#and every single time he stops to talk to someone he would lean his elbows on the table and like. arch his back

[colouredbyd]

Our Brothers Are Dating… Should We?

regulus black x lupin!reader , wolfstar

synopsis: in which you and regulus are hopelessly in love, though neither of you seems capable of noticing it. your older brothers, remus and sirius, who are very much together, watch with growing amusement and agree that this kind of obliviousness must run in the family. now, with a little help from barty, they are determined to nudge the two of you in the right direction before someone loses their mind entirely.

warnings: friends in love but in denial, so much fluff, misunderstandings, silent treatment, childhood friends to lovers, idiots clearly in love, grumpy x sunshine, reg being a little shit, jealousy, regulus being possessive, scheming, very slow burn, a little angst, NSFW, smut, reg being dom, teasing, breeding kink, semi-public fucking, oral, harsh fucking, fingering, slight choking, dirty talk, overstimulation, spanking, bite marking.

w/c: 8.3k

a/n: this was 100% self indulgent! also please listen to Friends by Chase Atlantic when marked, it makes the scene way better ;)

masterlist

Remus and Sirius could never seem to stop watching you and Regulus from afar. It was an odd sight, even after all this time, to see their siblings so utterly entangled in each other’s company. 

No matter how many afternoons passed like this, with you seated beside Regulus beneath the dappled shade of the courtyard trees, the picture never quite lost its strange allure.

Remus, in particular, always felt a quiet tug of wonder whenever his gaze drifted to you both. 

You, his younger sister, whose heart had always seemed so open, so achingly bright. 

And beside you, of all people, sat Regulus Black. Who so rarely let anyone breach the carefully built walls around him.

It still surprised Remus, no matter how many times he saw it, the way Regulus changed in your presence. 

The shift was subtle but unmistakable, a softening in his expression, a quiet attentiveness in the way he leaned towards you. 

His eyes, usually so cold and distant, seemed warmer when they lingered on your face. He spoke more easily with you than with anyone else, his clipped words touched with something that almost resembled tenderness.

And you, in turn, seemed utterly at ease beside him. Where others might have been intimidated by his silence, his sharp glances and sharper tongue, you only smiled, filling the spaces between his words with your own easy warmth. 

And though it had once seemed strange to Remus, this pairing, he could no longer imagine it otherwise.

Sirius, of course, noticed it all as well. He often watched the two of you with a wide grin, elbowing Remus with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "Look at them," he would murmur, voice low with amusement. 

"So bloody obvious and yet so impossibly dense."

And Remus could only shake his head, a fond exasperation curling in his chest. For there was no denying it anymore. You and Regulus were in love.

Anyone with eyes could see it, could feel the invisible thread that bound you together, taut and shimmering with all that was left unsaid.

Yet somehow, you both remained oblivious to the truth of it. Friends, you called yourselves, though the word seemed a poor fit for what passed between you. 

Friends did not linger in each other’s gaze quite so long. 

Friends did not find excuses to brush fingers, to sit a little too close beneath the wide sky. 

Friends did not look at each other the way you did, as though the world had narrowed to a single point and everything else had faded away.

It was almost maddening to watch. And yet, neither Sirius nor Remus could bring themselves to look away. 

They had been here themselves, after all. They knew too well how love could creep in slowly, unnoticed, until it filled every corner of the heart. 

They knew how blind one could be to one’s own feelings, how fear and uncertainty could bind the tongue and still the heart.

It ran in the family, perhaps. This stubborn obliviousness. This tendency to circle around love instead of stepping boldly into it.

So they watched. From beneath the archway, from across the courtyard, from the windows of the library. And with every glance they exchanged, with every sigh and shake of the head, a quiet resolve began to take root between them.

Because someone had to do something. Someone had to help you both see what was already written so clearly in every glance, every smile, every lingering touch.

And really, who better to take matters into their own hands than two Marauders, hopelessly in love themselves, determined to see their siblings find the same happiness?

Remus and Sirius shared a look. Then their eyes shifted to Barty, lounging nearby with that infuriatingly charming grin.

They didn’t say anything. 

The idea came instantly. The execution would be easy. And with Barty involved, jealousy was practically guaranteed.

-

It had almost become a habit now, the way your afternoons led you here. The quiet comfort of the library’s farthest corner, a sun-drenched alcove of old wood and older books, always somehow waiting for the two of you. 

No one really disturbed this place, and fewer still disturbed the pair of you when you were here, heads bent close over parchment and ink.

You sat with your chin propped in one palm, quill twirling idly between your fingers, the open pages of an Arithmancy text long abandoned in favor of quieter conversation.

Regulus sat across from you, sharp-boned and poised as ever, though the usual hard set of his mouth was softened now. 

His hand moved absently, the tip of his quill tracing light, meaningless shapes in the margin of his notes. His gaze, though, was not on his work.

It was on you.

"Your hair is falling into your eyes again," he murmured, voice low and even, with a quiet patience that few others ever heard from him.

You blinked up at him, a little smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

"Is it? Oh." You pushed the strands back clumsily with your fingers, only for them to tumble forward once more a moment later.

And then, without another word, Regulus reached across the table, slow and careful, brushing the stray locks gently behind your ear. 

His fingers lingered for the briefest moment against your temple, the lightest of touches, and when he drew his hand back, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

You smiled again, bright and unbothered, your voice a soft lilt that always seemed to wind beneath his defenses. "Thank you, Reggie!"

He only gave a faint incline of his head, as though it were nothing, though you noticed the way he lowered his gaze to his notes with a sudden, almost studious focus.

"You know," you said after a moment, voice bright with amusement, "you would probably get more studying done if you stopped doodling in the margins."

He gave a soft huff of breath, almost a laugh. "And you would probably get more studying done if you stopped daydreaming so much."

You gasped in mock outrage. "Rude."

"Entirely true," he replied smoothly, though there was a faint, fond curve to his mouth now.

Before you could retort, the distant thud of boots echoed through the stacks, followed by the low murmur of familiar voices.

"Oi, there you are," came Sirius’s voice, louder now as he rounded the shelves, Remus close behind him.

Regulus straightened in an instant, the soft warmth you had coaxed from him retreating as though a door had been quietly closed. 

Remus and Sirius were an easy, familiar sight together. Remus with his gentle, thoughtful gaze, always steady, and Sirius with all his wild charm, half a grin playing at his mouth as he strode toward your table.

Remus’s eyes softened when they met yours. "We were looking for you," he said with quiet fondness, reaching to ruffle your hair with one large, calloused hand. 

"You were supposed to meet us after quidditch."

You laughed, swatting at him playfully. "I forgot."

"She forgets everything," Sirius said cheerfully, flopping into the empty seat beside you, far too comfortable. 

"Probably forgot we even existed. Here she is, holed up with my charming little brother, plotting who knows what."

Regulus gave him a look of cool indifference. "If we were plotting, you would not know about it."

"See what I mean," Sirius grinned, nudging you with his elbow. "Utter delight, that one."

You giggled softly, glancing between them. "Honestly, I am just trying to get through potions."

Remus settled beside Sirius, leaning comfortably into his side, fingers twining absently with his. 

Sirius nudged you again. "And you dragged poor Reg into it with you? Cruel."

"I did not drag him," you said with mock primness, smiling at Regulus, who only inclined his head slightly, gaze unreadable once more. "He came willingly."

"I can hardly believe that," Sirius teased, though there was no real bite to his words. If anything, a note of genuine curiosity threaded through them. 

Even now, after all these years, he still marveled quietly at the strange friendship that had grown between you and his brother.

Regulus remained silent, though something faint touched his eyes when he glanced your way.

Remus watched it all with a thoughtful expression, his gaze lingering on Regulus a moment longer than usual. 

There was a quiet understanding in his eyes, an old awareness that never quite left him. He had always seen it, the way Regulus shifted when he was near you, the way your presence seemed to gentle him.

But as always, you seemed blissfully unaware of it.

And Sirius, ever impatient, could hardly help himself. 

"You know," he began, voice bright with mischief, "we were just saying how you two spend more time together than anyone else these days. Should we be worried? Or are we finally going to admit that this is something more than just... studying?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "It is friendship, Sirius. Nothing more."

Regulus, for his part, said nothing at all, though a faint tension had crept into his shoulders.

Remus only smiled softly, squeezing Sirius’s hand in silent warning. Not too much, not yet. They would need more careful coaxing than that.

But as the four of you sat there in that sunlit corner of the library, conversation weaving around old books and quiet glances, the truth hung between you like the dust in the air. Obvious to anyone who cared to look.

And though you and Regulus remained blind to it still, there was a quiet certainty in Remus’s heart as he glanced at his sister, then at the boy who watched her when she was not looking.

It was only a matter of time.

“You know,” Sirius was saying, tone far too casual to be innocent, ��if you keep sitting here in the dark with Regulus all day, you are going to forget how to have any fun.”

You looked up from your book, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “This is fun,” you replied lightly, voice warm with amusement. “Some of us do enjoy quiet, you know. And Regulus is the most fun person ever!”

“Fun?” Sirius repeated, making a face like he’d just bitten into something sour. “Right. Loads of laughs.”

Love really was blind. Because if Sirius had to name the most boring person in the entire castle, it would be his own brother—without hesitation. 

Regulus was practically allergic to fun. The human embodiment of a sigh.

“You used to be so bright and cheerful, too. What have you done to her, Reggie?”

Regulus, who had been steadily ignoring the entire exchange in favor of a well-worn copy of Advanced Potions, turned a single cool glance toward his brother. 

“If anything, she has done something to me,” he said smoothly. 

“And she is perfectly capable of deciding what she enjoys.”

The words were calm, but there was something softer beneath them, something that made Remus glance sidelong at Sirius with the faintest of knowing smiles.

Regulus’s fingers tapped lightly against the spine of his book, eyes lowered again. You could see it — the way his guard was pulling back up around him, piece by piece.

You bit the inside of your cheek, a soft breath caught behind your ribs.

Enough of this.

“Well,” you said brightly, pushing your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor, “that is quite enough for one afternoon.”

Before either of them could reply, you reached out and caught Regulus gently by the sleeve of his robe, fingers curling lightly around the fabric.

“Come on, Reggie,” you said, voice soft but sure. “We will go somewhere quieter.”

Regulus looked up at you, something unspoken flickering in his gaze — and then he nodded, closing his book with a quiet snap and rising smoothly to his feet beside you.

Sirius blinked, half a grin still lingering on his mouth. “Oh? Running off with her now, are you?”

You stifled a laugh, giving a small shake of your head. “I will see you both later,” you said lightly, offering a smile first to Sirius, then to Remus, who only returned it with a soft, knowing warmth that lingered long after you had turned away.

And with that, your hand still brushing lightly against Regulus’s sleeve, you led him from the sun-dappled corner, the faint sound of Sirius’s teasing voice echoing behind you, growing fainter with each step.

Your steps are light, weaving easily through the scattered leaves and roots as you lead Regulus away from the library. 

He follows you with that quiet steadiness of his, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to you now and again. He never needs to ask where you are going. You both already know.

And soon, there it is—your favorite tree. Ancient and wide, its branches reaching high into the pale blue sky, its roots curling like lazy serpents across the earth. 

Without a word, Regulus leans his back to the trunk and exhales softly, lids fluttering closed for a moment as if to savor the calm. 

You smile at him, bright and easy, and with no hesitation at all, you fold your legs beneath you and settle onto the grass beside him. 

Then, slower, gentler, you ease your head into his lap, the crown of it resting against the fine wool of his robes. You feel him still beneath you, feel the way his breath catches and then softens. 

And when you tilt your gaze up, you catch the barest curve of his lips, an almost-smile, the kind he seems to keep only for you.

For a little while, neither of you speak. The rustle of the leaves above is enough, the warmth of the afternoon sun, the quiet sound of students far off in the distance. 

And the steady presence of him. You let it fill you, content, before you finally break the silence in that soft, lilting tone of yours.

“What do you think we will do once this year is over?” you ask lightly, tracing idle shapes into the fabric of his robes. 

Regulus shifts a little beneath you, gaze dropping to watch your fingers move. He hums low in his throat. “You will go to the Potters’, most likely.”

“And you?” You tilt your head, eyes bright.

There is a pause. Then, quietly, he says, “I will return to Grimmauld.”

You frown, a small crease between your brows. “No, you will not.”

Regulus arches a brow at you, the faintest amusement in his voice. “And why is that?”

“Because I won’t let you.” You smile up at him now, soft and sure. 

“I will not leave you there. You will come with me. With Sirius, Remus, James, and Lily. We will all go to the Potters’ for the summer, and you will be there too. I will not allow you to go back to that house.”

There is a long moment where he says nothing. You watch him, patient. 

You know him well enough not to push too quickly. And after a moment, his gaze drops again to meet yours. 

“It is not so simple, amour” he murmurs.

“It is.” You reach up now, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes something in him go still. 

“Because you are my favorite person, Regulus. And I refuse to be parted from my favorite person. Especially not for a whole summer.”

That nearly undoes him. He breathes in, careful and slow. 

His fingers twitch faintly where they rest beside you on the grass, as if he is fighting the urge to reach for you, to tangle his hands in your hair. 

“I… cannot promise,” he says at last, voice low.

“Then I will promise for you,” you say, your smile soft and your eyes bright. 

“You will come, I will make sure of it, Sirius will too, and Remus. You are welcome, none of us want you to be alone.”

He lets out a breath. His gaze softens more than he means it to. And though he does not say yes, you can feel the edges of his resistance slipping.

“You are impossible,” he murmurs.

The silence deepens, heavy and fragile, until a familiar voice finally breaks through.

“Well, well,” Barty drawled, voice low and smooth as he dropped onto the grass beside you without invitation. 

“Didn’t think I’d find such excellent company out here!”

You looked up, raising a brow. “You always say that. Makes it hard to believe you’re ever surprised.”

Barty’s mouth curved into something softer than a smirk. “Maybe I’m just easily impressed.” He plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his fingers brushing just a little longer than necessary. 

“Though I think we both know that isn’t true.”

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You’re impossible.”

“Possibly,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m told I’m charming enough to get away with it.”

Regulus didn’t move at first. Then slowly, he shifted, sitting straighter, though his gaze remained firmly ahead. His face had gone carefully blank—expression composed, impassive. 

But his lips were pressed tight and his brows faintly drawn, like he was holding something steady just beneath the surface.

Barty turned back to you. “You always this lovely in the morning, or is this just luck?”

“You’re laying it on thick today, Junior,” you said lightly, flipping the page in your book.

“Only for you.”

Regulus’s fingers flexed once at his side, then stilled. His posture was perfect. His expression hadn’t changed. He looked almost bored, if not for the edge behind his eyes.

Barty leaned back on his elbows, turning his face toward the sky. “You’d think being this pretty would come with a warning.”

You smiled, amused, but didn’t reply.

For the first time, Regulus turned his head.

His voice, when it came, was quiet and clipped. “Some of us were enjoying the quiet.”

Barty glanced over at him, then back to you. “Wasn’t trying to interrupt. Just couldn’t resist the view.”

Regulus’s jaw shifted, subtle and sharp, and though he didn’t respond, his eyes didn’t leave Barty for a long moment.

Barty just grinned. “Anyway,” he said, standing and brushing his trousers off. 

“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

He winked before turning, and Regulus tracked his retreat with a gaze cold enough to freeze wind.

You, still thumbing through your book, didn’t seem to notice.

Regulus looked back at you, his features schooled again into that same unreadable calm. But his fingers, curled in the grass, didn’t unclench.

You give him a playful swat to the arm. “Go on then, let us have our peace.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet settles again, but it feels different now—less peaceful, more strained. 

You shift slightly, resting your head back on Regulus’s lap, eyes turning upward as if the sky might offer some explanation.

He’s unusually still beneath you.

You glance up, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips are pressed together, the faint crease between his brows. That unreadable look he gets when he’s thinking too much, or trying too hard not to feel something.

Something’s off.

You tilt your head, voice soft. “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, it’s clipped. “Fine.”

You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”

Regulus exhales, low and barely audible. His eyes stay on some far-off point, cold and focused like they’ve locked onto a problem only he can see. 

“I don’t get it,” you say, quieter now, more to yourself than to him.

“One minute you’re fine, and then Barty shows up, and you shut down like someone flipped a switch.” You sit up a little, resting your weight on your elbows, still watching him.

“What did he even say that got under your skin?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. “He was just being Barty.”

Regulus’s gaze flicks down to you then, briefly. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or tired or just done with the conversation. 

“I said I’m fine,” he mutters.

You hesitate, then nod, letting the silence settle again even though it gnaws at your thoughts. You lie back against him, but it doesn’t feel the same now.

The rest of the day blurs by in a way that days sometimes do when your mind is a little elsewhere, when the air feels lighter and you are quietly waiting for something. 

The hours of lessons seem to bleed into one another.

You and Regulus had not shared classes today. Not until later. And already, you were counting down until you could meet him again, like you always do. 

The two of you had made quiet plans for dinner, you would meet by the entrance hall, as always.

But now, with the last lesson fading to a close, you are already making your way down one of the quieter corridors. 

You turn the final corner, steps light and familiar as your eyes scan the corridor ahead. 

You’re expecting to see Regulus leaning against the archway like he usually does, arms crossed, half-annoyed at being early. But the space is empty.

You slow slightly, glancing around.

“Looking for someone?” a voice purrs beside you.

You blink, startled, and turn to find Barty, again, falling into step beside you, hands in his pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Oh,” you say, letting out a small laugh. “Just Regulus.”

“Of course,” he says lightly. “You two are practically stitched together.”

You smile without thinking. “He’s usually here by now.”

Barty tilts his head, studying you. “I could keep you company until he shows.”

You nod, kind. “That’s sweet of you.”

“So,” he says, casually sliding a bit closer, “what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”

You blink. “Tomorrow?”

“Mm,” he hums. “Thought maybe you and I could go into Hogsmeade. Get something warm and take a walk. Unless you’ve sworn some blood oath to Regulus to never leave his side.”

You laugh again, still not entirely catching on. “Oh—I mean, I’ve got a few things to do. Some studying and a bit of tutoring.”

Barty leans in slightly, voice warm and teasing. “Surely someone like you can make time for something fun.”

You hesitate, blinking at him. “I—well, I suppose maybe. But—”

“There you are.”

The words cut clean and cold through the air.

You turn.

Regulus is standing just behind you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. 

He looks directly at Barty, not even pretending to smile.

Barty only grins wider. “Perfect timing, Regulus. Just asking your girl here to spend a little time with me tomorrow! We’re thinking Hogsmeade.”

Regulus doesn’t answer or even smile. He just takes a slow step toward you.

Barty claps his hands once, mock-pleasant. “Well, now I don’t have to worry about walking her back. I’ll pick you up at the dorm tomorrow, yeah?”

You look between them, confused, but Barty doesn’t give you time to answer. He gives a wink and strolls off down the corridor, whistling low under his breath.

You turn back to Regulus. “What was that about?”

He starts walking, not waiting for you to follow.

You hurry after him. “Regulus!”

He doesn’t look at you. “You seemed busy.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t want to interrupt,” he mutters, voice clipped.

You fall silent for a few steps, trying to puzzle through the tone, cold and sharp, nothing like the warmth he usually carries around you.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” you say quietly. “I didn’t even understand what he was doing.”

Regulus exhales slowly, still not looking at you.

“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know exactly what he was doing.”

You watch the rigid line of his back as he walks ahead, and for the first time, you’re not sure how to reach him.

You catch up to him just outside the common room, your steps quick and light across the stone floor. 

He doesn’t slow when he hears you or even glance back. That alone is strange.

“Regulus,” you call gently. He keeps walking.

You try again, louder. “Regulus!”

He stops.

But he still doesn’t look at you. His shoulders are stiff, the line of his spine pulled taut, as if even standing still is a strain.

You frown, stepping up beside him. “What’s wrong with you?” you ask lightly, hoping the softness in your voice will coax whatever it is from him. “You’ve been off since—”

“I’m fine.”

You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”

He finally turns to you. “I’m just tired,” he mutters.

You cross your arms. “Tired doesn’t usually come with the silent treatment.”

Regulus scoffs under his breath and starts walking again.

You follow. “Did I do something?”

He doesn’t answer.

You press again, voice rising. “Regulus!”

That’s when he turns, too fast, too sudden. “Why does it always have to be about you?”

You freeze.

“What?” you whisper.

He exhales through his nose, jaw clenched, like he’s said too much already. “Forget it.”

“No, say it,” you snap, stepping forward. “You’re being impossible right now, and I deserve to know why.”

His eyes flicker to yours, cold and unreadable. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine earlier. Maybe you should go ask Barty to walk you back.”

The name lands like ice on your skin.

You blink again, more confused than anything. “What does Barty have to do with this?”

Regulus laughs once — a hollow, bitter sound. “Of course! You don’t even see it.”

“See what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” you say firmly, voice rising. “If you’re going to treat me like this, you don’t get to act like I’m the problem. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, almost too fast. “That’s the point!”

Your mouth opens, then shuts again. You stare at him for a long moment, stunned and aching and not even sure what it is you’re supposed to be defending yourself from.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper.

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment something flickers behind his eyes — not quite anger, not quite sorrow. But then it’s gone.

“Neither do I,” he says tightly, and turns again, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

You stand there for a long moment, the stone walls pressing in around you, heart hammering too loud in the sudden quiet.

You didn’t cry.

You told yourself that when you slammed the door shut behind you, chest heaving and eyes dry with stubborn heat. 

You wouldn’t cry over Regulus Black and his moods and his walls and his unreadable coldness. You paced the length of your room for what felt like hours, silent and bristling, your thoughts circling like a storm.

And when sleep finally came, it was out of exhaustion, not peace.

The morning dawned too early, too bright. You woke with your jaw clenched, the memory of his voice sharp in your bones, the ache of confusion still lodged under your ribs. 

You got dressed slower than usual. There was hope beneath your frustration — that maybe, just maybe, it had been a bad night.

That maybe he’d speak.

You made your way through the corridors, the castle quiet in that golden, waking kind of way. And there he was.

Up ahead, his stride is even and precise, as always. The clean line of his shoulders, the dark sweep of his hair, too familiar not to draw you in. 

“Regulus,” you called gently, a little breathless.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t even glance at you.

He passed by as if he hadn’t heard. As if you weren’t even there.

Like you were nothing.

You stopped walking. Your eyes stung, but you blinked it away, standing alone in the middle of the corridor, heat rising to your cheeks, sharp and furious. 

Fine. If he wanted to be cold, you’d let him freeze alone.

“Morning.”

The voice curled around you with an easy drawl, smooth as ever. 

You turned to find Barty leaning casually against the wall just ahead, his eyes already waiting for yours, lazy amusement tugging at his mouth.

You hesitated for only a moment. Then you walked toward him.

Far behind you, unnoticed by most, two Marauders sat in a tucked-away alcove near the end of the corridor. 

kOne leaned forward just enough to catch the moment Regulus passed you without looking. The other raised a brow.

Remus smirked behind the rim of his cup. Sirius didn’t bother hiding his grin.

You, of course, didn’t see it.

You only saw Barty, already stepping forward to fall into pace beside you. “Rough morning?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You exhaled slowly, lips twitching into something tired but sharp. “You could say that.”

He gave a soft chuckle, brushing his hand through his hair. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be excellent company. You need a seat partner?”

You nodded before thinking, letting him guide you into the Great Hall without another glance back. 

You followed him down the aisle, right past the usual table where Regulus always sat — not even sparing a glance.

Barty pulled out the bench for you with a flourish, flashing a half-smile. “Allow me.”

You sat, jaw tight but grateful, and he slid in beside you with practiced ease.

“So,” he said, reaching for a slice of toast. “What’s the plan today, trouble? Should we skip Potions?”

You laughed, quietly. “Tempting.”

His eyes flicked over you, warm and just a little too knowing. “You’re sad.”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

Barty grinned. “You’ve got that edge today. Out of all the gryffindors, you’re usually the happiest. So what’s got little Lupin sad?”

You shook your head, pretending not to be flustered. “It’s really nothing.”

“Whatever you say, trouble,” he said smoothly.

Far off, behind his own untouched plate, Regulus did not look away from the spot you used to sit. 

“You really ought to let yourself have fun more often, you know?” Barty said, tilting his head as he studied you.

You gave him a look, but your lips curled into a smile. “I do have fun. You’re not the only source of entertainment at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, voice dipping lower now. “But I am the best one.”

You laughed despite yourself. He leaned a little closer, his knee brushing yours as if by accident. You didn’t pull away. His presence was warm, light, easy.

Still, your eyes flicked away for a moment. 

You thought of how Regulus always knew what you needed before you said it, how his silences somehow spoke more truth than others’ words. 

You thought of the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing left in the world worth trusting after all the heartache his family brought upon him.

And just like that, the breath you took felt thinner.

Barty didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.

He shifted again, closer still. His hand hovered near yours, his eyes unreadable now.

“You’ve got this look,” he said softly. “Like you’re trying to decide something.”

You blinked. “Am I?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his gaze fixed on your mouth. “But if I’m lucky, maybe you’ll decide in my favor.”

And then he leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, like gravity itself had shifted to pull him closer.

His face tilted toward yours, the space between you thinning until his lips hovered just shy of yours, brushing the shape of your breath.

Your breath hitched. A quiet, startled catch in your chest. And before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself that something about this felt not quite right, you found yourself beginning to lean in, too.

“I need my copy of Advanced Defensive Charms back,” 

The voice cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and deliberate. You jolted slightly, startled. Regulus stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his tone just loud enough to make a few heads turn. 

His eyes never once flicked to you. They were locked on Barty, steady and searing, the kind of stare that didn’t waver or soften, only dared him to lean closer.

“Now?” you asked, breath catching.

“Yes, now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned, expecting you to follow.

You hesitated, glancing back at Barty. He only hummed under his breath, half a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well,” Barty said with a slow smile, rising to his feet. His eyes flicked to Regulus, all amusement. “Good luck with that.”

He brushed past you lightly, then turned back just enough to add, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

As he passed Regulus, his shoulder brushed deliberately against his. He leaned in, voice barely audible, words meant for one person only.

“Took you long enough, Black.”

You didn’t hear it. You were already catching up, confusion stirring beneath your ribs. You moved after Regulus without looking back.

Barty, however, didn’t glance away. He smiled to himself and wandered off, whistling low under his breath.

And not too far off, beneath the arch of a crumbling corridor, Sirius watched with a grin curled into the corner of his mouth. 

Remus leaned against the wall beside him, expression unreadable, but his eyes flicked briefly to Regulus’s back.

“Well,” Sirius said under his breath. “That’s one way for him to realise.”

Right after Barty left, before you could fully process what had just happened, a hand closed around yours. Firm, warm, and unmistakably his.

You froze mid-step, surprise catching in your throat. “Regulus?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tugged sharply, a sudden, insistent pull that sent your feet moving before your mind could even catch up. 

He was dragging you out of the hall, his jaw clenched tight, eyes fixed straight ahead with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You stumbled, breath hitching in your chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

Still no response.

“Regulus!” You yanked at your arm, trying desperately to plant your heels into the cold stone floor. “What’s gotten into you?”

His grip didn’t waver. Knuckles whitening around your wrist, holding on like losing you was something he simply could not afford.

“You can’t just—drag me around like this,” you snapped, voice rising now.

“You ignored me yesterday, acted like I didn't exist, and now you think you can just show up, grab me, and what? Command me like a dog?”

He kept walking.

“Regulus, seriously, stop! What is this? What do you want from me?”

You were furious now. Not just annoyed—furious. Because you didn’t understand, and he wasn’t saying anything, and his silence felt like a match held too long over your skin.

“Is this a joke to you?” you hissed. “Because if this is some twisted mood swing of yours, I’m not playing along!”

He didn’t even look at you.

He was dragging you through the empty corridors, his grip unwavering, steps quick and purposeful as the castle's echoes followed behind.

When he finally stopped, it was outside a narrow door tucked between unused classrooms—an old closet room long forgotten. Without hesitation, he opened it and pulled you inside, the darkness swallowing you both.

You were breathless, panting more from anger than exertion.

Without warning, he spun you around, his hand gripping your waist with a force that both startled and grounded you.

His touch was firm, commanding, pulling you close as he pressed you back against the cold stone wall. 

His breaths came ragged and uneven, a low exhale escaping him as if the air itself was thick with tension.

His pupils were dilated, dark and wide, flickering with a restless fire that made your skin prickle.

The smooth weight of his body loomed over you, tall and unyielding, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the space between you. 

Your shoulders met the wall with a deliberate, lingering pressure—not harsh, but enough to stop your breath and still your racing thoughts in an instant.

Your hands flew up to his chest instinctively. “Are you insane?!” you snapped.

He stared at you like he couldn’t hear you. Or like he’d heard every word but couldn’t stop himself anyway.

He stepped closer. You could feel the tension pulsing off him now, raw, sharp, and electric.

And then, finally, he spoke. “He wants you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Junior,” he said, voice low and bitter. “He wants you.”

You shot him a fierce glare, voice trembling with barely contained anger. “Junior? Is that what this is? Him sitting with me?”

He closed the gap, breath hot against your face, hand gripping your waist tight.

“He wasn’t just sitting with you. He was about to kiss you and you were going to kiss him back!.”

You shot back, voice sharp, nearly a shout. “And why do you care?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

That made you scoff. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, Black.”

His eyes searched you, as if trying to decide whether to say it at all.

You laughed, too harsh. “You know what, Regulus? You’re unbelievable!”

“You’re acting like I’ve committed some crime. He sat beside me. He talked. What did you want me to do, tell him to leave?”

“You were going to kiss him,” Regulus said, he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand shot out, fingers curling around your jaw with an unexpected firmness that both claimed and grounded you. 

You stared at him, the heat in your chest twisting. “And what if I did?”

His thumb brushed lightly against your lips, slow and deliberate, before his eyes dropped from your face to linger on your mouth. 

His voice dropped low, edged with a quiet intensity that made your pulse hammer in your ears.

[I highly suggest playing Friends by Chase Atlantic here!!!]

“I’m not here to argue,” he said, husky but steady. “I’m here to tell you that I won’t let you forget what almost happened. You were about to kiss some other bastard.” 

His gaze held yours, unyielding and raw. “And I’m the only one you should ever want.”

Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and demanding.

You kissed him back instantly, your hands in his shirt, pulling, anchoring, trying to close the impossible space that had always lived between you.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths catching, hands everywhere at once—his in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you’d fall straight through the floor. 

His body pressed against yours, firm and unrelenting, pinning you to the stone wall behind like you were something worth holding onto, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.

Your legs parted instinctively, one of his thighs sliding between yours as your hips tilted forward without thinking, chasing the pressure, chasing him. 

The way he moved against you—slow, firm, purposeful—sent heat coiling low in your stomach, your breath stuttering as your hands slid down the hard lines of his back and held him there.

You could barely think past it. Barely speak.

But then your mouth opened and—

“Regulus,” you breathed, the sound escaping like a prayer. “God—Please.”

He stilled instantly.

The world narrowed to the way his chest heaved against yours, the shallow rise and fall of his breath. His lips brushed yours again, barely, as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and blown wide with something more dangerous than want.

“Say that again,” he murmured, voice ragged and low like it had been torn straight from somewhere deep.

You swallowed, heat flickering through you. “Regulus.”

His name on your tongue again made something in him snap.

He surged forward before the last syllable left your lips, kissing you harder, like he was trying to consume it, claim it, swallow the sound down and make it his.

He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing against yours again in a movement that had you gasping, clinging tighter.

You didn’t hesitate. You pulled him closer, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, touch desperate and searching. 

His mouth found the curve of your neck, hot and open, and a gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“I need you, please.” you panted, breath catching as your head fell back,

Your legs shifted instinctively, knees parting, trying to draw him closer still as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin, his hands tightening at your waist like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Keep those legs spread for me, amour.” He groaned.

The command was so firm and unquestionable that it nearly took you by surprise. He had never spoken to you like that before. Moments between you were usually filled with playfulness and light teasing.

You reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his trousers, a silent plea for him to touch you where you need him most. 

But before you could move further, his hand wrapped around your wrist. 

“Behave,” he murmured, voice low and rough, with an edge that hadn’t been there before. 

You barely manage to catch your breath before his hands slide lower, gripping your waist as he presses you harder against the wall.  

Regulus leans in, his mouth finding your neck, biting and sucking with a hunger that sends your pulse skittering. Each mark he leaves burns, a promise, a claim—evidence you already know you’ll need to hide later.

“Someone could walk in,” you gasp, voice trembling as your back presses harder into the wall, but Regulus just exhales, his breath hot against your collarbone.

“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms gliding over your skin with agonizing slowness. You shiver beneath his touch, already arching into him before you realize you're doing it.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your answer is a broken whimper as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a groan from his throat.

His grip tightens on your hips, and you feel him against you—hard, aching, insistent through the fabric of his trousers, grinding into your thigh.

“Need you,” you breathe, the words barely making it past your lips, “please, Regulus.”

Regulus leans back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and seething. “You think it's funny,” he says, voice low and cold, “going around flirting with Junior?”

Before you can answer, his hands move—urgent, possessive—tugging your skirt up with rough precision, exposing skin to the cool air and his hotter gaze. His fingers press into your thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close, and the sharp edge of the tension coils tighter in your stomach.

“You were smiling at him,” he mutters, like the thought alone sets him off. “Laughing.”

Your breath hitches. He presses closer, chest against yours, thigh slipping between your legs until you can barely stand straight.

“Say it,” he demands, voice at your ear. “Say who you want.”

You whimper softly, eyes barely meeting his as the words slip out, “Want you.”

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “Uh uh, that’s not my name, amour.” he says, voice low and amused.

You straighten immediately, biting back a smile. “Want you, Regulus,” you correct.

“Good, baby,” Regulus murmured, but before you could respond, he pulled you flush against him, capturing your lips again. His kisses were harsher now, urgent and hungry for more.

His hands slid beneath your skirt, fingertips tracing along your bare skin, sending a shiver through you. His glare was intense, but softened by the way his lips parted slightly, breath uneven.

You leaned in closer, brushing your lips along his jaw and teased, ​​“Is that all you’ve got, Reggie? Barty seems to be doing a much better job.”

A low sound rumbles in his chest, and before you know it, he’s doesn’t give you a chance to react before he’s stepping between your legs, hands spreading your thighs wider.

“You’re getting cocky,” he mutters, unbuttoning your shirt off in one quick motion. His hands are everywhere, skimming your sides, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your thighs. 

He finally rests one on your waist, and one just under your breast. “Think you can go around acting like that? Such a brat.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan when his mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking a mark into your skin.

“You didn’t exactly stop me,” you manage to say, your voice breathy.

Regulus just scoffs, his hands moving to pull your skirt up “You’re right. Guess I need to teach you a lesson.”

His hands slide over your panties, and his lips brush against your ear. “You’re gonna keep quiet, understand?”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, clearly not convinced. His fingers dip lower, teasing you through your underwear, and you have to bite down on your lip to muffle the noise that slips out. 

Regulus just hums, almost pleased with your reaction. His thumb grazes against your clothed clit, just barely giving you what you want. He applies slight pressure, and you bite your lip harder, eager for more.

“Better keep your voice low. You wouldn’t want anyone finding out how desperate you are for me, would you?” He taunts, his thumb pressing more firmly. 

He pushes your panties to the side, and strokes long stripes up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that has accumulated. 

He groans softly as he stares down at your cunt, and he slides his middle finger inside of you, earning a soft gasp from you. You can’t help the way your hips buck forward, chasing his touch. You're too needy to be embarrassed at this point.

“Please, Reggie,” you whisper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric.

He gives you that intense, the one that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

“You’re lucky I need you this bad,” he mutters before he slips his ring finger inside, curling just right, making you mewl.

His other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you close as his mouth moves against yours, swallowing your moans.

His fingers move faster, and it’s impossible to stay quiet, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. All that matters is the way you’re unraveling in his hands, and he’s watching every bit of it with a smug, satisfied look.

The way his fingers curl so precisely inside of you almost makes you see stars—and his thumb increases the speed against your clit. You grind your hips harder into his hand, desperate for your release.

“You’re gonna remember this next time you think about kissing Junior,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, making your thighs tremble around him. 

"Say it."

"I'll remember it, just—please, need all of you." You whimper as his fingers fuck you faster.

Regulus doesn’t waste any time, pulling out his fingers and spinning you against the wall. 

You gasp loudly at how quickly he pulled his fingers out of you, and also being slammed against the wall rather quickly.

His hand snakes around your waist, pulling your hips back to meet his, and you can feel how hard he is through his pants.

“You’re gonna be good for me now, right?” He mutters against your ear, his voice rough and dripping with dominance. 

You nod, too breathless to respond properly, and he chuckles lowly. “Use your words, amour.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll be good, Regulus. I promise.”

“Good girl, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, one hand slipping under your shirt, brushing over your stomach, while the other tugs your hips back against him.

His lips trace the curve of your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear.

You can’t help the way you push and wiggle back against him, desperate for more contact.

Regulus clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his grip tightening on your waist to keep you in place.

“Patience,” he says, almost like he’s scolding you, but there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice. 

His lips follow, kissing along your shoulder as he pushes his own pants down just enough to free himself.

His cock stands proudly, and he gives himself a couple pumps in preparation. He runs his hand over the tip, collecting the precum that had accumulated. 

He brings himself closer to you, and presses his cock head against your wet folds, causing the man to sigh shakily.

You feel him press against you, hot and heavy, and your breath hitches in anticipation. Regulus leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, one hand still gripping your waist.

“Please, I need you,” you whisper, pushing your hips back to encourage him.

He finally gives in, guiding himself to your entrance and pushing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch.

The way he fills you has your knees almost giving out, but Regulus’s grip on your waist holds you steady. His girth stretches your walls out further and further—the sting and burn never feeling better.

“Fuck,” he groans, stilling once he’s fully inside you, balls deep. “So tight... and you just take it so well.”

You whimper at the stretch, your body adjusting to the intrusion, and Regulus’s lips press against the back of your neck, grounding you. 

Once he’s sure you’re ready, he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, every movement deliberate and measured. His grip on you tightens, and he lets out a soft sigh of pleasure.

“God!” you gasp, as he picks up the pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His balls clap against your ass as he fucks into you harsher.

“Keep quiet,” he warns, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “You don’t want anyone to hear how desperate you sound, do you?”

You bite your lip, doing your best to muffle your moans, but Regulus’s relentless pace makes it impossible.

His hand slides up to cover your mouth, muffling your whimpers as he pounds into you harder, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.

"You're doing a good job at listening," he praises as his cock slams in and out of your tight walls, "I'm s-shocked." You bite your lip harder, eager to please him. 

Knowing Regulus, he'll stop if you disobey. You nod your head in response, and thrust your hips back into his to match his pace.

You can feel yourself getting closer, your walls clenching tightly around him, and he whimpers at the sensation, his hand sliding from your mouth to your chest, pulling you back against him as he thrusts deeper.

“Gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

You nod frantically. "Good," he growls, and he bites down on your shoulder, his pace becoming rougher, more erratic.

The wet sloshing sounds filling the room along with bated breaths and desperate moans. “Fuck, amour, squeezing me so good. pretty little pussy was made just f’me”

Cock drunk moans being the only response coming from yourlips. Fingers of one of his hands digging into the flesh of your hip, no doubt leaving bruising prints you’d be seeing for days. 

The other creeping around your throat, squeezing briefly before arching you back to look into those eyes you loved so much. “Reg, hah, p-please, I can’t!”.

A harsh smack against the skin of your ass making you gasp. “Now, what did I tell you about being quiet?”

Your eyes roll back, walls of your cunt starting to spam as you feel that beautiful high creeping upon you. “Can’t hold, fuck."

His slender fingers toy with your clit bringing you closer, jaw slack with a desperate cry of his name. 

 “Merlin, you squeeze my cock so good, shit, gonna stuff you full of my cum so you’ll belong to no one other than me!” 

Whines leave your throat at the rough thrusts, tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix.  “I’ll fuck this cunt as many times as it takes, as many times I need to to make sure you’re no one else’s”.

You’re filled with the burning feeling of the thick ropes of his cum emptying deep within you, flooding your womb with the intention of his seed doing its job, leaving you whining for more.

“You feel so good.”

Emptiness taking over as he pulls out, still twitching at the sight of his cum slowly trailing down your thighs. 

Regulus’s hands found your waist with a firm, almost desperate grip. He spun you around to face him fully, his touch careful but commanding. 

He pulled your panties upwards and smoothed the hem of your skirt, adjusting it with an almost ridiculous kind of precision for someone who had just fucked you like that. 

Then, more gently, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as if to ground himself. “Look at me,” he murmured, voice low but steady.

You did, your eyes wide and breath shallow.

He held your gaze for a long beat before the tension cracked just slightly. “Are you alright? Was I too harsh?”

You nodded, pupils still blown wide, lips parted as you tried to steady your breath.

Your neck was littered in the proof of him—faint, blooming marks he hadn’t quite meant to leave but hadn’t resisted either.

Regulus’s hands didn’t leave you. One of them tightened at your jaw, the other resting low on your waist as he leaned in, gaze dark and unwavering.

“Use your words, baby,” he said softly, but it wasn’t a suggestion.

Your voice came quiet, a little shaky. “I’m good. Just… not sure I can walk.”

That pulled a laugh from him. Real and unguarded. It burst from his chest before he could stop it, low and warm, his head tipping slightly as he smiled at you.

And you just stared.

Because it wasn’t often that Regulus Black laughed. 

And you couldn’t look away.

Your chest ached in the sweetest way.

You loved him. You had, maybe, for far longer than you’d ever dared to admit. But now, standing here, with his hands still on your skin and his laughter blooming like a promise between you, it was impossible to ignore.

He looked back at you, eyes soft, still shining with something that made your heart stutter.

And you knew. There was no one else you would ever want like this.

His eyes searched yours like he still didn’t quite believe this was real, like he might wake up if he blinked too long.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, voice low and rough, “for as long as I can remember.”

You blinked, a startled laugh slipping from your lips. You tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

“You know,” you said, breath still shaky, “Remus might actually kill you for this.”

Regulus shrugged, a faint smile pulling at his lips, equal parts challenge and surrender. “Merlin, don’t even mention it.”

Your grin widened, eyes gleaming now. “Well,” you murmured, as if tasting the words before you committed to them, “our brothers are dating.”

His brows twitched, and for a moment, something almost vulnerable crossed his face. His voice was quieter this time, uncertain around the edges.

“Should we?”

The question hung in the space between your mouths, half-ridiculous, half-serious.

His voice was a whisper, raw with meaning and years of silent longing. “Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime, Y/n, since I was eleven.”

A soft, joyful laugh escaped your lips, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart.

“I love you, Regulus, since I was eleven too.” you breathed, your voice trembling with the truth of it.

Without a pause, he drew you close again, his kiss slow and reverent, as if trying to memorize every part of you.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, the depth of his love echoing in every word.

Unbeknownst to you and Regulus, not far away Sirius and Remus were sharing a quiet moment, their voices low but filled with laughter.

Sirius was clapping Barty on the shoulder, his eyes bright with mischief and satisfaction.

“Thanks for stepping in, Junior,” Sirius said with a grin. “I don’t think we could’ve gotten through to them without a little… persuasion.”

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “It was about time someone shook things up. Watching them circle each other like that was honestly painful.”

Remus sighed, then added proudly, “I’m sure he pulled her aside to talk things out. Maturely! Like the reasonable Black he is.”

Sirius snorted. “Right. I’m very sure he’s handling this like a Black.”

Remus froze. His eyes widened slowly as something unpleasant dawned on him. “You don’t think they would—”

“Oh, that’s exactly how we talked our feelings out, remember?” Sirius grinned, smug and absolutely no help at all.

Remus looked positively horrified and about to pass out. “Merlin. No. No, no—she’s my sister—”

Barty was already wheezing with laughter, doubled over on the bench. “Come on, Lupin. He’s a Black. What did you expect?”

Remus suddenly stood, eyes wide with dawning horror. “Oh no. No. I need to find them.”

He was already striding down the corridor, muttering about protective charms and locking spells, while Sirius and Barty doubled over behind him—laughing, breathless, as their plan succeeded just a little too well for Remus’ peace of mind.

Somewhere behind the walls and winding corridors, two people were finally finding their way to each other, none the wiser to the gentle push that had set it all in motion.

[suliigwp]

SO WE CAN—MEDDLE ABOUT

Oscar Piastri x Reader | Angst, nsfw

SULI: one thing about me is i love writing toxic relationships, uts my guilty pleasure and don't look at me that way, you still read it, and almost every time oscar is my victim🤌 also how do you like the new look? finally figured out how to get custom colors, i really like it (also im obsessed with this color) (also yes this Is inspired by oscar starting his modeling career) it has a long intro but it's worth it besties

SUMMARY: she's the chaos he can't stop chasing. inspired by the song "meddle about" by chase atlantic.

WORD COUNT: 7,437 (i know i'm unwell)

WARNINGS: toxic situationship, swearing, smoking, talk of past abusive relationship on readers side(not physically it's just mentioned), sexual scenes (switch!oscar but mostly sub, oral, unprotected sex (don't be stupid wrap it before you tap it))

The bass was low — not loud, but thick enough to crawl under your skin, the kind of beat that pulsed at the base of your spine and made your glass tremble just slightly where it rested against the slick marble bar.

It was too late, too quiet, too intimate in that penthouse suite. The city glittered outside the windows, distant and uncaring. Inside, the air was laced with expensive perfume, lazy conversation, and something unspoken.

You shouldn’t have been there.

But then again, neither should he.

You felt it before you saw him — that pull. Like the room shifted ever so slightly to accommodate him. The hairs on your neck rose, sharp and alert, trained to recognize his presence even after everything. Especially after everything.

You turned.

And there he was.

Oscar fucking Piastri.

He was leaning against the opposite side of the bar like he hadn’t ruined you in a hotel room a month ago and vanished like he hadn’t kissed your throat like it meant something.

Black dress shirt, sleeves casually pushed up to his elbows, a few buttons undone — enough to expose the sharp line of his collarbone. He looked clean, but not untouched. Eyes dark. Jaw tight.

He was looking right at you. eyes on you like he hadn’t almost just thrown a career out the window for you a month ago.

Like you were inevitable.

You scoffed under your breath and turned away, lifting your glass again.

“Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to show up,” you muttered, not sparing him a glance.

There was a pause. A single, loaded second. Then his voice — quiet, clipped, familiar in a way that ached like bruises you didn’t want to check for.

“Didn’t think you’d be here either.

But then again… you’ve never been great at staying gone.”

You rolled your eyes and raised your drink in a lazy, mocking toast.

“Aw. Still bitter I didn’t stay for breakfast?”

He moved before the glass even reached your lips — smooth, silent, suddenly beside you, like your proximity was inevitable. The smell of his cologne hit you first. Clean. Sharp. Too precise for someone who had once kissed you like he couldn’t get close enough, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to memorize you.

“Still pretending it didn’t mean anything?” he said, voice low. Just for you.

You smiled without warmth. Didn’t even look at him.

“Still pretending you didn’t like it?”

You felt it — that tiny flicker in his jaw. A twitch. Nothing most people would notice. But you did.

You always noticed.

“You're switching up now? You said no strings,” he bit out.

“And you said just once.”

Finally, you turned to him. Met his eyes.

They didn’t look away. Neither did yours.

Seconds passed. The silence stretched and settled between you like smoke curling off a lit match.

“You look good,” he said eventually. Voice quieter this time. Like a truth slipping out against his will.

You tilted your head, letting your lips curl.

“And you look like you’re still trying to convince yourself I was a mistake.”

“You were.”

It was meant to hurt. And it almost did.

You smiled instead — something sharp and dangerous.

“So why are you still staring at my mouth like that, pretty boy?”

That shut him up.

His tongue slid slow across his bottom lip, gaze falling for half a second — exactly where you knew it would.

You stepped in just slightly. Enough for the tension to thicken. Still not touching.

“You came here to forget me?” you whispered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I came here to remind myself.”

“Of what?”

“Why I shouldn’t want you.”

Your smile turned crueler. Prettier.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But you could feel it.

That barely contained thing between you — want, resentment, need.

Like both of you were daring the other to break first.

You leaned in, close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest, slow and deliberate as you grabbed your clutch from the bar.

“You still play pretend real well,” you said, softly, as you turned your back to him. “But I see right through you.”

You didn’t wait for a response.

You walked away — hips swaying, heels sharp on the marble — knowing he was still standing there, eyes burning into your back.

...

The camera clicked like a heartbeat, fast and deliberate, and the lights pulsed hot against your skin.

You didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

You didn’t have to. Not when you were in front of a lens. You’d mastered this years ago — the art of control, of looking straight into a camera like you could ruin someone with just a glance. And you often did.

“Beautiful. Hold it—perfect. Chin up. Eyes on me—yes. That’s the one.”

You shifted slightly, jaw tilted, mouth parted just enough. Another click. Another pose. Another perfectly rehearsed expression that would end up plastered on a billboard in Milan or New York or Monaco — maybe all three.

Your stylist stepped in to adjust the collar of your oversized blazer, smoothing the silk lapel. Hair and makeup hovered nearby, watching every strand, every smudge.

But you didn’t break. You didn’t drop character.

Not until the photographer finally said, “That’s a wrap, love. You killed it.”

You let your shoulders drop slightly — the smallest release of tension — and stepped back from the set, the bright light fading behind you.

“You always make it look so easy,” one of the assistants murmured as she handed you a bottle of water.

You gave a quiet, tired smile. “It is.” Not cocky. Just true.

You pulled your phone from the dressing table as you sat down, flipping through a few texts, ignoring most of them — PR messages, another designer asking if you’d walk their show, and a photographer begging for another campaign.

And then your screen lit up.

[CALL INCOMING: N/n 🩶]

You raised an eyebrow. Lexi never called.

You swiped up. “What’s up?”

“Are you sitting down?” she said instantly, her voice practically buzzing.

You looked around. “N/n, I’m literally in full glam with a six-person team around me. Yes, I’m sitting. What happened?”

“You’re gonna love this. Or hate this. Or both.”

“N/n—”

“Oscar just signed with IMG Models.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Yeah. Like your agency. As in, the one you’re the face of. As in, your team now works with him too.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. But nope. My manager just texted. Apparently it’s part of a whole ‘new talent crossover’ thing they’re doing — more athletes, more faces, more ‘modern masculinity’ or whatever.”

You leaned back in the chair, jaw tight.

Oscar. Here. Now?

In your world? Your space? Your territory?

“Did he ask for it?” you asked quietly.

Lexi paused. “…I don’t know. But it’s official. He’s one of you now.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

You stared at your reflection in the dressing room mirror — red lipstick still flawless, eyes still sharp, hair still perfect.

And for the first time in a while, your heartbeat ticked up just slightly.

Oscar Piastri.

“Oh,” you murmured, voice cool as glass, “this should be fun.”

...

The conference room smelled like citrus water and damage control. You were still in full glam, post-campaign shoot, long legs crossed in your seat at the head of the table like you owned the place — because honestly, you kind of did.

Your manager sat beside you. IMG's brand PR sat across from you, grinning too much for it to be good news.

“So,” the PR girl started, all polished teeth and tone, “you know how the internet is. They’ve been… spiraling lately.”

You raised a perfectly shaped brow. “About?”

“You and Oscar.”

That earned a pause. Not because it surprised you — the rumors had never fully gone away. Pictures. Sightings. A few blurry shots of you leaving a hotel at the wrong hour. Someonecatching you two talking in a hallway but your face wasn't visible.

Nothing ever confirmed.

Nothing ever denied.

Just enough to keep the internet guessing.

“We haven’t commented on anything,” your manager said evenly.

“Exactly,” PR Girl chirped. “Which is perfect. It’s all so mysterious, and no one knows what’s true or what’s fake. So we figured… why not lean in?”

You blinked. “Lean in.”

“Just a little! Lightly! In a fun way! You two already broke the internet without trying. So we’re thinking… shoot together. Just one. Minimal press. Something cheeky. Like, 'Look! The rumors were silly and here we are just being hot together for fun!'”

You stared at her.

“You want us to shoot together so people stop thinking we’re involved?”

“Yes! Exactly! Like reverse psychology. Play into it so they stop believing it.”

You had to bite back a laugh.

If only she knew.

“And you think that’ll work?”

“Totally! It’ll be iconic. A moment. The whole internet will be like, 'wait, are they or aren’t they?'”

You tilted your head. Thought for a second. Then:

“And he said yes?”

The PR rep faltered. “We… haven’t asked him yet.”

You hummed, looking out the window. The LA skyline was washed in golden-hour light. It should’ve felt calm. It didn’t.

He was the last person you wanted to be in front of a camera with.

Because you knew what would happen.

The tension. The sparks. The way he’d look at you like he still remembered the way you tasted.

The way you’d look back.

You swirled the condensation on your water glass with a finger.

“I’ll do it,” you said finally, cool and unreadable, “if he does.”

“So like… if he says yes…?”

You turned back to her with a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“So Oscar,” the agent across from him said, grinning a little too brightly. “We wanted to bring something to you — low-pressure, totally optional.”

“Okay…”

“You’ve probably seen the rumors. Online. About you and Yn.”

Oscar didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Just held their gaze, neutral.

“Right.”

“Well, obviously we’ve never confirmed anything. But the buzz is still insane — the engagement, the edits, the conspiracy-level breakdowns of your paddock interactions—”

“People get bored,” he said flatly. “They’ll move on.”

“Sure, sure. But while the attention’s there, we thought… why not have fun with it?”

Oscar didn’t say anything.

So the agent leaned forward a little, hands clasped like they were pitching something harmless.

“One shoot. With her. Just something cheeky and clean — like, ‘this is all a joke, right?’ Sort of playing into it without confirming anything. Everyone wins. You look good. She looks good. The internet dies for a week. Boom.”

Oscar’s throat was dry. Not that he’d let it show.

She was here.

She was still in this building. Maybe down the hall.

He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Not since that night. Not since the afterparty where she looked at him like she wanted to bite and kiss him all at once. Not since she walked away with his name still caught between her teeth.

“She agreed to this?” he asked, voice cool.

“Only if you say yes.”

Silence.

He exhaled once. A single breath through his nose. Short.

He thought about the last time they were in front of a camera — not for work. Just someone catching them in the background of something. The grainy footage, the way her hand curled into his hoodie. The way she was laughing. The way he was looking at her like the world had quieted.

He thought about the fact she didn’t deny anything.

He thought about the fact he hadn’t, either.

Oscar shifted slightly, leaned forward.

“I’m in."

The agent blinked. “Just like that?”

He nodded once. No emotion. Like it meant nothing.

“If she’s in, I’m in.”

...

The studio was quiet when you walked in — sterile, cold, bathed in soft white lights and humming equipment. Stylists buzzed around, photographers adjusted angles, assistants clutched mood boards with references taped to the corners.

You walked like you owned the floor.

Because you did.

Outfit number one was sleek — Grey dress pants with matching shirt, Dark dirty Green leather Coat. You didn’t say a word as you stepped up to the monitor to glance at the set. The background was minimal. Industrial. Clean. Deliberate.

He was already there.

Oscar stood to the side, mid-conversation with the creative director, dressed down in all black of ysl's new collection — wide-legged trousers, a fitted white shirt with a dark blaser. Hair slightly messy like someone had styled it to look like he just rolled out of bed.

Which, to be fair, was exactly how he used to look when he was in yours.

He didn’t turn. But he felt you. The moment your heels hit the floor. His shoulders stiffened just a little — subtle — but enough. You caught it.

You always caught it.

“We’ll start with spacing,” the director said. “Some tension. Back-to-back maybe. Then we’ll play with angles, bring you closer. We’re thinking like… casual intimacy but with bite. Like you don’t trust each other but you’re obsessed.”

You smiled slightly.

“Typecasting,” you murmured.

Oscar didn’t look at you. But his mouth twitched.

The first few shots were simple.

Back-to-back. Arms crossed.

A little distance between you.

“Closer,” the photographer said. “Look at the camera.”

You obeyed. Head high. Eyes cold. You felt Oscar shift behind you, shoulder brushing yours. Heat bloomed in your spine.

“Now turn toward each other — not facing. Just slight. Like you’re mid-argument.”

You turned. So did he.

And for the first time in weeks, you were face to face.

His eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second. You noticed. You didn’t move.

“Don’t look at each other,” the assistant said quickly. “Look slightly off. More… detached.”

But neither of you listened.

“Shouldn’t have said yes to this,” you muttered under your breath.

Oscar’s voice was even lower.

“You told them you would if I did.”

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You always underestimate me.”

“You always follow me.”

He didn’t answer that.

“Alright,” the photographer said, oblivious, “now we want him behind you — just slightly. Hand on her waist. She’s leaning back like she doesn’t care.”

You turned your head slowly. Raised a brow.

Oscar’s jaw clenched. He stepped into position.

His hand found your waist.

It was nothing. Light. Professional.

But your skin remembered.

And from the way his fingers flexed — so did his.

“Relax,” you whispered, not looking at him.

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“Neither are you.”

The next few shots blurred.

Touch. No touch. Closer. Shoulder grazing chest. His breath at your ear. Your lips parted just slightly — and not for the camera.

The room was full. But it felt empty. Just you. Just him. Just the version of this moment you lived through before, without the lenses and the stage lights.

“Alright,” the director said, more excited now. “Last few. Real close.”

You turned to face him. Oscar’s eyes didn’t blink.

Your hands lifted — one at his chest. Just barely there.

“You’re good at pretending,” you murmured.

“So are you.”

“Is that what this is? Acting?”

Oscar didn’t smile. Didn’t breathe. His voice was low.

“You tell me.”

The shutter clicked.

...

You arrived just before Quali — early enough to be seen, late enough to be talked about.

McLaren staff were already buzzing around the paddock like clockwork, drivers in and out of press pens, team radios crackling in the background. And then there was you — stepping through the McLaren hospitality entrance like it was a runway.

White trousers. Cropped black top. Hair effortless. Sunglasses sharp. The lanyard around your neck glinted in the sun:

IMG MODELS — GUEST OF MCLAREN

The cameras caught you immediately.

So did the fans behind the barricades.

You paused just long enough to smile politely, wave once, let someone snap a photo of you beside the papaya-colored car parked outside the garage. Casual. Easy. The kind of effortless presence people couldn’t look away from.

Inside, the PR girl from IMG smiled like this was all going according to plan.

“We’ll do a few photos by the car, then if you’re down, maybe say hi to Lando — he’s always good with guests. You can hang back for a bit if you want, no pressure.”

“No problem,” you replied, voice calm, already scanning the garage.

Oscar wasn’t there.

You took the offered spot beside the car, one hand on the halo, your other slipping into your pocket. You smiled — just slightly — as a photographer clicked a few shots for socials.

“Can I post one?” the comms guy asked.

“Go ahead,” you said. “Tag my agency, not me.”

You walked inside a moment later — greeted warmly by a few team members, all of whom looked a little too excited, a little too rehearsed. The kind of welcome that said we’re pretending this is casual but nothing about this is casual.

That’s when Lando spotted you.

He grinned, pulled his sunglasses up, and crossed the garage.

“Well, well. What a surprise,” he said, arms open in mock drama. “We’re letting the runway elite into the garage now?”

You smirked. “Didn’t realize this place had a dress code.”

“It doesn’t,” he said, giving you a quick hug. “But you might’ve just set one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile.

“How long are you here?” he asked, leaning casually against a tire stack. “Just today?”

“Weekend. IMG wanted me to ‘soft tease’ the campaign. Whatever that means.”

“Oh, it means chaos,” Lando said, grinning. “It means half the grid is going to start pretending they’ve been fans of yours for years.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged. “I’m still recovering from seeing the unedited shots on the agency drive.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

A few team staff came over, asking politely if you’d mind taking another photo — this time with the McLaren banner. You posed effortlessly, answered one or two questions from the embedded F1 media, and slipped right back into your “guest mode” posture.

Polished. Beautiful. Untouchable.

Just like a normal celebrity.

And yet…

Every few minutes, someone stole a glance toward the entrance.

Waiting.

Oscar stepped into the McLaren garage like he always did on race weekends — focused, quiet, sleeves half-zipped, fireproof top clinging to his frame. The headset around his neck bounced gently as he walked past the engineers, nodding at a few familiar faces.

He was mid-step when he saw her.

You.

Leaning against the back wall near the monitors, sunglasses pushed to the top of your head, chatting lightly with Lando like you didn’t just make the entire internet combust by showing up. One of your hands casually held a cold drink, the other gesturing mid-sentence.

Oscar paused. Just for a second.

Barely noticeable.

But she noticed.

Of course you did.

Your gaze flicked toward him, unreadable behind perfect lashes, then back to Lando, as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

As if you hadn’t touched his waist last week like it still belonged to you.

As if his hand hadn’t lingered just long enough to hurt.

He exhaled and kept walking.

“Oscar! Can I grab you for a sec?” a staffer called. “Driver brief’s ready.”

“Be right there,” he said, slipping past the tire stack—just close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence burned.

Then—of course—the one person who had no idea what they were interrupting appeared.

“Hey hey!” chirped the McLaren content admin. Early 20s. Bright smile. Dangerous energy. “Can I get a quick photo of you two for the team page?”

Oscar froze. You blinked.

Lando visibly smirked and stepped back like he wanted no part of it.

“Just one shot!” the admin said, holding up their phone already. “The fans are gonna lose it —We’d be dumb not to.”

Oscar glanced at you. You looked at him.

Brief. Electric. Painfully awkward.

“Sure,” you said first, already adjusting your stance.

You stepped beside him, not too close, but not far enough to make it weird.

Your hands fell to your sides.

His stayed tucked into his race suit.

Then — right before the shutter clicked — you turned slightly, threw up a peace sign, and scrunched up your face in a little ironic ‘please end me’ kind of smile.

Oscar huffed out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh.

“Perfect,” the admin beamed. “Thanks, guys!”

You stepped away instantly, already reaching for your water bottle like nothing happened.

Oscar opened his mouth to say something — maybe — but before a word could come out, the speakers in the garage crackled to life.

“Green light at the end of the pit lane. Qualifying begins now.”

And just like that, he was being pulled back into the chaos — helmet in hand, engineers swarming, mechanics giving final checks.

He looked back once.

You were watching the monitors now. Calm. Still. Untouched.

...

Race day

The sun was blinding.

The crowd roared so loud it felt like the concrete shook under your heels.

And somewhere through all of it — the orange of the team uniforms, the headsets and the champagne on ice — you heard someone yell:

“He’s done it!

Piastri wins the Grand Prix!

What a drive from the Aussie!”

Your stomach dropped before your heart could catch up.

You hadn’t planned on being this close to the garage. Hadn’t planned on watching that closely. But the moment the checkered flag waved, the moment Oscar laughed across the radio, the moment his engineer shouted “That’s P1, baby!” — you couldn’t look away.

The McLaren team erupted around you.

People yelling, hugging, jumping, crying.

Then the screens changed.

His car pulled into parc fermé.

Helmet off. Eyes wild. Grinning like a boy again.

Hair messy. Sweat dripping.

And then he looked straight into the camera.

Dead center.

Through the lens. Through the monitor. Through you. Your breath caught.

Because somehow, you knew. He wasn’t just looking at the camera.

He was looking at you.

He pumped a victory fist in the air.

...

It took time — too much time — for the garage to empty.

For the cameras to pack up. For the champagne to stop flowing.

For the celebration to finally, finally fade.

But when it did, you slipped away. Quietly.

To the back corridor — the one behind the media room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed softly and no one ever bothered to look.

You leaned against the wall.

Eyes closed.

Pulse still steady from the chaos.

And then —

you heard him.

Before you could open your eyes, he was there.

Oscar’s arms slid around your waist, firm and quiet, and his face dropped into the curve of your neck like he was trying to remember how it felt to breathe.

His lips brushed the skin just below your jaw.

Not a kiss. Not quite.

But close enough.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

“Come with me,” he said, voice hoarse. Low. Wrecked.

Your breath hitched.

“Oscar—”

“At mine,” he said, softer now. Like if he said it any louder, he’d break.

You pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at him.

His face was flushed, eyes still bright with adrenaline. Hair messy. He looked exhausted. Raw. Real.

“You just won a race,” you raised a brow. “You should be celebrating.”

His hand tightened against your waist.

“I don’t want to celebrate,” he said, eyes on yours. “I want you.”

The words hit you square in the chest.

You searched his face, looked for the tell — the mask, the smirk, the dismissal.

But it wasn’t there.

Not this time.

Still, he added:

“Just tonight.”

You laughed once — sharp, soft, broken.

“It’s never just anything with us, Oscar.”

His jaw clenched. His hand moved to the side of your neck. His thumb dragged across your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

“Then lie to me,” he whispered.

“Please. Just this once.”

You stared at him for one long, aching second.

Then you nodded.

And let him lead you out the side door.

No words. No cameras. No headlines.

Just him. And you.

And every lie you both wanted so badly to believe.

...

The door slammed shut behind you.

You didn’t even get a full breath in before Oscar’s mouth was on yours — fast, desperate, no hesitation. His hands gripped your waist, tugging you forward, like he couldn’t stand another second of space between you.

“Oscar—” you gasped against his lips, but he didn’t let you finish.

He kissed you harder. Like an answer. Like a plea.

Your back hit the wall, cool paint against overheated skin, and his mouth broke from yours just long enough to breathe against your neck — hot, open-mouthed, hungry.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

“All day. The podium, the cameras—you.”

You pulled his shirt up, nails dragging along his spine, and he groaned into your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin just above your collarbone.

“You said just tonight,” you whispered, head tipped back. “You lied.”

He nodded once against your skin. Didn’t even try to deny it.

His hands slid under your top, fingers splaying across your stomach like he was relearning you.

“You’re not mine,” he said quietly. “But fuck—you feel like you are.”

Your lips found his again, fiercer now. Like punishment. Like surrender.

The jacket you wore dropped to the floor.

Shoes kicked off. His shirt peeled over his head. You didn’t remember who undressed first, only that it wasn’t fast enough.

“This means nothing,” he muttered, breath shattering across your collarbone.

“Then stop touching me like it does,” you shot back, hand tangled in his hair.

He pushed you harder against the wall.

Didn’t stop.

Your back hit the wall again, and this time, Oscar dropped to his knees.

There was no warning. No teasing. Just the sound of his breath catching as his hands pushed your pants down and his mouth followed — fast, greedy, desperate.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmured against your skin, voice so low it vibrated.

“Wearing that smug little peace sign smile in the garage like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.”

You laughed — breathless — and threaded your fingers into his hair.

“You won a race,” you whispered. “You should be celebrating.”

He looked up at you through thick lashes, lips already parted.

“I am.”

And then — nothing but tongue and teeth and heat. Wrapping his pretty mouth around you, ge dove right in, didn't bother starting slow, he knew you hated easing into it.

You gasped, legs trembling, one hand braced on the wall behind you, the other buried in his curls. He held your thighs like he was anchoring himself there, groaning low in his throat every time you shifted your hips toward his mouth. Following your movement so you rubbed on his nose, making your leg twitch.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. It was craving.

He knew every spot.

Every sound.

Every way you tried not to fall apart.

And when you did — when your knees buckled and your breath stuttered out in a broken gasp —

he pulled away just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh like it was a secret.

Then he stood.

You were still dizzy when he caught your face in his hands, forehead pressed to yours.

“You always come back to me,” he said, so quiet it hurt.

“You always let me,” you breathed.

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Mouth open, deep, messy. You could taste yourself on his lips. You didn’t care.

You pulled his sweats down and palmed him through his boxers, making him hiss between clenched teeth.

“Don’t tease,” he muttered.

“You don’t get to beg and give me rules.”

“You think I’m begging?” he growled, backing you toward the kitchen.

You hit the counter edge. He spun you around.

“Oscar.”

“Tell me you didn’t think about this,” he said, pressing against you. His hand wrapped around your throat, gentle but firm, holding you still as he rutted his hips into you.

“Tell me you didn’t imagine it every night since that fucking shoot.”

You couldn’t speak.

“That’s what I thought.” he said, his grip tightening around your throat, breath hot against your ear, hips grinding into you like he was already inside.

But then—

Your hand came up fast and hard against his chest.

“Back off.”

Oscar froze. Shocked.

Just for a second.

You turned, your eyes locked on his, and then shoved him — hard — until his back hit the opposite edge of the kitchen counter.

“You think you can keep doing this,” you said, breath heavy, mouth swollen. “Push me up against every wall like I’m yours.”

His jaw clenched. His hands twitched at his sides.

“Aren’t you?”

Your laugh was dangerous.

You stepped closer.

Slow.

Hips swaying with calculated cruelty.

“You want control so badly,” you whispered, dragging your fingers across his chest, nails scratching just enough to make his breath hitch.

“But you look so fucking pretty when you let go.”

Before he could answer, your hand wrapped around his throat — firm, unrelenting. You pushed him further back until he was pinned, head tilted up, eyes dark and wide.

“Let me hear you beg for it, Piastri.”

His throat flexed beneath your fingers.

His lips parted — breathless, stunned, wrecked.

And then he smiled. Crooked. Dangerous.

“You’re a menace.”

“You like it.”

You kissed him — teeth clashing, lips bruising — and palmed him through his boxers again, this time slower, dragging every motion out like punishment.

He swore under his breath.

Your grip on his throat didn’t loosen.

“You gonna stop me?” you asked, nipping at his lower lip.

“No,” he breathed. “Don’t.”

You dropped to your knees.

He barely got a warning before you had him in your mouth — no teasing, no hesitation. Just taking him, deep and fast, until his head dropped back and one hand tangled helplessly in your hair.

“Fuck—” he gasped, already shaking.

You pulled back just enough to speak, lips slick, eyes burning up at him.

“Look at you,” you said, voice soaked in pride. “So fucking obedient.”

“I’m not,” he rasped.

You licked the tip, slow and mean. “Liar.”

Then you took him again, hand gripping his thigh to keep him where you wanted him. He was panting now, jaw clenched, trying not to fall apart too fast — trying to pretend like he was still in control.

But he wasn’t.

Not right now.

Not when you had him like this.

And when his stomach tensed, hips twitching, that broken noise slipping out of his mouth?

You stopped.

He nearly choked.

“What the—” he started, breathless, wrecked.

You stood. Pressed your body against his. Tugged his head back down to yours.

“You don’t get to come,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “Not until I say so.”

Your hands were already on his chest when you shoved him down onto the bed.

Oscar landed with a grunt, legs falling open, hair a mess, pupils blown. He tried to sit up, but you climbed on top before he could even breathe right.

“No,” you said, voice low, steady, already tugging your shirt off. “Stay down.”

He obeyed.

Of course he did.

You straddled his thighs, nails dragging across his stomach as you leaned forward. His hands skimmed your sides, up, up—

“Off,” he said, voice rasping. “Please.”

You raised a brow.

“My bra?”

He nodded. Just once.

You let him reach. His fingers fumbled with the clasp — too eager — and when it finally slipped off, he pushed the straps down slow, eyes locked on your chest like it was the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, hands now splayed across your back, pulling you down until your breasts brushed his chest. “You’re unreal.”

“And you’re too cocky for someone about to whine into the mattress,” you smirked.

He opened his mouth — probably to deny it.

Too late.

You reached down, lined him up, and sank down in one long, slow motion that had both of you gasping.

His head hit the pillow.

His hands gripped your thighs, hard.

“Holy shit,” he choked out. “Fuck—wait—wait—”

“Nope,” you purred, rolling your hips slow. “You said you could take it.”

You didn’t give him a chance to adjust.

Didn’t let him settle.

You just moved — smooth, deliberate, pace building with each bounce of your hips, each grind of your body against his.

His hands scrambled for purchase — your waist, the sheets, your back.

But you were faster. Meaner.

You pinned them above his head.

“Hands off,” you whispered, breath hot in his ear. “Be good.”

He whined.

Oscar fucking Piastri whined.

His head twisted into the pillow, lips parted, voice caught in his throat as you rode him harder, deeper, rhythm dragging him toward the edge with no mercy.

“You look so pretty like this,” you said, licking across his jaw. “Under me. Useless.”

“I’m not—” he tried to argue, but you clenched around him and he groaned.

Back arching. Face twisting. Destroyed.

“What was that?” you teased. “Did you say something?”

He swore again. Loud this time.

“Please,” he rasped. “Let me—fuck—let me come, please—”

You tilted your head. Smiled.

“Beg better.”

“I need you,” he gasped, thighs shaking. “Please. Please, let me come. I can’t—I need to.”

You slowed your hips just slightly. Enough to make him twitch.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “Come for me.”

He did — hard, breath shattered, whole body tensing beneath you as he groaned your name like it was the only word he knew.

You didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath.

No time to recover. No pause for his body to stop shaking from the first round.

You wanted him just like this — trembling, desperate, wrecked.

And you didn’t let him get comfortable.

You shifted off him slowly, almost teasing, as he lay there, chest rising and falling in quick breaths, looking up at you like he was waiting for your next move.

His eyes were full of that cocky charm he always had, but you knew better. This wasn’t the same guy who’d walked in here all cool and confident.

He was about to get broken again.

You crawled back onto the bed, straddling his waist, and pressed your palms into his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

“Ready for round two?” you asked, voice a smooth, low command.

Oscar’s lips parted, eyes already clouded with need. He reached up as if to grab you, but you slapped his hands away.

“No touching,” you warned. “You’ve had your turn. This time, you’re mine.”

He swallowed, eyes blazing, but he nodded.

You sank back down onto him, but this time, you moved even slower, feeling every inch of him stretch you, his body reacting to yours in ways that made your head spin. His hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white, holding himself back as you ground down, circling your hips in a way that made him throb inside you.

He gasped. “Fuck… you’re gonna kill me…”

You just smiled, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, forcing him to taste himself on your lips as you rocked your hips harder, quicker.

“You’re gonna have to beg for it again,” you whispered against his lips.

Oscar’s eyes went dark, the challenge flashing in his gaze. “Don’t make me.”

You bounced on him with deliberate rhythm — slow at first, then faster. Every movement had him groaning through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut like he was fighting himself just as hard as he was holding back.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You gonna be a good boy and ask nicely?”

He shook his head — a lie.

“I don’t beg, please—,” he rasped, barely above a whisper.

So you clenched around him.

Hard.

And dragged your hips slow — torturously slow.

Oscar gasped — sharp, shaky.

You grinned.

He writhed beneath you, chest heaving, fingers clawing the sheets like they could save him. You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look up at you, all flushed and wrecked and undone.

“Come on,” you said sweetly. “You know the words.”

He blinked up at you, lips trembling.

And then—

“Please,” he breathed. “Please, let me come. I can’t take it—fuck—I need to, I swear—”

You moved harder.

“More.”

“Please, let me come—please, I’ve been good, I’ll do anything, just—fuck—please, please, I’ll say it, I’ll say anything—just let me come inside you, I need to, I can’t—please.”

It came out ragged. Broken. Honest.

Oscar Piastri: Begging. Whining. Falling apart.

For you.

You leaned down, mouth at his throat, licking the salt of his desperation.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Good fucking boy.”

And then you gave it to him — fast, hard, rough — watching his face twist in relief and ruin as he came with a choked groan, your name all tangled in it.

He’s lying flat on his back, ruined.

His hair’s a mess — curls flattened in some places, wild in others from where your fingers tugged.

His face is flushed pink, deepening down his neck, collarbones slick with sweat.

There’s a faint bite mark on his shoulder.

Your lipstick smudged across his jaw like a claim.

His chest rises and falls fast — like he still hasn’t caught his breath.

There’s a vein in his throat you didn’t notice before, pulsing from how hard he tried to keep it together.

His lips? Red. Kiss-bruised. Slightly parted.

His tongue keeps darting out like he’s trying to swallow down a whimper.

One of his hands is still tangled in the sheets, knuckles white. The other’s resting on your thigh, thumb twitching.

He’s bare, completely open to you, eyes glassy and dark.

And he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know what the hell just happened —

but he’d beg for it all over again.

“You look smug,” he breathes, voice wrecked, eyes dragging down your body.

“You should.”

He tries to sit up. Can’t.

Falls back, groaning.

“You’ve actually broken me.”

You lean over him, and his fingers dig into your thigh like instinct — needy and helpless and still hard.

“You’re not done,” you whisper.

“Fuck.”

...

The room was still warm with the echo of everything they'd done.

Sheets rumpled. Breathless tension slowly cooling in the air.

But your body no longer ached.

Only your chest did.

You sat on the floor, back against the bed, Oscar’s shirt draped over you — sleeves too long, hem brushing your thighs. You didn’t bother buttoning it. Your cigarette burned low between your fingers, and the wind from the open balcony kissed your face in soft intervals.

Behind you, Oscar was half-covered in the sheets, one arm folded underneath his pillow, the other reaching toward the side you’d left empty again, staring at the wall like it had answers he couldn’t ask you for.

Then—

“...You can never give anything up, can you.”

You blinked, gaze fixed on the cigarette.

“What? The smoking?” you said with a light scoff. “Yeah, I know. I’m working on it.”

He didn’t respond.

You turned your head slightly. The silence behind you stretched too long.

And when he spoke again, his voice was lower. Tired.

“Not just that,” he said. “Everything.”

You frowned.

“Oscar—”

“This tension. Us. Your grudges. Your anger. You never let go of anything.”

His voice wasn’t cruel.

But it was honest.

Too honest.

“God forbid someone tells you something you don’t want to hear—suddenly everyone’s your enemy. Suddenly you disappear. Again.”

“Oscar, drop it.”

“No,” he snapped, sitting up. “I’m the angry one this time. I’m the one upset.”

You stood, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray.

“You don’t get to pull that shit—”

“Why not?” he cut in. “Because I’m not your fucking ex?”

You froze.

He stood too. The sheet dropped from his waist, but neither of you noticed anymore. Not with how loud the silence became.

“You know why you’re like this?” he said, stepping closer. “Because of him. Because of the way he twisted you into thinking love meant control. Meant silence. That letting someone take care of you was weakness.”

Your jaw clenched.

“Stop.”

“You survived him. You fought your way out. That’s fucking strength.”

You tried to walk past him. He blocked you.

“Oscar, I swear to God—”

“But you haven’t let go of the war. You still fight everyone who tries to get close.”

His hand reached for your arm — not to hurt, not to stop — but to hold.

To say I see you.

You yanked it away.

“Let. Me. In,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Just once. Let me be gentle with you. Let me caress you.”

You snapped.

“No.”

The word hit the room like a slap.

“I don’t want soft,” you hissed. “I don’t want gentle. I don’t want to be fucking held and kissed and told it’s going to be okay like I’m some broken little thing you can glue back together.”

Oscar stared at you. Hurt blooming behind his eyes.

“That’s not what I see when I look at you.”

“No? Then what do you see?”

“Someone who’s still bleeding.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The wind picked up. The curtain fluttered.

Your breathing was uneven, lips parted, hands curled into fists.

He stepped closer again — slower this time, cautious like you were wild and wounded.

“You don’t have to be like him,” he whispered. “With me, you don’t have to control every part of the room just to feel safe.”

The worst part wasn’t that he said it.

It was that he meant it.

“Just let me try.”

That sentence.

So small. So soft.

And it ripped through your chest like a blade.

You moved. Fast.

Faster than your breath.

You grabbed your underwear from the floor, stepping into it like it burned. The hem of his shirt slipped up, exposing the bruises blooming across your thighs — his fingerprints.

Oscar flinched.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

You didn’t answer. Just reached for your pants, pulling them on inside out first, cursing, ripping them off, and shoving them on again — the right way this time. Your hands were shaking so hard it took three tries to zip the fly.

“Hey—hey, talk to me,” he said, stepping off the bed, barefoot, voice climbing. “You don’t have to go. Just—just stop for a second.”

“No.”

You grabbed your bra. Snapped it on too tight. Didn’t care.

“I need to leave.”

“You’re not thinking straight—”

“No. You’re just used to me not thinking straight.”

You reached for your top, still wearing his shirt, and that’s when he reached for you — his hand around your wrist.

“Please.” His voice broke. “Just stay.”

You yanked away so hard it left a red mark.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

“Why not?” he snapped. “Because I’m the first person who ever told you the truth? Didn't make you believe a lie and fuck you after?”

You stopped dead.

Then turned slowly.

“Fuck. You.”

“You already did,” he bit back, pulling his own boxers on.

You pulled your own shirt over your head, too fast, nearly catching the collar on your chin. His shirt was left crumpled at your feet.

“You think I’m running?”

You grabbed your bag from the chair, slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’m fleeing, Oscar. There’s a difference.”

He followed you to the door.

“Then stay. Fight. For once, don’t bolt the second it gets real.”

“And do what?”

Your fingers fumbled with your bag. “Let you sit there with your soft hands and your kind words and—what—fix me?”

“I never said you were broken.”

You spun.

Now fully dressed. Fully armored. Fully pissed.

“Then stop looking at me like I am!”

He reached for you again, slower this time, both hands hovering like he was scared to touch.

Like you might shatter if he did.

You backed away like you might burn if he didn’t.

“You don’t have to prove anything, you know,” he said, softer.

You opened the door.

Paused.

Then slammed it shut behind you.

The echo of it bounced off his bare skin.

And all that was left was the scent of you. The sound of you.

And a shirt on the floor he couldn’t bring himself to pick up.

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu @freyathehuntress @suibianupyourass make sure you can be tagged!

[seungkwanniee]

pairing : boyfriend!seventeen x gn!reader

genre : fluffff !!!

warnings : mention of food

synopsis : how they show love around people

an : felt so ispired today that I writed sm 😭

〔masterlist〕

S.COUPS 』

I think he would be always clingy even around the boys

he is not ashamed to show love at all, just a little bit laied back

and, we know seventeen, they would tease their leader so much about his

he would pout, while wrapping your waist with his arms and leaning his chin into the crack of your neck

never speaking to the boys until they stop with their teasing

eventually, he would scold them still with pouting lips

he clinges beside you when it's crowdy, always staying on the front so he can lead you and you are safe

JEONGHAN 』

this man is SHAMELESS (loved this serie btw)

don't even think he will hide his actions, he will most probably display them

maybe he would even do it on propuse, just to see you all frustrated

the boys don't even try to tease him, Jeonghan would roast them ×13 so

the type to kiss you on the lips, your forehead or play with your hair

eventually he has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leaning closer to you so he can smell your scent

JOSHUA 』

a true gentleman, so he wouldn't do nothing if you are not the type of skinship in public

but, if you are he is still so gentle about it

when you two accidentally do eyes contact, he would smile and pinch your cheeks because you are too cute for him

but he is much cuter

he is feeding you for sure, but he is so casual about it that it makes you a hundred times more confortable

observe you from afar doing nothing, he just likes to admire you

JUN 』

he is shyyy

he likes to move your hair on the side so your neck and cheek is exposed to him

he is looking at you like he want to shower you with love but he is blocked for some reasons

you look at him with a smirk when you feel his eyes on you

you'll do nothing, you want him to be bolder

when he finally find the courage he would place a quick and warm kiss on your jaw

he is blushing after this tho

HOSHI 』

soo clingy

he just looks at you and it's over, you're too cute in his eyes

scares you by suddently hugging you from the side and shaking you in his arms

or he would lower at your height squeezing your cheeks togheter

pecking your lips is a must

he would laugh a little embarassed after, especially if someone point it out

but he can't help it, he needs to do it

WONWOO 』

reserved about it but not that much

he would fix you hair even if they are pefect just to have a claim

he need to touch you but at the same time not dispaying it, leave him alone

holding your hand or squeezing your thigh under the table every single time

if you wear glasses, he is cleaning it for you

this is his love lenguage

WOOZI 』

he is really reserved about his relationship

pda isn't really a thing for him in private, so imagine in public

maybe he is putting his hand on your lower back

mostly for letting you walk, but if he is in the mood the would just do it because he wants to feel him

whispering things in your ear and thats when he slightly touches your shoulder or you arm

DOKYEOM 』

man is WHIPPED fo you, so don't even try to ask him to not touch you in public

he phiscally cannot touch you when you are near him

calling you pet names is a must

his voice goes so sweet and honey when he talks to you

his eyes and big smile tells everything that needs to be said

when he feels extra clingy, he goes so far as to kiss you on the lips

BLUSHING SO HARD AFTER that he hides his face on your neck

MINGYU 』

man is so goofy

even himself is confused about what he is doing

when he thinks he is going to hug you, he change his mind mid way and now he want to coup your face

thats only make him hit your face with his elbow

he laughs at your face holding the place where he hitted you

for excusing he kiss your forehead or near your eye

feel like he is the type to lay his head on your shoulder and listen silently your conversation

MINGHAO 』

it may seems the contrary but he is reserved about his relationship

he search for your hand, just for intertwine your pinkys

yk, they are smaller, they get less attention lol

he checks on you COSTANTLY

he almost look like a mother for how he worries for you

words are deffo his way to show love and get unnoticed at the same time

he adjustes your dress or lace your shoes or even the heels

SEUNGKWAN 』

he is stressed because he would shower you with love every second but at the same time he is awkward

he makes sure that everyone is listening when youre talking

and if someone interrupts, he is giving them a big side eye

becomes almost like the evil when someone disrespect you and would stand for you like his life depends on it

small touches are the cherry on top

maybe when youre talking he move your hair out of your face

or hold your purse for you

VERNON 』

vernon is weird (in a good way)

he doesn't even realize he should do something to show love lol

the love is inside of him and he tells you when there are just the two of you

unconsciously orders food for you because he knows you too well

or buy things for you at the vending machines even if you didn't ask because when he thinks about whay you like frist

feel like he would intertwine his arm with yours even if it's unexpected.

or take the Seunkwan habit and touch your ears every now and then

DINO 』

not shy to admit his love in public

he have 12 hyungs that will probably make fun of him? yes. He cares? absolutely not

he touches you every chance he get

if he passes you something, It is MANDATORY to let your hands touch

he gets so into you that he literally gets stuck, he can't leave his eyes from you

gets so involved in your side profile, an hand supporting his head and love escaping from his eyes

someone always gotta call him back to the real world

[matchpointfaist]

i love your work! i would love to see an art x not stereotypical beautiful girl and how the keep with the relationship even after bad external comments.

thank you <3

dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnate

stanford! art x gf! reader

tw for insecurity, angst kinda, lots of fluff to make up for it! this is short sorry

you're not the type of girl people stop to stare at, not the type people fawn over. your eyes were a little too big, your gaze a little too intense. your cheeks were always tinged with a blush, and your hair didn't fall perfectly smooth like every girl's on tv seemed to. you keep your head down, focus on school and tennis, and let that speak for itself. sometimes, even that gets talked about. hushed whispers, like people can't quite decide if you're admirable or threatening. you're not flashy. you're not what people expect when they see stanford's golden boy, art donaldson, reach for someone's hand, and find yours. the first time you actually heard someone say it, you were at a frat party art had dragged you along to. "she's cool, i guess. she's just not, yknow, art hot," you'd stood there behind the door, your solo cup clutched tight, pretending not to hear it. pretending it didn't sting.

that was three weeks ago. today, you're sitting him on the quiet steps of the campus library, half eaten breakfast sandwiches lying in your laps. he nudges your knee with his gently, "you've been quiet all day, baby," you shrug, looking away, “just thinking,” “about the match?” “no,” you shake your head, picking at the discarded sandwich to busy your hands. he doesn’t press, not at first. he's patient like that, always. finally, you say, “do you ever wonder what people think when they see us?” he glances at you, curious, “sometimes,” you nod like you expected that, because in a way, you did. “do you care?” you ask, carefully, not looking at him. he doesn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, you think maybe he won’t. “i care when it hurts you,”

you glance up to find him already watching closely, brows drawn. “i can take it,” you say too quickly, “it’s just- i'm not what they picture, art. i’m not one of the girls without a hair out of place and perfect poise,” “no,” he agrees calmly, like it's simple, “you’re better,” you laugh. not because it’s funny, but because you can’t decide if he really believes that. “i’m serious,” he says, turning fully toward you, elbow resting on his knee, “you think i want someone who’s just there for the photo ops? who flirts on the court sidelines and knows exactly what to say to a recruiter but nothing real? you think that’s what i want?” “i think that’s what everyone else thinks you want,” “i don’t play for everyone else, you know that. and i especially don't live my life for everyone else,” that silences you. he’s still looking at you, warm and steady.

“you’re the only person who doesn’t treat me like some highlight reel,” he continues, “you don’t sugarcoat things. you call me out when i need it, you ask me how i’m really feeling before a match. you come to me after and don’t care how many aces i hit, you just ask if i slept the night before, if i need anything,” his voice dips almost imperceptibly, “you see me like a person, not a product,” you swallow, your face warm. “and i see you,” he adds, “all of you. and i wouldn’t change a single thing,” you glance down, blinking away tears. when he touches your hand, it’s just a brush, gentle and testing. “i know the comments get to you,” he says, “i wish they didn’t exist. but i’ll stand next to you every time. not because i'm defending you, but because i’m choosing you. over and over, publicly, privately, loudly, quietly, doesn’t matter. you're the only girl for me,”

you exhale, long and deep, before smiling slightly. “you’re dangerously good at this boyfriend thing,” he grins, lacing your fingers together, “don’t let it go to my head,” you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the sharp sunlight on your back, the buzz of campus life just past the stairs. the world may keep whispering. but art? he never wavers, not with you.

[nightplvmes]

birthday cake

"i want to taste you," he murmured against your skin before sliding his tongue to your entrance. "it's my birthday present." ☆ sylus x fem!reader — smut, +18, MDNI! explicit content, oral sex ☆ sylus birthday special #3 | one (fluff) • two (fluff) – likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

Sylus slid into bed, his hands running up your legs to your thighs, where he placed small caresses before spread your thighs. you leaned on your elbows and looked at him confused. His party had ended almost an hour ago. you were about to clean everything up, but Sylus had stopped you, saying someone else would take care of it, so you had no choice but to go upstairs to your bedroom and flop down on the bed. you were exhausted. you'd spent the whole day running around trying to organize everything so it was perfect. even with Luke and Kieran's help, it had been exhausting. "what are you doing?"

Sylus placed a kiss on your knee and trailed a small path to your thighs. of course, you had an idea of what he was about to do. "I want to eat my birthday cake," he said nonchalantly.

you looked at him blankly. he'd eaten cake. you'd tried to figure out which cake he disliked the least so you could order it. of course, he'd eaten cake, but... you knew he wasn't talking about food the moment his fingers slid your dress up to your hips, revealing your black lace panties. he placed a kiss on the edge of your panties, you could feel the warmth of his lips and his breath hit your already heated skin. "Sy... that wasn't part of the deal." a gasp escaped your lips, but you only heard a soft mmmm from Sylus.

"do you want me to stop?" he looked up at you, but you quickly shook your head.

"no, go on." your gaze shifted to the clock on the wall of the room. "there are still 20 minutes left before your birthday is over." you didn't want to admit that you were actually already too wet to not continue, and besides, you weren't going to deny your boyfriend anything on his birthday.

he smiled before placing one last kiss on the hem of your panties and after a few seconds, his is fingers finally slid the fabric down your legs, removing your underwear. his hands lifted your dress, adjusting it around your hips for better access. a satisfied sound rumbled in his chest as he spread your thighs and took the time to place kisses along the skin of your thighs until he reached your center.

he didn't wait a single second before sinking his mouth into your core. a gasp escaped your lips the second you felt his tongue run all over your wetness. he first focused on circling your clit with his tongue, your hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more, but Sylus squeezed your hips to keep you in place and take his time. "I want to taste you," he murmured against your skin before sliding his tongue to your entrance. "it's my birthday present."

a snort escaped your lips when you heard his words because you had certainly already given him a birthday present. you'd always thought everything about Sylus was big, maybe because of his height or maybe because of the excessive exercise he sometimes did, but you confirmed it again when he slid one of his fingers inside you. It had only been one finger, and it had still been enough to make you squirm. "ah—damn... Sylus!"

heat began to build quickly in your body, and he still gently squeezed your thighs to keep you in place, tasting every part of you. you didn't know if he simply had a magic tongue, but you could never reach orgasm as quickly as he did.

"I'm going... I'm close—ah!" your back arched, and you felt him grip your thighs tightly to keep you still.

"hold on a little longer for me," he murmured, taking a deep breath before sinking his mouth back onto you, his tongue swiping over your entrance, tasting your wetness before returning to your clit. Your hips bucked against his mouth, rubbing your needy clit against his tongue.

"I can't, I can't," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling perhaps a little too hard, making him groan. you didn't even expect him to say anything; you came in his mouth without warning. Sylus savored every drop until your thighs trembled from the overstimulation. "Sy... ah!" you moaned, trying to move your hips away from him. you could swear he'd already cleaned you completely and now you were wet again.

when he looked up at you, his lips glistened with the remnants of your juices. a gasp escaped you as he ran his tongue over his lips; you could see that gleam in his eyes that told you he wasn't finished yet. "happy birthday," you murmured, gently running one of your fingers down his cheek until you reached his jaw, forcing him to raise his face towards you.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners - Part 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2k

TW: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, imprisonment, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Howdy babes! I'm back in action (and in therapy!) so the will to write is stronger than ever. I am so excited that this is becoming a mini series since I loved the whole premise I had come up with last year. Pls enjoy part 2!

Part One

Last Week

“We have a White Male in his late thirties, breaking and entering into single women’s homes.” Hotch started, he put his hands in his pockets and continued talking. “ We know he used to be homeless, or transient, because of the manner in which he is gaining access to home.”

 Derek took over. “Pickpocketing. He snags the women’s keys, makes a copy for himself, and then breaks into their houses, condos, apartments.” 

Emily gestured to the board in the front of the room. There were several images, along with a map in front of the officers. “We know this because he leaves the set of keys on the kitchen table, along with the polaroid of the woman he’s kidnapped.” 

Derek spoke up. “He’s targeting women in their late twenties, with high paying jobs. We assume this is due to some kind of grievance where he believes he was wronged, and left him feeling powerless.” 

Hotch nodded at Derek. “Think promotions of jobs, priorities, breakups, divorces—something that would make this man feel as if he is no longer fulfilling the role of the head of the household.” 

 Derek leaned against the desk. “He takes his time with them. We know this because there’s been a body a week for the past three. We are assuming that he has a new victim considering the newest body was found yesterday. And we know that he picks up a body on Monday nights, and dumps them early Friday Mornings.”

“Look through reports from tonight and this morning about anyone missing. Even if it’s just a concerned call about someone not showing up to work, we need to know about it.” Emily held her hands in front of her as she spoke to the group. She gave a brief smile to the officers looking up at her. “Thank you.” 

As the room started to clear out, Derek looked over at Spencer, who was just staring at the board, deep in thought. “Earth to Reid. Hey.” 

Reid snapped out of whatever depths of his mind he was in, and looked up at Morgan. “Sorry, sorry. What.” 

“What? That’s it? Reid you just blanked out of that entire session. What is goin’ on with you man?” 

Spencer shook his head. “Sorry I-I, I’m not really…Sorry. It’s just..”

“Just what.” 

Emily nudged Derek with her elbow. “Be nice.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and trudged away. 

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t stop thinking about the security cameras. How has he not been seen, anywhere. L-Like, for example, when he goes and makes the copies of the keys, all of the locksmiths in town have cameras everywhere because of safety reasons, right? And-and-and, even if he didn’t go there, and went to a Walmart outside of the city, or something, they all absolutely have cameras that work. So how has this guy not been seen by anyone?” 

Emily nodded while Spencer continued to rant. “And I can’t quite figure out how—” Spencer pushed out of his chair by the window and went up to the board. 

Across the center of one of the whiteboards was a timeline.. 

“It’s such a specific timeline—A-As if he can only operate on those certain days, like he’s limited to Mondays and Fridays, because part of his week is blocked off.”

“Or.” Emily chimed in, following his train of thought. “Something triggers him every weekend, like he sees her…whoever she is, every weekend. Maybe he works in a restaurant, or something.” 

“But why would she go into a restaurant where she knows he is?” 

“To taunt him?” Derek pipes up. “Bring a new man in, once a week, on a first date. Show him how much better she’s doing?” 

“And risk her safety? I don’t think so.” Emily scoffed and turned back to the board. 

Headaches have always been your least favorite part of waking up from being knocked out by chloroform. You had never been knocked out via towel and drug before, but whenever you would watch your favorite crime-related shows, you would think about how god awful that headache must be when you wake up. 

And you were right. It was a fucking bitch. 

Your vision had spots dancing across it as you let out a groan from being conscious for the first time in god knows how long. You were still in your pajamas and weren’t shivering, which meant that wherever you were, was warm enough to keep you alive. 

You tried to move your hands but found that that was over your head, chained to the wall. The chain connecting both of your wrists was pegged into the wall like you were in some old castle during the Medieval Ages. If you weren’t dying of thirst and hunger, you would have found the situation almost comical. 

Once you got used to the complete lack of sunlight, you were able to make out the rest of the room, which was decorated with splatter across the walls and floor. It was obviously not a choice in decor, and more of a mess someone wasn’t willing to clean up. There was an outline of what seemed like bars at the far end of the room, directly across from a small wooden staircase that had been built up against the wall. 

It was a cell. 

You had been stuck in a cell like one of those prisoners in Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was not as silly and fun as Disney World had made it out to be. 

You went to speak, with only a sharp intake of air, and only a cough could come out. Luckily for you, the cough had alerted whoever was upstairs that you were awake, meaning that the silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the stairs when the door opened. 

You were just hop[ping this was one of those stupid melatonin induced dreams where something bad would happen but then you would wake up and suddenly you were safe in bed. As the man’s footsteps echoed louder and louder as they trudged down the stairs, you realized you couldn’t wake up. 

“You’re up. Good.” 

Your back pressed against the wall as you recognized the voice from the man standing at the bars of the cell. 

“What. Y/n hasn’t texted you today?” JJ  elbowed Reid lightly as the two of them were sitting next to each other in the bullpen. 

Reid blinked and looked up at her. “How did you…” 

“You’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. Either you’re really trying to analyze…something, or you haven’t actually read the page and something was bugging you.”

Spencer scoffed but put the file down. 

JJ gave his shoulder a little squeeze. She was about to say something when Garcia walked into the room, eyes wide, carrying a file. “New—we have to…” 

That was all the two agents could pick out of her sentences before Garcia was in Hotch’s office. 

“No rest for the wicked.” Emily called out to the two of them as all three made their way towards the meeting room. 

Eventually the team had all gathered in the conference room and Garcia was setting up the screen. 

“There’s been another body.”

The team sighed and nodded. This killer in DC has been evading them for a whole month now, that they knew of. It was becoming increasingly frustrating since the killer wasn’t rushing, wasn’t speeding up. They were still as meticulous as before. And right on schedule, a new body was discovered. Same markings as before, handcuffs on the wrists, and a quite gruesome death. 

“Still no fingerprints?”  

Garcia sighed and nodded. “Nothing.”

“I just don’t get how someone can be so meticulous, and stick to a schedule, and then….do something like that to a person.”

Spencer sighed and looked at the map Garcia had updated for him. “At least we have a slight geological profile. He’s picking houses all over DC, but then dumping the bodies in West End and Kalorama.”

Spencer pointed to the map. “He’s literally forming a route. Look. The bodies are placed almost like a trail. This newest body just connects the rest.” 

“He’s gearing up to someone. And whoever it is probably lives and works….” Spencer looked over at Garcia. 

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. No no no no.” 

“What?” Emily looked between the two before looking over at Derek. 

“Spit it out baby girl, what’s going on.” 

“Uh…Y/n’s firm is in the West End, and she lives like a ten minute walk away in Kalorama…” She whispered. 

The whole team shifted their gaze to Spencer, who was frantically looking at all of the information over and over on the board, trying to find anything. 

“Just because she hasn’t texted you doesn;’t mean that she is the next victim of our killer guys, I mean come on. What are the odds of that.” Derek tried to talk Spencer out of whatever he had just induced for himself. 

Spencer shook his head and turned towards the team. “Who always has a strict schedule that they have to follow, even if it’s against their wishes. Court-mandated.” 

Derek was stunned into silence at the fact that Reid didn’t even bother giving him a pity statistic. 

Hotch spoke up. “She’s a lawyer right?” 

Spencer nodded. The team was not following where they were going with this. 

“Have any of her clients, or opposing councils given her grief recently? That you know of?” 

Spencer was about to shake his head but then remembered what you had told him last night. “S-She has this, uh, client, that doesn’t like the schedule he was ordered to by the court. And hasn’t left her alone now...for weeks…blowing up her phone…she told me about him last night, complaining that he hasn’t stopped calling her work phone and somehow even got her personal number…” 

“So you talked to her last night.” Derek crossed his arms. 

“She texted me saying she made it home b-because she fell asleep at her office and walked home…at two in the morning...” 

Hotch nodded and stood up. “We’re going to head down to the main station, and bring all new information with us. Clear?”

“I already sent it over to them electronically sir.” Garcia piped up. 

Hotch nodded. Everyone exited the room, but Hotch and Reid stayed back. When the last person had left, Hotch closed the door and looked at Reid. 

“I’m not going to tell you to sit this out. I know you, and I’d rather have you focused on the task at hand with us than trying to do your own investigating.You have emotional stakes in this Reid. And you know how that clouds judgment. Every single decision you make, you run by me. Clear?” 

Reid set his jaw and exhaled, but agreed to Hotch’s request. There would be more room for arguing when you were found safe and sound. 

Reid’s silence continued throughout the next twenty minutes and then in the car on the way to the station as well. Every single one of the agents could tell this case was going to be a lot more painful than initially believed. 

And Spencer was freaking the fuck out. All he could do was sit and stare out the window as the building passed, a sinking feeling in his gut that wherever you were, it wasn’t pretty. He just didn’t understand how he failed to miss the literal trail of bodies the killer had been leaving for you. Literal warning signs in front of you. And he let you walk home alone last night. 

It was his fault. He should have known better. 

Spencer had just found you again—he couldn’t stand to lose you a second time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Next Part

Also! Tags! It's so crazy to me that y'all actually want to be tagged in my work so I am seriously so grateful. <3

@sadroses98 @teddy-275 @teddy-275 @donttrustlove @donttrustlove

[winchesterwild78]

The PE Teacher

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mention of alcohol and death of a parent. Nothing bad.

A/N: This was an idea given to me by @jackles010378. Dean is a newly hired PE teacher at the school you teach at. He isn’t a hunter and Sammy is a lawyer. You’re a Kindergarten teacher and you take a liking to the new staff member. Does he feel the same? This will be a few chapters.

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. I don’t own the rights to any of these characters.

Does not follow the Supernatural Timeline.

Written fast and not edited well. Please overlook any errors.

Reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated.

Please don’t take my work and use it as your own or on any other platform.

Minors DNI 18+

It was late August and teachers were returning to work. You walked in with your bag in hand ready for another school year.

You were excited and a little nervous. You knew there would be so many new staff members this year.

Walking in you greeted some colleagues and then you stopped by the office to get your keys.

“Hey, Y/N, how was your summer?” Ms Smith the secretary asked. “Hey. It was great. I did a lot of reading and some relaxing. How was yours?”

“It was good. My daughter got married.” “Oh that’s exciting. I can’t wait to see the pictures.”

She smiled and handed you your keys. “Have a great day, Y/N.” I smiled and said “you too.”

I walked out of the office and headed towards my classroom. I opened the door and took a deep breath. Getting the room ready was hard and time consuming. I was ready to get started.

I heard a squeal behind me and turned to see one of my teammates coming down the hall.

“Y/N!! I missed you so much.” She dropped her stuff and hugged me. I laughed, “Me too. Are you ready for this? We have the welcome back meeting in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be there. I can’t wait to meet all the new staff. I heard the new PE teacher is a total babe.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Save me a seat.” She nodded and went into her room.

About fifteen minutes later I was sitting beside Karie and Tiffany in the welcome meeting.

Staff were coming in and greeting everyone. The new staff tried to slip in, but Karie, Tiffany and I greeted them all with a big smile and welcome.

Right before the meeting started I looked over and sitting near the door was a teacher I’d never seen before.

He was tall, bow legs, very handsome, sandy brown hair and piercing green eyes. My breath hitched.

Karie leaned over, “Y/N, I think that’s the new PE teacher.” He was talking to someone and when he laughed his head went back and he used his whole body to laugh. I couldn’t help but smile.

He looked over at me and our eyes met. A red hue filled my face and he smiled. I bit my lip.

The principal said it was time to make staff introductions. He started calling out grade levels. When he got to Kindergarten the three of us stood, introduced ourselves and Karie decided to announce that I was still single.

I looked over at the new teacher and he smirked.

Next was his turn. He stood and introduced himself, “Hi. I’m Dean Winchester and I’m the new PE teacher. I’m also still single.” He winked at me.

I wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Karie elbowed me and giggled.

Later in the day we were working in our classrooms. I had my hair in a messy bun and music playing.

As I cleaned and unpacked I sang and danced. There was a chuckle and a knock coming from my door. I spun around and saw Dean standing there.

I jumped and turned off the music. “Don’t stop on my account, sweetheart.” I chuckled, “Hey Mr Winchester. Do you need anything?”

He stepped in the room, “Dean, please call me Dean and yeah. I wanted to apologize and tell you I hope I didn’t embarrass you earlier.”

“No, Karie has a big mouth. She does this every year. Her and Tiffany are married with kids so she’s trying to marry me off.” I laughed.

“Well, at least you know she cares.” “Oh yeah, I know how much she cares.” I laughed.

“Well, Y/N, I’ll let you get back to work. You know where I am if you need anything.” I nodded, “Thank you, you too.”

The next month of school flew by. My students were doing great and loved going to PE.

The single moms and teachers took a liking to Dean. I did my best to maintain professional behavior, but damn was it hard.

Every flirt, giggle and soft touch that came Dean’s way he politely declined. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous with all the women that threw themselves at him.

It was Friday and I was working late in my room. Most of the teachers and staff had already left for the night.

I didn’t want to stay late, but I had some things I needed to take care of.

I was sitting at my desk working when I heard a knock on my door. I looked up and saw Dean. He was dressed in jeans and a dark green Henley. Damn he looked good.

“Hey Dean. I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah. I was about to head out and noticed your car was still here. You seem to be the last one here and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Oh wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. I appreciate you coming back, but you don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay.”

Dean furrowed his brow, “Nope. My mom would kick my ass if I let a woman walk in a dark parking lot alone. I don’t mind. I was just going to grab some food and a drink, so I have no plans.” He chuckled.

“Okay, well I’m almost done. I appreciate it. Thank you, Dean.” He nodded and I continued working.

God look at him. He’s normally dressed in his PE clothes, shirt and red shorts, knee high socks, sneakers and his whistle that hangs around his neck. He looks so amazing in jeans and that shirt. It fits just snug enough to show off his pecks.

I don’t realize I’m staring until I look up and we make eye contact. I cleared my throat, “Sorry.”

“No problem, darlin’. I like what I see too.”

I bit my lip and turned to pack up. Dean and I walked towards the front of the school making small talk.

He walked me to my car and I thanked him.

“Hey, Y/N. Would it be too forward if I asked you to dinner and maybe out for drinks?”

I smiled softly, “No it wouldn’t be. I’d like that very much.”

He took my hand in his, “Great, I’ll meet you at O’Malley’s.”

I nodded and climbed in my car. The whole way there, my heart hammered in my chest.

Arriving at the bar I saw Dean standing leaning against his car. It was a gorgeous, sleek, black 1967 Chevy Impala.

I got out and he pushed off his car smiling.

“Wow, Dean. Your car is beautiful.” He grinned, “Thanks. She’s my baby.”

I nodded and smiled. “Shall we?” He nodded and placed his hand on the small of my back and led me in, opening the door for me.

We took our seats and ordered food and drinks. Dean and I talked for most of the time.

I learned he had a baby brother, Sammy. Who is a lawyer and married with a little boy. He’s never been married, he loves his car, and his parents are still married.

The way his eyes lit up when he talked about his family made my heart melt. He clearly loves his family and they are a priority to him.

I told him about my family and how I lost my mother a few years ago. The pain I saw in his eyes was genuine. He softly touched my hand, “I’m so sorry about your mom. She sounded like a wonderful woman.”

His touch made me smile. As the evening progressed we slipped into comfortable conversation. At one point Dean asked me to dance.

The songs ranged from fast to slow and romantic. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he pulled my body close to his. I rested my head on his chest and I heard the steady beat of his heart.

His smell was intoxicating. Dean lifted my chin and looked in my eyes. His face leaned closer to mine.

I leaned closer and our lips ghosted against each other. When our lips connected every noise around us faded away.

The kiss was soft and then turned needy and passionate. His hands slipped up my back and into my hair, pulling me closer.

When we pulled apart our chests were rising and falling, pulling air into our lungs.

We walked off the dance floor holding hands. Dean looked at the time, “I guess we should head out. Especially since you have that thing tomorrow with Karie and Tiffany.” I nodded but I didn’t want the night to end.

We walked towards our cars and he placed a soft kiss on my lips again. “I had a really great time tonight with you.” “I did too, Dean. I’d like to see you again if you want.”

Dean stepped closer, “I’d like that very much. Good night, Y/N.” I smiled and a red hue filled my cheeks, “Good night, Dean.”

One last kiss was shared between us and I climbed in my car. As I drove away all I could think about was how it felt to kiss the PE Teacher.

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[devdozes]

Hii!! I was wondering if you could do something for Sampo or Moze with a reader who’s kind of snarky and flirty? Like they are constantly wearing a smirk and teasing? The rest is up to you :)

Okay, byeeeee 💚

(I promise I don’t have type. I don’t know what you’re talking about.)

♣So Greedy!

[a/n- im sorry, i have exams currently going on and I feel sad-ish, I'm sorry again]

The first time you meet Sampo Koski, he’s running from the guards.

Typical.

What’s less typical is that he nearly crashes into you, skidding to a stop just inches away. You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Belobog’s smoothest talker,” you muse, stepping aside just as the guards rush past, completely missing the fact that their target is standing right there. “Got yourself in trouble again?”

Sampo exhales dramatically, straightening his coat with a flourish. “Trouble is such a strong word, don’t you think? I prefer ‘mildly inconvenient circumstances.’” His eyes, bright with mischief, scan you up and down. “And who might you be, my unexpected savior?”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “A concerned citizen? A curious bystander? Someone looking for a little entertainment?” You flash him a teasing grin. “Or maybe just a humble merchant who knows a thing or two about getting out of ‘mildly inconvenient circumstances’ myself.”

His smirk widens. “Oh-ho, now that’s interesting. A fellow entrepreneur, perhaps?”

You step closer, just enough to invade his space. “Maybe. But unlike you, I don’t make it a habit of getting chased down every other day.”

Sampo places a hand over his heart, gasping in mock offense. “You wound me! I’ll have you know, every escapade is carefully planned.”

You chuckle, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his coat. “Sure it is. Let me guess, you ‘planned’ to use me as a distraction just now?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t say planned,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “More like… seized the opportunity. And I must say, what a delightful opportunity it turned out to be.”

You roll your eyes but don’t step away. “You’re lucky I find you amusing.”

“Oh? And if you didn’t?”

“I’d have tripped you.”

Sampo laughs, absolutely smitten. “Dangerous and charming—now that’s my kind of company.”

Your smirk only grows. “Careful, Koski. Flattery like that might just cost you.”

Sampo leans in ever so slightly, his voice dropping into something silkier. “Oh? And what’s the price?”

You tap his chest with a single finger, pushing him back playfully. “Haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Sampo watches you with open admiration as you saunter away, leaving him standing there, completely and utterly down bad.

The next time you cross paths, it’s in the underworld, where the air is thick with the scent of sizzling street food and flickering neon signs cast shifting colors over the damp pavement. You’re leaning against a stall, idly tossing a coin in your palm, when a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite mysterious merchant.”

You don’t even look up. “Careful, Koski. I might start thinking you’re following me.”

Sampo sidles up beside you, resting an elbow on the counter with a practiced ease. “Now, now, that would imply I wasn’t simply drawn in by fate. Or, more accurately, by the promise of some fine company.”

You finally glance his way, unimpressed. “Flirting again? You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What can I say?” He shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “I have a weakness for sharp tongues and sharper smirks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “And here I thought you had a weakness for getting into trouble.”

Sampo grins. “That too. But lucky for me, I seem to have found someone who’s both interesting and unpredictable—my two favorite things.”

You flick the coin up, catching it with ease. “Sounds like dangerous territory, Koski.”

“Danger’s never stopped me before.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Besides, I happen to like a little risk.”

Your smirk returns. “Good. Because sticking around me? That’s definitely a risk.”

Sampo watches you with that same infatuated expression, and you know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Again.

he third time, it’s you who finds him first.

You’re lounging atop a crate in the back alleys of the city, watching as Sampo haggles with a rather disgruntled supplier. His usual charm is at full power, but the supplier isn’t having any of it. You smirk, deciding to make things interesting.

Swinging your legs over the side of the crate, you call out lazily, “Aw, Koski, don’t tell me you’re losing your touch.”

Sampo startles slightly before recovering with a too-wide grin. “Ah, fancy seeing you here, my dear.” He turns to the supplier, tilting his head. “You see? Even my lovely associate is concerned for my reputation.”

You hop down from the crate, strolling over with deliberate slowness. “I’d hate to see you out-bargained, after all.”

The supplier, now thoroughly unimpressed, sighs. “Fine. You get your discount. But only because I want you gone.”

Sampo clasps a hand to his chest dramatically. “Such harsh words for a valued customer.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “And here I thought you liked it rough.”

He chokes on his own breath, nearly dropping the package he just received. You just grin.

Before he can recover, you step in closer, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his coat. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, Koski.” Your voice is a whisper, just for him.

Sampo stiffens slightly, a rare moment where words seem to escape him. His breath hitches, and for once, he doesn’t have a clever retort.

You lean in just a fraction more, your lips almost brushing his ear. “Careful now. If you keep looking at me like that, I might think you actually like me.”

His throat bobs, and finally, he exhales a breathless chuckle. “And what if I do?”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your smirk turning wicked. “Then you’re in trouble.”

Sampo lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You, my dear, are an absolute menace.”

You pat his cheek lightly before stepping back. “And yet, you keep coming back for more.”

Sampo stares at you for a long moment before sighing, utterly and completely smitten. “I really do.”

The next time you see Sampo, the stakes are a little higher.

You’re leaning against the rusted frame of an abandoned market stall, arms crossed, watching as Sampo shuffles a handful of documents between his fingers. It’s late—too late for anyone honest to be out in these back alleys—but then again, neither of you have ever been known for playing by the rules.

“You sure about this?” you ask, arching a brow.

Sampo flashes you his usual grin, though this time, it’s edged with something sharper. “Come on now, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

You hum, pretending to think. “Several, actually.”

He clutches his chest in mock pain. “Ouch. And here I thought we had something special.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” You step closer, plucking one of the documents from his hand with a lazy smirk. “What’s so important that you had to drag me into it?”

Sampo’s smile doesn’t waver, but you notice the way his fingers tighten around the remaining papers. “Just a little... business arrangement. I could use a second pair of sharp eyes.”

You hold the document up to the dim light, scanning over the fine print. The more you read, the more your smirk fades. “You’re playing with fire, Koski.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He leans in, voice dropping to something lower, silkier. “Besides, I happen to have a very capable partner keeping me on my toes.”

You tilt your head, studying him. He’s close—closer than usual. The easy charm in his expression is still there, but there’s something else behind it. Anticipation. Challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, you step into his space, your breath ghosting against his cheek. “Oh, Sampo,” you murmur, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. “Are you really getting yourself into trouble just to keep me interested?”

His breath hitches for just a second—barely noticeable, but you catch it. His hand hovers near your waist, hesitant, like he’s debating whether to close the gap.

You grin. “Adorable.”

And just like that, you snatch the rest of the papers from his grip and step back, leaving him flustered and blinking.

“Wha—? Hey, now, that’s just unfair—”

“You’ll live.” You skim through the documents again before slipping them into your coat. “I’ll take a closer look at these. If this whole scheme of yours is as stupid as I think it is, you owe me dinner.”

Sampo recovers quickly, his smirk returning full force. “Oh? And if it’s genius?”

You wink. “Then I still get dinner. But you’re paying.”

He watches you turn and walk off, and you can feel his gaze lingering long after you’ve disappeared into the night.

Yeah. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

hope u liked it gang @froggy2d

[mae-gi-writes]

for the love of dragons . t. scamander (fourth wing)

You've been crushing on your friend Ren for years, that you barely have time to think about other boys. One of them is Theseus Scamander.

Fourth Wing meets Fantastic Beasts. For those who don’t know, Fourth Wing is a story about dragon riders.

———

“You should tell him.”

Your head dropped into your arms with a sigh. It was the last class of the day and your brain was fried from constantly having to rush around and cram all kinds of information from various subjects. But it had been a good distraction from the echoing pain in your heart every time you thought of a certain someone.

“It’s too late,” you grumbled against your elbow, “he’s happy. I don’t want to ruin it for him.”

“Y/N, you’re going to regret it if you don’t tell him,” your friend, Kiki, said with a seriousness that made you shiver. You clasped your hands tighter around your frame in response, eyes cutting over to the familiar mop of brown hair that you knew off by heart even with your eyes closed.

“There’s nothing I can do,” you replied with a resigned sigh, “let him be, if he’s happy. Anyway, who knows whether I’ll be alive until graduation?”

“You will.”

“Shut up.” You snapped at your dragon, glad that you were the only one that could hear him. Each dragon rider cadet had to go through a test called Threshing, whereby Dragons would come and choose their rider. That, or kill them. You considered yourself lucky that not one of them wished to burn you alive. It was a good start.

Your dragon was a glittering turquoise in the sky, with eyes so red that you cowered back the first time you saw them up close. His name was Egir and while he wasn’t the strongest or the biggest of dragons in the entire Cadet form, you didn’t mind it in the least. On the contrary, he was small but aggressive, lean but quick in his movements, like lightning reincarnated.

“I don’t understand why you like this stupid human cadet. You humans are weird.”

“No one asked for your opinion, big boy.”

“I don’t think I need to ask for your permission, human.”

“Don’t you have goats to chase, by any chance?”

“I’ve happily fed on my portion this morning. Any more and I might throw up,” he huffs.

But not even Egir’s distraction was enough to lighten your spirits. Your mood dropped even lower when you made it to the flight field and spotted him by his own dragon, a beautiful maroon with silver eyes, as he conversed with one of the guys from your Squad.

He turned upon noticing your figure lingering at the edge of his vision, “Y/N,” his lips tugged into a smile, “you okay? You’re looking a bit green in the face.”

“Hey Ren,” you tried for a smile, though you were certain it came out more like a grimace, “I’m fine, just worried about today’s flight.”

“You just gotta hold on a little tighter. Maybe muscle up those legs of yours,” he grinned teasingly, “you free later? Maybe we could spar a little.”

“That won’t be necessary,” another voice swooped in, deep and rough like chocolate, with a twinge of a British accent that sent your nerves rattling every single time.

You turned just in time to spot your Squad Leader striding past you, his black uniform looking devastatingly handsome on his tall figure and if you hadn't known better, you would've drooled at the sight. Because Theseus Scamander was far from someone you could ignore, even if you wanted to.

"You're with me on Mat after the flight," he stopped right in front you, his lips curled at the corners into what seemed to be an amused smirk. One that you wished you could wipe off his face with a fast, "so don't be late. And don't break anything."

"I don't need your help, Scamander--" you all but snarled but he cut you off with a hand and a shake of his head.

"If you want to complain, go talk to Eugene," at the mention of your Wing Leader, your protests dawdle into mutters. You knew there was no escaping Eugene's orders, especially since he was your Wing Leader and had the final say on anything concerning your upcoming performance in the Squad Battle.

"Well," Ren tilted his head towards you with a sympathetic smile, "good luck for the flight. I'm sure you'll do amazing. I saw your performance last time and had to say, I was impressed."

It took all your self-control to stop yourself from swooning, and as you breathlessly answered with, "thanks Ren," you wished to smack yourself with a metal pole because that definitely came out like a desperate whine rather than just a way to say goodbye.

Did you really have to sound that pathetic? And why in the world couldn't you just speak to him like any normal human? You felt like you were fifteen again and had a schoolgirl crush on the campus hottie, and it wasn't entertaining in the slightest.

A familiar tingle trickled through your nape and you turned around with a resigned sigh, met by a warm breath against your face. Egir.

"human," Egir's golden orbs blinked down at you. He seemed much more at ease this morning in comparison to how you'd met him in Threshing. Then again, a few cadets had pissed him off during that time, so you couldn't really blame him.

"Someone seems to be in a good mood today," you muse as you start your journey up his hind leg. He's not as big as the other dragons, but that does nothing to help against your cause, considering your tiny size and the fact that you're as light as a feather.

"And you are not. Seems to me that the scrawny brown-haired is the reason."

"His name is Ren, and no, you're not allowed to blast him off just because you feel like it."

"Because you think you can tell me what I can and cannot do?" there was a soft chortle, "dragons have rules of their own, human. We do not live by yours."

You made it up between his shoulder blades and settle your thighs along the back of his neck, trying not to roll your eyes at his words, "yeah yeah I heard you the first time. Dragon world and all that shit."

Your hands found purchase along his gleaming turquoise scales that reflected the light as though beneath you stood the ocean waves, a color so vibrant and beautiful that you wondered how on earth he kept it hidden in times of need.

"Use your thighs."

Your head snapped down towards the voice, a growl dying in your throat at the Squad Leader who seemed all too keen to be keeping an eye on you, his arms crossed and looking satisfied with himself.

"Piss off Scamander," you bit out.

He merely chuckled, taking a step closer as you spoke to Egir, "why don't you incinerate him instead?"

"Why should I?" Egir responds, "he doesn't bother me."

"I'm stating a fact," his blue eyes scanned your finger, lingering along the back of your legs and the way your arms wound tight around your dragon for support. "You're useless," you snapped at Egir, "you know that right?"

"Not to be that guy, but you fell off your dragon more than ten times during the last Flight session," Theseus continued, blissfully unaware of the mental war you were having with your dragon to blow him into a pit of fire. He took another step closer and you fumed at the way Egir just allowed him. If this were any other rider, your dragon would already be demonstrating its fire-breathing skills. But no, not Theseus. Never Theseus, despite how much he pissed you off and made you wish you could push him off his own dragon.

On the contrary, Egir seemed to have taken a liking to him.

"Because he's honest." Egir told you, his thoughts echoing inside your head without warning.

"And if I were honest, I'd be burnt to ash."

"Good then. Anything else I should know about before I fly, oh dear Squad Leader?" you rolled your eyes. Didn't he have better things to do than torment you all day long? It seemed to be his personal mission to make you his target.

"Yeah. Stop telling your dragon to burn me to death. You and I both know that he likes me."

"How would you know that?"

"Because otherwise I wouldn't be standing that close to him," Theseus grinned.

"Well, the human boy has a point," Egir shifted, blowing more steam out of his nose as he blinked at Theseus slowly, in a posture so relaxed you felt like slapping him at the back of his head, "if he were anyone else I'd gladly incinerate them."

"What if I want you to incinerate him?" You ask Egir before focusing on Theseus, "just go find your little fan club or something. You're being a nuisance."

"Alright. Whatever you say princess," And with one last smirk, the auburn-haired Squad leader walked away, but not without looking fully satisfied with himself. Once again, you trembled at the thought of stabbing into his rib with one of your daggers. Maybe that would put him out for enough time that you'd get to graduate before he'd healed.

Oh but who were you kidding? Theseus Scamander was one of the most skilled fighters that had ever graced the grounds of Navarre, and you definitely had a lot to learn when it came to him.

Because as stubborn as you were, even you couldn't deny the fact that he was indeed, a warrior born from the heart.

"Cadets! Are we ready?" Your professor called from his dragon.

You shifted your grip, adjusting your legs to make yourself more comfortable as Egir rose to his full height in preparation of the flight.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded, "just don't let me fall." Before you added a soft, "please."

There was a pause.

"I won't."

With that, you closed your eyes and tried to obliterate every thought of the said auburn-haired young man out of your mind.

-----

"Why aren't you using your legs?"

You were a huffing and puffing mess underneath Theseus' hold, "I--" you gasped out, feeling the pain from his knee pressing into your abdomen, "--I can't."

"C'mon Y/N," his grip was made of iron, he had you caged against the mat like this was child's play to him. It was more than a little infuriating, "use your thighs. Grab onto me. C'mon."

"I--I really can't Theseus," tears sprung at the corner of your eyes in humiliation and he drew back at that, straightening up as you collapsed in a tired and angry heap onto the mat.

"What have you been doing all these weeks?" his voice was stern as he stood above you, hands on his hips and looking twice as irritated as he was a few minutes ago, "who have you been battling with?"

"Kiki," you breathe out, trying your best to regain your sanity before slowly rolling over and sitting up. You pushed your hair out of your face, wincing when pain burnt the side of your abdomen, "and sometimes Ren."

He made a sound of annoyance, "Kiki's too weak for you. And Ren'll go easy on you," he waited as you stood up shakily before gathering his daggers and sheathing them back into their places by his ribs and his thighs, "from now on, you'll be training with me or Eugene."

"And who decided that?" You crossed your arms over your chest. Jesus, even that slight action had you trembling with effort.

"Eugene did," Theseus raised a brow, "now if you're done complaining, do it again. Rob me of my knives."

He wasn't going to let you off that easily. That was clear.

So you had no choice but to brace your knees against the mat, eyes scanning his figure for a second, before launching at him with a kick.

He evaded it with ease, side-stepping as you turned around and dropped another round-house kick to his face. He ducked, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the ground.

You stumbled, regaining your footing just in time to see his fist come at you and quickly moved your head to the side, swiveling and using that momentum to rip the dagger hiding in his rib.

Dropping it to the ground with a satisfied klunk, you saw the ghost of a smirk on Theseus's face, "not bad," he mused.

You braced yourself into position one more time, and quickly dove to the ground for his thigh. But he was quicker, grabbing you by the mid-section before toppling you over so that your spine hit the mat.

Your arms flailed, grabbing hold of whatever you could of his arms or neck, but Theseus's thighs locked you in place, pinned you down as his arms flew up to cage in your hands above your head.

He was panting slightly, a lock of auburn-hair falling into his face as he looked down at you in satisfaction. His blue-green eyes glimmered with mirth as you gazed up at him with growing humiliation.

"One," he cocked his head, "one dagger. That's barely enough, Y/N."

"he's right, little human."

"I know that," you snapped back at both of them, anger simmering in your stomach. You tried to move out of his grip, to no avail. He only held on tighter, leaning in close so that if you lifted your head, your nose would brush his.

That was when you did the mistake of glancing at his mouth.

It was parted, little breaths coming out as he gazed back down at you. For a minute, everything ceased to exist as Theseus's warmth wrapped around you.

You felt him everywhere; his thighs along yours, his chest so close to your own, and the firm grip of his hands along your wrists.

Your eyes flew up to his aquamarine ones impulsively, only to let out a breath at what you found there.

For his gaze had darkened and his eyes swirled with an emotion you couldn't quite put your finger on. It was almost as though he was looking at you like--

--like he wanted to kiss you.

That thought was enough for you to squeak out, "let go, Scamander."

For once, he did as told and you felt hot all over, your body singed in the places he'd touched you. Your heart was fluttering like a hummingbird and you quickly took a few steps back, as if the bleak coldness traipsing through the training area would help you calm your nerves.

"Tomorrow before breakfast. We'll work on your technique," Theseus didn't even bother to check if you were okay before he walked away without a second glance, and you couldn't resist flipping him a finger as he retreated.

"should've done that to his face, little human."

"no, he'd beat my ass."

"ah, a coward I see."

"no, it's called being smart about who I want to fight with."

You swore you heard Egir laugh in your mind.

------

Everything hurt.

From the moment Theseus Scamander had made you his responsibility, you spent every waking hour outside of class sparring with either him or Eugene. The latter, who had indeed confirmed that you needed more training, had taken it upon himself to get Theseus to beat your ass as much as you needed to until there was some improvement.

"I'm not letting you be a burden for the Squad Games, Y/N," Eugene said in response to your complaints about Theseus's harsh treatment, "so man up and focus on your training. We only have a few weeks left."

"he's not wrong," Egir had stated in your mind, causing you to snap at him, "mind your own goddamn sheep business, Egir."

Truth to be told, you had seen some minimal improvement over the course of the week. Physically anyway. Your arms didn't look like twigs that could snap off at any moment and your thighs felt harder, stronger somehow. Even Kiki had noticed when you'd sat down atop her bed last night as you guys discussed the notes from classes that day.

"What has Scamander gotten you on, Y/N? I've never seen someone gain that much muscle in a small amount of time," Kiki openly stared at the muscles forming in your biceps whenever you moved to take notes.

You shrugged, wincing when the movement caused a sting between your shoulder blades where the said young man had indeed pressed his knee against to keep you down during training, "he's bullying me."

You didn't want to sound petty, but he was bullying you! Every muscle, every movement made hurt like hell and your body was so decorated in bruises one might think you'd just come out of battle.

“Well I’d let him bully me all the time if he were to pin me down on that mat,” Kiki wriggled her brows suggestively, “who wouldn’t?”

“You’re gross,” you wrinkled your nose at her and she laughed before replying, “do you know many girls would kill to be in your place?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to be in mine.”

“And those thighs, have you seen?” Kiki let out a loud sigh, “I’d love to have them pinning me down—“

That was when you threw a pillow at her face, “you are disgusting.”

In truth, you had gotten to know all about Theseus’s little fangirl club from the moment he’d started popping up wherever you went. Because wherever he was, his groupies followed. And annoyingly so, they’d always find excuses to gush about him as though he was a god walking amongst mere humans on earth when he was nothing more than a pretty boy.

But there was no denying that he was doing his job right. So you couldn’t fault him for that, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, it seemed as though Ren and his newly appointed girlfriend were making it their mission to annoy the hell out of you. That included always popping up at the most random times and causing you to grit your teeth whenever they got all lovey dovey with each other.

"What's up with all that extra training?" Ren asked you once as you were removing your fighting gloves and zipping up your winter jacket. The cold had seeped through the walls of the Training room and it didn't help that you had to cross over the courtyard to get to the warmth of your dorm.

You shrugged, "god knows. Something about me holding them back if I'm not at my full potential."

"Well, tell him to go easy on you," Ren's fingers were suddenly at your cheeks and he brushed over the fading, yellowish bruise at the corner of your eye.

Your cheeks tinged with pink and you quickly brushed him away, "it's fine. Nothing I can't handle," you muttered.

Ren was gazing down at you, a mxiture of worry and concern flitting across his face, "he's not...hurting you, is he?" he asked quietly.

"What?" You snorted, "no! Not at all. This is all part of training, I--" you hesitated slightly, unsure whether you wanted to continue this train of thought. Ah, fuck it, "I'm actually happy he's being harsh with me. I think it helps."

"You'll tell me if he does anything out of line, right?"

"He won't do that."

Ren's eyes reflected the distrust in your Squad Leader, but you stared down your best friend with a hard, firm gaze. Tension seeped through the cracks and for a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, wary of each other. That was, before a voice pierced through the gym:

"Ren!"

A figure threw themselves at Ren, breaking the spell and causing you to quickly shake off the negative feelings on the matter. He was just looking out for you, like you would for him if the situation was reversed. There was no need to be defensive, especially not when Theseus Scamander was concerned.

"I missed you," his girlfriend was whining at him, arms latched around his neck and hanging on like a baby koala. She turned, as if only now noticing your presence, before sending you a quick smile, "hello there," she chirped, "I'm Ariel. I think we haven't met before."

"No," but you knew all about her, "no we haven't. I'm Y/N."

"nice to meet you! I didn't know Ren had so many good friends here. It's good to be surrounded and allied," she lowered her voice then, green eyes twinkling with mirth, "you never know what might happen."

"No," you swallowed thickly, "no you don't."

Excusing yourself so that you wouldn't have to suffer some more through their interaction, you quickly slipped out of the Gym and made it to your dorm just in time to catch your tears along your sweater.

It hurt to think of Ren being happy with someone else. It hurt even more to think of her in his arms. He'd be the one comforting her every night, he'd be the one kissing her tears away and staying at her side whenever she needed it.

A part of you wished you had told him. Maybe the outcome would've been different if you had taken the courage to confess before Ariel had. But the way Ren looked at her, it was impossible not to notice how whipped he was. So you confessing wouldn't have made a difference.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, holding one of your daggers so tightly in your palm it cut through skin.

------

“Five daggers,” Theseus noted as he pinned you to the ground, straddling your waist before a wicked grin blossomed over his face, “getting better.”

“Get off me,” you grumbled, shoving him away and glowering when he merely laughed at your expense.

It was another day at the Training Gym, another day of your Squad leader kicking your ass as though it was his personal hobby to do so.

“You’re using too much power in your hits,” he stated while watching you pick up the scattered blades over the floor. On the other side you could spot Kiki holding another guy in a headlock.

Typical. She clearly didn’t need any help to defend herself on the mat.

A whack along the back of your head made you yelp. You swiveled with narrowed eyes, a scowl already in sight as Theseus crossed his arms over his chest and regarded you in amusement.

“Did you hear what I said?” He asked.

“No,” you replied bluntly. No use in lying.

He sighed, raking a hand through his auburn curls, “you’re not going to win the Squad Games at this rate.”

“What am I doing wrong now?”

“First, you should hit with your entire arm. Not just your elbow,” he took a step closer, motioning for you to get into your fighting stance. Then, his hands found their way to your forearms to adjust your position, “and use these elbows. They’re not here for nothing.”

“Yes mother.” You rolled your eyes.

He moved around, his leg nudging yours open slightly. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back and suddenly, goosebumps rose along your neck.

“Bend your knees a little. You’re small, but that means you can be swift. Use the ground to your advantage,” his hands gripped your hips then, causing a soft gasp to fall from your lips, before he maneuvered you into a lower angle.

His palms were warm. And big along your middle, so huge that they could encompass your entire waist. Your body tingled, suddenly on full nerves as you held your breath.

Theseus was close. Too close. You should probably tell him off about crossing boundaries.

But.

His breaths along your nape made you shiver. From this proximity you could smell him: the scent of warm grass under batch sunlight, of fresh lime and something smokier, one you couldn’t quite discern.

He smelled good.

“—got it?”

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise, noting how close he was. There were freckles adorning his face, and your eyes couldn't restrain themselves from gracing over his features only to lock on his own aquamarine blue ones.

Your heart fluttered. Why was he so close?

Why wasn't he moving away?

You didn't realize that you weren't breathing, until the said man let out a soft, staggered breath and looked away. Only then did you inhale sharply, forcing your features into a neutral mask of indifference before you took a step back.

"We're done," his jaw worked. You spotted the muscles moving and supposed he was grinding his teeth, "see you tomorrow. Same time."

And before you had the chance to say anything else, he was walking away, leaving you in the middle of a pool of your own sweat as you stared at his retreating back and wondered what the fuck had just happened.

------

"You have taken a liking to him."

You scowled at the back of Egir's head. A few days had passed ever since that weird encounter and Theseus had been admittedly avoiding you, pushing Eugene onto your training schedule with the petty excuse that he had meetings to attend. While it was utter blasphemy, you were grateful for the space given, considering that the last time you guys were in close contact, you felt like everything in your control was slipping.

Eugene was a good trainer. Far gentler than Theseus, but definitely just as firm. He had good technique too, so it wasn't like you were wasting any of your time.

But Egir seemed to know you all too well. Maybe that, and the fact that he could read your thoughts.

"what nonsense," you snorted mentally, "why would I like him? He's an obnoxious asshole."

"Who took out time from his schedule to help you."

"not anymore he doesn't."

Egir dipped, following your professor through the sky as he cut through clouds and you bent over, grip tightening over the skin of his nape as the wind slashed against your cheek. You were grateful that you had goggles on, for you knew without a doubt you'd already be crying from the harsh gusts if not from the mental and physical effort it took to stay afloat your dragon.

"But he did ask Eugene to help you."

"Nonsense. Eugene was the one that requested he trained me."

"That's not what I've overheard from his dragon," Egir snorted, swerving to the right with a little more force than necessary and almost banging you against the cliffside.

"watch it!" you couldn't stop yourself from barking aloud, causing him to let out a small chuckle inside your head, "and why the hell are you listening to dragon gossip?"

"I don't. But it's been talk of town as of late. His dragon seems overly fond of finding him someone special," Egir retreated back up towards the sky and you knew this training session was over when you spotted the flight field from where you were.

"Why? Scared he'll end up grumpy, old and alone?" you snorted.

"No, I don't think he'd have that kind of problem."

"Huh." You were confused.

"It seems the human boy has spoken to her about it."

You blinked. Theseus Scamander? The prodigy of the entire Squad? He was the one that had spoken to his dragon? From experience, it wasn't liek Egir to straight out lie to you, so whatever he was saying had to be the truth. But why?

"About what?" you asked hesitantly.

At that point, you had reached the Flight Field. Egir swooped down low, all four legs crashing into the ground none-too-gently before letting out a warm breath of steam, "about a girl that our Squad leader seems fond of."

Nonsense. Even if your Squad leader did have a heart, it was probably blackened and already charred to burnt bits. There was no way there was any human decency left in him. Experiencing the world of dragon riders did that to you, stripped you away of humanity until nothing else was left other than your skills as a weapon to this society.

"well I think you're mistaken," you retorted as you slid down Egir's back. He bent over to make it easier for you, the action causing warmth to blossom within your chest. Most riders have claimed dragons to be ruthless and violent, sometimes not even bothering to catch their riders as they fell. But not Egir. You trusted him with your life.

“It’s normal for boys of his age to be romantically interested,” Egir blinked, his ruby red eyes watching you as you checked his talons for any debris that might be stuck.

“Well yeah I know that.” You checked his scales next for anything smaller that might’ve escaped your eye at first glance, “so? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“That’s the thing,” Egir bent down, ruby red orbs giving you a slow blink before he let out a warm breath against your face, “I believe it’s you, little human.”

————

“I believe it’s you, little human.”

Me.

No fucking way.

You almost threw up the entire contents of your stomach upon hearing Egir’s words. Gaping at him like he’d grown two more heads, you tried to wrap your head around the insanity that was spewing in your face — only to realize after a few impending seconds that Egir was not lying, only blinking back at you with what seemed to be newfound amusement.

“Stop it. It’s not funny.” You told him, to which he only chuffed out a reply, his warm breath blasting you with heat, “I have better things to do than lie, little one.”

“Stop it, really. Just stop.”

"I like him better than the brown-haired cadet."

"Ren's not even on the market."

"Good riddance of that."

Your mind was in turmoil and you felt you had swallowed too much water. It took so much effort just to turn back around and walk to your dorm, your heart suddenly beating so fast that it hurt.

Theseus liked you. Theseus was fond of you, and not only that, he had his eyes on you. There was no way you wouldn’t have noticed… right? You weren’t that oblivious to anyone’s advances, were you?

But you were. Because now that Egir mentioned it, you were suddenly so hyper-aware of everything involving the said auburn-haired Squad Leader.

How he would always seek you out for the mat sparring, for instance, and how despite being firm on you and always making sure you pushed yourself to your limit, was always gentle afterwards when he helped you up or patched up your injuries. How he’d keep his eyes on you whenever you sparred with someone else, how he seemed overly involved with how many dark circles you had under your eyes every morning.

But it wasn’t only that. One would’ve probably brushed it off as incessant teasing, the way he’d always ruffle your hair or shove your head down whenever he passed by, or the insults that rolled off his tongue so easily whenever you were concerned, or the medicine that magically appeared right in front of your bedroom door whenever you were too hurt to move.

It made your heart hurt. And with good feelings, the kind of feelings that caused warmth to rush to your cheeks and fill your chest with butterflies.

You weren’t ready for that.

Nevertheless, you decided that acting normal would be you lying your way out of it and successfully managed to keep everything under cover for most of the coming week. That was, until that one day on the Flight Field when you almost fell from Egir’s grasp during take-off.

The ground couldn’t have come to you fast enough and you slid down Egir’s turquoise back gratefully, panting and sweating so hard you thought you would pass out. Leaning against your dragon until you regained some semblance of strength in your legs, you barely took note of a storming figure walking up to your face until a hand on your shoulder spun you around so quickly you saw stars.

“Wha—“

Theseus Scamander cut you off sharply, “—What the fuck were you doing out there?”

He was breathing hard, cheat heaving up and down with effort and eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I slipped. It’s fine,” you tried to force some strength into your voice, but it still came out in a shaky murmur, “I’m fine.”

“Always, always hold on with two hands like your life depends on it,” he hissed before he started pacing, hands raking through his auburn locks as he did so, “you could’ve fallen and died—“

“Egir won’t let me fall.”

His nostrils flared, “you don’t know that—“

Egir’s growl was enough to state that he disagreed.

Theseus tilted his head up, “even so, she’s never entirely safe,” his blue eyes were stormy when he met your own. His jaw clenched, “So don’t you ever fucking dare get your hands off—“

“Stop talking down to me,” you snapped back, “I’m not a kid. I know what I’m doing. Riders fall every time—“

“You fell because you were inattentive!”

“That’s not true!”

“Then what the fuck was your other hand doing?!”

“I—“ but you couldn’t find any answer. Because he was right. There was no explanation that would make sense. How could you tell him that he was responsible for muddling up your thoughts? How could you tell him that he was the one that occupied your mind so much you barely slept every night since?

“He has a point, human.” You felt Egir’s breath on your nape.

“Do me a favour and get out of my head, Egir.”

You watched Theseus’ jaw work. He ground his teeth, stormy eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and irritation, nostrils flaring like you’ve set his world on fire, and something like heat pooled inside your tummy.

He was hot, and you couldn’t deny that.

He probably noticed that you were staring at him, lips parted, because he blinked at you before furrowing his brows, “what?”

No words could make sense. Not when you were noticing just how handsome he was. Hair disheveled, lips parted as he breathed in and out, freckles adorning his cheeks…

Stop! Your thoughts rammed into you like a bullet train. This wasn’t the time to think about how hot he was!

“Interesting development,” Egir cackled.

“Shut up!”

“Nothing,” you averted your eyes to the ground, to the mud soiling your riding boots and almost cursed at the heat threatening to crawl up the back of your neck, “you’re right. I—I wasn’t being attentive.”

“Your thoughts should never stray from your dragon. Not even in distress, not even in panic,” concern flitted across his face then, so quickly you barley caught sight of it. His tone softened when he added, “go change. We’ll talk about this on the mat.”

You had no intention of bringing up your annoyingly loud thoughts into conversation with the said man that occupied your mind on a permanent basis. But he didn’t have to know that.

Later that night found you in the training gym, pushing weights off your shoulders in a rhythm that had your thighs screaming in pain. As a result of you falling off, Theseus had assigned Eugene to watch over your strength maneuvers so that you built more muscle into your legs. That only meant more weight lifting on tour part, a feat you were not a fan of, unfortunately.

“Alright,” Eugene almost looked downright sorry for you as you rolled over onto your mat, out of breath and soaked in your sweat, “you alright there, Y/N?”

“Never—“ you breathed in quickly, sucking in a sharp breath, “—been better.”

“I’m sorry,” he sent you a smile of apology before handing you a water bottle, “but Theseus has a point. You’re not useful if you can’t even stay on your dragon.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, “you’re not the one getting your ass kicked every goddamn day.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sympathy filling his eyes, “but for what it’s worth, you’ve improved immensely from our last spar.”

“Well I suppose there’s no one else but Theseus to thank for that.”

As if on cue, the latter appears from behind the Wingleader with his arms folded over his chest and with a frown between his brows, “why does she still look alive?”

“Excuse me,” you barely managed to get the words out in-between breaths as your hands went to find your knees, “I’ve worked my butt off while you were—over there—“ you motioned weakly towards the other training pairs, “—flirting.”

“Flirting?” His eyebrow quirked up in amusement and you heard the distant cackle of Egir’s laugh in your head.

“Well, I—“ you stuttered, heart ricocheting up to your throat, “yeah. Flirting — that’s what I meant.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, that and something more. Something that softened as though what you said held more meaning.

Your chest constricted. You turned away with a cough, “anyway, I’m heading back. I think that was enough practice for today. Wingleader?” You threw Eugene a look that hopefully screamed out how pitiful you felt on the inside and out, and thankfully the said man just chuckled before tilting his head towards the exit.

You were halfway out of the door when a hand suddenly latched onto your arm and spun you around, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Wha—“ you spotted Theseus and frowned, “what do you want, Theseus?”

“Walk with me.”

And he brushed past you before you could say anything else. You scowled at his retreating back, irritated by how easily he riled you up, but fell into step beside him nevertheless. You were too tired to argue with him. Not today.

“What? Have you not insulted me enough today?” You hoped the sarcasm dripping from your tone was obvious. You hated it people bothered you when you were the most tired. Today was one of those days.

He glanced back at you, a semblance of a smile ghosting across his lips, “who said I was going to insult you?”

“Seems to me that’s the only thing you know how to do.”

He allowed the silence to answer in his stead as the pair of you walked across the dimly lit courtyard up to the turrets where most first-years were assigned rooms. The night was cold and as the wind chipped at your neck, you were quick to wound your jacket tighter around you, arms folding across your chest protectively.

You jumped upon feeling warmth drape over your shoulders, looking up to Theseus’s icy blue eyes.

Confusion flitted across your mind, “what are you doing?” Your mouth dried up upon noticing how close his face was to yours.

He snorted, “what does it look like?” And proceeded to tuck the jacket under your chin, fingers brushing over your jaw and leaving trails of heat in his wake, “can’t have you falling sick and wasting all my efforts.”

No words seemed enough to make it out of your mouth, not when the sharpness of his tongue contradicted to the gentle way in which he handled you. And so you let him, gazing silently as he fiddled with the zipper until he seemed satisfied enough and ushered you forward.

Your heart skipped. Was this what Egir was talking about when he said that Theseus had feelings for you? And where did that leave you, when it came down to it? The thought of Ren flitted across the back of your mind and guilt ate away at your brain, at how easily you’d been distracted by your Squad Leader when you were supposed to be heart broken over Ren. But the truth was that no matter how much you tried and kid yourself, you hadn’t thought of Ren at all in the last few days.

And that terrified you. Because that could only mean one other thing.

That you had developed feelings for Theseus Scamander.

Now, you really did feel sick.

As if taking on a life of its own, your mouth opened to blurt out, "why are you nice to me?"

Theseus paused in his step. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, expression unreadable and stony, as you managed to catch up to his big steps.

There was a pause as he took in your words and you had no idea what was going on in his mind when his back was turned to you, a strong wall that kept everything in control, one that never slipped, that never gave way no matter what.

You wondered how many secrets lay within those walls. So you repeated yourself.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, "Is there any particular reason I shouldn't?"

"Is there a reason you should?" you shot back, “you don’t owe me anything and vice versa. I would like us to stay that way.”

A chuckle burst out of him, the sound so pure that goosebumps skittered across the back of your neck and down your spine. And when his eyes locked on yours, you were more than surprised to find the warmth in those turquoise waters.

“You never cease to amaze me, you know that?” He grinned.

“Yeah well, you’re probably the first.”

“Stop it with the pity act,” he halted, swiveling around to face you, “you’re not doing yourself any favours like that.”

“It’s not a pity act. It’s the truth,” you scowled back, hating how the closeness from his body to yours is causing your heart to stutter, “if I’m too weak to bring out for the Squad Games, they’ll think of me as a burden rather than a weapon.” Your lips pressed into a tight line, “you know what happens to burdens and liabilities. We don’t hide who we are in these walls. They’ll take me out the first chance they have.”

“I will not let that happen.”

You chortled, “because that’s in your control now is it?”

Theseus didn’t answer to that and you didn’t think he’d have anything productive to say. So you just gave him a smile — one that hopefully didn’t ressemble more of a grimace — before taking a step back, “well, I should—“

“Why did you come here?”

The question took you by surprise. You blinked up at him, mouth working silently, “I—“ you weren’t sure yourself. Why?

Because nothing else seemed to be as important, your brain whispered, nothing seemed like it would make a difference.

“Because I’d—“ the words felt like sandpaper in your mouth, “—I’d rather die here than surrounded by a stack of books, knowing that I at least tried to do something.”

He didn't say anything, the silence answer in his stead as the wind howled and bit at your skin underneath all those layers. Your shins were dying from frostbite surely by now, but you couldn't find it in yourself to look away from Theseus' aquamarine blue orbs. They wavered and swam with deep emotion, too deep for you to guess, and that made all breathe cease in the back of your throat.

Too quick for you to notice, his hand came up. He clasped the back of your neck and tugged you in.

You cried out, hands coming up to block your fall--

Only to be crushed into his chest.

Your mouth went dry.

What the actual fuck?

Theseus was warm and firm. Hard muscles underneath you, his pulse beating like a drum, deep vibrations all over your body that somehow made you feel at ease. Tilting your head up to ask whether he'd gone mad, your throat clogged up at the way he was gazing back at you. There was a softness glimmering across his features, a tenderness you seldom found there. It was different, yet it wasn't something unpleasant.

He almost looked...beautiful.

"You're not going to die," he murmured. You didn't notice, but his fingers were tracing over your cheekbone as though he'd longed to do so for a while. His caress was soft, feather-like, as though he feared breaking you, "I'm not going to let you die."

You wanted to tell him to stop lying. It didn't go well on him, but nothing came out. You couldn't find the energy to speak, not when he was holding you so close like you were something so beautiful, so dear to him.

"Why not?" was the question you asked instead.

He blinked, "What?"

"Why won't you let me die?" you bit your lip, "I thought you believed in the law of nature. You can't fight against death if you're weak."

"No you can't," he pushed a stray hair behind your ear and your knees almost buckled at his tender act, "but you're far from weak."

"That's not what you say when you keep beating my ass on the mat."

"That's--" his lips quirked up into a grin, "that's a different matter. I'm stronger than you, but you're a lot stronger than you think, Y/N."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment," quickly surveying the dark shadows above, you realized it was getting late and dark, and no good night sleep was ever favorable to you. So you gently pulled yourself away without looking at him, not wanting to see what he held there in those eyes, "we should go back. It's getting late."

"You're right." he nodded, motioning for the small path.

The rest of the walk went by in silence, and you tried not to think of the way Theseus's heart beat above yours that night, as you forced yourself to get some sleep.

————

"Stop leading her on."

It wasn't the words that made you stagger to a halt so that you could quickly crouch behind one of the marble pillars lining the terrace of the academy. But the voice.

You knew that voice off by heart.

Ren.

But what surprised you most was the voice that came after.

"Why would you care about her, cadet?"

That was definitely Theseus. You had spent enough time in his presence that you could recognize his baritone in your sleep. Not a concerning matter at all. The fact that these two are even talking made your blood crawl with apprehension for some unknown reason.

"She's one of my best friends. I don't want to lose her to a monster like you."

Jeez Ren, you thought to yourself, way to try and dig your grave early.

"I'd be the last one to hurt her, Taro," the use of Ren's surname made goosebumps skitter across your spine. Theseus' voice dropped even lower as he continued, "but you stay away from her if you know what's good for you. She doesn't need your pity act."

"She doesn't need your attention either. Leave her alone."

"Why should I do that?"

"I don't want your filthy hands on her."

Ooh. If that were anyone else, they'd surely get their heads cut off right this instant for speaking so disrespectfully of their Squad Leader. But Theseus merely scoffed and you leaned in closer to the pillar on impulse, glad that it was dark so that the shadows could hide you.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Taro. Stop making up silly stories in your head."

Something in your heart sank. You stared down at the ground in front of you, resting against the pillar. Of course Theseus wouldn't even dare think of you that way. And why did that mean so much to you anyway? It was just a little crush, you tried to remind your brain, there was nothing so spectacularly great about the said Squad Leader anyway. And plus, now was the time focus on not getting killed, rather than the matters of the heart.

You gathered up your beaten heart with both hands and silently crawled away from your hiding spot, not wanting to hear any more. Knowing that Theseus didn’r want you that way was enough.

You held it together, clamping your lips so hard that you felt them go numb. You flew up the stairs to your room and barely managed to shut the door before a sob crawled out of your throat.

What had you been expecting? Really? You tried to chide yourself into believing that there was nothing you could’ve done when the pain and the heartbreak echoed through your chest, causing you to slide down into a messy heap by the floor, trying your best to grasp onto the last bits of composure you wished you could put back together like broken pieces.

Enough, you told yourself through a film of tears. Gathering your knees to your chest and hugging yourself with your arms, you rocked back and forth on your heels, the tears caking down your cheeks and dripping over your legs. Enough of this. You were done.

Little human, it’s no use crying over him, Egir’s voice was a soft caress against your mind. It was warm, made you feel slightly better. He’s not worth an inch of your brain.

You’re talking about Ren or Theseus? You ask him.

Both, he chortled and that caused a small smile to crack through your lips, we don’t need them. You have other things to worry about.

Egir’s right. You didn’t have all the time in the world to be crying over boys, of all things.

You had to survive. And survive you would.

—————

“Y/N, please say something.”

You blatantly ignored Ren’s voice and instead focused on checking Egir’s scales for any damage, marks or debris that might have filtered in through the thick grooves of his skin. You felt, more than heard, the threatening rumble that echoed through Egir’s chest, probably because Ren stepped closer.

Immediately, the footsteps retracted. You turned and kept your face blank.

“What do you want me to say Ren?”

“You’re mad at me, and I don’t understand why.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you continue with your checks, “I just have better things to do.”

Tell him to step back before I burn him alive, Egir growls and you look back at your supposed best friend to relay the message.

The said young man does as told, taking two big strides from behind and lacing his arms behind his back warily, “you’ve been sulking since your bad flight maneuver. You know how it is, you shouldn’t beat yourself up about that—“

“I am not,” you frown at him, “thanks for your concern.”

Hope he’s not insinuating that I’m at fault here, Egir’s voice booms through you like a firecracker. You place a hand atop his scales to calm him down.

He’s not stupid enough to think that, you tell him.

“So what is it then?” You were so focused on your dragon that you almost missed Ren’s words, blinking back into focus as he continued, “does it have something to do with your training? Is it Theseus? What—“

“None of it,” you snapped back, “don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Hurt flashed through his hazel eyes and something in him deflated, “I miss you,” he said it softly, but the words were so sudden it caused your eyes to flit up to his in surprise, “I miss our conversations, I miss walking to class with you. You’ve changed…and I’m not sure how.”

“Of course I’m going to change. Have you seen in which environment we’re educated in?” You gestured towards the school grounds, “what? You think I’m going to stay the same little old Y/N that you’ve known forever?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he let out a soft sigh, pressed his lips together and looked away, “I just miss what we had.”

“Well we can’t have that anymore,” and with that, you lifted your leg up, hoisting yourself onto your dragon, “you went and got yourself a girlfriend. That changed everything.”

And you mounted before he had the chance to say anything else, glad that Egir’s broad back hid you from Ren’s hurt expression as you heard him walk away, the grass crunching under his feet. Letting out a soft sigh, you ran a hand through your tangled locks and tried to put Ren out of your mind.

Don’t get too comfortable, Egir’s words made you still, stiffening on his back, there’s another one.

No, you were not tolerating this kind of bullshit today. No fucking way.

You didn’t even try to understand past Theseus yelling out our name as you nudged Egir into the sky. His wings beat wildly to gain momentum and all of Theseus’s words were drowned away by the hiss of the wind whipping your hair back and slicing through your flight jacket.

Up there in the sky amidst the clouds, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that life was indeed beautiful. It was simple, the way the sun cast its rays over the horizon and bathed the lush green landscape in color. The school building was tiny from where you were and for once, you could try and imagine all your problems were as tiny as this. As unimportant.

You followed the rest of the flight maneuvers and was glad that for once you seemed to have kept your seat. Sliding down Egir as soon as he hit the ground, you took no time in examining his talons for any debris before quickly waving your dragon off in a dismissal.

You’re being quite efficient today, remarked your dragon.

I’m always efficient.

One might argue the contrary, he blew a soft huff and the heat of his breath blasted against your face, warm in contrast to the coldness seeping through your flight jacket, go rest, cadet. You look exhausted.

Why thanks for your kind words. What’d you do with my fiery dragon?

He chortled in annoyance, narrowing his eyes but despite it all bumping his nose into your back to push you towards your dorm.

You were thankful enough to avoid both men in question as you walked up to your dormitory where Kiki was waiting with her face set in a mask. Always the one who wanted to keep her good hygiene a priority, you were far from surprised when she patted the seat next to her as an invitation.

You sunk down into the chair with a sigh, “I’m not sure now’s a good time. I have training later.”

“Again?” She spoke, mumbling the words through her caked mud mask, “I thought you had a break this week.”

“When are they that nice?” You rolled your eyes, leaned back against the wall, “Eugene told me this morning that it starts at eight.”

“They’re all out of their minds.”

“No shit they are.”

“How are you feeling about it though?” Kiki peered at you through her mask, her concern clear, “the squad games? Think you’re ready?”

“I think I’ll never be ready,” you mutter, head turning to look out onto the field. The sun was slowly setting in the distance, casting the room in a golden hued glow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve had weeks to train and from what I’ve been seeing, I think you’ve improved loads.”

“Thanks Kiki,” you sent her a weak smile, “that means a lot.”

She’s right cadet, Egir echoed inside your head, always around. Never gone. One might think it was intrusive to have him around all the time. But you actually started enjoying his presence, like the lingering warmth of the sun once the day was done.

I'll take that as a compliment, you heard Egir laugh.

You should, you told him with a roll of your eyes, I don't give compliments that easily.

You tried your best, for the rest of that week, to keep yourself busy with your head buried in your books when you were excused from classes and forcing Eugene to accompany you during your sessions so that you had no excuse to set your sights on a particular Squad Leader that had been haunting your dreams for a while now.

Alas, it would never be that easy when it came to Theseus Scamander, for you all but bumped into him the moment you escaped the Training Room. His arm shot out to steady you, a sizzle of electricity rushing down your spine as you quickly stumbled away and averted your eyes with a muttered excuse.

"Surprising sight," Theseus lifted a brow in surprise, "done avoiding me?"

Damn it, how did he know you were? You wanted to hurl something at him. Egir sniggered and said, he's not as stupid as the brunette, I'll give him that.

Stop defending him. We don't like him remember? you snapped.

Correction; you don't like him. I happen to have taken a liking to him.

"I'm not avoiding you," was your lame reply.

That caused Theseus to scoff and cross his arms, "You didn't even try to lie through that, Y/N."

"Look, Scamander," you let out a tired sigh, rubbed a hand across your face as you felt all the ache in your muscles, "I don't have time to fight with you. I'm avoiding you because you piss me off and I heard you talk about me behind my back. Unfortunately, I esteemed you to be better than what you actually are, and whatever you said about me hurts," just the memory of his conversation with Ren had you clenching your jaw and looking away, unable to look at Theseus in the eye for fear that you'd crack, "so I'd appreciate it if you got out of my way and we can both go back to however we were before, because apparently you don't care. And I will too, when I learn how to control myself and my stupid, petty feelings."

The silence that reverberated through the air was masked with palpable tension, the kind that was ice cold and make you shiver. But you didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look up at him for fear of what you might find there. There had been enough tears shed for this young man standing before you, and you had no intentions of wasting any more of your time wishfully thinking that Theseus Scamander might have romantic feelings for you when your life was on the line.

A few first years passed through the corridor then, causing you and Theseus to hover against the wall as the mild chatter bounced off the cavernous walls. Theseus’s eyes were blazing even in the dim lights flickering off the walls, intense with so much emotion you didn’t have the courage to look up at him, finding a spare piece of wall on which to focus your attention instead.

They were well past gone when he finally spoke, his voice heavy and laced with guilt:

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no,” you shuffle on the spot, “don’t. There’s nothing to apologize for. In fact, I must thank you. i really thought I was going a bit mad, thinking that you— well, that I—“ you choked on your own words and let out a soft laugh, “—anyway, it doesn’t matter—“

“You’re talking about my conversation with Ren.”

It wasn’t a question. But rather, a statement.

Your head dipped once in agreement.

Theseus sucked in a breath. His murmur was soft, surprisingly gentle, “cadet, you know it’s highly not encouraged for riders of different ranks to see each other.”

“I totally agree with that,” you tried to mask your hurt through indifference, “they’re right. Riders of different ranks should not mingle in that way.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat, “I think of you very highly, and I—“

“You don’t need to say it Theseus,” you cut him off with a smile that you hoped could fool him, “I know, I wouldn’t dream of being anything else. It’s good enough we’re— I mean— you’re training me. And that’s it. Nothing more.”

“I didn’t mean that I—“ he ran a hand through his hair, let out a sigh so loud and filled with weight you almost thought he was struggling with himself.

And when he continued, his voice had dropped an octave.

“I wish I was in Taro’s place.”

Mentioning Ren’s name made you blink in surprise, “what—“

“What I said that night,” he cut you off, blue eyes blazing in the dark and causing your breath to hitch, “was only because Ren was being a dick. But I— that’s not what I truly think.”

Suddenly it’s a little hard to breathe. And what you see in his eyes, it makes something in your chest warm.

You swallow, open your mouth to say something. Anything really.

But you’re not sure.

Because no matter what Theseus says, you’re still at loss as to what to think. Because what if he says something but means another?

What if it’s not what you’re hoping to understand?

If he’d tell you white on black what you truly meant to him maybe you’d understand. Maybe that would clarify everything.

But he was dancing around the truth— due to his rank and his fear of rumours — but it didn’t help, being in the dark from someone’s most vulnerable thoughts.

You bite down onto your cheek, “what do you think then?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the cavern wall, “that maybe…” his mutter is just above a whisper drifting across your skin when he turns to you, “maybe I’m developing feelings for you.”

The truth slaps you in the face like a blast of hot fire.

Your cheeks burn. You almost choke on your saliva.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard Egir laugh.

Maybe? Maybe he’s developing feelings? Maybe doesn’t cut it.

Shut up! You yelled inwardly as heat flushes through your face like wildfire.

I hate to break it to you but I told you so, Egir replied and you swore you could imagine a smirk.

You wanted to reply something sarcastic, maybe be a bit witty with it. But nothing seems to speak to you, as though your soul had left your body to die in embarrassment.

“Oh.” Was your response.

Oh? Egir was laughing so hard you felt the heat of his fire as it blasted through his nostrils, that’s what you could come up with?

You flushed a deeper red.

Great. Now even your dragon thought you were pathetic.

Not pathetic, but you can do better than that.

Theseus on the other hand, just kept watching you. His gaze unreadable, cautious. Like he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

Finding purchase along the hem of your black tunic, you fiddled with the straps and tried to come up with a string of words: “I mean— like you said, there’s nothing to be done. About it, I mean. And we—this cannot happen anyway so it’s best if we just keep this between us.”

It was a long moment before the Squad Leader’s chin dipped into a single nod.

“Right,” he croaked, voice raspy and hoarse, “you’re right. Anything more would just be inappropriate.”

“Exactly!” You let out a laugh in hopes of dispelling the sudden awkwardness that was taking over, “inappropriate, yes. So uhm…”

Turning away from him and mouthing insanities under your breath, you continued in a flurry of words, “It’s getting late. I should head back before curfew.”

And dashed off before he could say anything else, your heart beating like a cuckoo inside your chest. One that would just not stop no matter how much you tried to calm yourself down.

Fuck.

———

Gearing up for the Squad Battle was exactly what you needed to get away from all the major issues of your life. You focused your energy entirely on coming up with strategies with your Squad, making sure that you were all on your highest potential before stepping into the Arena that would forever seal your fate as a first year or as another soul that would be taken away by the god of death itself.

“What if they decide to wake us up at midnight?” Kiki murmured into your ear as you all filed into formation that very morning, “do you think they’d be cruel enough to do that?”

“They would,” your other friend and squadmate, Bron, added to your left, the scar right along his left eyebrow a newest addition as of yesterday, “they’re mad enough.”

“I think they’re going to propose head-to-head battle this year,” the ginger-haired woman named Naomie, also part of your squad and one of your most fierce riders that’s bonded to one of the greatest dragons, said as you spotted your commandant step up to the dais, “apparently they had an object retrieval last year and it went badly.”

“What do you mean?” Bron asked.

“There was stuff that wasn’t supposed to be stolen,” Naomie explained, her voice lowering as a hush fell over the crowd, “and people weren’t really happy about that.”

Naomie was right. Head-to-head battles was the theme for this year and it was announced that battles would take place in the grand Canyon beyond the school, where each battler’s name would be posted on the board facing the dining hall. The cadets were instructed to find their names and that battles would commence immediately, thirty minutes from now, and as you navigated through the sea of cadets you tried to slow the panicked beats of your heart that seemed to bubble out of your chest and tighten the back of your throat.

This was surely not how you were going down. No way.

You had fought countless battles and granted, had lost half of the challenges given to you. But that didn’t mean you were weak. You had to believe that, if only to keep up that little strand of hope that you’d make it out alive.

You were just about to follow Kiki into the dining hall a hand latched onto your forearm, pulling you into the shadows.

You stumbled against the wall of the corridor, right behind the staircase as a yelp escaped your throat, “wha—“

Cerulean blue met your deep maroon.

Your breath choked inside your throat.

“Theseus,” you breathed out, then tried to smooth over your features, “what are you doing here?”

“I—“ he looked a little worn out, as if torn down by the few recent days apart, “how are you feeling?”

That was definitely not what he was going to say. But you humored him anyway, “feeling a little sick in my stomach to be honest,” you tried to laugh it off, “but it’s okay. I’ll manage.”

Something -- what seemed to be concern -- flickered in his eyes, “whatever happens, don’t forget the basics of everything we worked on during training," his voice was firm again. Confident. Unshakeable, "work fast, no need to use your strength.”

He was still holding on to your forearm, his grip firm but not painful, and you were awfully aware of this lack of distance as you looked up at him in growing apprehension, “I’ll try my best.”

You will be the best, growled Egir.

Confident now are we? You sniped back.

“No, it's not just trying," his eyes narrowed, head tilting a little closer so that you could spot the rain of freckles dotting his skin. Your hand tingled, an invisible ache to brush over his skin, if only just to know what it feels like, "you need to survive, Y/N. You need to will it into existence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His features were stormy and intense, and you forced yourself to keep eye contact when you said, "I understand."

"Don't let anyone get to your neck or your ribcage," he finally released your arm to nudge at your elbow, "remember what I taught you during sparring."

"Always use the elbow," you echoed, still keeping your eyes on him, your heart twisting in your gut at the thought that maybe this would be your last day on the mat after all, "be swift. Be light on my feet."

You will not die today, growled Egir, over my dead body. I did not choose you for your weakness, cadet. Thanks for your ever-so-comforting words Egir. You really do know a way into a woman's heart.

If I knew, I would've had myself a family of dragon babies by then.

Someone's sounding a little more agitated than usual, trouble in Empyrean land?

Keep your questions and your nosy butt out of my personal life, he chuffed.

It was only then that you noticed of the silence growing between the two of you, with Theseus gazing down at you like there was something else he wished to say. A lot of something's, actually. His eyes were a swirl of emotion, dark and stormy and rolling with waves of god-knows-what he had on the tip of his tongue that he was keeping away from you in a cage of secrets nestled in his heart.

You opened your mouth to try and say something-- maybe tell him that you should go-- when you felt the lightest of touches along your forearm.

Theseus's hand ran down to yours, his touch causing a small breath to hitch at the back of your throat when he closed his fingers over yours.

You looked down at your entwined hands, a rock forming in the back of your throat. What in the world was he doing?

"I--" the words failed you, dying along your tongue like sand.

It was impossible to stay focused, with Theseus's eyes searching your features. With him being so close, his scent wrapping around you and reminding you of that fateful night where he'd draped his jacket over your shoulders.

Just the thought of it caused heat to spring through your cheeks, something that Theseus noticed. He cocked his head to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk, "are you blushing?"

"No," you denied it, though you were probably fire engine red by now.

The Squad Leader merely chuckled and, with one firm tug, had you crashing into his chest.

You yelped out in protest, hand coming up to brace yourself only for his other arm to slip around your waist and hold you to his chest. Firmly, just like he'd held your arm. But gently too, as if you were a piece of porcelain about to break. He didn't hesitate to bury his face into the side of your head, nuzzling into you as though he'd finally found a slither of peace through the never-ending tide of tension that ran throughout the Basgiath grounds.

"Theseus," your words were a mere breath, practically silent as the ringing in your ears grew louder by the second, "I thought we said--"

"Fuck what we said," he growled against the shell of your ear, "I-- can't. I can't stay away from you no matter how hard I fucking try. It's tearing me apart and I just cannot--the thought of losing you in there--" he choked on his words as though overrun from emotion and surprised, your hand went up instinctively to cup at his cheek, tugging his face away from your neck so that you could catch a glimpse of his face.

And what you found there made your heart pound.

Because Theseus was looking at you like you were the one responsible for his centre of gravity. Like you could say anything and he'd come running. Like you were the earth and he was merely the moon, fated to chase you for life. And he was okay with that.

It knocked you off balance, made you choke up on your own words. Your heart beat so loudly that it pulsed through your brain.

"Hey," you were surprised by how stable your voice was, "I’ll be okay. I was trained by the best, wasn’t I?”

He released a breath, leaned into your touch like you were the one to ground him, “trust me, that's the only thing that's keeping me sane. Barely."

"My battles are not yours to take," you kept a stern gaze on him, "do you understand that?"

He nodded, leaning down ever so slightly so that your noses brushed.

As if the physical proximity calmed him down. As if it comforted him. Maybe it did.

For a minute, neither of you spoke as the silence wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. Not awkward, not cold. But warm with the flurry of feelings that you'd been shoving under the rug for too many months to count. He was warm against you, his heart beating through his chest and his scent wrapping around you like a hug that made you want to sigh in contentment.

It was only the sound of the bell -- a warning that all cadets should have gathered in the hall by now -- that snapped you out of your trance.

Slowly, very slowly, you extricated yourself from his grip as your hand dropped to your side, only to have him hold firm on your middle.

"I have to go," you whispered out, "or they'll penalise me."

But the Squad Leader was dazed, his eyes swimming with countless emotions that you thought you could read but didn't want to, the blue pupils causing fire to ignite in your belly and causing you to take a sharp inhale when they flickered down to your mouth.

You could, if you wanted to. Just a little closer.

His nose nuzzled yours. You felt his breath caress your cheek.

Your eyes slipped shut. Expectant. Waiting.

If you leaned a little closer, a little more.

You could--

Cadet!

Egir's voice was the one that made you jump. Startled, you pushed Theseus away with a silent gasp as you heaved a breath, looking at him in growing horror of what you would have done if not for your dragon.

Get to the arena now! bellowed Egir with a roar so loud it made your ears burn.

"I--I'm sorry," you breathed, eyes wide, looking anywhere but at Theseus, "I--I need to go."

You turned and without looking back, you ran for your life.

--------

You're an idiot.

That was the first thing that your dragon said to you once your eyes fluttered open, only to be met with an all-too familiar white ceiling.

Where am I? Your head felt like it weighed twice its size and everything hurt. Your body was throbbing like you'd gotten run over by a few flocks of sheep.

Or dragon.

Why in the world would you use your head? Egir was clearly angry, his voice simmering with rage that you felt through the shimmering red bond you shared with him. It thrummed with heat, enough that you felt it prickle your chest, didn't you learn anything from all those sparring lessons? Wasn't Eugene clear on using anything but your skull?!

Egir, slow down. I have no idea what you're talking about, you wince, and my head hurts.

You were duelling, he said flatly, I believe his name was Freight--

And then it hit you.

Everything came rushing back like a dam suddenly bursting open.

The arena. You and your squad waiting anxiously as cadet after cadet was called out to duel. Your heart still beating, distracted because of what had just transpired between you and your Squad Leader.

And then the fight. Trying to evade one of the best fighters of the year, feeling Freight pushing down onto your ribs until one of them cracked, feeling him slam your body down again and again and again--

A sharp inhale left your lips, hissing when it made your head throb.

You took him out with your skull, Egir sighed, slammed it down onto his nose so hard his entire bone broke and he fainted on the spot. Had to be carried out of the arena by the medics--

Well at least I won, you retorted. Now that reality was sinking into you, so was the relief that came with knowing you had won.

You had won, fair and square. And no one could take that away from you.

Barely, retorted your dragon, I'm still mad at you for neglecting your limbs. Only an idiot would do such a thing.

Thanks Egir, what a great way to congratulate me.

The door suddenly slid open and in came a Healer--an old man looking like he was probably past the age of eighty at best. His face cracked open into a smile when he saw your countenance.

"Well, I must say you're looking quite alright for someone who supposedly has a concussion," he says brightly as he walks over -- or rather hobbles -- to your bedside, "how are you feeling?"

"Horrible," your headache was getting worse and you could barely move your limbs, "what happened?"

"You fainted right after Freight tapped out. But you had a big concussion. I've had two Healers watch over you for the past two days."

"Two days?" You were out for that long? What about your friends?

And what about...Theseus?

Your friends are fine, came Egir's reluctant grumble, as though it forced him to say the words. The squad leader...not that great.

What? panic took over like a chokehold, what happened? What do you mean?

"Yes, two days," the Healer continued, ignorant of the inner conversation you were currently having with your dragon as he checked your vitals, "but you've been recovering quite nicely, taking all into consideration. I'd like to discharge you this afternoon, if you're feeling up to it. I know a lot of people have been asking about you."

"Yes," you said straight away, "please."

"Let's wait it out a few hours shall we?" he patted your arm in comfort, "and then I'll see whether you're good to go."

The hours that passed were roaringly silent, with only Egir's thoughts to keep you company. And even he was distracted, currently in the midst of chasing a flock of new sheep that he'd found earlier. So you had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and wonder about whatever the heck had happened to you.

And Theseus. Your mind swirled with endless possibilities of his reaction when he got to know about your incident. He was probably furious with you, maybe even enraged that you'd risk your life so foolishly. Knowing him, he would be the kind of guy to give you the cold shoulder just because you'd put yourself at risk.

But it wasn't like you'd done it on purpose. Kiki would understand. Ren certainly would.

And Ren... the thought occurred to you then. Had he passed? Was he okay?

You had probably dozed off, for the next thing you knew there were voices shouting down the corridor. They snapped you awake, bolting upright despite the pain echoing through the back of your spine just as the doors to the infirmary burst open.

Theseus stormed in, looking dishevelled and like he hadn't slept in days, "I told you I wanted to know as soon as she was--"

He froze in his tracks when his eyes met yours.

You gulped. Tried to lift your lips into a tentative smile.

There was relief first. And then, a stormy kind of anger took over while the healer beside him fluttered around, "like I said earlier, you cannot be here! There are visiting hours for this--"

"Get out," he simply answered, his gaze not leaving yours as he approached the bed.

"But I--"

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Still, his eyes pinned you in place.

Swallowing thickly, your gaze slid to the healer and you nodded, tried to give her a smile, "it's alright, really. He's my--" you almost stumbled over the word, "--friend."

You didn't take note of the way Theseus's eyes flared in response, but you didn't have to, for the moment you turned back to him he was already in your peripheral.

"You could've been nicer to that Healer lady," was the first thing that slipped out of your mouth the moment your eyes met.

His gaze was impenetrable. Hard, "I had more important matters to think about."

He didn't have to elaborate. You knew he was talking about you.

"Right," you threw him a tentative smile, "how are you--"

"Are you an idiot?"

His voice cut through you, so filled with rage that you flinched from impact.

Egir growled from your bond, tell him to watch it, or I'll blow his head off.

I thought you liked him.

Not if he's going to speak to you like that.

"I don't...quite understand," you replied lamely.

"You--" his nostrils flared and he started pacing back and forth across the bed, "you had every weapon at your disposal. That fight with Freight, it should've ended with your knife in his side. And you--what?" he let out a humourless chuckle, "decided to go for his head? With yours?"

"I had to think quickly."

"And what good did that do?" He snapped as he swivelled towards you, "now you've got a concussion and you've been out here like a vegetable."

"I think the word you meant was "congratulations for passing the Squad Games,Y/N,"."

He glared at you. You glared right back, the two of you wrapped in a fire battle of unspoken words that seemed to jar the air and cause annoyance to bubble up in your stomach. Goddamnit, you had survived, you had passed. And still, he was angry at you? What more did he want? Why couldn't he just be relieved, happy even, that you had made it out with only a concussion?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theseus finally decided to drop onto one of the benches closest to your bed, a soft sigh escaping his lips. It was then that you took note of his ruffled hair, the blue apron underneath his eyes to suggest he'd barely had any sleep, the way he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw as though he was grinding his teeth to nothing.

You had the decency to feel bad for him. Looking like this made you think that perhaps the reason why he was so out of sorts was maybe because of...

You.

And that was why you muttered a soft, "I'm sorry."

His blue eyes glanced up in surprise, "what for?"

His voice was gruff. Yet not cold.

You continued, hands finding purchase atop your blanket, "for risking my...life. I guess?"

A snort echoed past his throat but didn't say anything to that. Instead, he looked away. Like it pained him to look at you for too long.

Which was why you gathered up the courage to ask in a soft murmur, "is that the only reason you're mad at me?"

When you were met with only silence, you continued, "I mean, I get that I shouldn't have done what I did. It was stupid. Trust me, Egir also gave me a hard time," a small smile flickered along your lips, "but surely I don't deserve so much of that anger, Scamander. I was just trying to win, like anyone would've done."

He looked at you for a long, drawn out moment, his face void of any emotion. You tried not to squirm, but your eyes fell away as intimidation grew with every passing second, distracting yourself by twisting the sheets between your fingers.

Theseus rose from his bench. Slowly, taking his time. Like a predator setting for the kill. He moved with ease, giving you time to escape if you really wanted, towering over you as he pressed his hands on either side of your hips and practically trapping you in bed.

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to move back but definitely feeling the pressure of his gaze along your features.

Averting your eyes, you tried to stutter out a, "wh--what?"

"You're right," his words cut through the air dangerously. They swirled around you, intense with emotion. His alto raspy and thick, like he couldn't really help himself, "it's more than just your fight. Seeing you in there, scared me. In more ways that I could imagine. But it's not just that," his eyes softened, making your chest tight with butterflies as his baritone turned to a murmur, "like I said before the Squad Games, the thought of you losing or worse--it makes me sick. I can't even phantom the thought because I might throw up if I do. Because I've realised that I actually enjoy sparring with you. I can't go a day without hearing your voice because it makes me feel things I can't quite explain. I love it when you're mad at me, because it makes your cheeks flush and you look so adorable I can't help but imagine so many things I could do to you--"

He took a breath then, let out a shaky exhale as his hand came up to brush over your cheekbone. Just like he did back when he'd first told you that you were strong.

And when he spoke next, his words were nothing but a soft murmur laced with a tenderness that had you weak in the knees.

"I have feelings for you," he croaked, voice thick with emotion, "and I don't know what--how to deal with it. Because it's unfair, to you. Because I know it's not well-seen and if I could protect you from everything people might say I would, but I cannot--"

"Like I said," you snapped back, annoyed that he would always, always take everything on his back like it was his burden to carry, "I'm not your responsibility. What I feel is what I feel, and if I like you, then so be it. That has nothing to do with you."

He just gazed at you like you had gutted him open. And you felt his heartbeat under your hand, the one that had slid up to his chest unconsciously, beating so fast that it caused a small smile to tug at your mouth.

"Do you..." he hesitated slightly, nose brushing yours in a tantalising manner, "do you mean that, Y/N?"

He'd seldom say your name out loud. Heck, you could count on one hand the number of times that he did. So hearing it fall from his own mouth had your stomach clenching with palpable heat.

You bit down onto your lower lip and Theseus's eyes caught on. He stilled, his gaze darting from your lips to your eyes and back again.

And you knew then and there, and you didn't have to say anything.

For it was written all over your face.

Palm coming up to cradle your cheek, he leaned over you until all you could see, all you could feel, was him. And him alone.

The world fell away for that singular moment, wrapping you in a cocoon of bliss.

"Can I kiss you?" He murmured.

Your hand went up. Grabbed at his uniform, and tugged.

Your lips found his first. Theseus let out a sound between a groan and a moan, his body curving over yours and his arms dropping to your waist to wrap around your middle and pulling you close to him until every line of his perfect frame was aligned with yours. He kissed you, chased your mouth like you were the oasis, lips curving along yours and nipping at the skin there so that all you could do was moan into him and writhe underneath, fire bubbling through your skin and scorching ever inch of your body no matter how much you tried to reign in your self control.

It was impossible. He was everywhere. His touch, his scent, the way his hands felt sliding against your tunic until he found the soft flesh along your stomach. You gasped at the sensation and he took this chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, curling along your wet muscle and grunting when you responded with just as much vigor.

You didn’t know how long you kept on going; kiss after kiss after kiss. Theseus kissed you slow, taking his time like he wanted to savour you. He’d press into you so that you gasped, those little sounds spurring him on as he’d allow his hands to roam all over your body, growling into your mouth in appreciation of what he found.

You were dazed by the time he broke from your mouth to explore your neck, leaving a dotted line of kisses as he went all while grumbling softly to himself in satisfaction.

Finally, the Squad Leader pulled back just enough so that you could get a glimpse of those bright blue eyes swirling with a mixture of tenderness and growing affection. His hands found your hips and with one firm tug, pulled you into his lap and caged you there.

You flushed bright red as embarrassment overtook your senses, “uhm Theseus, I think that—“

He kissed your protest away and you all but melted into him with a soft grumble. And when he pulled back, there was a grin along his mouth, “hm?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you tried to frown at him, but it was hard when his hands were currently drawing shapes along her waist, on her naked skin, no doubt.

Damn him if that wasn’t hot.

“I’m not playing,” he nuzzled at your cheek, breathing in your scent before pressing a kiss there, “I’m hundred percent serious.”

“Oh shut up.”

The young man chuckled before proceeding to hug you close to him. You had no choice but to nuzzle into his chest, hands solaying across his rider’s tunic as he tucked you into the crevice of his collarbone.

“You’re sure about this?”

He looked down at you in surprise upon hearing your words. His eyebrow quirked up, “sure about what?”

“This,” your hands drifted across his chest, “us.”

Theseus’s lips fluttered over your temple, “so sure I could marry you tomorrow, if need be.”

“Oh,” your face colored in realization.

But he merely let out a small laugh, shook his head, and hugged you close like he was never going to let go, “I’m sure.”

That was all you needed to hear.

[unkindnessesofone]

Gravitational [Elliot x Reader]

Words: 2.4k TW: Mentions of intimacy. Tags: Fluff/Angst. Disclaimer: This isn't about the real Elliot. This has nothing to do with the real person, just Cosmo Jarvis in the movie with the name 'Elliot'. That's it. That's all.

The usual babyfaced redhead in her Taco Bell uniform was waiting for the bus outside the window. The regular bikers in their leather vests and lightwashed jeans had taken up the biggest table toward the back right under the dimming Dos Equis sign and the three U.S. Navy Seals who came on the weekends for a good time and weekdays to watch baseball were holed up with grit teeth ardently watching the game. In fact, the only outliers on this Thursday night were that the Cubs were losing to the Cardinals, and the phone behind the bar would not stop ringing. 

“You guys in trouble with the mob? Who the fuck keeps calling?” Zawi hissed before taking the last sip from his Corona, leaving only the carcass of lime lifeless at the bottom. Over the neck of the bottle, he showed off how annoying the incessant sound was with widened eyes so dark they needed a candle to guide your way through. 

“Ask her.” Behind the bar, rubbing at the bottom of a beer glass with a damp rag like it owed him money, the owner arched his head back to nod in your direction. 

The air shifted, like someone asked to change the channel or something, and you felt an unusual set of curious eyes studying your profile suddenly. It was one thing to have Jake or Zawi look at you. They were regulars. Hell, you considered Zawi to be a friend, but Elliot’s stare hollowed out your chest like a hunter would to open up and gut its kill. It was the first time you wondered if they knew about you and Elliot. Zawi had referenced the tension between you both before a long time ago, but had Elliot told them any details? Did they know he had laid awake with you as the sun rose above the building outside your bedroom window, fingers hopelessly brushing over your hair, heartbeat like a steadfast lullaby in your ear? Had they known you two had done more than just make each other laugh with the cherrywood between you? 

You picked up the phone and put it back down, just as you and your boss had been taking turns doing since the fourth call, “It’s just some guy.” 

Elliot’s eyes were still more occupied with you than the game on the screen above your head.

“Must be down bad.” Jake mused as the phone started to sing out again after only a forty-five second break. 

“I think I’m going to report him for harassment.” Your boss came up behind you, lifting his arms to add the clean glass to the row hanging above. Once free, he gave your shoulder a polite squeeze. He was old enough to be your dad and, thankfully, that was how he behaved. “And make a No Dating Patrons rule for all staff.” It wasn’t a shot just at you. Last summer, Gavin had flirted for tips with every single mom who came in for Margarita Mondays and the cops had to be called after one hurled glass after glass at his head, layers of black Maybelline mascara staining her face. 

Zawi’s elbow jabbed Elliot’s ribs, “I guess you’re screwed then.” He teased and winked at you right as you removed his bottle and instantly replaced it with a fresh Corona. 

Elliot’s gaze followed your fingers from the bartop to the recycling bin under the sink, barely registering the clang of glass on glass. He missed your hands most, not just the way they held tight around his neck in the throws of passion, but the soft graze of your nails over his chest, the way they would animate a story as you two talked on the couch while whatever chosen movie went ignored. 

“You going to tell us what this loser did?” Jake pushed, smirking like the cat that ate the canary.

“It’s not a very exciting story.” Coming forward to lean over the bar, hands together, you tried to ignore the sound and think of how much to say, “We went out, like, three times. It was fine. He asked to get together again and I said that I wasn’t really feeling it…I didn’t want to waste our time anymore…”

For the first time since the Cardinals gained the lead on the Cubs, Elliot smiled. It was small and without teeth, but you saw it flash by like sneaky lightning. 

“Whoa, had no idea you could be so heartless.” Jake teased, but his interest was already back on the TV. 

In the key of C major, the phone's ringing bled through the bar three, four, five more times while you worked, moving through tables with a tray in hand. It didn't matter how diligent or kind you were, the noise was beginning to irritate everyone in the place. It wasn't as if your boss hadn't picked up and told the guy that if he didn't cool it, he would call the cops. He had when the calling began. 

“I have told him to stop.” Shoulders up to your ears, you defensively explained yourself as soon as you were back behind the bar to Jake and Zawi who were glaring at you as if you were the mastermind behind all this. “I swear I have.” Putting the tray down by the ice bin, your whole body deflated as you sighed. 

Your hand was inches from the black phone that hung on the wall when it was snatched away. Elliot had reached over the bar and practically ripped it off its station.

“If you do not stop calling her, I will reach into this phone, push my entire arm down your throat, grab you by your pathetic sack, then pull you out to shove my foot so far up your asshole, you taste my shoelaces, alright?”

It was so vivid and direct that you worried if you made a sudden movement that you would wind up in the scenario he just described. Unlike most people who spat out crazy threats, Elliot was pretty capable of messing someone up. It wasn't until you put the phone back down that you exhaled and allowed yourself to register how hot it was. 

The break from the ringing made it seem like the announcer was describing the game from inside the bar. You could actually hear the ice in Jake's whiskey glass as he mindlessly sloshed it around in the sepia liquid.

“Thank you.” Sincere, but soft, you told Elliot, but all he gave you in return was a nod with a split second of eye contact.

You had expected the bar to explode with applause, but that would have actually bothered him. Perhaps, his throat to the guy you had dated had effectively frightened everyone to be on their best behavior.

Hunched over the bar, yawning as you counted your tip out, the bell attached to the door rang out. 

“We are closed!” The sign was switched off ten minutes ago, but you couldn't allow yourself to sound upset. Clearly, you hadn't locked both doors. 

Spinning around on the stool to assist the patron with exiting, you saw Elliot. His hands were deep in the pocket of his jeans which made his arms seem larger somehow, like they didn't fit against his side. He looked shy, a new kid on the first day of school, not at all like the guy who threatened a stranger's life earlier.

“Did you forget something?” Me? You didn't want to make things weird. In your experience, men spoke through their actions. Elliot had made it clear that he had got what he wanted from you and had no further interest. It wouldn't change anything if he heard how that made you feel. “I didn't see anything.” You pushed off the stool in order to go look behind the bar.

“No.” Elliot stopped you, gruff and clear all at once. He shook his head, “I didn't want you to be closing alone in case that creep came around.”

“I think you successfully scared him off.”

“Well, you can never be too sure.” Relief loosened Elliot up. It didn’t seem like you were cross with him even though he thought you probably should be. “I want to walk you home.” He didn't pose it as a question because it wasn't one. Elliot was going to walk you all the way to your building's door and wait until you were inside. He would be the creep following you if you didn’t oblige. 

Back and forth, like a ping-pong ball, you wondered whether you should argue with him about it, but your body couldn't deny that a walk with Elliot. It was only two blocks anyway and your muscles yearned for time with him after a long stretch without so much as a high-five or wave across the bar. 

“Yeah, I just have to do a few more things.” Swiping your apron off the table in one motion, you fled to the backroom. Had you always been this attracted to him? Your stomach felt uncomfortably tight when you two had been standing in front of one another alone in the bar. Heat clung to your body so immediately that you thought to check if the AC broke. A ripple of arousal had formed under your skirt without your approval.

Sweater on and hair down, you came back and turned off the lights. Locking the door behind you both, it was like a magnet was trying to pull you together by the hips despite your resistance. You had to push your feet into the ground to keep yourself in place. He was doing his best to distract himself with the passing cars instead of how well you filled out your pencil skirt. He had seen you in it at least a dozen times, but it was still a sight to behold. He once said a Polaroid he took of your ass in red mesh underwear belonged in the Louvre and he meant it. It was what he pictured underneath your skirt right now. 

“So, you good?” Elliot's hands were back in his pockets as you two started to walk. His voice was layered beneath yours as you spoke at the same time.

“That was some game, huh?” The Cubs had pulled through in the last inning and saved everyone in the bar from a bombastic Zawi tantrum. 

As natural as it felt to laugh with Elliot, the rigidity that had newly introduced itself didn't suddenly vanish. He hung his head down and pulled out his hands, adjusting to his own discomfort.

“I should have called.” He finally said, owning it after clearing his throat.

“Why didn't you?” Nodding, you confirmed before busying yourself with rifling through your purse for keys to your apartment. In case his answer didn't sit well, you wanted to be looking anywhere, but at him.

Elliot swung his arms out in front of him, groaning as his palms slapped together. It was hard for him to explain things to himself sometimes. He wasn't totally sure how to do it to you. 

“It got a little…” Once he started, he winced and tried again, “Sometimes…” This didn't sound right either. He cleared his throat and thought about how he had left things with you. He remembered dropping you off for your afternoon shift and saying that as soon as he was back from Frank's bachelor party/fishing weekend, he would be right back at your place. He was such an idiot that he even promised he would make you dinner that night. Elliot knew that he meant it. He'll, he still wanted to make you dinner in your kitchen that desperately needed a fan. “Sometimes it gets a little dark in here.” Pointing to his head as he managed to finally say it. “It might not be a very good excuse, but that's what happened.  It wasn't you, it's me. Something about being out there for Frank's…thing, I don't know, and then I just kept my distance because I don't to put that evil on anyone -”

“You could -”

Elliot wasn't done, “Then we left and I still should have called from overseas, but I didn't and I've been avoiding the bar ever since.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jake and Zawi had come in plenty of times without him. You had even served his mom on one particularly rowdy Margarita Monday. 

“I did miss you.” Right in front of your apartment, Elliot stopped with you and swung around in order for you to face one another. The light from inside the small mezzanine of your building illuminated his earnestness.

“I missed you too.” A large part of you wanted to invite him up, but there was also a voice insisting you stay vigilant for the sake of your head and heart. 

“The drinks at Three Arms suck.” He deadpanned, earning a snort of laughter so honest from you that it made his shoulders wiggle with his own laughter. “I understand if you don't want to hang out anymore especially after the night you've had with that guy calling you all fucking shift, but I'd really like us to get back on track.” 

The moon behind his head, inviting itself in through the thin branches of a tree, stole your attention so you would not find yourself lost in his eyes without a compass or any way back. Elliot was carefully studying you in return, trying to deduce what was going on in your mind.

“I'll think about it.” Humming, you decided and started up the three brown polyester carpeted steps of your building. Once you put your keys in the lock, you looked over your shoulder and caught him clearly deep in a self-deprecating thought. “You owe me a dinner."

Elliot was surprised for a second, returning to reality after a few seconds of beating on himself mercilessly, but once he realized, his whole face lit up. 

“I do, yeah. I was gonna make you crab cakes.” He called out, the moon cheering him on as it overcame the bur oak.

“Throw in some roasted artichokes and I'd be willing to give you a second chance.”

“Saturday?”

“Don't let me down.” You sang, popping open the door and then blindly fighting your key until it was removed.

A man of action and not talk, Elliot took the assignment seriously as he watched you go inside and then wait for the elevator. The whole time he was reminding himself to go home and look up “roasted artichoke recipes”. He was not going to screw this up again. 

[xoxokiaraaxoxo]

everything i never said

summary: you grew up with the sturniolo’s but one of them has been hiding feelings for years.

word count: 1.1k words

You couldn’t remember a time in your life when Chris Sturniolo wasn’t there.

You’d grown up with him in each other’s backyards, hiding behind sprinklers and trampoline nets, building forts out of couch cushions and giggling through movie marathons on summer nights. He was comfort. Familiarity. The constant in your ever-changing life.

But somewhere around your junior year of high school, something shifted.

His smile started to feel different.

His voice got stuck in your head after he spoke.

And the way your heart responded to the sound of his laugh it wasn’t platonic anymore.

That terrified you.

So you buried it.

You told yourself that Chris didn’t see you that way. He couldn’t. You were the best friend. The person who’d seen him eat 17 Pixie Stixs in one sitting and cry during Up. The one who knew about his middle school braces and every breakup he’d never really cared about.

You weren’t someone he’d fall for.

So you became the expert at pretending.

You learned to smile through the ache in your chest every time he called you “dude” or “bro.” You trained yourself to make jokes when he smiled at girls who weren’t you. You learned how to sit close without letting it show. And eventually, it got easier.

Until recently.

Because suddenly, Chris wasn’t acting like your best friend anymore.

—

It started small.

He stopped texting back as quickly.

Stopped saving you a seat next to him on the couch.

Stopped staying up with you to talk after everyone else went to bed.

The conversations that used to come effortlessly began to stall. He pulled away in photos. Avoided your eyes when you laughed at his jokes.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

Every. Single. Day.

You didn’t know what you had done, but you felt it like a bruise. The distance. The shift.

You had lost him, somehow and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

—

It was a Wednesday night when it finally broke.

Matt had gone to get food. Nick was locked in his room editing. And Chris was alone in the kitchen, hunched over the counter, elbows resting beside a barely-sipped cup of black coffee the kind he only made when he was upset but didn’t want to talk about it.

You stood in the doorway for a second, watching him.

And then you stepped in.

“Okay, talk to me.”

Chris didn’t flinch, but he didn’t look at you either. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

You leaned against the counter, trying to meet his eyes. “You’ve barely spoken to me in three weeks, Chris. Don’t insult me by pretending nothing’s wrong.”

He swallowed, his jaw working. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

You paused. “What is?”

“That you think I owe you something.”

Your heart stuttered. “I don’t, what?”

Chris let out a bitter laugh, finally looking at you and it knocked the wind out of you. He looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. Like he’d been fighting a battle in his head for too long and was finally giving up.

“I liked you,” he said.

Three words. Simple. Devastating.

“I liked you for a long time. Too long, probably. And I thought maybe you felt it too. All those years of hanging out late and being around each other more than anyone else… I guess I let myself believe it meant something.”

You were frozen.

Chris shook his head. “But it didn’t. Not to you.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“And I tried to get over it,” he added, voice low. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Pulling away. Letting go. Because it hurts too much to be around you and pretend I don’t feel anything.”

You stepped forward, breath shallow. “Chris—”

“No.” His voice cracked. “Don’t. Don’t try to fix it just because I made things awkward. I’m sorry for messing up what we had.”

And then so quiet you almost missed it:

“Say something.”

It wasn’t a demand.

It was a plea.

Your heart was beating so loud you were scared he’d hear it.

You moved slowly, like one wrong step would shatter everything.

“I didn’t say anything,” you whispered, “because I thought you didn’t feel that way.”

Chris looked up, and you could see the confusion behind the heartbreak.

“I didn’t think I was enough,” you said. “Not compared to everyone else. So I kept my mouth shut. I told myself I was lucky just to be your friend.”

He blinked like he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“But I’ve loved you this whole time.”

That did it.

Chris stepped forward, slow and cautious, and when he kissed you it wasn’t passionate or fast or movie perfect. It was gentle. Full of every unspoken thing the both of you had been carrying for years.

He held you like something precious, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You kissed him like you were finally coming home.

—

You woke up in Chris’s bed.

Not in a dramatic, clothes-on-the-floor kind of way just wrapped in his hoodie, tangled together under soft blankets, both of you still fully clothed but clutching each other like the world might end if you let go.

His fingers traced slow circles on your back.

“Is this real?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled into his chest. “I hope so.”

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and you’ll still be in the kitchen, and I’ll still be too much of a coward to say anything.”

You looked up at him. “You weren’t a coward. You were hurting.”

He sighed, brushing your hair from your face. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

“Me too.”

He kissed your forehead and whispered, “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

—

You and Chris entered the kitchen still wrapped in the soft bubble of whatever this new thing between you was. You thought maybe you could play it cool but then Chris bumped your hip with his and smiled at you like you hung the stars.

And that was your first mistake.

Matt caught it instantly. “Okay. What’s going on here?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

Nick, from the couch: “Don’t even try to lie. You two are literally glowing. Did you kiss? You kissed. I KNEW IT.”

Chris smirked. “You’re being dramatic.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t just kiss. You’re in love or something.”

You looked at Chris. He looked at you.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “We are.”

Nick groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “I’ve been waiting three years for this. I should’ve bet money.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “So when’s the wedding?”

Chris choked on his water. You laughed until your cheeks hurt.

But through all the teasing, all the jokes, all the chaos Chris’s hand never left yours.

And neither of you ever let go again.

⸻

MASTERLIST

[sahmiarlert]

Enough

The wind howls outside the worn-down walls of the scout regiment’s barracks, rattling the wooden panels as though demanding entry. Inside, a dim candle flickers on the bedside table, casting wavering shadows across the cold stone walls. The room is quiet except for the occasional rustle of fabric and the heavy, measured breathing of the boy sitting at the edge of his bed, fingers trembling as they clutch the blanket draped over his lap.

Armin Arlert sits hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor as though it holds all the answers he so desperately seeks. His golden hair falls in disheveled strands over his eyes, concealing the storm of emotions swimming within the depths of his ocean-blue irises. He looks so small like this—so fragile, as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him into something brittle, something breakable.

You step forward, hesitant at first, watching him with concern from the doorway. He hasn’t spoken much today, barely lifting his head even when Eren and Mikasa called his name. But you noticed. You always notice. The way his hands clenched every time someone spoke of war and sacrifice. The way his eyes glistened, barely holding back the torrent of self-loathing that threatened to consume him whole.

And now, he sits in complete silence, locked away in a torment of his own making.

“Armin,” you call gently, stepping closer. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t react. It’s as if he’s lost somewhere far away, trapped in his mind where doubt and guilt whisper cruel things in his ear.

You don’t hesitate anymore. You close the space between you, lowering yourself onto the bed beside him, your warmth seeping into his cold skin. You reach for his hand, prying his fingers from the blanket, intertwining them with yours. He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“Talk to me,” you urge softly, squeezing his hand.

A shaky breath escapes his lips, and when he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, your heart clenches painfully. His eyes are glassy, rimmed with red as though he’s been fighting back tears for hours.

“I…” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “I don’t— I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Your chest tightens. “Do what?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, fingers tightening around yours. “This. Fighting. Watching people die. Knowing I don’t deserve to be here when others—better people—are gone.” His voice wavers, filled with anguish. “I should’ve been the one to die that day, not Erwin.”

A sharp pang of sadness grips you. You knew he felt this way, but hearing it out loud makes it even more unbearable.

“Armin…” you whisper, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing against the softness of his skin. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” he insists, shaking his head. “I'm not strong like him. I'm not brave like him. I—” His breath hitches, and he looks away, ashamed. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About how much better off everyone would be if it was him instead of me.”

Your heart aches at his words. How could he not see? How could he not understand how much he matters?

“Armin, look at me,” you plead, voice steady but filled with emotion. Slowly, hesitantly, he turns back to you, eyes swimming with pain.

“You are brave,” you tell him, voice unwavering. “You are strong. Not because of the way you fight, but because of the way you think, the way you care. You save lives with your mind, with your heart. I know Erwin believed in you. We all do. And I—” Your voice catches, but you push forward. “I believe in you more than anyone.”

A single tear escapes down his cheek, and without thinking, you reach up, brushing it away with your fingertips. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as though savoring the warmth, the comfort you offer so freely.

“You mean everything to me, Armin,” you continue, voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that you should’ve died instead. Because this world—my world—would be unbearable without you in it.”

His lips part slightly, as if wanting to say something, but words fail him. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, and before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in, pressing a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

His body stiffens at first, then he slumps against you. A soft, broken noise escapes his lips, and he clings to you, arms wrapping around your waist. His face buries into your shoulder, and you feel the dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt, but you don’t mind.

You hold him tighter, pressing a lingering kiss into his hair, whispering over and over again, “You are enough. You have always been enough.”

Minutes pass, and eventually, his breathing evens out, his trembling subsiding as he melts against you. You stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until the candle burns low, its light flickering softly against the quiet promise lingering between you.

A promise that, no matter how much he doubts himself, no matter how broken he feels, you will always be there to remind him just how deeply he is loved.

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Thirty-Four: Chopper, Please, Stop Asking Questions

The crew was still recovering from your very casual confession about letting Nami beat you up when Chopper, once again, tilted his head innocently.

"But, (Y/N)," he said, blinking up at you, completely unaware of the bomb he was about to drop, "you get along really well with Sanji and Luffy, and you always fight with Zoro but make up later. Why don’t you want to date them?"

The entire table fell silent.

Robin immediately perked up, smirking. "This should be good."

Usopp, mouth full of food, choked violently. "CHOPPER, YOU CAN’T JUST ASK THAT."

Sanji sat up so fast that he nearly knocked over his chair. "EXCELLENT QUESTION, CHOPPER! I TOO WOULD LIKE TO KNOW!"

Zoro, eyes half-lidded, smirked. "Yeah, (Y/N). Why not?"

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then, without thinking, you started talking.

And kept talking.

"Okay, first of all," you said, raising a finger, "yes, they are all attractive."

The crew stared.

Sanji, smirking now, leaned forward. "Go on."

"Like, stupidly attractive," you continued, digging your own grave. "It’s almost offensive how good-looking they are. It’s a crime, really."

Robin smiled. "A fascinating observation."

You ignored her and kept going.

"Second—if I were weaker-willed, I would absolutely bend to their every need."

More silence.

Zoro choked on his drink.

Luffy, laughing, clapped his hands. "BEND?! LIKE A BACKFLIP?!"

Sanji nearly short-circuited. "Mademoiselle—"

You held up a hand. "Shut up, I’m talking."

They shut up.

"Third—if I think about it, they are perfect in every way. Strong? Check. Attractive? Check. Ridiculously charming or entertaining? Check."

Sanji was smug beyond belief.

Zoro, smirking, crossed his arms. "You’re not exactly making a case against it."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your head. "But! Fourth! I don’t think about them that often!"

Nami leaned forward. "You sure about that?"

"YES!" you snapped. Then paused.

"...I think."

The crew collectively grinned.

Usopp wiped a fake tear. "She’s so deep in denial, it’s beautiful."

Franky nodded sagely. "A true emotional crisis."

Sanji, completely revived, grinned and rested his chin in his hand. "So you admit I am the ideal man."

You groaned. "That wasn’t the point—"

Zoro, smirking, cut in. "Sounds like she just confessed she has a thing for all of us."

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then—

"...Wait. What was the question again?"

The entire table exploded in laughter.

Luffy was kicking his feet, howling. "HAHAHA, YOU FORGOT?!"

Robin, highly entertained, chuckled  behind her tea. "That was spectacular."

Usopp was slamming the table, wheezing. "OH MY GOD, SHE REALLY JUST RAMBLED HERSELF INTO A CORNER."

Sanji, smug as ever, grinned. "Take your time, sweetheart. We can wait."

Zoro, shaking his head, muttered, "Pathetic."

Nami sighed, rubbing her temples. "You’re hopeless."

Chopper, still completely innocent, just smiled. "So you don’t know why you wouldn’t date them?"

You stared at him.

Then at the crew.

Then at your entire life’s choices.

Then, finally, you sighed dramatically.

"...I need a drink."

And just like that, dinner was completely derailed once again.

You sat there, elbows on the table, head in your hands, fully regretting every single word that had just left your mouth.

The crew?

They were having the time of their lives.

Sanji was still smug as hell, Zoro looked entirely too entertained, Robin was sipping her tea like she was watching her favorite drama, and Luffy was just laughing hysterically.

And Chopper?

Chopper, bless his innocent little heart, was still waiting for an actual answer.

"So… you don’t know why you wouldn’t date them?" he asked again, blinking at you with big, innocent eyes.

You groaned into your hands.

"Chopper, please," you muttered.

Luffy grinned. "Just say you wanna date everyone!"

You snapped your head up. "I DON’T WANNA DATE EVERYONE."

Zoro smirked. "Sounds like something someone who wants to date everyone would say."

You threw a biscuit at his head.

Sanji sighed dreamily. "Well, I, for one, accept your feelings, mon amour."

You groaned louder. "I don’t have feelings, you dumbass cook."

Sanji placed a hand dramatically on his chest. "She’s in denial."

"I AM NOT."

Robin chuckled. "You do make a strong case for them all being ideal."

Usopp, wiping away tears of laughter, nodded. "Yeah, at this point, you might as well just flip a coin."

Nami leaned forward, smirking. "Or just admit you’re down bad for all of them."

You pointed aggressively. "Okay, you know what? Let’s analyze this properly!"

The table fell silent.

Robin perked up, interested. "Oh? You’re doubling down?"

You placed your hands on the table, serious as hell.

"Let’s say, hypothetically," you began, "if I were to consider dating anyone here, which I am not—"

Zoro snorted. "Yeah, sure."

Sanji smirked. "Go on, darling."

You glared. "If I were, then I would need to weigh the pros and cons, right?"

Luffy, bouncing in his seat, nodded eagerly. "YEAH! LIKE MEAT VS. FISH!"

"...Sure."

And so, with zero hesitation, you began.

The “Not a Crush” Breakdown

Luffy: ✔ Fun, adventurous, always up for chaos ✔ Strong as hell, wouldn’t let anything happen to me ✔ Captain, so technically, it would be a power move ✘ Would definitely forget anniversaries and possibly my birthday ✘ Might lose me in a crowd and not notice for hours ✘ Would 100% eat my food off my plate without asking

Zoro: ✔ Insane loyalty, literally the definition of ride or die ✔ Strong enough to fight beside me, wouldn’t need protecting ✔ If I got kidnapped, he’d be the first one to find me ✘ Probably wouldn’t notice he had feelings until it was too late ✘ Would make me train every single day, which, ugh ✘ Too stubborn, we’d get into fights constantly

Sanji: ✔ Would pamper me ridiculously, I’d never lift a finger ✔ Best food for life, obviously ✔ Flirty as hell, which is… kinda nice, actually ✘ Would faint at least once a week from excitement ✘ Every woman is a princess to him, so I wouldn’t be special ✘ Would literally never let me pay for anything, which would drive me insane

Usopp: ✔ Hilarious, never a dull moment ✔ Would build cool weapons for me ✔ Surprisingly smart and resourceful ✘ Might actually have a heart attack if I flirted with him ✘ Would definitely run away from a date if it got too romantic ✘ I’d have to protect him, which isn’t my usual type

Franky: ✔ Big, strong, literally bulletproof ✔ Super fun, would build me a custom weapon just because ✔ Surprisingly emotional and sweet, which is cute ✘ Would yell “SUUUUPER” mid-date and embarrass me ✘ Would probably cry if I gave him a love letter ✘ Too much metal, where am I supposed to grab?

Robin: ✔ Literal perfection, need I say more? ✔ Smart, funny, strong, mysterious ✔ Would probably read to me at night, and that’s adorable ✘ Would see through every lie I ever told, instantly ✘ Too calm, I’d feel like an idiot 24/7 ✘ Would probably predict the breakup before it even happened

Nami: ✔ Gorgeous, terrifying, could absolutely kill me ✔ Smartest person here, financially responsible (unlike me) ✔ Would bully me but in a way that’s hot ✘ Would charge me for dates, I know it ✘ Too good at manipulation, I’d never win an argument ✘ She owns me, actually. This isn’t a relationship, it’s a dictatorship

By the time you finished rambling, the crew was staring at you in stunned silence.

Zoro was actually grinning, arms crossed. "You put way too much thought into that."

Sanji, hand on his heart, looked moved. "Darling, you’ve analyzed us all so beautifully."

Luffy, still kicking his feet, grinned. "I WANNA DATE EVERYONE TOO!"

Robin chuckled. "That was impressive."

Usopp, still recovering, muttered, "You really thought about all of that on the spot?"

You blinked.

Paused.

Then…

"..Yes?"

The crew lost it.

Zoro nearly fell off his seat laughing.

Sanji collapsed face-first onto the table again.

Nami was crying from laughter.

Robin, smiling, shook her head. "You truly are fascinating."

Luffy, clapping, beamed. "THAT WAS AWESOME!"

And Chopper?

Chopper, completely unbothered, just nodded. "That was very informative! Thanks, (Y/N)!"

You exhaled, defeated.

"God, I need a nap."

And just like that—

Dinner was officially ruined. Again.

After what felt like an eternity of interrogations, chaos, and an unintentional deep dive into your hypothetical love life, dinner was finally winding down.

Luffy let out a loud, content sigh, rubbing his stomach. "THAT WAS A GREAT MEAL!"

Usopp, still recovering from laughter, leaned back in his chair. "Honestly, that might have been the most entertaining dinner we’ve ever had."

Zoro, arms crossed, smirked. "Agreed."

Sanji, still dramatically sulking, lit another cigarette and exhaled. "I am emotionally drained."

You, completely done, leaned back in your seat. "Congratulations, everyone. We made it through the world’s most ridiculous meal."

Robin chuckled. "Barely."

Chopper, still innocently pleased, clapped his hooves together. "I learned so much today!"

Sanji, rubbing his temples, muttered, "That makes one of us."

Franky stretched his arms. "WELL, I’M FULL. TIME TO GO WORK ON THE SUNNY."

Luffy immediately perked up. "OH! LET’S PLAY A GAME!"

Nami groaned. "Luffy, no. We just survived dinner."

Luffy pouted. "But I have so much energy!"

You snorted. "When do you not?"

Robin stood, gathering her book. "Well, this has been enlightening, but I think I’ll retire for the night."

Nami followed suit. "Yeah, I think I’m done with all of you for today."

Zoro, grinning, stretched lazily. "Tch. Cowards."

You sighed, standing as well. "I, too, am done with all of you. Especially you, Chopper."

Chopper, confused, blinked. "What did I do?"

Sanji, finally pulling himself together, shot you a smug smirk. "Admitted you’d bend to my every need?"

You threw a bread roll at his head.

Zoro grinned. "Nice shot."

And with that—dinner was finally, finally over.

Though, deep down?

You knew.

Tomorrow, someone was going to bring it up again.

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 34. to the miya's

word count: 1.9k YAY!!

“oh? come in, you’re finally here,” someone greeted you in front of Onigiri Miya. 

you had been chatting with atsumu before approaching the restaurant. apparently, he wanted to pick you up and arrive there with you; the gesture made your stomach churn with warmth. 

“you must be atsumu’s brother!” you stepped closer until the lights above the shop illuminated your presence. atsumu followed behind you, stepping into the light to see osamu’s amused face clearer. 

“nope, wrong person. he’s just the garbage boy,” your co-star sneered. 

osamu ignored him, smiling at you knowingly. “well, what do you think? don’t we look the same?” 

“i would hope you do,” you laughed. “otherwise, atsumu would’ve scammed me.” 

“i’ve always been told i’m the better looking one. don’t you agree?” the darker haired twin questioned playfully.

his tease made atsumu quirk a brow. in one swift motion, a hand laced around yours, leading you towards the shop’s entrance. it happened so suddenly that you didn’t even have a chance to answer osamu’s question. your words were hopelessly caught in your throat. 

as you and atsumu shuffled in (notably still holding hands), you took in the homey atmosphere of the restaurant. wooden chairs and tables huddled near each other as an appealing aroma swirled around the space; it awoke your stomach, rattling your cravings. osamu followed in shortly, pausing to lock the doors. 

you and atsumu approached the counter seating. after you reside next to two other figures, atsumu lets go of your hand, allowing your heart rate some mercy and a chance to calm down.

“woah! sakusa?!” you nearly jumped after turning to your left. there he was: your previous, forthright co-star who you worked with on “vengeance”. how long has it been since you’ve last seen each other? when you looked further behind him, you were caught starstruck with another surprise: suna rintarou in the flesh. overridden with shock, you nearly bumped your shoulder against atsumu sitting on your right. 

“hey, y/n. woah, you look better in person,” suna said, the corner of his lips curling upwards. “it’s a compliment.” 

you were still trying to comprehend the sight, blinking rapidly with astonishment. sure you knew you’d be meeting them, but the whole situation was still making you speechless. you respond anyway, smiling at his words. “thank you. i’ve been listening to your new singles, you really outdid yourself with this one.”

“oh? then, can we get each other’s autographs before we leave?”

you nodded, eyes glowing with admiration. unbeknownst to you, atsumu was making a face and mouthing something to suna irritatedly. you heard osamu stifle a chuckle. after locking the doors, he hurried behind the counters to set up his cooking equipment. 

“hi, y/n,” sakusa said. he’d been sitting awkwardly still while you and suna were talking. he wasn’t sure if he should lean back to help you two converse or not. in the end, he didn’t do anything. 

“it’s been a while,” you beamed. “i watched your latest film by the way. your acting still blows me away every time.” 

“yes, it has been. and thank you, i also heard about the ruckus at the movie theater.”

you felt atsumu lean closer towards you and sakusa, whispering loudly, “dude!”

“it’s fine,” you reassured him. “i’m over that and i’m used to sakusa’s straightforwardness.” 

somehow—somewhere, atsumu knew this might’ve been a mistake. he continued to sulk, propping an elbow on the wooden counter and resting the side of his jaw on his palm. 

sakusa continued, ignoring his friend’s pouty expression. “getting recognized like that just means you’re becoming more famous, y/n. it shows ur success.” 

the last thing you were expecting from this strange meetup was sakusa complimenting you. “thank you. my efforts are being recognized,” you laughed. “i won’t stop here, though. i’ll continue to work harder. i don’t want anything to get in the way of me becoming a better actress.” truthfully, you were just caught up in the moment; words were hastily spilling out, but you genuinely meant them. 

for a moment, the atmosphere shifted and paused. you were conversing with sakusa, but the others were still listening in. if sakusa noticed the awkward tension at all, he didn’t show it, only continuing to say, “that’s a good mindset.” 

then, everything resumed when osamu approached the counter with a full plate of onigiri. he leaned against the counter, smiling and watching as the four of you dug in. this continued for a while: you’d finish a plate then wait for osamu to work on the next batch of his new recipes. there’d be more pointless conversations filled with TMI; some gossip here and there; and even embarrassing stories regarding mostly of atsumu’s high school antics. you thought they were cute, but your co-star seem to think otherwise. 

“huh? games? you guys wanna play?” osamu asked from the sink. he was washing the plates while the four of you were still chatting. seriously, there were a million things you guys could talk about. 

atsumu turned towards his brother. “you have some upstairs, don’t you? here,” atsumu stood up from his stool, flashing you a quick smile and patting your shoulder before saying, “i’ll go check real quick.” 

then, he was gone—for a long time. you hadn’t realized it, but you were counting every minute that he was away. his absence was piercing, saliently clear. you were fine being alone with his friends, but there was more to it. being with atsumu, having him right next to you was another kind of reassurance you’d never experienced before. in a way, you wouldn’t mind anything if he was there by your side. 

“so, where’s atsumu?” suna asked, looking around for the blond actor. 

“is he still looking for the games? it shouldn’t be taking this long,” sakusa chimed in. 

you saw osamu grimace, trying to hold himself back from facepalming himself. “this guy…” he murmured with a sigh. it looked as though he knew something that you didn’t. “i actually moved some stuff around recently, so everything’s in a new place now. uh, i should go check up on him.” 

“sure,” suna said. “we’ll stay here then.” 

osamu ducked under the counter, pulling out a thick photo album. he smiled with satisfaction. “here. while you wait, you might as well check these out. was gonna show you these and make fun of ‘tsumu, but since he isn’t here, it’s the perfect opportunity, right?” 

removing his apron, osamu placed them on the counter. he left shortly after, disappearing behind the curtains concealing a set of stairs. you were so distracted watching him leave that you didn't even notice suna getting up and taking atsumu’s seat. he pushed the photo album towards you, and suddenly, you were sandwiched between sakusa and suna. 

“what are you doing with that phone?” sakusa asked, staring at the singer’s amused smile. 

“taking pictures, obviously. it’ll be good blackmail—you should do it too, y/n.” 

“hey,” osamu called from behind, stepping into his living room. 

atsumu, crouched on the carpet by a shelf, turned around to stare at osamu. “oh, were you waiting for me?” 

“yup, the others were getting worried,” he replied, plopping down on his couch listlessly. “so? why are you moping?” 

an annoyed wrinkle formed between atsumu’s eyebrows. “not moping. i was gonna come down but then i saw these CDs on your shelf. didn’t know you still had them.”

osamu smiled. “duh, you were the one who bought them for me when you got your first gig. i’d be a jerk if i threw them out.” 

“you’re always a dick, though.” 

“so you weren’t thinking about y/n and moping about then?” 

“who knows,” the blond mumbled. 

it was painfully silent until osamu facepalmed himself and grumbled. “look. stop beating yourself up honestly. i saw how she acted around you. y’know? your little hand holding? if she didn’t like you, wouldn’t she have—i don’t know—pulled away? but she didn’t and you were the one who pulled away instead.” 

“you’re saying she likes me? the feeling’s mutual?” 

“obviously. who would want to spend their time off with you anyway?” 

“hey!” atsumu frowned. “rude jerk. are you a fortune teller or something? how would you know?”

“i don’t need to see the future to know, dummy. i’m starting to think you like being hopeless because the answer's right in front of you. whether or not she knows it, her actions completely give her away. if you continue spending time together, she’ll eventually realize her feelings.”

atsumu dropped to the ground, supporting his weight with his hands on the carpet. he sighed heavily, “there’s still that thing she said, though.”

“what? about not wanting anything to get in the way of her business or something?” 

atsumu faced the wooden shelf, his eyes downcasted. he hadn’t been able to shake those words off of his mind. if that was truly what you wanted, there was nothing to compromise. the two of you couldn’t be together without something possibly obstructing your dream. 

“god! the two of you are so stubborn. why not? why can’t you just be together?!” osamu blared, shooting up from his spot on the couch.

“why are you getting worked up?! i’m the one dealing with this after all!” 

“i should’ve eaten you in the womb.”

“funny, because i was just thinking the same thing,” atsumu scoffed. “look, y/n and i can’t be in a relationship without it potentially holding her back. well, you wouldn’t understand, you’ve never been in one.”

“and yet here i am: giving relationship advice to a persistent brat,” osamu rolled his eyes. 

atsumu groaned, “even when i was with emma, we still had to make compromises to make the relationship work. y’know, schedule conflicts…different priorities. y/n doesn’t need that right now. she doesn’t need me right now.” at this point, he wasn’t sure if those words were for his brother or himself. maybe both. maybe just one, and it was the latter. 

“you want to respect whatever she wants.”

“exactly,” atsumu said with firm hands pressed against his eyes. even when he only saw darkness, his mind immediately conjured an image of you; and somehow, that pained him more than anything. atsumu let his hands drop, his vision clearing up. anymore and he would’ve pictured the two of you being something more. being in a relationship, him being able to love you. 

“so? what now?”

“nothing, i guess. i won’t do anything so everything will be over when filming is done.” 

osamu didn’t respond. he only stared at his twin brother. he never thought atsumu would fall in love again after the whole ordeal with emma. he thought his brother had bore his defenses and swallowed his feelings. who knew you would make him fall deeper? make him come back to his senses—to his usual, sloven self again? 

osamu had you to thank, and the world to hate. his brother was about to get heartbroken again, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

atsumu stood up, dusting his pants and grabbing the deck of cards on the top shelf. before he headed downstairs, though, atsumu braced himself. he took deep breaths and slapped his cheeks a couple times until they turned red. it was silly, but if he didn’t prepare himself—if he saw you laughing and getting along with his friends, atsumu would’ve gone back on his word. he wanted you, and you were cruel for making him want you even more. 

osamu approached his brother, raising a puzzled brow. “what are you—”

“okay! i’m ready, let’s head down. we’re wasting too much time.”

“that was all you, dummy.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. hurry! i’ll race you down there.”

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu didn't know if he wanted to embarrass y/n by telling her she'd been pranked/tricked or not. he didn't want to, so he went along for her.

sakusa and suna arrived early! right before y/n and atsumu.

y/n and suna exchanged autographs before they left. she was really happy on the way home but atsumu didn't know what was so exciting about his friend's wobbly autograph. (he's salty and stubborn, but he still took you home).

y/n didn't take any pictures for blackmail. only the ones she thought were exceptionally cute. the three of them had no idea who was who though, so they just prayed and guessed.

osamu really wants to challenge y/n to mario kart. he wants to know how good she is to have beaten his twin brother. family game night! (+ suna and sakusa).

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: i think osamu is much more attractive he's my favorite twin... funny how i have a whole smau abt atsumu though...

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

(1/2) ⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl l @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer @cherrypieyourface @azharyy @mimi3lover @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @dazball @whykirbo @r0seandth0rns @localgaytrainwreck @miyamoratsumuu @zephestia @luvvmae @seeyapizzazz

[fluffroom]

"Late Arrival" - Hyunjin

Imaginary Friend AU | 2k Words | Playful, Chaotic, and Flirty| Hyunjin x Reader

Summary: You never had an imaginary friend as a child, so why is a beautiful, chaotic stranger suddenly showing up at your job, insisting he's always belonged to you? He teases, he lingers, and he just might be exactly what you never knew you needed.

You're barely through your shift at the department store when chaos strolls in wearing tight pants, windswept hair, and an audacious amount of confidence.

He walks right up to the register, leans on it like he owns the place, and grins.

"There you are," he says like you've kept him waiting. "Finally clocked in on time, huh?"

You blink. "Do I...know you?"

He gasps. "Ouch. Wounding me on sight. Is this how you treat all your imaginary friends?"

You stare. "What?"

"Hyunjin," he says, tapping his chest. "You named me."

"I've never-" You lower your voice. "-had an imaginary friend."

"Well," he says, sliding a hand through his hair, "you do now."

. . .

You're convinced it's a joke.

One of your coworkers must've set it up. Some weird dare. A TikTok challenge, maybe?

But Hyunjin doesn't leave.

He follows you around the store, commenting on every single candle he picks up to smell with maddening curiosity and a running stream of snark.

"Do you remember your obsession with peaches? God, I thought you'd never grow out of it." "This one's called romance sparkle, but it smells like garbage." "Ooh, look, this one is your favorite color!"

You whirl around. "How do you know that?"

He winks. "Told you. Imaginary friend. Just...late to the party."

. . .

In the break room, you hide behind your sandwich.

Hyunjin props his feet on the table like he belongs there.

"Y'know," he muses, "most kids get imaginary friends when they're scared or lonely. You waited until your mid-twenties. Bold."

You groan. "I didn't ask for this."

"Sure you did," he says, tapping your forehead gently. "Right in here. Kept wishing someone would just get you. Talk to you. Stay."

You're quiet for a beat.

He shrugs. "Sorry for the delay. Cosmic paperwork."

You can't help it- you laugh.

"That was so lame."

"But effective," he beams.

. . .

Hyunjin doesn't eat, but he critiques your lunch like a MasterChef judge.

He doesn't clock in, but customers glance his way like they can see him.

You test it, just once- ask someone, "Did you see that guy by the shoes?"

They frown. "What guy?"

Hyunjin, smirking from the aisle, mouths: Told you so.

"I'm losing my mind," you mutter.

"You're welcoming your imagination," he corrects, appearing by your elbow.

You jump. "Do you have to do that?"

"Would you prefer I knock first? On your brain?"

You throw a pen at him. He catches it. Keeps it.

. . .

That night, you pace your apartment.

Hyunjin lounges on your couch, flipping through your old sketchbook. The private one.

"Where did you even come from?" you ask finally.

He looks up. "You."

"NO, seriously."

He sets the pad down.

"Okay. One day, you stopped trying to be 'normal' and started hoping someone out there would see you. Not your job title. Not your GPA. Not your polite small talk. You."

Your mouth dries.

"And in that hope, I was made."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does iced coffee at midnight, but here we are."

You hate how he makes you smile.

. . .

The next day, he helps you rehang clothes that had fallen off the rack.

Sort of.

He straightens them on the hanger with a flick of his hand. You yelp. A customer sees a blouse settle itself.

You both duck behind the rack.

"I told you not to do that in public."

Hyunjin shrugs. "Maybe they just thought you had incredible speed."

You groan into your hands.

He chuckles. "You're cute when you're flustered."

You glance up. "Do you flirt with everyone whose brain you invade?"

"Only the ones I like," he says, voice softer.

You pretend you don't hear that.

He pretends you don't blush.

. . .

"You said imaginary friends come from need," you say that night, curled under your duvet.

Hyunjin sits down on your desk, legs dangling barely above the floor.

"So what happens when I don't need you anymore?"

He stills.

"You really want me to answer that?"

You nod.

His voice is quieter. "Then I'll disappear. Back into the spaces between memories."

"That sucks."

"Eh," he says, forcing a grin. "Better to be briefly real than eternally hypothetical."

You toss a pillow at him. "Stop making that sound poetic."

"You like it."

You kind of do.

. . .

You dream of him.

Not floating or flickering.

Just...sitting beside you. Real. Solid. Staring at the stars.

When you wake up, he's there.

Watching you.

"You dreamt of me," he says.

"You're in my head. Of course I did."

"No," he says. "You dreamt with me."

You blink. "What's the difference?"

His expression changes. Grows quieter.

"I think you're starting to believe I'm real."

You look away.

"I don't want to lose you," you whisper.

He leans in. "Then don't."

Your phone alarm goes off, interrupting everything.

When you look back, he's gone.

. . .

The next week is empty.

Hyunjin doesn't show up.

No teasing. No smirking. No floating merchandise.

The break room is dull. The apartment is quiet too.

You reread the sketchbook. Every page. Hoping to find him between the lines.

On the last page, there's something new.

A tiny drawing of a heart.

And a note:

I only go when you stop needing me. But if you start wanting me instead... I'll come back. -H

. . .

You sit on the windowsill the next night.

Alone.

"I don't need you," you say softly. "I wanted to be okay on my own. I am okay."

The wind shifts.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want you."

A pause.

Then:

"I knew you'd figure it out."

You turn.

Hyunjin stands behind you, the same grin, but softer.

Less teasing. More true.

You laugh- relieved, confused, breathless.

He sits beside you.

"Took you long enough," he teases.

You lean into him.

"Took you longer."

THE END

A/N: With a little bit of help from an AI generator, I create my short stories, tweak them a bit to feel more human, and share them here with people I know will enjoy them. If you'd like a continuation of any of my stories, please leave me a private ask with the title and what you'd like to see. If you want to request a certain plot as well, please do the same.

Thank you again!

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days - Part Seven

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six or Read on AO3

The day that Henry waltzes back into Shawn’s life starts out normal enough. 

It’s a Tuesday. The sun is out, the local smoothie place on the corner of 118th has finally brought back its mango tango tropical blend --containing absolutely mouth tingling amounts of pineapple, and Gus even manages to get the cute smoothie girls number while they wait for their drinks. 

“You hear about Pluto? That's messed up,” Gus says, leaning against the counter as he hands her a ten. Her head tilts slightly, eyebrow raised, her sharp green eyes sweep over Gus as a smile blooms over her freckled face. 

Oh shit, she's going to eat him alive.

“I hadn't, you'll have to tell me sometime,” the cashier says with a wink that pulls a strangled laugh out of his best friend.

They leave with their drinks, Gus's cup adorned with a sharpie phone number and a smiley face across the plastic. The bounce in Gus’s step makes Shawn grin as he watches him read the number again and again.

“Can an area code be cute?” Gus asks as they turn down the street to the department, passing uniformed officers leaving for patrol.

“Depends on the number of eights, also fours, very sexy numbers Gus,” Shawn says sagely, fighting to keep his face neutral as Gus glares openly at him.

“Please,” Gus huffs as they climb the stone steps up to the precinct, “you are just jealous that my Pluto line pulled”.

One of the rookies, officer Miller? Mayer? Some kind of M name, Shawn thinks as the officer stops to hold the door for the pair of them to enter the building. 

The rookie flashes Shawn a smile as he waves them in and Shawn can't help but smile back. Maybe Gus wouldn't be the only one getting a number today.

“It was bound to happen Gus,” Shawn insists as they turn down the hall towards the bullpen, “the intersection of women that are single, into astrology, and a little crazy is small but you were eventually gonna find it buddy”.

Gus sputters around the straw of his smoothie, “there is a huge difference between astrology and astronomy Shawn--”

“Are we talking horoscopes?” Juliet asks with a curious smile as she falls into step beside them, carrying a file folder and a mug of coffee in the other hand as they make their way to the desks. Shawn grins as Gus swallows nervously. 

He likes Juliet.

She's sincere and chipper but there's an edge to her that Shawn can't quite pinpoint where the line is. It also helps that she has enough patience to balance out her partner who has not been subtle about his distaste for Shawn.

Plus, Gus is completely smitten with her.

Juliet is probably the only woman who has laughed at, objectively, every single one of Gus's jokes since they started working together --which is a feat in and of itself. Shawn watches as Gus lifts his hand to rub at the back of his neck, stammering through the account of his interaction at the smoothie place with the counter girl.

Shawn sees the way Juliet deflates slightly, her eyes darting between Gus and the number on the smoothie cup. He shakes his head at the open display of pining. 

It would almost be amusing if Shawn didn't have to hear about how amazing, and funny, and cute, and scary Juliet is every other night from Gus and why someone like her could never go for someone like him --which is bullshit.

Anyone would be lucky to have someone like Gus on their team, and Shawn will champion that argument until the day he dies. 

Besides, if he isn't mistaken, Juliet agrees with his sentiment.

“It just seems so disrespectful to remove its status as a planet after all this time,” Gus sighs, trailing off from his planetary rant.

Juliet nods, “not just to Pluto but to all of us that had to repeat ‘Men Very Easily Make Jugs Serve Useful Needs, Perhaps,’ and not have all the boys in class giggle at the word ‘Jugs’”.

“You get it,” Gus exclaims, elbowing Shawn as he tries in vain to stifle a snicker.

It's not Shawn’s fault that ‘Jugs’ is comedy gold, he doesn't make the rules.

Shawn lets his attention wander from the pair slightly, taking in the neat stacks of paperwork on Juliet’s and Lassiter’s desks, wondering just what cases he might be able to snoop on in preparation for his psychic showcase later, and speaking of the Head Detective it’s a little odd that he isn't in yet. 

Shawn looks at the clock on the wall, it’s nearly 9:30, well past when good ol’ Lassie normally arrives. 

“Boy this place hasn't changed a bit”.

Shawn stills as he registers the voice from across the bullpen.

Oh no.

No, no, no, he's been so fucking careful.

“How long are you sticking around for Detective?” Lassiter's voice floats across the space behind them, “I can show you the new evidence room if you have time?” 

Shawn slowly turns, holding his breath, to see Lassiter walking and talking, hitching his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the evidence room, with Henry Spencer.

Fuck.

Henry looks very nearly the same, maybe a little thinner than he was the day he left Shawn at the station, definitely more grey and less hair than there had been. The collar on his polo is warped slightly, as though it had been left to air dry on a rack, and the brown leather shoes he's wearing are dull, scuffed at the sides. 

The Henry Spencer who diligently ironed his clothes and shined his shoes every day has seemingly evaporated in the last ten years, replaced with some laid-back facsimile.

Shawn had heard that Henry had retired from Gus, who had heard it from his mother, around the same time that he was supposed to have left Santa Barbara.

Shawn looks closer, taking in the same cool blue eyes, piercing and sharp as he surveys the precinct. 

His dad must just miss his old haunt, the station that was his second home for nearly forty years, that has to be it. 

Henry isn't here for Shawn, he can't be.

But…there was that god damn article he and Gus were mentioned in after the McCallum case. 

Shit.

Shawn closes his eyes and breathes in to try and slow the icy panic sliding up his spine, like he's been dropped off the edge of the pier in January.

He stills again as Henry responds to the Detective, clapping him on the arm with a relaxed grin.

“Nah, I'm in and out Lassiter, just checking in with the old guard on our poker night, you know how it is”. 

Shawn slowly ducks himself behind Gus, as Henry shifts his stance to the Chief's closed office door.

He hasn't seen Henry since that awful night ten years ago, and the thought of seeing his dad here now, of being exposed as a fraud, a liar, a--

Shawn shuts his eyes, and shakes his head as though to erase the thought.

He doesn't need Henry ruining this for him, not when things are finally, finally working for once. He needs to get out of here.

“Gus,” Shawn hisses sharply, interrupting his friend mid sentence, he tucks his head further down, keeping himself angled away from where Henry and Lassiter are still talking. 

Palling around like old chums, god of course they are. Why wouldn't Henry love someone like Lassiter, the complete opposite end of the spectrum where Shawn is concerned. 

“Shawn what?” Gus tries but Shawn flaps both hands out, cutting him off again. 

Juliet frowns at the display, though there is a hint of concern in her gaze as her eyes follow the direction from which he is obviously hiding, landing on Lassiter who is still chatting with his dad.

Everything feels off balance, like he missed a step on the stairs but then the rest of them have given way to let him drop.

“Gus, Henry is here and I need to not be,” Shawn says lowly, “I need a distraction or a miracle, preferably both if you can swing it”.

“Shawn--”

“What kind of distraction?”

Juliet and Gus say at the same time and, hell yes, Shawn knew he liked her for a reason.

“And with zero rehearsal? I am so proud of you two,” Shawn whispers to them, ignoring the way his heart is threatening to jack hammer its way out of his chest.

He clears his throat roughly, swallowing once, “I just need something big enough to get me into the kitchen without being seen?” 

“On it,” Juliet affirms, taking a step towards her desk to drop off the file from one hand, while the coffee cup remains in the other.

She takes a small step away before pausing and turning back to the pair of them, “hold on, this isn't for anything illegal or to do with a case is it?” she asks warily, glancing between Shawn and Gus.

“No,” Gus and Shawn say at the same time.

Juliet nods once and takes off towards Lassiter and Henry with long determined strides.

“Wow,” Gus sighs, hearts in his eyes and Shawn shakes his head at the sight.

God these two.

He breathes out, long and slow, before startling slightly at the commotion behind them. Shawn hazards a glance at Juliet to find her profusely apologizing to Henry for the large brown coffee stain all over his polo while Lassiter watches with a stunned expression on his rapidly reddening face. 

Ho-ly shit, if Gus doesn't lock this girl down, Shawn might have to. They'll have a summer wedding, Shawn thinks a little hysterically as he takes the opportunity to bolt, speed walking to the department kitchen, Gus hot on his heels.

They round the corner out of the bullpen and head down the hall towards the staff kitchen, nearly crashing into Buzz on their way through the narrow door.

“Sorry man,” Gus winces as Buzz just manages to stop coffee from flowing over the side of the cup in his hand as he makes way for them.

“All good, is Shawn okay?” Buzz asks, concern in his voice and expression as he peers back into the kitchen.

Shawn says nothing, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper on his tongue. He breathes out again, long and slow, before taking a short sharp breath in, just like Mrs. Guster taught him. 

“He's fine,” Gus says quickly, “I could smell the fresh pot from the pen so we wanted to jump on that before anyone else”.

Buzz tilts his head at Gus quizzically, “oh that stuff’s old actually, probably from the shift change I think”.

“And that's what…you're drinking?” Gus says slowly, staring at the young officer who beams at the pair of them.

“I know it's not everyone's taste but I love the last cup,” Buzz smiles before taking a long sip from the chipped mug in his hand, “not too hot, plenty bitter and strong, it's great.”

Shawn breathes out a laugh this time as his heart rate finally begins to slow to a more normal pace.

“We'll take your word for it,” Shawn says, rubbing his hand through his hair before reaching for the electric kettle next to the empty coffee pot. It's full of water still, and based on the fresh droplets on the counter, someone filled it recently.

“Glad you're okay Shawn, you'll have to head back soon, apparently we have a visitor that Detective Lassiter is showing around--”

“Thanks Buzz, we'll try,” Gus interrupts smoothly, he's smiling but it's just a little too wide.

Shawn flicks the switch on for the kettle and turns to slump against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Buzz shrugs and gives them a little salute with his mug before turning on his heel to head back to his desk. 

Gus waits a beat before whirling around to Shawn, eyes wide, “why the hell is Henry here?” 

“Why do dolphins tease pufferfish Gus?”

“Because they like to get high?”

“Because they do whatever the hell they want and how should I know how a dolphin thinks,” Shawn bites out as the kettle bubbles and spits behind him.

“I thought he moved away,” Shawn says eventually, chewing on the corner of his lip, “guess he came back”.

Gus grimaces, peeking around the corner of the kitchen for a moment before turning back to Shawn.

“Make me a cup too,” he sighs, reaching a hand up to pinch into his eyes, “you're gonna owe Juliet big time for this, I don't think I've ever seen Lassiter turn that shade of red before”.

“Hey, he should be grateful she spilled on the right asshole,” Shawn mutters as the kettle clicks off automatically. He turns around and reaches for the overhead cupboards to grab two mugs from the shelf.

“Well, your vocabulary hasn't changed much, has it kid?”

Shawn nearly drops both mugs at the sound of his father's voice behind him and the quiet curse Gus blurts out.

Shawn doesn't turn around, keeping his shoulders level as he sets the mugs down and reaches for a random box of tea bags on the counter, looks like Gus will have to settle for green tea this time as much as he hates it. 

“You’d be surprised,” Shawn manages after a long beat of strained silence.

Henry hums, “What, you're not gonna say hello to your old man?”

Shawn bristles, hating the way he can feel his ears begin to heat. He grips the counter to halt the furious tremor in one hand while the other crushes a still wrapped tea bag.

“Detective Spencer did you find--”

Oh good. Lassie is here now too, Shawn thinks viciously.

“I know where the kitchen is Lassiter,” Henry sighs, “I did work here after all”.

“Mr. Spencer,” Gus says, cutting through the strange tension that has begun to spread through the little kitchen, “it's been a while”.

“Burton, yeah it has, how's your mother?”

“My mother?” Gus repeats, confusion in his voice, “she's uh, she's great--”

“I'll bet,” Henry interrupts, “she's certainly something your mother, definitely had a lot to say to me over the years, that's for sure”.

Shawn falters slightly, has Henry been keeping tabs on him this whole time though Mrs. Guster? 

He swallows roughly, still facing the cupboard. Shawn tries to unclench his fist but it won't budge, the paper around the teabag has grown damp now from the sweat on his hand and he can feel the cheap ink from the label rubbing into his palm.

Lassiter clears his throat awkwardly, “uh, Detective, Sargent Bart is ready if you still wanted to meet”.

Henry sighs behind him, Shawn can hear the shift in his stance as he turns back to Gus.

“Well, at least one of you is polite, but you always were a good kid Burton”.

Shawn feels his hackles raise at the same time Lassiter clears his throat again.

“Fine,” Henry says in a clipped, disappointed voice, “Shawn, if you want to talk, you know where to find me”. 

Shawn hears Henry walk away, his shoes scuffing against the floor heading further and further down the hall, and let's his head slowly fall until it connects with the cupboard. 

He lifts his head, just enough to drop it again, connecting with the cupboard door with a muffled thunk before he straightens up, shakes out his shoulders and finally drops the unusable teabag on the counter.

“Guster, what's got your partner so worked up, is being confronted with a real detective just that upsetting?” Lassiter asks as Shawn finally turns around. 

He's still standing next to Gus, his blue eyes tracing over Shawn as though scanning him, smirking slightly.

“Upsetting?” Shawn laughs, but it sounds fake, hollow, “Lassie, Lassie, Lassie, I'm touched you think I'm capable of that kind of emotional intelligence, it’s, well, it's an honour Detective”.

Gus sighs, shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest as Lassiter rolls his eyes with a huff.

“Then what the hell is your problem, he's your dad isn't he?

“Lassiter--” Gus tries but Shawn beats him to it.

“You really don't remember huh?” Shawn says incredulously, “the first night we met?”

Lassiter tilts his head, blue eyes narrow as he stares at Shawn, “the first? Spencer, that was a few weeks ago?”

Right. 

Shawn had been pretty certain that the Detective didn't remember being there the night Shawn was arrested, and this just confirmed the theory.

He's pretty sure Vick remembers just based on the look in her eyes when she reminded Shawn she had no problem with booking him if he were lying about the psychic thing, she'd processed him before and would do it again to protect the department.

But, it looks like she hasn’t said much of anything to the other Detectives, not about Henry dropping him off or the call he had made to the Gusters while standing behind him, most certainly eavesdropping.

Which should be a relief.

It's not like he’s enthusiastic about people knowing the details of that awful night.

A brief flash of Lassiter’s expression, pained and sympathetic, as he walks up to Shawn in the hallway to ask if he's okay, flashes once before dissipating.

It's…it's good he doesn't remember. 

He doesn't need Lassiter looking at him with anything other than irritation or anger in his very, very, blue eyes--

No. 

That is one thought he'd rather not examine too closely --especially not now with Lassie standing in front of him with his annoyingly observant glare.

Shawn sighs sharply, lifting his hand to pinch his nose before dropping it limply at his side.

“You know what, why don't you run along Lassie, I'm sure there's a boy stuck in a well somewhere that would love your help”. 

Lassiter blinks once, twice, Shawn can see the cogs turning in his head as he moves away from the counter, making his way past the Detective. 

It's the same jab he'd used over ten years ago.

Why the fuck did he say that? 

Shawn halts as he feels Lassiter grab his arm loosely at the elbow, but doesn't turn around.

“Better yet,” Shawn says loudly, the words come out smoothly but at a higher pitch than normal, and Shawn can feel both Gus and Lassiter staring at him.

“Shawn--” Gus tries but Shawn starts moving, pulling his arm from Lassiter's hand with a quick tug.

“You could continue sniffing around Henry,” Shawn calls over his shoulder, “he never wanted a pet when I was growing up but I think he'll just love you”.

He moves a little quicker down the hallway before veering right into another hall.

There are footsteps behind Shawn keeping pace. He steals a quick glance behind him, breathing out a bark of laughter as he meets Gus's harried glare.

“I can't believe you,” Gus hisses as they speed walk their way to the start of the row of individual offices, “I can't believe he didn't murder you right then and there, it's not like you wouldn't have deserved it”.

“I resent that baseless accusation,” Shawn huffs as he continues walking.

“You called him a dog twice--”

“That's the third time technically,” he admits lightly, ignoring the way Gus curses under his breath as they finally reach the foyer.

“Gus, it's fine, we'll leave it for a few days, let Lassie cool down,” Shawn huffs as they pass several uniformed officers heading back into the station.

Maybe if they wait long enough what he had inadvertently let slip to Lassiter will have blown over and Henry will have gotten the hint that Shawn has no interest in speaking to him.

“We wait till they call us, ya know?” He says as they push open the heavy entrance door and the hot afternoon sun hits their faces.

“I'm sure it's already forgotten by now”.

Part Eight Up Now

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