#and how I loved being able to update it every week

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[notiddygothgf]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa

wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[andorsdoll]

Homecoming ♡ Anakin Skywalker x Reader [♀]

Summary: Anakin comes home from battle wrecked and starving for you. You’re his wife, his anchor, his religion—and he fucks you like it.

Word Count: 1.6k || Warnings: nsfw. p*rn w/out plot?? idgaf!!, reader & anakin are married, the gloves stay on during sex, no foreplay, penetration (p-in-v), unprotected sex/creampie, some praise/dirty talk, aftercare, doting husband! anakin, etc.,

Author's Note: idk how to write smut, it's hard!!!!! (stop.. genuinely no pun intended >w< )

PS- for any of you guys following my multi chaptered anakin fic on ao3, i'm so sorry that i never ended up updating but i promise it is on its way, like i'm (re)writing the first chapter as we speak ok!!

PPS- if i have any james kelly/hayden christensen girlies, i posted a one shot here ;)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ .✦.

He doesn’t knock but you hear the sound of boots trecking closer. Your breath catches in your throat the moment the door opens.

Anakin.

Finally.

You stand a little too fast and your knees almost buckle from the way relief crashes into you like a wave.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since he was pulled to the opposite end of the galaxy, again, with nothing but scrambled comms and a handful of encrypted messages.

He’s sunburnt, his cloak covered in dust. His brow is creased but he looks at you like you’ve just saved his life.

“Hi,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

That alone nearly breaks him.

Anakin crosses the space between you without hesitation, wrapping you in his arms. He buries his face in your neck, letting out an exhale. Like he's been holding his breath the entire time he was gone.

“I thought I’d go insane,” he mumbles. “I thought if I had to wake up one more morning without you next to me—” He pulls back just far enough to kiss you.

And the second your lips touch—it all unravels.

His kisses are desperate, needy, open-mouthed. Like he’s both punishing and apologizing to you for having had to leave.

“I missed you, Ani." you stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in dusty curls.

It's almost overwhelming now, being in his arms after weeks. You can't even get another sentence out before Anakin's mouth devours the words against your throat.

He bites and licks at the skin there like he needs proof you’re real. Then he lifts you with both arms, one still gloved, possessive and loving on your thighs, walking you backward through the apartment without looking.

When he finally places you onto the bed, he lays you down like he's been waiting forever for this exact moment.

His forehead rests against yours while his hands roam, sliding beneath your top. Thumbs grazing your nipples until you gasp and whimper into his mouth.

“I dreamed about this,” he says. “Every night. I was afraid I'd forget your touch. Afraid I’d forget how it feels to be inside of you.”

You whimper, hips pressing forward instinctively. That alone makes him groan like you’re torturing him.

“I need you,” he says suddenly, dragging his mouth across your collarbone, leaving trails of blooming bruises. “I can’t wait, baby. I need you.” he whines, deprived and desperate.

“Take me,” you plead as you grind against him.

He undresses the both of you like a man possessed. Belt clattering to the floor, robes kicked aside, cock flushed, thick, and leaking at the tip as he shoves his pants down just enough.

He doesn’t waste time teasing, just pushes in deep with a sudden thrust. His head falls into your shoulder as he groans and just stays buried inside you, murmuring your name like it's holy.

Like loving you is the only thing he's ever needed and he's on his knees for it, buried in you like it's salvation.

Your legs are trembling from how full you feel when he says, "You’re clenching like you missed this. Missed me. Is that it, sweet girl?"

You nod against him, breath caught, arms wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.

And then he starts to move.

It's really slow at first, mostly because he's making sure to reach as deep as possible when he rolls his hips forward. Like he wants to fuck your soul, not just your body. “So pretty like this… so wet for me… fuck, baby…”

He laces his fingers with yours, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he moves inside you with aching rhythm, eyes locked to yours.

He drives into you with ruthless precision, your dripping pussy clenching around him. The sounds between your bodies are obscene and wet, your legs shake while your mouth falls open.

Babbling incoherently now, you're barely able to take it. And he absolutely loves it.

Seeing you flushed and undone under him, Anakin moans, slowing his thrusts just long enough to lean down. His gloved fingers cradling your jaw while his eyes drink you in.

“Stars,” he whispers, voice hoarse, almost gone. “Look at you.”

A broken sound escapes your throat again as your head falls back, eyes fluttering. Your body’s too full, too sensitive.

You feel destroyed, wrecked, and you know he can see it. He brushes your cheek and the corner of your lips with his fingertips, gentle in a way that makes your chest ache.

Because even now, even like this, Anakin is still so tender with you. His expression is molten and dark with hunger. Yet, it's so soft and loving, as if he can’t decide whether to ruin you completely or stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he pants, voice ragged. “Gonna fill you up. Will you let me?” He asks. But it's not really a question at this point, more like a promise.

All you can do is moan, arching your hips up to meet him, mouth still parted in gutteral cries. You come hard, clenching around him. He kisses you through it, swallowing your cries as he keeps fucking into you, desperate to reach his own release.

“Say it,” he breathes into you, hoarse and pleading. “Say you’re mine. Say you missed me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, fingernails dragging down his back. “Always, Anakin. I’m yours, I miss—”

He slams into you, cutting off the words, rhythm starting to falter. You feel it as his thrusts grow uneven and erratic and he's cursing under his breath. His face contorts and he groans through clenched teeth as he finally comes, thick and hot inside of you.

But he doesn’t stop pounding until he’s completely spent, until it’s leaking out around him.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

Afterwards, there's a long moment where neither of you move. Just the sound of your breaths echoing throughout the apartment. Shaky, uneven, like you’ve both been through something you barely survived.

His weight eases over you while your legs remain lazily draped around his waist. He’s still inside you, softening slowly. His breath hot and shallow against your throat.

The galaxy feels blurred at the edges, dazed and dreamlike.

Your thighs tremble with every little shift in movement. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you blink up at the ceiling, lips starting to tremble.

It hits you then, he's really home.

Anakin senses it, the shift in your breath, the way your lip starts to wobble. So he lifts himself just enough to look down at you. There's something soft in his gaze—like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss your cheek, your eyelids, your nose. Your eyes flutter shut from the sensation and he gingerly brushes your hair back.

His voice is sweet and doting now, “I missed you so much. I don’t think I can leave you ever again.”

You smile. Mostly because you know he has to leave again soon. Of course you do. He’s bound by duty—by the war, the cause, the robes he never fully gets to take off.

But right now, none of that matters.

Not with the way he’s holding you while his come is still warm inside you. Not with his mouth trailing over your collarbone like he’s relearning the shape of you.

He’s here.

And he’s yours.

And that’s enough, for now.

“C-Can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

He grins.

Actually grins. Boyish, flushed and handsome.

It's then in his smile that a flicker of a memory comes back to you. The first time you ever met him, both of you years younger, standing awkwardly in the Temple courtyard. He’d smiled at you then like this too—cocky, sun-warm, all dimples and promise.

“Good,” he says proudly.

You shove at him half-heartedly, and he chuckles again before slowly, carefully pulling out. You whimper when your hips twitch at the sudden emptiness and soreness. He gently hushes you.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’re sensitive. It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.”

You’re so fucked out you can’t move. So, he moves for you. He kisses your stomach, your thighs, your knees.

Then he disappears from the bed, rummaging around for a moment before returning to clean you up. He runs the damp fabric between your legs with maddening care, cooing every time you flinch or whine.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still dripping for me.”

“Anakin!” your cheeks flush as you throw your arm over your eyes.

“What?” he says innocently, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Just admiring my beautiful wife. All full and spent and pretty… Do you want me to run you a bath? Or should I tuck you in? Did you eat already?”

Your mouth opens to answer but he’s already climbing back onto the bed, settling behind you, pulling you into his lap. Your legs go limp over his thighs. “Ani, you're not serious—”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, voice low and teasing now. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Might keep you like this forever.”

You lean into him, humming as your head falls back on his shoulder. “You're ridiculous.”

Anakin places a kiss on the top of your head as he massages your hips slowly. "I'm in love." he responds casually, like it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

[mageofmadness]

PUPPY CALEB GOING INTO RUT

(2.1k) ૮˶- ﻌ -˶ა⌒)ᦱ nsfw [18+] includes: puppy!caleb, fem!reader, rut, knotting, slight a/b/o themes (kind of, not really), dirty talk, pet names, creampie and breeding kink, messy, wet, 'n sick as always. questionable puppy hybrid dynamics but it’s porn so the how doesn’t really matter, right?

caleb loves nothing more than being your mutt. your puppy boy.

he belongs to you, and by your side is where he’s meant to stay. if you’re somewhere, best believe he’s standing close behind with an arm around your waist or a hand on the back of your neck. he’s territorial, something others have picked up on and caleb felt bad about it until you admitted how much it turns you on. how much you love it. crave it, too. how much you don’t care about what everyone else thinks, and how jealous you get over others looking at and admiring what is yours.

the chain around his neck might as well be a collar with his owner's information on it, and he never misses an opportunity to show you who he belongs to.

sure, you tease him sometimes for his inclinations. caleb can’t help it though—that he can smell when you’re sweetest and your body needs him the most. when he can sense how wet you're going to be before his fingers ever find your needy, little clit. every month, towards the end of the last week, he finds himself waking up and calling off work. caleb lets them know he won't be in for a few days, and he shoots off a text to your work as well, letting them know the same thing on your behalf.

[7:21 am] i’m so sorry, i’m feeling under the weather and am not going to be able to come into the office today. i’ve got a doctor's appointment later and will send you an update with what they say.

caleb is sensitive when going into rut. he needs you here, by his side, and you cannot stray.

he always has a bit of lingering guilt, looking at you curled up in bed. sweet and innocent, asleep in one of his old t-shirts and a raggedy pair of underwear from ages ago. soft skin that stretches for miles and fading bruises from the past week on your thighs and hips. you look so…precious. small. docile and perfect for him. it makes spit collect in his mouth, even more so than usual.

sometimes, he can’t help but fall back asleep, waiting for you to get up. if he’s lucky, caleb rouses later to you petting his ears. your fingers combing through his hair, brushing over the scruff of his neck, and all of it makes him shiver. caleb wakes from sleep hot and hurting, near drooling and whimpering from the ache trapped in his sweatpants and the way your fingers dance where he’s most sensitive.

you always ask if he wants to play, always ask what he needs, and the way caleb buries his head in the crook of your neck, rutting his aching cock against your hip, tells you enough. you sigh, turning around in bed and slipping your hand into his boxers.

caleb can’t help but bite.

he tries to be gentle, he really does, but when your warm fingers are wrapped around his cock and you’re letting him sloppily jerk his hips, he can't help but groan. he can't help but growl, low in his throat, as sticky pre-come slides over your knuckles.

caleb can’t help that he likes when his owner scolds him. says, in that tone of voice you get, “no biting, don’t make me get the leash.”

“bad dog.”

he whines. caleb hates the leash and the way it keeps you from him. the way he comes so hard when it’s wrapped around his throat and you tug just right as he spills inside of you. it’s pathetic, but how else is he meant to show you that he’s yours? what better way than to let you use the leash to bury his cock that much further into your pussy, kissing your cervix and using him however you see fit.

“m’a good dog,” he pants, begging for you to understand. “m’sorry baby, i–i can’t help it. i promise, ngh. wanna be your good boy, please.”

“i need to fill you up…fuck you sloppy. oh fuck.”

caleb can hardly breathe when you turn around, letting the blankets fall so he can see the way you present for him. knees in the mattress, back arched and ass up. he swallows, yanking your underwear down and tossing it away.

“show puppy where you want it, baby. m’too dumb to remember. need to know where you want it, sweetheart. show me your little hole.”

he watches in awe as you move to spread yourself. giving him a perfect view of your tight holes. caleb moans, excitement making him shake from how you’re going to look after he’s done with you. swollen and over-sensitive. red and slick from the abuse of his cock stretching you open and apart for hours. he runs a hand over the small of your back, squeezing your waist before he can’t help himself any longer and slips a single finger into your pussy.

feeling how wet you are, how needy you are for him. how one finger doesn’t seem to be enough. caleb leans closer, letting his breath ghost over your fluttering hole as he tugs it open. he fits another finger inside, spreads them wide and feels you shake. inspecting your perfect pussy, still just as perfect, to make sure it’s ready for him.

“you're so good to me, thank you, honey. so good for puppy. ‘m so, so lucky,” his words trail off as he plays with your sticky mess. seeing how far he can stretch you open before you whine and start to writhe. “always make puppy feel so good, can i make you feel good, sweetheart? please?”

“where do you want it?” he asks, brushing his thumb over your other hole. pawing at you as he bites his lip, knowing the first day of his rut is too rough. he can’t. caleb often loses himself, and he doesn’t want to hurt you with how wide he’d like to stuff every hole you have. how bad he wants to watch your tight ass take his cock. he knows it would feel like heaven.

still, he asks, “which hole, baby? c’mon, tell me where you need it.”

“m’pussy,” you whimper, pressing back into his prodding fingers.

“here? like this?” caleb asks, rutting his sticky pre-come mess against the back of your thighs, groaning when the tip of his cock catches on your cunt and you jump. “how does my girl want it?” he asks, leaning over and crowding you, whispering into your ear. “tell me, baby. you know i’ll give you whatever you want. anything you need, honey, it’s yours.”

caleb’s favorite thing is the lip you give him right before you slip under. right before you give in to the thick weight of his cock that’s too deep, when you’re meeting his thrusts, greedy about every inch of him and how it’s yours. how it’s only meant to be buried deep inside of you, driving you wild and dirty.

“h-harder,” you demand. “don’t tell me you dont know how to use that puppy cock.”

it always turns to begging in the end, though.

depending on how well he fucked you the night before and how sensitive you are from that. how well you slept or how much you feel like being a brat today. caleb lives for the moment he feels your hips settle, when there’s no resistance as he slams his cock into you over and over and you take it like such a good girl. the best girl. the sticky sound of your pussy wanting this so much it’s dripping onto the sheets. it drives you crazy but that’s when he loses himself, too.

when you’re babbling and whimpering. praising him, “m–my good boy. such a good boy, so–so good for me. p–please, hngh. please, can i come? i cant…i–i cant—”

he lives for your praise. he’d die by it.

“you take it so well, fuck. so good. wish…wish you’d let me let me knot you,” caleb pants. letting the fantasy take hold. he’s dreamed of it, but as much as you beg for it, he doesn’t want to hurt you. but right now, “oh, fuck. please, can i? know you can take it. it would feel so good sweetheart, please let me. please, please…i need it.”

you give in, immediately clawing at the sheets when you feel him begin to swell. caleb starts to feel the resistance and can’t help but curse, watching the filthy sight before him. your cunt struggling to take what he has for you, the way it stretches and you whimper but cannot help but fuck back, trying to swallow his knot whole.

it’s a tight fit and it looks like it hurts, but the way you beg for more makes him see stars and the look he sees on your face when you glance back, blindly throwing a hand behind you to search for him, teary-eyed and gone but no less determined to take it, is beautiful. you’re beautiful, from the blush on your cheeks, the sweat sticking to your skin, all the way to the thighs that shake from the stretch.

when his knot pops inside, when caleb feels it settle inside of your warm walls, twitching and coming around him, caleb actually loses his mind. 

“fuckin’ made for this, look at that. you took it so easy, honey. should have known it would fit perfect, you’re my princess after all, huh?”

“you want more? i think you do. sounds like you do, baby. wish you could see what ‘m seeing right now. don’t know if this pussy will ever be tight again.”

caleb's voice is rough as he whispers in your ear, "that's okay, though. good thing i like you like this, hm? i love it when you're a messy girl and oh, don't cry baby. 'm right here, yeah? right here, you feel me?"

you’re gone, and caleb does what he does best—takes care of you. he presses his chest to your sweaty back, protects you from the world as he fucks into you hard and fast. like an animal. unable to move too much from being locked by the knot, it bullies against your swollen cervix with every thrust.

“we just need to fill you up, see?” he pants, feeling the way your walls milk him as he swallows his groans. as he bites down the need to use teeth. caleb kisses away tears as they fall down your cheeks. “can you be good and take it all for puppy? yes? oh, it feels good? fuck, hah, baby. you have no idea. i…i—“

“not a drop—i don’t want a single drop to spill from this pussy, you hear me?”

“I know, i know. you’re all stretched open and sloppy, but you can do that for me, can’t you? it’s all for you, baby. please, hngh, oh fuck. take it. there you go baby, yeah. squeeze and tighten up. no messes.”

when he finally spills inside of you, when he feels his come settle deep in your cunt, right where it needs to be, caleb is out of breath and burning hot. 

“s–so tight,” he hisses. “being so good for me, sweetheart. shh, im almost done, just a little longer. i’ve got a little bit more for you, baby. you’ve gotta take it...need you to take it f’me.”

“no, no,” he tsks when you start to squirm. “no moving or it won’t stick, princess.”

“good princesses let their puppies fill them up, right? they let them breed them full. you’re so good to me, baby. so good letting me take care of this pussy when i need her.”

caleb loves letting his cock hold you down, buried to the hilt as you sigh and clench from the overuse. moaning about how it feels so good. so warm and thank you and when you panic the moment he goes to pull out, whining like a bitch in heat for the cock that just ruined you, he can’t help but laugh softly.

caleb licks and bites, taking the time to sneakily nip at your skin when he can finally pull all the way out. his cock gives a pathetic twitch at the sight of your hole. sticky and drooling, too. fluttering, trying to close around nothing, and certainly not as tight as it had been that morning. gaping slightly.

caleb traces a gentle finger around the rim as he places a kiss on your lower back, feeling you jolt. he watches as his come slowly begins to dribble out over his fingers, and sighs.

“i told you not a drop, baby. what’s all this drooling out of your pussy?”

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ. 226.171.198 245.214.227

[fashion-runways]

hiii new pinned post again because the last one was outdated, there are links to the previous ones in that one as well. unfortunately there are no real updates re: my dad's wrongful imprisonment. at this point, they might be waiting until the statutes of limitations happen and it's over, i don't know. he has a therapist who's kind of expensive but we have to pay for and he has to go weekly because of all the trauma he has left from being in jail and from losing his job/not being able to find a new one because of this. his health got worse in there, too, so there are a lot of different doctors he has to go to, medications, etc. he's doing better every day, though, but that takes a lot of money of course.

i used to have a redbubble account that helped me get afloat alongside this blog, but it got suspended without notice and never got reinstated no matter how many things i've tried, so... that's another source of income that we lost. i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month there, now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly, that's a huge difference. argentina's economy was always bad but it has been an absolute disaster since the current president got elected. prices rise literally on a weekly basis for everything from basic groceries to public transportation, power, water, phone bills, etc. my laptop's keyboard broke at some point and i almost had to buy a new one with money i literally didn't have, just going into negative numbers, but i managed to find a guy who replaced it for as cheap as he could. it was still expensive, but it was better than having to buy a new laptop entirely. would love to get a stable job, but that's always been impossible in this country, even more so lately. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

on top of that my dog passed from cancer a few weeks ago, that was really expensive for us too, meds and appointments and special foods and everything that we could do to keep her happy until it was her time to go, and she was. i also started therapy around the time she was diagnosed (thank god) but my therapist had to rise her rates because of the economy mess i already mentioned, so... yeah. everything is exhausting and everything is expensive, and this is literally my only source of income. it's also the thing that i love doing the most and the thing that keeps me sane in all of this mess, so hey, never leaving. in fact, if anything ever happens to this website, you can always find me under fashion_runways on twitter or probably anywhere else. some of you guys mentioned not seeing my posts lately too, so if you can/want to, you can turn notifications on!

anyway yeah, all that to say i love this blog, i love fashion, and i love showing you guys new cool things and giving you guys ideas for art, or writing, or your own style, or just interesting stuff to look at. so if you can donate any money, that would help me more than you think. even a single dollar can change what i can do with my day sometimes, i swear. as usual, my kofi link: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. i love you 💖

[dumbass-hyperfixations]

The text comes at 9:07.

Eddie: Happy birthday, Hen! Hope you have a good one :)

Hen smiles down at her phone as she sets down her bag in the locker room. Someone really ought to teach that man how to use emojis (seriously, is he secretly 50?), but the text warms her heart too much to be bothered by it. At least someone remembered, even from another state. She’ll take the typed out smiley emoticon as a win.

Hen: Thanks Eddie 🥳 how are you doing?

Eddie: Almost done fixing up my house and making small breakthroughs with Chris every day. But I’m sure Buck’s keeping you all updated. How about you? Any big plans today?

Hen: I’m sure it’s going great, we’re all rooting for you ❤️ and yes, Buck’s giving us all the updates, hasn’t shut up about you since you left 😂

Hen: No big plans today, though. Shift, then takeout for dinner.

Eddie: Not even cake? You’re breaking my heart :(

Hen sighs. She’s breaking her own heart over this silly little thing. She feels ridiculous, being so excited and then so disappointed over such a small thing. She scoffs as she kicks off her shoes and shakes off her jacket before answering Eddie.

Hen: I guess I’m just not in the mood this year. Maybe Karen and I will get dinner over the weekend.

Eddie: Oh, Buck and I tried this great Italian place the night before my last shift at the 118! You should ask him for details, their spaghetti bolognese was amazing :D

Well, definitely not doing that. Not while Buck and the rest of the 118 are being excited over a different H.E.N. in their lives right now. Another thing she’s ridiculously jealous of today: firefighting gadgets. And the way Eddie isn’t able to keep Buck out of their conversation even for a second. She bets Buck never forgets his birthday.

Hen: Thanks, I appreciate the tip 🤗

Eddie: Anytime. Hope you have a great day :)

Yeah, Hen thinks. Against all odds, she hopes so, too.

***

Another text comes around at 14:32, while Hen is taking a break on the roof after that call for Archie, the self-proclaimed invisible man.

Eddie: Hey, just got off the phone with Buck. I’m sorry those dummies forgot your birthday :(

Despite it all, Hen chuckles.

Hen: Don’t be acting like you didn’t remember just because of the Facebook alert. I know you well, Diaz 😉

Eddie: Guilty. Still sent the text though!

Eddie: And I know it sucks, but just remember that they still love you. We all do. Probably gonna be making it up to you for a week. I’ll bet you 10 bucks Chim’s gonna send you balloons. Maybe even a serenading mariachi band.

She snorts into her phone.

Hen: Oh god, I hope not. Haven’t I suffered enough?

Eddie: True. You can always guilt-trip Buck into doing yard work for you, though. He’s pretty handy with that. Kind of wish he was here now, helping me around the house.

Yeah, she bets he does. God, those two are so sickeningly codependent. She’s gonna have to hold an intervention one of these days.

Hen: He’s been giving me THE WORST puppy eyes since they realized they forgot. Could probably make him wash the cars too.

Eddie: Yeah, saw ‘em. He called me all sad, asking about your favourite pie. If you don’t talk to him soon, your house is going to look like a bakery display for a week.

Hen: Thanks for the tip. I DO NOT need my kids on a sugar high after all of this 😂

Eddie: At least they remembered, right? And Karen?

Hen: LOL. Mara dressed up real cute. Not for mama though, for picture day 💔 and Karen at least noticed my (very very nice) birthday outfit, but didn’t connect the dots.

Eddie: Ouch

Hen: Yup. I guess she forgot because of the kids’ schedules. Still hurts, though. There’s usually not a thing missing from her trusty planner.

Eddie: I guess she figured she’ll remember. You guys have celebrated how many thousand birthdays together now? She probably just got too confident in her ability to remember everything she loves about you.

She tries to scoff, but it comes out a little wet. Of course, he’s right. And Karen’s gonna feel so bad when she realizes.

Hen: Damn you for being right.

Hen: I’m gonna be angry with you about that, because you and Athena are the only two people I can’t be mad about missing my birthday.

Eddie: Hahaha sure, if it makes you feel better! Gotta go now, getting ready for work.

Hen: I still can’t believe I’m gonna walk back down to the loft and not see you on shift with us 😔 your talents are being wasted in that Uber

Eddie: Don’t I know it :( take care, Hen. And make Buck your gardener! I’ll be expecting pics.

Hen: 🤔🤔 starting to think gardener Buck is more of a gift for you than it is for me…

What can she say, even in her desperate sorrows, she loves making fun of the whole BuckandEddie thing, no matter how platonic it might be.

The answer is immediate.

Eddie: I’ve gotten tired of all the cooking/baking photos Maddie keeps sending me. He needs new hobbies.

Hen: How many of those do you have?????

Eddie: So many.

Eddie: Save them all, though. I like seeing him happy.

Eddie: He is happy, right? Not just putting a brave face for me every time I call?

Well. She can’t even make fun of that.

Hen: Ever seen those videos of amputated dogs that are learning to move around with prosthetics?

Eddie: Yeah?

Hen: Looks kind of like that. Happy, but still getting used to those wheels instead of legs ❤️

Hen: (The amputated legs are you. And the wheels are all those six thousand two hundred and twenty-two FaceTime calls you’re having on and off shift.)

Eddie: Yeah, I got that. It’s the same for me, really.

Eddie: Really gotta go now. Let me know if Chim sends you balloons!

***

At 21:20, Hen’s the one to send the text.

Hen: [image attached]

Hen: I actually got those fucking balloons. Are you psychic?

Hen: Also featuring chocolates from Bobby.

Eddie: Ha! Not psychic, he’s just predictable.

Hen: LOL, that he is. The worst part is that I actually kind of love them.

Eddie: Not seeing 10 different pies on the table, though. Master baker crisis averted?

Hen: Not yet, but he acted like an awkward butler around me for the rest of the shift. Needed some time to cool off, but I’ll ask him tomorrow.

She sets the phone down and opens the basket of chocolates. There’s a note inside with yet another apology, a birthday wish, and a promise of homemade dinner on their next 48 off. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved, I am loved. She thinks the words on a loop in her head, intending on doing so until she believes then again. God, today sucks.

Her phone pings again, Eddie’s contact illuminated on the screen.

Eddie: I just realized. We have never texted as much as we did today.

Surprised, Hen snorts out a laugh.

Hen: That can’t be right. We’ve known each other for well over 7 years now.

Eddie: I’m serious! Check our previous messages.

And Hen does. The last text before today was a few months ago, when she wished him a happy birthday during their 96 off, to which he responded with a simple thank you. Before that, a bunch of school-related email screenshots and links, mixed in with some carpool-themed “I’ll be there in 15!”s and some Denny and Chris sleepover related negotiations. Each short text thread at least a few days, if not weeks apart. Wow.

Hen: LOL, are we even friends 😂

Eddie: Right?! Like, I know we are, but we have absolutely no way of proving it.

Hen: I’m blaming it on the twelve hundred groupchats the Buckleys have created over the years.

Eddie: Seconded! Why do we need one for every get-together? The original groupchat is fine.

“Mama?” Hen looks up to see Mara standing in the doorway, looking a little unsure of herself.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mom’s calling you for dinner,” Mara says. “Or, she’s asking if you feel like joining us.”

Hen sighs and stands up. To her surprise, the weight of her chest is lifted somewhat. She didn’t even notice that she calmed down and switched her mood during their chat.

“Of course, I’m coming,” she says and hugs Mara again for good measure before they head to the kitchen. Just to let her know nothing is wrong, that she’s not mad at her. Or anyone, in fact. This stuff happens. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved.

After dinner, she sends Eddie the picture of the cake Mara and Denny brought her.

Hen: [image attached]

Hen: Got the cake after all ❤️🎂

Hen: Thanks for today ❤️

Eddie: Looks good! And, anytime :D

[veryfruitywriting]

Hii! This could be a small one shot or written as head cannons, you can choose, BUT when Mac asked for time to be with other people I was seriously bummed, so much so every time I spent time with other characters (like extreme sports with the Hanks or playing board games with Parker) I though to myself “I wonder if Mac would be jealous?”. All this to ask if you would you be willing to write for jealous Mac? Like maybe them getting jealous during this period in the game, after they said they wanted time be with others and before we get together? Thanks if you do! 🫶

oh i love this idea!! also i agree! my heart broke when they said that!! like how r u gonna sweep me off my feet with your wonderful words and then roll me over with ur wheelchair the next 🚬🚬🚬

ARE YOU JEALOUS?

a mac ( date everything! ) x reader oneshot

word count: 2K! (2,716)

quick note: i understand there’s some opinions about Mac’s statement on separating during our interaction with them. so, for the sake of the story, the reader has no interest in the others! they solely have eyes on Mac and feels truly connected to them than the rest!

“It’d be healthy for our ultimate emotional connection if we spend some time seeing others.”

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything…”

You felt your jaw tighten and a horrible cramp forming at your lower stomach. After that sentence, you had zoned out slightly. You couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Mac’s suggestion. Mac continued to plead their case but all you could think was the effort you had put it for them. You listened to them. Listened to their needs. You followed their steps carefully to ensure the update went smoothly; you barely had slept due to the excitement buzzing through your body. And now, they’re updated and ready to explore.

Your eyes catch their gaze. A shaky breath leaves you. After a moment, you gave them a steady nod. Your heart hesitated but your voice was quick to agree. You wanted to avoid any unwanted conversation about this. Agreeing to this was the key to leaving this topic here and now. They looked so happy about this, so willing to explore the people who live in this house as well. To meet those outside of these office walls. You couldn’t say no to that face, not now at least. You had to remind yourself that Mac wasn’t yours and you weren’t theirs. It had only been a couple of days of finally being able to see each other face to face. You two weren’t dating. That was the sad truth.

After that conversation, you called it a night. You both bid each other a goodbye and you closed the door behind you. Standing alone in the hallway, you removed your glasses and leaned against the wall with your shoulder. The pink stained glasses laid at the palm of your hands. If Mac wants to mingle with others then they will get to do exactly that. You weren’t going to stop them. You both agreed in a week, you both would sit and talk about the future of this relationship.

After the next day, it was quiet between you two. Especially from your end. You didn’t mean to do it out of spite by any means. In your mind, if you weren’t around often then that meant they were able to talk and communicate with the others more. And if that would speed up the process, then you were more than willing to do it by any means. It didn’t mean you two weren’t talking at all. Of course you two were. It was mostly just small talk. Occasional questions about certain programming words and lists of other files they needed to sort out. Truthfully, you had gotten busy too.

You decided to take their suggestion and meet the rest of the housemates. You had to admit that after meeting and talking to a handful of them; you were confident that Mac was truly the only one for you. You had no doubt at first but now it was solidified. Most of them were friendly and of course, showed more than friendly interest, when you met some of them before Mac, but they never clicked for you. No one did until you met them. Which is why you felt so disappointed and hurt at their suggestion.

You began to think about them during your hangouts with your newly founded friends. Were you not good enough for them? Did you say or do something wrong? Had they been eyeing someone to begin with? Some of your friends began to notice your unusual demeanor. You spoke with your trusted friend Dorian and gave him the situation without mentioning Mac’s name. After a good proper talk, you felt better about the situation. That aching pain in your chest was beginning to fade away and your appetite was returning to normal. You didn’t feel hurt whenever you found Mac talking to someone. You felt happy for them.

Dorian talked some sense into you. Helping you come to a realization that they were all new to this. They were finally able to speak to one another beyond their designated walls. All of them had their eyes on you but when they were able to converse with fellow housemates, they learned new things about themselves. Unlocking their likes and dislikes, their attraction towards others, and truly discovering who they were meant to be. That even applied to you. Dorian smiled down at you as he pointed out that the smile on your face was beginning to grow brighter with each passing day. You were in a small D&D campaign with Chance and Parker. You learned how to properly cook a meal (or rather enhanced your cooking skills) with Stefan. You decided to give your dusty gym equipment a try with Dunk. You became a daredevil with the Hanks and joined their extreme adventures. You finally played that game you had gotten on sale months ago with Connie. All of these unique moments happened because of Mac. Dorian places a hand on your shoulder as he notices the realization in your eyes. You felt great about yourself and your self esteem was better than ever. This is what Mac wanted to experience. You wanted Mac to be able to experience this amazing feeling too.

During your work hours, Mac had noticed you had been very determined to do your assignments in a quick and efficient manner. They look into your work, trying to find any mistake to have some sort of reason for you to slow down and stay a bit longer. Their eyes find themselves on you, their shoulders slouching in defeat while they watch you pack your office essentials in the drawers. There was a slight pang of regret in their chest. During the past few days, they had no real connections with the people they had mingled with. Sure, some bloomed into friendship but nothing felt like the first day you two had talked. The first day you two locked eyes. They felt your eyes on them, forcing them to stop daydreaming and peer back at you. You gave them a sweet smile, quickly bidding a goodbye just like you have been the past couple of days. They only nodded and slightly watched you leave.

They were slowly going insane without you. You no longer lingered at the computer for long hours, you didn’t ask much help anymore, you looked.. amazing with the other dateables. Mac would catch themself staring directly at you across the hallway whenever you passed by with Parker. Noticing your red face and loud laughter. They felt their heart twist and their eyebrows furrowing. The person they were with was still speaking, not noticing Mac’s changed attitude. What was Parker saying that made you react that way? Pfft, that was nothing. You laugh just as hard, maybe even more, when they showed you those funny vine compilations on YouTube. Mac smiled at themself, feeling foolish and new to this weird sensation they had seeing you with the others.

As much as they tried to brush it off, it was getting hard to do so. You were appearing so often around the house, everyday with someone new. Your smile grew brighter. You were practically glowing with these new interactions you were given. Mac felt their wires burn in jealousy. That was the feeling. Jealousy. They wanted you to look at them. Just once. But you never did. You continued forth with your new friends, their arms wrapped around your shoulder in what seemed like a friendly manner. But to Mac, it looked more than that. Even when Mac was with someone else, your name was brought up somehow in the conversation. “Yeah, Homie! Y/N had guts, man! Didn’t think they’d go hang gliding with us!” “We have a new song coming out soon, Y/N helped Johnny and I produce it.” “My upcoming book is turning out beautifully with the help of Y/N.” Mac felt their body spark with this unwanted feeling of jealousy. They would scoff and try to one up their moments with you with the ones you two had shared.

To those who continued to flirt with you, they were going to be the death of Mac. Their eyes watched as you blushed slightly, waving away the flirtatious comments. You, of course, didn’t take it to heart as you knew your heart belonged to Mac. But from what Mac was seeing, it didn’t seem that way. Oh god, what if you had decided not to pursue things further with Mac after this? What if someone had already caught your attention? Without thinking, they wheeled over to you. Waving at you and the group you were in. You looked surprised at their appearance, curious of where they had just come from, before flashing them a smile. That smile of yours caused them to melt in their chair. Unable to speak and that wave of jealously washing away for just a moment. They had completely forgotten why they had come here before finally noticing how Tony was looking at you. Tony spoke once more, a blush on his face while he continued with his charming words. Only for it to be interrupted by Mac.

“You definitely can look up articles to help you with your project.” Mac began, waving their hand around, almost brushing off Tony’s flirty advice. “They will 100% show much better and more effective than whatever Tony is trying to do.” Your eyebrows raise and a shocked smile lingers on your face. Mac wasn’t even sure what Tony and you were talking about, all they heard was workshop and meeting sometime tomorrow. That was all they really needed in their own opinion. “Wha? You gon just brush me off just like that? I’m a toolbox, for pete sake.” Tony frowned, his hand now placed on each side of his hips. “I’m a professional. Y/N could learn a thing or two from me, bud. I gots hands-on experience.” Tony exclaimed. “While that might be the case,” Mac had to refrain themselves from rolling their eyes, “I can guarantee that I can find much more useful information with people who have 10x more experience than you.

Mac looked back at you, expecting you to willingly follow their lead but all you could do was just grin at them. “Thanks, Mac.” You spoke up, “But Tony was nice enough to clear his schedule to help me. Don’t worry, I think he knows what he’s doing.” Mac sat there in disbelief. Their smile twitched slightly and they cleared their throat, “If you say so. I’m here if he disappoints you.” With that, you had a feeling as to why Mac was here.

They were growing a bit more desperate. Their tactics of talking to you falling through. They flirt with you and you respond with a blush and thank you, just like you’ve been doing with the others. They wanted to be the only one to make you flustered. They wanted to be the one to wrap their arms around you. To make you laugh until you were wheezing. Why were you doing this to them? They spent the night feeding into their chaotic thoughts; making up scenarios in their head, tossing and turning at the possibilities. They let out a soft groan, wiping the sweat off of their forehead as they tried their best to calm down. They had no one to blame but themself.

It was finally the end of the week. They looked up once you stepped in the office. A steaming cup of coffee in your hand, one that was possibly made by Kopi. That thought alone made Mac’s face scrunch up. You looked a bit nervous, unsure how this conversation would go. Even after the fun week, you couldn’t deny the fact that you were afraid to know if Mac wanted to continue forward with you. You knew your answer, but what was theirs?

“I’m glad you came back. I know actually showing up probably wasn’t easy. There was some tension regarding how we disengaged from our conversation about this.” You nodded and they waited. For what? You weren’t sure. Mac wanted to hear you say you missed them. That none of them compared to them. They didn’t want to admit how they went down a spiral after seeing you mingle with the others. They wanted you to beg to be with them. You exhaled softly, placing the coffee on the desk before trying to sort out the words in your head. “It wasn't easy agreeing,” You admitted, “but I’m okay now.” Their shoulders dropped slightly. “I will be okay with whatever you decide. If you wish to be with me or not, I’ll understand.” You looked at them, smiling softly though there was a sad glimpse of sadness in your eyes. There was a moment of silence before Mac sighed. “Did you find someone?” They ask roughly, not thinking thoroughly. You were taken aback by their question. Their eyebrows furrowed and their face showed disappointment. Before you could even ask what they were talking about, they continued. “Whatever they have, I can do better. Seriously, with all the power of the internet at my fingertips, I can get you anything and everything you desire.”

“Mac—” “You want to cook something new for dinner? I have 50 articles of easy meals for you on the go. Want to play some games? I have access to thousands and thousands of video games just for you.” “And can I also point out and say, you are looking quite attractive this fine morning.” They face flushed, though you couldn’t tell if it was for their attempt of flirting or that they were overheating with what seemed to be an overwhelming sense of emotions.

“Listen, I had dalliances, of course.” They admitted, which weirdly enough didn’t make your stomach turn. “And no matter what I was doing and who I was with, I never stopped thinking about you.” They cupped their burning face. “So, whoever you were with, I can confidently say that I can compete with them.” Before they could go on another tangent about how they were better for you (without actually saying those words), you quickly stopped them. “Mac, have you been jealous this entire time?” With that, they froze. Their breathing stopped and their widened eyes burned into you, “Jealous?” They scoffed out. “No, I’m not jealous. I just…” They were 100% jealous. If you were to look into your search history right now, you were most likely to see definitions of that specific word plastered all over. “This all happened because you wanted it. You do know that, right?” You tilted your head slightly, crossing your arms over your chest as Mac continued to look flustered.

“I know. I just didn’t know this would take such a toll on me. The fans have been working overtime to cool me down whenever I see you with someone else. I never felt such electric emotions run through my wires before.” They looked more calm now. More vulnerable. “I missed you. I missed everything about you.”

Your arms unravel themselves and fall to your side, your standing posture growing firmer at this confession. “Really?” You ask softly. They smiled softly, faint stars in their eyes as they nod, “With every integrated circuit in my RAM.” There was a flash of uncertainty in their eyes before they continued, “Did you miss me too?”

“More than anything.”

“Believe me, Mac. They were only friends. I was only thinking about you the entire time.” They let out a sigh of relief at your comforting words. “I want to be with you, I want to upgrade this relationship we have.” Mac admitted softly, “Do you wish for that as well?” You smile tenderly, stepping towards them and sitting down on your office chair, finally meeting them at eye level. Then, you turn towards the computer and type in ‘YES’ into the programming terminal.

With that, they let out a shaky sigh and smiled brightly at you. You could faintly hear the fans starting to work in the background, the flush of Mac’s face slowly disappearing. Mac grabbed your hand and rubbed the back of it gently, before lifting it up and giving it a quick kiss. “I’ll forever be yours.”

AHHH i hope this is what you were looking for 💔💔

this is definitely longer than the other fanfics i’ve written so far!! this was so so fun to write!

thank you for requesting this, anon!!

(if you are new here, you can check out my other words in my pinned post!😼)

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Mister(s) Steal Your Girl

Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)

Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)

Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".

Content: Brandon.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked. A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off. People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out. Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed. Yes, actually agreed. At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed. This is my official unlimited hallpass. I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too. Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again. You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too. Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.

Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.

Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.

That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.

“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale. 

“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.

You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him. 

“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”

He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”

More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.

You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…

“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.

“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”

“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”

You blink. “You are?”

“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”

An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?

“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”

He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.

“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”

Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”

“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”

“Be safe, Ky.”

“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”

You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.

You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?

Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.

But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.

Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.

Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.

Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.

Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)

“Where are you going?”

You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.

“The Hay Festival,” you answer.

Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.

“Alone?”

You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”

The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol. 

“I need that suitcase.”

You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”

He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”

Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?

You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.

“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.

There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.

“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.

When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.

This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.

“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”

He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”

That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.

Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.

“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.

“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.

“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”

He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.

Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.

Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…

“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”

Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.

The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”

He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.

As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.

“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”

You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”

“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”

“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.

“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”

He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.

“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.

“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.

You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.

“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”

“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”

“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.

You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.

“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.

You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man. I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.

A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.

Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.

I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)

Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.

Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.

I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.

My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.

She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?

Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.

First | Previous | TBC... Masterlist

[frflyavenue]

Exam Stress - Matz ver.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Matz x Stressed!Uni student!Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) — Stressed reader, sleep deprived reader, university exam season, crying, eating, fluff and smut, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving, m receiving, f giving), vaginal sex, spit-roast, threesome smut, slight power dynamic, soft dom!Hongjoong, switch!Seonghwa, lots of praise

Author’s Note: Giving you guys this update early as compensation for not posting anything on Tuesday—First time writing smut, so let me know what you guys think! UYT chapter 3 still on track to be updated tomorrow <3

WC: 5.1k

School sucks. You’re a great student, one of the best performing in your major, and, according to your boyfriends, the hardest working person they’ve ever seen. You’re positive they’re just gassing you up because they love you, but you’re happy that your work is at least recognized. But it’s getting towards the end of the semester, meaning the whole University is filled with students working overtime. Exams are just around the corner, major essays and projects are being finalized and the party hubs of the city have died down as students rush to get their grades up enough to pass. You’re doing well in your classes, of course, but the end of the semester is always a rough time.

You’ve been working non-stop for the last few weeks, studying for your exams and trying desperately to finish your thesis paper for one of your classes. You lost count of how many hours you’ve worked in the library over the last few days, staying until they close around midnight and going home just to keep working. And while you’ve been able to handle the stress and exhaustion, today it all seemed to come to a head.

You haven’t slept more than a total of 10 hours the last four days, and you haven’t eaten nearly enough to sustain yourself. But honestly, the hormones from the stress were enough to suppress your hunger, so you didn’t pay it much attention. You’re exhausted, honestly, yearning to lay down in bed or even just curl up and sleep on the floor of the library, desperate for rest. But you don’t have time. You huff, slamming your laptop shut, earning a few glances from the other students working the library. You don’t dare look at them, stuffing your laptop in your bag with a sigh. You snatch it up and turn to leave, completely silent as you drive yourself to your apartment.

You fumble with your keys lazily as you try to open the door, finally sighing as it squeaks open. You slip into the apartment, taking off your shoes at the door and heading to the bedroom you share with your two boyfriends. Seonghwa, hearing you, turns around with a warm smile to greet you.

”Hey darling, welcome home. We missed you.”

You look up at him, but the second you see his warm expression, you feel your throat tighten, so you quickly look away. “Ah, yeah, I missed you guys too.” You clear your throat. “I have to work on my paper, so I’m gonna go work for a bit.” You don’t wait for him to respond to walk away to the solace of your bedroom.

Seonghwa walks with his mouth slightly agape as you turn your back to him, not able to say anything. Almost immediately after he gathers his thoughts, he rushes over to the living room, where Hongjoong is splayed out on the couch working on a song. He gently tap his shoulder, and Hongjoong removes one side of the headphones to hear.

”Joongie… I think something’s wrong with our Y/N.” He says worriedly, and Hongjoong snaps his eyes up from the screen to look at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Seonghwa runs his hand through his hair, clearly worried. “She came in so quiet, and her face seemed so tired… she hardly acknowledged me when she walked in.”

Hongjoong’s expression grows thoughtful, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. Your recent stress hasn’t gone unnoticed by your two boyfriends for the last few weeks. They’ve watched your eyes grow more and more tired every passing day, and while they’ve tried their best to bring you little snacks or cheer you up with little kisses to your temple when you’ve been working for a while, they’ve mostly let you to your work, not wanting to disturb you. But for Seonghwa to be this concerned now… Hongjoong trusts his boyfriend in thinking that something’s wrong. “Okay… why don’t you go talk to her, hm? I don’t want to overwhelm her with both of us, but I want to check on her.”

Seonghwa hesitantly nods, and Hongjoong presses a comforting kiss to his forehead before letting him go visit you.

You hardly register the knock at the door until it creaks open, and you freeze up, looking over at him with wide, guilty eyes. There are tears streaming down your face, your nose running and your sleeves wet from wiping your eyes. Seeing him, with his beautiful, elegant face twisted in concern taking in the sight of you, you only feel worse. You turn away, desperately attempting to dry your tears as he approaches. You hiccup helplessly as he turns the office chair around so you’re facing him, optnig to hide your face in your hands.

Seonghwa steps closer so he’s standing between your legs, gently pulling you into him. You let your face, still covered by your hands, lean into his stomach, feeling one hand resting protectively on your back while the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb rubbing comforting cicely into your hair. Almost immediately, you let go to wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face deeper into his tummy and sobbing against his hoodie.

Seonghwa feels himself tear up at the sound, his voice softly shushing you while he cradles your head against his body. He doesn’t move, holding you just like that, not planning to ever let you go.

Hongjoong, hearing the gut-wrenching sound from the other room, sneaks into the room, standing behind Seonghwa and rubbing his back. The taller man is blinking back tears, his hands holding you close to him as you let out pitiful sobs of frustration and exhaustion, sounds he’s never heard from you in the two years you all had been dating. Hongjoong, too, feels his throat tighten, distracting himself by silently comforting Seonghwa in the meantime. The three of you remain like until the sound of sobs dies down to sniffles, and Hongjoong moves to kneel next to your chair. He places a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing there.

”Hey, beautiful.” He whispers softly, gently easing your hands down for you to look at him. You do, your swollen eyes meeting his. “Hey… there she is…” His voice is soft and quiet, almost as if he’s talking to a kitten. You're grateful for it, the sound not overwhelming your mind.

You snuffle, leaning into his hand when he moves to cup your cheek. “I-I’m sorry…” you squeak out, and he immediately shakes his head, shushing you.

“No, no ‘sorry’. I can speak for both of us when I say that Seonghwa and I want you to be happy. But part of that means taking care of you when you’re sad, hm?” He just watches you for a moment, gently holding your face in his hands as he kneels in front of you. “…What’s the matter babydoll?”

You close your eyes and try to clear your blurry eyes, opening them again to look down at his loving face. “I… I just got frustrated.” You explain, your voice wobbling pitifully. “I’m so tired, and I have so much to do. But I feel stuck on this stupid paper, and I have to finish it, and…” You trail off, your throat burning as tears slip silently down your delicate cheeks and onto Hongjoong’s delicate hands.

Hongjoong nods, gently wiping the little drops of water away with his thumb, not breaking his gaze. “It’s okay, we’ve got you now. We’re going to go take a break, baby.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but Seonghwa shushes you before you can say anything. “No, no, he’s right Y/N. You need to eat and take a break, or you wont be able to get anything done anyways.” He pauses. “My mom always used to tell me that productivity is subjective. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break, eat some good food, and get some sleep. Right now, that’s exactly what would be most productive to you, understand?” His voice is gentle but firm, and his tone gives you no choice but to tentatively agree.

Hongjoong smiles proudly up at Seonghwa, dropping his hands from your face and standing up, offering his hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you up. You sigh longingly as Hongjoong closes your laptop shut, and Seonghwa places a guiding hand on your back as he walks you three to the living room.

While it pains you to step away from your work, you immediately feel relieved as Seonghwa pulls you with him onto the couch, instinctively finding your position on his chest as he lay down with his head resting on the cushy armrest. His hand tangles in your hair, the other rubbing your back up and down in slow, repetitive motions. The steady thumping of heart under your cheek is enough to make you come undone, and your shoulders relax.

Smiling fondly at the sight, Hongjoong sits next to your tangled bodies, opening his phone. “We’re ordering in tonight. What are you feeling, pretty girl?”

The corners of your lips twitch up, though you don’t bother to open your blissfully closed eyes. “Pasta?” You respond, the thought of noodles making your mouth water.

Hongjoong laughs and pats your butt affectionately, ordering you guys a few of your favorite pasta dishes to share.

In the meantime, Seonghwa struggles with the remote, trying to put on a cute animated movie to cheer you up. Finally figuring out what buttons to press, he finds a selection of studio ghibli movies and let you take your pick. Hongjoong calls in to order the food while the two of your start the movie, and as soon as he’s done, he walks back over to the couch. You turn around so you’re laying on your back against Seonghwa’s chest, his arms wrapping around your waist while you reach your arms out to Hongjoong. He smiles brightly before climbing into your arms, laying with his head resting on the soft pillows on your chest and his arms joining Seonghwa’s around your waist. Content to be between both of them, you sigh.

It’s the best you’ve felt in weeks. Seonghwa’s chest rising and falling steadily against your back, Hongjoong snuggled up close to you, letting you tangle your fingers in his hair, the soft strings of the ghibli movie—it was perfect. When you drift off, hands resting limp and calm against Hongjoong’s back and hair and head resting comfortably back against Seonghwa’s happily beating heart… your boys can’t help but feel the same.

NSFW content following the cut ———

You awake groggily at the sudden loss of the comfortable weight on your chest, grumbling at the cold air hitting your front. You open your eyes, Seonghwa giggling lovingly at your state from behind you and Hongjoong nowhere to be seen. You pout, looking around.

”He’s getting our food.” Seonghwa explains softly, his voice hardly above a whisper. You nod, not bothering to move as you hear Hongjoong open the front door and thank the delivery person. He returns with a slight grin, holding up the bag of food victoriously.

You smile, sitting up and moving to get up off the couch. Seonghwa clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, pulling you back to stay. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You giggle, wriggling weakly in his grasp. “To the table? To go eat dinner?” You respond, your voice already containing more of it’s usual happiness.

Hongjoong laughs and shakes his head, his eyes making pretty crescents. “No, silly, we’re gonna eat in the living room today. It’s treat.”

You gasp, turning to look at Seonghwa. Usually, he’s the one scolding you and Hongjoong about your cleaning and organizational habits, always keeping you both in check. So for him to be letting you eat in the living room…

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but his grin never leaves his face as he gently lest go and helps Hongjoong unpack the food onto the coffee table. You gasp excitedly, sitting crisscrossed on the floor in front of the couch. Seonghwa ruffles your hair before going to making the three of you bowls of pasta.

The food is delicious, of course. You hum with satisfaction, not remembering the last time you ate a proper meal. Sure, pasta isn’t the healthiest meal, but it sure does hit the spot after not eating anything but protein snacks and the random fruits your concerned boyfriends brought you every once and a while. They seem to notice, not taking their eyes off you as you go silent to eat, eagerly slurping up pasta. Proud to see you feeling better, they also find that the food is especially good—maybe just because you look so happy eating it.

You listen intently as Hongjoong talks about the songs he’s working on, never having felt so happy just to hear him ramble as you are now. Seonghwa is silent, too focused on his food, but he occasionally bumps your shoulders with his legs, still sitting on the couch as you sit on the floor between his legs. It’s been so long since you’ve all gotten to just sit and eat together, between the weird schedule of your classes and studying for finals, Hongjoong’s production, and both of the boys' dance practices. Looking at Hongjoong’s happy face and gently rubbing Seonghwas calf as it cages protectively around your form, you feel yourself tearing up.

”I missed you guys.” You whisper in a beat of silence, taking another bite of pasta to counteract the sentimental tears forming. Hongjoong looks up at you, giving you a delicate smile. Seonghwa sets his bowl down, gently massaging your shoulders as he, also, tries not to cry, not wanting to make you upset.

”We missed you too, babydoll.” Hongjoong replies, and Seonghwa squeezes your shoulder as well in emphasis. He looks thoughtful for a moment, before clearing his throat and setting his bowl down. “Y/N?”

You look up, swallowing your big bite of pasta before responding. “Hm?”

Hongjoong laughs softly, before shaking his head and scooting closer to you, gently taking your hand and holding it in his lap. “Hwa and I love you so much. We never ever want to see you so stressed, yeah? We understand that you have a lot to do—we’re in a similar position a lot of the time. But… just like how you make sure to take care of us when we’re feeling overwhelmed, we want to take care of you too.”

You blink, taken off guard by his sudden seriousness. Senoghwa gently reaches around to tuck your hair back behind your ear. “He’s right. It’s okay to get frustrated, stressed, tired… even just sad. But it’s not okay to completely isolate yourself from everyone around you and push yourself past what your body and mind can handle.” He adds, gently combing through your hair with his fingers. He’s right, you realize. Unknowingly, you had been avoiding your friends and even your two beloved boyfriends, hiding in the library to avoid coming home and staying cooped up in your bedroom at every opportunity under the pretense of discipline. Seonghwa’s words from earlier echo in your mind. Productivity is subjective… Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take a break…

You nod slowly, setting your own bowl down. “Yeah… you guys are right,” you admit with a slight look of guilt. “I’ve probably been stressing myself out more than necessary because I’ve been getting so frustrated.” You explain, earning a nod from Hongjoong. You continue. “And… I promise from now on, I’ll rely a little more on you guys. I’m sorry for worrying you.” You meet Hongjoong’s eyes and gently squeeze Seonghwa’s calf, and they coo.

”Such a sweet thing…” Seonghwa praises, squishing your cheek even from his odd position behind you. You blush, suddenly shy, and Hongjoong laughs, lightly hitting Seonghwa’s thigh. The three of you go quiet for a minute, the air lighter.

Interrupting the silence, Hongjoong clears his throat, looking up at you. “Y/N?”

You nod, giggling at his tone. “What? You’ve said my name like that twice already, it’s so cute~”

Hongjoong scoffs and nearly argues, but his blush creeps up his face before he can rebut. He shakes his head. “I’m being serious here!”

You and Seonghwa laugh, but you quickly shake your head and squeeze his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead, honey.”

He blushes at the nickname, his personal favorite from you, and clears his throat again. “Well, Hwa and I were talking while you napped, and we wanted to ask if you’d like to let us take care of your stress for you tonight? You know, help you relax a bit..?”

You smile, shaking your head innocently. “No, I’m sorry. There’s not really much you guys can do, my paper is built off of research I’ve been doing all semester. I appreciate the offer, of course, but I should really just write it on my own.”

Hongjoong blinks. He’s known you for a long time, but he will never not be astounded by how your sweet, dense brain works. He laughs in shock. “Hah… geez, Y/N… for somebody so smart, you sure are slow.” He says, and Seonghwa coughs back a laugh before pretending to scold him. You tilt your head.

”Uh… sorry?”

Hongjoong shakes your head, and Seonghwa moves to sit on the floor with you guys, feeling awkward not being able to see your face.

“No, not like that my dear.” He explains. He gently takes your hand and presses it to his lips. “We want to take you to bed, our love. It’s been a while since we could take care of you, hm?”

Your face heats up immediately. Seonghwa has always been the best of you three at initiating this kind of intimate affection, so it shouldn’t come at any surprise. But even after sleeping with your boyfriends hundreds of times… they only get sexier You subconsciously press your thighs together.

Seonghwa just chuckles at your cute reaction, standing up and grabbing the trash from your dinner. “Think it over while I clean dinner up, hm?”

You watch with your mouth slightly agape as he takes the trash to the bin in the kitchen, stunned silent. You turn to look at Hongjoong, who tucks your hair back affectionately.

”Kiss me?” You whisper suddenly, looking up at him shyly through your eyelashes.

Hongjoong smiles softly at your request, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can access your lips. He kisses you softly, his plush lips molding naturally against yours. He turns his head to the side after just a moment, gently licking at your bottom lip, and you part your lips to grant him access. He eagerly intrudes your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your waist, his thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt and rubbing easy circles over the smooth, delicate skin there. You hum into his mouth and rest your hands on his shoulders for support, desperate to taste more. It’s been a long time, you realize, since you’ve done anything like this with your boyfriends. You’ve missed it.

Seonghwa returns, raising an eyebrow at the sight and sitting on the side of the couch, opting to just watch for a little while. He knows he’ll get his turn.

Sure enough, Hongjoong pulls away just for a moment at seeing Seonghwa sit down, leaving you whining. He clicks his tongue.

”Tsk tsk… patience babydoll. Lie down on the couch for me, hm?”

You nod and quickly position yourself comfortably on the couch, happy when Hongjoong climbs over top of you and continues kissing you. To your dismay, he refuses giving you entrance back into his mouth, instead moving to press slow, open mouthed kisses down your jaw. You breathe heavier at the sensation, letting out shameless little gasps and whimpers when he nips sensitive parts of your neck. Almost too swift to notice, Hongjoong slides his hands up under your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one smooth motion before crawling downward to kiss your collarbone, lingering around the straps of your bra. Just before you feel yourself growing impatient, he unclips the fabric barrier as if reading your thoughts, gently sliding it down your shoulders to reveal your soft breasts.

He exhales in wonder at the beautiful sight, reaching one hand up to gently palm at the flesh there. “God, baby… how could I have ever forgotten how much I missed these pretty things, hm?”

You blush shyly at his praises, his tone of voice one that always gets you in a space ready and wanting to please. You arch your back impatiently, the cold air leaving you desperate for their touch. Hongjoong smiles, letting you get away with it for now and leaning down to gently take the soft flesh of your breast into his mouth.

You gasp slightly as his tongue caresses the bud of your breast, comforted with the feeling of his mouth tenderly kissing the plush skin there. You pet his hair in return, and Seonghwa reaches a hand up to rub Hongjoongs back encouragingly, fond of watching his lovers feeling good.

After a few minutes of getting you slowly more and more needy from Hongjoongs touches, Seonghwa finally moves to tug at the waist of your pants, easing them down your thighs and folding them neatly on the other side of the couch. He repositions himself to be propped on his elbows between your thighs, and you shiver when you recognize the position. His breath brushes against the heat between your thighs as he leans forward, turning his head to suck at the skin of you plush thighs. He gently kneads the soft flesh under his hands, slowly easing your thighs further apart as he inches up closer to where you need him. You roll your hips forward, desperate.

Seonghwa smiles, finally leaning forward and licking a fat stripe from your leaking entrance up to your clit, stopping there to suck on the bundle of nerves there. You gasp at the sudden stimulation, arching your back into his tongue and earning a delicious hum from him. “God, you taste so good…” Seonghwa moans into your dripping folds. He rolls his tongue expertly over the now erect bud while Hongjoong switches to sucking small marks into your collarbone, the combination sending you reeling.

When Seonghwa suddenly slides two fingers inside of you, you finally let out a full moan, earning a smile from both men. Hwa’s fingertips brush against the perfect spot inside, and combined with his tongue messily lapping up your juices and Hongjoongs attention back on your breasts, you nearly cum on the spot.

Hongjoong places a hand on Seonghwa’s head, signaling for him to stop.

You pant as you come down from the edge. “I want more,” you manage to get out in between breaths, looking up at Hongjoong.

He chuckles. “Such a needy little thing, hm?” You pout, and he giggles, finding you cute. “Bend over the side of the couch.” Seonghwa glances over at him with surprise at his suddenly domineering tone. Hongjoong just shrugs. “If our baby wants it so bad, then let’s give it to her. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how naughty our girl is, hm?”

Seonghwa glances over at you with concern, wanting to make sure it’s really what you want. He doesn’t have to worry for long, though, since you’re already scrambling to bend over with your elbows propped up on the armrest of the couch. He lets out a surprised laugh. “God, Joong. Maybe I did forget.”

Hongjoong smirks, his adoring eyes raking over your submissive position. “Seonghwa, tell me baby, do you want her pussy or her mouth? You get first pick today.”

The pretty man needs no time to decide. “Can I please get her pussy today, Joongie?”

Hongjoong nods and presses a sweet kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “Of course you can, love. Thank you for asking so nicely.”

While you can’t see them talking behind you in your current position, the way they talk to each other alone makes you blush. The three of you all love each other so much, there’s no doubt about it. And even when Hongjoong takes over a more dominant role, he’s never really mean, making sure his partners know that his priority is always taking care of them. You smile softly, in your thoughts, when you feel Seonghwa climb on the couch behind you.

You grip the arm of the couch in anticipation. Seonghwa presses the head of his dick against your folds, rubbing it along your clit and spreading your love juices around. You drop your head at the feeling, biting back a moan. When he finally slides in, though, you can’t help but groan out his name, pushing your hips back against him until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Hongjoong hums in satisfaction as he watches, reaching to rub comforting circles on the smooth skin of your back. “Deep breaths, baby. Does it feel good?”

You nod immediately, a little too eager. “Y-yes…” You hiss.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Good girl. Seonghwa, baby, don’t move until I tell you to.” Seonghwa groans but agrees nonetheless. Hongjoong walks around to the side of the couch where you’re facing, cupping your jaw. “Stick out your pretty tongue for me.”

You obey, parting your lips quickly and letting your tongue drop out for him, too far gone to be embarrassed about how much saliva you’re producing. He bites his lip, stroking his fully erect length in front of your face, giving you the most perfect view. When he finally rubs the bulbous head of his pretty cock against your tongue, you hum. He doesn’t do much more for a while, leaving both you and Seonghwa, who is essentially just being cockwarmed, impatient. But just before you lose your composure and ask hm outright to just fuck your throat, he finally slides his length into your mouth.

You eagerly wrap your lips around him, tightening them expertly and sliding your tongue over the underside of his pretty length, making him roll his eyes back.

“Hon- ah god… you’re so good, baby. So perfect-“ He pants, placing a hand on the back of your head and bottoming out in your throat. While he isn’t quite as long as Seonghwa, you’ve always thought that his dick fits perfectly in your mouth. Just enough to make you feel full without causing any painful gagging. You hum around him, and he finally breaks. “Oh god- Hwa, baby, move… I don’t know how long I can last…”

Seonghwa doesn’t have to be asked twice. Without warning, he starts thrusting in and out of you firmly, holding onto your waist for support. You gasp, not caring about volume anymore as he pounds into you, each thrust calculated and firm. Hongjoong can feel you rocking from Seonghwa’s relentless pace, and he lets out a low groan, holding tightly onto a fistful of your hair. “Babydoll, can I fuck your throat? P-please?”

You blink up at him expectantly in response, and he tilts his head back as he finally slides slowly in and out of your mouth.

Hongjoong slowly begins to fuck your mouth, savoring every inch as he watches your throat stretch around him. His hand remains steady on the back of your head, but he never pushes further than you can take—he knows your limits too well. Your eyes water slightly from the fullness, but the way both your boyfriends are moaning, praising you, touching you, has your arousal spiking all over again.

Behind you, Seonghwa is groaning softly under his breath, his thrusts now faster, deeper, his hips snapping into yours with growing desperation. “Fuck, you feel so good, love,” he pants, leaning forward to press kisses to your spine as he grinds into that sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. His fingers tighten on your waist, and you can feel how close he is by the way his movements get a little sloppier.

“God, she’s dripping, Hwa,” Hongjoong murmurs with a breathless laugh, hips stuttering forward as you suck him harder, slurping around his cock like it’s the only thing you need. “Our baby’s soaking you.”

Seonghwa lets out a shaky whine, the sound sending heat straight to your core. “I—fuck, Joongie, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” Hongjoong growls through his teeth, voice tight with restraint. “Wait for her. Baby,” he coos down to you, pulling slowly out of your mouth with a wet pop. “Do you wanna cum?”

You nod frantically, voice hoarse with need. “P-please—I’m so close…”

“Then do it,” Seonghwa chokes out, slamming into you just right as he reaches around to rub quick circles on your clit. “Cum for us, baby. Let us feel you.”

It takes nothing more. Your orgasm crashes over you, thighs shaking as you scream out their names, walls clenching around Seonghwa’s cock in desperate pulses. He gasps, loud and broken, and finally lets go, spilling inside you with a deep, satisfied groan, hips grinding into you to ride it out. His head drops between your shoulder blades, breath hot and fast.

The sight of his two lovers feeling so good is enough for Hongjoong. He jerks himself off over your tongue, the pace of his fist desperate and sloppy. He jerks forward, trembling as he cums in front of you, thick spurts of release painting your tongue. You swallow up every drop on instinct, humming softly as he pants and wipes the corner of your lips with his thumb, utterly dazed.

For a long moment, all that fills the room is the sound of your shared, panting breaths. Seonghwa slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt you, and places a tender kiss to the curve of your lower back before helping you back onto the couch properly.

You collapse back onto Seonghwa chest, arms wide open for Hongjoong as he makes his way back around to the seat of the couch.

“Holy shit,” you mutter with a breathless laugh as Hongjoong climbs in next to the two of you, placing a loving hand on your thigh.

Hongjoong kisses your forehead, smiling contentedly. “We’ve really missed this.”

Seonghwa hums his agreement against your shoulder, holding you tighter.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally catches up with you. “Me too,” you whisper, yawning. Wrapped between your two lovers, bodies warm and sticky and pressed together, it’s hard not to feel sleepy.

The two men notice with fond expressions, glancing at each other.

Seonghwa kisss your cheek. “Alright, love, let’s go get you cleaned up. Something tells me it’s bedtime.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

“I love you guys.”

[witherby]

Absolutely loving the littlest wayne au 😍😍😍😍. Your most recent post made me think. Damien is relieved that mouse doesn't decided to join the bats, but I'd love to know how the other react when mouse reject the robin title.

Keep up the great work seriously you're super talented✨️.

Thank you so much for saying that! I appreciate it!

Bruce and Damian are relieved. He's getting older, and Gotham still needs protectors right now, but the city is getting better. Slowly and steadily, he hasn't needed to patrol every single night anymore. Gothamites are learning to defend themselves. Rogues are dwindling. Not only are you not particularly needed to defend the city, Bruce wants you to enjoy your life without the burden of that responsibility weighing down your shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to retire and do the same.

Bruce was going to stop recruiting Robins after Tim, truth be told, but Damian was raised with the League of Assassins and needed a more pacifistic outlet for all that rage that blossomed under Ra's Al Ghul, so he almost had no choice but to pass the mantle down again. Your disinterest doesn't offend him, it brings him peace.

Tim, briefly, considers it a waste of potential. You have the ability to control darkness and shadows. The bats operate exclusively in the night. Are you joking? Why wouldn't you want to protect the city with that? A couple weeks later, though, he comes around when he gets home from a days-long mission and wishes he had the time to just lie in bed and decompress for the foreseeable future. He thinks about his lack of free time, and about how he's always thinking about casework, and updating his suit, and picking up his next round of antibiotics because Damian's grandfather took his fucking spleen, and realizes he really doesn't want you doing all of that. It's bad enough you're keeping the secret of your family's double lives as they run around in spandex beating up criminals. You don't need to live a complicated double life of your own, and he doesn't want you to.

Dick is confused. He loves being Nightwing! He defends the citizens of Gotham and Blüdhaven when they can't defend themselves. Saving lives gives him a great sense of fulfillment. (It's the Parentification making him think he's only lovable if he's useful, actually, but 🤫) Dick will try to convince you to give the vigilantism a shot, just in a small supporting role for a bank heist or something, but if you put your foot down and insist you aren't interested in crime fighting, he kinda becomes a fish out of water. You don't want your big bro to be your superhero mentor? You're just his baby sibling and that's it? What are you guys supposed to find in common, now? How does he remain lovable to you if you aren't partners in the field?

He'll come around, but you gotta give him some time. Having a civilian sibling is going to do him a surprising amount of good.

Jason was rooting on you not becoming a Robin. He was prepared to do anything and everything to talk you out of it, including kidnapping you and taking you to his apartment in Crime Alley if need be so your other family members can't influence your decision. He doesn't want you to collect scars like trading cards. He doesn't want you learning how to apply a field tourniquet to avoid bleeding out from a gunshot wound. He doesn't want you getting a deeper glimpse of Gotham's rotted underbelly than you absolutely have to. He doesn't want you to die saving a city that takes and takes and takes and very rarely gives back. You are worth more than what you can do for others, and he was gearing up to talk that lesson into you until he was blue in the face.

So I'd like you to picture him just sagging in his seat, thanking a god he doesn't believe in that you're already unwilling to join their seemingly neverending crusade. Then he's gonna sit back up and ask if you wanna go play video games or something.

[bonsubear]

Reader loves Invincible but hates Mark┃Mark/Invincible x Fangirl! Reader┃#3

totally hasn't been a month since I updated this series guys... :p

#1, #2, #3, #?

CW: ooc, cringe prob

WC: 3.5k

Mark wasn’t expecting taking pictures to be so… hard? The idea of taking pictures of himself seemed relatively easy but actually putting it in practice was surprisingly hard.

He took punches from his dad during training that hurt like hell, was thrown around like a rag doll and slammed to the ground that left him sore for weeks against everyday villains and been painted black and blue with bruises that stained his body like he was some sort of volunteer for a body painting class.

No matter what was thrown at him, literally or figuratively, he came back standing tall and strong. Yet, Mark was being bested by a phone camera that could not—no matter how many times he embarrassingly posed in the air—take a good picture of him.

To cut himself some slack, it's tricky to try and take shots when flying in the air by yourself while making it seem like someone else took it.

He tried to set down his phone and put it on a three, five, or ten second timer and make it seem like Invincible was taken off guard by a photo around the city—but it was like there was a curse placed upon him that made every single one of them appear blurry, unappealing, and unattractive.

Mark groaned, laying down on top of a random building, his phone beside him. He dug his hands in his hair, pushing his black locks back as he had been out here taking pictures for hours and still didn't have anything presentable for you.

It's been three days since he got your number, and he hasn't been able to start any conversation with you through text. Mark had hoped to start the perfect conversation with Invincible photos, but that plan seemed to be going up in flames with how he had zero presentable pictures.

Tomorrow is a Monday, and he didn't want to see you without having proved he was an Invincible fan to gain some favorability.

He felt really nervous, anxious, and embarrassed. Mark wanted to present to you what he promised with a silver platter, hearing you light up and praise him with blooming happiness.

It felt so stupid, so dumb but—ugh. He wanted to hear you sing praises towards him, just like how you sing praises to his superhero counterpart all the time.

He would never get riled up or upset about the fact that you would constantly insult and verbally abuse his character every chance you got, but for some reason, he easily gets worked up when his mind would track back to your admiration towards Invincible.

He had this jealousy towards Invincible that he had a hard time coming to terms with. For Pete's sake, Mark was Invincible but every time he imagined you practically drooling over his superhero counterpart in spandex, he wanted to beat himself up.

It was ridiculous. Mark knows he's him, but you don't.

Mark wants to hear you say something nice about him. A praise, a compliment—anything that Mark earned fair and square without the mask. Even a simple "hey, good job I guess!" would suffice.

As long as it comes from you, the most beautiful and gorgeous girl he has ever laid eyes on, he'll be set.

.

.

.

... What.

His body tensed as he immediately sat up from the floor, his face burning with a pink flush as he had taken in the thought that crept inside his mind.

Sure, he wasn't going to deny the fact that you were beautiful—you are! You take care of yourself like crazy with the products you buy and use every time he saw you at school so it's perfectly natural to think you're a very pretty individual—well, even without those he knows that you'll still look amazing!

Mark would be crazy to think you’re not! Hell, if you gave him the chance, he'll kiss the ground you walk on just because of how attractive you are to him!

... What.

His cheeks flushed a deeper pink, edging close to red as his hands flung to hold his face. What was that?! Mark internally screamed as steam was practically emitting from his face because of his embarrassing thoughts.

He felt sick, his stomach doing backflips as a sudden whirl of images of you appeared in his head.

Mark stared and observed you long enough that all angles of you were burned into his memory. Those long moments he looked at you during class was now biting him in the ass, leaving him a redden mess as he tried to calm himself.

That—is definitely not a creepy way to think about a potential new friend, right?

It's nothing weird, he thinks—or more so he tries to convince himself.

He's simply stating the obvious to no one but himself! Perfectly normal thing to do! Mark just really wants to be friends with you because you’re awesome, you’re into nerdy stuff like him and you'll make a perfect potential new candidate for friendship!

Perfectly normal to stare at your number and jot down potential first messages in his notes app to find the perfect one to send to you!

Perfectly normal to rehearse how to talk to you in the mirror for the past three days so that you'll start to see him as a cool guy rather than the guy you hate with a burning passion!

Perfectly normal to search up what other stuff he can buy for you and start putting some money on the side reserved just for you if an opportunity like that ever happens again!

Perfectly... normal... yeah. Normal friend stuff.

"So, this is where you ran off to?" A familiar deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing Mark to jolt. Before standing up, he scrambled to get his phone and put it behind him. "Imagine my surprise when your mom woke me up asking where you were."

"D-Dad! Hheeyy." Mark cringed; his cheeks were still dusted a light pink. "What, uh, what are you doing here?" He squeaked out.

"What are you doing here? Your mom's been looking for you." Nolan raised a brow, looking at his son with curiosity. He was wearing his Invincible suit and was obviously hiding something behind his back.

"N-Nothing! Nothing. I just went out flying for a bit, heh." Mark shrugged his shoulders, trying to remain casual to hide the fact that he had been out here taking pictures of himself for you.

How much time had passed that his dad went out looking for him? It's been a couple of hours sure—but not that long, right?

"Uh-huh." Nolan nodded his head slowly, not convinced at all by the reasoning. With Mark's entire arm hidden by his back, it was clear that his son was hiding something. "I take it that whatever is behind your back is a part of," he paused, raising his hands to do air quotations, "flying?"

"Yup! Exactly!" Mark nodded quickly, toeing around his dad while still shielding his phone behind him like it was some sort of ancient relic. It would be embarrassing if his dad found out what he was actually doing—he would never live it down.

"I'm, uh, going to do some more flying! —so just tell mom I'll be back in a jiff!"

"Have fun with your 'flying'—and whatever your hiding behind there." Nolan let out a dry laugh, watching his son's cheeks flush into a deep shade of red as he stuttered out a reply.

"Behind my—whaaat? I don't know what you’re talking about dad," He raised his free hand to do a circle motion to his head, "I think old age is getting to you—uh, anyway, bye! Gotta go take—I mean, fly! See you at home!" Mark yelped, leaping off the building and taking flight.

Nolan watched the blue and yellow silhouette of his son disappear, zooming past a building with so much speed that he had never seen him have before.

He paused before letting out a deep laugh, shaking his head.

Mark sat at the dinner table. He was helping his mom by folding pieces of square paper into origami swans. It was for leaving a nice touch to the houses that his mom was selling—or something like that.

He didn't really know the whole reason why, listening to his mom absentmindedly as he was busy tapping his foot as his hands mindlessly moved on their own, thinking about you and the photos that he took today.

The recent ones he took before coming home were surprisingly better, but not anything crazy good. They looked so immature, like a baby with wobbly hands took them.

"-rk? Mark?" His mom's voice called out to him, and Mark snapped out of his thoughts. He accidentally ripped the paper origami that he was halfway into making, startled at suddenly hearing his mom’s voice.

"Uh, yeah?” He laughed awkwardly as he stared at the blue paper he just ripped, sheepishly pushing it aside. “Whoops.”

"What are you thinking about? I've been calling your name for five minutes," Debbie laughed, shaking her head as she grabbed the swan origamis that Mark had mindlessly folded. "Thinking about something important?”

He shook his head, his leg jumping up and down.

“Okay. How about someone important?—"

"No!" Mark straightened his back at the mention of 'someone,' an image of you flashing in his mind. His anxious leg stopped bouncing, coming to a halt as he blinked at his mom.

Debbie raised a curious brow at his reaction, his reply to what she had innocently asked being a bit too fast.

Her son cleared his throat, trying to act casually and brush off his odd behavior. "Ha, I mean, no. Nothing important, really."

"Hm." Debbie let out an amused hum, wiggling her eyebrows at her son's contorting face. It was funny, but almost sad how clear his emotions were written on his face. Even though a part of her wanted to find out what was going on with him, she sighed as she decided against it. “Whatever you say, Mark.” She chuckled.

A small silence passed between them, before Mark broke it. "You know, actually, mom I do have sort of a question to ask you."

"Yes?"

"Hypothetically," Mark cleared his throat, gesturing with his hands. "would there be a reason why someone would randomly just hate another person?" He shrugged his shoulders, trying to seem disinterested at the possible answer.

"Hate? That's a strong word. Are you sure hate is the right word in this 'hypothetical' question?"

"Yeah! Like, really hate. Hate to the point," Mark didn't notice the small smile that crept on the corner of his lips, but Debbie certainly did, "where she—they insult you every day and call you a creep and stuff."

Debbie was taken aback at this, blinking before responding. It was obvious that this situation was about him and some other person, specifically a girl with how he fumbled on his words. “Can I have more info about this—“

“Hypothetical—“

“—hypothetical situation?”

Mark squinted, blowing raspberries before speaking again. “Like, this girl, just really hates this guy for some reason even though the guy didn’t really do anything. Or at least, not that he remembers.” He sheepishly elaborated, grabbing another square sheet of paper to continue folding.

“Oh, he must’ve done something alright. No one just hates someone for no reason.”

“But he doesn’t remember doing anything bad!”

“It doesn’t have to be something drastic—it can be something so small that really impacted her.” Debbie explained. “We’ve all disliked a person for the pettiest of reasons that doesn’t really make sense. Something that was so unmemorable to you was so memorable to her, it happens.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, okay, but—wait me? This, this isn’t about me, mom.” He caught her words, his cheeks warming. “It’s a hypothetical question for someone I know at school. Not, pfft, not for me.”

“Sure.” Debbie nodded, a sly smile on her lips. “Not for you.”

“Mhm. Anyway, what do you think the guy should do to get the girl to not, y’know, hate him?” He brought a hand to rub the back of his neck, scratching his nape awkwardly as he inquired.

“Spend a lot of time with her. Even if you have to force some situations.”

“Spend... time with her?” Mark deadpanned; the solution she provided sounded too simple to work. 

Debbie nodded, already seeing the gears turning in his head as he ingested her words. “Just find ways to be constantly around her. Show her you aren’t as bad as a guy that she thought you were from whatever mistake you did.”

Mark hesitated for a moment before speaking, thinking long and hard about the simple wisdom his mom had bestowed on him.

Suddenly, he stood up, knocking his chair backwards as he ran over to the staircase. “Thanks mom! That really, really helps actually!” He smiled, stepping on the stairs. He halted, popping his head around the corner. “But again, the hypothetical situation wasn’t for me—it’s for someone I know from school.”

"Sure it is, I'll believe that when pigs fly!" Debbie sang, wiggling her brows at her son that had a deep flush spread through his face.

"Nice talk, mom!" Mark waved a dismissive hand, running up the stairs to his room.

Argh, it isn’t hard! … Just send it… Send it!

Mark internally screamed at himself; his eyes glued on his phone that was laid flat on its back on the comfort of his bed.

He had been going on a cycle of pacing around the room and staring intently at his phone screen trying to convince himself that sending a message to you wasn’t going to be the end of the world.

But honestly—it might. What if you decide to block him because his first message was weird? Sure, he worked hard on it, but he worked hard on a lot of things yet still screwed it up!

He dug his fingers in his scalp, kneeling in front of the open phone screen that had a chatroom open. The profile picture of the letter of your first name was taunting him, Mark imagining it was sticking its tongue out with how stupid he looked for the past forty-five minutes.

The Vasian had already typed out the message he wanted to send, picking the best one from his notes app. Now, if only he had the strength to just—push the send button!

Mark thought to consult William about this, but he would never live it down. His best friend didn’t need a reason to actually believe that he was into “getting off” at mean girls.

Not that he would ever get off to you in a million years! That would be disrespectful—and indecent! You didn’t deserve to be only used as some sort of finishing material!

Mark Grayson groaned, “Aaahh, what am I thinking?!” He jumped on his best, his phone bouncing. His thoughts suddenly shifted to masturbation rather than sending a text message to kick start his plan—those two didn’t correlate at all!

From his mom’s simple words of wisdom, he realized that she was right.

If he were to force you two to hang out with each other so frequently, you would start not hating him because of how you’ll realize he was a perfect friend for you!

You wouldn’t hate him anymore! Whatever he did to make you hate him so much just—poof! Gone!

… But how is he supposed to make that happen when he can’t even pass the first step of his plan?!

Mark bit his lip, staring up at his ceiling as he fished for his phone that he jumped next to. His fingers grazed over the open screen, accidentally hitting some letters on the keyboard as he tried to grasp for his electronic.

Ping!

His heart froze, the familiar sound of a message sending sounding next to him.

He scrambled to sit up, making his neatly folded bed a mess as he accidentally knocked down one of his pillows to the floor.

He shakily brought his phone to his eyesight, trembling as he saw what he had just done.

Mark Grayson Hey👋🏻 It’s Mark Grayson. You gave me your phone number at the mall 3 days ago. I have the photos of Invincible if you want to take a look 😄 I’ve been busy so forgot to show you😅 z zsl ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

“Z-Z-S-L?” He read his mistype out loud when his fingers accidentally brushed up against his keyboard. “Who sends Z-Z-S-L?! That wasn’t supposed to be there!” He shouted, embarrassment overriding his entire nervous system.

Should I delete it? No, it’ll only delete on my end—not hers! Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Mark Grayson Hey👋🏻 It’s Mark Grayson. You gave me your phone number at the mall 3 days ago. I have the photos of Invincible if you wanna take a look 😄 I’ve been busy, so forgot to show you😅 z zsl ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) oh

(Y/N) (L/N) thats ok ig

(Y/N) (L/N) lemme see

Mark's phone had immediately buzzed three times in only one second after he sent that message, his eyes in shock that you replied so fast. He had expected to wait for a few hours for hours to receive a response, but that seemed to be not the case.

He swallowed thickly, nervous but happy that he got your attention.

Mark Grayson Okay👍🏻 Sending them now🙃 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark Grayson [5 photo attachments] ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark had only sent you a third of the pictures he had taken today, making sure to choose the best ones.

His back was up against the wall as he had his phone only centimeters away from his face, not blinking so that he would read your reaction the millisecond it seconds.

He subconsciously held his breath, the minutes ticking by so slowly. If he wasn't half viltrumite, he would've probably passed out with how long he was holding his breath for.

(Y/N) (L/N) jsjdjsskk

(Y/N) (L/N) my brain short circuited wtf

(Y/N) (L/N) im legit creaming my pants

(Y/N) (L/N) n u took those ?? thank GOD ur smooth brain didnt mess up those glorious pics

(Y/N) (L/N) hes so fineeeeeeee

Relief crashed over him, his tense muscles relaxing as he let out a giddy laugh. He rolled to his side, his smile reaching his ears as he took a moment to reread your text messages.

Even through text, you were endearing, and it seemed like you were more softer. While you still called him stupid, it was definitely less explosive if you were physically in front of him.

God, he was so happy you liked them.

Mark Grayson Do you believe me that I'm also an Invincible fan now?😁 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) idk wouldnt u like to know weather boy

Mark Grayson ? ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) but actually good job n the pics, theyre so up close n personal

(Y/N) (L/N) thx

Mark let out an unimaginable squeal. It sounded inhuman—had he always been able to make a noise like that!? Was it possible to feel this happy and overjoyed over just a few pixels?

He hurriedly replied with a thank you, trying to come off like your small praise towards him wasn't a big deal to him. Which it totally was, but you didn't need to know that.

Mark Grayson Do you want to hangout after school? 🤔 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N) tf hell no

(Y/N) (L/N) why would i willingly choose to be seen in public with u

(Y/N) (L/N) i already gave to charity n that was 3 days ago

Mark Grayson Not even if I have more Invincible stuff to show you? 😄 ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

(Y/N) (L/N)keys

Mark Grayson raised his brow. "Keys?" He whispered, tilting his head in confusion.

(Y/N) (L/N) fine wtv, but ur getting in my car so i can swerve in a nearby tree if i have to

(Y/N) (L/N) i know u dont get bitches so its a new experience but

(Y/N) (L/N) dont drool in my car ok creep

(Y/N) (L/N) i'll bill u the cleaning fee if u do

Mark Grayson I won't do that I promise ᴿᵉᵃᵈ

Mark Grayson I'll see you at school tomorrow then! 😊 ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

Mark Grayson Where do you want to go after school? ᴰᵉˡᶦᵛᵉʳᵉᵈ

The read receipts suddenly turned into delivered, and he pursued his lips in disappointment. Though, his spirits lifted as he reminded himself that he got to successfully get you to hang out with him after school!

While the details of where you guys would be going will be fuzzy since you didn't reply, Mark still took it as a victory!

... Now, he just needs to figure out what Invincible stuff to you show you since he promised it. It couldn't be just more pictures; it had to be something more than that.

Mark sighed—at least he had 24 hours to figure it out.

keys = kill yourself

How I feel updating this fic after a month has passed:

Tag List for All Works: @calicocat-ina-tuxedo

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets the update he's been waiting for. You get something you weren't expecting. Neither of you can tell the other how you're feeling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You drove Bradley's Bronco back to his house, dragged yourself back inside, and climbed back in bed. You cried so hard when you watched him carry his duffle bag into the airport, you had painful hiccups for twenty minutes afterwards. Now you were emotionally drained and on the cusp of a headache, and this was only the first day.

With your cheek on Bradley's pillow, you pulled the covers over your head and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know much about his deployment, but the communication blackout was designed to keep you from learning anything. If something happened to him, it might be weeks before you heard about it. Your heart ached as you thought about how lonely he was going to feel after he made it a point to tell you how much he loved getting mail from your class last time.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you scrambled to get it out.

About to take off. I love you, Gorgeous. I'll let you know when I land.

Well, you had about six hours to kill until you would hear from him again, which felt bad enough. Then seven full weeks after that. You typed back to him with fresh tears in your eyes, and then you tried to sleep, but the hiccups came back. When you moved to the couch, it felt too cold. You were tempted to call Natasha, but if you couldn't even make it a handful of hours without Bradley, you didn't think she would be able to help you.

It would start to get better. It would have to. When your winter break ended, you'd be back in your classroom with your students. You could dive into your lesson plans for the new year. You could focus on teaching. You could do this. Because if you found out the hard way that you couldn't, then you had no business being with Bradley.

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

Bradley was given a tiny room in the barracks on base in Norfolk, and he spent the entire night talking to you on the phone. Literally six hours straight before he passed out, sound asleep, hanging halfway off the bed with his phone connected to the charger. One of the last things he remembered you saying was, "As soon as you know if it's San Diego or Norfolk, let me know. I love you."

The following morning, he was so exhausted, he was practically dizzy as he met with his commanding officer, Admiral Walker, for this new special deployment. Even his arm felt heavy as he saluted Walker in his office. It was barely seven o'clock which equated to four in the morning in San Diego, and he knew it would take him a few days to get caught back up on sleep at this point. But every second of talking to you was worth it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Welcome back to the Atlantic Fleet," Walker told him, gesturing to the empty chair in the office. 

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, even though he was far less than thrilled to be back in Virginia at all. The prospect of a change of station could not have come at a worse time when he spent the flight from California looking at engagement rings on his phone.

As Bradley sat down, the older man said, "We never wanted to lose you to the Pacific in the first place, so I'm sure you can understand why you'll be staying on the east coast after your seven weeks on the Gerald R. Ford is complete."

His heart sank to his feet, and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Sir?" Bradley asked. "That's it? There's no chance of me returning to North Island?"

When the response he got was a raised eyebrow, Bradley pressed his lips into a line. This man wasn't going to give a shit that he owned a house in Coronado or that he was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world who happened to work in Mira Mesa. Something told him that keeping his mouth shut was the better option right now, even though he felt like punching a hole in the wall and flipping the desk.

Walker shuffled some papers on his desk. "Plans still need to be finalized, but it is our goal, and the goal of the US Navy, to change your station to Norfolk."

The words echoed in Bradley's mind. He couldn't decide if he should tell you about this yet. It wasn't like he had signed paperwork in his hand. Until he did, as far as he was concerned, he was going back to Top Gun and the love of his life. He knew you were stressed and concerned enough as it was, and he didn't want you to have to dwell on this unless it was finalized. 

"Once aboard the carrier, mission details will become available to you and the other aviators," Walker informed him. "I have a folder with your bunk assignment and some more information that you can take with you right now. You'll have access to your phone for about another hour, but as soon as you report to the carrier, it will need to be shut down and locked up. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Before Bradley could even respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Walker heaved a weary sigh as his gaze left Bradley's face, and he barked, "Come in."

Of all the faces he knew from North Island, Bradley wasn't exactly sure if it was a friendly one, but when the door opened, Admiral Simpson came strolling inside in his service khakis. He couldn't fathom why his meeting was being interrupted by Cyclone, but he sat quietly with the folder in his hands. 

"Admiral Walker," Beau Cyclone greeted, voice as stern as ever. "You never returned my calls, and red eye flights the week of Christmas are not something I find endearing."

Walker stood behind his desk with all of his accolades hanging on the wall behind him, and Bradley jumped to his feet as well. "Admiral Simpson," Walker replied, voice dripping with disdain. "There was no need for you to fly out in person to release your pilot to my fleet."

Bradley could hear Cyclone's knuckles crack as he watched his eye twitch. He was somehow caught in the middle of this, but it looked like the Top Gun admiral was in no mood to be outmaneuvered and lose a member of his team. Bradley silently goaded him on while he stood there completely still.

"I'm not releasing anyone to you. That's not how this works," Cyclone barked. "If you can't manage your fleet, you don't get to poach from mine."

The admirals seemed to be in a competition to see whose face could get redder. "Admiral Simpson, I'm sure you'll find my rank alone is reason enough for-"

"You do not outrank me," Cyclone interrupted, voice loud but calm. Then he turned toward Bradley with his jaw clenched and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw. You are dismissed. Please board the USS Gerald R. Ford on time for your deployment."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, saluting both men before walking back out into the hallway on slightly unsteady legs. He paused, hoping to hear some more of their conversation or an outright blow up that would give him a clue as to what the fuck was going on, but instead he walked the rest of the way to the barracks to collect his duffle and head to the docks. 

With his phone in his hand once again and his bag slung over his shoulder, Bradley called you. He knew it was early and he'd be waking you up, but time was tight now. And your voice was the only thing that would keep him sane at the moment. 

"Bradley," you sighed a second later, and he pressed his phone tighter to his ear. 

"Baby, I miss you so much," he promised, heart aching. He swallowed hard and decided not to bring up anything that was going on since he didn't have a completely clear understanding of it himself. "I'm about to board the carrier."

He could hear you crying, and he wanted to kick himself. "Just come back safely. That's all I want. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me, okay?"

He was having a hard time keeping his own tears at bay. "Me, too. We'll figure out the rest of it later, Gorgeous. Take care of yourself. Write in the journal. And don't forget to check the mail."

"I love you, Bradley!"

"I love you so much."

As soon as he ended the call and turned off his phone, he had to walk through a small building for security screening. It was there that his bag and phone were taken from him. When he exited the other side, his duffle was handed back to him, but his phone was not.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," the petty officer told him with a shrug when he glared. "I'll tag it for you and return it when you get back to Norfolk. At least it's not a long deployment."

Bradley couldn't even argue with that. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. He'd been overseas for a full twelve months at a time when he was younger. This should have felt like nothing, but he knew it would feel like the worst one. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started to head for the bunk that would be his for the duration. There was no sense in standing on deck when there was nobody who would be looking for him to see him off.

He made it down two hallways before a loud voice echoed off the walls around him. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." When he turned, Admiral Simpson was heading his way, face so red it was almost purple. Bradley's heart sank.

"Yes, sir?"

The other man pulled his composure together, sighing like an angry bull. "While you will be under the command of Admiral Walker for this deployment, you will fly directly back to San Diego when you return to port in Norfolk. You'll be presented with the paperwork today."

Bradley's jaw dropped open. "I'm returning to the Pacific Fleet, Sir?"

He got one firm nod in response. "I told you last week that I would do what I could to retain you."

This was honestly the best case scenario, and Bradley could feel some of his tension melt away. "You weren't kidding," he mumbled before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Sir. Being in San Diego is important to me."

"Fly safely, Lieutenant. See you in seven weeks," Cyclone barked before turning on his heel and walking toward the ramp back down to the dock.

Bradley pumped his fist in the air. "Fuck, yeah," he whispered, spinning on the spot. He would get to go back to the station he preferred in North Island as well as his friends, but most importantly, he would get to return to you. There would be no stress of packing and moving and hoping you were still willing to come with him. He could stay in Coronado.

When he slid his hand into his pocket to get his phone out to call you back, he froze. "God damn it."

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

If waiting for emails and letters was bad before, this was torture. The early days of getting to know Bradley through written notes left you with constant butterflies in your tummy, but now it felt like you were walking around with a lead weight instead. You constantly caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him before setting it back down in frustration. 

You hadn't heard from him since before he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, and that was four days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and at least you had the wine bar with Natasha to look forward to. While you got dressed and ready to go, you couldn't help but put in just the bare minimum amount of effort. What was the point when your boyfriend wasn't even here to give you kisses along your neck and call you Gorgeous? You pouted at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and put the cap on your lip gloss before even using it.

"You look nice," Nat said as you climbed in the front seat of her car. You turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm wearing Bradley's old sweatshirt with a pair of leggings that are starting to get a hole in the crotch."

She started cackling as she pulled away from the curb. "Well, you still look nice."

"Thanks," you said softly, watching the houses go by. 

As Nat turned toward the highway to head up to Oceanside, she asked, "How are you making out?"

You pressed your lips together for a few seconds, trying to make sure you weren't going to cry. "I'm just having a hard time being off from work while he's gone. It's... harder than I thought it would be. I can't wait to return to my classroom in a few days."

"I'm sure that will make it easier," she agreed. "You'll be so busy, time will start to fly by. Oh, I forgot to ask if you got any interesting mail at Bradley's house since he left?"

You shook your head. "I barely remember to check the mailbox most days. Why?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied smoothly. "You'll be back to work in a few days, but in the meantime, we've got merlot and chardonnay to keep your mind occupied."

"Sounds like you're talking about two hot French men," you said with a laugh.

"I could be! You don't even know!"

Now both of you were laughing. And you were still laughing when you actually did order a glass of merlot and a glass of chardonnay. You and Nat enjoyed some wine flights and cheese platters, and she regaled you with stories about Bradley from flight school.

"When he was twenty-two, he probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds," she said with a smirk. "He was such a nerd, too. God, it was so bad." You were trying to stifle your laughter as she added, "Once he really started working out and grew the mustache, he thought he was hot shit. He's still a fucking nerd."

"He kind of is," you agreed through your giggles.

"But he's a good one," she promised. "Wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but I don't think he has to worry about you breaking it."

You ran your hand along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Never."

Once the two of you were filled with cheese and sober enough to get back in the car, you paid for your adventure with the gift card Bradley gave you, only to find out it had five hundred dollars on it.

"Natasha! We need to come back like four more times," you said as you signed the slip.

"I don't see any issue with that," she muttered, leaving cash for a tip. "I think I'll write Bradley an email and thank him for funding girls' day so he can read it when he gets back to Norfolk."

"I think he'd like that."

You started thinking about the journal sitting on the nightstand in his bedroom. Every night before you fell asleep, you'd been pouring your heart and thoughts out into the thing, but even the mention of the word Norfolk had you fretting again. You managed to keep up the conversation with Bradley's best friend as she drove you back to Coronado, but perhaps you should keep most of your things packed after you moved your stuff to his house. What if you had to move to Virginia when the school year ended?

"Thanks for driving," you told her when she pulled up to Bradley's driveway to let you out.

"Anytime," she said, waving you off. "We'll go back up again soon." When you leaned in to give her a hug, she told you, "Don't forget to check the mail."

"Okay."

You weren't sure exactly what her deal was since Bradley couldn't send you anything, but if she wanted you to, then you would. You already promised your boyfriend you'd keep an eye on anything unusual that arrived, so as you walked up to the front door, you took a peek inside the mailbox. Empty. Just like the house. You curled up on the couch with the journal and started to write your daily entry.

I heard from a very reliable source (Natasha) that you were and still are a nerd. I'm going to need to see some pre-stache photos of you when you get home. Your best friend is a wealth of information when you get some wine in her, and I had a great time with her today. 

But I miss you. So much. Sometimes it knocks the breath out of my lungs. Your house is too cold and quiet without you here, hogging the couch and eating snacks. I'm looking forward to school starting up in a few days. It'll be a little less lonely when I have eighteen kids telling me what they got for holiday gifts. Of course I'll have to tell them they won't get a visit from their favorite aviator for a while. We'll just be nineteen sad pen pals.

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

On January second, you were working on your lesson plans while wearing Bradley's gym shorts and eating potato chips. Tomorrow you'd get back into a routine with work, but first you were going to allow yourself one last day of being kind of pitiful. You bit off more than you could chew with Bradley, and now you were paying the price. 

You sporadically started crying at random times throughout the day, and it was only made worse by the overwhelming feeling of being alone. If you could barely make it a week without hearing from him, how were you going to make random deployments with no communication your lifestyle? Why did you even think you could?

While you were crunching your way through some potato chips, you heard something thump on the front porch. The sound made you jump on the couch, and you set your snack down on the table and crept to the front door. When you peeked outside, there was nobody there, but when you cracked the door open, you saw a box. A fairly large box. Addressed to you.

"Oh my god," you gasped. It was from Bradley. According to the date stamped next to your name, he somehow sent a box from the post office in San Diego last week. "Oh my god!"

You grabbed it and kicked the door shut, almost tripping on your way back to the coffee table. When you tried to claw at the tape, you almost broke your nails. "Scissors," you shouted, running for the kitchen drawer by the sink where your boyfriend kept a random assortment of junk. Then you walked quickly back to the couch and started to cut into the box.

Natasha had to be behind the arrival of the box, but you couldn't fathom what could possibly be inside. If Bradley wanted you to have something, he could have simply given it to you before he left. Your heart was pounding as you set the scissors down and looked inside.

"Bradley," you gasped, tears filling your eyes as those familiar butterflies zoomed and swooped around in your belly. You'd been so upset about missing out on his letters, he sent you a whole box of them. There were dozens of envelopes and little treats filling the box nearly to the top, but a neon orange envelope with OPEN ME FIRST written on it caught your eye. You pulled it out of the box and tore into it.

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm thinking about you right now. Guaranteed. It doesn't matter when you get this box or when you read this note, I'm thinking about how much I love you. And if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming about us eating Thai food on the beach in front of a sunset that is nowhere near as beautiful as you.

I hope you realize there was no way you weren't going to get some letters from me while I'm deployed. I would never let that happen. Somehow, you fell in love with me this way in the first place, and more than anything, I want you to feel as loved as I do. So I filled this box with little notes and long, rambling love letters and things I thought you might like. When you read the individual envelopes, you'll know what to do.

Please fill that journal up for me. I can't wait to read it in seven weeks. I'm missing you like crazy, and I selfishly hope you're missing me just as much. I love you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

With shaking hands, you set the note down on the orange envelope and swiped at your tears. You never dreamed you would meet a man this romantic, but somehow you did, and he became your boyfriend. "Oh, Bradley," you whispered, picking up a stack of envelopes and reading what was written on each one.

Open me when you've had a bad day

Open me when you really want some coffee

Open me when you need a laugh

Open me when you're in bed

Open me when you need a girls' night

Open me with your class

You flopped down onto the couch and kicked your feet in the air. "Bradley!" you shrieked, voice breaking as you started to cry. You hugged the letters to your chest and let the warm feeling of being loved wash over you and fill your heart. He was unbelievable. He was perfect. He was everything you wanted. And somehow you loved him a little more and missed him a little less with this box on the coffee table.

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

He's so romantic. He's taking care of Gorgeous from afar! He's coming home to San Diego, but she doesn't even know it! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @daggerspare-standingby

PART 21

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[erodasfishtacos]

Threadbare - I ||FWB!H||

prompt: yn avoids because she doesn't know what else to do

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, cheating

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

This will be updated this month.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 375 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out HERE

YOU CAN GET 70% YOUR FIRST MONTH OF MEMBERSHIP!

SIGN UP THROUGH WEB BROWSER NOT THROUGH APP STORE TO AVOID IOS FEE!!!!

first TWENTY to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month! -

-

The transition in being friends to friends with benefits was surprisingly smooth for the impressively big amount of lack of communication, lack of resolution, and all over how much was swept under the rug instead of address.

It’s was a quiet tension between them that was sometimes sexual tension, sometimes angsty.

They couldn’t wait for trivia to be over so they could get their hands on each other or this other.

It was not as pleasant when someone mentioned Lauren or Ben.

How if someone brought up Lauren, YN’s eyes would automatically dart to Harry to see his reaction and she didn’t miss the ways his jaw clenched when Ben was brought up.

It wasn’t a mutual agreement of not talking about these things, acting like them coming together was conventional or that everytime they went out with their friends - they didn't tell them.

They held this secret between them, not only that they were currently hooking up but what transpired that weekend at the lake house.

Neither of them were that kind of person, who would step out on their partner, or cross boundaries they shouldn’t when they’re in a committed relationship but apparently they were that kind of people - both of them.

YN knows there is nuance.

She knows neither her nor Harry were happy in their relationship.

She knew that Lauren treated Harry like shit nearly a ninety-percent of the time.

Ben had never been all that great after the love-bombing phase was done which she had fell for the flowers and the random grand gestures.

It didn’t make it okay.

YN always had a bit of a crush on Harry.

He was a bit more attentive to her than he was to any other females in the friend group but she’d never looked into that or fed into that too much.

She brushed it off on the fact that she had a (now looking back) massive crush on him that she didn’t want to actually acknowledge because she shouldn’t have a crush on someone who’s in a relationship as she’s in a relationship with someone else.

It was fucked up.

The rest of the time of at the lake house was tense after YN had bolted from the pool, leaving Harry mid-apology but knowing better than to chase after her.

He hadn’t bothered her again - even as they both were in different rooms in the same big summer house.

She could hear him in the kitchen, starting the blender, he had to be able to hear when she turned on the shower but there was silence between them.

And it disappointed her, selfishly, she wanted there to be a knock on the bedroom door, another conversation, something from Harry.

But she was the one who ran, who made it clear that what happened wasn’t good, and YN has always struggled with avoidance, it why she hasn’t broken up with Ben.

She hated confrontation and uncomfortable situations to a fault.

Being socially anxious was in her bloodstream, and having hard conversations was like pulling teeth without being numbed first.

So the second Harry had pulled his hand back, his mouth opening to discuss what just happened - there was no other option for YN then to just avoid, flee so that she didn’t have to talk about it.

YN doesn’t come out of her bedroom for the rest of the night.

Her heart’s in her stomach because even if she doesn’t want to be with Ben, there was guilt for liking what just happened with Harry.

She couldn’t get it out of her mind when he’s cupped her breast, when the rough pad of his thumb had nudged over her nipple.

It was fucked up that her thighs were wet at the thought, at the way his eyes had honed in on her, and how fucking turned on he looked as he reached out to touch her.

She’d never felt that kind of arousal in her life and it wasn’t right, she wasn’t expecting it with Harry when she had long ago deemed him out of her league.

YN wasn’t asleep by the time that Ben stumbled in, drunk and clueless to the internal crisis of self she was having.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut when she felt him looking at her.

Determining whether she was asleep or not, and mumbled some intelligible before he was stumbling out of his clothes and crawling into bed - promptly passing out even while YN struggled to calm her mind.

+

YN knew she was making everything worse.

She knew that she needed to talk to Harry but avoidance was easier.

It was easier to not make eye contact with him when everyone clmabered downstairs in the morning.

It was easier to sit as far away as possible from him at the table when they all ate breakfast, and made sure not to look at him.

YN could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face.

She could tell that he was staring at her, willing her to look at him, and she wanted him to stop because he was being obvious - or at least she felt like he was drawing attention to the situation but if anyone notices, nobody say anything.

Then they’re down by the lake, YN’s laying on a lounger on the dock, soaking up the sun, and trying to warm up before getting into the water which was chiller than she usually liked.

It was peaceful until she can feel the wood of the dock start to tremble next to her until someone is sitting on the chair opposite her.

YN has sunglasses on that were big enough to hide her eyes completely, dark enough that he couldn’t see.

She blinked her eyes open to Harry looking at her with an unfamiliar look on his face, she didn’t know what he was feeling but he definitely wanted her attention.

YN sits up as Harry hands her something, his voice quiet and unsure, “You’ve got to reapply, you’re gettin’ burnt.”

“Thanks,” YN takes it from him, making sure their hands don’t touch even though she can acknowledge that it’s dramatic.

Even if she’s being short outward, internally there were butterflies tumbling around in her belly that he was even paying attention to her like this.

Apparently her standards were incredibly low because Ben would never do something like this.

He wouldn’t have noticed in the first place, nor used any amount of energy to go up to the house to get the bottle of sunscreen.

“Think I grabbed the right one, you said the one in the blue bottle irritates your skin, right?” Harry checks, he’s off, subdued.

YN didn’t like it but she couldn’t bring it up, they couldn’t talk about it where anyone could hear them.

The thoughtfulness, the fact that he listened when she made that off-handed comment the other day when Ben handed her the blue bottle.

“This is the right one,” YN agrees lamely, taking it out of his hand, they were both skating on uncertainty.

“You ignored me at breakfast,” Harry observes, suddenly on topic to what they really need to talk about.

And YN knows her eyes must have widened like a deer about to be hit by oncoming headlights because she wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

“Didn’t mean to,” YN lies, it wasn’t even a good one but she could feel this uneasiness starting to churn in her stomach because at the end of the day, she had this stupid fucking crush on Harry.

And now she’s seemingly on track to continuously make herself look like an immature little girl who can’t have a conversation.

Harry’s brow furrows at that, huffing with a shake of his head, “Okay. I guess it’s just in my head then.”

And YN didn’t want to gaslight him either.

Fuck.

“I-” YN doesn’t know what to say, swallowing harshly as toys with the sunblock bottle, “It’s not…in your head. I - don’ know.”

It wasn’t graceful or intelligent whatsoever, she felt tongue-tied suddenly at having to explain her poor behavior.

“I would like to talk to you about yesterday,” Harry replies, his tone is neutral, unreadable.

She'd rather not have a conversation about him apologizing, saying it was a mistake, that he wasn’t thinking, that it didn’t mean anything.

She was going to actively avoid the conversation at all fucking costs.

“Not…here,” YN glances around, no one was directly by them but it wasn’t the place to have it - in active eyeline of both of their significant others.

“You will talk to me about it though?” Harry persists, his fingertips are digging into his knees, she knows

it's

absurd but it looks like he’s actively resisting reaching out and touching her.

YN nods, the guilt revving back up because she knows she’s going to do whatever to avoid it, to not have all of her false hopes and dreams crushed.

He was out of her league, he had a gorgeous girlfriend, he was in a committed relationship, and she was too - it was stupid for her to even entertain the idea.

“Yeah, just not here,” YN agrees weakly, she wonders if he can tell she’s not being truthful with him, if he’ll call her out on it.

“Please just know that -” Harry starts to say, leaning in a bit closer in a way that wasn’t inappropriate but made if more difficult for anyone to overhear.

“Harry! Stop bullshitting and get me a fuckin’ drink!” Lauren interrupts obnxiously from the water.

By the slur of her words, she already had enough alcohol pumping through her veins, and the way she demanded from Harry wasn’t anything new but it never got easier to hear him being barked orders to.

The rest of their friends laugh, like it’s funny how Lauren talks to him.

But by the subtle sharp edge to her tone and the way that Harry’s eyes instantly go dark, his nose scrunching slightly in disgust before he hides it shows just how unfunny that interaction is.

Maybe because she sees too much of herself in Harry in that way.

Ben barking at her for things and she just does it to avoid conflict or arguements.

Nothing was funny about it.

++

YN unsurprisingly doesn’t stick to her word, Harry seeks her out two times during the day to try to talk to her.

The first time YN gets flustered, makes up an excuse about having to use the bathroom, and promptly hides in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes.

The second time, YN suddenly gets very busy helping set up the volleyball net when she notices Harry starting to make his way towards her.

And she knows by the end of the night, his patience is wearing thin - purely based off of the unamused glances he gives her.

The way he’s not anywhere near as talkative as he normally is, and his general demeanor is off - even their friends call him out a few times on it.

Now, she’s nervous to talk to him because of the fact that he’s getting annoyed with her.

She truly keeps digging the hole she’s stepped into deeper and deeper until it feels entirely impossible to pull herself up out of without ramifications.

It wasn’t until late, it was nearly eleven, and their night was in full swing.

The bonfire was blazing, everyone had alcohol flooding their systems except for YN and Harry.

YN wasn’t naturally a big drinker but tonight, she was far too uneasy to think about even sipping anything.

Whereas Harry had a beer or two but he’d been nursing them slowly, enough that he wouldn’t feel any effects of it.

YN feels like the walls were closing in around her.

The conversation was going to come, Harry seemed determined by this point, and YN has probably just made this whole situation worse by not having the conversation in the first place.

YN sneaks away to the bathroom in the house, the second floor one because it was one that no one was allowed to throw up in if they drank too much.

She did it while Harry was in the middle of a volleyball game, and she really didn’t think he’d dip out to have the conversation or pull away from the group because it would surely be suspicious if YN and Harry randomly disappeared around the same time.

But YN is wrong.

God, she’s so wrong.

Because when there’s a knock at the door, YN’s first thought is that it’s Georgia, so without thinking she opens it.

But standing there is a very very unhappy looking Harry who’s lips are in a firm line, his brows drawn inward, and his voice is rougher than usual when he says, “Time to talk.”

“What do you want?” YN has the nerve to huff, surprised by her own attitude as she steps backwards, and Harry follows her in, shutting the door, and locking it behind him.

She wants to point out that this looks so entirely shady, that they should have this conversation not in a locked room, in a house alone but she cannot find it in her to care to point that out nor does she wants to.

“I want you to stop avoiding me,” Harry replies as he crosses his arms, standing towards the door and allowing YN to put some distance between them.

There was this sick, twisted thrill shooting arousal up her spine that she was able to rile him up, get a reaction, it meant in some capacity that he cared at least a bit about her.

When Ben was mad - it turned her off completely but something about the sharp, defined cut of Harry’s clenched jaw, the puffiness of his bottom lip from his front teeth digging into it.

He looked fucking hot when he was pissed and that’s when YN realized she is in deep shit because fuck, she smitten.

“I’m not,” YN replies stubbornly, mirroring his posture by crossing her arms and popping her hip to the side, tongue poking at the inside of her cheek.

Harry looks like he wants to sink his teeth into her- she’d never seen him like this and it was fucked up but she wanted more.

Harry finally smiles but it’s not his normally, boyish grin.

It’s intimidating, sharp and dangerous, his dimples popping as he tilts his head, “I didn’t ask you if you were avoiding me. I’m telling you what you were doing. I’m done with it, we need to talk. Understood?”

And if YN could rub her thighs together without it being obnoxious she would.

It’s twisted, he’s clearly upset and she’s better than no man, thirsting over the way the vein at the side of his neck bulges, his biceps look massive as they flex, and his eyes are sparkling with fury.

“I’m sorry,” Harry takes a deep inhale, calming slightly as he becomes a tad bit more lax in his posture, “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable and it was completely out of line for me to do. I take full accountability and I’m so fucking sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position.”

YN takes a minute to process it because…it wasn’t the apology or the regret she was expecting to hear from him.

It wasn’t necessarily rejection.

It was genuine remorse.

“You…I’m the one who showed you them,” YN replies slowly, more confused than ever, and the arousal fizzles when she notices how distraught Harry is underneath hsis cool demeanor.

“I should have never asked. I should have never put you in a position where you felt like you had to-”

“I didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable, Harry. I’m an adult who made decisions too,” YN points out because it was on both of them, they both participated equally in the bad behavior.

“Then why did you run away? I thought it was because I made you uncomfortable,” Harry’s shoulder slump slightly in relief, his arms uncross but he doesn’t step forward even if she wants him too, even though she shouldn’t want him to.

“I was scared,” YN admits quietly, she has to look away for a moment because his gaze was so fucking intense.

“What were you scared of, Honey?” Harry pushes, he takes a step forward, lessening the space in the small area but they still weren’t touching, and her heart was starting to fully pound like she was running a marathon.

YN finally blinks at him, teeth dug into her lip, debating whether she should tell him the blunt truth - gauging whether that will just lead to rejection but the way he’s looking at her, it makes her want to risk it, say ‘fuck it’.

“Of how much I wanted it,” YN’s voice is barely above a whisper but he could hear it in the otherwise silent house.

“Wanted what,” Harry’s voice is deeper, rougher, and it’s an almost a demand like he needs to know, that it’s not optional.

“Harry-” YN resists, barely hanging onto her morals with a fucking thread, and waiting for him to cut the string.

And he fucking does.

“Tell me, tell what you wanted so badly,” Harry pushes, his fingers are clenching like earlier, he has to restrain himself from reaching out at her.

“It scared me how badly I wanted you to touch me, wanted your hands on me, on my tits, on…yeah,” YN trails off, sheepish and her cheeks were so fucking hot in embarassment at what she’d just said, admitted.

It’s faster than YN can process, the way Harry strides forward, and handles her - twisting her roughly until she’s pinned against the wall across from the sink, it’s tight and their bodies are pressed flushed.

His lips aren’t on hers but they’re ghosting close enough that if they moved even an inch they would brush.

“Tell me I can,” Harry murmurs, there’s this sweet, desperate, needy plea in it that makes her knees weak, “ I wan’na, so bad, honey.”

YN swallows harshly, losing all sense of why this is wrong, and she finds her hands coming to his hair - gripping there and puling his mouth to hers, “Yeah, yes. You can have it.”

[novemberheart]

{overview} Just because your pack is back together doesn’t mean things are back to normal

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly141, cursing, mentions of being scared, smoking, short chapter

Chapter 30 <- Chapter 31 -> Chapter 32

“Hi, Ms. Garrick,” you greeted. You heard her chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Well hello, lovely,” she greeted back. You smiled at the similarities between their pet names for you. She had gotten your number from John after Kyles accident. She called you leaving the kindest message in your inbox.

Hello, Sweetheart. Now you don't know me, but my name is Rosalind Garrick, Kyle’s mother. But don't think that just because you don't know me, I know nothing about you. You’re all Kyle talks about anymore and I’m just so happy he's finally able to get some peace amongst his chaos. I know how hard this all must be for you so if you ever need anyone to talk to please reach out to me. As far as I'm concerned you’re a part of our pack and we want to make sure you are taken care of.

Alright, sweetheart. Talk to you soon.

Since then you've called her every few days, mostly to give her updates about Kyle.

“How’s our beta doing?” she asked.

“He’s been doing good. Started to get up and walk with crutches. He's stubborn and restless,” you grumbled. As if on cue, the beta trudged out of his room, heading towards the kitchen.

“That’s the man I know,” she chuckled.

“Hey, mum,” Kyle greeted from the kitchen. You bounded over, hoisting yourself up onto the counter.

“The next time you all go on leave I want you to come home,” She pressed. You grinned wickedly, agreeing before the words had even reached Kyle’s ears. “I’ve only met Johnny. Now it’s a crime I haven't met your alphas yet, and I'm not going to let you get away with me not meeting your omega. In-person,” she added.

“Sounds right to me,” you agreed. That's why she loved you.

“You’ll love the city. Did Kyle tell you about all the museums? I know you love those.”

Kyle did tell her about you.

“We can work that out,” Kyle agreed. He did want to go home, and he desperately wanted to share that part of himself with you. You and Ms. Garrick both squealed excitedly.

“Can I talk to you about something?” you asked. He stiffened immediately, his mind jumping to the worst.

Had he hurt you again?

Your hands smoothed over his shoulder, your bottom resting against his knee. His relax was instantaneous. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours.

“I was wondering if I could get a job?” you said slowly. It wasn't slow enough with the way the wheels in his mind were turning.

“Why? Something you need? It’s my job”-

“No, nothing like that. It’s more social than anything.” you interjected. “I’ll be with Anais and Jane. It’s at a new bakery a little off base. It's just a few hours on Fridays and the weekend,” you explained.

He wanted to shut it down. You were social enough. Before Kyle was hurt you had activities nearly every day. Sometimes it felt like you did more in a day than they did.

Yet the look in your eyes halted him. You had forgiven him- he could feel it. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you after just making up.

“Alright,” he agreed. You gasped softly, a wide grin spreading over your face. It made him happy despite the feeling of something wrong clawing at him.

“Thank you!” you cheered, your lips colliding with his cheek.

“One of us will take you to work the first week. Then you girls can commute together. And you are never to go off on your own, you understand?” he urged. You hummed against his cheek. “And I need to meet your boss- and anyone else who’s working there,” he added, between your attacks.

You were just about to head to your room, when a strong arm wrapped around your middle. You recognized a familiar tattoo.

“Tavy,” you giggled. He said nothing, heading to his room.

“Seems like you've forgotten it’s my night, bonbon,” he teased, tossing you on his bed. He crawled over you, making you flush.

“I could never forget,” you lied, blinking up at him. He smirked down at you, completely still for a moment before pressing rapid-fire kisses against your cheek.

You squealed as his hands tickled up and down your sides.

“Mac, no!” you gasped out. “I was just getting tired,” you whined against him. He paused, his smirk pressing against yours.

“Alright, peaches,” he agreed. He wrapped an arm tightly around you, purring softly as you buried your face in his chest. Cinnamon mixed with some of your vanilla lotion he had stolen.

“Simon comes home tomorrow,” you sighed happily. Johnny hummed, a pleased rumble leaving his throat. “I thought you and John would be gone longer,” you yawned.

“So did we,” he yawned back. He said nothing more on the topic, yet you didn't expect him to.

When you woke up you were no longer trapped between him and the bed, but him and another body. Leather with an undertone of black licorice. There was more smoke in his scent than you were used to. He must have been smoking a lot. A purr vibrated through you, making his chestnut eyes flutter open.

“What’re you purring about?” Simon groaned, pushing the two of you closer to Johnny. He was playing dumb. You could feel the curl of his lips against the back of your head.

“You’re back,” you said weakly, your throat hoarse with sleep.

“I’m back,” he affirmed. His hand found your stomach rubbing small circles in an attempt to lull you back to sleep. He wasn't ready to get up yet. He had just gotten home an hour ago and the last thing he wanted to do was pull himself away from the warmth of this bed. “Go back to sleep, pup,” he urged. You didn't need much more convincing, your eyes practically sewing themselves shut.

“Welcome home,” Johnny grumbled, with half-lidded eyes.

“Thanks, pup,” Simon mumbled, his fingers digging into the Scots side, pulling all of you closer once more. That wasn't usual for Simon, needing to have his pack this close, especially after a mission. Something must’ve happened.

“You alright?” Johnny drawled, unburying his face from your neck. Simon hummed in assurance.

“Fine, mutt,” he soothed. “Get some sleep,” he pressed, his fingers racking up and down Johnny’s lower back.

The next time Simon woke he had a fever. It was hot enough to make you and Johnny wake up in a sweat. Johnny quickly grabbed you, plopping you on the couch next to Kyle- assuming you may have triggered a rut for Simon like you had for John.

“What’s happening?” John groaned, uncurling himself from Kyle on the couch.

“Fever,” you responded. Kyle's hand pressed against your forehead. “Simon,” you clarified, moving to stand so you could peek into Johnny’s room. “I don't think it’s a rut Johnny,” you mumbled.

“I’m fine,” Simon groaned. He peeled off his sweatshirt, flopping back down against the mattress. His wide chest rose and fell irregularly. You approached your hand resting on his stomach. His body seemed to relax slightly, and you decided to take the chance and curl up against him. His heartbeat was fast- too fast.

“I’m calling a doctor,” John pressed, gently maneuvering Kyle off of him. Simon flipped the two of you over, making you gasp. Johnny flung forward his hand gripping the alpha’s shoulder.

“Not gonna do anything, pup,” he mumbled, his heart squeezing at the sound that escaped you. “Need to feel ya,” he mumbled, just low enough for you to hear. His hand crept under your shirt resting against the soft skin of your back.

He couldn't explain it. It started two weeks ago, a light burning sensation under his skin, and an almost sour feeling in his mouth. It felt like he was going through withdrawals. He was shaky, his heart skipping beats. He went through two packs of cigarettes in a day and still no relief. Wasn't till he met you at the hospital after Kyle’s accident did he start to put it together. Yet it only got worse being around you.

He growled against your neck, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth creaked.

“Doctor’ll be here in fifteen,” John spoke, his shoulder taking up the doorway. “How long have you felt this way?” John pressed.

“Couple weeks,” he growled. A pang shot through his skull, he steadied himself over you, taking a deep breath. It only made it worse, yet he couldn't pull himself away. Johnny leaned against the desk causing it to creak, the sound sending Simon on high alert. You whined at the snarl that left him. “Sorry,” he apologized instantly.

“Sweetheart, how about we wait on the couch till the doctor gets here?” John offered, beginning to move towards the two of you. He didn't like the way Simon was acting. The sound that came out of Simon was deadly, making it known he disagreed with Johns suggestion. John released a sound of his own.

You were scared.

It didn't help when Simon's hand reached behind him, grabbing at John's shirt.

“What the hell?” Johnny growled. Johnny sprung into action, his arms reaching under Simons pulling him to the floor.

“Get out!” John commanded. You didn't need to be told twice, throwing yourself off the bed, curling up behind Kyle. Kyle held you with both arms, not caring about the uncomfortable stretch of his shoulder.

“Up we go,” Kyle pressed, grabbing his crutch and leading you into your room. He locked the door behind the both of you, cradling you against him as you shook.

You could hear them.

Cursing. The sound of someone being slammed against the wall. Growling. Shouting. Things breaking.

The smell of angry alpha began to seep under the door.

“Kyle,” you whimpered. He shushed you softly, his lips pressed against your hairline.

It suddenly went quiet.

Hi friends! See you in three days for chapter 32! 🧡🙌🏻

[husky4lyfe]

by my side [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi just broke up, and they want nothing more to be by each others side or.. an angsty fic abt azzi being at paige's table during the draft

a/n: hi guys.. this is kinda my first ever thing so be nice :') this is probably gonna be like three parts so yeah. also very angsty and kinda sad. (cus i love angst mmm)

word count: 1k ish (the next 2(?) parts r coming soon)

azzi and paige broke up just weeks before the 2025 wnba draft. everyone knew it was coming. for the better half of 7 years, they’ve been inseparable, never leaving each other's side. but paige, she was leaving uconn for good, off to play in the league. she never wanted anything more than for azzi to just be with her, like she’s always been. to be her rock, her light in the dark, they way no one was able to until she met her. but she knew that would never be possible. paige had her own life and so did azzi.

it all started 2 months before the draft. arguements after arguments arose, both wishing that the anger of the petty arguments was the only reason. not whatever reason making azzi cry every night after their daily facetimes was, or the reason paige would feel odd every time they would hug after a game. those were the times that really reminded them that their 4 year paradise with each other would soon end. and maybe they weren’t ready.

a really bad argument. just one really bad argument was all it took. a thing led to another and boom, their 3 year relationship ended. both of them never really had to tell the team. it’s like they already knew. who were they kidding? whenever they even just fought, the energy shifted so drastically, someone in the team would just end up forcing them to make up right after. they could never keep a fight, mostly because they knew that neither of them meant it. but this was different. it wasn’t a petty argument, or something that they would be able to sweep under the rug, it felt final. a final decision. 

when paige and azzi showed up to practice the next morning, they didn’t even try to hide it. not like they wanted everyone to know, of course not. not before the natty. but they knew that they wouldn’t be able to hide the sudden absence of the small glances of love across the court, or the bickering they did as if they were a married couple during practice. the uconn wbb team knew immediately, but no one wanted to accept it was truly over, so none of them pointed it out.

and so, they attended practice like usual. it hurt like hell for the both of them, but they both knew they had too much at stake to give up the natty for their relationship. they were together every single day. as teammates, though. not as lovers.

it all went by like a blur. practice after practice, press after press, ad after ad. the world wanted them together, hell, they wanted themselves together. but just as the world did, it seemed like their lives had other plans. they wanted so badly to hate each other. to forget about the past 7 years, as if none of it ever mattered. but that was impossible. how could they ever do that? 

they won the natty. it was over. the draft was in a few weeks and after everything, paige and azzi finally felt like they could breathe. paige was set to be the #1 pick, and azzi, the mop of the national championships. they both felt like they were on the top of the world. but why did it feel like something was missing? the thought that both of them could’ve been there, at the top, at the same time, holding each other's hands, exchanging looks behind the cameras lingered in their minds as they attended parties celebrating their achievements. but no, they were so far from each other. and it hurt so goddamn much.

it was yet another day both paige sulking when paige got a text from her assistant. 

assistant: hey paige, just needed an update on who’s sitting on the last chair on your table at the draft. was it drew, ryan or lauren you said?

p: hey man, i think i needa minute on that. how soon do u need confirmation?

assistant: it’s alright. take your time. just let me know before wednesday.

paige stared at her screen. she was asked this many times before. her entire family wouldn’t fit, especially with all 3 of her siblings and geno. she knew she would have to pick someone who isn’t one of her siblings. someone close. her mind drifted to azzi. it would be wrong to pick anybody but her, wouldn’t it?  all the family reunions she attended, her closeness with her siblings, the nights she’d spend in paige’s childhood room. paige only wanted one person in that seat. and it was azzi fudd.

fuck it, she thought. seriously, what’s the worst that could happen if she texted her ex of 3 years, asking her to be right there, with her family, on one of the most important nights of her life. she opens azzi’s number. old messages flood her screen, reminding her why this was definitely not a good idea. but she didn’t care. she typed out a message and sent it.

p: hey az, this is kinda an odd request coming from me n all, but i really want you to sit at my table during the draft. just this once. for the last time.

azzi had just got out of practice when she opened her phone. 5 notifications. one of them from paige bueckers. her eyes widened and she couldn’t believe it. a part of her was angry, that paige could just casually text her like that, as if the break up didn’t just destroy a part of her life. the text was paige asking her to be at her table. offering to pretend to everyone that they were fine, that they never really dated, that they’ve just been best friends these past few years. 

a: we really need to think about this first.

a: seriously, paige.

the last sentence that paige sent made it all wrong. what did she mean ‘for the last time’? was azzi the only one hoping, wishing, that they could both just make up and get back together? azzi didn’t want to sit with paige because she knew that it would mean goodbye. closure. a final sendoff. 

p: i have.

p: i don’t want anyone there except for you.

[coupsiedaisee]

jump then fall | issue 03 | c.sc

when trying to unearth hogwarts' resident Golden Boy™ choi seungcheol's secret girlfriend, leads to the proposition of a lifetime

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating au, fluff, angst wordcount: 8.3k series masterlist a/n: hiiiii, omg, it's been so many months since i last updated this fic! a big huge thanks to @hannieween for being there every step of the way, this is highest wrodcount i've hit so far for a chapter. (and so many edits, gah, this has gone through so many edits). i really hope y'all like it, this fic is truly my baby, and so is seungcheol, ahhh. let me know everything that you think!!!!!

THIS JUST IN! LOVER BOY AND FELLOW WALLLFOWER ALREADY OFF TO A ROCKY START?

"Let's date."

The ringing is back in your ears, mind going blank as you gape at Seungcheol.

Almost immediately, Seungcheol backtracks. "Not actually," he says, rushing to get the words out, "Like, pretend to date? Everyone thinks we're dating, but we're not . . . actually dating?"

"B-but, what about your girlfriend!" You sputter, bewildered. You are many things, but you are not a homewrecker.

"My what?" It's Seungcheol's turn to go wide-eyed in surprise. His face shifts into embarrassment, "Oh, that." He mumbles something incoherent.

"Come again?"

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck, "I don't have a girlfriend." His deep brown eyes shine deceivingly innocent, "I may have spread a rumour about that."

In a moment of silence, the clock above the infirmary door ticks, the sound echoing through the empty room. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

"You what?"

Your voice pierces through the tension, and Seungcheol winces.

"I thought that if people were under the impression I was in a relationship, I might be able to get some of my own time back," he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Maybe then, they'd get off my back for once."

"Seungcheol, what are you talking about? Get off your back? About what?" Perhaps you sounded a bit too exasperated, but you could not wrap your head around what he was saying. "You're like, the Prince of Hogwarts. Everyone here worships the ground you walk on. What could they possibly—"

"That's just it, though, isn't it?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through like the dull edge of a sword, bitter and resentful. He looks into his lap, thumbs twiddling with one another, trying to choose his words carefully. "I've got enough as it is, juggling classes and Quidditch." He forces out a sardonic laugh, "Don't know if it's because I'm in my last year and people think they're running out of time or something, but my admirers have gotten more tenacious, it seems."

You don't say anything as Seungcheol's nose scrunches up, like he's smelled dragon dung. You'd never seen him make a face like that.

"Did you know? Two days into school starting, someone tried to give me spiked cauldron cakes. They had spiked them with love potion." Seungcheol says, shuddering at the memory. "Jeonghan said," his voice pitching up with a nasally tone, "It's too bad you're not dating someone, maybe then they'd leave you alone."

"So you make someone up?" You say, incredulous. "Seungcheol, do you hear how insane you sound?" He was your Head Boy, smart and level-headed. Kind and helpful. Not, conspiring and acrimonious.

"How was I supposed to know you and Soonyoung would be this persistent?" He says with a hint of ire.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Your voice drips with sarcasm, "I apologize for ruining your grand plan, oh captain, my captain."

Seungcheol bites back a strangled yell. "Which is why I proposed a solution," he bites back.

"Yes yes, so you can 'get your time back.' I'm understanding that. However, what I don't understand is, what's in it for me?" You wasted weeks on a bloody ruse. Time that could've been better spent on other stories for The Whistler, or more importantly, your coursework.

"Well…" he trails off, looking pointedly at your arm.

Right.

You had just confessed to your whole class that the two of you were dating.

As though it were mocking you, the clock above the door gongs at the hour before shrilly ringing, signally the end of class. If it hadn't already, your supposed 'secret' would definitely be spread like wildfire amongst the students now. Everyone would know what went down in that potions class.

"So? Are you in or are you not?"

"I—" don't know, you want to say. You squeeze your eyes closed, taking in a deep breath.

Seungcheol doesn't get an answer. The doors to the infirmary slam open, and a bedraggled Soonyoung comes racing in.

"Wallflower!" He wails. His normally pristine pressed robes are ruffled, one side sliding off his shoulder from the two book bags slung over it.

"I'm sorry, I am so so so sorry," Soonyoung blubbers, shrugging off the bags. They fall to the floor with a thunk as he comes cover to sit next to you on the cot. His eyes are puffy and his nose and cheeks are splotchy with redness. "Are you alright?" He grabs your arm and you hiss in pain.

Soonyoung drops it like a hot potato, "Sorry, sorry. You are alright though, right?" He squints past your shoulders at Seungcheol, who's avoiding Soonyoung's gaze and trying to will himself to become one with the cot pillow, trying to take up as little space as physically possible.

"Oh, you're... here." Soonyoung's eyes flit between you and Seungcheol, mouth slightly downturned. "So, you two are dating?"

"Er," Seungcheol looks to you for an answer, eyes pleading. His eyebrows are furrowed so intensely, you're worried they'll stick like that forever.

Time freezes for a moment. A million different answers sit on the tip of your tongue, like a gun waiting to go off.

No, it's not like that. It was a misunderstanding. I must've lost my mind for a moment. You misheard me, I said I was hating Seungcheol, not dating him. I'm thinking about becoming a nun. Each one, a bullet coursing through the air at high speed.

"Yes." You don't look at Soonyoung, your gaze instead staying locked on Seungcheol, whose eyebrows are still furrowed, but a small smile now creeps onto his face.

"We're dating," You say, turning back to Soonyoung, nose scrunching in apology. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Hosh."

Soonyoung sniffles. "It all makes sense now. You being so adamant to stop the article." He wipes at his nose, "I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me."

"Hoshi, it was nothing like that, I promise."

Seungcheol swoops in, putting a hand on your shoulder, "We didn't want anyone to know, in case it didn't work out. You know how rumours go around here."

You tense at his touch, shoulders stiffening, and that all too familiar sense of trepidation creeps up your throat. Doing your best to shove it as far down as possible, you breathe through your nose and put on your most convincing smile.

This seems enough for Soonyoung, though. "Oh, that reminds me, I almost forgot," he pulls something out of his pocket, holding it out.

"My wand!" You lunge for it, using the movement to naturally shrug off Seungcheol's hand.

"I brought your bag too," says Soonyoung, gesturing to the bags at your feet. "Didn't want anyone else getting their hands on it. Say, Madam Pompfrey tell you how long you'll be stuck in here?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Probably a few days," Seungcheol interrupts. "She'll give you more salve to heal the burn and then its mainly a time game, waiting until the potion is out of your system and your arm is healed over."

"Very good, Mister Choi," says Madam Pompfrey, coming around your cot. She's holding a small vial of a deep purple potion, and when she unstoppers it, something smelling an awful lot like rotten eggs wafts your way. "Alright, you two, off you go. She needs her rest," she says, handing you the rancid potion.

Soonyoung makes to protest, but then decides against it. Seungcheol doesn't argue either, despite the disgruntled face he makes.

You spend two nights in the infirmary before Madam Pomfrey deems you fit and ready to return to the dorms.

Students bustle through the corridors as you make your way up to Ravenclaw Tower. The first class must have already let out, though you don't remember the bell going off.

Eyes sear into your back, and you tighten the strap of your bag, bringing it closer and scurrying up the stairs, past hushed and frantic whispers.

By the statue of Gilchrist the Gallant, a group of girls begin tittering amongst themselves as you shuffle past. You can't hear exactly what they're saying, but you pick up several mentions of Seungcheol.

The common room is empty, as is your room. You drop your bookbag onto the floor and fall into your four-poster bed with an oomph. Despite two days of rest, an ache thrums through your body.

Your forearm is still a little sore, but the searing, blinding pain is just a memory now. A faint scar runs from your wrist to your elbow, and you glide two fingers over it, the skin raised where the potion bubbled over.

A relaxing hot shower later, you throw on a clean set of uniform and put your hair half up in a clip, ready to head down to the Great Hall and attempt to grab a bite without striking up too much attention.

The doors to the Great Hall are wide open when you get down there. You tiptoe in, quiet as a mouse, but students are so engrossed in their own conversations that no one pays you any mind. Not that they would've on any other day, but circumstances seem to have changed.

You spot Soonyoung and Raveena hunched over something at the Ravenclaw table, deep in conversation. On the other end of the hall, Seungcheol sits at the Gryffindor table, surrounded as usual by Joshua and Jeonghan. His arm is propped up on the table, cheek cradled in palm, as he solemnly pushes food around on his plate.

Skulking through the tables, you find a gap between some students at the Hufflepuff table. Various foods cover the length of the table, and after a few days in the infirmary, the thought of sitting down and slowly gorging yourself makes your mouth water.

You reach over to grab two halves of a turkey sandwich, a ripe red apple, and some napkins to wrap them up in. It's not much, but it should tide you over till dinner.

"Wallflower!"

You freeze, hand inside your bag. A hush falls in the Great Hall.

Two tables behind you, Soonyoung seems to have spotted you.

"Blasted banshees," you curse. Your wand sits in the bottom of your book bag, although you're not sure if there's a bewitching spell strong enough to put the entire Great Hall to sleep.

Perhaps you could blow up a table, casualties be damned. You could also just ignore him, but would he ignore you?

Squeezing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you turn, plastering on the cheeriest smile you can muster.

"Hello Hoshi," you say between gritted teeth. Soonyoung makes to get up, but you motion with your hands for him to stay seated. "Just grabbing something to eat, I'll see you in class!" Murmurs break around you, but you keep your eyes trained on Soonyoung, your fake smile rivaling a Madam Tussauds sculpture.

Okay. This is okay. Could be worse. Could be a lot worse. For one, Seungcheol could—fuck. Your smile drops, and you whip around to the Gryffindor table. Seungcheol's sitting there, hand gripped tightly around the fork frozen halfway up to his mouth, and eyebrows scrunched with that signature furrow.

You turn to Soonyoung. Then back again to Seungcheol. "I-I—" you stutter, the words getting stuck in your throat. So you do the only natural thing anyone else in your position would do.

You run straight out of the Great Hall.

Okay, so you were speed walking. And you're pretty sure you barrel through some first years as you push into the entrance hall. But you are not known for your athleticism, or lack thereof, nor are you one for this much attention.

Shoes clack against the stone floor as you find your way down the corridor. Surely there is a quiet place for you to sit and eat without interruption. Or eyes. Or people. Or Seungcheol.

Heavy footsteps follow behind you, and someone calls out your name.

Seungcheol.

You pick up the pace, breaking into a slow jog (as if you could outrun a bloody Quidditch captain).

"Hey, wait!" A hand grips your shoulder, and you startle from the touch. The momentum of trying to turn and avoid it, careening you backwards. Seungcheol catches you by the arm, "Woah there, steady now." He sets you upright, hand still wrapped around your elbow. A drum begins to beat in your head, and you feel like you're going to vomit.

Seungcheol's eyebrows are still furrowed, and he looks, dare you say, a little upset. His lips are pursed in a straight line, as though calculating what to say.

"Why didn't you tell me you were out of the infirmary?"

Shaking your arm out of his hold, your eyes flit around the corridor, uneasy. "Sorry, I—" again, the words are stuck in your throat. You've gone speechless, as you so often do around Seungcheol.

Seungcheol follows your gaze to the student hanging around in the hallway. Everyone is staring at you two. He huffs, eyes rolling, and mutters, "Let's get out of here."

He leads you into a side corridor where more students linger post-lunch. Hushed whispers run through the hall, and Seungcheol huffs once more.

A group of students huddle by the far wall. They appear to be in their fourth or fifth year and stare you and Seungcheol down as the two of you make your way through the hall. One of the students struts out, coming to stand in front, halting your steps.

A pointer finger twirls in their hair, and they're giggling. "Hi Seungcheol," they say, voice squeaky like nails on a chalkboard. "Are you really dating—" they eye you up and down with a look that can only be categorized as contempt, "—her?"

Seungcheol's jaw clenches. You could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. "Yes," he grunts. "Now if you'll excuse us." He pushes past, shoulder-checking them, and you flounder to follow behind him.

The kid scoffs as they stumble aside, "Ow—excuse you?" You turn to see them throw you one last, nasty, look before bursting into tears.

"Oh for fucks sake," Seungcheol says under his breath. Other students crowd around the kid in consolation, and they all seem to fling similar looks of disdain your way.

Seungcheol whispers, "I'm really sorry about this, but brace yourself," and he grabs you by the wrist, setting off into a soft jog. He zig zags the two of you through the maze of corridors so quickly that you don't even have a moment to think about his hand moving down to wrap around yours.

He leads you down another corridor, pulling you into a hard left when a student comes around the corner. A tapestry hangs on the opposite wall, and Seungcheol pulls it back to reveal a hidden stairwell, ushering you through it. Your calves were starting to burn, you hadn't done this much exercise in, well, ever really. The two of you climb the stairs in silence till you come out the other end to an empty passageway.

Seungcheol relaxes, letting out a big breath with his hands on his hips, but then you hear more footsteps coming around the corner, and he lets out a groan. Spotting a broom closet across the hall, he pulls it open, pushing you through the doorway and quickly following after, shutting the door softly behind him.

Both of you stay still, listening as the footsteps come closer before passing by and fading off into the distance.

The broom closet, cupboard really, is cold and musty. Two long benches line either wall, and the ceiling rises to barely above your height. Seungcheol ducks to avoid hitting his head on the rafters.

You take a seat on one of the rotting benches, rubbing your wrist where Seungcheol held it.

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, eyes lingering on your hands. "Sorry about that, I just—" he takes a seat across from you, "I wanted us out of there fast, I assumed you did too."

"It's okay. I'm sorry too." Seungcheol tilts his head, hair flopping to one side like a puppy, eyes filled with question. You clear your throat, "For not telling you. About being out of the infirmary."

Seungcheol hums, nodding. He crosses his ankles and leans forward, grabbing the edge of the bench, "Why?"

"What?"

"Why—" he repeats, staring you down, "—didn't you tell me?"

You frown, "I didn't know I was supposed to."

Seungcheol sighs, looking up at the ceiling. There's moss growing on the rafters. "Well, I am your boyfriend."

"Boyfriend. Right." The word feels odd on your tongue. You'd never called anyone that. You didn't think you'd ever call anyone that, fake or not.

The word turns over and over in your head as you reach into your bag, pulling out your food. You stick the apple out to Seungcheol, and he takes it.

"I think we should set some expectations," Seungcheol says, turning the apple over in his hand.

You unwrap your sandwich and take a bite. Turkey, lettuce, tomato, a slice of provolone, and a thin spread of mayo. Bite, chew, swallow. Bite, chew, swallow.

Seungcheol continues, "No one is going to believe us if we're not seen spending any time with each other. Then this will all have been for nothing."

Mouth full of sandwich, you ask, "What exactly did you have in mind then?"

Seungcheol takes a bite of your apple with a strong crunch, chewing. "I was thinking we could spend time with each other by studying, or doing homework? We're taking all the same classes, and it would get you away from The Whistler to stay caught up in them."

"Just studying?" You raise your eyebrows at Seungcheol, "This is your big master plan?"

He leans back with a heavy sigh, twisting the stem of the apple off and throwing it into the corner. "Okay, fine. What's your big master plan then?"

You think for a moment before answering, "Look, you're like, the Prince of Hogwarts, right?" Seungcheol's ears burn pink at hearing that moniker again. "No one probably even knows who I am outside of our year. There's no way anyone's going to believe this just because we start studying together."

Seungcheol purses his lips, and you know he knows that you're right. Everyone will be waiting on the sidelines to see you slip up so they can tear you to shreds. It'd be open season.

"Either way, we have a bigger problem than convincing the school." You fold the napkin in your lap, making a small boat that flops over. "I can convince Hoshi that I kept this from him, I've got my reasons, and he'll understand, but Joshua and Jeonghan are never going to believe that you're dating some girl you've never mentioned."

"Who says I've never mentioned you before?" he snaps.

"What?" you ask, confused.

Seungcheol ignores you. "And how do you know they won't believe this?" He takes another bite of the apple, chewing aggressively.

"You're friends are smart, not to mention you spend nearly all your time with them." You don't think you'd ever seen Seungcheol without them if you're being honest. "They're going to wonder how we got together, and unless we've got an iron-clad story, they'll see right through it."

Seungcheol doesn't say anything, just takes the last bite of his apple, throwing the core into the corner.

"If you can't even convince your friends, you're not convincing the school."

"Fine," Seungcheol finally huffs. "How?"

"How what?" You parrot back.

He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, "How are we gonna convince them, princess?"

You choke on nothing, covering it up with a cough, "I—I didn't think that far." You avoid Seungcheol's gaze.

"You know, if I can't even hold your hand, that'll also make everything fall apart very quickly." A small stream of water leaks through the rafters, and you watch as the droplets drip onto the stone floor. "I'm not saying you should do something that makes you uncomfortable, I'd never ask that of you, but we should find an alternative that works for you if you're determined to convince people."

You both sit in silence, the sound of dripping water echoing through the closet, before Seungcheol speaks up again, "We should get to class."

You nod, eager to get out of there, folding your napkin boat up in half and putting it away in your bag. Both of you go to stand at the same time, your heads banging against each other.

You fall back onto the bench, groaning and holding your head as Seungcheol does the same. He gestures for you to get up first as he rubs the top of his head, hair going in every which direction.

You push through the door, adjusting your book bag on your shoulder, and freeze. Seungcheol runs into your back with a grunt, and you stumble forward a little.

There is a group of students loitering in the passageway, all with their eyes locked on you.

They stare, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. And if they're staring at you, that means—you turn around and Seungcheol's shutting the door behind him. His hair is in disarray, and he's fixing his glasses to sit straight, stopping abruptly at the small crowd of students.

Seungcheol straightens up a little and clears his throat, voice dropping a few notes, "Shouldn't you all be in class?" He raises an eyebrow, shooting the most menacing look he could muster, and they scurry off, not without tittering to each other, though. He relaxes, letting out a deep breath.

"Come on, let's go before someone else shows up," you mutter.

The two of you walk into Charms together, and it seems like you're the last to do so. While Professor Flitwick has not arrived yet, everyone else has already found their seats.

"Looks like the lovebirds decided to show up for class," someone shouts from the back. It's unclear who it was, and you feel your cheeks start to burn up.

You look across the classroom and spot Soonyoung sitting near the back next to an empty seat. "I'm gonna go sit with—" you wave a hand in Soonyoung's direction.

Seungcheol nods, "Go ahead, I'll sit with—" he searches the room for Joshua and Jeonghan. They were in the second row, Jeonghan was seeing how far he could lean back on his chair without falling, while Joshua was using his wand to charm little paper birds around Jeonghan's head. Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut, "—my friends," he sighs.

You muffle a snicker behind your hand as Seungcheol drags his feet to his friends, and you make your way back to where Soonyoung is sitting, feeling smug when you pass by Tabitha and she glares at you.

"Wallflower! How are you feeling?" says Soonyoung as you slide into the seat next to him.

"Better, so much better." You lift part of your sleeve, "See, only a scar now."

Soonyoung grabs your arm, looking at the scar from all angles. "Oh wow, it's already fading." He sets your arm down and pulls out his Charms textbook as Professor Flitwick walks in, leaning over to whisper, "I was really worried, you know. With the way you ran out of the Great Hall this morning? Pudding was too. We thought maybe something happened again."

You squirm in your seat, "Oh, that? I'd just forgotten my textbook. Just had to go back and get it before class."

"Well, she'll be happy to see you back. So will the others." He lets out a small laugh, "I swear Dino would've cried if you took any longer."

"Hoshi, I was gone for barely a day," you say with a smile, pulling out your textbook, turning to the chapter on creating your own spell. At the front of the class, Flitwick calls on Seungcheol to pass out last week's graded essays as the professor starts today's lesson.

Your eyes follow the Head Boy as he wades through the rows, handing out everyone's essays. He'd fixed his hair from earlier, and it sat neatly combed. You shake the urge to mess it all up again.

When Seungcheol gets to you, he hands you your essay, smiling, and softly says, "Good work." As he walks away, Soonyoung reaches over to grab your essay.

"You got an Acceptable? I have an Exceeds Expectations, and I didn't get a 'good work,'" Soonyoung pouts.

"Wait, I got an Acceptable?" You grab it back from Soonyoung. A big fat 'A' is etched into the top of the page. You groan. It was only the beginning of the year, but you knew it would take more effort than you were currently putting in to keep your grades up this year.

You watch as Seungcheol makes his way back to his seat, giggling when he whacks Jeonghan in the head with his essay, and Jeonghan almost falls out of his seat.

"I like this side of you," Soonyoung says suddenly.

"What do you mean?" You ask, taking out your quill and a fresh roll of parchment.

"This young, blossoming love side of you," he says, hand on cheek and elbow on the table. He lets out an airy sigh, "Oh, to be young and in love."

Your cheeks burn, and you duck down to grab Advanced Magical Theory out of your book bag. "You're being ridiculous," you mutter.

Tabitha turns around to hiss at the two of you, "Will you two shut up. Some of us are trying to learn here." Soonyoung sticks his tongue out at her.

"You know," he leans over to whisper. "Now that we technically know who Seungcheol's girlfriend is, theoretically, the article can still happen." You stay silent, only shooting him a glare. Soonyoung scrambles with his words, "Of course, only if you're comfortable with it." You silently poke your wand into his side, send him the smallest of shocks, and he lets out a small yelp.

"Though I am curious," Soonyoung says, after class. Seungcheol had come up to you, I have Quidditch practice, but I'll see you at dinner? You had nodded, holding your bag strap tight like it's your anchor and mirroring the shy smile Seungcheol sends you, waving him a small goodbye.

The two of you head down to the newsroom. Soonyoung had some corrections he wanted to do on an upcoming article before dinner, and you had so much to catch up on from your time away.

"How did you two start dating?" Soonyoung asks as the two of you approach the entrance to the newsroom.

You stiffen, glancing up and down the corridor, but it was deserted. Seungcheol and you had yet to come up with an origin story.

Soonyoung taps his wand to the blank space of a wall, a hidden doorknob appearing out of the stone." I didn't know you two were even talking like that," he says, holding the door open for you to walk through.

You hurry through, dropping your book bag on a table and beelineing for a basket of unsorted photos Dino must have been working on while you were gone. "We take some classes you're not in, and it started with asking him questions about coursework and, sort of," you wave your hands about, "you know, just grew from there."

It wasn't entirely wrong. You and Seungcheol did have classes together that Soonyoung wasn't in. But you spent most of those quietly in the back. Unless you were partnered up with Seungcheol for something, which was rare, interactions with him were far and few between.

"Besides, he's the class topper. I thought I could get better marks working with him. It's N.E.W.T.s year, and I'm struggling to keep up. One thing just led to another."

"One thing led to another." Soonyoung watches you, head cocked, as you tap your wand on the wall by the rolling board, revealing a tall wooden door, the entry to your dark room. You pull it open, and Soonyoung follows behind. "Is he nice to you, Wallflower?"

Though the red light is on in your dark room, you're not sure he can see the face you pull. "What sort of question is that? Of course, he is Hoshi." You find rolls of undeveloped film in a drawer and begin pulling them out. "It's Seungcheol." You may have problems with students at your school, but Seungcheol has never, never, been one of them.

"But, you would tell me if he wasn't?" Soonyoung leans back against a table, arms crossed.

"Obviously, why would you think I wouldn't?" You crouch down under the table to open a cabinet file, filled with potions for developing film.

There's a beat before Soonyoung says quietly, "You didn't tell me you two were dating."

And there it was. You were wondering how long it would be till he brought it up again. It hurt Soonyoung more than he let on and you knew it.

You were his best friend. His other half. After everything that's happened to you, he just wanted you to be safe. If anything ever did happen, and Hoshi hadn't known about it? That'd break his heart.

"Hoshi, we just wanted to keep it private at first." You stand up, clutching a vial with trembling fingers that you hoped Soonyoung wouldn't notice. You hated lying to him. It wasn't something you did often, or at all, really. It made you feel icky inside. "He didn't tell his friends either. We didn't think it was worth saying anything until it became something worth sharing. And now it is." You make a face, "Well, sort of."

Soonyoung frowns, "Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?"

You unstopper a potion to pour it into a tray, "We haven't actually, I dunno, gone on a date?"

"What?!" Soonyoung says shrilly, and you wince. "I'm gonna kill him, what do you mean he hasn't taken you out on a date?"

They say the best lies are the ones wrapped in truth. Small fibs layered between facts. Pages of fiction woven into the book of reality.

"We haven't had the chance." You would become the greatest fiction writer ever known. "I'm sure he'll ask me on a real date soon." One to rival Madame Kwon. "Don't say anything to him, I don't want to make a fuss."

"Wallflower, surely even with your lack of experience, you know that to date, you need to actually go on dates?" Soonyoung postures.

"Merlin Casanova." You sift your film in the tray of potion. "We've barely been together, and some of us prioritize school. You can bite his head off later if he still hasn't taken me out."

This seems to satisfy Soonyoung, for now.

Later that evening, when you and Soonyoung head down to the great hall for dinner, Seungcheol is waiting at the entrance. He looks skittish, adjusting and readjusting his glasses, fumbling around with his sleeves, perking up when he sees you and Soonyoung coming down the steps. A smile grows on his face, and he gives you an awkward wave, "Alright?"

"Yeah," you say in a small voice. "You?"

"Never better."

Soonyoung sticks a hand out at Seungcheol, "Soonyoung Kwon, didn't get to properly introduce myself the other day."

Seungcheol hesitantly shakes Soonyoung's hand, "Yeah, I know. We're in the same year? I'm your Head Boy."

This doesn't shake Soonyoung, "Yes, well, you only know me as Soonyoung Kwon, Gobstones extrodinaire. I'm here today as Soonyoung Kwon, Wallflower's best friend." He pulls Seungcheol forward by the hand, and Seungcheol stumbles forward, going chest to chest with Soonyoung. Soonyoung whispers something in Seungcheol's ear that you don't quite catch, but it makes Seungcheol stand up straighter.

They exchange a silent look before Soonyoung lets Seungcheol's hand go.

Seungcheol's turns to look at you, "Josh and Jeonghan are already at a table, if you'd like to join us for dinner?"

Soonyoung shrugs at you and you stammer out a meek, "Sure."

"Let me get that for you," says Seungcheol, and he takes your book bag from you, slinging it over his shoulder as Soonyoung starts heading into the great hall, chattering about something to do with Gobstones club.

Seungcheol taps the back of your hand, and you flinch. "Can I?" He whispers, sticking out his hand discreetly.

There's something about it, him asking permission. You found yourself doing a lot of things this week that you normally wouldn't. The Wallflower from a few days ago would've probably shrunk back. But today's Wallflower? She's different. Anew. Today's Wallflower nods, letting Seungcheol take her hand in his.

He's gentle with his hold, his warm hand softly encapsulating yours. But then it begins. The monster crawling out from your gut, through your throat, roaring to be let out. You breathe through your nose, but you can't stop the feeling of his skin against yours, and the unease begins to suffocate you.

Soonyoung leads you all to the Gryffindor table, where Jeonghan and Joshua have already begun to eat. He plops himself down across from them with no preamble.

"Go on, I'll sit next to you," Seungcheol says softly, nodding towards the spot next to Soonyoung.

It takes everything in you to focus on the table and bench, sliding in next to Soonyoung. Seungcheol follows suit.

He lets go of your hand to grab plates to pass over, and your lungs expand back to their regular size as though breathing for the first time. Your hands shake as you take a plate and serve yourself some potato mash.

Seungcheol leans over to whisper, hot breath fanning over your ear, "Are you okay?"

If you opened your mouth to speak, you felt like you would vom all over this table. Without your voice, you just nod, trying to smile as if to convince him, and yourself, that you were just fine.

Seungcheol furrows his eyebrows but doesn't argue, taking the serving spoon from you when you finish, helping himself to a heaping of mash.

You don't miss the way Jeonghan and Joshua are eyeing you, their dinners forgotten on their plates. Eyeing you like the latest bird discovery while trekking through the jungles of the Amazon, both inquisitive and in fascination.

Jeonghan is the first to speak. "Welcome, kind of you to join us tonight," he says, with a glint in his eye. He stabs into a roasted carrot, brandishing it about, "We don't really understand so if you don't mind, please enlighten us. What made you want to date this uptight loser?"

Seungcheol glares at him, pushing his glasses up by the bridge. "You don't have to answer that," he says, "Jeonghan's just jealous that no one wants to date his smelly arse."

This does not seem to phase Jeonghan, though. To the contrary, his eyes crinkle as his smile deepens into a cheshire cat grin. He lets out a chuckle, "You see, our Head Boy here is about as alluring as, I don't know, our musty History of Magic textbook." He widens his eyes, eyebrows knitting in faux concern, "Did you have Poppy check your head while you were in the infirmary?"

You shake your head no, looking to Seungcheol for assistance, but your Golden Boy isn't even paying attention, instead too busy chowing down on chuck roast.

"If you haven't, you might want to," Jeonghan continues. "Head injury is surely the only—oof," Jeonghan keels over the table. "Did you just kick me?"

"Don't mind him," Seungcheol says, "Jeonghan's a menace to society. Joshua and I haven't figured out how to wrangle him in quite yet. Unfortunately, Professor Grubblyplank never had a unit on that."

Jeonghan scoffs, "Rude!"

Joshua ignores both of their bickers and tells you sweetly, "We're glad you and Soonyoung joined us for dinner today, we were both excited to meet you."

"Yeah, to meet and see what's wrong with he—ow." This time it's Joshua who elbows Jeonghan in the side.

"Oh." You're not sure how to respond to that. "We've met before, though. In class?"

Joshua shakes his head, "That's not the same. And Seungcheol here wouldn't tell us anything about you two."

"What's there to say?" You side-eye Seungcheol and Soonyoung, but they're both wholly unhelpful, staying silent. You decide to attempt to answer Jeonghan, to offer something for Seungcheol to work with. "I mean, it's like how there are some cool things in the History of Magic textbook, you just have to look in the right chapter? Like, uh," You glance over at Seungcheol for a sign, anything, that this was the right thing to say, but he's looking at you confused, like he doesn't know where you're going with this. And somehow, you're mouth isn't stopping, moving on its own accord, "Like, the goblins, um, their wars? There's a lot you can learn about why our current society works the way it does and the power imbalances set in place in part to control certain types of people. It's quite... fascinating." You end lamely.

Seungcheol hides a smile behind a dinner roll.

Jeonghan's slack-jawed, "It's worse than I thought." He whips his head around to Joshua, exclaiming, "She's also a loser!"

Seungcheol throws his dinner roll at Jeonghan, hitting him square on the cheek.

The rest of dinner goes by uneventfully. Afterwards, Seungcheol walks you back to the Ravenclaw dorms.

The walk is silent, and a little awkward. The corridors are mostly empty, and Seungcheol doesn't make any move to hold your hand like earlier. Which was good, you didn't want him to.

As you arrive at the bottom of Ravenclaw Tower, you turn to Seungcheol to grab your book bag, which he was so diligently carrying for you. He holds onto it tightly, though, the bag not budging an inch when you try to tug it off his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" You say, still trying to tug your bag out of his grasp.

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Seungcheol asks, baffled.

"I'm going to bed. So give me my bag, please." You give it another tug, but Seungcheol seems to have an iron grip.

"It's fine, I brought it this far, what's another couple hundred stairs?"

"Another couple hundred—Seungcheol, you don't have to walk me all the way up." You say exasperatedly. "I am capable of making it to my own common room. Have been since first year."

"I never said you weren't." He tugs at you back, and you stumble forward into him, head hitting his chest. For beat, you think you hear the badum badum of his heart through his warm shirt. Not a beat longer though, and you're hastily stepping back, only to lose your footing and start to fall backwards.

Seungcheol steps forward to catch you by the arms, careful to only hold on to your sleeves, hands clenched around the mass of robes.

You would not define yourself as a particularly clumsy person. But today has you feeling like a newborn deer. Mortified, you look up into those expectant, big brown eyes.

"Easy there, Princess," Seungcheol says, pulling you back upright.

You're quick to shimmy out of his grasp and don't even have a moment to collect yourself before Seungcheol begins to ascend Ravenclaw tower, your bag in tow.

You trudge behind him, up the spiral staircase, willing your heart to stop beating so erratically.

Seungcheol holds your bag out when you two get to the top, and you avoid his eyes while taking it back.

You knock once and the bronze eagle on the knocker speaks, "What has a face and two hands, but no arms or legs?"

"A clock. Goodnight Seungcheol," and with that, you slip through the door, closing it behind you without giving Seungcheol even a glance.

"You look awful," says Soonyoung, when you show up to Transfiguration with barely a minute to spare. He hands you a warm thermos. The strong scent of Nocturna Brewery's double caffinated brew wafts towards you. "Did you even get any sleep last night?"

"A little bit." A lie. You spent most of last night tossing and turning in bed. In fact, you'd spent the last few days riddled with insomnia.

Ever since Seungcheol dropped you off at your common room the other night, you haven't been able to get a lick of sleep. The last three nights have been restless, and each night has only made the next day even groggier.

You'd also been avoiding Seungcheol. Sitting as far away from him as possible in class, skipping out as soon as the bell rings, and spending your meals and free periods holed up in your dark room. While you knew you couldn't avoid him forever, you had a hard time coming to terms with what exactly his proposition entailed. Seungcheol was busy anyhow, running Quidditch practice, head boy duties, prefect meetings, and whatever other million school things he's got himself entangled with.

You chug down half the thermos, the liquid scalding down your throat, but the caffeine boost never comes through. Perhaps your body's had enough. You can't count how many cups you've had this week, maybe you've hit your limit. Class goes by like a blur, and you've retained nothing by the end of it.

As you're putting your things away, Soonyoung jabs into your side repeatedly with his elbow. You look up to see Seungcheol, chewing his lip and rocking back on his heels.

"I don't have anything during my free period, do you want to hang out?" Seungcheol sounds hesitant, like he's worried you'll say no. And you don't blame him, because that's exactly what you want to do. To say no and crawl back into your dark room, shutting yourself out from the world (read: Seungcheol).

"I've got Gobstones club, so I'll see you later Wallflower," Hoshi says, leaving you alone with Seungcheol, who's still chewing his bottom lip. He looks nervous, and you want to chastise him, tell him he's only making his lips more chapped, but you don't. This shouldn't even matter to you.

"I need to brew some potions. For my photos," you say, sounding just as hesitant as him. "Would you like to join me?"

You didn't even know you were holding your shoulders tight, but they relax when Seungcheol nods, letting you lead him out to find another empty classroom.

The walk is awkwardly silent, more so than the other night. When you finally find an unoccupied room, as soon as Seungcheol closes the door behind him, he asks, "Did I do something wrong?"

Your hands stall, wand in midair as you're about to procure your potion materials. "What? No. You haven't. Why would you ask that?" But, you already know why.

His eyes are downcast, "You've been avoiding me. I thought maybe I did something wrong."

"No. Sorry. I just—" you flounder. In your stride to avoid any sort of confrontation or opportunity to be embarrassed once more, it had not even occurred to you to think about how this would make Seungcheol feel. A part of you is also confused as to why this even matters.

"This whole thing is new. I'm not used to having…whatever this is," you say, motioning your hands between the two of you. "I go to class. Work on The Whistler. Spend time with Soonyoung. I don't know how to do all this other stuff."

Seungcheol sighs, taking a seat across from you at the table. You busy yourself with conjuring up your potion materials and cauldron.

He pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, then gestures for you to sit across from him.

"I think making a proper strategy will help us with this." He says as you take a tentative seat. "And more importantly, help you."

Seungcheol's about to start writing when you cry out, "No!" slamming a hand down on the parchment. He startles and nearly knocks over his inkwell.

"If you dont want anyone to know, dont write it down," you hiss. "Rule #1 at The Whistler."

Seungcheol waves his wand, the spilled ink disappearing, "I promise to burn it in front of you if it'll make you feel better, but I really do think we need to figure this out. Now."

Unable to find a logical argument to that, you lean back, crossing your arms and pursing your lips, letting him continue with what he was doing.

He writes a list on the left side of the parchment: Sonyoung, Jeonghan, Joshua, Gryffindor Quidditch, The Whistler, Mythili, Raveena.

"You know Raveena?" You ask, sitting up straight.

Seungcheol taps the head boy badge on his chest, "It's kind of my job."

"But there's like a thousand kids at this school. You can't know everyone," you gripe.

"I know everyone and everything at this school," Seungcheol says matter-of-factly. "There's not much anyone's doing without my knowing."

"How?" You say, sounding weary.

Seungcheol is elusive. "You have your Raveena. I have my…ways," he says, not giving up anything more. He draws three lines on the parchment, connecting 'Soonyoung,' 'Jeonghan,' and 'Joshua.' Next to it, he writes, 'spending more time together: library, dinner, in between classes.' He then moves on to 'Gryffindor Quidditch,' etching next to it, 'come to practices and games.'

"Is that necessary?" You ask, unable to hide the groan in your voice.

Seungcheol looks at you over his glasses and crosses out 'practices.'"Fine, you don't have to come to practices, but you gotta show up to my games, you're my girlfriend."

You keep thinking that the word girlfriend would stop affecting you, yet your cheeks burn in obvious embarrassment. "I just—I've never been to a Quidditch game before," you stammer.

Seungcheol is flabbergasted, "What do you mean you've never been to a Quidditch game?"

You fiddle with the notches in the table, "To be honest, I don't really get it."

Seungcheol is still stunned, "B-but you take photos for Quidditch!"

You shake your head, "Only if Soonyoung can't, but that's barely ever, and only for practices. I've never been to an actual game, though."

'Go to Quidditch games together,' he writes. "Maybe you should come to my practices then," says Seungcheol.

You wrinkle your nose up at that, "I really don't want to."

"How can you not like Quidditch? That makes no sense," says Seungcheol, dumbfounded. "You have to come to our upcoming game. We're playing Hufflepuff, it'll be a tough match, you have to be there. People will think you're a bad girlfriend if you don't"

"I'll think about it," you murmur. "Does Mythili really need convincing?" You ask, trying to change the subject. "Feels like she has more important things to do than follow our love life."

"She keeps trying to wrangle me into daily meetings," he says. "Nothing is happening at this school to constitute meeting that often. What about the Whistler folks?"

"We hear everything the school hears," you say. "If we convince the school, we convince The Whistler, who then informs the school, whose students then feel validated in their opinion. It's essentially a symbiosis."

Seungcheol hums as you stand up, ready to start making your potions. "I think this is a good start, then."

"Burn it," you say.

"What?" Seungcheol retorts.

"The parchment. Burn it," and without waiting for him to respond, you incendio it for him. The parchment ignites before burning to ashes, and with another wave of your wand, the ashes disappear.

As you start on your potions, Seungcheol pulls out his school work, but he's unable to focus, choosing instead to watch as you prep and stir your ingredients into your cauldron.

"How often do you have to brew your potions?" Seungcheol asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Mmm, depends? Sometimes I have a lot of photos to develop, so I go through a lot of potion. Sometimes I'm trying new things out, and I need to brew more to keep up with the experimentations. It really depends." You drop in some dried newt tail and give the potion a half stir. It goes from a light tan into a blue so pale it's almost clear.

"Cool." Seungcheol's essentially abandoned the essay he was working on, watching as you diligently stir your potion. "Is Soonyoung usually with you?"

"Sometimes? Again, depends on what he's got going. We're not always together, you know." You sprinkle a dash of beetroot powder and the potion turns a deep violet colour without you even stirring.

"He hasn't said anything then? About us, I mean."

"What? You mean like has he caught on?" You think for a moment. Soonyoung hasn't given any indication that he doesn't believe you two, at least you don't think so. "There was someething he said the other day though. Something that might become a problem."

Seungcheol straightens at this, "What? What did he say?"

"It kind of slipped out yesterday, that you, um, well—" You avoid glancing up at Seungcheol before blurting out, "That you haven't asked me out on a date yet."

"Oh."

"Yeah, it's—we don't actually have to," you stammer. "But we should make up a good story, you know? Something believable. Not sure exactly what we'd do, there's not much to do around here, but I'm sure we can find something." Seungcheol stays quiet for a bit, and you think he hasn't even heard you.

"What are your plans for our next Hogsmeade weekend?"

Your hand stills while stirring. "I had some errands to run, with Hoshi?" You say, slowly.

Seungcheol crosses his arms, leaning back again, "Go with me instead."

"What?" You're stunned.

"Hogsmeade," he says, pushing up his glasses. "Don't go with Soonyoung. Let me take you instead."

"I'll have you know, I don't need anyone to take me to—" you sputter.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, "Let me come with you then, I don't care how you word it. But either way, let's go together."

"Why?" You ask.

"You said I hadn't asked you out on a date, this is me asking you out on a date," Seungcheol says, voice laced in frustration.

"I—okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Seungcheol swallows, "I'm not trying to pressure you into—"

"Seungcheol, I'll come with you."

"You don't have to do anything that you don't—"

"Seungcheol, I want to," you say firmly.

"Okay," Seungcheol says, a new determined look on his face.

"Okay," you respond.

"It's a date."

a/n: alright y'all, your thoughts? you get sooo much more seungcheol this time around! how is he 🥺and the fake dating is beginning ahhhh, props if you've made it this far hahaha. uwu, lmk what y'all think pls pls pls! -daisee out

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR OTHER OTHER WEBSITES