, as if unsure of his place in the room, but when his eyes quickly scanned the space and landed on you, they widened ever so slightly.

Derek caught the momentary tension between you and Spencer, his jaw tightening subtly. He turned to the rest of the group, his tone trying to smooth over the sudden shift in energy. “Alright, everybody, make room for these two. Brunch is waiting to be devoured.”

Penelope quickly stepped forward to greet Gideon and Spencer with an exuberant smile, acting oblivious to the quiet storm brewing between you and the man now standing only a few feet away.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and turned away, praying no one could see the turmoil swirling in your chest.

Gideon, ever the perceptive one, glanced around the room, his eyes briefly scanning each face before they settled on you. He tilted his head slightly, the hint of a curious smile playing on his lips. Without missing a beat, he broke away from the small group forming near the entrance and made his way over to you.

“Hello,” Gideon greeted you warmly, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jason Gideon.”

You blinked, momentarily startled by the direct introduction, but quickly reached out to shake his hand. "Y/N," you replied with a polite smile, though your voice wavered slightly, the nerves still simmering beneath the surface. "It’s nice to meet you."

Gideon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied you for a moment, seeming to pick up on the tension you were trying so hard to conceal. “Derek speaks highly of you,” he added kindly, his tone gentle, as if sensing that you needed a little bit of reassurance.

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded in response. “He’s a good friend,” you said, glancing in Derek’s direction for a split second before focusing back on Gideon. 

The conversation had inadvertently drawn Spencer's attention. From the corner of your eye, you could see him turn slightly, his gaze shifting from Gideon to you. His posture stiffened, and though he remained rooted to his spot near the door, his eyes were now locked on you, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

There it was—the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t have to look directly at him to feel the weight of his gaze on you. Spencer, standing just a few feet away, realizing that you were here.

Gideon seemed to notice too. He glanced over his shoulder toward Spencer before turning back to you, his expression a little softer now, as if understanding something unspoken.

“Well,” Gideon said after a brief pause, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gave you a final smile before turning to rejoin the others, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and the unmistakable feeling of Spencer’s eyes still on you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, but now there was no escaping it. You made brief eye contact, nodding in acknowledgement as Spencer gave you one of his infamous tight lipped smiles. 

Spencer stood frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat the moment Gideon’s conversation with you drew his attention. The sight of you—standing there, laughing politely at something Gideon said—was like a punch to the gut. He had been preparing himself for this, trying to steel his nerves, but nothing could’ve braced him for the actual moment of seeing you again.

You looked incredible, more radiant than he remembered, and the sight of you stirred up everything he had been trying to push down. The memories flooded back—the long nights in the library, the gentle teasing, the way your hand had felt in his, and the soft sound of your laugh. You should say something, he told himself. But his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, rooted in the swirl of emotions tightening his chest. 

Spencer felt a wave of heat rush over him. You looked so good—better than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine in the countless nights he’d lain awake thinking of you. That plaid dress you wore, the way it cinched at your waist, how your hair framed your face perfectly—every detail made him dizzy. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to focus, but all he could do was stare. 

God, what am I supposed to say? You hadn’t looked at him again since the brief glance. The thought gnawed at him. Does she hate me? Is she angry? Does she even care that I’m here?

His mind spiraled deeper, the insecurity choking him like a vice. Every possible scenario played out in his head: You turning around, glaring at him with the bitterness you were more than entitled to feel; you ignoring him completely, dismissing him as though he didn’t matter. Both options made him feel sick. 

I don’t deserve to talk to her, he thought miserably. 

But he wanted to. He wanted so badly to close the space between you, to say something, anything that might take back the years of silence and cowardice. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, his mind screaming at him to move, to walk over, to apologize, to finally make things right. But Spencer stayed where he was, staring at you like a man drowning, desperately reaching for the surface, for something to anchor him—but unable to find it.

You shifted slightly, turning in his direction for just a second. Your eyes flickered toward him once more. The briefest glance, and then you quickly looked away.

It was enough to make his heart drop.

She can’t even look at me.

Spencer clenched his jaw, the painful mix of regret and longing clawing at his insides. He could hear Derek’s words echoing in his head—give her space, let her come to you on her terms. But the problem was, he wasn’t sure he could wait anymore. How could he, when just seeing you from across the room was this overwhelming?

He stood there, drowning in his own thoughts, desperate to say something, to do something that would fix it all. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And it was tearing him apart.

As the brunch carried on, Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even though he was seated far enough that any chance of a conversation seemed impossible. You were right there, at the opposite end of the table, laughing, talking, and enjoying yourself with everyone else. Each time you laughed, it felt like a tug on his heart, reminding him of what you two had shared all those years ago.

The way you joked with Derek so easily, the way your banter flowed naturally—Spencer couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy creep in. It was irrational, but he couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, you had moved on with Derek. He tried to shake the thought, knowing how close you and Derek were as friends, but the insecurity was there nonetheless, gnawing at him.

Maybe that’s why Derek doesn’t want me to push things, Spencer thought bitterly, feeling the weight of his suspicions grow. Maybe he wants her for himself.

Spencer’s hands tightened around his glass, the icy chill of his now cold tea doing nothing to cool the heat rising in his chest. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the thought wouldn’t leave him. It stuck in his mind, festering as he watched Derek’s casual affection toward you. It didn’t help that you smiled at Derek the way you used to smile at him. 

When you excused yourself to make more tea, Spencer’s mind was spinning too much to stay seated. He couldn’t let the jealousy take control, but it was too late; it had already wrapped around his thoughts, suffocating any sense of logic. Before he realized it, his legs had carried him from the table, following you into the kitchen.

The moment you walked into the cozy kitchen that you'd helped Penelope prepare, the warm smell of the tea leaves filled the air. The clink of teacups and the sound of water boiling were the only things breaking the quiet of the room. You didn’t notice Spencer following you at first, too caught up in refilling the teapot and enjoying the brief solitude from the table’s conversations.

Spencer hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, watching you from behind as you moved gracefully between the counter and the kettle. His heart was pounding, the thoughts racing in his mind, torn between his guilt over the past and the irrational jealousy clouding his judgment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but thick with everything he was holding back. “Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him standing there, clearly not expecting this moment. The tension between you two was palpable, hanging in the air like a weight neither of you was ready to address.

"Spencer," you acknowledged softly, your hands still on the teapot as you stared at him. The awkwardness was undeniable, but there was something else too—years of unspoken words, regrets, and emotions neither of you had faced.

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped further into the kitchen. "I... I just wanted to—um, I need more tea," he said, fumbling for words, clearly not sure how to approach the conversation.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, surprised that was all he said but pleasantly relieved at the simplicity of it. "I can make you a cup if you want."

Your offer seemed to melt some of the tension in Spencer’s demeanor. His expression softened as he realized you were still the same kind person he’d fallen for all those years ago. “Thank you, that’s really kind of you.”

You nodded, reaching for the teapot. "Milk and sugar? Honey?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, all of it, please. I like it sweet."

“I know,” you mumbled, the words slipping out naturally. You’d seen Spencer drink his overly sugary coffee so many times back in college, his sweet tooth no secret to you.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, fidgeting with his hair as he tried to keep the conversation light. "Do you still drink coffee? Or is it all tea now?"

You shrugged, pouring the tea into his cup. “I do both. No need for all that caffeine today.” You laughed softly. “For work, though? That definitely requires coffee.”

Spencer smiled, feeling a little more at ease. "Yeah, I get that. My body’s probably made up of pure coffee by now," he joked, happy he’d chosen to stick with casual conversation rather than diving into the deep, painful history between you two again. 

Maybe Derek was right—maybe you would come to him when you were ready. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his heart sank. Derek. He remembered the way you laughed with him, how easily you’d fallen into a rhythm with him at the table. 

The jealousy he’d managed to suppress earlier crept back in, though he did his best to push it down again. You were being kind, and he didn’t want to ruin this moment. But still, the thought lingered—was Derek the one holding you back from wanting to talk to him?

But you’d already turned around, catching the pensive look on Spencer’s face. "Everything alright?" you asked, a little concerned by the way his expression had shifted.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking up at you with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "So, uh, you and Derek, huh?"

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Spencer’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cup as he mumbled, “How long have you guys been... seeing each other?”

You burst out laughing, surprising him. "Me and Derek? No, no, no," you said, waving your hands dismissively as you continued to chuckle. "He’s my best friend. That’s all."

“Oh," he nodded, clearly unsure. "I just thought—”

But you cut him off before he could finish, handing him his tea with a small smile. “Tea’s ready. Here.” Your voice was soft but awkward as you backed out of the kitchen. “See you out there.”

With that, you made your way back to the brunch party, leaving Spencer standing in the kitchen, processing what had just happened. 

That was the end of your conversation for the day, but it was enough for him. Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. 

He could work with this.

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

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[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (12/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“The plan goes this way—“ Suguru’s finger taps against the wrapping paper upon your brand new desk, smoothing against the surface Mama had skillfully wrapped over it to somehow, in her own words;

“Makes the surface last longer.”

(You kinda get it. It keeps it looking ‘new’, you know? Who doesn’t like new things?

Wait— You think you were supposed to be listening.)

Your shoulder brushes against Geto’s as you stare on thoughtfully, even when pressed this close against him, even when repeating his words over and over again inside your little head and even as your heart starts beating a little too fast for your own liking.

(Getting nerves right before the start of this impromptu mission is never good. Being afraid is never good.)

“Are you okay?”

You snap out momentarily to hear a voice close to your ear, his breath cool from the melting bowl of ice cream nearby as his fingers graze over your own, purple eyes alight with a gentle worry.

“I-“ You don’t really know. “I’m good.”

Just nervous, you guess. He needs to continue talking so that you have this plan memorized to a T. Needs to keep talking so that your brain stops running all over the place.

“Say something if you get lost, okay?”

If. If? If… So many ‘ifs’ could happen. Too many for you to relax, too many for you to panic about and far too much for you to suck it up and go in blind.

“Since Mijou-san’s home isn’t too far from where Satoru and I will be hiding, we should be able to keep track of you even when you’re inside.” A finger points at the crudely drawn image of a girl, her home an even more scrawled out looking box with purple crayon streaks jutting out to represent the cursed energy activity.

“And then all ya gotta do is get in there and exorcise it!” A snowy head pokes itself inbetween the shoulders that were pressed against each other, his chin settling on them as you hear Suguru click his tongue just as an arm winds around your own.

“It’ll be,” His hand slams confidently down against the table, shaking it with its sheer triumph. “Your 1st ever unofficial mission!”

(You can even see the small fangs peeking out whenever he grins. Looks like being an Alpha didn’t come with accelerated puberty, even if he was the Gojo Satoru.

You’re happy he at least remains cute. At least that’s not an ‘if’.)

“Shouldn’t we be— Um, telling Kimiko-san?” Because she is literally the only trusted adult you know who will actually make sense of the Jujutsu system and… Exorcism.

(You’re not nervous, you swear you’re not.)

Suguru perks up. “I did think about it and— Mmf!“

“Nope!” Gojo Satoru even leans into you, his hand pressed backwards and muffling poor Suguru’s face as Satoru’s nose nearly brushing against your own from his close proximity. “Suguru’s last plan sucks!”

He stares you down with those far too familiar, far too unblinking eyes of his. “I scoped out the area after ya told me about it, and the cursed energy was like—“

His index and thumb squish together, leaving a minuscule space barely even caught by your now squinted eyes, before it teasingly reaches out to tap against your nose.

“Satoru, if you would just let me talk, you dam—“

“Thissss much! So y’er good cause it’s obviously small fry anyway!” Because no way will the likes of that annoying girl have any sort of major curse.

You stare into his eyes. Blink once, twice. Maybe thrice. And maybe, it’s the way Gojo Satoru looked so excitable, looked so confident that has you tottering over your mind.

(Because you don’t really think you believe in yourself.)

“But…” You take another breath in as you pat his cheek. “What if I fail?”

Like that time with that quiz you thought you would pass; studying all night only to barely even be able to understand next day’s questions. Or maybe even that time where you thought playing volleyball was going to be a piece of cake—

“Pahh! That second time was cause ya weren’t good enou—“

Before a fist unceremoniously lands upon your cute friend’s head, bonking him and making his knees buckle and crash to the soft carpeted ground of your living room.

“Ow!” It didn’t exactly do much damage. “What gives, dummy?! Ya didn’t have to hit so hard!”

“You need to stop watching your words, Satoru.” Suguru’s brows are furrowed and irritated, eyes narrowed and turned into a glare. “I told you so many times.”

“What?! (name) doesn’t mind!” And he’s grappling onto your legs from the floor, his arms wrapped around them in a hug as you nearly stumble— Barely catching yourself by using his fluffy head of hair for balance.

You think you can hear them arguing. Think you can feel your heart racing as you stare into space. And definitely think you might have a chance to finish up the remaining ice cream since they’re so preoccupied with arguing.

You hope it goes exactly as planned.

——

“Oh… It’s just you?” Mijou Kana looks almost disappointed when you arrive at her gate, dressed in your most formal-casual-smart-appropriately cute outfit that you had mulled over for far too long before arriving here.

Who doesn’t want to make a good impression? Especially when you’re at another person’s house for the very first time.

“Why’re ya even takin’ so long to decide?” Gojo Satoru is thoroughly unamused as you comb through the clothes in your closet, his feet kicked up in the air as he lays on your hastily rolled out futon, his hair slightly damp from taking a shower and his eyes glaring at your form.

(You’re starting to think he’s treating your home as his own now.)

“Ya don’t even dress up ta see me or Suguru.” He’s frowning, pouting and every word that can describe his face in one emotion; Annoyed.

(You’ve seen how many ‘guests’ have hurriedly patted down their hair, dusted off their expensive clothes and powder their noses with exquisite looking makeup on the rare occasion that you visit the Gojo household.

He turned them all away anyway. That must mean that Satoru prefers casual clothing more than anything, right? You’ll make sure to try to whisper it to one of them next time.)

“Because you already like me, right?” You don’t need to impress him, you think. It’s said soft enough to carry over to his ears, in a tone so delicate and sweet—

All because that was how you always talked to him.

So you turn, a plain looking shirt in your hands as you show it off to him. This should be considered ‘nice’ to him, right? It isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but having his approval would definitely help build confidence.

“What about this one—“

You can’t see him. Not when he has already hurriedly pulled your soft blankets over his head, your eyes catching a glimpse of red just before he had fully taken refuge inside as it twitches.

Looks like you won’t be getting an answer.

“You tried inviting the others, right?” She’s slightly pensive, a bit rushed in her words; and definitely looked agitated. Like she was expecting more of you, like you disappointed her.

(Technically, they are here. Not so far away and watching you intently.)

“Mhm. Satoru had…” You take a deep breath in. “A violin… Competition. Shoko didn’t feel like coming and Suguru hates yo— Going into new neighborhoods because his mother thinks they’re bad luck.”

(Lying isn’t exactly your strongest forte.)

“Oh.” Her eyes look off into the side, briefly flashing onto the ground and back onto you. Even as her gaze pinned onto you— It didn’t feel like she was quite looking at you at all. “I see.”

Mijou Kana was always quite the strange girl to you. Always so friendly, so generous with her smiles… Yet she always feels so far away. You never really could tell what she was thinking about.

Do you regard her as a friend? No— Not really.

Do you think she’s a nice girl? Definitely.

Do you want to help her with the curse? Yes. Of course.

(That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?)

The outside of her kind of big home is nice, you think. All pretty and tidy and new looking, metal fences coated with a perfect shine, the paint on the house perfect— Not at all chipping. So picturesque, so pretty.

What a nice place she lives in.

But the inside was plainer, more rough. As if all the budget had gone into maintaining the outward appearance of this mini mansion— And totally foregoing the interior.

(Not exactly cozy, but it’s still very nice. Satoru would probably call this poverty, though.)

“Kana.” Her tone is rough when it calls for Mijou’s first name, throaty and coughed out as if it was raw and hoarse. As if she had had something terrible for her voice not too long ago—

“Who is that?”

(Cigarettes smell bad. Your Papa smells like this too.)

“M-Mother, I told you we had a guest today…” You hear something clink as the woman stumbles over herself, the neck of a bottle clenched tightly in her hand— As it clangs against the wall, just shy of breaking as you blink in confusion.

(Certainly. This isn’t right etiquette for having guests over, you’re pretty sure. Saya-chan would rank this pretty high on an ‘inappropriate’ tier list.)

It doesn’t shatter, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, not at all. Past the bottles of empty wine bottles and aluminum beer cans, past the shadowy interior and dimly lit hallways—

Cursed energy pools.

“I made a friend, Mother. Just like you asked—“ She drags you closer, pulling you by the sleeve and presenting you, yet her body was positioned behind— And almost as if she was using you as a physical shield.

You felt it before you even saw it. You’re no Gojo Satoru, not even a lick close to the amount of sheer talent Geto Suguru has— But Satoru was right about the amount.

(Maybe only a little bit off? It feels like it’s increasing.)

You blink. Your fingers twitch and your heart quivers. That’s a human, right? Mijou Kana was confirmed to be unable to see them, unable to wield cursed energy. So—

What exactly are you looking at right now?

No curse, no grotesque creature slithering around her mother, no looming shadow on the ground the hovered near.

No physical form.

Therefore, it was not something you can exorcise— Not without getting rid of the source. Not without harming the humans you were meant to protect.

Because it was simply… Her. Dark energy emanates from the woman herself, brimming and overflowing as you take in her drunken and haggard appearance.

(You can’t even see her face anymore— So darkened by her own aura that it hid her human form.)

It’s scary. Daunting. Heavy. It makes you feel helpless, makes you feel scared.

You know how curses are made. Stemming from the negative emotions of humans, taking form from the accumulation of hate, of regret and disgust and animosity.

Curses are the bad ones. Curses are the ones that bring humans sadness and grief.

(So getting rid of the Curses means helping the Humans, right?)

“But she’s not any of the ones I told you about, right?” She looks annoyed, gruff and— Scary. So overcome by the shadows of her cursed energy as it swallows her and makes your eyes swirl. “So uneducated that she can’t even greet me properly.”

(How exactly do you exorcise this?)

“N-no, but she’s—“

“Tell your little,” Her stare pins onto you, lips curled into a sneer that you can’t see as if to mock your very existence. “Friend to prattle along if they’re already done.” Her stance was clumsy and sloppy, as if her feet were walking in the same direction— At the same time.

“We don’t need other poor vermin in this house.” It’s spat out. So vile, mean, rude and goes against everything that you thought mothers were.

She’s so cruel.

She stumbles again, her arm gruffly pushing past your shoulder as your own cursed energy responds in tandem, sparking against the area she had brushed just as she yells—

Skin on skin contact. Trying to exorcise her energy… Would just harm her.

“Fuck!” And she shoots her eyes towards you, glaring deeply as she loses her grip on the glass bottle. “Fucking brats…”

It shatters, yet she pays no attention— Stumbling up the stairs and off to her bedroom.

“Make sure to clean that up, Kana!”

“…yes, Mother.” She’s despondent, staring at her feet and the worn out rug beneath her— Trailing slightly to the broken pieces of glass that she is now responsible for as you spot her hands unclench and her shoulders sagging downwards.

“I guess you weren’t enough at all.” It’s muttered quietly, said so softly that you barely even catch it.

(Oh. You suppose you weren’t any help.)

Awkward silence swallows you both whole. Just the slight crinkling of glass against the wooden floors, and Mijou-san clearing her throat.

“Do you… Still want to stay, (last name)-chan?” There’s a smile so stiff on her face, her eyes upturned into tight squints that told— Begged you to say no.

Mijou Kana was a strange girl, after all— Someone that never let her true intentions show through her words. Yet, you think you kinda get what Suguru means when he says that she’s;

“Trying too hard to hide something too evident.”

(It must be painful. Why can’t she just be honest?)

“No—“ Don’t hesitate. “No, thank you. I forgot I had homework to do.”

“Oh right!” She claps her hands together, beaming that empty, empty smile that never seemed the way it looked. “The one Futari-sensei gave right? I thought I reminded you about that!”

(She didn’t.)

“Yea.” It’s better to just agree.

And as she walks you to the door, you can only think about how curses aren’t the only bad things in the world. Your eyes look back, following the thin slither of shadows up the staircase as you blink.

(You feel… Bad.)

You hope that energy manifests a physical curse. Something that you can exorcise, something that you can get rid of.

(You can’t let her live forever like that.)

Yet, as Mijou Kana waves you goodbye with that smile of hers and shuts the door just as you turn around; You just can’t help but feel that some people are simply miserable because they can’t help it.

(Mission failure.)

——

You’re 14 when you’re wiping down the blackboard, specks of chalk dust falling onto your hair and your slight coughs into the mask you were donning— At least you’re almost done.

It’s unfortunate that Mijou decided to skip out on cleaning duty. It must’ve affected her too much.

“It’s cute, isn’t it, Ieiri-san?” The keychain jingles as the girl awkwardly tries to keep conversation with the infamous Ieiri Shoko.

(Infamous for her looks! The pretty, blank-faced and blunt Ieiri Shoko! A simple remark from her would possibly end with you collapsing to your knees—)

“Could you,” A flick of her hair back as autumn-brown eyes dismiss the girl with an emotion you can’t quite explain, a blank, empty look in her eyes as she removes her lollipop. “Stop talking to me?”

It must’ve been quite the blow to poor Mijou-san. You pat your own hair, trying to shake off chalk dust and any remnants of dirt that had gotten onto you.

It’s not easy trying to accomplish a 2 person job with only half the manpower.

“Do you need help?” Your ears perk up just as you nearly trip over yourself from holding the too heavy bucket—

Geto Suguru.

“I just got back from the temple.” His hand brushes over his ears, tapping lightly against the black gauge earrings and tucking a stray strand of his hair back as he smiles.

You stare. Maybe for a bit too long, your eyes concentrated on the way he just looked so, so pretty— Before your sight gets covered by his hand waving over your eyes.

“Thank you.” It’s said with a prettier chuckle, amused and with a blush so pleasant upon his skin.

(You think you’re going to embarrass yourself one day. Curse your mouth that runs without you noticing.)

You don’t even notice that he’s already gotten hold of your wrist, slipping a simple black string bracelet around it as

“The school allows simple accessories,” His touch lingers, warm and gentle against you as his purple eyes trail upwards. “We don’t have to worry about getting in trouble.”

Oh.

“I don’t think I’m that plain.” You pout, obviously disheartened by the implication and letting the very obvious simply fly over your head. “Shoko thinks—“

And Suguru only laughs. Wholeheartedly. Cutely.

“I think you’re pretty with or without accessories.” A pat to your head. “But because I gave this one to you,” A tap against your wrist.

“You’re extra pretty.” And a smile to soothe your heart.

Always so charming, always so— It makes him not want to say it. As expected of Geto Suguru, much to a certain person’s chagrin. Because it’s impossible for someone to be that appealing, right? It’s too pretentious, too— Full of shit.

“Hmph.” And Gojo Satoru looks dissatisfied, his cheeks stuffed to the brim with sweet, sticky red bean mochi as he chews.

Angrily.

He shouldn’t be, you know? A similar bracelet sits on his own wrist, a version that exactly matched yours. If he placed them together they’d be identical, would be the perfect pair that matched the studs on Suguru’s ears. Yet, even as he watches the both of you in front of him, busily writing away and studying…

Why does he feel like he’s lost somehow?

Was it the way you always look so fond of the little trinket? He’s bought you entire clothes before, you know? He doesn’t see you ogle them like crazy, doesn’t see you give him anything more of a—

“It looks nice today too, right, Satoru?” With your attentive eyes waiting on him to say something, say anything at all whilst dressed in the plainest, most boring thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He thinks you can’t be serious, as cute as you do look, that he needs to get Kimi-chan to get you prettier things, that you seriously have something wrong with your hea—

“Ya look okay.”

“(name),” His elbow is now on the coffee table, his hand propping his chin up as his stare pins onto you specifically. “Fix my hair.”

And you do so— Without even looking up from the passage you were trying to read, the wrist donning Suguru’s gift reaching towards Satoru— Before it’s grabbed out of the air and the sound of a metal clasp takes you by surprise.

A new bracelet. Shiny, compact, surprisingly extremely light— And very expensive looking.

“Hmph.” It’s satisfied, smug. As if he’s seen something that couldn’t get any better than this as he makes hasty final adjustments, throwing your wrist about as you’re unceremoniously tugged forward unwillingly.

“Wha—?” You haven’t exactly processed everything yet.

A hum, an annoyed, almost exasperated sigh from a certain black-haired friend as he pauses to watch the situation and Gojo Satoru’s triumphant words.

“Mine definitely looks better, right, Suguru?”

——

“Mama,” Your hands stop peeling the potatoes, its brown skin brushing against your arm as you stare blankly at it. “What’s your type?”

And she pauses. Just for a moment, just for that tiny little bit.

“Someone who can peel the potatoes evenly.” There’s even a small giggle tacked on at the end of it, as if she couldn’t hold the same monotone throughout the entirety of the sentence.

And you blush— Embarrassed. It’s not everyday that your own Mama makes fun of your potato peeling.

(And…! To be fair this was a new potato peeler! The tools of the future certainly seek to hinder your progress— As Saya-chan says, over engineering will only lead to more stress.)

“But to answer you,” A thoughtless hum as she gently continues to chop up the mushrooms. “I have no preference.”

It’s only the next line that gets you thinking.

“Humans are all… Different, after all.” So nonchalant, so passive. If it were any other person, they’d do a double take. If it were any other person, they’d be confused; especially with that odd tone of voice.

(But you’re you.)

“Then I think you’re the best one.” She’s gotta be, right? Who else would take the mantle if not her?

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

So basically, from this conversation… She wouldn’t approve of anyone you’d bring home.

(“My ideal type?” Ito Saya has her hands gingerly placed on her cheek, a thoughtful look on her face before she lets a sweet smile take over, coupled with a cute laugh to boot.

“Somebody my mother likes!”)

Saya-chan and dating. 2 words you’d never thought you would ever live to hear. She’s your idol, your bias, your one and only— Could you really handle her giving all her cute fanservice to someone else?

“Then… What kind of person would you want me to date, Mama?” It’s rhetorical. It’s not like you have anyone in mind, lest Saya-chan came to your home and gave you the privilege of proposing to her.

But it’d be interesting to know. Just because. It’s definitely not because Mijou-san asked. Not at all.

(“You don’t even have a type, (last name)-chan?” Her eyes still have that same faraway look, her face in that neutral, almost blank smile that you’ve come to get so used to.

“You’re kinda boring. Don’t you ever have your own opinion?”)

There’s no hesitation this time in your Mama’s reply, no other words needed— As if she had had already came prepared long before you even thought about it.

“Someone sincere.”

“What does that even mean?” You’re both 15 when Ieiri Shoko is laying back on your futon, all regards for the ‘proper, ladylike’ image gone without a trace as her shirt flips up and her shorts ride up her hips.

Summer is hot, after all.

“Maybe someone like Saya-chan’s boyfriend?” You’re lying next to her, sweaty hands lazily entangled with each other as you stare up at the ceiling.

(“Isn’t she in some dating scandal right now?”

“She doesn’t deserve it…! My Saya-chan deserves to date and marry whoever she wants to find happiness!”)

There’s a silence in-between the both of you. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s not awkward. It’s just there because the both of you allow it. A chime of your brand new phone breaks it, disrupts that thin barrier of laziness that overtook your laziness as you reach for it.

“Is it Geto?” And she knows simply because she has never seen you text or call anyone other than 4 specific people; inclusive of herself.

“Mhm. Suguru wants to come over.”

She stays silent, not even moving to adjust her clothes as she lets the breeze of your fan flow through her hair.

“Tell him to bring ice cream if he wants to.” She can just imagine the boy spotting your slightly open window, watching as your curtains shifted ever so slightly in the summer breeze. A thought would probably pass through him, 1 that would make him pick up his cellphone, his eyes never leaving that ajar window.

“Ah— But you already made Satoru buy them.” She did. It was cheeky, was just a surefire way for her to get something out of him.

(Because if he even wanted an invite to hang out with you on the day she had personally ‘reserved’, he better listen close and listen well.)

“Make ‘em bring extra.” She pushes herself up slightly. “It’s gonna be tax for daring to disturb us.”

That makes enough sense, you think. A whole lot of sense, and not because this sweltering weather is making you crave too many cold things.

“Oi.” Not too long passes when he’s already made his way in, not at all mindful of manners as your door opens to reveal— A not at all sweating Gojo Satoru.

(Infinity, he says. Must be nice to have free sunscreen and UV light reflector. Your Mama would love that.)

His socked feet pad against your floor, stopping just shy of the futon he’s all too familiar with as the plastic bag he carried rustling with its familiar contents.

“I didn’t know what Shoko liked so I just bought whatever.” Maybe it’s the 1st time you notice just how tall he’s gotten in these short years. Especially when he’s towering over you, crossing his arms and watching you intently— As if he was expecting you to say something.

(…did you do something wrong?)

“Satoru.” There’s a smile on your face, saying his name with that familiar softness. There’s a quaint, polite look in your eye and an innocent tilt of your head. “Did you buy your favourite too?”

(You’re kind of craving that super deluxe, ultra premium choco-vanilla-strawberry swirl.)

And he frowns. Quickly. Immediately. As if it soured his whole mood and as if he hated your response.

“Is that all I get after going through all that trouble?” He’s huffing, before plopping down onto your soft floor before you, crossing his legs and grumbling, his posture slouched over and his lips in a pout.

Ah.

So your hand reaches up, gently brushing away locks of pure, snowy white as you press the back of your hand against soft— Pleasantly non-sweaty skin.

(His skin is so nice.)

“It must’ve been hot, right?” You hope he didn’t get heatstroke. Not that he even could, but it didn’t hurt to check.

And blue eyes just stay extremely locked onto you. A sound caught in his throat that makes you worry slightly just as you’re about to pull back.

“It was!” His ears are reddening as you nod along, listening intently as you use your hand to fan his face.

(It really must be hot outside. He’s burning up.)

“It was soooooo hot out there!” His cheeks can’t help but heat up as you continue to brush back locks of white— All in cute efforts to let him cool off more.

(Does he need a fever patch? It’s quite worrying to see him like this.)

“I could barely even stand it, ya know?” He’s hoping you pick up an ice cream bar and feed it to hi—

“Are you both done flirting yet?” Ieiri Shoko is thoroughly unimpressed as she bites off another chunk of the GariGari-kun. It’s only slightly chilly, only that little bit biting. Yet, if you were to ask her;

She’s only slightly bothered by it.

“The ice cream’s melting.”

And when Geto Suguru’s knocking on your bedroom door, his head politely poking in— He’s only met with one prodding question.

“Oiiii! Suguru!” An arm wraps around his shoulder, pressing all of its weight onto him as it threatened to drag him down to your bedroom floor— To have a face full of your carpet, that is.

“What’s your type?”

And there’s only a twitch of his hand, his smile barely staying on his face before Gojo’s hand was grabbed, barely even activating Infinity in time before the entirety of his body was flipped over Geto’s shoulder and onto the floor.

(“Cheater.”

“More like y’er too slow.”)

So he finds himself here. On your floor, sitting just in front of you as you pull at his face and awe at his fangs. Your fingers are poking around at the sharp objects, and his cheek twitches from soreness.

You really need to stop asking for things with your pleading eyes. It’s hard for him to deny them.

“And you’ve grown really tall, too…” Your hand pokes at his hard arm. “Did Kimi-chan give you both some sort of cursed energy imbued potion to make you both so big?”

“If she did, we’d give both you and Shoko some,” There’s even a gruff huff as Satoru rolls his head onto your shoulder. “Ya both need it real bad.”

(“Saya-chan’s boyfriend is pretty big and tall, too… Do I need to drink more milk?”

“Ah. Isn’t the guy she’s dating some sort of athlete?” Suguru’s words kind of sting when they interrupt your train of thought.

Tall. Big. An outstanding athlete.

You’ve lost.)

“I’ll never be able to date Saya-chan…”

previous masterlist next

nvy’s aftertalk:

i’m trying my best to make it romantic ok :(. pls reblog since tumblr doesn’t like showing my work in tags :(

[thatbloodymuggle]

MASTERMIND (iii)

THREE - COLOR THEORY

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 11.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, descriptions of violence, smut, oral (m receiving), thigh humping, fingering

You have always wondered if being born from Light and Dark was a blessing, or a curse. On one hand, it has granted you the ability to navigate life’s morally gray areas; to question everything and listen to opposing thoughts and ideologies. But on the other hand, your existence was born from a violent affair—and you can’t help but wonder if that Dark inevitably lives within you, shielded by the Light. 

Right now, more than ever, you believe the latter may be true. 

It’s been three days. Three days since you woke up to an empty bed beneath you and guilt weighing heavy atop. Three days since you self-sabotaged your entire mission. Three days since you reveled in the comfort of your enemy’s arms.

You thought the regret would be at its worst the morning after; you figured it would pass with time. But with each day, each hour, each minute that ticks by, breathing becomes just a little bit harder. You can’t even find peace in sleep; not when you are kept awake by images of Eris’s lust-filled gaze and the inevitable heartbreak on Mor’s face. If your own self-stirred panic isn’t enough, you also have the note that Eris left atop his empty pillow to worry about:

I apologize for leaving so soon, Little Bird, but I have some business to attend to. Do write back when you’d like to take a tour of the library. Don’t miss me too much.

The bastard left the proverbial ball in your court. Typically, you like being in control. But with your current frenzied mental state, the last thing you need is yet another convoluted layer to worry about.

Needless to say, you are about one misstep from exploding.

The crackling embers of the fireplace in your cabin stare back at you tauntingly. You hover your hands over the orange flames, letting the heat tickle your skin until the burning becomes too much, and you are forced to pull away. You wait a beat, before raising your shaky hands over the fire once again. Albeit brief, the pain seems to be the only escape from the assault of your traitorous thoughts. Yet, with each retreat of your hands, the empty paper and pen sitting on your bedside table glare at you expectantly. They seem to radiate a cruel impatience—as if Eris is slinking in the shadows, watching you.

Your hands begin to burn again, and you abruptly pull them away. Before you can raise them over the flames once again, you feel the scraping of talons against the cobblestone barrier of your mind.

You want nothing less than to talk to Rhys right now. But you know that if you leave him hanging, he will worry. Reluctantly, you let your walls crumble down, and a shiver runs up your spine as you feel his aura creep in.

Everything okay? His voice sings across your mental connection.

You gnaw on your bottom lip until you wince, swiping your tongue across the droplet of blood.

I don’t know, you relent.

He doesn’t respond immediately. But you can picture the cinch between his brows as he mulls over your answer. Be honest with me. I won’t share with the others, if you don’t want me to. Promise.

Your fingers dance over the flames once more. You can’t possibly divulge what has transpired thus far. But you certainly can’t hold it all in without going mad. The fire burns your skin, and you jolt back before responding.

Promise?

He replies instantly, Yes.

You start talking before you can convince yourself otherwise. I think I may be getting a little too close.

Your response is simple, straight to the point. But something about it feels…heavy. 

What do you mean ‘too close’?

You’re careful not to let your thoughts, your memories of what happened in that cottage, to breach your mental connection with Rhys. You stare into the orange flames, admiring how intertwine, before replying.

The ‘seduction from afar’ plan may need to be revised. I’m in too deep to keep my distance for three weeks.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you wait for his response. You subconsciously twirl the silver ring on your thumb, never peeling your eyes away from the blazing fire. Rhys doesn’t say anything for a while. Just as fear begins to creep in, his voice sounds through your mind.

That’s fine. You jolt at his response, and he continues. Between you and me, I don’t care what you have to do. Make him fall in love with you, break his heart, it doesn’t matter. Once you’re out of there, you’ll never have to see him again.

You physically flinch as the reality of your situation hits you like a truck. Three weeks, and you’ll never see him again. Three weeks, and it’ll all be done—there will be no witness to whatever fling you have, no one left to tell the tale. No one ever has to know. Mor never has to know.

Okay, you finally respond simply.

Just tread carefully, you can hear the strain in his voice.

You nod robotically, even though he can’t see you. With a quick farewell, you put up your mental barriers. You stare into the flames for a few minutes longer, until the mere sight burns your irises.

“Compartmentalization,” you mumble to no one in particular.

Finally, you peel yourself off the dust-covered floor in front of the fire. Your legs are wobbly as you take methodical steps towards your bedside table. The empty paper and pen are quivering in anticipation as you approach. Your hand moves with a mind of its own as you pick up the waiting pen and scribble onto the paper.

Does the offer still stand?

The second you set the pen back down onto the table, the paper vanishes into thin air from your fingertips. You wring your hands together as you sit down on the side of your bed and wait. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for exactly, but you wait. 

“Compartmentalization,” you say it again. And you say it a few more times. Enough to trick your mind into believing it and slow the frantic beat of your heart. Enough to don a mask of apathy as a crack sounds outside the front door followed by a sharp knock. 

You twist the silver ring around your thumb once more before standing, this time on steady legs. Your steps are calm and calculated as you tread towards the door. You take one last deep breath, ridding your body and mind of any residual apprehension. With your lips curled into a beguiling grin, you swing the door open.

Eris’s smile is almost as wicked as yours as he scans you from head to toe, drinking in your appearance.

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, Little Bird,” he smirks.

You pick at your nails nonchalantly, “I’m flattered I’ve been on your mind, but I’m not sure I can say the same.”

His vicious grin only widens, “You wound me, Birdie. But I must admit,” he dips down and lowers his voice to a whisper, “I quite like your bite today.”

You arch a brow and don’t so much as flinch at his proximity, “Are you a masochist, Eris Vanserra? Or does chasing after disinterested females turn you on?”

Your thinly veiled insult only eggs him on. It takes everything in you not to shrink back as he lowers his lips so they graze the shell of your ear.

“Are you sure you want to go down this road? Because last I remembered, you were a whimpering little mess—”

His sentence is abruptly halted by your fingers pinching his lips shut. His eyes widen in incredulity at your childish action, and a giggle bubbles in your throat at the sight. You release him and walk briskly past, leaving him dumbfounded behind you.

“Well, are we going or not?” you snark over your shoulder.

He falls into step beside you, and you jolt as he places his hand on the small of your back. His touch gentle, but commanding. You don’t dare look at him as he warns, “I’ll let this one slide, Little Bird. But don’t forget that my teeth are much sharper than yours,” he wraps his arm tightly around your waist, “And I’m not afraid to use them.”

Your rebuttal is cut short as he pulls you to his chest before winnowing you both out of the woods.

The Forest House is just as remarkable as you remembered it—even more so in the sunlight. The tangles of ivy enveloping the red-brick walls are a vibrant green, and the intricate details of the gate itself seem to glisten underneath the sun’s rays. However, unlike your last visit, this time sentries line nearly every inch of the expansive walls. Their taut faces and intimidating steeds exude a sense of savagery that makes your skin prickle.

Eris’s hand retreats to its spot on the small of your back, and you jump slightly as you are reminded of your purpose for being here. Reluctantly, you peel your eyes away from the curvature of the golden gates and cock your head towards his. The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you can tell he’s holding back a comment from the twitch in his lips.

“Spit it out,” you feign annoyance.

He shakes his head with an airy laugh, “It’s nothing. I just like the way you look at the world—all wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, like you’re experiencing life for the first time. It’s cute.”

You frown. 

His comment, while innocent, puts you on edge for two reasons. The first, and the one that really makes your skin crawl, is his incessant ability to unknowingly point out parts of yourself that belong to you, rather than Athena Ellesmere. With each destination he takes you to, you do feel like you’re experiencing the world for the first time. But that’s not Athena—and with each of your quirks he reveals, he’s one step closer to sniffing you out entirely.

The second, well…

“Cute?” you deadpan.

His teeth flash as his grin widens, “Cute.”

You’re not cute. You’re supposed to be sexy, confident, untouchable—a femme fatale. Not fucking cute.

You know your bubbling frustration is futile, so you simply narrow your eyes into a warning glare and march towards the golden gates. You know that the pout on your face isn’t helping your case—but you can’t seem to wipe it off. The sentries shift on their steeds as you approach but return to their stationed positions when Eris falls into step beside you. They don’t so much as look in your direction as you pass through the gates.

“Once you are formally welcomed inside the gates, you are free to come and go as you please,” Eris’s fingers brush yours as he speaks, “So if you are in further need of the library after today, you can return.”

Your ears perk up at this, but you nod coolly. He leads you around the side of the large mansion, away from the front door, and lowers his voice to a murmur, “But I would prefer if you’d let me accompany you, if you should visit again.”

“Why? Want me all to yourself?” you snort.

He wears a playful grin, but his eyes are vapid.

“You know I do,” he teases, “But the beauty of this place is deceptive. Darkness lurks behind these walls, Little Bird.”

A shiver crawls up your spine, but you swiftly retort, “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“I know,” his voice is thick with trepidation.

You bristle at the way he speaks about you like he knows you. Yet again.

His hand returns to the small of your back as he leads you towards a small door, almost completely covered by thick ropes of vine. If he wasn’t guiding you, you would’ve completely missed the hidden entrance. You suck in a breath in anticipation as he pushes it open, wood creaking against rusted hinges. You hide your curiosity as you take in the burgundy carpet lining a hallway so long, you can’t see its end. The walls are built of centuries-old limestone, the darkness illuminated by flame torches.

You peel your eyes away from the hallway as Eris leads you to the left, down a steep, spiral staircase. Just like the hallway, it is built entirely of dark stone which holds a red hue thanks to the flickering flames of torches lining the walls. He steps in front of you, and you follow his lead silently as he leads you down the stairs. The steep wind of the steps is dizzying as you descend downwards, deep into the ground below, and into the heart of the tunnels of the Forest House. With each floor you pass, you picture Azriel’s map of the house. Finally, Eris takes a turn at the ninth floor you’ve descended. You follow closely behind and note the change in architecture. Gone are the limestone walls, and in their place, deep mahogany wood lined with a variety of paintings: family portraits, Autumn Court landscapes, still life’s. This hallway is also dimly lit with torches, but it holds a peculiar warmth unlike the others.

“How big is this place?” you voice echoes down the expansive hallway.

You know exactly how big it is. But you can’t stand the eerie silence. 

Eris’s voice rumbles lowly, “Miles long. It would take you half the morning to walk from one end to the other.”

Your eyes widen in mock astonishment—as if you don’t know that it is exactly 4.2 miles long.

“And you don’t get lost?” you ask.

“You forget I’ve had centuries of practice, darling,” he chuckles.

You open your mouth to fire another question, but a squeal escapes instead as you feel something wet bump against your right hand. You snatch your hand to your chest and look down to find a pair of beady, vermillion eyes staring back at you. You instinctively inch closer to Eris as you stare down at the creature in awe.

You know what smokehounds are. And you know that Eris owns a whopping twelve. But you weren’t quite prepared for the predator standing before you. Its fur is gray and sleek like smoke, and its eyes are the color of blood. Your initial fear fades as you realize, despite their crimson hue, its eyes are not filled with malice—but rather, curiosity. You cautiously lower the hand clutched to your chest back to your side, and slowly stretch your fingers apart. Its wet nose bumps your hand again, and you shiver at the tickling sensation as it sniffs you. A giggle bubbles in your throat as it sticks its tongue out and licks between your fingers. You tentatively stroke the side of its face with your knuckles.

“She likes you,” Eris hums beside you.

The smokehound nuzzles into your side, and you stroke the top of her head with your full hand. You know they are vicious creatures—you’ve read about how they can race as fast as the wind to sniff out any prey. But the creature standing below you seems as harmless as a fly.

“What’s her name?” you ask as you scratch softly between her ears. 

“Sage. She’s my oldest,” his hand joins yours as he strokes the back of her neck.

“I never pictured smokehounds to be so…affectionate,” you wonder aloud, curiosity piqued as she licks your hand again.

Eris laughs softly, “They aren’t. She must be drawn to you—the same way I am.”

You can feel his gaze on you but refuse to look in his direction as you fight the blush crawling up your neck. He withdraws his hand, and you follow suit as you continue your walk down the hallway, this time with Sage by your side. She trots beside you, close enough that your fingertips brush the silken fur on her back and her side rubs against your dress. Even as you continue down the dimly lit hallway, you can’t take your eyes off the elegant creature walking alongside you.

You nearly slam into Eris as he halts abruptly in front of two large oak doors. Just as you regain your footing, you nearly lose it again at the sight before you.

There are seemingly endless rows of books reaching at least fifty feet tall. An ornate rug of red and gold covers the stone floor, and hundreds of flickering candles are suspended in midair. Vibrant green ivy, much like the kind you’ve seen outside, wraps around each shelf. To top it all off, the ceiling is a mosaic of crystalline windows shining golden rays of sunlight down below—some kind of enchantment, you presume, given that you are at nine floors underground.

“Wow,” you breathe. With your mouth agape and your eyes wide with wonder, you know that you are proving Eris’s earlier point. But right now, you couldn’t care less. 

You wander towards the shelves, Sage trailing behind you, and run your fingers gently along the spines of the books. The smell of parchment and wood is intoxicating, and your heart swells with joy as you scan the collection of classics. Some are so old; you presume they must be original prints. Others look brand new, completely untouched. 

One binding in particular catches you attention—well, ‘binding’ is generous, considering the book is barely hanging together by a thread. You carefully pull out the amethyst-colored cover and turn it over. Shattered Realms. 

“Is this an original copy?” you question, unable to peel your eyes away from the novel.

Eris looks over your shoulder, “Yes. It’s been passed down in my family for generations—although it originally belonged to the Night Court.”

Your lips twitch with amusement, but you force down a laugh at the irony. You glance at him over your shoulder, “How did it end up here?”

He takes a step closer to you, his chest inches away from pressing up against your back, and runs a finger over the binding of the book in your hands. His scent of sandalwood and nutmeg invades your senses.

“Many centuries ago, my grandfather was in a bit of a tiff with the Night Court High Lord at the time. He stole it during their feud.”

You smile softly and make a mental note to retrieve the book before you return to Velaris as a little souvenir for Rhys. You carefully place the book back in its spot before continuing your exploration. Eris follows closely behind, whereas Sage has found comfort in front of the fireplace. 

“Do you have any favorites?” you wonder aloud as you come to the end of the aisle.

“I have many,” his hand brushes yours.

You hook your pinky finger over his, “Care to share?”

“Any particular genre you’re interested in?” he curls his finger against yours.

You bite your bottom lip in thought as you mull over the options. Asking you to pick a favorite genre is like asking a mother to pick her favorite child. 

“I’ve recently been on a bit of a reading kick of philosophical essays,” you tap a finger to your chin in thought, “Mind-body dualism, introspection, all the good stuff,” you drawl.

Eris’s brows raise in surprise, “I never would’ve thought that philosophy pairs well with filthy little romance novels.”

Your eyes narrow into a glare, and you move to snatch your pinky away from his, but he swiftly intertwines your fingers. He’s dragging you down the aisle before you can protest, and you stumble to keep up with his swift feet. Eris leads you past rows of bookshelves, up a spiral staircase, and past even more rows of books. He doesn’t give you a chance to admire the collection of literature as he tugs you along. Finally, you halt at a small alcove decorated with stained glass windows.

Your eyes widen as you take in the collection of books written by countless ancient philosophers. But you force on a façade of indifference, careful not to fuel his already bursting ego even more. You hold your breath as he leans over you and pulls a book at least six inches out of your reach. The binding is tattered—not as badly as the original copy of Shattered Realms, but enough that you can tell it’s at least a few centuries old. He holds it out expectantly, and you tentatively grab it from his waiting hands. 

“I think you might find this to your liking,” he grins, “A collection of Tydeus’s correspondences with Lady Baldwin. It’s not an original copy, but surely the closest to it.”

He releases your other hand, and you clench your jaw to conceal your excitement. You’ve been searching for a copy of this for years now—ever since you stumbled across the collection of the ancient philosopher Tydeus’s works in the Velaris library. Your mother used to love reading the copy of his correspondences in the Day Court libraries, but that feels like a lifetime ago now.

“Tydeus’s ideologies are a bit archaic for my taste. But I suppose this will do,” you lie through your teeth. Eris chuckles lightly, observing the curious glint in your eyes and the way you hold the book with a delicate reverence.  

“There are wards around the house which prevent these books from leaving the premises, so unfortunately, I cannot loan it to you. And given your past thieving tendencies, I’m not sure I would want to,” he teases as he leans against the shelve of books.

Well, there goes Rhys’s solstice gift.

Your lips dip into a frown, “I know Vanserras are cruel, but I never imagined you’d be this twisted—dangling one-of-a-kind copies of ancient literature over my head only to pull them away.”

“Don’t fret, Little Bird,” he purrs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “You can read to your heart’s desire—inside the house, of course. I’ll show you to a place with a bit more…privacy.”

You gulp as his fingers linger against your cheekbone. His touch is electrifying, and you fight the instinct to chase after it as he pulls away.

“Okay,” you whisper, “Is it alright if I pick out a few more?”

His teeth flash as he observes the effect he has over you.

“Take your time. I’ll be keeping Sage company.”

He brushes past you, and you remain frozen in place for a moment. Get it together, you scold yourself internally. You will your mind to empty as you continue your stroll down hundreds of rows of books. You try your very best not to pick up everything that catches your eye—only those which really pique your interest. But even so, you quickly find yourself with a stack of books so high they nearly reach your chin. Your arms tremble underneath the weight, but still, you add a couple of atlases to your stack for good measure. You have no intention of reading them—but Athena Ellesmere would. 

Finally satisfied with your collection, you walk slowly back towards the front of the library. You rest your chin on the top of the stack, careful not to topple the tower of books. The winding staircase proves to be a challenge, and you nearly stumble twice. But by some miracle, you make it down unscathed, and approach the blazing fireplace.

Eris lounges on a couch with Sage on the ground beneath him. He scratches her ears nonchalantly as he flips through his own book. His neck cranes at the sound of your uneven footsteps, and a roaring laugh fills the room when he lays eyes on you.

It’s a sight he wishes will be forever imprinted in his memory—your arms wobbling underneath a stack of books nearly as tall as you, and your flushed cheeks peeking out on top.

“Some help would be appreciated,” you hiss.

He sets his book down and glides over, taking half the stack from your arms. You nearly moan in relief at the literal weight lifted off your shoulders. 

“A few more, huh?” he taunts with a wily smirk.

“A few means a small number. Comparative to your collection, yes. A few,” you grit your teeth.

“Whatever you say, Little Bird. Although I except a thorough review of each,” he sings.

Eris balances his half of the stack in one arm and wraps his other around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. You save your own stack from nearly tipping over with a stumble. You aren’t afforded a chance to protest as he winnows you both away, leaving Sage sleeping peacefully in front of the fire.   

This time, you aren’t able to save the stack from spilling out of your arms as you land in a new room. Much to your displeasure, Eris’s pile of books is fully intact in his arms. You drop to your knees with a huff and begin collecting the books strewn about a patterned, crimson carpet.

“You’re a clumsy one, aren’t you?” he taunts from above you.

Your head snaps upwards and you open your mouth to retort but pause as you take in the new surroundings. Much like the library, this room holds a golden glow highlighted by swirling patterns of golds and reds along the walls. You can feel another fire blazing behind you, and just past the deep-seated sofa in front of you lies an enormous canopy bed. It suddenly clicks—you are in Eris’s private chambers. 

You cock a brow at the sight and a smirk tugs at your lips, “You know, if you wanted to get me in your bed all you had to do was ask.”

He sets down his stack of books on a small, wooden table in front of the couch and reaches a hand down to you expectantly. You tentatively place your hand in his, and he raises you up from the ground, pulling you to his chest with a sultry smile. 

“Is that an offer, darling?” his breath tickles your neck as he dips down to your ear.

Your cheeks flush as he caresses your jawline with his thumb. You clench your thighs as you are reminded of how his fingers felt inside you, dripping in your arousal. But before you can melt into his touch, you raise your lips to his ear and croon, “I’m not that easy. You’ll have to work harder than that, Fox.”

He presses his nose against your temple and groans, the vibration of it sending a tantalizing chill up your spine. Just as easily as he’s able to get you flustered, so are you able to drive him up the wall. 

You pull away from him, ignoring his whine of protest. He is absolutely shameless in his desire for you, and the thought alone makes your gut churn with delight.

You gather your stack of books from the ground and carefully place them beside the other half on the wooden table. You sift through the titles before finally settling on the Tydeus copy Eris recommended. You don’t so much as glance in his direction as you take a seat on the couch and kick off your heavy boots. The fire is just close enough that the flames warm your skin, and you all but sink into its comfort. You can feel Eris’s eyes on you, but you continue to ignore him as you stretch your legs out across the velvet expanse and open the ancient book. You aren’t even through the first page when you feel Eris’s hands on your calves.

You squeal as he raises your legs, giving himself space to sit beside you, before lowering them again so they are draped over his lap. You glare at him over your book, but he ignores your malice as he leans forward and picks his own book from the pile on the table. He leans back in his seat, his legs spread beneath yours, as he opens the book—a rare biography of one of the original Valkyries. Your own book sits limply in your hands as you study his profile—the plump of his lips, the shift of his jaw. You can’t help but admire the freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. He is incredibly handsome, which simultaneously makes your job easier, and all the more difficult.

“I know I’m gorgeous but try not to drool on my centuries-old book,” he hums nonchalantly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

You raise your leg to kick him, but he firmly grips your ankle and sets it back onto his lap without so much as a glance in your direction. He doesn’t remove his hand, letting it rest on your leg. With a huff, you return to your book. You are halted, once again, this time by his wandering hand. He teasingly pushes up the skirt of your long dress, just below your knees, so he can rest his hand on your shin. Your breath hitches as he rubs circles into your calf with his thumb, massaging it gently.

Reluctantly, you succumb to the comfort of his touch and return to your book once more. You page through Tydeus’s correspondences with Lady Baldwin. Their letters begin simply enough. But you quickly find yourself immersed in their debate over morality. Whereas the Lady takes a relative stance, Tydeus takes on an absolutist one. As their back-and-forth shifts to the dichotomy of good and evil, you are eerily reminded of your own inner turmoil earlier that morning.

“Anything good so far?” you jump as Eris’s gravelly voice cuts through the comfortable silence.

You meet his inquisitive gaze and note how the flame of the fire reflects in the amber of his eyes.

“My mother would have loved this,” you reply.

She did love it. You remember how she used to read it constantly in the Day Court—you never thought you’d be able to get your hands on a copy of it again. 

“Why is that?” he asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

You lower the book onto your lap, “She loved all of Tydeus’s works. She was a strong believer in the dichotomous division between ‘good’ and ‘evil’.”

Eris sets his own book down and rubs your leg with both of his hands. 

“And what do you think?” he challenges thoughtfully.

You shrug, “I’m not sure. On the one hand, I think morality is relative—that individuals are not uniform, and thus form their own ideas about what is ‘good’ and what is ‘evil’. But then on the other, I used to believe that there are some things we universally categorize as one or the other.”

“You don’t anymore?” he counters

You bite your lip and avert your gaze to the fire. The anxiety you managed to dispel earlier that day starts creeping in. Your gut twists uncomfortably as you reply simply, “I’m not sure.”

His hands slow, noticing your shift in demeanor. He studies the furrow of your brows as you stare into the fire.

“I think it is not morality that dominates the situation, but the situation that dominates morality,” he counters after a few beats of silence.

“A moral relativist?”

“I don’t like labels,” he shrugs.

The vibrancy of the fire is burning your eyes, but you keep them trained on the flames as you reply, “I suppose I agree with that—the problem is, it’s not the answer I’m seeking.”

“And what answer are you seeking?”

You long to reach your hands out over the flames until the heat sears your skin. The déjà vu makes your stomach churn.

“It’s not so much an answer as a direction,” you speak softly to hide the quiver of your voice, “I wish there was some way to know if I’m moving in the right direction.”

He chuckles, “Which brings us back to the question of absolutism versus relativism.”

You peel your eyes away from the flame, and your eyes lock with his. They hold a certain understanding, as if he can see straight through you and into your soul. Your body moves with a mind of its own as you sit up and subconsciously inch closer.

 “I suppose all we can really do is justify our actions for ourselves—and hope that others will agree with our division of morality,” you whisper.

His gaze darkens, and he bows his head towards you, “I think life is full of gray areas, and we can’t be faulted for how we choose to navigate them.”

His response strikes a chord deep within you. Your eyes flick down to his pink lips, just inches away from yours.

Compartmentalization be damned.

You lurch forward to close the gap, and he meets you halfway. 

The moment your lips meet his, every ounce of worry is swept away from your mind. You barely register the thump of your book hitting the ground as his lips glide against yours. His taste is addictive—a sweet peppermint that you can’t seem to get enough of. Your nose bumps against his as you climb on top of him, your legs straddling his lap. You cup the side of his face with your hands, deepening the kiss. He grips the small of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip: a question. Your mouth parts: an answer. 

You snake one hand behind his neck and run your fingers through his crimson locks, tugging sharply. He groans, and just as he moves to deepen the kiss, you abruptly pull away.

His sounds of protest are silenced by your lips against the sensitive skin of his neck. You move tentatively at first, remembering how it felt to have his lips against your neck, and mimic his maneuvers. He tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of your neck, pushing you closer as a sign of encouragement. You become bolder, alternating between open-mouthed kisses, small nips, and swipes of your tongue. His groan of approval spurs you on, and you fiddle with the bottom of his tunic, pulling it up his chest. You draw back briefly to peel the shirt completely off his body before resuming your work.

“Who taught you how to do that?” Eris hisses as you suck harshly at the apex of his collarbone. 

  You grin at the blossoming purple hue on his pale skin and run your tongue over the spot soothingly, “A wily fox too clever for his own good.”

He pulls you back up, abruptly cutting your abuse of his neck short. You eagerly smash your lips against his once more and trail your hands down the expanse of his chest, dragging your nails lightly along his rigid abdomen. His hands loop around you and he swiftly yanks down the zipper of your dress. You eagerly shed the suffocating material, so it pools at your waist, exposing your bare chest to him. Eris moans at the sight of your peaked nipples and doesn’t hesitate to massage your breasts with his large hands. His lips trail down your neck, but before he has a chance to carry out the same treatment you’d given him, you slip from his grasp entirely.

Eris watches, stunned, as you slip off his lap and sink down onto your knees before him. His lips part as you nudge his knees apart, and lurch forward to trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest, to his abdomen, until you finally reach the waistband of his bottoms. He jolts as you brush your hand over the very obvious, and large, tent in his pants.

“Little Bird,” he mumbles as you palm over him, “You don’t have to do this.”

Your eyes flick up to his and you speak with conviction, “I want to.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps and you all but drool at the sight. He nods once, and you begin fiddling with his belt buckle. His hands move to help you, but you swat them away. You make quick work of the fastenings, and slowly drag the material down his legs, inch by inch. You know he’s growing impatient by the clenching of his abdomen. You flash him a sultry smile as you finally pull the material from his legs, leaving him in his underwear. His hands move to the waistband, but you swat them away again. 

 “Patience is a virtue,” you muse before nipping the skin of his inner thigh. He inhales sharply, and shudders as you run your tongue over the same spot, soothing the ache.

“Using my own moves against me,” he croons, but the strain is evident in his voice, “I’m impressed, Little Bird.”

Your heart thumps in your chest as you graze your hands along the waistband of his underwear. You dip your fingers underneath, and your confidence falters slightly. He runs a hand through your hair soothingly, coaxing you to continue. Your keep your eyes trained on his as you inch the fabric down his thighs. He raises his hips and releases a sigh of relief as his erection slaps up against his stomach, free from the confining material. You toss the garment aside haphazardly and take in the sight of his complete bareness.

The first thing you notice is that he’s big—well, you think so, at least, considering you have nothing to compare him to. His dick is much thicker than you’d imagined, with veins branching upwards towards the tip which is a shade darker than the pink of his lips. You can’t help but wonder how it could possibly fit inside you. A blush paints the apples of your cheeks at the thought.

Eris notices your apprehension, and he curls a finger underneath your chin so your eyes meet his. 

“Would you like me to talk you through it?” his voice is soft.

The amber of his eyes is warm, like honey. You nod shyly.

“Okay, darling. Can you wrap your hand around my cock?” the sweetness of his voice is a stark contrast to the dirtiness of the words tumbling from his lips. 

You rest your left hand on his thigh and raise your right hand, delicately wrapping your fingers around his girth at its base. You hold him loosely, and he releases a pleasured sigh at your tentative touch. 

“You can hold it a bit tighter, love,” he hums while stroking the shell of your ear.

You follow his direction with a nod.

“Now move your hand—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish as you slowly begin moving your hand over his cock, from the base to the tip. His lips part and he shudders at the motion.

“Good,” he rasps, “Now can you spit on it? Get it a little wet for me?”

Your cheeks flare, but you follow his request. You timidly lean forward and dribble over his tip, captivated by the way it mixes with the bead of precum before sliding down. You use your hand to spread it around, and the friction eases as your hand slides more freely. 

“I think you’re a natural, Birdie,” he praises through a gasp, “Can you twist your hand for me a bit?”

You twist your hand in time with your strokes, and admire the way his face scrunches with pleasure. You squeeze a bit harder when you reach his base, and his hips twitch. Testing the waters, you slowly lean forward and stick your tongue out, licking over his tip. Eris grunts at the action, and you feel a bit more confident as you wrap your lips completely around the head. 

A guttural moan escapes his lips as you suckle on the head, your hand continuously pumping his shaft. You pull off his tip, and your gut twists with desire at the string of saliva between the head of his cock and your lips. You lurch forward, flattening your tongue against the base and dragging it upwards, before wrapping your lips around the tip again in a teasing maneuver.  

“Fuck,” he groans, “Can you take me a bit deeper?”

You nod, pupils blown. Your hand resumes its stroking movement as you slowly, tentatively, slide downwards. Your mouth burns from the stretch of his girth, but you breathe through your nose steadily. You take him in, inch by inch, until his tip hits the back of your throat, bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. You keep your hand around the base of his shaft, pumping and twisting the length you can’t fit.

“So good for me, Little Bird,” he moans. His right-hand digs into the fabric of the couch until his knuckles turn white, and his left brushes the hair out of your face. “Can you move your pretty little mouth for me?”

You slowly bob your head up and down, timing the strokes of your hand with the rise and fall of your lips. Tears spring to your eyes each time his tip hits the back of your throat and spit dribbles down the sides of your mouth, but any ounce of insecurity is washed away by the sinful noises tumbling from Eris’s lips.

“Can you use your tongue for me?” his voice is strained.

You flatten your tongue against his length as you bob up and down, swirling it around his length to the best of your ability.

“Look at me, love,” he gasps through an animalistic groan.

Your eyes flick up and you peer at him through your lashes. His pupils are blown and his lips parted, brows scrunched with a vulnerability you never imagined you’d see.

“You look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock,” he rasps, “Wish I could keep you like this forever.”

You hum around him, and he shudders at the vibration. He tangles a hand in your hair, guiding your movements but not pushing you, slowly increasing your pace. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks at the delicious burn in your jaw and the back of your throat.

His chest heaves as he pants, “So close. Just a little more.”

You move with a newfound vigor at his words, finding a rhythm that keeps the noises tumbling from his mouth. You raise your unoccupied hand to the base of his cock. Experimentally, you brush over his balls with your thumb, eliciting raucous moan from Eris. He twitches in your mouth, and you do it again while swirling your tongue in a prolonged sweeping motion around his length.

“Fuck, Little Bird. I’m—”

He halts midsentence with an earth-shattering groan as his cock twitches violently in your mouth. You slow your movements as he reaches his high, thick ropes of cum painting the back of your throat. You splutter at the feeling, but continue milking him, swallowing his load. You stroke him gently, your tongue rubbing along him in a coaxing manner, until his thighs jerk, and his length softens in your mouth. You inch off him, stroking a hand over his thigh soothingly, and press one last kiss to his tip before pulling off completely.

You glance shyly up at Eris, and your chest swells with pride as you find his head thrown back in pure bliss. You rake your nails softly against his thighs, peppering feather-like kisses over his abdomen. His head lulls down towards you, and your heart skips a beat at the carnal look in his eyes. His hands are gentle as he wipes away the tears staining your cheeks before swiping over your mouth, collecting the saliva staining your lips. 

“You are an enigma, Little Bird,” he mumbles while intertwining your hands with his and pulling you back up. 

Your dress falls from your waist to the floor as you rise, leaving you completely bare aside from your panties. He pulls you onto his lap and you eagerly straddle him, connecting your lips to his. He groans into your mouth at the taste of his own release on your lips.

“Good?” you breathlessly ask against his mouth.

He pulls away from your lips with a chuckle and trails kisses underneath your ear as he mutters, “I haven’t finished so quickly in centuries.”

Your eyes crinkle with pride.

His lips meet yours once again, and you marvel at the way you slot together like the final two pieces of a puzzle. Mimicking his earlier move, you run your tongue along his bottom lip and he grants you entry, allowing you to deepen the kiss. His hands run down the curve of your back before settling on your ass, exploring your soft skin. Your gut clenches at the arousal pooling in your panties.

“Would you like to try something new?” he murmurs against your lips.

You respond with an affirmative hum, and whine as he pulls away.

He grips your waist, lifting you off his lap as if you weigh nothing at all, before setting you back down so you straddle just his left thigh. You jolt as your clothed arousal presses against the bare skin of his thigh.

Eris rolls his thumb over your swollen lips and whispers tauntingly, “Are you horny, Little Bird? Do you need some release?”

You nod shamelessly.

“Get yourself off, then.”

Your brows pinch with confusion, but realization dawns over you as he digs his fingers into your ass cheeks, grinding your clothed cunt against his leg. Your lips part in a silent gasp at the wave of pleasure that rolls through you. He guides you as you set a steady rhythm, grinding your throbbing clit against his thigh. The friction is electrifying, but you need more. The thin barrier of fabric separating you from him is suffocating. 

You whine pathetically, and he senses your desire. Eris pinches the flesh of your ass, and you lift your hips slightly. He removes his hands from behind you and you watch as they dip down between your thighs. You throb with anticipation as he hooks a finger underneath the fabric. Your arousal sticks to the flimsy material as he peels it aside, exposing your bare cunt.

“You’re dripping for me, darling,” he croons.

A long moan escapes your lips as you settle back down onto his thigh. With nothing separating you from him, you can feel how every ridge of his muscle stimulates your clit. He continues guiding you with his hands on your waist for a few seconds, before abruptly pulling away. 

You pause, mouth agape, as he stretches his arms over the back of the couch. Your cheeks flare in a combination of frustration and embarrassment as he leans back in his seat with a coy smirk on his lips.

He arches a brow expectantly, “Go on.”

You desperately want to wipe the smug look off his face—but your lust, your need for release, is too strong. You brace your hands against his broad shoulders and begin moving again. You groan at the way your clit slides against his bare thigh.

“You like making a mess over my thigh?”

You nod obediently.

He jerks his thigh once underneath you, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I need words, Birdie,” he drawls.

You roll your hips against him desperately and pant between gasps, “I love it.”

He shakes his leg at a steady pace, and the additional stimulation sends you reeling.

“Yeah?” he coos, “Tell me how it feels.”

Your legs tremble as your clit catches against the tensing muscles of his thigh.

“Feels filthy,” you mewl.

He grips your chin firmly, directing your gaze to his, before his arm returns to the back of the couch.

“Fitting for a filthy little girl, getting herself off on my leg,” he purrs, “I’m not even touching you and you’re a whimpering mess for me.”

His degrading words don’t even register, your mind clouded with desire. You can feel the tension building in your gut, and you pant with each roll of your hips. You try to increase your pace as you feel your high approaching, but your legs tremble underneath you, leaving that peak you so desperately desire just out of reach. 

“Please,” your voice trembles.

Eris knows exactly what you want, but he taunts you, “Please what?”

A fat tear escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your flushed cheeks.

Your bottom lip wobbles as you whimper, “Touch me, Eris. Please.”

He swiftly pulls you off his thigh and lays you down on the couch. He crashes his lips against yours, your teeth bumping at the force. Eris doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath as he trails his hand up your inner thigh before sliding his middle finger through your slick, from your entrance to your swollen clit. Unlike last time, he doesn’t waste time teasing as he promptly sinks his middle finger inside of you. 

You cry out at the feeling of his finger deep inside you, and he curls it in response. He doesn’t hold back as he rubs your clit with his thumb while thrusting his finger, curling it against your g-spot with each maneuver. He latches his lips to your neck and sucks harshly while his unoccupied hand flicks over your peaked nipples. 

Your mind whirls at the sensation—the feeling of him all over you. It’s almost too much, having him everywhere. You desperately claw at his back, searching for something to stabilize you. 

Your stomach coils as you feel your high approaching again. He can feel you clench around his finger, and he groans against your skin, “You gonna cum for me, love? Finish all over my hand?”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, “Yes,” you blubber, “’M so close.”

“Let go, Little Bird,” he coaxes while slipping another finger inside of you.

The added stretch sends you over the edge. You all but scream as shockwaves of pleasure roll through your body. Your toes curl and your nails dig into his back as your vision spots. His fingers slow, but he keeps rubbing your clit as you ride through your high. He continues until your hips jerk from the overstimulation, and your hands go limp around his neck. You wince as he pulls his fingers from you and watch through hooded eyes as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking up every last drop of your arousal. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, your mind spinning in a post-orgasmic haze. 

Eris softly strokes your cheek with the back of his hand before dipping down and capturing your lips with his. This time, the kiss is slow—no bumping teeth or clashing tongues. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, relishing in the intimacy of it all, until he pulls away.

An airy laugh passes through your lips as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’ll be the end of me, Little Bird,” Eris mumbles. He places a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose before collapsing on top of you. You grunt at the weight, and he shifts over enough so that he isn’t restricting your breathing, but his bare body remains draped over yours.

 “The end is but a beginning in disguise,” you tease as he nestles his nose against your cheek.

He chuckles, his breath tickling your neck. 

“How were you made so wise?” he muses.

“Wisdom isn’t born, Fox. It’s learned,” you trace your fingers along the arm draped over you, “And I have a lot more living to do before I can even come close to it.”

“Well, I think you’re plenty wise,” he curves a finger underneath your chin and tilts your head towards his.

Your nose is millimeters apart from his as you gaze into his amber eyes. Their golden hue is vibrant, much like his lopsided smile. But suddenly, something inside them dims, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards. Your brows furrow as you note the subtle change.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, brushing back his crimson locks.

Eris shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

You quirk a brow, “Clearly not.”

His hardened stare doesn’t stray from your eyes, but it seems to be searching for something. A chill crawls up your spine at his scrutinizing gaze, as if he’s trying to read your darkest thoughts. You’re suddenly aware of how exposed, how vulnerable you are to him right now—both physically and emotionally.

“Your eyes…” he pauses, as if searching for the right words, before continuing, “Do you remember the first night we met?”

The crinkle between your brows deepens, “How could I forget?”

He wets his lips before replying, “I told you your eyes were familiar.”

Fuck.

You pray that he doesn’t feel the uptick of your heart and continue stroking his arm steadily.

“I just realized,” he continues, “Who they remind me of.”

Panic washes over you, but your expression doesn’t falter, and you maintain your soothing touch.

“Oh?” you hum nonchalantly, “Who may that be?”

Eris shifts his gaze away from the eyes in question, and instead watches the rise and fall of your bare chest.

“A woman I knew a long time ago,” he finally replies.

You continue threading your fingers through his hair as you contemplate your next words. You are breeching unfamiliar territory, and one wrong step could doom you.

“Was she important to you?” you ask cautiously.

He doesn’t respond for a while, and his body is tense over yours. You wait with bated breath for his reply, your curiosity growing with each passing second.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not what you were expecting—but you aren’t sure what you were expecting, exactly.

You mull over his response, nibbling on your bottom lip in thought. Pressing him further feels like a violation—not only of his vulnerability, but of Mor’s. But curiosity is gripping you like a vice. This is the first time in a week you’ve gotten him close to talking about the Night Court, you justify to yourself, don’t let the opportunity slip through your fingers.

“May I ask what happened?” you inquire tentatively.

 He grunts and rests his head in the crook of your neck, “It’s not exactly a bedtime story, darling.”

You frown, unsure how to press him further without raising suspicion. 

He must notice your disappointment as he sighs, “I can practically hear those gears turning in your head, Little Bird. Would you really like to know?”

You nod. He traces shapes over the expanse of your stomach as he contemplates where to begin.

“Many centuries ago, my father arranged for my marriage to a daughter of the Night Court,” he speaks slowly, “It was purely political—a chance to strengthen the alliance between our courts.”

This is so wrong, you think to yourself. But you make no move to stop him.

“She did not want the union. So, the night before the wedding, she escaped—into the arms of another male, hoping that if she tarnished her…purity, the wedding would be called off.”

Tears prick your eyes as you know exactly what’s coming next, but you blink them away.

“Her father was—is—a cruel man. As cruel as my father,” the steadiness of his voice falters, but he continues, “When he found out what she’d done, he tortured her with a brutality unlike any I’ve witnessed. He left her, stripped naked, at the border of our court, with a sign that she was ours to deal with.”

You’re grateful for his sparing of the details, because you’re not sure you’d be able to hold yourself together.

“I found her that morning, while out with my guards,” he stops, and for a moment you don’t think he will continue. But he releases a deep sigh, and barely speaks above a whisper, “I demanded them not to touch her.”

Anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, and it takes everything in you not to scream. You feel nauseous, the reality of your predicament suddenly sobering—the reality that you’re lying naked on a couch with a man who left your sister for dead.

 “If I or any of my guards touched her, she would have been stuck in Autumn—doomed to a life she did not want, according to my court’s laws. If I had…” his voice trembles ever so slightly, “If I had touched her, my father would have killed her on the spot. So, I left her there. I knew her…her friends would come save her. But it was not a decision I wanted to make.”

The fury trembling in your bones settles, and your mind reels over his recount of the events. This is not the version of the story you’ve heard from Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel. He could be lying—but what reason would Eris have to lie to you, when he is blissfully unaware of your relation to Mor? More than that, you’re unable to ignore the sincerity, the distress in his voice. 

“Do you regret it?” you whisper so quietly; you’re surprised he can hear you.

“No,” his response is immediate, “Not for a minute. I gave her a chance to live. Even if she doesn’t see it that way. But I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head…of her pleading for help, and me being unable to grant it.”

Your mouth is dry and you’re sure he can feel the thundering of your heart. Your head is a muddled mess, to say the least. 

“Gray areas,” you whisper simply.

We can’t be faulted for how we choose to navigate them, his earlier words ring through your mind. But not faulting him feels like the gravest betrayal you could commit.

A humorless chuckle tumbles from his lips as he echoes you, “Gray areas.”

His head sinks further into the crook of your neck and he runs his thumb soothingly over your abdomen, unknowingly combatting the pounding of your head as you process the onslaught of new—and unexpected—information. 

“Do you still align with the Night Court?” you change the subject boldly but keep your tone nonchalant.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem fazed by your question. Unfortunately, he doesn’t entertain it either.

“I like to keep my business separate from the bedroom,” he rasps against your neck, and you shudder at the tickle of his breath.

You purse your lips into a humorless smile, “Compartmentalization.”

“Forgive me, darling,” he muses, the seriousness of his tone gone, “But I can’t bring myself to discuss pompous High Lords while lying atop a beautiful, naked female.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” you tease half-heartedly.

He raises his head from your shoulder and looks down at you, the fox-like grin that had momentarily disappeared back, “I don’t think, I know,” he brushes his nose along your jawline, “You are the most delectable little thing I’ve seen in centuries.”

  You feel his groin twitch against your upper thigh, and you roll your eyes, “You are insatiable, Eris Vanserra.”

He laughs and your heart sings at the sound, despite your reeling mind. He presses his chest against yours and stretches his arm out to the floor. You watch curiously as he rolls back into his previous position with your forgotten book in hand.

“I’m not quite sure if Tydeus qualifies as a bedtime story either,” you arch a brow.

He shrugs with a cheeky grin, “Well if you ever plan on getting through that mountain of books, you’d better get started.”

Eris holds it out expectantly, and after a moment of contemplation, you grab it with your free arm. You untangle your other hand from his hair and wrap it around his shoulder so you can balance the book on your stomach with both arms. He squirms over you, and you squeak he accidentally elbows the side of your breast.  

“Careful,” you hiss.

“My apologies, Little Bird,” he coos as he finally finds a comfortable position on his side. One arm rests underneath your neck, while the other remains draped over your stomach behind the book. He drops his head onto your shoulder, so he has a full view of the book in your hands.

“I’ll let you know when to turn the page,” he nods his head against you, encouraging you to begin.

You squint but relent as you see his eyes moving back and forth, reading the text before him. You can feel him smiling below you as you focus your gaze on the page in front of you and pick up where you left off earlier. 

You’re nearing the end of the page when Eris taps the side of your hand with his finger. He waits patiently for you to finish, and both of your heads shift when you flip the page. You fall into a comfortable rhythm. He taps your hand softly each time to indicate when he’s finished, and you alternate between who finishes first with each flip of the page. The rise and fall of your bare chest moves in time with his breath against your skin, and despite your nudity, you don’t feel an ounce of shyness.

As you read, you can’t help but think that this must be what heaven feels like: orange flames warming your skin as you lounge on a couch reading with a gorgeous, and very naked, male on top of you. But there’s just one tiny problem—the gorgeous, and very naked, male in question.

You feel your thoughts slip from the book and urge yourself to focus on Tydeus’s philosophy rather than dwell on your anxiety. You find yourself so immersed in one passage in particular, that you don’t notice the way Eris’s breathing slows, or how his head lulls against your chest. You reach the end of the page and wait patiently for his signal to continue. Your brows cinch as the seconds stretch into minutes. You look down and realize that the heir to the Autumn Court throne, in all his glory, is sleeping like a babe using your breasts as a pillow.

The book lays forgotten in your hands as you observe him. Even in his softest of moments, his features still hold a certain sharpness. But right now, he looks…peaceful. His cheek is pressed up against the flesh of your breast, and with his eyes closed, you notice that his eyelashes are much longer than you imagined. You long to trace your fingers over the freckles splattered across his nose, to feel the curve of his nose. It’s hard to think that the male before you is capable of any cruelty at all.

But he is. 

And you’re gazing at him wide-eyed like a lovestruck teenager.

 You wish you could speak to your sister right now. You’re not sure what you’d say—maybe nothing at all. Maybe looking into her eyes, which are so similar to yours, would reveal some hidden truth, buried deep under centuries of hatred. Or maybe they would hold disdain—disappointment directed at you, for rolling around with a male who hurt her deeply.

Eris snores softly, halting your train of thought. Your chest tightens and the flames of the fire start to burn your skin. You can’t stay here. More importantly, you have a job to do.

You set the book down on the floor beneath you, and cautiously shift your body. He grunts in his sleep, but doesn’t stir, as you carefully slip out from underneath him. You hiss as you tumble onto the ground below and pause to make sure he’s still asleep. His snores don’t falter, and you rise from the ground.

You make quick work of gathering your clothes, cringing at the dried arousal covering your inner thighs and panties. Just as you’re about to slip out of his chambers, you turn back to take one last glance at his sleeping form. You gnaw your lower lip, a pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. Against your better judgment, you search for a scrap piece of paper and pen to leave him a note, as he had done for you.

‘Till we meet again, Eris Vanserra

Your lips purse—simple, yet effective. You set the note down on the wooden table and drape a throw blanket over the sleeping male in case he has any unexpected visitors. You don’t dare look back as you creep towards the doors.

The creaking of the rusted hinges has you cringing as you ease them open, inch by inch, and peer into the hallway. It’s empty—thank the Mother—with the only movement coming from the flickering flames of torches on the walls. 

You slink into the shadows as you move to your left down the hallway. Assuming Azriel’s map is correct, Eris’s office is two floors above his personal chambers, about one mile to the left. Despite the sizeable distance, you don’t risk winnowing for fear of someone catching you.

As you move along the walls, there’s a heavy weight on your shoulders. You can’t help but feel guilty for playing with his feelings and using them to your advantage—especially following the vulnerability he showed you tonight. But you remind yourself that, even in life’s dimmest gray areas, your loyalty to your family is unwavering.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you scale the winding staircase, keeping an eye out for any guards or lurking Vanserras. As you make your way down the next hallway, identical to the last, you move as swiftly as you can. The sooner you’re gone, the better—but you can’t deny the unease that grows with each step. On one hand, you hope you’ll find something to report back to Rhys. But on the other, you dread finding something that may contradict your image of Eris thus far.

Your steps are featherlight, and by the grace of the Cauldron, you make it to your destination without any setbacks. You press your ear against the door before slowing pushing it open.

The room is much like Eris’s chambers: swirling yellows and reds along the walls, a blazing fireplace, and a deep mahogany rug carpet covering the stone floor. In the middle sits a large, mahogany desk, covered in parchment. You creep forward, careful not to make any noise. You run your fingers along the polished wood of the desk, glancing over the papers. Nothing stands out as you shuffle through them. You search through his cabinets, rifle through the small bookcase in the back, and even check beneath the cushions of the chairs. All you can seem to find is polite, and uninteresting, correspondences with various courts, and menial to-do lists. You check each possible hiding place but come up short once again. There’s absolutely nothing here.

You’re not sure whether to feel relieved or frustrated—or perhaps, both. You glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the dimly lit room. 3:06. You contemplate redirecting your search to Beron’s office, but you remember from Azriel’s map that it’s six floors down, and approximately two miles away on the opposite side of the house. If you were to go now, there’s a chance the sun would be rising by the time you’re ready to leave, leaving you defenseless without the dark of the shadows. 

With a sigh, you check over the room once more to ensure nothing is out of place before making your exit. You leave just as you came, slinking into the shadows along the hallways as quiet as a mouse. As you navigate the winding tunnels, you wonder if Eris is still sleeping soundly by the fire, or if he’s aware of your absence. And as your thoughts drift to the crimson-haired heir, you find yourself moving faster—as if escaping the walls of the Forest House will erase him from your mind. 

The wind is even more chilling than usual in the dead of night, you realize as you finally make it out through a side door. You make quick work of the courtyard, using the shadows to your advantage to avoid detection by the sentries littered throughout. When you finally make it out, you will the air to twist and fold around you, winnowing you back to your ransack cabin just as the sun begins to peek out from the horizon. Your limbs are tired, but your mind is racing. You know that sleep will not be kind to you. So, you kick off your boots and plop yourself on the dirty floor in front of the fireplace.

You find yourself just as you were before; hovering your hands over the orange embers until the burn becomes too much, and you are forced to pull away. Again. Over and over. As if the pain will grant you some sense of clarity. As if nothing has changed since you were last sat here. As if you aren’t falling further into the fox’s trap with no way out.

Being born of Light and Dark can be a difficult thing. But there are far worse evils in the world, some lurking just around the corner. 

taglist:

@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @batboygirlie @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"The Sunset is Beautiful Isn't It?" pt. 2

The saying above is a beautiful way to bid someone farewell without having to say goodbye and I think it perfectly fits saying goodbye to our LaD Men because we can't keep hurting them. Someone has to end it. In first person p.o.v because it's you.

Goodbye Xavier

Your POV

Queen of Philos. I've glimpsed into a past that is yet to happen. My future is Xavier's past. No wonder he's had so many identities while here on earth. Lumiere, Evol policeman it's all adding up.

She's so tired .... or I'm so tired .... I don't know .... I'm so confused. I can feel her sorrow waiting for him. Wishing her 'Star' would come home. The weight of a sorrow I have yet to experience and my own sorrow of knowing Xavier's planet is dying because he's here trying to change my future.

I'm so stupid, but part of me couldn't believe that he'd be a time traveler. The idea was ridiculous yet here I am looking at my own future in another life. Nothing is impossible.

Except this pipeline dream Xavier has of trying to save me. That's ridiculous. I've disappeared on Philos, but I can feel her sorrow still wherever she is....wherever I am? Whatever.

I stare down at a freshly napped Xavier snuggled in my lap. Those eyes gaze at me with pure happiness & love. Then he smiles; that smile is what kills a piece of my soul every time it graces his lips. I can't protect that smile. It hurts to look at him now. I love him so much and I don't regret falling in love with him, but falling in love is just that....

Falling.

We're bound to break. This isn't a movie we don't get that happily ever after.

It was a valiant effort, but wasted energy. There's no rewriting the stars. I can't have him and he can't have me. "What are you thinking about?" Xavier's soft voice pulls me from my internal dilemma.

I shake my head and let a small smile pull at my lips as I lean down and place a soft kiss on his lips. "Nothing" I whisper before diving back in wanting to stay like this, but knowing we can't.

"Oh look at that" He directs his gaze in the same direction that I'm looking right out the living room window. "The sunset is beautiful isn't it?" He simply nods before pulling me back into a passionate kiss. I'll enjoy him one last time because after tonight. We can never meet again.

Xavier's POV

She was gone. I woke up alone in her bed with just her hunter watch in my hand. Panic immediately set in as I scrambled out of bed searching her apartment for her. The only thing missing was a few clothes and her favorite duffle.

"I have to find her" I told myself as I searched day and night for her. I contacted every single one of her coworkers, but none of them had heard from her.

That was almost a year ago and this is my last spring on earth. How does one simply disappear in such a way? I wish I could see her one last time, but wherever she's gone she doesn't want to be found. My little star has left me this time.

Goodbye Sylus

"Where are you going?" His deep timbre voice sends shivers down my spine. My hand froze on the front door handle. I didn't think catch me leaving while in the middle of his usual sleep schedule. I spin around mustering up a tight smile "What are you doing up?" I asked trying to steer the conversation is a different direction.

His red eyes narrowed as he studies me "Where. Are. You. Going?" He added emphasis on each word as he approached me, crowding my space. He pressed his hands against the door trapping me between him and my only exit. My mouth was suddenly dry as he stared down at me.

"I need to go back to my place for a few things"

"Since when do you pack up your clothes here for a quick trip to Linkon?" He tilted his chin towards the duffle in my hand. My mind went blank as I saw his eye begin to glow.

"Okay okay! Sylus I love you .... I do, but I keep having these flashbacks or maybe it's the future I don't know, but every time it ends with me stabbing you in the chest" He eyes me before dropping his gaze to our feet exhaling sharply. "Right in your heart" A single tear slips from my eye as my voice cracks.

"Is that why you have this scar on your chest?" I asked pressing my hand to his chest. "Is that why you're so sensitive here?" He turns his head away as he releases a shaky breath. "I told you it's not a big deal"

"It is a big deal and whatever we're doing here is going to end in tragedy and I can't live with the constant reminder that I'm going to hurt you" His head snaps back up so fast I flinch and my blood runs cold with the intense stare he's giving me. "What are you saying?"

He stands tall and crosses his arms over his chest finally giving me space to breathe. I take a deep breath before responding "I'm leaving"

"Like hell you are"

"This isn't up for discussion" I turn my back to him and yank the door open desperate for fresh air. Before closing it behind me I spare him a glance over my shoulder "Don't look for me .... please"

Sylus' POV

If this kitten thinks she can hide from me. She's sadly mistaken. The chase is just getting started. I'll find you no matter where you go. Our red string of fate that ties us together can't be severed that easily. We're endgame sweetie.

Zayne & Rafayel here....

[seeingivy]

sharing

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

things change slightly in the weeks that follow. 

according to your mom, who called you very upset on a tuesday afternoon, your dad had apparently decided to stay in town until the end of the month – and on very strict orders from sukuna and possibly any shred of self-preservation that you had in you – you weren’t going to be going back until he was gone for good. 

messages from sammy were few and infrequent, except for whenever she got drunk – something she very clearly got from your mom. always the same message, deeply apologetic and regretful, and it somehow was very slowly melting whatever it was that happened at the funeral. 

or it was just one of those things. 

she was your sister – she was blunt, a little harsh at times, but well meaning. or at least trying to be. but she was still your sister and for some reason, you were just going to get over it, in the real way, without thinking twice. 

but you do realize that it was too naive to think that years of butting heads and stepping on each other’s toes wasn’t going to go away just because you had decided to be friends and sang kumbaya while buying lingerie. 

that much should have been obvious though, since sukuna and yuuji had done their version of that years prior, and yet still had the meltdown they did a few months ago. it was always one of those complicated things you figured – growing up in the same house, being competition, stuck in admiration or hatred. 

the family business, one that sukuna and yuuji both refused to ever be a part of, has fallen at the seams. and while sukuna has no intention of ever working there – much to satoru’s delight – he’s fixing the mess of the finances that were left behind for all of the employees and the stipends that he were going to help his mom. 

meaning he has to go back to town. the town that you refuse to return to for the time being. and he won’t let you accompany him.   

and it’s in the week that he disappears that you wonder if you’re starting to be too codependent. if it’s normal for you to miss someone this amount, to worry about him so much, to the point where he occupies your every thought. 

he tries to call when he can. sometimes they’re a few in between because you know that he’s spending time with his mom, that he doesn’t like being home, that whatever it all is – it’s stressful and he hates it. 

your mom sends you a picture of him once in a while. sometimes you stare at it for a little too long. 

“hi sweet girl. how are you?” 

his voice sounds tired over the phone, the smallest hint of a rasp tinged in with the strained tone. 

“i’m okay, ryo. how are you?” 

sukuna can feel his heart sink at the nickname. at the fact that you use nicknames, terms of endearment, and he hasn’t heard them in days. 

“good, good. are you getting ready for bed?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah.” 

there’s a quiet beat. maybe you should have been more descriptive than that. that was a little flat. 

“is that fucking gel cat strawberry in the spot next to you?” 

you smile. 

“it’s a jelly cat. and yes, it is.” 

“enjoy it while it lasts. i’m going to throw it out the window when i get back.” 

“you’re so rude.” 

he laughs over the line and you can’t help but sigh before immediately regretting it. 

you wonder if he sleeps well. or if he laughs often with the moms or if he’s just run in different directions trying to make sure they’re all okay. 

“oh don’t break my heart, now. you miss me, sweetheart?” he murmurs. 

you can tell by the tone in the voice that he’s trying to coddle you. you almost want to give in just to hear him sweet talk you down. 

“yeah. gets real scary here without you.” you joke

“is that right?” 

“not actually. but you know like right before you go to sleep and the house creaks? i panic for one second and then decide that i should send a prayer out to the universe so i don’t die before falling asleep.” 

“always one for the dramatics.” 

“i know. i’m sure it always creaks but i’ve always shared a room – either with sammy or with mai across the way who was always blasting music. and you snore, so i never even not–” 

“i don’t snore.” 

“yes, you do.” 

“no, i don’t.” 

“i will admit. while it does take me some time to fall asleep, i’ve never slept so soundly with you gone. it’s so serene.” 

you know for a fact that sukuna’s rolling his eyes on the other side of the line. 

“wow, sweetheart. i should just do you a favor and stay here longer then.” 

“every night i wake up in a panic without you! i’ll never sleep again!” you joke. 

sukuna laughs. 

“that sounds about right. but really…i…i’ll be back soon, okay? i don’t like being away for so long.” he murmurs quietly. 

you frown. 

“don’t feel bad. you know you have to be there.” 

“i don’t feel bad. well, maybe i do a little but i mainly just fucking miss you.” he mumbles. 

you smile. 

“sap.” 

you pause. 

“i miss you too, you know?” 

“i was waiting for that. give me a little more.” he responds. 

you smile. mainly at the fact that he expresses what he wants so openly. or that he misses it just as much as you do. 

“i miss you a lot. it feels so weird to sleep in our bed without you that i fall asleep on the fold out couch.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“you mean you fall asleep watching tv and don’t move because i’m not there to pick you up?” 

“yeah, more like that.” 

sukuna laughs. 

“sleep in the guest.” 

“ew. it smells like yuuji and megumi’s cologne. and while they smell great, i don’t like smelling like them when i wake up.” 

“does our bed smell like me?” he asks. 

“yeah but i prefer the real thing so i sleep on the couch. i refuse to elaborate.” 

sukuna gets it. 

“i’ll be back soon, okay? i’m almost done and then…then i’m running back to you, alright?” he whispers. 

“okay. i do have something planned this weekend for your birthday, but don’t stress about it. it won’t be anything big.” 

sukuna pauses. 

he forgot that his birthday was coming around. 

he would be lying if he was saying that he wasn’t looking forward to it. he supposes that he was your opposite in that way. since no matter what it was, the circumstances good or bad, your birthday had been soured so bad that nothing could make it good – not even him. 

he didn’t blame you. or even take it personally.  

but he couldn’t relate. because he knew you – and it wasn’t arrogant of him to assume that you were going to go all out, no matter the circumstances. not only did you have a bad habit of leaving tabs or notes that were very clearly labeled gift ideas out in the open, but he knew that you would do something special for him, that he’d get to chart in all of the cherished memories that he had with you. 

it would be another sour patch of his that you’d sew right over, with careful and steady hands. but with every milestone that he thought of now, it was bittersweet. 

first birthday with you. first birthday without his dad – not that it really meant much in the first place. 

“no parties.” sukuna clarifies. 

“no, it’ll actually be just you and me. and i think you’ll like it, you–” 

“i’ll love it.” 

you smile. 

“i love you.” you state. 

he’s quiet on the other side of the line. 

“sukuna?” 

“i want to say it back but the moms are staring at me.” he mumbles quietly.

you smirk. 

“say it.” 

“no.” 

“you’re going to let me go to bed without an i love you?” 

“i’ll text it to you.” 

“ryomen sukuna. tell me you love me.” 

sukuna sighs. 

“i love you. call me if you can’t sleep, okay?” 

you can hear giggling in the background. and you’re sure he’s three different shades of pink. 

“i will.” 

--

not even an hour later, yuuji is standing on your doorstep – with a peachy smile and a bag slung over his shoulder. 

“yuuji? you–” 

“sleepover!” 

he walks past you and falls straight onto the couch, placing his bag next to him as he reaches for the remote. you quickly shut the door and take the spot next to him, watching as he starts shuffling through the movies, so cavalier about barging in so late and unannounced. 

“do you always show up to people’s apartment’s unprovoked with all your things?” 

yuuji smiles, reaching forward to flick your forehead. 

“no, just for you.” 

“figures.” 

you watch as he flits through all of the movies, nestling his head into your shoulder, as you return the gesture and lean your cheek against his. it takes two seconds for you to figure it out. 

“did he call you?” you ask. 

“he did. said some weird stuff about tables and carrying stuff. pretty sure he was just asking me to keep you company, which don’t mind if i do.” yuuji responds. 

you smile. of course. 

“i made one half joke about how i don’t like to sleep alone and he sent you running.” 

“isn’t that sweet? i can tell he’s been thinking about you a lot.” yuuji responds. 

you lean back, giving him a confused look. and you can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what you’re trying to get at, but pretends otherwise. 

“what? it’s sweet! he asked me to come take care of you.” yuuji clarifies. 

“since when do you find him sweet? no lecture about how he thinks i can’t handle things on my own?” 

yuuji scoffs, before pressing on the princess diaries. 

“you can’t take care of anything on your own.” 

“what a vote of confidence.” you deadpan

yuuji sighs, as you watch the movie start, and both sink deeper into the couch. a telltale sign that you realize both sukuna and yuuji have – one that you deeply appreciate – is that they’re always careful with their words. 

the opposite of sammy really, of your dad too. they won’t talk until they know whatever they’re going to say is something they mean. 

“you can take care of things on your own. but i like that being with him means that you don’t have to sometimes. for both of you.” yuuji states. 

you smile. 

“i like that too. it’s a nice change.” you respond. 

“i’m really sorry, y/n.” 

“i know.” 

yuuji swallows hard, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie before he turns to your side, your limbs now a tangled mess of being criss-crossed as he leans forward. 

“really. i’ve been so shit to you when this is all i’ve ever wanted for you.” 

“it’s okay. this…this stuff is really complicated for you and…” 

yuuji shakes his head, before looking down at your joined hands, fingers interlocked together. 

“this isn’t any excuse but…but…” 

yuuji sighs. 

“when sukuna came back, i thought he was really different. i mean, he was really different. i don’t know what you noticed, but he came back softer. he always gave me my space and let me come to him and we were working back through all of our stuff together.” yuuji starts. 

you’re not sure if you noticed a difference after he came back. he always seemed the same as always – a little withholding, like he was keeping you at arms distance. though, that seems to make more sense to you now. 

“but he’s still the brother i grew up with. there’s still things that i’m sensitive to, that…that i can’t get over.” 

you feel a pang in your chest. 

“i get that. you know…i kind of get that with sammy sometimes.” 

yuuji frowns. 

“yeah?” he whispers. 

you can feel the bitter contempt in your chest lingering. 

“i don’t know. i thought things were going well but…sometimes it’s just the same things as before. she’s just…always brushing me off. so harsh with her words. sometimes i think about the funeral and i’m glad sukuna’s not here just so i can lock myself in here and be alone.” 

you shake your head. 

“it’s like she’s picking at a scab. it’s the one thing i don’t want her to do and it’s the one thing that always happens. and she’s the only person who has that power in the first place, who…who gets to be that sore spot. and i know that it’s just how it is and it’s complicated but…” 

“but you can’t.” yuuji finishes. 

you shrug. 

“you were my scab.” yuuji states. 

you curl your nose in disgust, looking up to find the same expression mirrored on his face before you both laugh. 

“real cute.” 

“i mean…my thing with sukuna was that he was always better than me in every respect. that…that everything he did was perfect, that…that he was born normal and i wasn’t.” 

you cringe. 

“you are normal, you..” 

yuuji smiles. 

“i know i am. i just mean in my head, i always figured things were so easy for him. school was easy, sports were easy. he liked girls – he’d never have to sit there and debate if he was ever going to meet someone who liked him and when if he did, he wouldn’t have to give up his entire family for it.” 

yuuji pauses. 

“you were my best friend. you are my best friend. you’re my thing that’s always been easy. we don’t really fight, spending time with you never gets old, and…and really, you’re the only person i’ve known will always be around.” 

you smile. 

“it just felt like another thing he was going to be better at than me. and it’s selfish, but it was something i didn’t want to share. and i don’t expect you to get it, but…” 

you scoff. 

“don’t expect me to get it? you’re forgetting that i was the one who had to learn how to share you first. and maybe i didn’t say it out loud, but…i had some evil monologues for megumi that i was cooking up in my head.” 

yuuji laughs, almost like he’s relieved. 

“really?” 

“trust me. there was an entire basis behind the petty comments that i was making. i should have been more open with it but…but i don’t hate you for feeling that way. if anything, it makes me kind of happy, i guess. it did feel like you forgot all about me once you guys started dating, but…it’s nice to know you feel that way still. about me. even if it was annoying.” 

you pause. 

“you and i are special. and i can’t speak for you, but…sukuna’s never going to be what you are for me. i love him, but you…you’re not someone who could ever be replaced.” you affirm. 

yuuji smiles. 

“and megumi isn’t what you are for me either. he’s the love of my life. but you’re always going to be my soulmate.” 

you smile, rolling over the word in your head. soulmate – you and yuuji were soulmates. and he leans forward, placing his hands on your shoulder and squeezing. 

“now go on. tell me about him.” 

“what?” you ask. 

“i know you want to tell me about how happy you are. how it makes you feel. and i want to hear it. just refrain from talking about like how big his dick is or whatever and i’ll be fine.” 

you smile. 

“really? you mean it?” 

yuuji smiles back. 

“i’ve unfortunately heard the entire story of what that asshole was doing to you after the fact. it would make me really happy to hear how happy you are now.” 

you lean back on the couch and explain it all to him – french toast, bridgerton mugs (which he winces at when he remembers sammy broke them), emails, his coworkers, kisa, and everything in between. 

you don’t hear the apartment creak at night when you go to bed – instead it’s his labored breaths next to yours. 

--

sukuna makes it back early in the morning to find yuuji making breakfast in the kitchen and what he knows is you facedown still dead asleep in the mound of blankets on the couch. he gives yuuji a noncommittal wave before walking over to the couch and bending down at the side. 

sukuna can’t help but reach forward, brushing his back of his fingers against the softness of your cheek before tangling your hair away from your forehead. he can smell the remnants of the shampoo in your hair, your lips still a glossy pink from the balm you put on at night. 

“wake her up. give her a kiss.” yuuji whispers, now standing at his side. 

“are you crazy? she’s sleeping.” 

sukuna shakes his head, reaching forward to press a kiss to your hairline, before the two of them shuffle back to the kitchen. sukuna settles for a cup of coffee as he watches yuuji make the mix of french toast, the stillness hanging in the air between them. 

“dunno. if it were me and i went days without seeing megumi, i’d wake him up right away. why deprive myself of love and affection?” 

“you should deprive yourself more often. i’ve seen you two kiss far too many times. heard the words gumi bear way more than i’d like to.” 

yuuji snorts. 

“was she happy you came?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. doubt she heard any of that creaking or anything she was telling you about since we were talking the entire time.” yuuji responds. 

it’s a small breath of relief – that sending yuuji was the right move – only to be coupled with guilt. 

sukuna hadn’t had time to check in on yuuji. 

“what did you talk about?” 

yuuji grins. 

“you.” 

yuuji looks over at him, grinning at him fully this time. 

“special edition bridgerton mugs? twilight themed emails? who knew you were so fucking corny? and that you watch bridgerton?” 

sukuna can feel his cheeks heat up, as he rolls his eyes. 

“she loves that shit. she made me watch it.” 

“no, she didn’t. she told me that you had watched it already and that your favorite season is the first one? not only are you a liar but you have god awful taste.” 

“let me guess. you like kate and anthony, like every other person on the fucking planet?” 

yuuji rolls his eyes. 

“everyone likes it for a reason. it’s perfect.” 

the two of them glare at each other, before giving up, and letting the same stillness take over. it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but there’s something lingering there – the two of them are stuck in their own heads about how they’re going to approach it, and more importantly, who is going to do it first. 

it’s yuuji. 

“the mugs thing is sweet. i’m sorry sammy broke them.” 

sukuna shrugs. 

“i’m bidding on ebay. no big deal.” 

yuuji notes that he responds to the second part of the statement and not the first. 

“i like that you do nice things for her. she really appreciates that you do.” yuuji repeats. 

 sukuna sighs. 

“did she say that?” 

yuuji smiles. 

“all that and more. she really loves you.” 

sukuna lets his eyes wander back to the couch, settling back into how foreign the apartment feels from being away for so long, and trying to let it all come back to him – how it was before he left things, how the two of you were. 

he’s scared he’ll do it wrong. 

“I’m really happy for you too. she’s exactly what you deserve.” yuuji states. 

it’s a weird sense of deja vu that sukuna gets – of the very first night. that loud bar, the mildew smell in the bathroom, and your tear streaked pink face. of the very first time that it occurred to him that there were people who had upset you, who had let you down, and that maybe he was the only person who was good enough for you – because he was the only one who intended to give you what you deserve. 

that he got to reap the goodness of the sweet love when he knew for a fact that he’d always be one to give it back to you, no matter how he was. that he was exactly what you deserved – maybe the only person who was because of how much he loved you. 

“what?” 

yuuji takes a beat. 

“were you expecting the opposite?” yuuji asks. 

“do you blame me?” 

yuuji shakes his head. 

“i am really happy for both of you. but i wouldn’t lie if i said i was more happy for you. i’ve known her a long time – and i’ve always wanted her to have someone who saw her for how special she is. and i always knew that it would happen, it was just a matter of time.” 

yuuji continues. 

“but i’m more happy for you. i had no idea that you had liked her for that long. i only now realize that the only person you could be that open with is her. and well…i don’t fucking know. shit sucked when we were kids. maybe for all of us, but for you the most. i know she loves hard. and i mean it, that’s what you deserve after everything.” 

there’s a lump in sukuna’s throat. he wants to tell yuuji everything – about why he left, about how him being around made it easy for him for a long time, how there was a time where he didn’t think he was going to live past twenty and now he’s reaching yet another birthday on the weekend. 

“i spent my entire life thinking i’d never get to be in love. and i’m not sure if that’s what you thought – but i know you weren’t ever thinking you’d get the girl of your dreams, and that on top of that, that it would be perfect. but really. it’s nothing more than what you deserve, sukuna.” 

but all he does is give him a nod. yuuji’s smart enough to parse what it means – that in the long rambling that he heard last night – he knows he has to learn how to read the silences, the quiet cues. 

“it means a lot to her that you came around.” sukuna starts. 

sukuna clears his throat. 

“and to me too.” he finishes. 

yuuji smiles. 

“and i suppose i should thank you. i always said she was like family to me, but it’ll be nice to tell people she’s actually my sister in the future.” yuuji responds, before squeezing his shoulder. 

sukuna smiles. 

“do you really let her call you ryomen?” yuuji asks. 

“yeah.” 

“thought you hated that name.” 

“i did.” 

there’s a reason that he went by sukuna. because every time that he slipped, he’d hear that godwful venomous voice, of his father telling him that he had given him such a special family name – and that sukuna had done nothing to deserve it. 

sukuna vividly remembers when he was a kid, when he used to beg everyone around him to call him sukuna, correcting them until they virtually forgot that his name was ryomen in the first pace. 

sukuna can feel the dryness in his throat, accompanied with a burning wetness in his eyes. yuuji makes no comment about it. 

“she just says it with so much love.” 

sukuna pauses, trying to will away that rising wave of emotion that was simmering in his chest, and put it away for the time being. 

“what did she get me for my birthday?” sukuna asks. 

yuuji nods. 

“she’s taking you on a weekend trip. a few cities over. she said there’s some cherry blossoms in season and that there’s a few museums that she wants you to see. figured it would be a nice rest for you given everything that’s been going on.” 

sukuna sighs, only because the wave comes back in full force. 

to be loved is to be known. 

clear cut proof that you had heard him loud and clear, when he had bared his soul to you. and not only that, but had known well enough that whatever was stewing in his head was getting dangerously close, maybe the closest it had been in years, to the edge – and that you had every intention to pull him back in the way he had pulled himself out in the first time. 

“is that good?” yuuji asks. 

“it’s perfect.” sukuna responds, before giving him one last nudge. 

sukuna decides that he won’t deprive himself. and instead leans forward, pressing his lips against yours – and pleasantly surprised when you smile right back at him in your sleep, his name honey on your lips, as he sinks into your arms. 

--

next part linked here

an: kind of filler again. sorry. apologies. also two more of this fic before it's done :O

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[carlsangel]

I saw a small headcannon fic about this a while ago and it’s been bugging me ever since, teen pregnancy? Like how would the others react 😭 there would be a high chance of it happening but like what do they even do on that situation 😰!?!?

HELLOOOO oh my gosh i think about this sometimes and imma make this a drabble if you don’t mindddd!!

i think initially you’d obviously not get pregnant on purpose, probably some stupid decision you made on a whim just because teenagers are teenagers, they’re horny (most of the time) so they’re gonna have sex DUHH but anyway you’d sort of regret it in a way, knowing there’d be a chance yet not worrying too much. you don’t really think it’ll happen to you until it does kinda thing. you’ll miss your period, get worried and try to find a pregnancy test on a run, maybe a couple to make sure if they’re available. if you end up seriously being pregnant you have no idea how to tell carl initially. it’s something you’ve thought about before and worried about, mainly because you know his issues with his own mom giving birth and that’s just a large part of his trauma growing up.

naturally you put off telling him for a bit but you know you have to. you sit him down and it’s very harsh at first. like it’s incredibly awkward while he just sits there and processes it. you’d both sort of panic at what to do, he wouldn’t be as vocal about it and instead would let it bounce around the walls of his brain because he doesn’t always react out loud but he is terrified in his head. it’s not about being a father really, he knows the child itself would be raised by good people and he wouldn’t necessarily have an issue with that, it’s more of your health. having a child young, in the world you live in without modern medicine anymore it’s terrifying to think about. you’ll assure him however that there’s doctors at every settlement that could do everything in their power to help.

after a bit of you guys processing you’d want to tell others, well not want but HAVE to since that’s not really something you can hide. it’d start with rick and michonne. i’ll be so honest, they’re disappointed. like it’s just the fact that you’re aware of the dangers and such and you did it anyway, they’re going to be disappointed but they’re still going to help you. i think rick initially would be quite pissed but michonne is very rational and tries to help and he realizes that being pissed won’t change anything so he follows her lead. i think regarding the rest of the group, they’d be concerned for you for sure but i don’t think they’d really have a big say in it. like yeah they’d think “damn that’s a mistake” or “that’s gonna be rough” but either way that baby is going to be raised perfectly with the biggest family and tons of people who care about it.

me yapping i hope that explained sigh

[wonderlandwalker]

Proven Wrong | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick broke things off with you, but everything changes when he gets jealous

Content Warnings/Tags: Smut, mdni, porn with very little plot, jealousy, did not proofread, not even once

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: There's a fifty-fifty chance this is horrible and my sleep-deprived brain is gaslighting me into thinking I need to post it but I guess there's just one way to find out. This is my first time writing Finnick smut and it's not what I used to but I'm also not mad at it, so enjoy this ( hopefully ) while I go have a panic attack in the corner second time today xx

You could see him looking at you, the way he trailed his eyes down the exposed skin your dress graced his eyes with. Wherever you went you could feel his presence burning from behind you. But you knew better than to give into it, because Finnick had made it clear you couldn't be together. Ever since you had returned from your games there had been a spark between you that you had wanted to feed, you wanted to give it oxygen to see how big it would get. But Finnick didn't want to feed the flame, because he was scared it would burn him down. And so you both went your ways, but you couldn't avoid each other.

Every capitol event and each hunger games you would see each other, you would see him looking at you with that longing in his eyes that made you wonder if this was really what he had wanted. But you didn't dare question it, because you had tried before, and all it had led to was a waste of energy. No, you wouldn't fall for that again. 

And you hadn't been doing it intentionally, you hadn't even noticed at first when Gloss got a little closer than usual or when his hand made its way to your waist. To be honest, you were quite enjoying yourself, and you had given up on the idea Finnick would turn around.

So when you did notice, you let him. You let Gloss whisper into your ear and you laughed at the silly joke he had made, and you weren't even sure if you were actually enjoying his attention or the attention in general.

But you didn't have much time to wonder before you were interrupted. A hand placed on your shoulder and a quick ‘can I borrow her for a second’ and you were being dragged into the hallway close by. If it hadn't been for the fact you recognized him from the smallest actions you would have been startled, but you could never be startled around him.

“What do you think you are doing” He sounded bitter, and maybe, just maybe you were glad you could get to him the way he would get to you.

“I'm having fun, what are you doing” 

“You know that's not what I mean, what are you doing with him” He had you cornered between himself and the wall, and he was so close that you could feel his heart beating in sync with yours, but after all this time you had spent trying to get over him, you weren't one to give in easy.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore Finnick.”

The moment you told him you could see a flash of hurt pass his eyes, if you didn't know any better you would have sworn he looked like he regretted something.

But you pushed past the thought, and you pushed yourself free from him, going back outside to rejoin the party. As the night went on you kept looking at him, you kept looking and every time you did, his eyes would already be on you. He was watching you as if he hadn't told you he didn't want to be with you. 

In the beginning, it had been blissful, but it hadn't taken long for your relationship with Finnick to turn complicated, and in the end, it had broken like a glass that's been pushed towards the edge too many times, finally slipping off.

But when you excuse yourself a little while later and walk inside to get a moment of peace from the crowd outside, you meet him again. This time though, he doesn't even greet you, he’s immediately grabbing your arm and urging you to follow him up the staircase. You enter the first room you find and the moment he shuts the door behind you he’s on you as if it's his last chance to do so. He pushes you up against the door and grabs your legs, pleading with you to wrap them around him as his lips crash into yours. For a moment you want to let him, you want to bask in this euphoria of feeling him against you, but you have to remind yourself it will only be worse in the end.

“Finnick you need to stop.” You were trying to sound convincing, really, you were, but the way his fingers are roaming your skin makes you sink into him, and your voice sounds more like a plea. 

He’s moved his attention to your jaw, to your neck, and when he meets your pulse point you throw your head back against the door, but he still knows you, and before you can hurt yourself on it he’s bracing you with his other hand against the back of your head.

“Careful now, wouldn't want you to get hurt.” It’s ironic, you think, the way in which he seems to care so much all of a sudden when he didn't seem to care all this time before. But you still don't stop him, you don't stop him as he walks you over to the empty bed and you wouldn't dream of stopping him as he drops you down on it, hovering over you. His hands are everywhere and it feels as if he’s showing your skin an entire new kind of pleasure. His hands trail lower until he hikes up your dress and leans down to kiss a path up your thighs as if he’s following a map that will lead him to hidden treasure. 

If it had been anyone else, you would have felt ashamed, you would have cowered away at how quickly he was getting to you. You’re leaning into his touch and when you moan out his name, he says.

“I bet Gloss doesn’t make you feel as good as I can, does he?”

And you wouldn't know, because tonight had been the first time you really noticed him, but it brought out something in Finnick you’ve been trying to get for ages, and you're not about to tell him just yet.

“I thought you said we weren't together.” You want to see how far you can take this, because it’s not often you hold the upper hand. A dark look flashes through his eyes as you look at him and he doesn't say anything just yet, but he’s doubling his efforts as he gets closer to your core, and the moment he makes contact with your clit through your underwear, the moment you arch your back and moan his name again as he feels how wet you are for him, he regains the control.

“And I thought you said you were a good girl, guess we were both wrong.” He looks up again from where he had settled between your legs, and the hypnotizing effect he has on you makes you sink into the mattress as he gets back to his mission. His mouth is on you as if he’s been starving for months and you are the only thing that will salvage his hunger, your legs are tingling and he has to use his arm to keep you down. Before you know it he’s using his fingers and you swear you don’t care anymore what happens after this, whether he’ll leave you alone or not because right now, all you can think of is the way it all feels. You can feel his fingers curling inside you as he whispers praises to you, you can feel how close you are from the way your insides twist at his words, and you can feel the flood of relief as he tells you to let go, and you do. 

You’re breathing is still heavy as you feel the mattress dip beside you and when you open your eyes you see him looking at you.

“I’ve missed you.” He sounds like he’s trying to apologize, and in a way he is. Because he’s sorry for all the time he’s wasted and he’s sorry it took him this long to realize.

“I’ve missed you too Fin.” His eyes melt a little at the nickname, and he leans in to kiss you again. It’s much softer this time, and you just know it’s all going to be okay.

[onlyrains]

𝓹𝓲𝓽𝔂 party | 𝓵𝓱𝓼

PAIRINGS: brotherbestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader CONTAINS: profanity, violence, mention of blood, skinship WC: 2,3k-ish

it is almost midnight and you're at jake's house. he's your brother's best friend, actually, and he threw a party for his two best friends who happened to be born on consecutive days. it is a big party. well, since you knew jake pretty well, you decided to come when he invited you a couple days ago.

you were hesitant at first, but when you asked your brother, jay, and he replied with, "why you suddenly wanna come? do you know what a party really is?" you felt heavily offended. so you shoot your shot and begged jay to let you come with him.

he finally agreed. well, you're 19 after all. your mom doesn't even nag that much again on you. you're aware of your responsibilities and know what your priorities are now. you definitely can go to a party.

"don't go out of my sight." your brother warned when you both arrived. then he opened the door, and you were welcomed with an unfamiliar scene in front of you.

you grabbed your brother's shirt subconsciously and almost regretted your decision right away. maybe, this thing is just not for you?

your eyes swept across every room you passed through, hoping there will be someone you know. half of the people are very familiar to you though you don't know them personally. some are just strangers and you don't have the guts to sit and blend in with them.

"hey, you came!" jake greeted you when you and jay finally found him with the other guys. they all have been your brother's best friend since high school but you only knew jake since he is the friendliest and nicest one. well, his face said so.

you fist-bumped him and sat right next to him and your brother for extra shield. for real, if there's someone you know other than them who offers to leave, you wouldn't think twice.

for the next ten minutes, you didn't move an inch in your seat while watching the guys greet here and there. like sunoo, he kept talking to random people from time to time and received a never ending hello from everyone. turns out your brother was right when he said that he's quite popular. you started to feel like a burden when realizing he is the only one that hasn't moved from his seat.

"you got someone to talk to?" he whispered, a little annoyed.

"you can go if you want."

"how can i?"

"don't mind me, jay. just do like you usually do."

he clicks his tongue. "you sure?"

you feel the cushion beneath you move as a weight just plopped onto it. "i'm here, don't worry," a voice interrupted before you could answer.

"really, bro? i really need to find him." your brother slowly got up. you frown, have no idea the 'him' he's referring to.

he pats your head a few times. "i need to go, kid. just stay with heeseung."

you clear your throat when it's finally just you and the stranger–named heeseung.

"first time?" he starts.

"what?"

"at a party."

you pause as you look into his eyes. is it so obvious?

you eventually hissed when he just followed the staring contest. "yeah."

"don't worry. i'm used to guide people at their first party,"

your body turns to him unconsciously. "really?"

"no." you give him the biggest side eye ever. they're no different to your brother, honestly.

he smirks at your face. your shy exterior with an expressive self behind intrigued him to keep the conversation afloat.

"heeseung," a girl greets him. wait, she seems so familiar.

"new girl—oh? are you an archery club new member?" she asks, eyes lit up. oh, right. she's your senior in the club.

"you're with heeseung?" she glances at him. you shook your head with a smile plastered on your mouth. "no. jay's my brother, so..."

she gasps. "come on, let's introduce you to the others." she held your hand and led you to the back yard.

you follow her with a slight panic but then you turn your head, heeseung is there, right behind you with both hands tucked in his pocket. you turn again. feel a wave of relief just washed over you.

the next thing you know, you already talk to a number of people. you occasionally look for heeseung's whereabouts. well, since your brother is nowhere to be found, you need him to stay in your sight or else you might sprint to the front door and ignore people around you. oh, that shouldn't happen because you are only a first-year and you need to make a few connections for the sake of your social life.

him, on the other side, never really pay attention to the convo he's having. he's keeping an eye on you in case something inconvenient happen and you need to get out of the crowd. he knows jay is having a serious matter right now so when he saw you the moment he's arrived, he was so perplexed.

he believed, you didn't know him at all, and he was right. but that doesn't apply vice versa. he knows you. i mean, how could he not know his best friend's sister? impossible. jay is always cautious about his family so he told all of his friends to not come near them. his bad hobby has nothing to do with his family at all, he said. so he feels responsible for you and dedicated to be by your side until jay comes back, at least.

"he won't let it slide, dude. you know him."

heeseung breathed out harshly. "relax, jay can handle it." he replies calmly and turns to you again. you exchange glances this time. your stare doesn't laden for help so he continues to talk with the guy in front of him.

"i bet."

then you hear the birthday boys, sunghoon and riki, just got dragged to the edge of the pool, making the room filled with cheers and shouts everywhere. your ears are ringing from the loud noise, but your laughter breaks when they finally manage to throw hoon and riki to the pool fully clothed.

"after what i just did for you, jungwon? so funny," riki laughs sarcastically then try to reach for jungwon's pants. the people suddenly take riki's side and push jungwon to the pool, making the cat look-alike boy shouts in the water.

you giggle seeing them bicker in the water right before everyone suddenly pushes each other. no, not because they are trying to drench their friends but it turns out to be jay that caused the chaos.

everyone started screaming when the sound of breaking glass was heard. then jay show up and just casually pushes a guy to the back yard with blood dripping from his knuckles. you swear on your parents name, you have never seen this side of him. he always the grumpy yet mature, calm, and collected brother. you've never imagining him throw someone to another so easily. 'jay' and 'fight' had never put in one sentence.

heeseung, from the other corner of the room, rushes to jay who is just a mere step from you and the people you previously talked to. "jay, c'mon,"

"attention, huh? enjoy it, fuckass! c'mon, get up. you haven't say nothing to them," ignoring heeseung in his back, jay kept closing the distance between him and the 'fuckass' guy. he can barely sit up after his head just hit the wall.

your shock stare still lingers on your brother and you can see heeseung keep whispering something to him. you don't know a thing about this. the situation even more tensed up when riki, sunghoon, and jungwon joined them. not giving a shit about their drenched body. jake and sunoo soon arrive out of the blue and stand in front of jay, preventing a possibility of their crazy guy going on a rampage again.

"jay, please, at least not in my house, silly," jake whines.

"hey, listen," jake carefully approaches the other guy who is now successfully standing up. "i don't know what do you want, but can—"

all of a sudden, he throws a vase near him to jake, starting a big chaos to avoid the broken glass.

"fuck you, not my mom's favorite vase!"

you still can't take your eyes off your brother while the crowds keep pushing your stiff body out of their way. you are drowning in your own thoughts realizing you're not completely know your brother. what kind of person is he really? and what matter he's fighting for? who is that guy he's competing with?

your mind was so full of unanswered questions when you felt a firm arm circling your waist from behind and throwing you both into the pool.

"what the f—" you stop when you see heeseung's concerned face and you notice the spot you were standing is now a mess, full of dirt and broken pots that were thrown.

you okay?" heeseung asks, a concern is evident in his tone.

you nod twice. that's all you can do. how can your first party be basically a disaster? made by your own brother?

there are a few people that aren't going away and you assume they are the fuckass' friends. they watch everyone left in the room without doing anything.

you wipe your face before turning back to heeseung. "let me take you home."

"without jay? please, no. i need to see him."

"not right now. he'll be okay."

you glare at him. your eyes become big and teary, threatening in the most soft way possible.

"i guarantee you he'll be fine and you can talk to him tomorrow."

you bite your lower lip as your gaze falls on jay again. "are you sure he is okay?" you ask.

"mhmm. he used to this,"

your neck never turns so fast. " what do you mean—"

"let's go." he swims to the pool coping. "your shirt is soaked," he pauses. "it's see-through."

you spontaneously lower your legs so your body is fully under the water and follow him to the edge.

"c'mon. i won't see." he offers his hand and stands so casually while you try to hide your bra underneath the white shirt. you scan the area before you jump out of the pool and find your brother is now gone. you let out a long exhale, they managed to break it up.

"do you wait for my help?"

you hear his voice again. you roll your eyes, "it's not like that!"

you follow heeseung inside with water still dripping from your clothes.

"you can wear this." he drapes a velvet blazer on your shoulder.

"whose blazer is this?" you ask as he searches for his new clothes in a wardrobe that you believe is jake's.

"mine. so make sure not to damage it." he says as he enters the bathroom to change.

you feel the cold air from the AC blowing on your skin, making you shiver and gritting your teeth. but searching for the AC remote is the last thing you want to do. your energy drained as the scene of your brother fighting playing in your head. it didn't make sense at all. your mom probably laughing if you tell her about this because what kind of bullshit are you talking about?

yes, jay is never the nerd, bookworm, or obsessed with study kind of kid. but as far as you know, he wasn't this type of person at all. when things started to turn?

heeseung comes out of the bathroom in the perfect timing, right before you let a tear fall from your eye.

"let's go." he walks past you to the garage, where his motorbike is parked.

"you ride this?" you ask in disbelief.

"we ride this,"

gosh, you could probably freeze to death.

"it's windy. gonna be so cold, maybe."

you roll your eyes. "i know."

he chuckles inside his full-face helmet. "just hold onto me."

your brow raised, but you're not saying anything while holding on tightly to his leather jacket.

"not my jacket, you'll disturb me driving." he scoffs. "like this," he lifts his jacket until there's enough space for your arms to slip underneath it.

you intertwine your finger right above his stomach. his body heat on your hand makes you feel better, maybe it's also the thick material of his jacket. you continue to rub your palm to his packs that are only covered by a thin fabric of his sleeveless tops.

"okay, let's go home." you say after finding comfort in his body.

he nearly jumped when your cold hands almost electrified him, but he still managed to start the engine and run his bike.

it's just the way your hands just won't stop moving somehow giving a thrill sensation to his body. the way your thumb so recklessly caresses his abs and your right cheek lean on his back with ease, almost causing him to go rabid.

like... how can you?

"still cold?" he asks. you nod on his back and tightens your hug.

"but it's fine. your body is warm." you add, not caring if he's listening or not. but the thing is, he heard you and it makes his body automatically melt into your touch. he grunts under his breath for being so weak to his best friend's sisters.

a few minutes later you both finally arrived at your house and there was a slight urge to not let go of his body.

"you definitely need to drive a car rather than this," you pout, complaining about your slightest inconvenience throughout the ride.

"i'd rather take a thank you than that,"

"oh, right. thank you," you sigh. "are you going back there?"

he nods and places his helmet on the gas tank to put his arms on it. "of course."

"b-be..." your words hang in the air. it's either because of your freezing lips or the nervousness that suddenly crashes to you.

he raised his eyebrows. "hmm?"

"be careful, then—and please make sure jay is okay. and get home safely."

your eyes watches as he presses his lips into a thin line. "okay."

oh wait, why is the desire to smooch it suddenly surged up?

taglist [open]: @llvrhee

a/n: yes this is slightly inspired by a movie and YES I CRINGED A BIT WHEN I WROTE THIS BYEE

[ash5monster01]

Can I get Drew Starkey with prompt 2.??

First Love

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Drew Starkey x FemReader

Warnings: mentions of heartbreak, fluff, established relationship

2. You find an old love letter from your high school sweetheart, do you reach out?

word count: 2k

Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always brought up old memories. Thoughts to a time that didn’t even feel like you had lived it anymore. So much had changed, things you never really expected too. It’s weird that it feels so much heavier this year. Maybe since it had been ten years. A decade later and your life was not what you had wanted or expected it to be. Which explains why you pull the box stuffed away in your closet out. A layer of dust covering the top and you slowly blow it away as you pull the lid open to memories you hadn’t revisited in a very long time.

It’s the big things you notice first. The pair of roller skates you seemed to live in sophomore year of high school. A stack of year books with worn covers and faded signatures on the inside. A hoodie, one from him that overtime just became yours. Then it was the pictures. So many pictures it made you realize just how much of your life had been intertwined with his. It may have been ten years since but it was still ten years together before. Trying your best to avoid your young smiling face you find a stack of letters, rubber banded together with handwriting that is all too familiar. You knew it maybe wasn’t the best idea to read one, open old wounds, and yet you can’t stop yourself from freeing one of the envelopes.

Hello my love,

Did I happen to mention just how beautiful you looked today. I didn’t hear a single thing in Calc class because you kept brushing that perfect hair out of your face and across those shoulders. All I could think about was the smell of your perfume and wishing my head was buried in your neck. If I fail it’ll be all your fault but I wouldn’t really mind. It’d be worth it if it meant I got to keep looking at you. Just a degreeless loser with the most perfect wife. That’s right, I said wife, because I’m going to marry the hell out of you. It’s my only dream, out of all my successes in life you will always be my best one. Remember that.

Love Drew

The tears that spring to your eyes are not intentional. It was just that you had almost forgotten just how much he loved you. It was still your biggest regret that you never got to tell him just how much you loved him too. Maybe he had a girlfriend or even a different wife now but that still never stopped you from checking his Instagram and watching all of his latest movies. Which is why you’re so quick to pull up his account and scroll through the posts. He had grown up so much. He wasn’t that young 19 year old boy you used to know. He was a man now, a man you had let go of in order to not hold him back.

It’s when you accidentally double tap the screen and the heart appears do you feel your stomach drop. In instant panic you realize you’ve just become one of those crazy exes who still looks at their old boyfriend’s profile. Yet you shouldn’t feel this way. Drew was always your closest friend after all. So in order to make yourself look less crazy or possibly even more crazy, you hit the message button on the top.

Hey, was just reminiscing. So proud of all the things you have done. Hope all is well.

The internal cringe is enough for you to throw your phone across the room and pray that his famed status will keep him from ever seeing any notifications from you. Yet that isn’t proven true when your phone dings with a text from an unknown number on the other side of the room. Nervously picking it up, you prepare for whatever the text may hold.

Hey, it’s Drew. I’m really hoping this is still your number 😅

I got your DM but it feels weird messaging you of all people over Instagram

The second text comes through as you’re finished reading the first one, nerves tingling through your entire body. You hadn’t expected a DM back, let alone a text. Yet here you both were and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You were the one who reached out first after all.

It’s still me! I would have texted but obviously your number did change

You know how awkward it seems. Texting him professionally as if he isn’t the only person in the world you are most comfortable with. You don’t have time to dwell considering another text comes through.

Yeah, I actually had to ditch it after a crazy fan incident. I would have given you my new one but honestly I figured you didn’t want it.

Of course I’d want it, no matter what you’ll be important to me

You don’t want to come off as flirty but it was true. Even if your relationship had been ten years ago. Drew held your heart and gave you every first experience of love in your life. That never goes away, he would carry those firsts around with him forever.

You home? I’m in town and I’d love to meet up

It’s not the text you expect to come after the one you just sent. Knowing Drew was so close now made you even more nervous. It had been so long. Were you really even ready for that kind of confrontation? Then again you didn’t want him to think you were still all torn up especially after you reached out to him. So you sucked it up and texted back.

Yeah! We could meet at our old place, 4 o’clock?

See you then

And just like that, you not only revisited your past memories, but were truly going to step in it. Ten years ago this was your normal routine and it was weird how getting ready for this still felt so natural after all this time. This time you put a bit more effort into your appearance. If you were going to see Drew for the first time after all these years, you had to look good.

So with your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you find yourself walking to the center of town. The bustle of familiar faces walking along the streets, colors of red and pink covering every storefront you can see. You register completely that you’re doing this on Valentine’s day. The anniversary of when you left him ten years ago. Right in front of the old diner stands Drew, bundled up and holding a single pink rose in his hand. He doesn’t see you approach right away which makes you smile just slightly.

“Hi” you hum out, all emotions leaving you but happiness. You never would’ve thought seeing him in person again would bring you this much peace. He jumps just lightly before his head swiftly turns to face you.

“Hi! There you are” he grins and you can’t help the small laugh that falls from your lips. Suddenly he’s holding the pink rose forward. “This is for you, since it’s Valentines after all”

“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” you tease, fingers curling around the stem and lightly brushing his own. You can’t believe how long it’s been since you’ve felt his touch. Red covers the boys cheeks as you pull the flower close and take in its scent.

“No, well if you want. Yes, maybe. I don’t know anymore honestly” he flusters out and all you can do is giggle as you take a step closer to him.

“I’ll be your Valentine, considering I have been many times before” you tell him with a smile and he sighs in relief, comforted just as much by you, as you are of him.

“Let’s go inside, I don’t want you to freeze” he says, hand falling on your back and guiding you towards the door. You obey, heading straight for your old designated booth. Drew watches as you slide carefully into your side before he sits down himself.

“Look at you movie star” you grin at him after a moment, taking in his grown and handsome appearance. A fresh blush covers his cheeks as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“I’m no movie star, not quite yet” he says and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, Drew I see your face everywhere I go. Edits of you pop up on my tik tok now. Who would’ve thought my high school sweetheart would be everyone’s celebrity crush by now” you say, knocking your foot with his and he laughs lightly.

“To be honest it shocks me. At the end of the day I still am the bad guy on my claim to fame show” he says and you just smile, taking all of him in.

“That buzzed hair, been so long since I’ve seen you with shaggy hair. It’s weird how different you look and yet you’re still completely the same” you don’t mean to be sappy but sitting here of all places with him will make you like that.

“Yeah, I kinda wanted to grow it out but with filming schedules I’ve had to keep it shaved down. Maybe after though” he says running a hand over his head and you just grin.

“I can’t wait” and the sentence isn’t meant to imply you’ll be spending time together in the future, yet Drew can’t help but think of that.

“Why’d you reach out today?” he cuts to the chase and the smile quickly falls from your lips. “And don’t give me some classic bullshit response. I want the truth”

And you consider your options before finally choosing to speak.

“Every Valentine’s day I go through our box of things. Mementos of our time together, because if I’m being honest, I’m not really over it. I know I left you but it wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It’s because I didn’t want to hold you back” you saw no point in lying, he deserved the truth. Even after all these years.

“You never ever held me back” he says after he lets your words sink in and you sigh, hands coming up to tug at your hair.

“It doesn’t matter Drew. I know you, you would’ve chosen me over going to LA. Chasing your dream, becoming a superstar, I wasn’t apart of that” you tell him and Drew sighs, taking a moment to think of his next words.

“You were apart of that. You always were, because none of that mattered compared to you. You were always my greatest accomplishment” and the words from that letter ring through your mind.

“Do you still love me?” you finally ask, needing to know exactly what was going through his mind.

“I never stopped” he says and finally a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Do you think I could be apart of it now? So I stop accidentally liking your instagram posts?” you ask and a belly laugh falls from the boys lips across from you.

“If you’ll have me” he says, hands reaching across and cupping yours into his own.

“Always” you tell him with a grin and just like when you two were 16 and first started to come here, he lifts off his seat and leans across the table to meet you. Searching his eyes you meet him halfway and slowly press your lips against his own. Kissing him like this again for the first time in ten years feels like a fever dream but it was perfect. He was perfect and still tasted faintly of cherries and coffee. He was the only thing you ever truly wanted.

And you got him back.

[evermoresversion]

FALLING FOR YOU, CONRAD FISHER. CHAPTER THREE.

PAIRING Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, mention of pregnancy.

SUMMARY After everything you've been through, you and Conrad decide the future of your relationship.

SONG Paper Rings by Taylor Swift.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | CONRAD'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | SERIES' MASTERLIST

"Where we go?" you asked Conrad as he guided you somewhere on the beach while you had your eyes covered with a blindfold.

It had been at least two years since what happened with Belly.

"Just wait a little bit." you could hear the smile on his lips and there was a moment where he let go of you.

"Connie?" you asked with a bit of worry but it dissipated when you heard his voice again.

"I'm here, hon." You waited until he gave the next instruction. "Walk a couple of steps forward."

"I'm not going to fall, am I?" you heard him let out a soft laugh.

"No, love, trust me."

You sighed and did as he asked, thus coming across his body, from which you took his forearms with your hands so as not to fall.

"I got you, I got you." he assured. "Take off the blindfold."

Once again you obeyed him and blinked several times to get used to the sudden change in light while Conrad adjusted your hair that had been messed up.

Once you could see clearly a big smile formed on your lips.

"We are in...?" You asked, looking into his eyes and observing a shine in them that you were sure was the same in yours.

"Yes, we are in the same place where..."

"We kissed for the first time." You both said in unison while you watched the beach and he admired you.

"Yeah." he smiled.

"This part of the beach is even prettier at night." you mentioned and your gaze finally landed on Conrad and he looked at you with love and adoration. Despite so much time together, he still managed to make you nervous.

"I thought about making dinner for you but everything would probably have burned, so I might as well pass on that option." He mentioned with a sly smile of embarrassment and you smiled, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb.

"It's perfect anyway." You murmured, observing everything in detail. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, looking at everything as well and then at you. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it. I love the vintage lights and the detail of the petals. Thanks, Connie." You smiled gratefully and he leaned down to peck your lips.

"Everything to see you happy."

Your attention was diverted to one of the nearby trees, some photos were hanging on it. You approached to see it up close and sure enough, they were photos of both of you.

"Connie this is beautiful..." as you turned to look at him, he was kneeling on one knee in front of you, holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen in your life.

"y/n, we have been through so much together that I think we deserve a happy ending, I wanna teach you how forever feels like, I want to wake up with you every morning, spend the rest of my life with you and grow old together. You are everything I was looking for and I finally found it, so I won't let you go, I will take care of your heart as the most precious thing I have, you are everything to me. Do you want to marry me?"

Some tears threatened to come out of your eyes and a look of panic appeared on Conrad's face at your silence, but he sighed in relief the moment you began to nod effusively.

"Yes! Of course I want to marry you." Conrad got up from the ground, gently took your hand, put the ring on your finger, kissing your hand and took your face to kiss you lovingly.

"We're going to be very happy, you won't regret it." He murmured against your lips and you kissed him again excitedly.

At that moment you didn't need anything more than each other.

Deep down you have never needed it.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

TAGLIST OF THE SERIES : @ilovefamousmen11 @elcpsstuff @j-u-hs-world @akornsworld @conradfisherswifesstuff @sarcasm-and-stiles @nctma15

[loonyloopylupin96]

Remus Lupin Doesn't Shout

Theme: Hospital Wing | @wolfstarmicrofic | Words: 814 | CW: Contains mild homophobic language (x1)

Remus Lupin is one of those quiet sort of boys, the ones who you can tell try to fade into the background but keep involved at the same time. There's an art to that sort of thing, Sirius believes. He expects his parents would have been much happier with him if he had that sort of skill.

He doesn't.

When he has a thought, he shares it without hesitancy. When something drives him mad, he makes it known.

Remus isn't like that.

In fact, Sirius can't think of a single time he's ever heard Remus shout.

There was one time in their second year, where James had hexed all the shampoo in their room to cause the next user to lose their hair for twelve hours. He'd meant it to get Sirius, but Sirius had slept in that morning. James, also fast asleep, was awoken hours later by a hat-wearing Remus standing over his bed looking displeased, but grinning.

"I hope this isn't permanent," he'd laughed, as James put his glasses on.

"Oh bugger, I'd meant to get-"

"You'll have to do better than that!" Sirius bellowed from beyond the bathroom door.

His hair had indeed returned within twelve hours, and Remus hadn't shouted at them for their carelessness.

He also hadn't shouted when they were all in the great hall together, happily enjoying breakfast when suddenly an owl appeared above them.

The bird swooped down, dropping a bright red envelope in front of Sirius' bowl.

"Is that a-"

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK-" the Howler yelled before Peter could finish asking his question, "I REGRET THAT YOU WERE EVER BORN. HOW MANY TIMES MUST WE HEAR OF THE SHAME YOU'VE BROUGHT UPON US? YOU'RE AN EMBARRASSMENT. A COCKROACH. A WASTE OF SPACE. ASSOCIATING WITH-"

Whatever else the howler said, they would never know. Just then, McGonagall appeared and vanished it with a flick of her wrist.

Almost as soon as she had appeared, the Professor was gone again.

"She's right!" shouted a voice from the Slytherin table.

Sirius, face blanched and trembling, was frozen in his seat. Remus' cheeks were puffed and flushed, he looked like he was going to tell them exactly how wrong they were.

But instead, he quietly put a hand on Sirius' arm and the four friends left the hall together.

None of them shouted that day.

Remus also hadn't shouted when, some months later on a school visit to Hogsmeade, Sirius had kissed him squarely on the lips before they'd entered the Three Broomsticks together.

"Padfoot, what are you-"

"I'm letting people know you're mine," he'd grinned.

"But we're in public!" Remus disputed, flustered and looking around in a panic.

Sirius had shrugged, and set off ahead to find them a table.

Remus, following, was knocked off track as someone pushed roughly passed him. "Fucking queers," the dark-haired figure grumbled, leaving the pub.

When Remus arrived at the table, Sirius was beaming. "If we sit here, we might get to see-" he caught sight of his boyfriend's face and stopped. "Are you okay?"

Remus explained what had happened in a quiet voice. Sirius was rightfully furious.

Still, Remus didn't shout.

After almost exactly a year, Sirius found himself visiting Remus in the hospital wing.

He'd done it plenty of times before, but this one was different. This time, Remus didn't try to smile when he saw him.

"Do you know what you've done?" Remus asked before Sirius had time to say anything.

Sirius didn't answer immediately. He looked at Remus; he looked at the cast on his arm, the deep gash across his cheek which magic struggled to heal, the heartbreak in his expression. He hadn't looked this bad since the four of them had begun to spend the full moons together.

And it was all his fault.

"I didn't think I-"

"You didn't think?" Remus' voice was low and emotionless, but it broke on the last word.

"I'm so sorry. Snape really pissed me off, I just said it without thinking. I swear I didn't mean to use you like that."

"I guess if you didn't mean it, it's okay." There was a hollow resignation in his voice, and Sirius felt his stomach plummet.

"Moony, I swear I didn't. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I'm a fucking idiot, you don't deserve-"

"You're not an idiot, Sirius," he said in that same, empty voice. "Don't say that."

"Stop being so fucking reasonable! Tell me you hate me! Tell me how I let you down. Tell me how I betrayed you and how you never want to see me again-"

Tears fell down both boys' cheeks. The side of Remus' mouth lifted into a sad, gentle smile.

"It's fine, Padfoot. It doesn't matter."

"Moony, please. Please just shout at me. Throw something at me. Scream at me…"

Sometimes, Sirius wanted Remus to shout.

But of course, he didn't.

Remus doesn't shout.

[dazed--xx]

SKZ Break up Reaction (Maknae Line)

A/N:so I’m uploading this on my phone cause my 4 year old decided to break my chromebooks screen but I wanted to get this posted so I can post the second part to both anyway if you guys have any requests my requests are open any group you want me to write I usually do lol so just let me know anyway hope you enjoy please like comment reblog I love hearing your opinions

Jisung:

“GET OUT!” You shout, as you feel Jisungs arms wrap around your waist. You can feel his tears leaking through your shirt as he begs you to hear him out. Your tears streamed down your face. “you need to leave Jisung” You growl taking his arms from around you. His head shakes in panic “No! NO! Im sorry okay?! It was a mistake it didn’t mean anything to me” he cries. His shoulders shaking rapidly. You scoff at his words “Yeah for you it was just a fucking tuesday of course it wouldn’t mean shit to you. But the fact that you didn’t even think about me or I don’t know maybe the fact that you werent even single, proves to me that everything youre saying is bullshit. You don’t just go and fuck someone and then say Oops I made a mistake. You made a fucking choice Jisung and just cause it doesn’t mean anything to you now doesn’t mean you didn’t fucking do it and proves how much I cant trust you.” You snap, gesturing to the crying boy. Grabbing the bags you packed for him, you shove them at your ex boyfriend.

“I don’t want to go” Jisung confesses, his hand wrapping around your wrist pulling you back into him; burying your face in his chest. “Please don’t make me go, I don’t want to wake up every morning without you. I don’t want to let you go. It meant nothing then and now please believe me I don’t want anyone else it was a drunken mistake and I will never stop regretting it. I can make it up to you, I-I c-can fix things please—fuck—please don’t make me go. I love you” His sobs take over his body as you begin to pull yourself away from him. You stare at him, wanting to remember every inch of his face. You caress his cheek. Your eyes locking with one another “Im sorry, but I cant trust you anymore and I cant be with someone I cant trust. I want to break up. Im sorry but if you don’t leave. I will” You confess pulling your hand away from him. “Please....” He whines “Im sorry fuck im so sorry theres nothing I could be more sorry about I don’t know how to fix it. But I don’t want to leave please don’t make me leave, I need you okay? I need YOU! No one else I don’t know how to convince you of that” You shake your head at his words “You don’t need to convince me, you never will be able to Jisung, there’s never an excuse and I wont be able to trust you ever again. It will always feel like a lie.” His eyes widen in shock.

“i-I-” You lift your hand, not wanting to hear anymore “Just go, Jisung! Im done you hurt me way to much and I don’t want to hear your lies anymore” You growl. Nodding in defeat, he picks up his bags and makes his way to the door. You hold the door open for him as he makes his way out as he turns to face you once more you can feel your resolve breaking “I will always love you” he cries as you close the door.

Felix:

NEW MESSAGE: LIXIE💕☀️

Hey baby, just wanted to tell you good morning and I miss you when can I see you again? Its been too long😞

Your heart races as you read his message. Biting your lip you contemplate replying before deciding to lock your phone and continue avoiding him. You werent sure why he even bothered anymore, you knew he was pretending, and whilst he didn’t know you had learned the truth about him, you felt stupid every time you thought about seeing him. You were torn between the Felix you had gotten to know a bubbly sweet and kindhearted person that would give up their last for anyone in need, and the one that, apparently, likes to make bets with his friends about how long it would take for you to sleep with him. Its been a few days since you had been told the truth by Minho’s girlfriend, and ever since you had avoided Felix. You couldn’t help but feel anxious and idiotic anytime you thought about being near him, apparently he had won the bet, you did sleep with him fairly quickly considering you guys have been going out for only a few months and have been actively having sex since about your third date; and the idea that right after he went and reported his win to the boys made you feel dirty, gross, and used.

Your phone vibrating in your hand pulls you from your thoughts. Staring at the screen youre met with a photo of your smiling boyfriend. Pressing the decline button, you toss your phone on the bed lifting yourself to your feet. You stare around your room, pictures of you and Felix laugh at you as you grab the stuffed bear Felix had won for you on your second date. With a newfound resolve you toss the bear on the ground. Your body acting on its own accord as you begin throwing every symbol and memory of your relationship in a large destructive pile on the ground. Sobs rack through your chest, nausea building in your stomach. You trusted him, you allowed him to knock your walls down and he lied, pretended and faked his way through everything. With determination in your heart you stomp your way over to your bed grabbing your phone opening your messages with him.

To: LIXIE💕☀️

Please stop calling me stop texting me just leave me alone you won your stupid bet just leave me alone we’re done.

Your palms were sweating as your phone began vibrating once more. You stare at the photo of Felix, your jaw clenches as hot tears run down your face. You watch as the photo disappears a missed call notification coming in before the photo pops up once more. You sit in place as a plethora of calls continue to come in as well as messages all unseen. With a shaky breathe you turn your phone off, opting to take a shower you trudge your way to the bathroom. Your movements halt at the rapid knocks on your front door. “Babe! Please—fuck—open the door!” Felix’s deep voice pleads. Your hand smacks over your mouth, as you hear your doorknob rattling “Y/N! Open up please” he cries. “Let me explain!” The knocks continue in quick succession. “P-please! I-I c-can’t lo-lose y-yo-you, n-not like t-this please!” His voice is desperate, you could tell he was crying. “I’m sorry” the door begins to shake. You could tell he was trying to ram the door open. “I’m sorry! Please talk to me, we can’t be over we can’t Im an idiot but you mean so much to me don’t break up with me I’m sorry! I’ll explain I’ll tell you everything please” your sobs unable to be hidden anymore “Y/N?! Are you crying? Please—fuck—don’t cry please I’m sorry please open the door please! I need to see you. I need you to listen please open up!” He pleaded. You stared at the door as your heart pounded on your sternum as Felix pounded on your door. You apologized silently as you sat on the ground your arm wrapped around your waist as you held your hand over your mouth; tears steadily streaming down your face not being able to bring yourself to open the door.

Seungmin:

You stared blankly at the mahogany table, avoiding Seungmins bored stare. “Why did you ask me to meet you here if you weren’t going to say anything?” He questions confusion etched on his features You sat in shock at his words, you weren’t sure why you were so surprised at the cold stoic tone he used. It had always been the same with him anyway always leaving you to feel small under his judging gaze. You questioned the status of your relationship often due to the lack of affection on either part. You felt more like a close friend rather than his girlfriend or even someone he was dating, and whilst you two had never defined your relationship, you did assume from the fact that he had specifically told you that he had considered the time you two spent together as dates. You stared at your hands as your fingers continued to play with themselves in your lap. “I’m sorry…” you murmur, you hear him hum in response “it’s fine everyone has bad days” you shake your head in response “n-no…I’m sorry but I don’t think we should see each other anymore” your voice is almost a whisper but the widening of Seungmin’s eyes has you shocked. “C-Can I ask why? I thought things were going well…” he questions his hand reaching for yours sadness flashes across his features as you shift yourself further away from him “we’re more friends than anything don’t you think” you mumble disappointedly. “Friends?” He scoffs like the term was beneath him. “I’d like to think we are more than friends” he states calmly.

You wrap your arms around your waist “honestly can you name a single time we’ve done anything that could signify that we’re more than friends” you snap. Seungmin leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. “We go out on dates…umm I talk to you all the time…” he trails as he contemplates more answers only to come up with nothing and letting out a sigh. “It’s okay…you aren’t attracted to me Seungminie, not the way I am to you and I think you should find a girl you actually like” you state sadly as you lift yourself from your seat. “Goodbye…” you mumble as you make you’re way out of the café. Seungmin sat there in shock, a tear running down his cheek as you make your exit. He willed himself to say something, anything to get you to stay. He watched in horror as you made your way out of the door. His heart shattering in his chest as he wills you to turn around and just see him, see how he’s falling apart at your departure. He’s begged for every moment with you and in his idiocy you were wisped away, he felt lost what could he do?

Jeongin:

“You’re really wearing that?!” The disgust oozing out in his tone. You look down at your lilac skin tight dress and white thigh highs before nodding with confusion etched on your features a pout in your lips. “I-is there something wrong with what Im wearing?” You prod your eyebrow raising in offense. Jeongin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. You stood in your place, biting your lip in frustration “I mean you look really…..interesting.” He grits. You could feel the uncomfortable stares. You knew what he meant by interesting, reflexively you tug on the hem of your dress bringing it lower on your legs. “Don’t listen to him you look great!” Nayeon smiled as she rubbed your wrist comfortingly. You nod dejected, your eyes not leaving the ground. “I-I’m going to get something to drink” you state rapidly as you rush over to the kitchen. You stare down at your dress, you felt stupid and thanked god you had brought a hoodie. Taking a deep breath you grab a red solo cup pouring a small bit of vodka and adding pineapple juice before mixing the drink. You stare into the concoction, as used to Jeongins temperament and the harshness of his tone you are, you contemplate as to why you had even entered this torturous relationship.

You couldn’t think of many times when Jeongin would speak to you without insulting you in some shape or form. From your hair being the wrong way to you just being too annoying for his taste that day there was always something you did wrong. You thought today would be different, you thought for once he’d actually acknowledge you the way he used too when you first began. Your heart completely shattered considering it was your second anniversary. Your relationship was fantastic up until just a few months ago and now it feels like Jeongin would rather drop dead before even looking at you anymore. You don’t know why you had bothered anymore it obviously wasn’t working. You’ve done everything you could to try to save your relationship tonight being your final attempt and as much as you wanted to give the rest of the night a chance; he couldn’t even acknowledge your anniversary all day and then to greet you like that at a party you didn’t even want to be at. You weren’t sure if you could continue this, you missed your loving, sweet boyfriend. You didn’t know who this Jeongin was. You sighed as you take a sip from your drink. The mixture of alcohol to juice lacking so you grab the vodka bottle once more.

“Sure get drunk so I have to take care of you tonight” you hear from behind you, you roll your eyes. “What? I’m literally just making my first drink” you scoff before turning and shoving past your boyfriend his hand wrapping around your arm “oh and thanks for embarrassing me tonight by the way” he spits. An embarrassing heat fills your cheeks “how did I embarrass you?” You growl a fire burning in your eyes. “You’re kidding right?” His lips are formed in a tight line, you press your chest against his in defiance “No! How did I fucking embarrass you Jeongin?”

“So dressing like a slut to a party where you know your boyfriend and his friends are going to be isn’t a fucking problem? It’s not embarrassing?” He snaps, the glare in his eyes challenging you. The rage filling your stomach you toss your drink in his face. “I can’t believe you! You fucking prick” you shout, Jeongins eyes grow wide at your action. He stood there shocked, covered in your drink, his hands reaching for you quickly with a call of your name. You put your arms up preventing him from touching you. “No! I’m done! I’m so fucking done with you Jeongin! For months I’ve put up with your shitty attitude all because I loved you and you obviously don’t feel the fucking same anymore! You made me miserable and I still loved you! Don’t call me don’t text me just leave me alone. Happy anniversary Jeongin, I’m giving you the best gift I could…you’re single congratulations” your resolve completely breaking as tears stream down your face. You can see the panic in Jeongins eyes, his mouth sits agape in shock. With a scoff you turn to make your exit. “W-wait! Where are you going?” He calls, his voice is shaky. “Babe?!” You can hear him following after you “wait! Y/N!” His voice is shaky as you make your way out the front door, you knew if you turned back just one look at his face would break you. You had to keep going; you picked up your pace as the cold air kissed your skin.

Your car was only down the street a bit you just had to make it there and you were home free. Your heart raced as your legs moved rapidly. You felt arms wrapped around your waist pulling you back into a strong frame. The familiar cologne fills your nostrils, you could feel his shaking figure. “Don’t go, I’m sorry” he pleads. You sigh “please let me go Jeongin” pulling his arms from around you not turning to look at him. “I’m sorry please don’t go im an idiot I didn’t mean to forget but I don’t think it’s something you should break up with me over” he scoffs slight annoyance in his tone. A scowl forms on your face as you whip around to look him in his eyes “you know what?! Yeah! You ARE indeed a fucking idiot! If you think I’m breaking up with you over this bullshit ass anniversary then you’re wrong! You treat me like shit and a burden and I’m just done you obviously don’t love me anymore and as much as I do love you I deserve better just…please leave me alone…” tears stream down your face at a rapid pace, your heart shattering at every word. Your eyes drifting to the floor as your bottom lip finds it’s way between your teeth. Your eyes never once lifting to meet his as you turn away from him and make your way to your car. You don’t see Jeongin standing there in horror as you ultimately walk away from him. You don’t hear the sound of his heart shattering in his chest as you don’t look back at him. His jaw clenched as tears stream down his cheeks willing himself to not chase after you because like you said, you did deserve better