#anyway. i said it before and i will say it again

[sp0o0kylights]

Knight Commander Stephan Harrington, Champion of Light, right hand to the newly crowned (and very young) Queen Elaine, was tied up on the floor. 

Unfortunately, so was Eddie.

Which wasn’t intentional--it certainly had not been the plan (not that kidnapping two royal knights had been the plan either)--but it was the outcome that had happened and so, Eddie had to deal. 

Now if only he could get the damn bespelled ropes from entangling him…

“You are incredibly bad at this.” The knight informed him in an amused tone. “Like, insanely bad. You should be ashamed levels of bad.” 

…which would be a lot easier if he wasn’t being heckled. 

“I am not!” Eddie defended, as he finally managed to free himself, throwing the offending, wiggling ropes across the room. Never again would he buy from the cheap spell stall in the market. 

“This is a clear and obvious ploy to get you to feel like I am in over my head and you--both of you!--are falling for it!” 

He leapt to his feet, spinning around and staring down at his captives with a look he hoped was threatening.

(It wasn’t.) 

“We've been kidnapped a handful of times, you know.” Knight First Class Robin Buckley spoke up from her position tied next to her commander. “People tend to put way more thought into it than this.” 

She’d adjusted her position sometime between her initial capture (a spell he'd purchased that Eddie had intended to hit the royal carriage and not the knights escorting it) to sit cross legged, hands bound behind her back.

“At least one thought, anyway. You gotta admit this feels pretty desperate.” Stephan piled on. He’d been more entertained than pissed ever since Eddie had taken himself down with his own tools, and the wisecracks were getting worse. 

“Thank you, Sir Stephan--”

“You can just call me Steve, man.” 

“—but some of us are on a tight deadline here. And for your information,” He brought himself to his full height, trying to loom over them menacingly, “nobody goes around kidnapping royalty unless they’re absolutely desperate.”

Not that he’d succeeded in the “royalty” department, but he’d gotten close enough. 

“Oh that reeks of a tragic backstory.” Robin said, like she was seated at a dinner party and not on the floor. “Did you get cursed?” 

“He looks like the type of guy to get cursed.” Steve agreed, head tilting like a faithful dogs as he examined his captor. 

Frustration overwhelmed him in a wave and Eddie went to angrily yank on his hair before catching himself in the act. As good as it would feel in the moment, it would not help him convince the idiots before him that this was serious, dammit! 

The result was that he flung his hands around wildly for a moment, before storming off across the room of the little abandoned cabin he’d found, face burning a brilliant, obvious red. 

“I didn’t get cursed, I got accused of--oh. Oh, no, I will not be caught monologuing, fuck you!”

He whirled on his heels, pointing a finger at their stupid faces. “Why I did it doesn’t even matter!” 

(Or rather, it did matter—a lot, actually—but not right now. Not to them.

Stupid fucking royal employees and their stupid fucking charmed lives.) 

He wasn’t shrieking, he wasn’t--except he was, and both knights traded a look behind his back as he paced wildly about. “I caught you, and I am going to use you to get what I want!” 

“Right, sure.” Steve said, nonplussed. “Say, did you maybe touch a weird looking, possibly magical item by chance? Or gave your name to a weirdly attractive looking lady who seems to love yapping about royal court band practices and who definitely wasn't one of the Fae?” 

He cast a sly look at his companion with that last line, and was rewarded when her mouth popped open in instant offense. 

“You swore you’d stop bringing that up!” Robin said, snapping a leg out in a kick, nailing her companion in the thigh with one thick boot. 

“I swore I’d stop bringing up the incident with Nancy.” Steve fired back, taking her kicks with ease. “And all those archery lessons you swore you needed, because you apparently hit your head in battle and forgot how a bow worked--”

“Shut up, Dingus!” Robin growled, in tandem with Eddie’s mounting panic. 

This was not, at all, going how this was supposed to. Not that anything had as it was supposed to, since shit went sideways, but the knights were at least could have the decency to be somewhat afraid of him! 

Or angry.

Eddie could work with angry!

This two bit comedy routine he was being subjected to instead of any rational reaction was just the icing on top of the weird cake of his life and he was this close to having a full blown mental breakdown about it. 

Which, of course, was exactly when they had to go and make things worse.

Robin stopped kicking her commander and turned back to Eddie, eyes narrowing with the sharpness of someone who had just put something big together. “Hey, hold on—aren’t you that bard half the kingdom won’t shut up about? Eddie the Balladeer?”

Because naturally, the first time anyone recognized him since his life went to hell, it had to be the people he’d just kidnapped.

(He should have listened to his uncle and become a woodworker.) 

“I was.” Eddie grumped. “More like fuckin’ Eddie the Banished now. But again,” He stressed the word with a harsh flick of both hands, “that doesn’t matter.” 

“Why not?” Steve pressed him. “Pretty sure Dustin is planning on you playing at his birthday party. He’s obsessed with that weird song you do. The one with the bed spring noises.” 

Eddie did not know who Dustin was, but after the chaos of the past two weeks, it was only a matter of time before word of his so-called crimes reached the capitol and shredded whatever remained of his reputation.

“Considering I’ve been accused of murder and my entire damn hometown thinks I’m leading satanic rituals, I seriously doubt that,” he sneered, aiming for something haughty and menacing—anything that would make them start taking this whole thing seriously. 

Steve and Robin exchanged another look, the kind only two people sharing a single brain cell could, the unspoken agreement loud and clear on their faces: ‘Do Not Laugh Right Now.

Which was, frankly, insulting, given the sheer level of trauma that came with being branded a murderer.

“Who accused you of satanic worship?” Steve managed to ask, clearly struggling to keep his words giggle free. “You look like one of those wobbly baby deer. You know, with the big, cute eyes.”

Eddie glowered at him. “Are you deaf? I just said it was the entire town!” 

(He determinedly ignored the fact that Steve had just compared him to a damn woodland creature—and called him cute, on top of it.)

“Is this one of those things wrong place wrong time things?” Robin tacked on, like this was a fun puzzle and not Eddie’s life spiraling wildly out of control. “Like, ‘there’s a dead body on the floor and I’m holding a knife but I swear I just walked in here right before the constable did’ type of situations?” 

“I bet the person he apparently murdered isn’t even dead.” Steve fake-whispered to Robin conspiratorially, eyes never leaving Eddie’s. They were crinkled at the edges in a smile, like this entire thing was getting better by the second. “Money says he helped a fair maiden get out of an awful marriage and the shitty fiancé accused him of killing her.” 

Which is exactly what happened, the fucking dick. 

Jaw swimming with his attempts to get out too many words at once, Eddie sputtered. “Of course she isn’t dea--I mean, I, no!” 

“Ha! Steve you totally nailed it.” Robin said, leaning back in triumph. “Which means Dongus here was trying to kidnap one of the Princes to get someone to listen to you. God that’s so cliche.” 

“It’s not like I asked for it to happen!” Eddie shrilled, tone hitting notes he hadn’t been aware his throat could make. 

“Man, I'm good.” Steve said, ignoring Eddie entirely. "I should've been a detective."

“Please, you’re much better at looking intimidating than actually being intimidating. Why do you think Hopper made you Champion, Mr. Model?” 

Eddie’s hands were in his hair again, and this time, he gave up all pretenses of looking cool and evil and let himself tear at it. 

“Why I’m doing this doesn’t matter because it’s not like you two can fucking help me!” 

That, at least, cut through the good cheer, succeeding in finally getting both knights to shut up. 

“I’m dead if I don’t fix this, but worse is if they go on and target Wayne, or Gareth or the rest of the band, or--” He wasn’t exactly hyperventilating, but he was breathing awfully fast. “I can’t let that fucknut Carver go on a whole rampage and hurt everyone who ever associated with me!” 

Wayne was fairly talented at talking the village down, but that had always been when Eddie had been accused of selling fake potions or replacing the town flag with Jason’s undergarments. 

He was not going to be able to fight off an angry mob, should they decide to make the trek to him. 

“Hey.” Steve said, his voice losing all the humor it had before. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!”

“We can help make it okay.” Robin said gently and it become abruptly clear that his kidnapping victims were now trying to comfort him, because life just had to kick him while he was down. “We’re Knights of the Kingdom, after all.” 

“Oh and I suppose I’m just supposed to untie you and you’ll--what?” Eddie glared at them, hands pulling hard at his hair. “Just let the whole kidnapping thing go? Help me out of the goodness of your hearts instead of arresting me and throwing me in the stockades?” 

Steve shrugged. “I mean, yeah.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Eddie said flatly. 

“Does it help if we tell you this isn’t a contender for the top ten weirdest situations we’ve been in?” Robin asked. “Like, it’s not even close.” 

“No. No it does not.”

“Okay.” Steve said, in a ‘thinking aloud’ sort of voice. “How about this? We give you our words as knights that we’ll help clear your name, and you can stick with us so no one else tries anything until we do.” 

Like Eddie was dumb enough to fall for that bullshit. 

“And why would you do that? What's in it for you to help clear my name?” He challenged them. “We both know the second I untie either of you, you’re going to overwhelm me and take me in. I’m not taking that chance.”

Not with Wayne on the line. 

“Has anyone ever told you you have trust issues?” Steve asked, pushing Eddie right over the edge. 

“I was convicted!” He dropped his hands in a crazed movement, only to smack the back of one against the other's palm in time with his shrieking. “Of! Murder!” 

He must have hit another shrill note, because Steve and Robin both winced. 

“Easy.” Steve soothed. “You know who I am, right?”

Eddie snorted. Sir Stephan’s face was plastered across a shitload of banners all over the kingdom. You couldn’t go anywhere without knowing who the Queen’s Champion was, and Robin was nearly just as famous.

“Yes.” He grit out. 

“Then you know that while I myself don’t have any kind of magic or power, I am tied directly into the Kingdom’s power.” 

In an impressive display of athleticism, Steve maneuvered himself up into a proper kneel, hands still tied behind his back with softly glowing ropes. 

He looked up at Eddie through thick lashes, expression earnest. “If you want, I will tap into it to make you an unbreakable oath. That way I can’t betray you.” 

Stunned into stillness, Eddie stared at him, before his eyes swept to his companion, trying to check if this was some kind of trick or trap or--something else he was too stupid to catch.

Instead of an answer, Robin looked just as shocked as Eddie, her jaw dropping.

“Dingus, you can’t be serious,” She protested, while Eddie finally found his voice to choke out;

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we’re the good guys,” Steve replied, with a smile so bright it could probably power the sun. “and the good guys help people.” 

That was said a little oddly--like he was quoting someone who’d said it many, many times before. 

Eddie opened his mouth, struggling to form the words. 

“How,” he started, his voice cracking on the word. He paused, biting his lip before finally gathering the strength to ask, “How do you know I’m not just lying to you?”

“You?” Steve echoed, the word practically a challenge, but he was still looking up at Eddie through those damn eyelashes, his expression calm, like they'd known each other for a hundred years and would know each other for a hundred more. “No way.” 

They stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. Eddie didn’t know what Robin was doing, didn’t have room in his brain to even recall her presence in the room. It felt like he and Steve were connected, his entire life was teetering and this moment would decide the outcome. 

Steve had been right. Eddie did have trust issues. Big ones, and this entire situation had only made them worse, but somehow, in that moment, he felt like he could do the impossible.

He could trust Steve.

“Okay.” He said quietly, all his bluster and wild hand movements gone. 

Steve beamed at him.

“Kneel down in front of me.” The knight instructed, and as if drawn by an invisible thread, Eddie did so, dropping down so his face was level with Steve’s. 

“Come closer.” Steve ordered, and waited as Eddie shuffled, closer and closer, until they were barely a breaths width apart, so close he could see the streaks of gold in Steve’s warm, brown eyes. 

“I,” Steve started, in a voice that was both powerful and intimate, “Sir Stephan, Knight Commander of the Kingdom of Light, Queen’s Champion and head of House Harrington, call upon the bonds that make me and that I have made in turn, to hereby swear to you,”

He paused, waiting, and it took Eddie a moment to realize he had never given the man his name.

“Edward Munson, of Town Hawkins.” He muttered, bespelled entirely by the warmth in Steve's eyes. 

“Edward Munson, Bard of Town Hawkins,” Steve said, and oh, what the addition of the word ‘bard.’ did to Eddie’s stomach. The flips it made when he realized just how well Steve was continuing to read him, better than anyone else in his life ever had.

(It made him feel insane.)

“that I will aid in clearing your name, restoring your reputation, and ensuring your safe return to the life you were meant to live.” 

Something built up between them, humming with the buzz of magic. The weight felt tangible, the threads growing thick tying Eddie and Steve together.

“By the powers that be.” Steve whispered, leaning ever so slightly forward, eyelashes lowering. 

Eddie repeated the last line back to Steve, guided by the nudging insistence of the magic that circled them. 

For a second the oath become visible, strings of bright yellow magic surging about, and Eddie was almost drawn to look at it, had he not been distracted by Steve closing the distance between them.

“Wha--” Eddie started to ask, only for Steve to draw the word into his own mouth, sealing their oath with a kiss. 

In the songs Eddie sung, the world exploded when one experienced true love's kiss. Birds sang, and people cheered, fireworks rose to explode in the air. 

This kiss was nothing like that.

This kiss felt like coming home. 

Steve ended it as chastly as he started it, pulling back to smile at him. “And there you have it. One sworn Knight Commander, duty bound to clear your good name.” 

“Uh huh.” Eddie said, blinking rapidly, trying to come back into himself, trying not to look as dazed as he felt. “Right. My uh, name.” 

Steve beamed at him. Tentatively, Eddie smiled back, and if a moment could be warm then this one was the warmest thing Eddie had ever experienced, like a gentle blanket being draped across them both.

It was ruined entirely by the forced coughing that started up next to them. 

“If you two are done now, my arms are going numb.” Robin announced, making Eddie jerk back and Steve roll his eyes. 

“Sorry.” Eddie said automatically, face going red for the third time that day. “I’ll uh. I’ll do that now.”

In his mad scramble to get to his feet and hide how aroused he was, Eddie missed the smug look Steve gave Robin.

In his attempts at removing the spelled ropes from her wrists, he equally missed the sarcastically mouthed ‘Slut.’ Robin aimed back at him. 

He did, however, somehow understand that Robin came with Steve, and that he had just damned himself to their bantering.

Weirdly, it made him feel better instead of worse.

xXx

 “So out of curiosity, what name did you give yourself?” Steve asked a handful of hours later, as the three of them began their trek to Castle Hoosier.

Eddie frowned at him. “Name?”

“You know.” Steve nudged his shoulder against Eddie’s playfully, like they were buddies. “Your evil wizard name, or whatever.”

“I never said I was a wizard, Steve.” 

“You cannot tell me someone as dramatic as yourself didn’t immediately decide to change your name to something ridiculous.” The knight challenged, and Eddie hated how easily the guy had clocked him. “I bet it has evil in the title. Or Mean. Or--” 

“It was Dread Lord Munson.”  Robin interrupted. 

With a grin so wide it overtook her entire face, she turned a little leatherbound notebook to face Steve. There, in Eddie’s spidery scrawl, was the offending name taking up half the page. 

“Where did you get that!?” Eddie squawked, lunging for the book. Robin, in a show of skill he wouldn’t have thought her capable of, tossed it right over his head, into the waiting hands of Steve. 

Eddie spun, cursing wildly as Steve took a look at his personal (!) writings. 

(He hadn't even seen her grab it, dammit!)

He ducked out of the way once, then twice, laughing the entire time, before closing the book with a snap and holding it out to Eddie. 

“Come on, Dork Lord, let’s go get your name cleared.” He said, a fond grin on his face. 

“I hate you. Both of you.” Eddie whined, a blush dusting his cheeks as he snatched his book back, but followed Steve anyway. 

He had the worst feeling he was going to be doing that for a while, now. Even if his name got cleared.

Fucking knights.

Bonus:

“We both know that binding ritual does not involve a kiss, Steve.” Robin said, some time later, quiet enough for only her friend to hear. 

“Ah, shut up Robs. Let me have my fun.” Steve said. “Besides, it sets the tone. Now that he knows what kissing me is like, it's all he’s gonna be thinking about.” 

“Pretty sure all he’s thinking about is clearing his name, Dingus.”

“Okay, yeah.” Steve stressed the word, “but after we clear it? That little scatterbrained bard is gonna be fully focused on me.” He flicked a finger at his own chest, and gave what he thought was his best winning smile. 

Robin made gagging noises.

In retaliation. Steve tried to push her off her horse. 

[rimatsu]

Ok convince me to reject caution and embrace delusion. Why are you so hopeful? 

the safe bet is definitely caution. but regardless of initial intentions, nothing is ever set in stone in the 911 writing room and that’s reason enough to remain hopeful. still, when people say the chances of a reconciliation are non-zero, i think that’s low-balling it. at the very least, we’re at 10% chance, 90% faith.

granted the interviews i (unwillingly) absorbed via osmosis don't exactly inspire confidence but again: 1) tim is fickle as the wind and writers can change their minds at the drop of a hat, 2) nothing that was directly stated by actors or showrunner contradicts the idea of a makeup arc, 3) if the breakup was intentionally designed as a temporary hurdle they’d imply otherwise anyway (oh god i sound like Them don't i.... this is a cry for help)

the reasons why 8x06 could qualify as a temporary split have been extensively discussed so i’ll try to be brief (spoiler: i failed) before tackling what i’d like to see in 8b. buckle up buttercup, i’m a yapper:

1) the breakup wasn’t written as definitive or unfixable. buck and tommy didn’t part because of irreconcilable differences or because passion/attraction fizzled out. if they wanted that door closed, tommy could’ve simply said he was uninterested in pursuing long term commitment with buck, that they’re not compatible in the long run — there: a clean, uncomplicated break. instead, we’re told that tommy desperately wants to be the person buck settles down with, but he’s convinced buck is propelled by the excitement of novelty, that he suspects buck is latching onto him for the wrong reasons, that he can’t allow himself to merge their home life together in fear he’ll never recover once buck wants out. the implications here being tommy is in love with buck already. for his part, buck came to the realization that he wants a future with tommy and immediately decided to pursue it because that's just the type of man he is: never one to do things by half-measures, seeing no value in waiting once his mind is made up. so there’s no conflicting desire there. they want the same thing: permanence with each other. the next two episodes also paint a strange picture if the goal is a definitive separation. buck bakes excessively in an attempt to cope when he never needed a coping mechanism following a breakup before, and we’re told several times that he wants to reach out — in fact buck was about to reach out until he was physically stopped. in total, 3 tommy mentions so far. usually we get the one and then buck moves on to greener pastures (abby notwithstanding, but she's an exception and not the rule, main character privilege and all). we were even deliberately shown that tommy considered contacting buck on his own. that's establishing regret and a desire for reconnection on both sides of the equation. again, that’s a never seen before: tommy is an outlier. completely unnecessary if the breakup is a done deal. whether they follow it through or not, the aftermath was written in such a way that there’s ground for a reconciliation if needs be

2) this is the first buck break up to happen during the first act of the season, something that’s normally reserved for the finale for maximum impact. why this distinction? strange placement for the end of a romantic storyline if you ask me.

3) they're never going to replicate a LI that checks out as many boxes as tommy does, or recapture the romcom magic that was 7x04-7x06. and it's fine if they don't, not all endgame romances need to be the most memorable of the bunch, but it'd be stupid to let the remaining potential go to waste. it's undeniable, the show is nearing its end, i don't imagine they get renewed past s10. if they go the natalia route again and introduce a LI at the last moment, it's going to pale in comparison to the other viable option, one that has pre-established history and connection to buck/the 118. inadvertently or not, they set up an epic love story of intertwined fate. tommy has literally haunted the narrative since the pilot: one of the very first thing abby reveals is that she’s not over tommy breaking off their (retconned) engagement. as such, tommy has played a pivotal role in shaping buck into the man he is today: if tommy hadn’t transferred out to harbor station, buck wouldn’t have found his family and his life purpose. if tommy hadn’t left abby, buck wouldn’t have realized that emotional intimacy and romantic connection is what he seeks. if tommy hadn’t kissed him, a huge part of buck’s identity would’ve remained buried and unexplored. how are they possibly going to top a red string theory dating back 8 seasons? they can’t. i’m sure they’re aware of that.

4) why bring our attention to tommy’s admiration and envy for a tight-knit unit like the 118, on three separate occasions, if the ultimate goal isn’t to reward him and integrate him into the makeshift family?

5) idk what it's worth, if it's worth anything at all, but there’s been a substantial amount of displeasure voiced over their breakup. tommy is buck’s most well-received LI to date. they took a risk with the Big Bisexual Reveal and it paid off with increased engagement and viewership. if they were still debating a reconciliation, surely they've heard that at least some people will eagerly welcome a makeup arc with open arms.

i'm a broken record so i'm probably repeating myself but here goes my ideal timeline for the rest of the season (not a speculation, not wishful thinking, but a secret third thing):

i'm gonna operate under the assumption that the breakup happened solely so buck could be at his lowest for the kidnapping plot line with a minimal/reduced support system (no boyfriend AND no best friend around when his pregnant sister is abducted). in other words, i don't think buck will be in a place to venture back into the dating world by 8x09-8x10 quite yet (i don’t actually buy the buck-dates-the-serial-killer theory). he's handled the breakup fairly well but now with the kidnapping & eddie gone/in the process of moving, i assume that's when he really starts to spiral.

(if we get a fourth tommy mention here, i'd say it's a promising sign. it’d be a purposeful way to keep him in viewers’ radar after the 4-month break)

i think getting maddie back after a few days of fear and uncertainty will be a breakthrough for buck and he’ll make a conscious decision to move on from his funk by the end of 8x10.

ideally “jumping back into the pond” would take place in 8x11 to 8x13, starting with a comedic montage of buck in a string of various failed dates. this is the part of the season where i expect him to utter the word bisexual, probably when the topic of exes comes into play. every other queer identity in the show gets labeled and stated in no uncertain terms, but bisexuality is ever only vaguely implied (nancy in ls) or shown but not explicitly spoken (buck and eva). it’s frustrating. personally i choose to believe buck’s lackluster reaction to maddie’s questionable “how many men did she turn gay?” joke was intentional on the writers’ part. it was the perfect opportunity to reaffirm his sexuality but buck didn’t bc he's not fully in tune with his queerness yet. yeah he speedran through his coming out but recalibrating your entire identity after 3 decades of presumed heterosexuality is a complex process rifled with ups and downs. i hope it gets explored with more care and depth in future episodes.

supposedly we know two things: the fling is another form of coping mechanism, and it's short-lived. chances are it's going to be a woman, and i'd love for it to be a bi girl bc 1) yay bi4bi m/f representation, 2) he's dating someone who can intimately relate to his experience and can maybe offer some additional clarity where clarity is still needed.

my other preferred scenario is that he meets a guy who immediately clocks that buck is still hung up on his ex and not emotionally available for anything more than casual fun. basically give buck a sex friend who can expose him to the LA gay scene. if my memory serves me right, OS said he'd like to see buck in queer spaces. i would like to see it too (we could’ve had that exploration with tommy but i digress….)

long story short, he eventually meets someone he has chemistry with, but it's still not as easy or companionable or butterfly-inducing as it was with tommy. buck gets back home from the seemingly successful date and he just... starts baking — wordlessly communicating to the audience that he’s still plagued by Tommy Thoughts.

now if i put on my clown shoes, i’d say the bts pictures of the 217 engines suggest an upcoming bucktommy reunion on a call (surely they were made for a reason. right. RIGHT????), ideally in 8x14. i’ve babbled about it here, but the sparknotes version is:

- there's a 5 alarm high-rise fire requiring ground and aerial ops. tommy is tasked with delivering firefighters to the roof, including the 118. the chopper ride to destination is understandably awkward but professional enough

- tommy joins ground ops once he’s completed his maximum hours of flight. he ends up trapped in a pocket of rubbles with buck after a partial structural collapse. that’s when they hash it out. it’s not pretty: they’re on edge and exhausted and full of adrenaline and words aren’t sugarcoated or minced. but they’re honest, and afterward they understand each other’s perspective.

it has been said before, but i don't think buck registered the underlying message of the breakup. we know he doesn't handle rejection well, and it's likely he was so hyperfocused on being told no that he didn’t compute the “no matter how much i want to be (your last)” part. that’d explain the 118’s strange response to the split. if i was told “my boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks i'll eventually break his heart once i figure out he's not who i truly want” i’d strongly advise communication before calling it quit prematurely. but if my friend told me “my boyfriend broke up with me when i asked him to move in bc he doesn't think we'll last bc i don’t know what i want” i would trust that they relayed the correct story and i too would discourage contact.

anyway buck has stated that he doesn’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want him before, but now he knows that wanting was never the issue with tommy, that the breakup was fueled by insecurities and fears and trauma rather than disinterest. at first, it’s presented as reaching a necessary closure: once the fire is contained, buck and tommy part way with another “see you around, buck. i truly hope you find what you’re looking for” and a bittersweet smile. except now buck has had another breakthrough, he’s full of renewed resolved and clarity, and he’s ready to fight for this relationship, so he shows up at tommy’s doorstep the next night and pleads his case.

in 8x15-8x16, we see them readjust to being a couple except this time, it's with the knowledge that they both want serious in the long run. maybe they discover facets of each other previously kept under wraps for the sake of 'keeping it light and breezy'. also they fuck/fade to black on screen (this is imperative)

the last two episodes are focused on the closing disaster, whatever that might be. in this hypothetical timeline, we get a few more glimpses of domesticity. maybe even establish the setup for a move-in next season when bucktommy discuss buck’s lease.

you can have the helicopter crash as a treat for s9. once they're truly settled with each other and it's bound to be more devastating.

voilà <3 apologies and congratulations for your perseverance if you made it this far. the answer was never supposed to be this lengthy or tangencial oops can you tell i’m obsessed. terminally ill even

[honeyjynxxed]

It hurts to not be trusted, to feel the need to hide an intrinsic part of yourself from everyone even in your own home but...well... It technically isn't anything new to Danny. He's been hiding his powers from everyone except his closest friends since he was fourteen and he doesn't know why four years later he expected anything to be any different.

Attending Gotham University was fine, his tuition being almost entirely covered by the Wayne STEM scholarship. Meeting Tim had been nice even if he was a little weird at times and was probably going to become a ghost way too quickly from all the caffeine he consumed but hey who was Danny to judge? So when the dorms had flooded and Tim offered to let Danny crash at his place until things were settled again he hadn't really thought too hard about accepting. It took two weeks for him to start regretting that decision. He'd thought that when Tim offered he meant his apartment but no he'd meant Wayne Manor...with the entire rest of his family popping in and out on a regular basis. Apparently it was closer to campus, Alfred's cooking was better than quick breakfast every morning, etc etc. All excuses that Danny had taken at face value because he wanted to trust Tim, he wanted to believe that his friend was being genuine in his offers and his words.

Of course things could never be that simple. At first it was small things, lingering gazes, the hushed conversations, whispers that stopped as soon as he entered a room. Which fine, he was essentially a stranger entering a family home, there was going to be things they couldn't say in front of him. He could understand that but then... it just kept getting bigger. A near oppressive silence that followed him around the house, his personal items turning up missing only to be found left out in common areas he wouldn't have left them, questions about his family and friends and life before Gotham. Even Tim didn't hang around him in a casual manner anymore and it just....all of it just hurt. The only two people who seemed to still treat him with any sense of normality was the butler and Tim's older brother Jason but seeing as Jason avoided the manner like the plaque meant he was left with Alfred. So when he couldn't find an excuse to be out of the manor he was with the older man helping wherever he was allowed to.

"I just...I like Tim or I guess I liked hanging out with him and being friends with him. I just wanna go back to that time, before everyone started acting like I'm gonna....gonna.... I don't know murder someone in their sleep!" That's where he was now in fact, helping Alfred with the laundry and lowkey ranting to him about what everyone was doing. "I mean I can't be the only one in this house with secrets, I know Tim isn't entirely honest with me about what he does that has him sneaking into this manor super early in the morning and i know he lies about his injuries and where they come from but do you see me question him? No! Cause I trust my friend." Danny huffed as he folded another pair of sweatpants. "And I thought he trusted me...Well at least the dorms will be fixed soon and I can get out of his hair. I'm sorry to dump all this on you Alfred, I know how close you are to them."

The butler simply hummed, set down the perfectly folded dress shirt that Danny honestly didn't know how he had gotten that giant stain out of, before turning his entire body to address him straight on. "Would you like me to say something, Master Danny?"

Danny fought back a cringe at the title as he always did. "Ah no you don't need to do that Alfred and I already said you don't gotta call me that either. I'm not here permanently after all." He scratched at the back of his neck absentmindedly as he spoke, not liking the full force of Alfred's attention. "Anyway, how have you been? I didn't get back in time for dinner last night but I know you tried out that new recipe you were talking about. Did it turn out alright?"

And that was that. Danny felt bad about ranting later and made up for it best he could by helping out extra around the manor but Alfred didn't bring it up again so he thought he was fine, safe even. He pushed the conversation from his mind, forgetting about it so effectively that he almost didn't even notice when the others began to act...different. Not worse, definitely not worse, but definitely different. Still, he kept with his usual tactics of staying out of the house as often as possible and when he was there, disappearing to do chores quickly. This routine continued for perhaps another week after his conversation with Alfred until his was, for all intents and purposes, ambushed by none other than Damian after getting back to the manor from his classes for the day. "Follow me...Danny." The boy had muttered before swiftly turning and his heels and walking away. Danny was shocked for a moment, faltering before hurrying to follow. Damian never called him Danny, usually Fenton or Daniel if he had to use his first name, never Danny.

Follow Damian led him to a living room with- Oh no. Here it was. They were going to confront him about being a Halfa and hand him over to the GIW. Danny froze in the entryway, eyes hopping from Dick to Bruce to Damian and finally settling on Tim. That probably hurt the most, seeing Tim sitting there and realizing that his only friend hadn't been a friend at all. This must've shown on his face because not even a minute after setting his gaze on Tim was the boy jumping up from the couch and making his way toward Danny, stopping when he flinched back and took a step away from the entry. "Wait Danny! This isn't... We aren't going to hurt you."

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from stepping any further back and he looked up to see Alfred standing behind him. "Please, allow them to explain, Danny." And later he wouldn't be able to explain why he listened, only that deep down in the depths of his very core he knew that Alfred wouldn't let them hurt him. So he did, he entered the room and sat down.

Tim, as the only was standing, was the first to speak. "I'm sorry. We- I haven't acted like a good friend to you. I brought you here under false pretenses, I questioned you, I took your stuff, I-..." He seemed to cut himself off, his fists clenching at his sides. "What I did was wrong and you have every right to want nothing to do with me. I violated your trust, I didn't respect you or your belongings and I'm sorry. If you have secrets they are yours, to share or not share whenever you're ready."

And on it continued. Damian spoke, Dick spoke, Bruce spoke. They all apologized one after another. They said the only reason why Jason wasn't there was that he hadn't participated in any of it. That the first conversation he'd had with Danny had been enough and he didn't see a reason for their suspicions. "Jason said if you don't want to be here anymore you can stay with him. I would understand if you want that Danny. I'm so sorry for how I acted." Tim was the one who took lead, it seems after being the first to speak the others were fine with letting him continue to do so.

All in all, Danny didn't know how to feel. "I trusted you." It was the first time he'd spoken to Tim in weeks now. "You were my first and only friend since moving to Gotham and I thought that was genuine. Then I come here and you and your family treat me like some....some dangerous criminal! I just..." Danny wasn't ashamed to hear tears in his voice and he could barely get out all he wanted to say. "I think I'm going to take Jason up on that offer. Maybe if I'm out of your home you won't feel inclined to search for possible skeletons in my closet."

It hurt to say and the crumpled expression on Tim's face hurt even more but Danny just wasn't ready to forgive him yet. Sure Danny had been betrayed before but this hurt on a level that he couldn't articulate. Still, when no one said anything after that he left the living room and headed up to his room to pack. If he heard Tim actually start to cry then he ignored it, just like all the times he's sure the boy ignored him crying himself to sleep.

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

I tried to write fluff I swear officer, I don't know how that angst got there! I might tie this into the other WIP I wrote for Tim x Danny but I know if I do it will lead to me lowkey abandoning the Tomarry work I'm writing on Ao3.

Who knows though, I might just end up writing for both at the same time lol

Dp x dc fluff prompt

Danny, for whatever reason, is stuck with the batfam, and they're getting suspicious of him. But before there's any big reveal, before Danny feels pressured to act, Alfred steps in.

Alfred puts his foot down. He tells the bats that the boy is here to be safe, to be loved, and to be protected. Snooping on this would be a huge invasion of privacy, and other than just having powers, Danny hasn't done anything to warrant questioning. "He will come to you when he's ready"

Just a fun story of them doing their best to have Danny be comfortable, and slowly, Danny just casually starts using his powers. No one questions it. No one bothers with it. Danny has powers, so what?

Sure, they get curious sometimes, but Alfred said no snooping.

You can have the official reveal go however you want.

This prompt is very basic, but i just wanted a sweet and simple one.

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part four - you give steve a ride and he thanks you with dinner 12k

a/n - this took much longer than expected so thank you for your patience!

── .✦

It’s a Friday like any other. Steve arrives at the rec center before you, dressed in an old sweater and a scarf down to his hips. He asks if you’ve slept through your alarm again, the same smile and the same teasing tone he always greets you with. You eat lunch at the same time you always do, in the same office you always have. And there, you offer the same kind of optimism you always bring when Steve sighs about the same never-ending to-do list on his desk.

You’d think it’d have gotten boring by now,  just friends Steve, but as every week rolls onto the next you find yourself just as content as you were in the last. Children bear constant surprises, you suppose. Steve never really runs out of funny things to share about Penelope. But even in those brief stretches where the conversation runs dry and you imagine it’s the start of the end of it all, you find yourself as pleased as ever to be friends with someone like Steve. 

He’s reliable and honest and he has the same sense of humor as you. He’s polite to a fault, not just to you but to everyone he interacts with. He holds doors for strangers and he greets his coworkers like it’s their last day and he stops you from crossing the road if he sees a car driving too fast. 

All to say, you’re feeling especially grateful today for even the most trivial things about Steve like the same walk to your cars parked in the same spots you always park. 

“See ya,” Steve calls just before your car door swings shut. 

You crank your window down when he stops to mouth something unintelligible through the windshield. 

“I said don’t forget your ugly sweater tomorrow,” he repeats. 

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t gonna win. Not a chance, Harrington.” 

“I dunnooo,” he sings with a shrug. “We’ll have to see.” 

There’s an ugly Christmas sweater contest being held at the center’s employee holiday party. You aren’t technically employed, but Steve insisted you’re allowed to go anyway. 

You do more work than some of these people. They should honestly pay you at this point. 

So you bought the ugliest sweater you could find. Yours has an actual wreath attached and fully operational string lights with its very own battery pack. A fire hazard if you ever saw one. Steve has yet to see it and you’ve yet to see his. And yet you’re both certain you’ll win this contest. It’s been an argument all week. And while it doesn’t truly matter if you win, it’s fun to pretend to be so invested. 

“Bye,” you slip in before your window seals shut. 

He crawls into the beamer with a final wave. Perhaps self-indulgently, you watch him stow his bag in the passenger seat and drive his car key into the ignition. It’s a pleasantly warm day for December; even through the windshield, the sun bleaches the ends of his hair blonde, his pale skin more reminiscent of a summer tan. But his golden smile flips, frustration weaving its way between his brows. Each turn of his wrist sends the car engine sputtering, you realize. 

Steve’s eyes snap to yours and blood rushes to your face, embarrassment like an iron to each cheek, but you quickly adopt his concern instead. You open your door when he steps out of his car. 

“Don’t happen to have jumper cables do you?” 

You shake your head, teeth clenched in a grimace. 

Steve hums and bites his lip. He ducks back into his seat to pull the hood latch. You join him at the front where he props it open and scans the cavity. You aren’t exactly sure what he’s looking for— you don’t even think Steve knows what he’s looking for— but you pretend to look too. 

“Must be the battery,” he decides. 

“Oh.” You glance up at the center for any stragglers but there are none. You’d stayed late to help Steve reorganize his file cabinets. 

“Well, shit,” he sighs, scratching his neck. 

“Rich just left right? Maybe I can catch him at the light? He might have cables.” 

“No, no. Let me just– shit.”

“What?”

“Penelope. Her teacher conference is tonight. Shit.” 

“Can you reschedule?”

“I’ve already rescheduled twice and I have to pick her up anyway. God, her teacher probably thinks I’m such an asshole.” 

“It’s okay. I can take you. We can come back with cables and jump the car after?” 

Steve says your name defeatedly. “No, no, I’ll just–”

You swing back to your car, insisting, “Steve, it’s fine. Come on.” 

He shuts his door and opens yours, offering an I owe you frown over the roof. Frankly, he feels like he owes you way too often. He knows you aren’t keeping track but he wishes you would so he could repay you somehow. 

“The car seat,” you remind him at the same exact time he remembers. He unhooks it with minimal struggle and sets it in your backseat to be installed after pickup. 

You’ve never driven Steve before. If you had time to worry about all the little things like if your car is clean enough or your driving is smooth enough, you might. But you’ve no idea where you're going. One wrong turn and he’ll be late. Even if you take all the right turns he might still be, and Steve really hates being late. 

“So, where am I going?” you ask as you pull out of the parking lot. 

“It’s out past Albertson’s on Lakeshore. It’s got a big caterpillar statue in front.”

“Oh, I think I might’ve seen it before.” 

“Yeah, probably, it’s right off the main road,” Steve answers, letting his eyes rove across the interior of your car. It’s nothing fancy but you’ve worked hard to maintain it. “Thanks again.” 

“Steve.”

He throws a dismissive hand in your peripherals. “I know. I know.” 

“What time is the conference?”

He reads the clock on your dash, fingers drumming the center console. “Six. Should just be a few minutes late.” 

And he’s right. You pull in just four minutes after six, parking in the spot nearest to the front doors. But it’s just your luck, or maybe Steve’s, that his seat belt buckle would jam. He tugs on the hilt until his fingers ache and it just won’t budge. Your car is well taken care of, but it’s far from new. 

“Shit. Sorry.” You unbuckle yourself and lean regretfully across the cup holders onto his side, thumbing the belt’s release button with the entire brunt of your arm. “Things finicky sometimes.” 

Steve stretches his arm behind the driver’s seat so you have full access. Your cheek nearly presses his shoulder, your pinky brushing the zipper of his jeans. It’s undeniably intimate but you’re trying really hard not to notice. 

After a few good welts, Steve is free, hopping out of his seat and asking, “You comin’?”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to or if he offers out of courtesy, but you’re excited to see Penelope and where she goes to school so there’s no hesitance in your yes.

You follow Steve up to the tinted double doors. He signs Penelope out on a clipboard at the front desk and whisks down a corridor he’s traveled a thousand times. It’s a small school, only two classrooms before Penelope’s and not many after by the looks of it. 

A familiar scream redirects your attention from the nameplate on the door. And there’s Penelope, scrambling to her feet and flying across the room right past Steve’s legs to slam into yours. 

You catch yourself on the door frame, laughing through your surprise. “Hi, Pen.” 

“Hi!” She looks up at you with the world’s biggest smile, locking hands behind your knees and propping her chin against your thigh. Her eyes flick to Steve briefly before returning to yours. “Hi, Dad.” 

“Gee, that’s all I get these days, huh?” He flicks the ticklish bit of skin behind her ear until she giggles. 

Penelope unlatches herself from you to bestow Steve with his own hug. But he shakes out of her hold as he steps into the room, teasing her, “No, no. I see how it is.”

Her giggle-strewn apology fizzles out as her teacher springs off the floor with the energy of someone half her age, her excitement very distinctly aimed at you. 

“Oh my, now look who we have here!” She shuffles over with a hand eager to shake and a smile double the size of yours. “You must be Y/N. Penelope’s told me so much about you, dear.” 

“Yes.” You exhale the sudden swell of nervous jitters. You hadn’t expected your tagging along to be such a big deal. And you certainly hadn’t expected Penelope’s teacher to know your name. “Good things, I hope.” 

“Of course. Of course! I’m so happy to finally put a face to the name. I’m Mrs. Shepherd, but call me Helen, please.” 

“Sorry, I’m late. Car troubles,” Steve supplies. 

She drops your hand to wave him off. “Don’t you worry about that. It’s this cold. I’m telling ya it gets colder every year. But please! Come sit,” she urges. “Right over here.” Helen steers three toddler-sized chairs up to a similarly short table and takes the farthest seat for herself. 

Penelope bends across Steve’s lap as he sits, watching you crouch down beside him. He drapes an arm across her back and pecks the side of her head. “Good day?”

Her head tilts in his direction as she nods. 

“Good. You can go play if you want, babe.”

She doesn’t answer with her words but she remains where she is, twisting and sprawling across Steve’s lap like he’s a human foam roller. Her attention averts to Helen who’s opening a folder and spinning it across the table so both you and Steve can see. 

You scan the page naturally but stop to wonder if Penelope’s progress is really any of your business. Steve wouldn’t mind, of course. He invited you to come inside. But suddenly attending his daughter’s parent-teacher conference feels a few steps further than friendship. 

Helen points at a graph with the eraser end of her pencil and explains what each dot represents in terms of Penelope’s learning milestones. You aren’t exactly listening to her, not for lack of trying or a lack of Helen’s enthusiasm– she has buckets of that– but because you’re stuck on the fact that Penelope talks about you enough in class for her teacher, whom you’ve never met before, to recognize you the second you walk through her door. 

Penelope taps your shoulder, very politely might you add, so as not to interrupt Mrs. Shepherd. 

You raise your eyebrows. 

She leans across Steve and cups her hand against the side of your head. “I have to show you something,” she whispers, warm breath funneling through her fingers straight into your ear. 

And before you can decide if now’s a good time, she crawls across your legs and drops onto the floor like a slinky. Her fingers slip around yours and she drags you up out of your seat ultimately deciding for you. Helen and Steve don’t seem to mind, though, completely unphased by the antics of four-year-old children by now.

Penelope pulls you to the other side of the room where a Christmas tree stands about the same height as her. She points to the only ornament– a popsicle stick reindeer with a red pom-pom for a nose. 

Excitement comes easy when she’s so good at being cute. “Rudolph! Did you make that?” 

She nods, pride trickling through a very wide grin. “It’s for Daddy. For our tree at home.” 

“Oh my gosh, it’s gorgeous, Pen. He’ll love it so much, I bet.” 

“I get to take it home today since there’s no school now.” 

“Oh, for winter break?”

“Mhmm.” Her eyes drift down to the floor, a large circle rug with every letter from A to Z. “This is my spot,” she says, toe tapping the P. “P for Penelope. But I share with Phillip. Phillip starts with P even though it makes the F sound.” 

“Yes, you’re right. Very good.” 

“We do stories in the morning here. And snack in the afternoon but only sometimes if we’re extra good.” 

“Ohh.” 

She toddles over to a wire shelf. “This is where our crafts go. So they dry.” She picks a piece of paper off the wrack, wrinkled blue and green in watercolors. “I made this today.” 

“Wow, that reminds me of the ocean.” 

“‘Cause it is the ocean.” Duh. 

Your eyes flit to Steve, comically hunched over his knees in a chair much too tiny. He receives your smile from all the way across the room, a soft-set joy tugging each end of his lips. A joy that revels in your recognition. One that says Yes! That’s my kid being so cute! 

“Look at this. My friend Michelle made it.”

You scan Michelle’s artwork and praise it. Michelle’s alright with watercolors but the pride you feel for Penelope’s piece is unmatched. 

“Penelope, come here a sec’.” She shoves the paintings back on the drying wrack and skips across the carpet to Steve. “Mrs. Shepherd has something for you,” he continues. 

Her teacher slides a gold-banded piece of cardstock across the table as you return. “You’ve done such a good job with your letter sounds this quarter that you’ve earned a very special certificate.”

Penelope accepts and inspects the paper. “It has my name on it.” 

“It does. And it says ‘certificate of achievement for mastering early literacy skills’.” 

Steve pokes her side. “You hear that? Means you did a really good job!”

“I did?” Her eyes glow with excitement, snapping to yours over her shoulder. “Look, I got a cerfitacate.” 

You flash her an animated smile and two thumbs up. 

“I’m very proud of you,” Steve says, a hand smoothing the frizz at the back of her head. “My smart girl. We’ll get a treat to celebrate.” 

“Ice cream?” 

He laughs, “Sure.”  

“Yes!” 

Mrs. Shepherd flips her folder shut. “Well, Penelope, you’ve worked very hard this month so enjoy your ice cream. I’ll see you after the break, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Steve stands and pushes in his chair. “Thank you. Happy holidays Mrs. Shepherd.”

“Merry Christmas Steve.” Her waving hand flies to her heart as she smiles at you. “And what a blessing it was to meet you, honey. Please come by again at some point.” 

You smile back and grab the door as Steve collects Penelope’s things. 

She hurtles down the hall to the entrance, palms stamping another set of prints to the bottom half of the front door. “Can we get ice cream now?” she shouts. You aren’t so far that she needs to yell but you suppose it doesn’t matter when you’re the last ones to pick up a kid. 

“Not right now, babe. We have to get something for my car.” 

She gasps. “Daddy, where is it?” 

“What?” 

“Your car.”

“It’s at work.” 

Her hands report to her hips as she spins. A mini Steve in so many more ways than one. “You walked here?”

“No, silly. Someone drove me.” 

Penelope’s eyes follow Steve’s and a grin breaks at her realization. “You’re coming with us?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“You didn’t tell me!” 

“I thought you knew!” You reach over her ecstatic little face to push the door open. Her hand automatically curls around yours. 

“Will you get ice cream with us?” 

“Nell, probably not tonight,” Steve interrupts. 

“I know! ‘M just saying when we go.” 

“Yes, I’ll get ice cream with you.” 

Steve opens both car doors on the passenger side, slinging Penelope’s things across the back row. “Go wait up front. Gotta put your seat in,” he tells her. “Stomp your feet.” 

She stomps her boots against the asphalt and climbs through the footwell into your passenger seat. Her eyes sweep across the interior, noticing just how different your car is from Steve’s. It’s not often she gets to ride in something other than the beamer. The last time over a year ago, Robin and her Suburu when she surprised them with a visit. 

“Cold?” you ask, dropping your keys in the ignition to reach for the temperature dial. 

She nods ardently, nose and cheeks wind-kissed the same shade of pink. 

You rub your hands together and crane over your shoulder, finding Steve with his cheek flush against the headrest, half his arm eaten by the seat cushion. 

“Need some help?”

He bites his lip and grumbles, “Maybe.” 

You meet him on the opposite side of the backseat, clueless as you can be about car seats, but ready to help nonetheless. The problem is Steve doesn’t know your car and apparently neither do you. There’s no reason you should know if your car has hooks underneath the seats but it'd be really helpful if you did. 

You whip out the car manual from the glovebox while Steve scans the instructions on the side of the car seat for alternatives. It takes a while. Long enough for Penelope to ask about dinner three separate times. But the necessary hooks are located eventually– Steve swears he checked that side– and Penelope’s seat is secured right behind Steve’s. 

“Alright,” Steve huffs, checking his wristwatch, “Only took us about twenty minutes.” 

“I did not expect installing a car seat to be such a workout,” you complain.

“Yeah, they don’t tell you about this part in middle school health class.” 

Penelope flops over the center console and moans, “Are we going?” 

“Yes, come here please.” 

She sits up to cross her arms. “I don’t want you to do the buckle.” 

Steve reminds himself that being hangry is hard, especially at her age. But his patience is easier to retain with you around, smiling all pretty and helping every chance you get. He takes a breath. “Then how do you ask?” 

She tilts her head so very innocently at you and puts on her best big girl voice. “Will you buckle me, please?” 

Even without the magic words you’d say yes. Who could resist all that Penelope charm? Long lashes and chubby cheeks and that dainty little voice. Certainly not you. 

She gives you a detailed explanation about which clasps fasten where but it’s not too complicated to figure out yourself. One clips across her chest, two between her legs. Steve teaches you how to adjust the straps and confirms her chest piece is level with her armpits when you finish. 

“Can we listen to Muppets?”

Your lips pinch into a small line. “I don’t have any Muppets tapes. I have Christmas music?” 

Penelope shows you a very unhappy face. You are very aware Christmas is not her favorite holiday but what child does not like Jingle Bells? You’re choosing to blame it on her empty stomach and a half hour spent bored in the school parking lot. 

“Or you can look through my tapes? I don’t really think you’ll like them, though.” 

Steve passes her your box of mixtapes as you settle back in the front. Penelope picks one with Pat Benatar on it because it’s the first name she could sound out by herself. And it’s not The Muppets but she does listen to enough pop rock with Steve to know some of her songs. 

You drive very carefully to Albertson’s around the corner. You stop completely at stop signs, you ride the speed limit if not under, and you triple-check for pedestrians at the light. You’ve never driven cargo as precious as Penelope before. 

Steve gets out alone because Penelope begs to stay with you and it’s easier to shop without a preschooler reaching for things she shouldn’t have. While he’s gone, Penelope unpromptedly shares her opinions about your car. That there’s less stuff on the floor and it smells much gooder than Steve’s. And how there’s barbeque sauce stained on the ceiling of his car but not in yours. She asks if you’ll pick her up from school again and you reply truthfully, that you aren’t really sure. 

You’d like to pick her up again. It’s a surprising type of comfort having company in the car. Someone to look at in the rearview, someone to ask about their day. 

Steve returns with a grocery bag of cables and a second with candy. He chucks a bag of fun-sized peanut M&Ms in the back, smacking Penelope right in the cheek. But she can’t complain, not with chocolate in her lap. 

“Don’t open it yet. Not in the car.” 

Penelope groans, sticking her toes into his seat until it moves. “Why'd you even give it to me then?”

“‘Cause you’re fun-sized,” he grins. “And my peanut.” 

She doesn’t know what he means, nor does she really care. All her focus is on counting the number of M&Ms beneath the paper wrapper. 

“She can have it now. I mean, if you’re fine with it,” you say. 

“She’s messy,” he warns. 

You shrug. “So am I. I don’t mind.” 

He appreciates the gesture more than you know. It’s a nice feeling, knowing he’s not the only one putting Penelope’s needs before his own. Steve twists around in his chair and chuckles at Penelope’s obvious eagerness. “Go ahead, babe.” 

She tears into the bag like a rabid dog, managing surprisingly well to keep the mess contained to her car seat. Steve pulls out his own bar of chocolate and tosses you the grocery bag. “Take your pick.” 

He’s so thoughtful that it hurts. In the bag are all your favorite candies and two glass-bottled cokes. Steve prioritizes healthy eating, but he’s a sweets guy at heart. A little treat every once in a while won't hurt, he says. 

You pick a candy and toss the bag back onto his lap. 

It’s an odd feeling driving to the center so late in the day, but even more odd to have Steve and Penelope beside you while you do it. Their conversations make for an entertaining ride, however; all giggles and spontaneous questions and the occasional argument about something silly like which candy is superior. 

The car brakes squeal as you slow to a stop in front of the rec center. A chain link fence wraps around the building, a gate you never have to worry about blocking the entrance to the parking lot. 

“Shoot,” Steve sighs. “The gate. I didn’t even think about it.” 

You put the car in park as Steve unlocks the door. He steps out onto the sidewalk and marches up to the gate to see how legitimate this lock really is. The city provides a ludicrously low amount of funding to the center but the gate lock? It’s as heavy-duty as it can be. Steve tries his office keys, which of course do not work, and then he stands there staring hopelessly at his BMW on the other side of the fence with his hands on his hips. 

“Is Daddy having a bad day?”

“Just a long one.” You reach across his empty seat to roll the window down. “Steve.” 

He takes a few long strides back to the car and gets in. “I’m sorry. This is such a mess. You wouldn’t know the custodian's number? I think I have it somewhere in my office.” 

“Why would I know the custodian’s number?” 

“I don’t know.” He scrubs his jaw, hand climbing up and back through his hair. He’s frustrated about his car but he feels ten times worse that you’re stuck here with him. 

You duck your head for a full view of the fence. It doesn’t look very tall from where you’re sitting. “Okay, hear me out here…”

Steve raises his eyebrows. 

“I hop the fence—“

“No.”

“It’s not that tall, Steve.”

“Absolutely not. If anyone’s jumping the fence, it’ll be me.” His thumb and forefinger pinch either side of his forehead, though it doesn’t do anything to ease the onset of his headache. “But we can’t even do that. It’s too busy. Someone’s gonna call the cops.” 

“The po-po!” Penelope roars. 

You laugh, turning in your seat to better see Penelope. Chocolate’s smeared across her chin and you’d bet a lot of money her hands are covered too. “We can wait until nightfall,” you suggest, fishing the wad of napkins from your center console to pass to Penelope. “Ooh, a stakeout!”

“It’s not a stakeout. We aren’t watching someone.” 

“We could send innocent little Penelope.” 

Steve drops his hand to glare at you. Not a real one, but not totally fake either. He’s not mad at you for trying to lighten the mood, he just wishes it was working more. And he laughs at your jokes more than anyones, today he’s just feeling unreasonable about things out of his control. 

“Daddy, yeah, I’ll go! I’ll be like a spy on a mission."

“A top secret mission,” you add.

“No. Not happening. Forget it— both of you.” 

You click your tongue. “Lame.”

“Yeah, Daddy, lame.”

He can’t help but smile at that even though he’s trying very hard not to. “You’re encouraging her, you know.” 

“Sorry.” 

You aren’t very sorry, he knows by the stupid smirk on your lips. 

“Okay, why don’t we just come back tomorrow for the party? It’ll be open then. I’ll take you home tonight and pick you up in the morning.”

“No, no–” 

“Oh, come on, Steve. You're shooting down all my ideas. I don't like this whole tough guy I need to do everything by myself bullshit."

“Bad word!”  

Steve sighs. He knows you're right and he doesn't want to admit it.

“Let me help you,” you laugh, giving his shoulder a nice shove. “You’re stubborn as a kid sometimes.”

“Well, which is it? A tough guy or a kid?” 

“Don’t be a smartass.” 

“Bad word! Again!”

He smiles then, mostly in disbelief at your sudden potty mouth. “Do we need to start a swear jar?” 

You pretend to zip your lips and put the car in gear. 

The drive to Steve’s is on the long side but it doesn’t feel that way at all. Not with Penelope in the backseat, sharing every detail of her day from what type of juice box Steve packed her for lunch to how Shannon from the three-year-old class got mulch in her boo-boo at recess. You love every second of it. You catch her animated gestures through the rearview and you ask all sorts of questions back. 

Everything about this afternoon has differed from your usual routine, but Steve’s driveway feels more familiar than ever. You turn the car off out of habit but leave it off in favor of walking them inside. Steve frees Penelope from her car seat and collects her bag and the crumpled candy wrapper she left behind. 

She races up the concrete hill, skidding on a sheet of ice, and landing butt-first with a giggle. You help her up– even after she tries to yank you down with her– and dust off the damp patch on her pants.

Steve’s only just shut the car door, looking up the driveway to see where you guys are. 

“Come on slowpoke!” 

“Yeah, Daddy, hurry! It’s cold!”

“I’m comin’. I’m comin’.” 

Steve sheds his sneakers at the door and Penelope copies him in a much less coordinated struggle. Your shoes remain on your feet because you don’t intend to stay for very long, though Steve quickly reveals his other plans. 

“Stay for dinner?” he says as he offers his softest most convincing face. His backup plan is to call you just as stubborn and bully you into agreeing. “As thanks,” he adds. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Steve.”

“Then as friends?” 

Your face curdles into something unintentionally sour. 

“My cooking’s not that bad I promise,” he chuckles, kicking everyone’s shoes out of the doorway. 

“No, it’s not that,” you swear with a small smile, bending to wedge your finger between your sock and your shoe. 

“It’s Daddy’s turn to pick,” Penelope chimes in. She crouches to pet Cinderella who’s prancing over with a shiny, new collar. 

“It is,” Steve sings like he just remembered. “Hope you like stir fry.” 

“It’s really yummy,” Penelope adds. “If you try new things sometimes you like them.” 

You hum. “Very wise.” 

They branch from your side like opposite ends of a wishbone– Penelope skipping up the stairs and Steve pivoting for the kitchen. You follow Steve, and to your surprise, Cinderella follows you. 

She dodges your attempt to scratch her chin, tail twitching like a snake’s tongue, eyes narrowed into slits. She’s still grumpy with you. Because you catnapped her or because she’s permanently bitter, you aren’t totally sure.

“She’s just begging for food. Acts like we starve her, the little drama queen,” Steve mutters. He pulls a bag of cat food from the kitchen sink cabinet. “Feed her for me?” 

You take the flimsy paper bag and unroll it. The shake of dry food like a bell, sending Cinderella scampering across the room to a pair of checkered bowls. You fill one and trade it for the other to fill with water from the sink. Steve’s hands are busy there, scrubbing an assortment of vegetables in the side without dishes. 

“Do you think cats hold grudges?” you ponder out loud, thrusting the bowl underneath the faucet. 

Amusement flickers across Steve’s face as he glances at Cinderella over his shoulder. “This one? A hundred percent.” 

“I think she resents me for bringing her here.” 

He smiles at you with sealed lips. “She’s not being tortured. Don’t worry.” 

You place the bowl beside its twin, earning a less-than-pleasant sound from Cinderella. 

“She’ll warm up to you,” he promises. You aren’t sure you believe him but it’s a nice sentiment. 

You return to his side, fingertips grazing the cutting board on the counter. “Can I help?”

“No.”

You pull a sharp knife from its wooden block home and slide the slab of wet veggies away from Steve. 

“No. You’re not helping.” He slings a dish towel over his shoulder and dries his hands with it. “Go. Get out.” 

“I am helping. Don’t test me, Harrington, I have a knife.”

He scoffs. “Threatening me? In my own home?” 

“Cause you're so stubborn.” 

“Cause you’re so stubborn,” he mimics. “Says you.” 

“Oh my God. You’re actually a child.” 

He sets a large pan on the stove, only whispers of amusement in the corners of his mouth. “Don’t cut yourself. We ran out of Barbie bandaids.” 

A clink and clatter against the tile steal your attention. Penelope in the archway, a baby doll cradled loosely in one arm, a second on the floor at her feet. She’s swapped her school clothes for a princess dress and a plastic pair of heels. “Daddy,” she groans. “You said you’d get more.”

Steve’s eyes skip from the box of rice in his hands to her frowny face. “I know, babe. I forgot. We’ll go tomorrow.” 

She must not care all that much about the bandaids, clopping over to the stovetop for a peek. 

“Stoves hot,” Steve warns. 

You watch Penelope closely, though Steve’s right beside her, twice her height and twice as vigilant. But she’s well trained, hands clasped behind her back, eyes doing all the nosying. You don’t have to worry as much as you do, but accidents can still happen. 

“Is it almost ready?” she asks. 

“No. Go play for a bit. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Whining won’t make it cook faster.”

“How do you know?”

“‘Cause I did it all the time when I was your age. Never worked. Not even once.”

She hums like she isn’t sure whether to believe him. 

You catch her gaze, backing Steve up with an honest nod. “Wanna help?” you ask. 

“No,” she decides candidly. You imagine Steve’s used to her straightforward nature, though it’s still quite funny to you.  

“Then go play.” He steers her out of the kitchen, a hand gripping her head like a claw. Cinderella swats at his ankle when his foot barely misses her tail. “Too crowded in here.”  

Penelope giggles as he gives her skull a good jostle. “Daddy.”

“Penelope.”

“Will it be ready in five minutes?”

“No.”

“Ten?”

“Goodbye. Take Cinderella.” 

Cinderella leaps away from Penelope’s grabby hands, a brown blur as she’s chased out of the kitchen, and by the click-clack of Penelope’s shoes, presumably up the stairs. 

“My God, you are just massacring that carrot,” Steve hisses, peering over your shoulder. 

“No, this is how they do it.” 

“Who?”

“Chefs. On those fancy shows. You should watch ‘em sometime. Could learn a thing or two.” 

“Are you kidding? These would send Julia Child to an early grave.” 

You snag the towel saddled on his shoulder and give him a fair smack on the arm. “Jerk.” 

But he catches the free end before it’s gone, yanking until you list forward a step. There are mere inches between your chests, the length of your palm at most. And he fucking smirks. He smirks like an arrogant fool who knows this interaction is sending your heart into an endless somersault. 

The air scrapes up your throat funny. It takes every ounce of control not to cough in his face. Your end of the towel drops as you turn away, retreating back to a more comfortable distance at the counter. “I’m surprised you even know anything about Julia Child,” you grumble. 

“My mom watched her show like all the time when I was a kid.” 

You hum, sweeping vegetable scraps in your hand to throw away. Not because they’re massacred.  “She likes to cook? Your mom.”

“No, not really,” he chuckles, though there’s no amusement beyond the sound. “I think everyone just expected her to.” 

“Oh,” you cringe. “Sad.” 

He shrugs, taking the cutting board and dumping your handiwork into the simmering pan. A mushroom cloud of steam billows up as he turns his cheek. “Being a housewife has its drawbacks. 

“Sounds like the life to me.” You sidle up to the stove to watch the veggies brown beside him. “I’d cook and clean all day if I didn’t have to work.” 

“I don’t think she would’ve been happy either way. I dunno, I think it’s more about finding peace and happiness in what you’re doing. Not about what you’re doing.” 

You squint at the side of his nose with accusing eyes. “Are you quoting someone?” 

He squints right back at you, tone washed in fake offense. “What? No, I just thought of that.” 

“You didn’t get that out of a magazine or something?”

“No.” 

You glance up at his hairline and smile. “Wow, you really do have a brain up there.” 

He knocks his shoulder into yours, rough as he can be without doing any real damage. And even with two layers of wool between your skin, the touch sends a buzz from the tip of your fingers up the length of your arm. “So mean," he says.

You might feel bad about it if he didn’t tease you the same.  

Steve stirs in a handful of seasonings and cooks the food until it bubbles. The pot comes off the stove to be set beside a stack of three plates on the counter. 

“Dinner’s ready!” he shouts, and not a millisecond later there’s the predictable thump, thump, thump, down the stairs. Penelope barrels into the kitchen with a long list of demands– more rice on her plate, a very big glass of juice, and most importantly, to sit beside you at the table. Steve lets the lack of manners slide because they're all doable requests and because he is also very eager to eat his dinner.

“This is really good, Steve,” you compliment, across from him at the table, “Thank you.” 

“Family recipe.” 

“Really?”

“No,” he smiles. 

You tilt your head at Penelope. “Why does your dad lie so much?” 

She shrugs with a mouth full of food. 

“Was a joke,” he corrects. “Not a lie.” 

“Mm. Still a lie.” 

“Can you stay for a sleepover?” Penelope butts in, her own train of thought far more important than yours and Steve’s debate. Her eyes are locked onto yours like they’re matching targets. She knows already that you hate to say no to her pretty little face. 

“What? Tonight?” 

She nods.

“At your house?”

Her nose scrunches, an ear dropping to one shoulder. She’s still at an age where her facial expressions are inherently dramatic. It’s nearly impossible to hide what she’s feeling. “Yeah,” she says, hopeful and curious and confident all at once. 

A nervous chuckle slips. You look to Steve for help but he’s busy searching his plate for more onions. “I dunno, hun. Maybe not tonight.” 

“But there’s no school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I… well, I didn��t bring any clothes.”

“You can borrow Daddy’s pajamas?” She looks you up and down, no discreet way about it. “I don’t think mine will fit.”

Steve snorts. “Nell, we gotta talk about it first,” 

“Tomorrow night?” 

“We’ll talk about it. Have to eat all your dinner before I even think about it.” 

“All of it?”

“Every bite.”

It’s not as much of a punishment as she makes it out to be. She really likes his stirfry. 

“Did you take your spelling test today?” Steve asks. 

A mushroom slews down Penelope's chin as she shakes her head. 

“Why not?” 

She swallows hard and her eyes roll to the side. “Because Jamie and Jenna are sick. Um, and Mikey too.” 

“Oh.” 

“Well, Mikey isn’t sick but he didn’t come to school.”

“Oh. How come?” 

Her eyebrows pull together as she thinks. “Umm, he went somewhere. A wedding?” 

“Oh, yeah. His mom got married, right? I think Courtney’s mom told me that a while ago.” 

Penelope hums her agreement, her face turning through several emotions. “Do you think she’s in love?” she eventually asks. 

Steve peeks up from his food. “Mikey’s mom?”

“Mhmm.” 

“Well, yeah, probably.” 

“Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why is she in love?” 

You smile hard, an echo of Steve’s across the table. The type of smile that can’t be helped or hidden. 

“Well, I dunno. Maybe she thinks he’s very kind. Or maybe he’s funny, or handsome,” he surmises. 

“Or all of those?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. 

Penelope smiles then too, just as big and proud as yours as she declares, “We’re in love.” 

“Sorta,” Steve chuckles. “It’s a different kind of love.” 

“You two are in love.” 

Steve has no food in his mouth to swallow, choking only on the air in his throat. And you, well, you aren’t in any better shape to respond. Your chest is so tight you think your lungs might’ve shrunk, all that squeezes through you is a nervous laugh. 

Steve clears his throat, “We aren’t in love, honey. Not like Mikey’s mom.” 

“But you spend a lot of time together? I think you might be,” she decides. 

“Well, you know, you spend a lot of time with some people. Like your friends… and your teacher, but you aren’t in love with all of them.” 

“Well, no, I guess.”

He takes her hand from across the table and gives it a squeeze. “Think about me and RoRo. We spend a lot of time together when she visits and I do love her but we aren’t in love. Being in love is a special type of love.”

Penelope frowns, more confused than upset. “Wait, so you aren’t having a wedding too?”

Steve laughs, eyes flicking to yours as he pulls back. He’s relieved to find you’re looking at Penelope, two shades warmer with enough affection to ease his nerves. “No, silly. Why’d you think that?” 

She shrugs, arms raising fervently. “I just thought that’s what parents do when they get in love.”

“Well, yes, sometimes. But we– we’re not in love.” 

She blinks several times, some at you, some at Steve, some at her half-eaten stirfry. You get the impression she doesn’t fully believe him. And it’s terrifying as it is hilarious. 

“Oh. Well, I accidentally told Mrs. Shepherd you guys were going to have a wedding too.” 

“That’s okay. What did she say?” 

“I think she was excited. I can’t remember.” 

Steve nods, smile worsening with each tip to his head. Penelope’s… mistake is cute and funny and embarrassing all at the same time. But he’s the farthest thing from mad about it when you're smiling as big as he is. 

“Alright, alright,” he shakes his head. “Eat your food. It’s gettin’ cold.” 

Dinner concludes and Steve quickly takes off for the sink with an empty stack of plates. He’s always on the go. Something to cook or clean or fix. Someone to teach manners and independence and emotional skills. It never seems to stop and yet he never complains. 

You exit your chair, fully intending to fight Steve about drying the dishes when Penelope tugs on your sleeve. 

“Will you stay for games?” 

“Oh–”

Her hands clap together. “Pretty please! With sprinkles and sugar cones and chocolate sauce and a mara-sheeny-cherry on top!”

Your laugh catches you so off guard it turns into a cough. “A mara-what now?”

“Mara-she-ee,” she tries.

“Maraschino.” 

“Yeah, mara-she-oh.” 

Your giggles spill in sync. You fix her puffy princess sleeve where it’s slipped down her shoulder and explain, “If your dad says it’s okay, then I’ll stay for games.” 

Her eyes jump across the room to Steve who’s already yelling over the running sink water, “It’s okay!” 

Penelope takes your hand in her much littler one and escorts you to the living room. Steve’s house is minimally decorated for the holidays, but he has a real pine tree and two stockings on the mantel. Penelope plops in front of the entertainment center to flick through her options, pulling out a board game called Mr. Mouth. 

“I love this game,” she says, dumping the contents of the box across the hardwood. The game pieces roll every which way but you wrangle up the ones headed under the couch. “I always win,” she adds, raking her own handful of coins in a pile. 

Her confidence is charming. You’d challenge her if she wasn’t so cute about it. “I’ve never played. Can you show me?” 

“Umm, yeah. You need to get all the flies in froggy’s mouth. But we got to build it first.” 

Penelope seems to have played enough to know which pieces go where. They slot together easily, a frog base at the center with four arms for launching. And each arm has a corresponding chip color, each chip scalloped with the shape of a fly. 

“I want red!” Penelope claims quickly, picking several red coins off the floor. 

You balance a stack of yellows on the end of your catapult. “So we put ‘em here and launch them?” 

She cocks her head at you, baby teeth perched on her bottom lip as she smiles. “Yes, how’d you know?” 

“Just a feeling.” 

You collect all your coins and count backward from three. Penelope’s hand smacks her lever on your go, sending red flies springing every which way. You join in, smacking and smacking until there are no flies left to launch. The frog contains an overwhelming amount of red to yellow, so much so that a count is not needed to declare the winner. 

Penelope beams at Steve as he plods over. “Daddy, I won!” 

“You did? Oh, Mr. Mouth. She’s like ridiculously good at this game,” he tells you. “What color can I be?”

“You can be blue or green. I think you can be blue ‘cause it’s your favorite.”

“Okay, I’ll be blue.” 

Penelope slides the blue chips across the floor where Steve sits crisscrossed beside you. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his fingers, an ostentatious display of confidence as he smirks. 

“Ready to give up your crown, princess?” 

"Mmm-mm."

"Well, get ready. 'Cause today's the day."

“No, it isn't. Not even in ten-million-trillion-ga-zillion years!”

"It sure is!"

“No, you never win! Not even when you’re sleeping!” Penelope shouts. 

Your laughter is lost to their immediate bickering. Empty insults like a ping-pong ball back and forth across the gameboard. But the real chaos unfolds the second you finish the starting countdown.

For an athletic guy, you’d think Steve would care about good sportsmanship. But not today, apparently. Sabotage is his core strategy– stealing and stuffing Pen’s chips down his shirt, shoving her defenseless little arms away as she screams. 

It’s all in good fun, though. Penelope is so loved she doesn’t consider him truly mean for even a second. But she begs you to convince Steve to play fair for at least a few rounds. And he does, of course, because you asked so nicely and because he wants more than anything in the world for Penelope to have a good time. She wins three rounds in a row because Steve lets her and so do you. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the champion,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.” 

“Daddy, don’t be a sore loser.”

“Then don’t be a sore winner.” 

She sticks her tongue out and he returns the favor twice as fierce. Their rivalry resurfaces in a handsy argument about who the real winner is. Penelope winds up licking his cheek which gets her in very serious trouble with the tickle monster. 

She cries your name as Steve hoists her up in the air, the last syllable stolen by a gasp. “Please–” she cackles, “Help me-ee!” 

Steve pins her back down to his chest like a seatbelt, fingers curling into her sides until she screams again and again. “Who’s the champion?” he repeats with a full-blown smile, barely preserving his evil persona.

“Me!” 

“Errr!” He mimics a buzzer sound, sending Penelope into another wild fit of giggles. 

You're so weak with your own laughter, that you aren't sure you could help her if you tried. 

She kicks and flails and wiggles under his ruthless hands until her very last drop of energy. “I give up,” she admits, breathless, dropping to a dead weight in his arms. “You’re the champy-un." 

Steve rolls her mercifully onto the floor where she regains enough strength to flee behind your back, arms looping around your neck like you’re nothing but a human shield. 

You press a smidgen of your weight into her tummy and pat her arm, eyes glued fondly to Steve’s. “It’s okay, Pen. You’re my champion, still.” 

Steve wants to roll his eyes at you but he can’t. Your affinity for loving his daughter never falters. You know all the right things to say, all the best ways to pretend. It’s so deeply unbearable all he can do is smile. And when you smile back, he gets a taste of something he always dreamed of, and he realizes he has all he ever wanted in the world. 

Steve relishes another mindful second of all this make-believe and non-make-believe excitement before sighing. “Okay, princess, it’s late. Go get pjs on. Want Muppets?” 

She pushes up on her toes until you lean forward, her breath warming your neck as she pleads, “I wanna play Bed Bugs.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “But that game makes me so itchy.”

“But I wanna show Y/N!” 

“Another night, babe. It’s really late. If you wanna movie we have to now.”

She sighs. She loves her night-time movies more than most things, even if she rarely makes it to the end. “Bath?” 

Steve squints. “Why? You stink?” 

You feel the shape of her smile through the fabric on your shoulder blade. “No.”

“Do I need to check?” 

“Nooo.” 

You squint at Steve, humming until you run out of breath. “What’s that– Steve, do you smell that?” You sniff the air loudly, nostrils flaring, nose scrunching. 

Steve imitates your dramatic sniffing, inching his face closer and closer to your face. “I think… maybe it’s behind you.”

You whip your head to the side, gasping like Penelope hadn’t been there the whole time. She lets her wrist be dragged up to your nose, where you skip across soft skin in a dotted line up her arm. “False alarm,” you decide after one final whiff. “No stink bugs here.” 

“Alright,” Steve grins. “Bath tomorrow then. There’s clean jammies in the laundry room.” 

Penelope launches herself off of you, stamping off into the other room. 

“Don’t mess up my pile!” Steve yells. 

“‘Kay!” 

He scoots back into the recliner's closed footrest, arms stretching up with a big breathy groan. A rogue coin from Mr. Mouth pokes the underside of his thigh, and before he even gets his hands on it, you can tell he’s itching to flick it at you. Call it friends’ intuition. 

It hurls right past your open palm, catching in the neckline of your long sleeve. He’s not smiling but he doesn’t need to for you to read the satisfaction on his face. 

You huck it back because it brings you the same pleasure. But he doesn’t try to catch it, arms too sore and mind too static for quick reflexes. The toy smacks the center of his chest, sliding down into a crease in his sweater.  

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he admits, setting his aching eyelids to rest. “Think you could be me for the rest of the night?” 

You know he’s only kidding but you wouldn’t mind taking over if he wasn’t. Penelope’s mostly self-sufficient at her age. You feel capable enough by now to babysit without any disasters occurring. 

“We could swap clothes. I don’t think she’d notice.” 

He huffs through his nose, a gentle smile splaying across his lips. “Would you actually do me a favor?”

“‘Course.” 

“Just turn on the VHS. Movie’s already in.” 

You retrieve the remote from the coffee table and power on the VHS. The TV flickers awake to a paused scene from The Muppet Christmas Carol involving several muppets, one recognizably Kermit the Frog. You sweep Mr. Mouth back into its box while the tape rewinds, kneeled in front of Steve who’s slouching lower and lower into the leather footrest. 

You tentatively reach for the last coin tucked in his sweater, stuttering when his hand shoots out to bracelet your wrist. His lips flare into a smile, eyelids peeling open to watch you squirm. 

“Don’t do that–” you murmur, swatting his chest with the hand not trapped in his. “Scared me.” 

“You make it too easy,” he mumbles back, thumb stroking the soft flesh of your arm. He looks up at you with a quiet reverence, eyes rich as soil, so grounding and full of life. 

It’s all but two seconds, two blinks, two breaths; you pretend not to savor the heat of his gaze, not to feel the way your heart chokes beneath his fingertip. You pretend not to imagine the curve of your lips against every freckle on his face. It’s all so easy, this pretending. It’s a million times easier to pretend than to admit you’re caught in something you’re not at all ready to lose. 

Steve unshackles your wrist at the growing echo of footsteps. You lean back onto your heels as Penelope rockets through the room, a long nightgown billowing behind her like a sail in a windstorm. She tackles Steve with swinging arms and heavy feet, rocking the recliner under both of their weight. 

“Ow, babe. That hurt.” Steve complains, a hand darting up to his chin. “You headbutted me.” 

Penelope cranes back to see for herself, one hand on either side of his achy jaw. From where you’re sitting, there’s no cause for immediate panic, only a little red spot on Steve and a guilty little girl in his lap. 

“No bandaids,” she reminds him like it's really rather unfortunate. 

“I don’t need one. Just a kiss.”

She nods and puckers her lips, slotting them in the dip beneath his. 

“All better,” Steve assures as she pulls away. He smiles big to prove it. 

But her inspection is far from over. Sympathetic fingers caress every bend and bow of his face. She sets a second kiss to a razor bump on his cheek and a third to the scar on his forehead. They sink down to a flat heap on the floor, matching double chins and four cheeks dimpling with joy. 

Penelope is satisfied enough to roll over on his chest as the tape finishes its rewind. Steve tugs a blanket from the recliner to shake across their bodies, an arm looped around Penelope like a belt, his chin tucked against her crown. 

And with a heated human pillow to curl up on, it’s a miracle Penelope makes it through the intro credits. She’s dozing not long later, however, one hand discarded across the floor, the other curled around Steve’s on her chest. 

He lifts her with the effortlessness of an experienced parent, retiring her to everyone’s favorite corner of the sectional. Her rousing is mitigated with a few strokes down her nose and a forehead kiss to round it off. 

Steve presses a shushing finger to his mouth and tugs you off the floor. He holds your hand as you tip-toe away, turning you sixteen again, long before you even knew Steve Harrington existed. 

He leaves you at the dining table, swishing away and momentarily returning with a wine glass in each hand. 

“Wine?” you chuckle, pinching the neck of the glass he offers. 

“Apple juice,” he smirks. “Unless you want– I might still have an old bottle of champagne from like a raffle or something.” 

“No, no. Juice is great.” You swivel the cup until gold sloshes up the sides. “What’s the occasion?” 

He sits in the chair Penelope had earlier, slinging an arm around the back and propping his feet up on the bar underneath yours. “Does there need to be one?”

“I think so.” 

He hums. “Let’s say… to not rescheduling the parent-teacher conference a third time.” 

“To that. Sure,” you muse, tipping your glass to meet his with a satisfactory clink. 

You each take a sip donning matching smiles. There’s a glow about him, a tired kind of warmth in his mussed hair and slackened shoulders. It’s a simple thing, sitting here together in this pocket of quiet. But you feel more present than ever, like the world has narrowed just to fit the two of you. 

And maybe it’s the dreamy stillness of this moment. Or maybe the placebo effect works with courage and your pretend glass of wine. But there’s a craving you can’t ignore— a deep desire to stitch together the fragments of Steve and Penelope’s lives you’ve yet to understand. 

“Can I ask you something? Like personal?” you begin. 

“Hmm?”

“Penelope’s mom… is she– well, you don’t talk about her. And I’m just curious if… I dunno. I’m just curious, I guess.”

Steve blinks down at the grooves on the floor. He finds they aren’t all that interesting and they don’t spark any easy answers. You’re right in the fact that he doesn’t talk about her. He’s not sure how to, mostly. 

“I shouldn’t have–”

His fingers skip across the exposed skin of your wrist. A sweet attempt to palliate some embarrassment. “No, you’re okay… Sorry, it’s not like a secret–"

“No, I know, I just– am I crossing a line by asking? I don’t want to–”

“No, no. It’s okay. She’s– it’s okay. Her mom– Annie’s her name. She’s…” The long stream of air blown through his lips catches in a nervous chuckle. “Where do I even begin?” 

“Did she… die?” You hate to say it, to even think it, but it’s the most logical explanation in your mind. 

“No, God no. Not that I know of, anyway.” The apple of his throat bobs as he swallows. “She’s just, I dunno, I think she lives in Texas now. Not really sure what she’s doing, to be honest with you.” 

“You don’t talk?”

“No, not since– not in a long time. Penelope was a baby last time I saw her. What? Like eight, nine months or something.” 

“She didn’t want to help?” 

“She tried, I’ll give her that much, but not for very long, no. She was really unhappy, I guess. How she could look at Penelope and feel that way,” he exhales through his nostrils, “Well, I’ll never really understand that.” 

You hum because you aren’t really sure what to say. You aren’t really sure there is anything to say– not anything he hasn’t already heard or thought himself. “I think some people just aren't meant to be mothers,” you decide. 

“She certainly thought so.” 

Your mouth twists into a frown, a patchwork of sympathy, pity, and the uneasy fear of saying the wrong thing. Yet, curiosity, or even selfish desire, blooms brighter than any other emotion. “Do you still love her?”

He shakes his head definitively. “I’m not sure I ever did. We were only together a few months when she found out she was pregnant.”

“‘M Sorry, Steve.”

He waves you off before you can even finish your pity. “Don’t. Don’t get me wrong, raising a kid alone is the hardest thing I’ve ever done by far. But it taught me a lot about myself. About my friends, my family. I wouldn’t be who I am without Penelope.” 

“Is that why you moved here? From Indiana?”

“Sorta, I guess. I wanted a fresh start after she left. But I think in some fucked up way I was also pushing everyone away so I wouldn’t be hurt again. And so I could prove to everyone– Annie, my parents– that I could do it without their help.” 

“Your parents? I know you aren’t close but… they didn’t help?”

“My parents? Probably the least helpful people I could’ve asked. They’re– I mean, they barely raised me. Old man’s a real asshole. We never really got along. And Mom, well, she’s just… I don’t even know. I don’t think her life turned out how she thought it would and she resents everyone around her for that.” 

“Mm.” 

“I like to think they tried their best, maybe they did, but I sure as hell know it’s not nearly as hard as I expected it to be to just show up for your kid. You know, Penelope, she’s my everything, seriously. I don’t know what I’d be doing without her. Something stupid, probably.” 

“Like what?”

“I dunno, probably taking over Dad’s dealership like he wanted me to. God, I’d be miserable. I’d be just like them.” He shakes his head, relief more than anything.

“Good thing you moved here and met me.” 

“Yeah. Good thing.” He laughs, a real Steve laugh, no self-deprecation involved. When it fizzles out into a smile, he hesitates to ask, “Would you ever come with me, if I moved back home?” 

For a moment you don’t quite understand what he means. Even after the moment passes, you still aren’t totally sure. To visit him is your first inclination. To help him move, your second. But he asks with such seriousness you can’t help but assume he’s asking you to move with him. 

“What?” You try to soften your surprise, stuffing every inch of smile back into a very neutral, normal set of lips. “And be miserable with you at your dad’s dealership?” you joke, a frazzled attempt to play off your nerves. 

“No,” he says incredulously. There’s a soft warmth to his cheeks, a lightness to his voice. “No, you know what I mean.” 

Your mouth opens and closes, your hands growing hotter the more you wring them in your lap. You really haven’t got a clue how serious he’s being. You're thrilled at the prospects of that possibility coming true, but tense with anticipation for how the rest of this conversation will play out. But reality takes the reigns and you're hit with a heavy realization. 

“Do you want to go back?” Your heart sinks down to your stomach hearing the words off your tongue. 

He looks away, a guilty sigh. “I think about it sometimes. I’d have more support there. Robin, Nance and Jon. All the kids, their parents.” His discomfort dissipates with a rough scrub to his cheek. “Sorry, I shouldn’t– I’m not asking you to. It was– was just an idea I had. Stupid.” 

“No, no. I’m not saying I wouldn’t– um sorry, I don’t– I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

He laughs, your stammering a comfort. “I’m being silly.” 

“You’re not,” you promise. 

His gaze traces the framed photo hung beside you on the wall. It’s one you’ve seen several times, a lovely piece of their life to look at. Somewhere outside, Penelope situated on his lap. She couldn’t have been more than two, with more rolls and fuller cheeks. 

“You know something?” Steve mumbles, voice breathy, trailing off in a wisp. 

“Hmm?” 

“I really wanted Penelope to be Elizabeth. Lizzie for short.”

Your lips twitch into an easy grin, focus rotating between him and the photo. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“I like that. It’s pretty.” 

“Yeah. I think so. Annie, not so much. She insisted on Penelope, after her great-grandma.” He shakes his head. Steve never even met her mother, let alone her great-grandmother. “I love it now obviously, I’d never change it, but it took a while to grow on me.”

“Elizabeth,” you chuckle, stuck in a one-sided staring contest with your favorite set of button eyes. They were just as cute then, but she’s really grown into them now. All her features have leveled out, her jaw more square, like Steve’s, her eyebrows darker and more defined. “I can’t picture it. She’s Penelope.” 

“Yeah, she’s Penelope alright.” His eyes flick to you, to watch you watch his daughter with a love so unique. “Maybe if I ever have another I’ll use Lizzie.” 

His words are like an electric shock. The idea of Steve with a second kid– a baby. Not a four-year-old who’s more of a tiny person than a baby. But a real baby with baby hair, baby clothes, and soft baby skin. Penelope’s newborn photos are enough to get you squealing with cuteness overload. You don’t know if you’d survive the real deal. 

“You want another?” You try not to sound surprised as you ask. 

“I dunno. I always pictured myself with more. But, I don’t think I could handle it. Nell’s a handful as it is.” 

“They’d keep each other busy,” you reason. “They say two’s easier than one.” 

“I don’t know about that.” He braces his elbow on the back of his chair, cheek pillowed in his palm as he looks at you. “But I do think about it. God, imagine Penelope with a baby sibling.” You swear his eyes shimmer as he says it. 

“She’d be such a good big sister.”

“She would,” he agrees. His heart thrums at the idea, faster the more his brain builds on it. “I dunno. Maybe if the right person comes along I would do it.” 

Under your chair, you nudge his calf with the side of your foot. “You’re a really good dad, you know. You’d manage.” 

He nods, not like he agrees but rather in recognition that your words are very kind. “Thanks.” 

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” he smiles so fondly at you your stomach flips. “Okay. Can I ask you something kinda personal now?”

“Oh jeez,” you grimace. “Depends.”

“Come on, I just answered like, ten million questions about my life.”

You really can’t argue with him there. “Fine. Shoot.” 

“I just wanna know,” he smushes his lips together, gaze tapering off to one side of you like he’s thinking very hard about how to phrase this. “Why the fuck were all of my missing pens in the backseat of your car?” 

Realization strikes like the sharp rush of hitting your funny bone. Your jaw drops, straining with the ache of a repressed smile, and your tongue fights to find the least incriminating words possible. “What– I didn’t even– it’s not what it looks like, Steve, I swear.” 

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like, you little thief.” He digs into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cheap ballpoint pen, and slamming it on the table. 

“That could be anyone's!” you defend. You’re both itching to laugh. You can see it on his face as much as he can yours. 

Steve fishes out a second pen, then a third, and a fourth. He takes the fifth, a pink one with feathers shooting out the cap, and points the nib at your chest. “You know, this is my favorite pen! Penelope bought this for me at the book fair!” 

“I was going to give it back! I swear!” 

He pulls another three from his pocket and you’re done for. Laughing, almost wheezing in a hysterical breathlessness. You didn’t realize you’d stolen so many. You’ve been doing it slowly for months. 

“You’re sick for this. Only a psycho would do something like this.” 

You can barely keep your eyes open long enough to look at him. But you find a smile when you do, albeit blurry through unshed tears. “Steve.” 

He grabs a Sharpie from the pile and uncaps it, stealing your arm for his non-dominant hand to hold. Your sleeve is bunched up at your elbow, your wrist turned for optimal lighting. 

“Steve!” you gasp when the cold felt tip of the marker presses into your wrist. 

With a thumb pinning your pulse point, he scrawls PEN STEALER in big letters across your forearm. You hope on all things good in the world that he can’t feel how fast your blood is pumping through your skin. 

“That’s not gonna wash off!”

“Yeah, exactly,” he chuckles. “So everyone knows you steal pens!” 

“But I only steal your pens.” 

He scoffs. “I can't believe you. Here you had me thinking it was that old fart Lenny this whole time. Such a liar.” 

Something about Steve saying ‘old fart’ sends you completely over the edge. You haven’t had any real wine, but you feel almost tipsy, like everything is ten times funnier than usual. His hand staples your hip to the chair to keep you from sliding off as you double over. Your stomach cramps like it’s being twisted inside out. 

“I’m gonna write it on your forehead next,” he beams.

“No,” you gasp, weakly shoving his wrist away from your face. 

Steve’s strong, but he’s far from rough. His free hand settles on the back of your head, thumb and index finger clamping either side of your ear to keep you still. And you’re anything but. Your shoulders wrack with every cackle, and your head shakes with every nefarious warning. The Sharpie quivers its way closer and closer to your skin like a murder knife.

But just before the tip scrapes your browbone, your elbow stabs Steve’s tricep, hard enough to free the marker from his hand. It’s flung across the dining table, spinning off the edge with a final click against the floor. It’s uncapped, and very likely just permanently stained some part of his house black, but Steve couldn’t care less. 

All he can manage to care about in this moment is the way your eyes light up in victory. How your smile lines deepen and your breath shakes out to fan his face in short waves. How the weight of your head in his palm is a feeling that transcends almost all types of comfort he’s experienced before. 

“What now, Harrington?” you goad.

He shakes his head, smiling harder than you’ve ever seen him smile. He’s so close you can see the molars in the very back of his mouth. His eyes trickle down to your lips for a second so long you can’t help but hold your breath. 

“Daddy?”

Steve’s hands snap back to a more friendly place in his lap. “Hey, sweetheart. Hey. What’s the matter?” 

Penelope hustles to his chair, whimpers cut short every step. 

He tugs her up into his lap, tucking in her limbs one at a time. His palm, large but no less gentle, presses frizzy stalks of dark hair flat to her skull. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

“I didn’t know where you went,” she mewls. Her back trembles under his other hand, climbing up under her shirt and falling in long passes down her spine. 

“‘M sorry. We didn’t want to wake you, that’s why we came in here.” He pecks the closest point of her head. “Scared you, huh?” 

His attention on her doesn’t waver. Whatever version of himself he was with you vanished the instant he laid eyes on poor Penelope’s face. Dad Steve comes before any other Steve, Penelope before any other person. 

“Time is it?” she murmurs into his neck. 

“Late. Like way past your bedtime.” 

Penelope remembers you’re still there, turning in Steve’s arms to double-check. Her ruddy cheeks glisten under the dining room light, a heartbreaking frown to match. “Are you doing a sleepover?” she asks.  

You smile, though maybe you shouldn’t. She’s still frowning, but more upset that she might not have been invited to a sleepover that’s not even happening. 

“No, babe. I’ll be leaving soon. It’s past my bedtime too.” 

You think she replies but it’s more sound than coherent word. 

“Come on. Back to bed. Your real bed this time.” Steve lifts her sideways like Sleeping Beauty as he stands. “Say goodnight.” 

“I want your bed,” she says instead, slow blinking at Steve’s sweater. 

“But your stuffies will be so lonely,” he reasons. 

“I’ll bring them.”

“All of them?”

“Mhmm.” 

From the angle you’re sitting, you can’t see most of Penelope’s face, but judging by the look Steve sends you, you imagine it’s pretty damn cute. 

“Be right back,” he assures, adjusting his grip under her knees before he starts for her bedroom. 

Your gaze drops to the wooden spindles of the chair Steve occupied just a moment ago. He was going to kiss you— you’re almost certain of it. The weight of his hand clings to the back of your neck, a phantom touch. And the heaviness to his eyes, replete with intent, only a flash in your mind. Why else stare at someone’s lips for so long? 

You swipe the nearest wine glass and bare your teeth at your reflection. No food is caught between them, no crumbs on your face. You set the glass down. Steve was going to kiss you. Right? 

“Maybe, Penelope’s right?” 

You flinch at the suddenness of his voice, twisting around to find Steve back in the archway. 

He ambles up to the table, fingers wrapping around the back of your chair. “About a sleepover. All that wine, you know? Probably safer if you stayed the night.” 

You huff, not so much a laugh as a breath of air. There’s a blurry line somewhere between joking and flirting and you’re certain you’ve both crossed it tonight. 

“I can handle my pretend alcohol, Steve. Don’t you worry.” 

He sighs, a very theatric upswing to his voice. “If you say so.” 

You roll your eyes and stand. Steve collects the wine glasses to set in the sink and follows you to the front door silently. 

“Thanks for the food. And the wine,” you croon, stuffing into your shoes one at a time. 

“Thanks for driving us,” he replies as you look back up. 

You nod, eyes affixed to his. Not knowing what to say. Not wanting to leave. 

“Don’t forget to pick us up tomorrow.” 

“I have a better chance of winning the ugly sweater thing if I ditch you.”

“And break poor Penelope’s heart?” 

“I’ll sneak her out.” 

His chest shakes through a soundless laugh. “Oh, she’d love that.”

You tap his sweater with the tip of your car key. “I’ll pick you up at noon– if you’re lucky.”

There’s evidence of a long day in the dark crescents under his eyes, and still, he pulls the door open for you and says, “Call me when you’re home. Drive safe.” 

Love, admiration, attachment, whatever it is, it rolls through you like a pinball, shooting from one end of your ribcage to the other. To be cared for on such a level is a weightless kind of overwhelming. A good kind, if there is one. 

“Don’t wait up,” you reply. 

But you know he will regardless of whatever else you say. He’ll call you first, wake Penelope, and drive over to your place if he has to. 

So at home, you dial Steve’s number before you even take off your shoes. And he picks up before the end of the first ring. 

“Can I tell you something?” you ask as soon as the call connects. 

“Hmm?” 

He sounds half-asleep. You consider wishing him good night then, but you didn’t plan to say much to begin with. And you might never tell him if not now. 

“I just… I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in… maybe ever.” 

He smiles, you recognize the sound through the crackle of several miles. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Me neither.” 

There’s a beat. A soft inhale, exhale that shouldn’t sound as lovely as it does. “That’s all I wanted to tell you.” 

“See you tomorrow, pen stealer.”

“Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

The line clicks and you’re left to the stark silence of your home. Joy ripens into something richer, something fuller. You feel whole, like you hadn’t realized something was missing in the first place. 

[iamgonnagetyouback]

voice ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ remus lupin x reader who thinks she's too loud

warnings: insecurities, self-doubt, feeling unwanted, crying, overthinking, self-criticism

word count: 1,519 words

author's note: this one’s a little heavy, but i hope it’s comforting too

navigation┆remus lupin masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

Your heart pounded in your chest, a slow-building pressure crawling up your throat, making it hard to breathe. The warmth of the common room suddenly felt suffocating, the air too thick, the crackling of the fire too loud. You curled in on yourself instinctively, shoulders stiffening as if trying to shrink, to make yourself smaller, to erase the space you had taken up.

Why did you always do this?

Why couldn’t you just talk normally?

Your voice had always been too much—too sharp, too fast, too eager. You had spent years trying to soften it, to reign it in, but old habits died hard. And now, just like always, you had gone on too long, laughed too loudly, and made yourself impossible to ignore.

Your parents had told you to use an 'inside voice' even when you weren’t yelling. Your friends growing up had teased you for it—Do you ever shut up? You’re so loud, it gives me a headache. Merlin, let someone else talk for once. Your ex had sighed when you got excited, rubbed his temples when you raised your voice, flinched when you laughed.

You could still hear him. You don’t need to be so loud all the time.

And yet, you’d done it again. You'd let your guard slip, let yourself be too much, let your annoying voice fill the room until there was nothing left for anyone else.

Stupid.

Your hands clenched in your lap, nails digging into your palms. Your mind spiraled, replaying every single word you’d just said, every exaggerated gesture, every second you had commanded attention. It wasn’t even that funny. You weren’t even that funny.

A lump lodged itself in your throat. You needed to say something—to cover it up, to deflect, to fix it.

You forced out a stiff laugh, the sound brittle and wrong. "Er—anyway, it wasn’t that funny," you muttered, waving a dismissive hand. Your voice felt unnatural, forcibly even, like you were trying to fold it in half and shove it into a smaller space.

They were still looking at you.

Sirius, brows furrowed. Lily, tilting her head. Marlene, frowning slightly. James, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Peter, shifting uncomfortably.

And Remus—

His gaze was the worst of all.

Soft, steady, thoughtful. Like he could see right through you. Like he could hear every cruel whisper in your head.

Your stomach twisted.

You scrambled for another excuse, something easy, something that would make them move on, because you couldn’t do this right now. "I just—sorry, I lost my train of thought," you blurted, rubbing the back of your neck. Your fingers felt ice-cold. "I—it wasn’t important anyway."

The silence stretched too long. The moment felt too raw, too exposed.

You wanted to disappear.

Remus shifted beside you, and before you could react, his hand was on yours. Warm, grounding, solid.

You blinked.

"You do that a lot," he murmured, voice gentle but firm. "Cut yourself off like that."

You swallowed hard, staring down at where his fingers curled over yours. "No, I don’t," you lied instinctively, pulse skittering in your ears.

Remus huffed, not unkindly. "Yeah, you do."

A warmth pressed against your other side—Lily, leaning into you, tucking her arm through yours. "Yeah," she echoed softly. "You do."

Your throat ached.

Sirius stretched his arms dramatically over the back of the couch, tipping his head toward you. "Thought it was funny," he said simply.

James scoffed. "Mate, you were laughing so hard you nearly choked on your own spit."

Sirius lifted a lazy hand. "Irrelevant."

You exhaled shakily. "It’s just—" You forced out a laugh, but it sounded wrong. "My voice is annoying, isn’t it?"

Silence.

Your stomach dropped. You knew it.

"Who told you that?" Remus asked again, but his voice had changed. Lower, tighter, the kind of quiet that crackled like a storm on the verge of breaking.

You had been ready for laughter. For teasing, for disbelief, for maybe even a joking, "Well, you do talk a lot!" because that’s what people did, wasn’t it? They softened it, wrapped it up in humor to make it easier to swallow.

But no one laughed. No one even smiled.

You swallowed, forcing a shrug. "Everyone."

That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Not one single voice in your head telling you to be smaller, to be quieter, to be less. It had been a chorus, years and years of looks and sighs and words sharpened just enough to dig beneath your skin and stay there.

"My parents used to tell me to lower my voice," you said, voice unsteady. "My teachers said I should talk less. My exes said I was too loud, that my voice was too sharp. I—I tried to fix it, I really did, but sometimes I just—forget."

The words kept tumbling out, unstoppable now, as though something in you had cracked open.

"And I was talking for so long, and I wasn’t even looking at you all, and I didn’t even realize—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Marlene cut in, her frown deepening. "Back up. You think we don’t want to hear you talk?"

The immediate, instinctive response was to say of course not. Of course, you didn’t think that, not really. That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? But your stomach twisted, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater, and the words wouldn’t come.

"That’s ridiculous," Lily said, firm. "We love when you talk. You always have the best stories."

"Literally," James agreed. "You make everything sound a thousand times funnier."

"And dramatic," Sirius added. "Like, actually. It’s a gift."

His warmth bled into you, but the lump in your throat didn’t go away. "I try not to be too much. But sometimes I forget. And then I get this feeling like everyone just wants me to shut up, and I feel stupid for even—"

"You’re not stupid."

Remus said it so firmly, so unshakably, that it startled you into looking at him.

He was watching you with that steady, unwavering gaze, his brows slightly drawn, his lips pressed into a thin line. His expression wasn’t angry, not exactly, but there was something fierce in his eyes, something that burned.

"Your voice isn’t annoying," he said. "Not to us. And definitely not to me."

Your breath caught.

"You shouldn’t have to shrink yourself just to make other people comfortable," he continued, softer now, but still certain. "You don’t have to filter yourself around us. Around me."

You wanted to believe him. You really, really did. But the doubt had been planted too deep, roots tangled around your ribs.

"But what if I am too much?"

Remus exhaled, slow and deliberate. Then, before you could pull away, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

"Then I’ll remind you as many times as it takes that you’re not."

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t sure why, but that sentence—those simple words—sent a sharp, aching pain through your ribs, something fragile cracking open inside your chest.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Remus’ thumb brushed a tear from your cheek.

"Love," he murmured, and the word nearly undid you.

You sucked in a shaky breath, willing yourself to laugh it off, to move on, to pretend like nothing had happened. But it was too late. They had all seen.

And none of them were looking at you like you were too much.

Not Remus, whose thumb kept brushing soothingly over the back of your hand. Not Lily, who was resting her head on your shoulder. Not Marlene, who gave you a small, teasing smile. Not James, who was nudging your knee with his own. Not Sirius, who made an exaggerated show of pretending to wipe his own ‘tears.’

"She’s gone all soft on us, Moony," Sirius muttered, nudging Remus with his elbow. "Might want to remind her how loud she was being earlier."

Remus shot him a look but turned back to you. "I like the way you talk," he said, voice quieter, lower, meant for only you to hear. "The way you get excited. The way you ramble. The way your voice fills the room."

Your lower lip wobbled. "I just—I don’t want to be annoying."

Remus frowned. "You’re not annoying." He shifted, leaning in closer, so close that you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "You are the best part of every conversation I’m lucky enough to be in."

Your breath left you all at once, like he had knocked the wind out of you.

You didn’t know what to say.

But you didn’t have to.

Because Remus just squeezed your hand, solid and steady and warm.

Surrounded. Safe.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. "I was at the part where my partner set fire to their notes, right?"

James immediately sat up straighter. "Yes! Keep going."

"Yeah," Sirius grinned. "You can’t leave out the best part."

And so you did.

And this time, you let yourself enjoy it.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[nebula-remnants]

too good to be true… drawing set broke again (this time the pen a few days ago) though I did manage to finish SOMETHING before it did

RAAHHHHHH TOUCHED UP/FINISHED SADDLE UP HOMOS REFERENCES (for sun and moon now, at least)

shared au with @alynwrench

some bonus snippets of moon without as much coverage just so u get an idea of what he looks like. AND a doodle of what his hands look like under the gloves. “Scarring” (or just scratches on the casing is very relevant story wise you’ll see, eventually.)

some extra design notes below…

Moon is not wearing a “proper” vest underneath, it’s just another shirt he had with the sleeves cut off. The vests are for extra warmth and seen as easier to work with given the setting and kind of work done. The basic idea was that whatever the hell he’s doing with it is cheaper than actually buying one

belts were made as a subtle attempt to reflect their opposite of anyone noticed them… if you’re reading this them clearly you do NOW

decided to not draw sun with his gun this time because I imagine it’s not… as important to his character… (totally didn’t forget guys trust) -was planning on making a SEPARATE ref for those anyways though. BUT WHAT I SAID FIRST STILL STANDS

scarring is very important, won’t straight up point out EVERY reason but I will say once again, very important, but when the fic is out you’ll eventually get to see why. Sun’s scratches are all surface level damage. it may be hard to tell on the doodle but a lot of Moon’s are a lot deeper than just simple scratches you get from regular wear and tear…

[arbitrarykiwi]

OH.MY.GOD. i absolutely loved ur nam-gyu fic it was actually insane, it was sooo juicy, so well written, so in character!!! i literally loved every single word i can’t stress this enough����😫 please write more about nam-gyu!! i would also like to see a more loser side of him since in ur fic he was like sooo suave but i feel like he’s really just. some guy getting minimum wage to promote a fuckass club. ANYWAY! thank u so much!!!

I Like 'em Weird

HEEEYYY!! Thank you soo much for your kind words, catch me crying sobbing and throwing up 😩😩. When I saw this request I got right to work I was so excited. Admittedly this was a bit challenging for me (I’m a sucker for the sugar daddy/sweet talker trope) but I tried my best and I hope you like it!! I had so much fuckin fun 🤭🤭🤭

Warnings: Smut (18+), drug usage, sex while under the influence, awkward! Nam-gyu, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, face fucking, sex in a club, sex in a club bathroom, thigh fucking, choking, squiring, creampie

When you went to the club with your friends, on a Friday night with a plan to get fucked up and laid, they didn’t not think you were referring to the awkward club promoter who hung around the egotistic, purple haired rapper, Thanos, like a lap dog.

You were acquaintances with the rapper, he’s been frequenting the club you often find yourself at with your friends recently. Hell, he’s even bought your whole friend group rounds and rounds of shots- he’s even hit on you a couple times. But he was not your type.

The club promoter that was always next to him, black jacket over his hands, ringed fingers frequently coming up to cover his mouth, glaring at most people around, not trying to have every hot girl sit on his lap or dance on him like his purple haired counterpart part- now he was your type.

When Thanos showed up, beginning to frequent the club a few months ago, you saw more of the odd promoter on the club floor. You knew he worked there as a promoter but he always seemed to be in the back, preferring only the drugs of the scene rather than the whole scene itself.

A few weeks back when you found yourself at this same club, with Thanos walking over from his VIP table to buy your friends drinks, you finally asked him about the black haired shadow he seemed to have. “Oh him? That’s my boy Nam-su!!” Thanos said throwing an arm loosely around your shoulder. “You like him, he’s a charmer isn’t he?” Thanos drunkenly said looking back over to where ‘Nam-su’ was.

He was seated on the sofa, looking around erratically. He was glaring at pretty much anyone who came near him. No girls even looked his way. You and Thanos watched on as he leaned over the glass table in front of him and begins to snort a line of whatever substance was on the table.

Yeah, real charmer.

But something about him made you crave him. You wanted to fuck him. “Yeah….So his names Nam-su?” You ask again, trying to make sure you remember it. “Yep! That’s my boy Nam-Su!!!!!” Thanos calls out loudly, enough it’s apparently heard over the loud music by the so called ‘Nam-su’, who looks up and glares over at the two of you before rolling his eyes.

“Doesn’t look to happy does he?” You ask with an uneasy laugh. One of the bartenders who brings you a drink leans over the bar and laughs “That’s ‘cause that ain’t his name. His name is Nam-gyu.”

So there you found yourself that Friday with a goal in mind. You needed Nam-gyu. So after getting more than a few drinks in your system and your friend dragging you over to Thanos’ little group- you decided to put your plan in action.

He was currently sitting next to Thanos, rolling up a blunt, his hands shaking and his leg bouncing. Thanos was talking up some girls, having took the blunt that Nam-gyu originally rolled for him and Thanos; sharing it among the group of girls who threw themselves at the rapper.

He was pissed to say the least, the blunt he rolled now being wasted and not passed to him. He sat there a scowl on his face as he very obviously mumbled to himself, and conveniently there was a spot on the couch next to him.

You make your way over, sitting down next to him. He immediately looks up, looking at you like you’re crazy. Why the fuck were you coming over to him? He was never really a ladies man, sure he had experience but not with a woman such as yourself. You were way out of his league he thought.

You lean your elbow on your leg, resting your chin in your palm as you look at him. “Mind if I join?” You say in a sickly sweet voice, smiling at him. Instead of flirting or acting as suave as Thanos- he looks at you like you’re stupid.

You can practically read the ‘Why the fuck are you even near me, I’m not sharing my shit with you’ look. You can tell he really doesn’t even realize you’re flirting with him. You groan and reach into your bra, pulling out a bad of weed and a small bag of white powder. “Chill out, I’ll match with you.” You say laughing, offering the substances out.

This seems to catch his attention. He raises an eyebrow conspiratorially, “This isn’t going to get you on some pedestal with him, you’re better off dancing on him.” He says, and oh fuck his voice is so delicious, it’s wavering, a low tone, almost like he’s anxious to be talking to you, like he expects you to only be doing this to somehow get closer to the purple haired rapper.

You laugh, the sounds catches him of guard and makes he heart thump against his chest in a way he despises. “I’m not trying to get on some pedestal with him.” You say pointing over to Thanos, “If anything I’m trying to get on ‘some pedestal’ with you.” You finish, pointing to him.

The words make him think he’s hallucinating, he’s questioning how much drugs he’s done tonight. He’s never been with a girl like you, he’s not even sure he’d know what to do with himself.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He mumbles taking your bad of weed from you. He inspects it, like he’s expecting you to hand him some trash weed. “It’s not weak shit, ‘s good.” You say pointing to it as he takes a nug out and inspects it.

“I dunno. Girls like you usually have shit weed.” He grumbles. You furrow your eyebrows and scoff. “The fucks that supposed to mean?” You ask, he doesn’t answer, only responding with another question of his own, “Can you roll?” He asks it like he already knows the answer and you can’t.

He really was not the ladies man. No wonder you didn’t ever see him leaving the club with a female companion. You decide to not answer him, instead just reaching over to grab your weed back from him. He assumes that you’re gonna take your stash and leave but you don’t.

You grab the cigar off the tray in front of him, the one he was about to begin to roll when you showed up. Beginning to split it, your nails run down the cigar breaking it open dumping the tobacco onto the rolling tray into the pile already accumulated by the past blunts smoked by the group.

He watches on, surprised by how well you do it. He wasn’t too impressed by the girls Thanos usually had rolling- but you? Well it made him less uneasy. But he was still so awkward next to you.

You could see him out of the corner of your eye, beginning to break down the weed with hands that would not stop shaking. Admittedly you loved the visual, his long slender fingers rolling the weed to break it down, adorned with a couple silver rings, it was a real treat. But it was so interesting to see him work like that, like he truly had no idea you actually found him attractive.

You reach over to grab some of the weed he was breaking down, purposefully running your hand along his, your manicured nails dancing along the top of his hand. It makes him freeze, you can see him tense up. You draw your hand back to begin to fill the wrap with the weed you picked up. You think maybe you’re shit out of luck- that he really wasn’t interested. But, when you look up to his face his eyes are trained on where the feeling of your fingers lingered on his hand and the corner of his bottom lip was caught in his teeth.

“I’m not gonna bite y’know…” You say in a soft sweet tone, scooting closer to him so your thighs press against his. You’re shoulder to shoulder. “I know..” he mumbles in response, dusting his hands off and then leaning his elbows on his knees. He’s sat forward, arms hanging down between his knees.

His eyes turn towards you, anxiously darting around your face, tracing the column of your neck, to your collar bone, to where your super low cut dress digs into the swell of your breasts, making it look like your tits we’re nearly ready to fall out of the dress, then down lower to where his eyes lock on to where your bare thigh presses against him.

His eyes then watch on as you expertly roll the blunt, tucking it into itself. You leave a part of it unrolled, your tongue coming out to lick at the blunt. He thinks his heart stopped or maybe his heart beat is all the way in his dick- he doesn’t know. But he watches as your tongue slowly lathes over the wrap, it’s like you’re putting on a show that was only for him. He can feel himself getting uncomfortably hot.

You finish, your eyes turning towards him as you fold down the flap, sealing the blunt, and then passing it over to him. “Is it up to your standards, sir?” You say teasingly, leaning towards him a bit more. You can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows thickly when the nickname falls from your lips.

He brings one of his hands up to his mouth, dragging the skin down, like you would literally be the death of him- like he’s trying to compose himself. You really haven’t done much and you already seem to have an effect on him- oh you’re fucking him tonight.

He snatches the blunt from you, inspecting it. He hated to admit it was good, maybe even better than the ones he would roll, but he wouldn’t tell you that. “‘S good enough.” He says and shrugs. “Woooow” you say laughing, “I see how it is…tough crowd.”

He puts the blunt in his mouth and grabs a lighter. He looks ungodly good with the blunt hanging loosely from his lip as he searches for a lighter. He looks to the table to try and find the lighter he brought- it wasn’t there. Maybe in his pocket? His hands pat the pocket of his jacket and jeans, it wasn’t there.

Then you’re leaning over him, flicking a lighter that you brought and lighting the blunt. When he begins to inhale, his eyes lock with yours, taking in the way you look against the red-orange hue of the flame. When the blunt is lit, you flick the lighter off and slowly lean back.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, settling back into the couch and hitting the blunt. As the smoke slowly flows out of his mouth, he hands the blunt out to you. You move to lean on the back of the couch, one arm propped up. Your chest was pressed into his as you lean even closer to him to grab the blunt. As you put it to your mouth and inhale your eyes never leave his.

He looks at you as if you’re a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Here you were, all up on him, in a cute little leather dress and heels that looked like they were more than his rent for a month, all with a pretty little face to match.

You let the smoke sit in your mouth before letting slip past your lips only the smallest bit before inhaling through your nose. He could feel himself become hot, shifting his hips forward on the couch to adjust his cock that begins to swell against his thigh.

“So you’re a promoter here?” You ask, and suddenly he seems to connect the dots (or at least he thinks he does). You probably wanted free drinks or a vip booth or free cover, but all that- anything he gives out, comes out of his pocket and he hardly had money for the weed he was smoking now.

“Yeah. But I can’t get you free cover, or drinks, or a VIP band.” He says curtly, inhaling from the blunt you handed back to him. You scoff, a bit offended he felt so little of you but with the people he hangs around, and the girls of the scene; you can’t blame him for thinking that.

“I don’t care about that. Was just tryin’ to make conversation with you.” You say pouting. He quirks up an eyebrow and laughs, “Okay, humor me..” he says turning to lean closer to you, “then why are you talking to me, you didn’t want my drugs, you don’t want to get closer to Thanos, don’t want free drinks or VIP, what the fuck could you possibly want from me?”

You take the blunt back as he passes it, inhaling before speaking, “Simple. You’re hot. I wanna fuck.” You say shrugging. He’s not even hitting the blunt and he chokes, sitting up straight and looking at you wide eyed like he hallucinated the whole thing. You laugh at his reaction, it’s a genuinely loud laugh that has you clutching your stomach.

“You…what?” He asks, his voice unsure, like you’re speaking a different language. He did not expect those words. you giggle again, “Here, I’ll put it a different way….” You muse as you lean closer, your faces inches apart. “I. Want. You. To. Fuck. Me.” You say annunciating every word, your free hand that is resting against the back of the couch reaching out to play with a strand of his hair.

“Yeah, okay..” he says swallowing and nodding excitedly. “Let’s go.” He finishes. You shake your head “We still got nearly a whole blunt to finish, we’re not leaving anywhere just yet.” You grin, your hand holding up the blunt. He looks at you like a kicked puppy, pouring.

You roll your eyes “So eager. We can have a little fun while it finishes, everyone here is busy themselves or drugged out of their mind.” You coo to him, he looks at you confused. You laugh softly to yourself, your free hand grabbing the hand that’s resting on his bouncing leg that’s close to you. You guide his hand to your inner thigh, dragging it up your flesh until his pinky finger is brushing against your clothed pussy.

His breath catches in his throat, fuck, you’d be the death of him. His hand turns, his fingers almost immediately fall into a rhythm of rubbing up and down your cunt over your panties. It makes you bite your lip and nod in approval, the small movement of praise and the feeling of your warm cunt beginning to soak through your panties onto his finger makes his cock swell to a large tent in his jeans one that was impossible to hide.

You remove your hand from over his, reaching over to grip his cock over his jeans, massaging the bulge. His head throws back, landing against the back of the couch. “Come on now..” you say, emphasizing your words with a particularly hard squeeze, “still gotta be with it enough to hit the blunt.” You tease handing it over to him.

He doesn’t lift his head, instead he reaches out blindly to grip your hand, fingers wrapping around your hand to find the blunt. He grips it, pulling it to his mouth. You let out a surprised squeak when his hand moves to push your panties to the side, his fingers returning to your bare cunt.

When he feels the warmth of your bare pussy against his hand he lets out a moan around the blunt that he pulls from his mouth. His fingers dip into your folds, just feeling you. You’re already beginning to get wet, allowing his fingers to move easily as he begins to spread your arousal around.

You pass the blunt back and forth, never stopping your ministrations on each other. You couldn’t help but to grind against his hand, catching your clit on his palm with every roll of your hips. You’re dripping over his hand, only making him even more desperate for anything you’re willing to give him. He doesn’t say anything, he literally thinks he couldn’t if he even tried.

Your hand continues to massage his clothed erection, your hand moving up and down over the fabric, cupping the girth of his cock. You knew the possibility of someone looking on and seeing the two of you was high, but the idea only made you wetter. You knew it would be quite a show, and anyone who saw it would be too drunk or high to remember it the next day. So if they wanted to look on, let them.

When you let the last hit you took roll out over your mouth and look over to him to pass him the blunt, you’re met with a delightful sight. He’s leaned back in the couch, head thrown back as he takes the blunt. His legs are spread wide, hips rolling up to meet your hand.

When he hands the blunt back to you, you realize it’s basically at the end of its life so you’re putting it out on the ash tray and scooting closer to him. Your nose trails up his neck until your lips reach his earlobe. “The blunt’s done.” As soon as the words left your mouth his head shoots up and he turns to you.

His eyes trace over your face frantically as if he’s searching for some sign that you backed out of the idea you proposed. “Still wanna fuck?” You ask simply, playing with a silver chain that he has around your neck. He nods frantically, “God, yes..” he says breathlessly.

You giggle and pull him into you by his jacket. When you kiss him you can feel him tense up a bit, he takes a second to relax and when he does he’s melting into you. His lips move with yours, a little messy but it’s so desperate and eager you don’t even care. You’re pulling him impossibly closer to you, your tongue snaking into his mouth.

You begin to stand off the couch, pulling him with you so you two don’t break. When he’s standing fully his hands are on you, on your waist, on your ass, just feeling you. You were like the many porno mags and videos he’s jacked off to, nothing like anyone he’s actually fucked before.

He hardly could pay for his apartment so he normally worked over time at the club you found yourself in for overtime that was hardly worth it. So the girls he usually fucked were shitty hook ups in the ally or even using a glory hole that’s in the club, but you? You were a whole new caliber for him and he wanted to make every moment of it.

You pull away panting, he’s the same. “C’mon.” You simply say and drag him off to the back hallway of the club where the bathrooms were. Once you make it to the hallway, you’re back on him, kissing him with a fury as you guide the two of you into the ladies bathroom.

You two fumble through the door, crashing into the wall of the bathroom. His mouth is doing wonders, you’re addicted to the feeling of his lips on yours and he is the exact same.

The kiss is desperate, like he’s worried you’ll rip away from him and go off into the crowd of the club never to be seen again. You pull him into one of the stalls of the bathroom by the fabric of his shirt. When you have him in one of the bathroom stalls you’re pushing him backwards, his back collides with door, closing the stall.

You’re thankful that the bathroom was decently clean, sure the walls were covered in graffiti and there was most certainly a glory hole carved into the wall of the stall- but the toilets and floor were free of piss and vomit- which is why you picked the girls bathroom in the first place, hoping to get the better end of the bargain between pick of bathrooms.

His hand drops from your hip, reaching behind him to fumble with the lock of the stall, latching it in place. His hand is back on your hip, like he needed to feel you and any moment away from you is like he’d die. You pull away from his lips and you swear you could cum from the facial expression he has alone. His eyebrows are upturned in desperation, his mouth parted as he try’s to catch his breath.

You don’t give him time to, your lips begin to trail down his jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses as you move down his neck. His grip on your hips is like a vice, his nails beginning to leave crescent shaped marks where they dig into the leather fabric of your dress.

His hands move around your back and down gripping at the leather of your dress to pull it up over your ass. His hands are against your flesh almost instantly, meeting your ass and gripping at the flesh, squeezing it and kneading it in his large hands

You could feel his pulse as you kissed along the side of his neck, it was erratic and hard, like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. You nipped and sucked at his pale skin, leaving red and purple hues in your wake. Marking him as yours.

“Y-you’re a fucking minx..” he says breathlessly, his head kicked back against the bathroom door. You bite particularly hard at his shoulder, he grits his teeth and growls, a sound that makes your cunt throb. One of his hands pulls back to slap your ass, it’s a hard, sharp sting; the sound resounding through the bathroom. You moan against his skin and arch back into his hands.

He lets out a breathless laugh, like he truly can’t believes that you are on him right now. He wasn’t a virgin, far from it. But the girls he was with were never anything to write home about, always a drugged out one-night stand, him usually doing all the work for her to only do the bare minimum if it meant the girl got drugs.

But you? Oh fuck. He genuinely thought he was dreaming.

“Mhm…I know…” you mumble out between giggles. Your hands run up his chest and up to his shoulders, beginning to push the jacket he had on off his shoulders. He beats you to it though, he’s so eager.

He shoves his jacket he was wearing off his shoulders, taking it off and grabbing it, beginning to move to throw it over the bathroom stall. But you grab it moving to bunch it up and toss it on the ground between you two. “Bitch, what the-“ you can see him about to begin to scold you for dropping his jacket to the floor, his voice angered. But he’s cut off when you drop to your knees

“Oh…” he breathes out, looking down at you in awe. “Yeah, ‘oh’” you mock with a giggle, your hands running up his thighs, and then trailing inward to grip at the bulge in his jeans. Your smile widens as you hear the choked gasp he lets out. “For someone who was so callous and cold with me up until a couple of minutes ago, you’re really hard aren’t you?” You say looking up at him.

He lets out a sound that resembles a growl, looking down at you with the same angry stare but his eyebrows are turned up, the telltale sing of his desperation he’s trying to hide. You make quick work of undoing his button and zipper. You pull his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock.

You figured he’d be packing, but fuck. He was long and heavy, veins running along the underside in tantalizing lines. It has your mouth watering.

“Fuck you’re huge..” you praise as you run your hands up and down his thighs, leaning in to place gentle kisses along the side, starting at the base of his cock and working your way up. “You’re a dream..” he mumbles out, more to himself than you. It makes you giggle, pulling away before placing a kiss on the tip of his cock, your tongue coming out to lap at the bead of pre-cum that beads at his red and angry tip.

“No, ‘m real.” You hum, placing another kiss to the underside of his tip. He shudders. You turn your head to the side, sticking your tongue out and pressing his cock to it. You slide your tongue back and forth a few times, wetting his cock. “What’s it gonna take for me to prove I’m real?” You say looking up at him with a pout, as you speak your lips brush against his dick.

“Hmm, I know! Fuck my throat.” You say with a grin, looking up at him. You watch as he bites his bottom lip, a muffled moan coming out of his throat. “That should make you know this isn’t a dream.” You giggle as you part your lips, slowly slinking down onto his cock.

When he passes through your soft lips and into your warm mouth his stomach tenses, a groan coming through his closed mouth. You move your head down, taking more of his thick cock into your mouth. Your tongue flattening to lick at the veins on the underside of his dick.

His eyes finally open, looking down at the sight below him and letting out the breath he had been holding. He reaches down, cupping your face to feel how stretched out your jaw was- yet you’re taking him so well. His hand moves to the back of your head, beginning to guide you up and down his cock. Your eyes never stop looking up at him, taking him in your throat so fucking well.

If he were to die right here and now, he would be a happy man. The heaven that was your mouth was something he didn’t know he was aching for, for what seemed like years; even if he just met you- like the solace that was your mouth was the answer to all his problems.

And so he began to take it out on you. Which is just what you wanted. Both his hands meet at your head, cradling your skull as he begins to thrust his cock into your throat. You brace your hands against his thighs, pushing his jeans and underwear down further so you can rest skin to skin.

His hands push you down his cock, letting out a strangled groan as your tongue lathes over the entirety of his dick as he begins to draw it in and out of your warm, wet mouth. His head is thrown back against the stall, his mouth parted, letting all the little gasps and whines he’s letting out be heard for anyone in the bathroom.

His head lolls to the side, his eyes that were screws shut open to look down at you and when he catches your gaze he lets out a breathless gasp, “H-hah….you sure know how to suck cock don’t you?” He rasps out, trying to seem unfazed but his shaky words give him away.

You purposefully begin to make filthy slurping sounds, head pushing down farther than his hands were pushing you. You’re opening your mouth as wide as you can, sinking almost all the way down. You never break eye contact. He watches as your tongue slips past your lips, even with a mouthful of cock, a trail of your saliva beginning to drop from the pink muscle.

All he can think about is the feeling that your tongue would offer his balls and the tightness of your throat around the entirety of his cock. So his hands meet the back of your head again, and push you the rest of the way down.

He’s hunched over you, pressing your nose to his pelvic bone. Your tongue runs over his heavy balls, your throat swallowing around him, it’s an unearthly feeling. His hips grind his cock into your mouth, shivering at the feeling of your warm tongue and wet spit covering his balls and making a complete mess of him.

He pulls you off of his cock by the back of your hair, looking down at you like you just gave him the secret of the universe, “How the fuck do you do that…” he asks in an awkward tone, genuinely baffled, his voice shaking. It makes you laugh, your need for him only growing stronger with his awkward quips.

“I dunno..” you shrug, a trail of spit connecting your plush lips to the tip of his cock. Your tongue darts out to lick at the string, disconnecting it. One of your hands lifts up to begin to pump his cock. Your spit that coats his girth only serving as extra lubrication for every flick of your wrist. “I just do it..” you mumble, looking up at him innocently.

He tosses his head back, both of his hands coming up to drag his face as he groans, trying to catch his breath that he swears you stole from him. “Holy fuck…” he groans to himself, you really are too much for him.

With your hand still moving up and down his cock you place your mouth back on his tip, swirling your tongue around it to collect the salty pre-cum that is spilling endlessly out of his slit. His hand clasps over his mouth as he lets out a choked moan, his other hand coming to rest on the top of your head, gently guiding your movements once more. “Y-you’re so fucking good at this…” he pants out, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth.

You accept it gratefully, your mouth dropping open wide and taking him deep in your mouth. His eyebrows turn upward as he realizes you really are letting him truly fuck your mouth. He reaches his shaky hands down, cradling the sides of your skull and holding you still as he thrusts brutally into the warm tightness of your throat.

You’re choking around him, even forcing spit out of your mouth to make it infinitely more messy. He looks down at you with clenched teeth, his bottom lip becoming caught between his teeth as he continues his pace, the tip of his cock slipping past the tight ring of your throat every time he surges forward.

He can feel himself getting close, but he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. No, he’s going to savor this, he wanted to cum deep in your pussy.

He’s grabbing the back of your hair and hauling you to a standing position. You’re spun around and pushed up against the wall of the bathroom stall, his hands are working to bunch your dress even higher. He’s running his hands along your stomach and then down lower. His hands grip at your inner thighs, pulling your ass back against him as he rocks his hard length between the valley of your ass.

You’re panting breathless, your hands braced against the stall as you push back against him. You shake your ass a little, whining when you feel his cock slip down between your thighs. “Close ‘em.” He growls, his hands moving to your hips. You do as he says.

A high pitched whine comes out of your mouth when you feel him begin to draw his hips back, running the length of his cock between the lips of your cunt. Every time he surges his hips forward his thick cock-head catches your clit in the most delicious way.

You can feel your cunt wetting his cock as he fucks your thighs, helping him to slide his cock even more. With his forehead resting against your shoulder blade, you’re hearing every pant, groan, and moan that falls out of his lips. And fuck does he sound so good.

“So fuckin’ wet.” He groans out, his hands holding your hips in a bruising grasp. He shifts his hips ever so slightly, the top of his cock grinding up against your clit, moving back and forth in short motions to keep his throbbing cock-head against your puffy clit. “Please, want you inside me…” you cry out, your eyes looking back over your shoulder. He groans, his hands grip harder at your hips, his movements stalling like he’s trying to contain himself from burying his cock balls deep inside you right then.

“Lemme feel you some more..your thighs are so soft” he says lowly, his head picking up from your shoulder to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His movements continue, “feels so fuckin good, perfect fucking cunt…so soft…” For someone who wasn’t very talkative when you first met, he’s sure running his mouth now. And oh my god, you love it.

He shifts again so he can run your pussy along the entire length of his dick. Your cunt weeps around him, making an obscene mess between your thighs. He’s panting heavily against your neck, lips beginning to kiss along your neck in messy sporadic movements.

All you can do is helplessly rut your hips back against him, dragging your pussy along his cock as he thrusts. It feels so fucking good, every time his tip hits your clit you’re jolting against him. One of his hands moves from your hip up to the top of your dress. He stretches the fabric down, your tits spill out from the fabric, and one of them is instantly grabbed by his hand. He’s squeezing the flesh like it’s a life line.

“Holy fuck…” you call out in a shuddering breath, your knees beginning to feel weak. “Please, f-fuck put it in.” You beg, your head tilting to nudge his face, he tilts his head up and latches his lips onto yours. The kiss is mostly tongue, it’s frenzied and messy but it’s so so hot. He pulls away with a grunt “Fucking impatient.”

He shoves you into the bathroom stall by the back of your shoulder. Your tits are pressed into the cold metal of the stall as he grips the base of his cock, dragging it up and down your pussy, collecting your arousal on the head of his dick.

It’s a phenomenal feeling and when he looks down, one of his hands gripping one side of your ass and pulling, the sight that greets him is even better. Your sopping, wet cunt is clenching around nothing, pushing more arousal out onto his cock. He circles the tip of his cock around your entrance, he sucks in a deep breath- he genuinely has to gather himself so he doesn’t shoot his load right there on your spread pussy, as much as that would be a great sight.

When the head of his cock begins to sink into your tight hole you both let out shuddering gasps. And when he cants his hips forward ever so slightly, his fat tip sinking fully into your cunt with an audible ‘pop’, both of you let out moans.

“F-fuck you’re so t-tight.” His voice is wavering, shaky, desperate- it has you going insane. It’s like you’re squeezing the life out of his cock, and you were. He swore your greedy cunt was sucking him in. His hips surge forward, sinking further into your sopping walls, his arms leave your hips to wrap fully around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“O-oh my fu-fucking god.” You sob out, it felt like he was splitting you open, but you wanted, needed, more. You’re forcing your hips backwards, making his cock sink into you more. He lets out a surprised gasp, his arms tightening around you as he hisses through clenched teeth, “F-fuck!! S-slow down, girl. S-shit.”

You can’t help the fucked-out grin that spreads across your face as you hear him, it’s a desperate plea, like the consuming squeeze of your cunt would be the death of him. You don’t listen, instead you push your hips back one final time, your ass becoming flush with his hips and thighs.

When his cock is sheathed fully in your spasming cunt he lets out a choked groan, arms squeezing around you so tight you damn near thought you’d break. And you echo, the feeling of the entirety of his cock is so intense. You’re feel like you’re split open, speared on his cock. You swear you can feel the tip of his cock press softly against your cervix.

“Y-you’re so big…” you say breathlessly, eyes rolling so far back you swore you could see your skull. You try to begin moving your hips against him, but he squeezes you even tighter- a squeak coming out of you, your movements halted. “Don’t you dare….” He rasps, his chest heaving against your back, “…fucking move.”

He’s holding you still, he has to regain some ground before you begin to fuck yourself back against him. He’s thinking anything he can to get his mind off of cumming deep into your cunt here and now. He can feel your walls spasming around him, greedily sucking him in like it’s coaxing him to thrust into you.

He sits there a couple moments before unwrapping his arms from your waist and leaning back, his hands finding purchase on your ass. He draws his hips back, the delicious drag of his cock pulling out of your cunt has you resting your head against the wall, hands curling into fists then flattening again as your tried to grasp at something to keep you on this plane of existence.

He draws his cock so just the tip rests in your pussy before slamming back in. He lets out a choked groan, the feeling of your messy walls coating his cock with your syrupy arousal and squeezing around him like a vice is better than any drug he’s ever tried- and he’s tried a lot.

“Tightest fucking c-cunt…” he rasps, his hips positioning into you at a brutal pace, the plush of your ass recoiling against his thighs with every thrust. “Where the f-fuck have you b-been..” he says between thrusts, his breath heavy, “…all this fucking time.” His thrusts are erratic, sloppy even, but it’s so so so good.

You can feel your cunt gush around his dick, with every thrust his cock kisses your cervix in a pleasurable pressure that has you rocking back against him harder. “H-harder, f-fuck, harder!” You cry out, one of your hands coming down to play with your clit.

He sees this and leans back over you, swatting your hand away before replacing it with his. His thrusts speed up, becoming rougher, his cock abusing your cunt. “I-if that’s what you need I want t-to be the one to do it..” he whines into your ear. It has you moaning, arching into his touch and creaming around him even more.

His fingers dance along your clit, the soft feeling of your pussy is surely going to be something he remembers for days to come. You’re so wet his hand slides effortlessly around your silky bud. “I-I’ve fucking dreamed of a pussy like this…” he moans into your hear, his hips jackhammering into you. Every messy thrust creates a wet splashing sound as your arousal coats his thighs and your ass.

All you can do is nod helplessly against the bathroom stall, your hand gripping at his wrist as his fingers work against your sloppy cunt. “And you’re fucking creamin’ around me so much, makin’ such a fuckin’ mess…” his words broken up by his moans, “You’re like right out of a f-fucking porno…” he adds with a particularly high pitched whine as you bare down on him hard.

The compliment is awkward but you couldn’t help it, the idea of him alone in his apartment fisting his dick desperately to porn videos he could only dream of reenacting, and now he’s living it- made you tumble closer to the edge more than you cared to admit.

“F-fuck I’m close.” You sob out, your hand gripping his wrist in a vice like grip as his fingers dance along your clit, massaging it between his two fingers before going back to drawing circles, “H-holy f-fuck I can feel it, squeezing my cock so fucking t-tight.” He choked out, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder as he draws his hips all the way back to only to let them back forwards, slamming into balls deep.

“C-cum in me please, fuck I-i need to feel it.” When the words fall from your lips he lets out a choked sob, “F-fucking h-hell yes, fuck yes I will..” he says, almost like you answered a silent prayer he had. His fingers working faster against your puffy clit, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he pounds your puffy cunt.

“Gonna c-cum so fuckin deep in you…” he groans out, his lips ghosting along your earlobe. You nod desperately, “P-please, oh god, please!” You cry out, the worry of people hearing you is long gone.

His hand that wasn’t playing with your clit leaves your hip to travel up to grab your neck. He squeezes, pulling you up and back against him. It makes his cock drive impossibly deeper. You moan out, it’s a strangled sound that only makes his hips piston up harder into you.

With his fingers working faster against your clit, his cock pile driving your poor cunt, and his hand grasping at your throat enough to make your vision go hazy- you’re hurling towards a powerful orgasm in a split second

You cum and you cum hard. You let out a high pitched moan, your cunt squeezing and baring down on his cock like you’re trying to milk him, almost forcing him out of your pussy with how hard you’re pulsating. And you look down in shock when your release gushes out of you in a violent stream.

“O-oh my god…you’re fucking squirting.” He exclaims breathlessly, still working his fingers against you and thrusting his thick cock into you spraying your cum everywhere. It floods around his cock and sprays to the floor. You shake against him, crying out as you continue to cum. And he’s right behind you.

The sound he lets out is sinful, something that you wish you could have recorded. You feel each thick spurt of cum flood the inside of your cunt in. It’s so warm, filling you up even further than you already are.

His hips rut against you, trying to fuck his cum deeper into you. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your body violently shaking against him. When you look down you see the bathroom tiles are flooded with your release. You can also see the cum that drips out of you onto his cock, covering his balls with even more of a mess.

He drops his hand from your neck to your waist holding you against him as he falls forward, his other hand resting against the bathroom stall, your own hand falling right under his to also steady yourself as your two stand there breathless. You’re sure if he wasn’t holding you up by your waist you’d fall boneless to the floor.

You look back down to where you to connect, the floor covered in a debauched mix of both your cum. You let out a whimper when you watch a thick glob of his cum fall out from you and onto the floor with a ‘plap’ sound.

“You filled me so much cum…” you whine, hips rolling against him. He squeezes you, “Keep s-still, f-fuck.” He hisses, his softening dick over sensitive in your tight pussy. “You fucking milked me….” He retorts, “s’not my fault.” He mumbles.

“Would it be too late to ask for your phone number or was this like a one off thing or…” he begins to ramble. “I let you cum in me, you made me squirt- I’m getting your fucking phone number.” You say laughing. “O-okay good.” He sighs against you.

You think he’s about to pull out, allow you to get dressed and be on your way but no. His hips begin to rock into yours again, “C-can I please make you squirt again… I wanna see it.” He begs, his nose running against your neck.

And when he asks like that, a whiney lilt to his voice. How could you say no?

im literally having so much fun getting through these requests. Requests are still open they will just take some time!!

Next up I got another nam-gyu smut (this time he’s ROUGH!!! Yall like omg the stuff im writing is filthy).

And we also have so much love for the original thangyu request so I got a couple requests for that coming up 😩😩

As always, thank you for reading and sending in requests. Your love is always appreciated 🥺🥲🥲🥺 - <3 kiwi

[azziesbattybaddie]

Hellooooo! I've never really sent a request before so I hope I'm doing this right. I saw that you write for adult Nyx and NO ONE ever really writes for him so I was wondering if you could write Nyx x reader based off of the song "not like I'm in love with you" by LEW. Basically just them being like older teenagers maybe and just acting like pining idiots. Maybe if you could do some smut too🥺🙏 I just I love your stuff and I've had this idea in my head and I can't write it myself so... Also I love shadows and snow angels!!!! So cute!!!

Oh my gosh Lovely, your brain! I love it! This was so fun to work on and I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~

We're just friends, right?

Nyx Archeron x Fem Reader

Here's the Spotify code if anyone wanted to listen while reading, just screenshot or download it and scan it in the app.

Ever since Nyx turned 18 he was always flirting a new female. He hardly ever spent time with you anymore and you were upset! I mean you had every write to be, you were his best friend, Which meant you automatically deserved his undivided attention constantly. Rhys thinks otherwise, maybe he can try to knock some sense into you both.

Word count: 10.1k oh my God!!!!

Requested: yes!

Warnings: smut, so much plot, jealousy, p-in-v, oral F receiving, unprotected sex, fairly vanilla surprisingly, Nyx being oblivious for a bit, Nyx also being a skirt chaser, Rhys being the dad we all deserve, we die like men

💔🔥💘

Author's note: this took sooooooooo looooooong! First the app glitched and I lost an hour worth of editing. Then it did it again and I gave up for about 20 minutes and then I came back to try again to find that the app did save the changes and just decided not to tell me! In any case, this fic has taken over 7 hours of editing so far not including the writing so I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

You sat on Nyx's bed and listened to him as he told you about the fling he had the night before. He was in the bathroom, a towel hanging loosely around his waist as he shaved. You rolled your eyes for the millionth time knowing he couldn't see you at the moment. You were Nyx's best friend had been since you were kids, Unfortunately that meant that you were basically volunteering to listen to him after he has a fling with a new female. Oh well you choose this...

"Ok so after Rita's you took her back to her place and...."

Nyx poked his head out of the bathroom, a lather of shaving cream on his jaw as his eyes met yours. He flashed you a cheeky grin, clearly amused by your eye-rolling antics.

"Well, as you can imagine, things got a bit... heated," he said, drawling the last word. "I mean, have you seen Mia's s place? The view alone was enough to get my blood pumping." He chuckled and disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of the faucet turning back on. You could hear him continue, his voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls,

"So there we were, on her balcony, the city lights twinkling below us... and one thing led to another. You know how it goes, Anyway, let's just say she was quite... enthusiastic, and the things that girl can do with her hands... Also she moaned like a bitch.. in a good way of course you know Very vocal, if you catch my drift." Another pause, followed by a low, appreciative whistle.

Nyx emerged a moment later, now shaving cream-free and rubbing a towel over his freshly shaven jaw. He flopped down on the bed next to you, still bare- chested and barefoot, the towel just barely covering his modesty.

"Honestly, Y/n, the things that girl could do with her tongue... I'm not sure I'll ever be the same." He shuddered dramatically, a dazed grin spreading across his face at the memory. You knew he was just try to pester you but said nothing. Rolling over to face you, he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief and self- satisfaction.

"So, what do you think? Should I go see her again like tomorrow, Or do you think I should let her miss me.... just a little bit?" His grin turned sly, a eyebrow arching wickedly as he waited for your reaction. He knew you'd give him hell, but he also knew you'd never stop him from having his fun... even if a small part of you wished it could be you he was eager to see again.

You gave him a kinda grossed out face at hearing the details but thought for a second. You were just being a good friend, at least that's what you told yourself. It's not like you wanted him like that.... It was just... Whatever...

"You should go for it, I mean if you enjoyed yourself that much... Why wait right?"

Nyx's grin widened, his eyes glinting with triumph as he saw the slightly green tinge to your face.

"Why so squeamish, Y/n?" he teased, reaching out to playfully boop your nose. "It's not like I'm telling you anything you haven't heard before Besides, you're the one who always says I should be more adventurous. He smirked, the word dripping with innuendo. Rolling onto his back, Nyx folded his hands behind his head, stretching out languidly like a satisfied cat.

"I think... I think I will take your advice. Meet up with mia again tomorrow night, see where things go. Unless... you have other plans for me?" His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes as he looked at you, a hint of a different kind of hunger,

"Gross!"

You shoved his shoulder as he sat up, grabbing the towel before it could fall. You smirked and watched as he entered his closet to find an outfit. It always stung to hear about Nyx's escapades for some reason but he was the high lord and lady's son. He was as witty as his mother and as handsome as his father, no wonder females basically threw themselves at his feet. You'd be lying if you hand thought about doing the same but really you and Nyx had been friends since you were kids, you were just being ridiculous.

"How about this time you wear a shirt that has buttons past your bellybutton" You tease him as you stay on the bed and let him change in peace. Nyx stuck his head out of the closet, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and the way you'd shoved his shoulder.

"Oh, so now you're modesty police?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock outrage. "I thought you liked the view, Y/n." His eyes twinkled with playful accusation, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He disappeared back into the closet, the rustle of fabric and the clunk of hangers on the rack filling the air. A moment later, he emerged wearing a crisp black shirt, the buttons indeed done up all the way to the top. The shirt accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders and the lean lines of his chest. He did a little twirl, his grin widening as he caught you staring.

"There, is this better?" he asked, a smug note in his voice. "Or do you have other... sartorial advice you'd like to share?" There was a playful lilt to his tone, but also a hint of something softer, gentler. A warmth that made your heart skip a beat, even as your mind told you you were being ridiculous. You stood with an annoyed smile and walked over to him before making him lightly on the chest and walking past him into the closet.

"Well now you just look like nerd. At least unto the top two, seriously how you ever get laid is beyond me..." You say sarcastically as you grab a jacket that would match his look and the weather both.

Nyx's eyes widened in mock offense at your teasing jab, a hand flying to his chest as if wounded.

"A nerd? Me? Why, because I actually bother to cover up in polite company?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'll have you know, the ladies find my intellect... captivating... Among other things..." He said with a smirk as he flecks his arms making the fabric go taut. there was a playful gleam in his eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As you rummaged through his closet, pulling out a sleek leather jacket that would complement his outfit perfectly. Nyx leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an amused expression.

"But I suppose I can take your fashion advice, just this once," he said, plucking the jacket from your hands and slipping it on. The leather hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his lean, athletic build. He struck a pose, cocking an eyebrow at you with a grin. "There. I'm practically a fashion icon now, Happy now?" There was a playful note in his voice, a teasing lilt that made your heart flutter in your chest. But there was something more too, a warmth and affection that made you feel cherished, valued...

"your a dork you know that." You say chuckling as you pass him again to go get your shoes and purse. It was Friday which mean you, Nyx, Rhys, Feyre, Azriel and Morr would go to Rita's, to have a night out. Nyx's grin only widened at your teasing jab, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Guilty as charged," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But you love me anyway, you big softy." He winked at you, a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you gather your things. As you both made your way downstairs, Nyx slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close.

"You ready for a night out?" he asked, a note of excitement in his voice. "I hear Rita's has a few new drinks on the menu . Might be a good chance to cut loose, dance a bit, maybe with someone else for a change..." His eyebrows danced suggestively above his smirk, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Nyx's parents and aunt and uncle were already waiting by the door, looking stunning as always. Feyre's gown was a shimmering work of art, while Rhys and Morr were equally impeccable in their formal attire. Azriel even wearing his normal black leathers seemed to look just as put together as always. They turned to greet you both, warm smiles on their faces. "Bekah, you look lovely," Feyre said, pulling you in for an air kiss on each cheek. "And you, my love look like your father, as always." she teased, a playful note in her voice.

"thanks mama." Nyx's eyes crinkled with affection as he came and kissed his mother on the cheek.

Already you could feel the anticipation building, the promise of a night filled with laughter, dancing, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to let go and be a little reckless. You could only hope that nyx would actually spend the night with you guys instead of running off for the night with the first female he smiles at. It had been so long since he had actually spent time with any of you when you weren't at the house.

once you got to Rita's, the six of your found a table and ordered dinner and drinks. This was probably the third or fourth time you'd been allowed to drink alcohol here. You didn't handle it particularly well and You didn't love it by any means but you tolerated it enough to indulge when your overly nervous.

You glanced over at Nyx, noticing he was quieter than usual. You followed his gaze to a pretty blond female all the way at the bar across the dance floor. Of course..... You'd been here 10 minutes and he already got his eyes set on someone, at least he wasn't up and leaving the table yet but you knew that could change at any second so you focused your attention on having a conversation with Rhys. Nyx wasn't a womanizer, he was kind and did think of other people's feelings. Granted if a female showed interest in him he usually wouldn't turn her down but he was never against a relationsh- why the hell are you even thinking about this! It has nothing to do with you! Gods what is wrong with you as of late, it was exhausting....

Nyx felt your gaze on him and glanced over, catching your eye. He offered you a small, distracted smile, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. The blonde at the bar had caught his attention, her laughter ringing out over the pulsing beat of the music as she joked with her friends. He downed the rest of his drink, the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, before standing abruptly.

"Be right back," he murmured, not quite meeting your eyes as he made his way towards the bar. You watched him go, a mix of exasperation and... something else, something you didn't want to acknowledge, churning in your gut. This was just like Nyx, spotting a pretty face and being drawn in like a moth to a flame. But then again, when had he ever been able to resist a challenge, a chance to charm and captivate? It was in his nature, a part of his very being, Feyre said he got that from his father. And yet, a small, traitorous part of you wished, just for once, that he might look at you the same way, with that same heated intensity... But no, you pushed that thought away, disgusted with yourself for even entertaining such a notion.

you mentally try to shake the feeling of and turn your attention back to Rhys seeing as your friend as yet again left family time to go get laid. Shit this was becoming a habit... And it was really starting to bothering you.

Rhys noticed your distraction and followed your gaze to where Nyx was now engaged in animated conversation with the blonde, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful expression. "He's a grown male, sweetling," Rhys said, his voice a low rumble. "He knows what he's doing." There was a note of mild reproach in his tone, a subtle reminder that you were being a bit... overprotective. Possessive, even. But then again, Rhys had always seen the depth of your bond with his son, the unbreakable connection forged in childhood that had only grown stronger with time.

you made a face and shook your head dismissively.

"I know that. It's just... Annoying," Sure let's go with that. You thanked the Cauldron when your drinks arrived. You took a large sip of your drink in hopes of clearing your head of what ever this possessive, Jealous feeling... No, not not jealous, that would be ridiculous...

"This used to be when we all would spend time together and ever since be turned 18 he never... Nevermind, doesn't matter."

You took another sip and made absolutely sure to keep your eyes away from the bar. Rhys's eyes softened as he studied your face, a flicker of understanding in their depths. He reached out, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a comforting, fatherly gesture. "Ah, y/n," he said, a note of gentle reproach in his voice. "Is that what's bothering you? That things have changed now that your both getting older?" His gaze drifted to where his son stood still engrossed in conversation with the blonde. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned back to you.

"He's not a child anymore, sweetling. He has... needs and desires that he's just beginning to explore. It's natural, at his age. Lets not forget, he's a freshly adult Illyrian male, I'm not going to sit her and pretend that we aren't known for getting around. Rhys's thumb absently rubbed your shoulder, a soothing motion. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to spend time with you anymore. You're still his bestfriend, That will never change-"

You cut him off and shrug him his hand off of your shoulder. Rhys had always been like a second dad to you and you were always very welcome to any advice he had for you but for once you didn't want to fucking hear it. You made sure to slam your mental shields up and close the cracks snugly before your responded.

"I don't need the sex talk Rhys. I'm not a kid either ok, I just meant that it just... Aggravating that he'd rather spend his time chasing females that do actually give a fuck about him over spending time with his family. It fine he's his own person, it's just annoying...."

You you didn't try to cover the disgruntled look on your face as you down the last of your drink as signal the bartender to send you another. Rhys watched as you downed your drink and signaled for another, a hint of concern flickering across his face. He knew this was a sensitive subject for you, a raw nerve that you didn't want him to touch. But he also knew that sometimes, the things we didn't want to hear were the things we needed to hear most.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "I understand your frustration. I do. But you need to accept that people change as they grow older, and so do their priorities. Nyx will always make time for you, no matter what. But he's also entitled to his own life, his own experiences."

Rhys paused, letting his words sink in. "Spending time with a pretty female isn't a betrayal of his friendship with you. It's a part of him growing up, and I know you used to be extremely close but-"

you just stood and grabbed your bag before turning to Rhys a badly disguised pissed off expression etched into your face.

"Actually I'll see you all at home. l forgot I have to be up early tomorrow, I'm gonna head home early."

You said with a dry tone before turning and striding to the exit and leaving. It was clear that Rhys, in trying to meditate, had only pissed you off more. What he didn't see was the hurt that made you feel like screaming when you realized Nyx hadn't even noticed you'd left. You only felt the burning of Rhys and Feyre's gaze burning into your back.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde, oblivious to your abrupt departure. He was laughing at something she said, a hand resting casually on her hip as he leaned in close to hear her over the pulsing music. The blonde was eating it up, hanging onto his every word, her eyes shining with admiration and a hint of something more. Nyx was in his element, charming and captivating, but he was also utterly focused on his new companion, not sparing a thought for the empty chair across the room where you had been sitting. The sight made you sick, your stomach twisting painfully.

You didn't stop storming out of the building even when you hard footsteps coming after you. You finally decided to turn and for a half second your heart jumped to see a dark figure emerge from the the doors. Only to have that flutter be smashed again to see Rhys exit and not his son. Nyx really didn't even notice you left... Why the fuck did you even care anyway, the answer was getting harder and harder to deny with every passing day.

"Y/n, wait," he said, his voice low and urgent. Rhys caught up to you quickly, his longstrides eating up the distance between you. He reached out, his hand closing around your elbow, halting your furious retreat.

"I know you're upset, but please, talk to me, you know I'm always here." There was a note of concern in his tone, a hint of something else, something that made your heart skip a beat despite your anger.

Rhys guided you to a quiet spot nearby, away from the thrumming music and chatter of the bar. He studied your face, his brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and worry. "Talk to me," he coaxed softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on your elbow. "Tell me what's really bothering you. Is it... is it just about Nyx? Or is something else? Whatever it it, bottling it up isn't going to help you sweetling." His gaze was intense, searching, as if he could see right through to the tangled mess of your emotions. As if he knew that the anger masking your face was only a flimsy veil for something much deeper, much harder to name.

You close your eyes and force yourself to keep your mental shielding up as you thought of a way to respond without sounding absolutely pathetic.

"I just... I have, other things going on and I'm just... Like I said I have to be up early tomorrow, I'd just be better if I went home now..."

You avoided the question with as many lies you could muster. You HATED lying to Rhys but you felt like your heart and mind was rebelling against each other and you couldn't tell him why you were upset if you couldn't even admit it to yourself

Rhys's eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing his handsome features. He wasn't convinced by your flimsy excuse, and he knew you well enough to see through any pretense. Leaning in closer, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur,

"Y/n darling, look at me." His fingers tightened gently on your elbow, a silent command. "I've known you since you were a little girl. Your the closet to a daughter I have and I can tell when something is your not telling me something, and why won't you just tell me what's wrong?" His gaze softened, a glimmer of compassion and understanding in their depths. "Please, talk to me. Let me help you, you know the last thing I'll ever do is judge you for hurting... whatever it may be. You don't have to do it alone." There was a tender note in his voice, a gentle encouragement, as if he were coaxing a skittish horse to trust him. His thumb continued its slow, soothing circles on your elbow, a silent promise of comfort and support.

Your eyes were locked on the concrete as they welled slightly and you just let yourself lean forward to hug him.

"I'm just... I don't have a right or a... A reason to be mad but I am... And I'm so fucking angry that I don't know why..."

Another lie... You knew deep down exactly why you were angry and it wasn't even with Nyx. You were mad at yourself for being a fucking coward.

Rhys wrapped his strong arms around you as you leaned into his embrace, holding you close. He made no move to pull away, allowing you the comfort of his warm, solid presence. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured, one hand coming up to stroke your hair in a soothing gesture. He he rested his cheek on top of your head gently as rocked you from side to side, the same why he would when you were a kid and scraped your knee. "Everyone has a right to their feelings, Bekah. You don't need a reason to be upset." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Sometimes, the most difficult feelings to understand are the ones that come from within ourselves. They can be the hardest to acknowledge, to accept." His voice was low and gentle, a tender rumble in your ear. His hand continued its gentle caress, a silent reminder of his unwavering support and love.

"it's like I don't exist to him anymore..."

You whispered into his chest and just slumped to lean into him more. You had never even wanted 'that type of attention from Nyx but at the same time, for some reason, you didn't think you'd ever have to ask for it either....

Rhys's arms tightened around you as he heard the quiet admission, a flicker of realization crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Darling," he said softly, his eyes searching yours with a newfound understanding. "You could never be ignored, not by anyone, and certainly not by my son." His thumb brushed gently over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "I love you, sweetling. We all do." His voice dropped to a low, fervent whisper.

His gaze held yours, intense and sincere, a silent promise. "And I know Nyx loves you too, even if he's not always the most... perceptive about showing it." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he pulled you back into his embrace, cradling you close. "Give him a chance, sweetling. Give yourself a chance to see what's right in front of both of you." His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he held you, a silent comfort and reassurance.

"He's always perceptive... That's the problem..."

Rhys stilled, a flicker of surprise and a hint of something else, something softer, crossing his features. He searched your face, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.

"You're upset because you feel invisible to him. Because you think he doesn't see you the way you've always seen him." His voice was low and gentle, a tender murmur. "But darling... that couldn't be further from the truth."

"Nyx sees you, Y/n. He's always seen you. He's just... not always the best about showing how he feels." A wry smile tugged at his lips before he brushed a tender kiss to your forehead, a silent comfort. "Be patient with him, you know he can be a bit slow sometimes." He said giving you tight squeeze if only to make you laugh.

"Right, he sees me and because he can't talk to me about it, he goes fucks anything with a pair of tits cuz that makes perfect fucking sense!"

Your anger flared faster that the heaviness that settled onto your chest once again. You pushed out of Rhys's hold before covering your face with your hands and giving Rhys a quiet apology before just turning on your heel and winnowing back to the river house.

Rhys watched you go, a mix of concern and newfound understanding etched into his handsome features. He stood there for a long moment, his brows furrowed as he processed the revelation, the pieces falling into place like a puzzle. Then, with a determined set to his jaw, he strode purposefully back into the bar, his mind made up.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde when Rhys approached, a look of grim determination on his face. He tapped Nyx on the shoulder, a gesture that was almost a bit too rough to be polite. Nyx turned, a look of embarrassment and mild annoyance flashing across his face before he saw who had interrupted him. Rhys leaned in close, his voice a low growl in Nyx's ear.

"A word, son?" he said, a note of command in his tone. He didn't wait for a response before turning and heading towards the entrance once again, expecting Nyx to follow. Nyx hesitated for a moment, a flicker of confusion and irritation in his eyes, before he muttered a quick apology to the blonde and followed in his father's wake.

Rhys led them to a quiet corner, away from prying ears and eyes. He turned to face Nyx, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stern.

"Y/n left" he said without preamble, a note of accusation in his voice. "She was upset, and I think I know why." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Son, have you ever stopped to think about what that girl means to you? Really think about it?" His gaze bored into Nyx's, a silent challenge. Nyx opened his mouth to respond

"She's my bestfr-" a look of bewilderment crossed his face, as Rhys cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"No, listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense. "She is more than just your friend, she's your bestfriend and if you were using your brain she might actually be more. She's been by your side since you were a kid, a constant in your life. And you need to seriously think about how your actions might be affecting her" He paused, letting the revelation hang in the air between them.

"So why do you think she's hurting, Nyx? Why do you think she's been so agitated recently?" His gaze searched his son's face, a silent demand for honesty. Nyx stared at his father, a look of confusion and dawning realization slowly spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, as if struggling to find the right words.

"I... I don't know," he said finally, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I never really thought about it." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of frustration and bewilderment. "I mean, Bekah is my best friend. She always has been. It's not like she really cares, she's the once egging me on most of the time, But..." He trailed off, a flicker of emotion crossing his features as the implications of Rhys's words sank in, Rhys watched his son closely, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"But what, Nyx?" he prompted softly, a gentle encouragement. "I know damn well your smarter than this boy."

His gaze searched Nyx's face, a silent demand for honesty and introspection. He didn't get it but he was satisfied when Nyx cursed under his breath and practically sprinted out to the street before winnowing away too.

You were in your comfort pajamas with a half eaten tub of ice cream and a sappy romance book in your lap by the time Nyx opened the front door and flew up the stairs. You had stopped crying by now and had just decided to stay in one of the guest rooms for the night to just wallow in your self pity and get lost on one of the love stories Nesta had lent you... It was easier that thinking about your actual predicament... When Nyx had bust through your door. You screamed and jumped from the bed as you started at him for a minute.

"What the actual Fuck Nyx! you scared me to death! What are you even doing back her, I thought you would have found somewhere else to be tonight?"

Thank the Gods the words didn't sound as bitter as they felt as you picked up your ice cream and book from where they had fell before standing and pulling on your robe gently trying not to act as if he hadn't been the one to practically rip your heart out of your ass and feed it too you in pieces.

Nyx stood in your doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He looked.... disheveled, in a way you'd never seen him before. His hair was mussed, his shirt slightly askew, a look of barely contained turmoil etched into every line of his body. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze roving over your pajama-clad form, taking in the ice cream, the book, the robe. Something flickered in his eyes, a heat that had nothing to do with the physical, and everything to do with the emotional turmoil that was clearly consuming him.

He took a step into the room, then another, until he was standing right in front of you. He reached out, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders, a gesture that was almost too tight to be gentle. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough and ragged. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I needed to talk to you." His thumbs rubbed small circles on your shoulder blades, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. He studied your face, a look of confusion and a hint of something else, something softer, in his dark eyes.

"Y/n," he said slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Why did you leave? Why did you run off like that?" There was a note of accusation in his voice, a hint of frustration, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart skip a beat despite yourself. Like he was trying to get a specific answer from you. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"And don't tell me it's because you had to be up early, cuz we both know that you never get up early after you drink..." he murmured, a wry note in his voice. know there's more to it than that. His gaze searched yours, a silent demand for the truth, a silent plea for understanding.

You scoffed slightly and pulled away before turning around and started to absentmindedly tidy your nightstand. Anything to avoid this conversion...

"Rhys needs to learn to keep his big mouth shut..." You mumbled bitterly. Nyx's reached to wrap a hand around your marn trying to turn you back to him, a hint of frustration flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense.

"No, Y/n don't make this about dad, This is about you, and me, and the fact that... I think I've been a blind idiot... for a really fuckin long time..." His gaze searched your face, a look of dawning realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths. "Tell me, Tell me what's been bothering you, what's had you so upset lately." His thumb continued it's small, unconscious circles on your arm, a gesture that was almost soothing despite the tension that crackled between you.

"And don't lie to me. Not now, not about this." There was a note of command in his voice, a silent demand for honesty, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart race despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You let him angle your face to look back at him and swallowed hard as you looked for words. Your not used to seeing that look directed towards you and it was throwing you off. He was fishing for answers, he did this all the time. He had a hunch and he wanted you to confirm it.

"I don't know why I'm upset, probably just hormones or something..." You tried to make an offer handed joke in a last ditch effort avoid the question. "Your allowed to do what ever you want, none of my business...'

Nyx's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity, a glimmer of frustration and something else, something deeper, in their dark depths. He stepped closer, crowding into your personal space, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Stop it," he said, his voice low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words. "Stop trying to dodge the question, stop trying to brush this off like it's nothing." He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a gesture that was almost... intimate.

"This isn't about your damn hormones, Y/n! This is about the fact that you've been hurting, and I want you to tell me why!"

"you know why! I just... I never thought I'd have to, fight for your attention. I thought I had it... And then you turned 18 and you proved to me how wrong i was."

Nyx's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their dark depths. He stared at you for a long moment, as if seeing you for the first time, as if truly taking in the weight of your words. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. "Y/n," he said slowly, his voice rough and low. "I... I never mea-"

"just drop it Nyx! forget it, it doesn't... Just forget it."

You huffed, cutting him off and pulling away from him again. You had to get outside, to get some fresh air. You pushed past him and ran down the stairs feeling like the walls were closing in on you. Nyx be damned, your heart be damned. he didn't get it. Of course he never meant to hurt you, how could you have ever thought he did. No.. NO you were angry because you were in lov-... shit you were in love with him. The acceptance hid you harder that the cold night air as you finally made to to the backyard.

Nyx stood rooted to the spot for a moment, a look of stunned disbelief on his face as you pushed past him and raced down the stairs. Then, as if shaking off a trance, he sprinted after you, taking the steps two at a time. He burst out into the backyard just as you were wrapping your arms around yourself, your breath misting in the chilly night air.

He approached you slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that could bite at any second, his hands held out in a gesture of supplication. "Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "Please, don't run from me." He paused, a look of newfound understanding in his eyes. "You're in love with me, that's why you've been angry." It wasn't a question, but a statement. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours, a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths.

"yes asshole, fuck of course I..."

You kept your wrapped tightly wrapped around yourself as you tried to keep the panic from seeping into your voice. This was it, you fucked up but it wasn't fair. It was selfish and ridiculous but you wanted his attention, all of it, always! You wanted all of him to yourself! And you had no right to be angry from not getting what you wanted so much when you hadn't even tried to hint that you might have wanted him. You looked back at finally the devastation and the utter longing showing in your eyes. You wanted him, his mind his body, you wanted him so badly it hurt. You had pushed your emotions aside for so long that finally accepting them nearly sent you to the ground.

Nyx stood still, his eyes widening slightly as the realization of your confession sunk in, he hadn't honestly expected you to say it out loud. He stared at you, taking in the devastation and longing etched into every line of your face, the way your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face - surprise, confusion, a hint of fear, and then.... a softening, a warmth that began to glow in his dark eyes.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his hands coming to rest on your your waist gently. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held you too tightly. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You waited for the word to come, the anger, the frustration, but none did. One second he was cupping your face in his hand and the next he was hugging you so tightly you thought your lungs would burst. And the amount of whip lash you got from him pulling back and kissing you like you were life itself.

Your eyes fell closed before your body caught up to your mind and you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. You fingers tangled into his onyx hair as you felt him nip at your lower lip. To think half an hour ago you were cursing his existence and now, if you had your way, you be cursing his name for so many other reasons...

"Nyx..."

Nyx groaned softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your fingers tangle in his hair. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours, a silent declaration of desire and want. He pulled you flush against him, eliminating any space between your bodies, as if he wanted to consume you, to make you a part of him

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, a hint of pain mingling with pleasure, a silent promise of passion and possession. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a plea, a silent beg for more. And more is exactly what he gave you, his hands roaming over your curves, mapping out the contours of your body as if committing them to memory.

"Nyx, I..." He paused, his breath hot against your skin, a look of fierce intensity in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I love you, baby, I love you and I need you so fucking much right now." He sealed his confession with another kiss, a fierce, passionate claiming of your mouth, a silent vow of love and devotion.

If you hand been so lost in him you might have realized how strange it was for Nyx, the boy who had a new girl every few days seemed to confess to love so quickly. You also might have noticed the burning snap inside your chest as he lifts you into his arms and walked you slowly to press you against the side of the back deck, not seeming to care that you were still outside, completely exposed to anyone that might come home early.

Nyx didn't seem to care about anything but you in that moment, his eyes blazing with a newfound intensity as he held you close. Railing of the deck, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. He leaned into you, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hip bones through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured. He nipped at your earlobe, a gesture that sent shivers down your spine. "I want everyone to know that you're mine, that you've always been mine." His voice was low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words.

His words set the fire in your heart spreading to every inch of you he touched. You moaned as you felt his hand come to rest under your ass kneading the plump flesh as he pinned you between himself and the deck. The smell hit you soon enough, Nyx smelled like vanilla and cologne, and books and... Home, he smelled like home. If you hadn't already giving into him completely, that, would have been the final push. Your hands quickly raced over the front of his shirt trying to undo the buttons without pulling his mouth from your neck.

Nyx groaned softly as your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his own hands tightening on your hips. He helped you, his deft fingers making quick work of the buttons until the shirt fell open, revealing the expanse of his chest. You ran your hands over the hard planes and ridges, marveling at the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

He leaned back, giving you a moment to explore, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Like what you feel, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "You can touch me all you want, baby. I'm all yours." He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, pressing his growing arousal against your core, a silent promise of what was to come.

Nyx's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you, a look of pure, unadulterated hunger etched into every line of his face. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hands sliding up your sides to cup the soft swells of your breasts after curly shoving your shirt up.

"I want to touch every inch of you, to taste every part of you, I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby." His thumbs brushed over your nipples the pads of his fingers digging in a bit. A gesture that made you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

Nyx looked up at you as he knelt before you, his dark eyes blazing with a feral intensity that made your heart race and your skin prickle with anticipation. He slowly peeled your shorts down your legs, his fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. As he tugged your shorts off, he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, the shortest bit of scruff scraping lightly against your sensitive skin. He paused, looking up at you with a wicked grin, his hands gripping your thighs.

You pulled him back into a firm kiss and he set you down only to kneel in front of you and pull your shorts from your legs. The look in his eyes almost looked as feral as you felt. You didn't know if it was nerves or something more as you felt what felt like a second heartbeat, thudding in your chest, like a phantom it made your breath race faster.

"I want to taste you, babygirl. Fuck you smell so damn good..." His voice was a low, rough growl, a hint of a promise in his words as he leaned his forehead against your abdomen, his eyes locked on your slit and he breathes in deep, taking your scent again.

"Can I, baby? Can I taste you? Please?" His gaze held yours, a silent demand for permission, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to him completely

Your head fell back at his words as you lost your words again, You reached down to run your fingers through his now unruly hair, it was the only confirmation you could muster in this state of euphoria you were stuck in before he even touched you.

Nyx took the action as a yes, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. his breath hot against your pussy. He looked up at you one last time, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Then, slowly, torturously, he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds to taste your essence.

He groaned loudly at the first taste of you, the sound vibrating through you, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he began to feast on you, his mouth and tongue working in tandem to bring you pleasure. He quickly picked your up and threw your thighs over his shoulders so you were resting on his face completely.

He focused on your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive nub with a skill that left you seeing stars. Two fingers slid inside your dripping core, curling and pumping in a rhythm that had you climbing closer and closer to the edge. You let out a long throaty moan and bucked your hips a bit. Fuck he was good at that, he should be considered how many... No don't think about that right now it'll just piss you off again.

"Fuck Nyx, uuugh!"

Nyx looked up at you, a wicked grin on his face as he continued his ministrations. He could feel you starting to throb, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing second. He knew you were close, could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He pulled back slightly, his fingers still pumping slowly, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening pressure.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. "Let go, babygirl. Come for me, baby, I want you to come in my mouth." His eyes held yours, a silent demand, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to the sensation, to let go and surrender to the ecstasy that awaited you.

You sink both hands into his hair and brace your shoulders back against the deck before bucking against his face again and again, chasing your orgasm so hard you wanted to cry before you felt that coll in your stomach snap, your movements jerking to a halt with a scream. Nyx groaned as he felt your walls clench and spasm around his fingers, your scream of ecstasy ringing in his ears.

"Oh good fucking girl!" He continued to lap at your dripping core, his tongue delving deep to catch every last drop of your release as you rode out the waves of your intense orgasm.

As your movements slowed and your breathing began to even out, Nyx slowly pulled back. He looked up at you, his face glistening with your essence, a look of pure male satisfaction etched into every line of his handsome face. He leaned down capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He swallowed your soft moans, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his large hands.

Nyou could barely stand and was beyond grateful when he picked you up again before climbing the few steps and laying you flat on the deck below him, bed he started pulling at the laces of his pants urgently. Nyx gazed down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he quickly worked at the laces of his pants. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for your touch, for your heat. He needed to be inside you, needed to feel your walls wrapped around him like a velvet glove. He kicked his pants off along with his boxers, freeing his thick, hard length. It bobbed against his stomach, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He crawled up your body, settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your still sensitive entrance. Nyx leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Ahh NYX Fuck!"

"I need you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Fuck i need to be inside you, I'm gonna fuck you so good babygirl... Fuck look at me Fucking look at me..." He grabbed your chin and stared into your eyes as He rolled his hips, the head of his cock slipping inside your wet heat. He groaned as his head fell and his eyes rolled, letting out a silent plea for you to give him the words he so desperately needed to hear.

You lifted your shaky legs to wrap around his waist as your reached to cling to his shoulders. You hand landed firm on his chest as you tried to breath That damn second heart beat felt stronger now, and you felt like you were so warm you were gonna explode! Then you felt it, right before lined himself up with your entrance, his pulse, it matched... The burning in your chest, the need, the emotions, the pulse, you knew those signs. You didn't get a chance to think on it to hard before he thrust himself forward, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head at the delicious burn that came with the stretch.

"Nyx your- AHh! Fuck Nyx! Please your my- AHH FUUUUUCK!"

Nyx groaned loudly as he felt your tight, wet heat envelop him, your walls gripping his throbbing cock like a vice. He paused for a moment, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fought the urge to come right then and there. "Fuck, Y/n," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect around my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against you, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured,

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Mm gonna to fuck you until you can't walk, your gonna be limping for days when I'm done with you." He pulled back slightly, his gaze holding yours, a look of pure, unadulterated love and desire.. and utter hunger etched into every line of his handsome face.

Nyx could feel your walls starting to flutter around his pistoning cock, could feel your body tensing as another orgasm built inside you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic.

You could get the words out as he started thrusting into you hard and fast and fuck if it didn't make you want to let him take you whenever or wherever if it felt this good. Your mind was still screaming though the pleasure though, MATE, HE'S YOUR MATE' but you were too engulfed in him to scream anything other than his name as you felt yet another orgasm approaching quickly, fuck, the male was going to be the literal death of you!

"That's it, baby," he growled against your lips, his voice a low, urgent rumble. "Come for me, Y/n. Come all over my cock. Your doing so good babygirl, common! Please I'm so fucking close!" He angled his hips, hitting that special spot inside you with every deep, powerful thrust, determined to push you over the edge and into oblivion.

Nyx could feel his own release approaching rapidly, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your clutching heat. He was close, so close to filling you with his seed, to marking you as his mate in the most primal way possible. With a final, hard thrust and a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hot, thick essence flooding your insides, painting your walls with his love and desire. As your high washed over you you felt it, a smaller distant snap, before you felt Nyx tense above you like a statue.

"You feel it... The bond..." You whispered in disbelief as you stared up at him, the world around you finally coming back into focus.

Nyx's eyes widened in shock as he felt the snap of the mate bond, a jolt of pure, primal energy coursing through his veins. He stared down at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief, a look of pure wonder etched into every line of his handsome face. He nodded slowly, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I feel it," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. "Fuck I feel it baby." He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he struggled to process the magnitude of what had just happened. He lifted a shaking hand, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache, and brushed a stray tear from your skin.

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice a low, fervent murmur. "More than anything. And now... Cauldron, your mine." He sealed his vow with a soft, sweet kiss, a silent promise of a love that would last a lifetime.

"I'm so sorry baby, I didn't know. Can you forgive me?" He say looking at you through half lidded eyes, his gaze hopeful as he hovered above you still. You chuckled at him before pulling him into another kiss and gently flipping his so you were straddling his hips instead.

"I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me..."

You both had stayed out there for at least another hour, you hadn't even accepted the bond but you felt like you were in the frenzy already. You must have passed out from utter exhaustion at some point because you woke up the next morning in Nyx's room snugged into his side as the morning light shifted through the blinds. You turned your gaze to look at Nyx, he looked so peaceful it made you so much more inclined to stay in bed forever.

"But you look so pretty when your sleeping."

"You know it's rude to stare..." Nyx mumbled without opening his eyes and you giggled slightly and leaned up to kiss his nose lovingly.

Nyx's eyes fluttered open at the feeling of your lips on his nose, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he blinked up at you. He reached up, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tender, loving caress. He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his chest.

"Pretty? I think that's supposed to be my line," he murmured, his voice still rough and gravelly with sleep. He tugged you down, capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, a silent good morning greeting that made your toes curl.

As he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a look of pure, unadulterated contentment in his dark eyes. "Good morning, baby," he whispered, a hint of a growl underlying the words. "I hope you're ready for a long morning cuz I'm not nearly done with you yet." He pulled you at straddle him and rolled his hips, a clear indication of his growing arousal, a silent promise of the pleasure that awaited you both. You moaned but quickly scooted off of him before wrapping one the sheets around you and heading for his closet.

He pulled you flush against him, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, holding you tight against the hard, muscular length of his body. "Come on baby, you can't just leave me like this..." He nipped at your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point, a silent, primal promise of the pleasure. His hand grasping your and grinding his naked cock into your palm, a small growl escaping his as he did.

"As much as I would enjoy that I think i need to go make you some breakfast. Unless you don't want me to..." You say teasingly know damn well he'd want to cement the mating bond as soon as possible. Nyx watched as you scooted away from him, a look of mild disappointment flashing across his face before being replaced by a wicked, mischievous grin. He lounged back against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, a look of pure, satisfaction etched into every line of his smile as he watched you wrap the sheet around your luscious curves. He cocked an eyebrow at your teasing words, a low, warning growl rumbling in his chest.

"Oh, I want you to make me breakfast, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "But can't you just stay here for a few more minutes..." He levered himself up, stalking towards you with a predatory grace, a look of pure, animalistic hunger in his dark eyes.

"you act like we will be able to keep are ands off of each other during the frenzy I think you can wait 20 minutes."

"Morning Rhys, morning Feyre."

You say chuckling as you lean up and kiss his cheek before pulling on a pair of his bants and a T-shirt and practically skipped downstairs, or as well as you could considering your legs still felt a bit numb.

"Come on, let's feed you before you eat me instead."

"you act like that would be a bad thing..." Nyx says and slaps your ass playfully and lets you leave so he can calm himself and get some pants on at least.

Once you got downstairs you saw that the coffee post was on already so you head out to the back yard deck, Nyx hot on your trail not dressed to be outside but at least he wasn't naked anymore. You stepped out to greet his parents who had breakfast out there every morning. You actively tried not to stare at the spot 5 feet away where their son had rearranged your intestines a few hours ago as you came and said hello as usual.

Nyx's parents looked up as you and Nyx stepped out onto the deck, offering you both warm smiles. Rhys, rolled his eyes as he took in Nyx's state of undress, while Feyre, his mother, simply smiled indulgently, as if this was a common occurrence. Maybe if you played it cool, they wouldn't find out that you both defiled their breakfast spot the night before.

"Good morning, Y/n," Feyre greeted, her voice warm and welcoming. "It's good to see your feeling better." She glanced at Nyx, a small dismissive smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And good morning to you too." She said to Nyx as he came over as kissed her forehead lovingly.

"morning Mama."

"Thank you sweetling but we've eaten, we were going to let you know that we are going to have to go take a trip to wind haven, Devlon is starting to act out of line so we should be back in a couple weeks."

"I'm gonna make breakfast if you want some, I can make extra." You offered, as you usually did, trying to seem like you weren't impatient for them to leave for the day. Rhys closed his paper and set it down before standing and stretching for a minute.

Rhys said calmly after offering his hand to his wife to help her stand. You were grateful that they were going to be gone considering you were planing on consummating the bond today, it doesn't tend to stay very quiet. You gave Nyx a look turning away from Rhys and Feyre as they entered the house again before you heard Rhys call over his shoulder.

"And the house better not look anything the the way we found the deck this morning by the time we get back!"

You and Nyx stared at eachother, your faces turning red and you both groaned. Well so much for them not finding out...

~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading Lovelies, if you want to be added to the tag list just comment or dm me. Again comments are always welcome, I hope you enjoyed the story!

@romantasyreader28 @tele86 @mich0731 @6v6babycheese @jennnsthings @mulansaucey @starlightandsouls @jir67 @paleidiot @icey--stars @ohemgeewhat @littlelunatica @celestialamore @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @queenoffeysand @suppppp97

[itsshawtyfellas]

Chains and rings

Pairing: Nam-Gyu x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ (mature content such as voyeurism, rough sex, impact play, degradation kink, overstimulation)

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while and I decided to write it🫦 enjoy sluts🫶🏽

'What a fucking prick.'

Those were your last thoughts after another meaningless fight you guys had over his overbearing jealousy before your mind went blank from how hard and fast he was fucking you at the moment.

Beams of sweat were all over his neck, back and shoulders – almost all over his skin – some of it even collecting around his dangling chain and dropping over your face and chest as he rammed his cock into you nonstop, your spongy walls already too wet and accommodated to his size which made it easier for him to slip in and out of your cunt.

"Fuckin' whore... you were made for me, huh?" Despite the mocking tone, his words come out a little a slurred – whether because of the drugs or not you would never know – but you were too fucked out to respond, his words not even reaching your ears as you were busy moaning his name only to be interrupted when you feel the cold metal of his rings on your cheek, making you look at him through lust filled eyes as gave you a few more slaps. "Did you hear what I said?" He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he slaps you again. "You're made for me, bitch... open your fucking eyes." You do as he says, opening your slightly teary eyes to look at him, noticing his gaze already on yours with a sly grin on his face as he watched your tits bouncing with each brutal movement he made.

The sounds of heavy breathing, grunts and groans, moans and skin slapping filled the air as his thrusts got messier as he got closer and he lowers his body a little, bracking his forearms around your head and burying his face on your sweaty neck, allowing him to go harder and deeper and you ignore the pain in your legs as you lock them tightly around his torso, his pelvic bone perfectly hitting you overstimulated clit, your moans getting even louder as you near the edge but before you even had the chance to cum, you feel the hot and milky substance fill you up as he paints your insides white once again, briefly glancing at his phone that he managed to subtly set up when he pretended to check the time at some point.

God knows how long he's been destroying your insides.

And God knows for how long his dear pal Thanos has been watching you from his own phone with a smirk as they were on a video call.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A/N: pls don't blame me... ever since that scene above in the gif I've been imagining this scenario... anyways can you believe i wrote this in ONE GO??? Like?? Hope you enjoyed tho🫶🏽

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 8

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“I’m taking a shower,” he had said. “If you want to use the bathroom, now’s the time.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, stepping into the bathroom. The sticky feeling of his clothes clinging to his body was driving him insane, and he needed relief. The day was unexpectedly warm—not scorching, but the first strong days of spring always seemed to carry an extra weight. 

“Baby, you want breakfast too?” her voice floated through the door just as he bent down to roll off the black trousers of his new uniform. He paused for a moment, the words catching him off guard. 

Something about it felt... off.  The strange limbo they were in. It was the whole situation. He wasn’t usually one to get prudish or shy about his body—expeditions and common showers had long since stripped away any modesty. But as he tossed his clothes into the laundry basket and stood naked in the bathroom, her voice came again, faint but clear. 

“No, baby, get down from there!” 

He turned his head toward the door instinctively, a strange sense of restraint settling over him. Maybe it was because all the previous times he’d showered over the past three weeks, she’d been asleep. Even the night she arrived, she’d gone to bed before he’d had the chance to clean up. 

‘This is so fucking awkward,’ he thought, turning on the water and stepping under the spray. He’d been naked in far less private settings —hell, he’d stripped down and washed off in front of squads of men during expeditions without a second thought. 

‘Yeah, but nobody there was supposed to get knocked up by me.’ 

He sighed, running his hands through his hair as the water cascaded down his body. That was the real difference, wasn’t it? On expeditions, privacy was a luxury, but the situation had always been purely practical. Now, the person in the next room wasn’t just some comrade. She was supposed to be intimate enough to make moments like this normal—but they weren’t. Not yet, at least. 

As he lathered soap across his skin, his thoughts spiraled further. ‘It’s weird middle ground, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be close enough for her to be fine with me taking a shower while she’s awake, but not close enough to share those—what do you call it—quiet, personal moments. 

The thought didn’t stop him from moving through his routine. By now, the soap was rinsed off, and he stood over the sink, ready to shave. The sharp blade of his razor rested in his hand as he straightened up, catching his reflection in the slightly fogged mirror. His gaze drifted across the room as if searching for memories outside his body. 

His thoughts shifted, unbidden. ‘Did I ever go raw before this?’ he wondered, the thought creeping in before he could stop it. The memory of Kenny’s crude “lessons” in life played in his mind, and he frowned. ‘Only thing that bastard ever taught me besides killing—wrap it up.’ He snorted faintly at the absurdity of it. 

He cleaned the razor, his brow furrowed. ‘How many loads does it take to secure a pregnancy, anyway? That’s gotta mess with a guy’s head, constantly thinking about that. And if you’re in heat—’ 

His hand froze mid-motion. ‘And when you’re in heat… is it all doggy style all the time because it’s the “biologically optimal” thing to do? Can you switch it up?’ 

He let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly as he finished shaving. “I should not be thinking about this on a Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. before a meeting,” he muttered to himself, rinsing the blade one last time. 

His mind, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. ‘But seriously, though... does it always have to be on fours? I mean, I like on all fours, but… a whole week of that? Her knees, dude.’ 

Finally, he dried off, pulled on a clean shirt, and opened the door. 

“What took you so long?” she asked, her head tilting slightly as she looked up at him. 

“Nothing,” he replied curtly. 

“It’s very warm today,” she commented, seemingly trying to maintain some level of conversation with the man who was, supposedly, her husband. “Is it always this warm in the south?” 

“Mhm.” Levi only hummed in response, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders before sitting on the couch to pull his boots back on. 

“Breakfast?” she asked again, a cat cradled in her arms as she looked at him. 

“No,” he replied curtly. His head was killing him, and just the thought of food made his stomach churn. He wasn’t paying much attention—just going through his usual morning routine—until he tried brushing off the white cat hairs stubbornly clinging to his black trousers. 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in irritation. 

“Did you brush the cat today?” he asked, finally glancing back at her. 

But the complaint died in the back of his throat when he saw her reflection in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, struggling to put on a pair of earrings. 

A pretty sundress, hair braided half-up, half-down, long lashes accentuated by mascara. 

“Where are you going all dolled up?” 

She stilled for a moment, meeting his eyes in the mirror before turning to face him fully. “You just said I could go out.” 

‘And everything I said after that must have gone in one ear and out the other.’ 

“I want to make a good impression on your squad,” she added before turning back to her reflection, resuming her struggle with the earrings. 

Levi pressed his lips into a thin line, giving it a second thought. He wasn’t the type to regret his decisions, but suddenly, this one didn’t seem like the best idea. 

“My squad barely owns soap bars,” he muttered under his breath. A good first impression felt like overkill considering the social standards of his cadets—not that he held any grudge against them. 

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he pondered it. 

“Maybe you should wait until I come back this evening.” 

That snapped her out of it instantly. 

“What?!” She rushed over to him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You just said I could go out!” 

The deep frown, the clenched teeth, the frustration practically radiating off her—it was all clearly meant to intimidate him. It didn’t. 

“I’m just saying, wait a couple more hours. Then I’ll walk you around myself.” 

She took a step back, voice lowering into something much colder. 

“You just said it,” she whispered, anger laced with unmistakable hurt. 

‘Oh... alright, she’s actually upset for real.’ 

Levi sighed through his nose, watching how quickly her disappointment turned into something sharp, something like resentment. 

“Fine,” he relented, exhaling as he sat back. “Just… be careful.” 

— 

“I mean... what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Levi said, recounting his morning as if it were some kind of story. 

“Shhh, talk quieter. My head is killing me,” Hange groaned, sprawled limply in his desk chair, their eyes shielded by a cold, wet towel. “I’m getting old… Remember how we used to laugh at Erwin coming back from those meetings completely wasted? Now look at us—we’re no better.” 

“Excuse me, I’ve never stolen anyone’s underwear while drunk… or high, or both,” Levi shot back, defending his honor as if that cleared him of all other debauchery. He leaned back in his chair, voice deadpan. “I don’t remember half of what I did last night, and the other half’s just a blur. But it wasn’t that bad.” 

Hange snorted, shifting the towel slightly to make room for their smirk. “You used to be this famous thug, and now you can’t handle one night of alcohol and… whatever the hell it was they brought for us to smoke. You’ve lost your edge, Captain.” 

Levi rested his head against the cool surface of the table, reaching for his tea cup without lifting his gaze. “I’m a married man now. That life of bad habits is long behind me.” 

That earned a sharp laugh from Hange, who had to readjust the towel when it slid halfway down their face. “You got married three weeks ago, asshole.” 

Finally deciding to take a sip from his cup, Levi straightened just enough to lift it to his lips—only to immediately grimace in disgust. “This is green tea.” 

“Yeah... my liver wouldn’t survive black tea today,” Hange muttered, not bothering to move the towel from their face. Then, as if the thought had just struck them, they added, “If you have a problem with it, win the elections and become Commander.” 

Levi scoffed. “Only an idiot would want to be Commander.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Hange deadpanned. “What are you? One of those people whose whole personality revolves around their partner?” 

“No,” Levi replied curly, “But it’s my only excuse,” 

— 

Double-checking in the mirror, she whispered to herself, “Good first impressions.” A small nod of encouragement. “Scouts are heads of state now, so good first impressions.” 

She pinched her cheeks lightly, giving them a subtle rosy flush, and hummed in approval. But just as she was about to turn away, her nose wrinkled at something in the air. Slowly pivoting on her heels, her eyes landed on the laundry basket. 

‘It tickles,’ she thought, scrunching her nose as if to shake off the feeling. ‘Silly.’ She gave her head the smallest shake. 

Decisive steps carried her to the office door, excitement bubbling in her chest. Her hand reached for the knob—the same one she had reached for on her first morning here. A firm pull, and it clicked open with ease. The door shifted just a few centimeters, separating from the frame, but she didn’t step through. 

She stood still. 

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection in the gilded surface. 

"Be careful." Levi’s voice echoed in her head. 

The freedom she had wanted so badly was now hers for the taking, yet it filled her with hesitation. 

She rocked her weight from one foot to the other, lips pressed together before glancing to her right—toward the open bathroom door. 

‘I mean… better safe than sorry, right?’ 

Back inside the tiled room, she lifted the wicker lid of the laundry basket. 

‘My friends did this when we were teens. Their parents got so mad…’ 

Her fingers grasped the light grey shirt Levi had worn the entire previous day—and slept in. 

‘I just have to rub my neck against it a little…’ 

A memory surfaced. Her friends sneaking around at parties, brushing up against alphas, pressing their necks together. It wasn’t claiming, but it was something back then. And maybe now, it could be something that helped her, too. 

‘I remember Die was working as a cadet… we shared a kiss through the staircase fence.’ 

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to her lips, brief and bittersweet. 

‘He smelled nice… I remember that.’ 

With more doubts than certainties, she slowly lifted the shirt to her face, pressing the collar against her nose as she took a deep, slow breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, trying to gauge her body’s reaction to it. 

First impression? The same as when she first smelled his jacket. 

Strong. ‘Musky, even’ 

But then—almost instinctively—her body craved more. Another breath. Then another. And before she realized what she was doing, she was rubbing the fabric against her skin, pressing it to her neck in slow, deliberate motions, as if massaging the scent into her skin, soothing in a way she hadn’t expected. 

A low, involuntary purr rumbled in her throat. 

Her eyes shot open in horror. 

She let go of the shirt like it had burned her, watching as it dropped back into the basket. 

Her breath hitched, blood rushing to her cheeks as she stood there, frozen in place. 

‘Oh god… why did I do that?!’ 

Moving robotically, she walked to the couch and sat down, staring in silent mortification. The cat kneading a pillow in the corner was swiftly scooped up as she muttered to it in despair, 

“I just did that… to his shirt?! What is wrong with me?!” 

The cat bumped its head against her chin in response. 

She pushed the animal down with a huff. “…Though, I guess… he’s the only man I’m allowed to react like that for, so… it’s not that bad. Right?” 

“Meow.” 

Newfound conviction in her step, she strode toward the door, this time with more confidence. 

The moment she opened it, she inhaled deeply—ready to embrace the fresh air. 

Only to immediately recoil. 

“Ugh…” she groaned, grimacing. 

Levi’s scent—his natural musk mixed with aftershave, deodorant, and cologne—had been intoxicating. But this? The thick, cloying stench of a hundred alphas all packed together, their scents mingling like scrambled eggs? 

Absolutely disgusting. 

“Never mind.” She shook her head violently, as if trying to physically rid herself of the sensory assault. “Let’s go for a walk!” 

She barely got two steps before the soft patter of tiny paws followed her. 

She turned, spotting her cat trotting after her with eager strides. 

“Aww, sweetie! You wanna come too?” 

Door locked, cat in arms—she was ready for her stroll. 

With the window open, she took in a slow, deep breath, savoring the fresh forest air. The scent of pine and linden soothed her nose, washing away the lingering stench from earlier. The sky stretched bright and blue, the warmth of the sun kissing her skin. 

Looking down from the window frame, she spotted two cadets staring up at her, confusion written all over their faces. 

“Morning!” she chirped, all too pleased to be out, to stretch her legs, to breathe. “Beautiful day, innit?” 

The two teens exchanged glances before nodding—slowly. 

“Uh-huh…” 

Unbothered, she continued her stroll. “Let’s get stuff for a picnic!” 

Following the directions given by another cadet, she eventually reached a set of doors—what she assumed was the mess hall. 

To her surprise, it was mostly empty, save for a few scattered cadets who lifted their heads at the sound of her entrance. Their brows furrowed, confusion evident. 

“Hi,” she greeted, waving. “Morning! The kitchen?” 

One of them pointed toward the far end of the room. 

“Thank you~” she chimed before heading off. 

But before she could get far— 

“Excuse me, girl?” 

She turned on her heel, blinking as a cadet stood from one of the benches. 

“Civilians aren’t allowed to wander around,” he said, eyeing her warily. “If you’re looking for someone, please wait here.” 

“Oh! No, no,” she insisted, waving her hands. “I’m Captain Levi’s wife. I live here.” 

Silence. 

The loudest silence she had ever heard. 

“…See ya!” she added before walking off. 

— 

“We should be training,” Eren muttered, biting into an apple. “Not doing kitchen duties.” 

“Come on, Captain Levi hardly ever cancels morning drills. Yesterday’s after-hours meeting must’ve been intense,” Armin reasoned. “They probably discussed something incredibly serious if they were up so late.” 

“Yeah, like that train they want us to build, and—” 

“A kitty!” 

Jean paused mid-peel, turning to Mikasa’s rare display of enthusiasm. “Yes, a kitty… Wait, a kitty?” 

Mikasa had already abandoned the conversation, beelining toward Y/N with bright, wide eyes locked onto the oversized cat in her arms. 

“Oh, hi,” Y/N greeted, a bit caught off guard as the raven-haired girl approached. “He’s friendly.” 

“Can I pick him up?” 

“Sure.” 

Mikasa carefully took the enormous feline, cradling him against her chest with unexpected gentleness. 

Meanwhile, Sasha and Jean locked eyes across the kitchen, communicating through sheer willpower alone: It’s her! The only two in the squad who had actually seen Y/N before, now confirmed. 

“I always wanted a cat,” Mikasa murmured, stroking the soft fur with genuine delight. “It was my childhood dream…” She lifted Claws slightly, marveling. “He’s so big.” 

Y/N smiled at the sight but soon noticed something odd—everyone else in the room was staring at her. 

She turned slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of their collective gaze. 

“Uh… hi?” she offered with a hesitant grimace. 

Jean straightened up, puffing his chest out slightly. “We’re Captain Levi’s Special Operations Squad,” he announced, the title rolling off his tongue with pride, as if it should impress her. 

Sasha muttered, “Are you flexing?” 

But before Jean could retort, Y/N cut in, “Oh, you’re Levi’s kids.” 

Silence. 

Jean and Connie visibly deflated, their supposed prestigious position reduced to children in an instant. 

“Yes, hi—I’m Armin,” the blond quickly stepped forward, almost extending a hand before deciding against it. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” she replied. 

“Yes. We know.” 

The awkwardness thickened as she realized they all knew who she was, but she had no idea about them. 

“I know you,” Y/N suddenly blurted. “You’re the hallway girl!” 

“Yeah! Sasha!” The brunette grinned. “They didn’t believe me when I said I saw you—you vanished into thin air!” 

Y/N chuckled. “Levi was in a hurry.” 

Armin smirked but quickly winced when Mikasa subtly nudged him, as if to keep him from saying anything else. 

“And you,” Y/N continued, shifting her gaze, “you’re the training ground boy. You dropped the equipment.” 

Laughter erupted from Connie and Sasha as Jean clenched his jaw, looking deeply unamused. 

“…Yeah. Jean.” 

Y/N’s attention drifted, taking in the massive industrial kitchen. “I was actually wondering—who do I ask for a tea?” 

The room fell silent. The squad exchanged glances before, hesitantly, Jean raised his hand like a student answering a question. 

“I… could make one?” 

Y/N beamed. “Aw, thank you!” 

Jean blinked. “…Just, uh… give me a sec.” 

“So… do I have to make the damn tea or not?” Jean whispered, his voice barely audible as the group huddled together in a loose circle of conspiracy, all while Y/N inspected the kitchen behind them. 

Armin, glancing over his shoulder at her with furrowed brows, was the first to break the silence. “I’ve heard that in the MPs, cadets are assigned mundane tasks for their superiors, like picking up their dry cleaning. Maybe she thinks that’s how the Scouts operate too.” 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time talking about the MPs lately, huh, Armin?” Connie teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Armin flushed crimson, his brows knitting together in defense. “What? What do you mean?” 

“You know what we mean,” Sasha chimed in, barely stifling a laugh. 

Jean rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You’re all missing the point. Do I make the damn tea or not?” 

“No,” Eren said flatly, as if the answer were obvious. “Maybe the MPs do this babysitting crap, but we don’t. We’re not the Military Police, and we’re definitely not her personal servants. Just tell her to make her own damn tea.” 

“Maybe she just isn’t used to our kitchen,” Mikasa offered, her tone more considerate as she glanced at Y/N. 

“Let’s just tell her—very subtly—” 

Armin’s attempt at diplomacy was cut off by Jean, who groaned loudly. “That’s not what I mean! I’m asking what the chain of command is when a wife shows up!” 

The Shiganshina trio collectively raised an eyebrow, their faces a mixture of disbelief and judgment. 

“What chain of command?” Eren asked, crossing his arms. “She’s not a soldier. She doesn’t give us orders.” 

Jean snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t remember how households work, but my dad never had the last word in our house—ever.” 

Armin placed a calming hand on Eren, who looked ready to take offense. “Jean, come on,” Armin said gently, though his expression clearly showed he thought the question was absurd. 

“No, no, Horse Face is right,”  

Jean’s brief moment of smug satisfaction was immediately shattered. “OI! Watch it, potato brain!” 

Ignoring him, Connie continued, “Yeah, my dad couldn’t do anything without asking my mom first. It was always, ‘Did you ask your mother?’ or ‘What does your mother say?’ And nine times out of ten, my mom said no.” 

Sasha chimed in, nodding vigorously. “Yeah, my dad would act like he was in charge, but if my mom caught wind of something she didn’t like, he was dead meat.” 

Mikasa, listening quietly, finally murmured, “I remember... my mom was the one who made the decisions too.” 

Jean gestured wildly toward Sasha and Connie. “Exactly what I’m saying! If Captain Levi got married and now she’s the one giving him the dead-eye stare when she doesn’t like his decisions, where does that put her in the chain of command? Who’s higher in the chain of command: him or her?” 

“Her.” 

“Him.” 

“Captain Levi isn’t our dad, though,” Eren muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the logic. “Men are still the head of the house, so he’s still in charge. She’s not our boss.” 

“But if she gets mad and complains to Captain Levi, and he takes it out on us, then what?” Sasha pointed out. “We’re screwed either way.” 

“Exactly,” Armin said, nodding gravely. “If we don’t do what she wants, she’ll complain, and Captain Levi will get pissed. If we don’t follow his orders, he’ll punish us directly. It’s a lose-lose situation.” 

The group fell silent, clearly no closer to an agreement. Mikasa broke the tension with a hesitant question. “So… would that mean if Commander Erwin got married, his wife would have outrank all of us?” 

Connie snickered. “Why not Commander Hange’s imaginary wife instead?” 

“Be realistic,” Eren muttered. 

As their bickering continued, Y/N stood by, watching them with growing confusion. ‘Maybe they’re busy working,’ she thought, eyeing the kettle that no one had touched. ‘Levi said not to interrupt them while they’re working.’ 

“Don’t worry about it, guys,” she finally announced. “I’ll just go for a walk instead.” 

The group froze. Six pairs of eyes turned toward her in unison, panic flashing across their faces. Armin forced a sympathetic smile. “W-Where are you going?” 

Y/N blinked, startled by their sudden interest. “I thought I’d take a stroll in the forest…” 

Back in their circle, the squad exchanged panicked glances. One by one, they shifted closer to the kitchen door, as if preparing to block her path. Jean, quick on his feet, plastered on a bright smile and stepped in front of her. 

“Eh?” she asked, tilting her head. 

���Haha, look at the time!” Jean said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you stay here for a little while longer?” 

“I want to go out,” she insisted, her brow furrowing as she tried to move past him. “If you’ll excuse me—” 

“Uh, maybe… maybe stay here while we, um…” Sasha stammered, desperately searching for the right words. 

Y/N’s eyes widened as her unease turned into alarm. “Are you... are you kidnapping me?” 

“No, no, no!” they all shouted in unison, waving their hands in frantic denial. 

“You’re not kidnapped,” Armin assured her, his sweet smile doing little to ease her nerves. “You’re just... um... confined for now.” 

Her face twisted into horror. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, NOT AGAIN!” 

— 

When Hange walked back into the office, Levi was already up, slamming a stack of papers together. 

“Leaving so early?” 

“Yeah. I should really go train the brats after lunch.” 

The only brown eye not covered lingered on him, their lips twitching as they held back a remark. Hange, leaning back in their chair with an all-too-knowing smirk, tilted their head. “Oh sure, I bet the fresh air will help with the headache.” 

Levi exhaled sharply, unconvinced. Tucking the papers under his arm, he turned to leave—only to freeze at the door. Slowly, he turned back, narrowing his eyes as Hange spun lazily in their chair, still smirking. 

“…What?” 

“I said absolutely nothing.” 

His squinted in suspicion. “You’re so fucking weird.” 

The moment he stepped outside, something felt… off. 

The usual background noise of cadets moving between tasks was there, but underneath it, hushed murmurs—giggling. 

Giggling. 

Levi’s pace slowed as he glanced around. Small groups of soldiers spoke among themselves, some pressing hands to their mouths, others grinning. But what truly set his nerves on edge was what happened when they noticed him. 

Suddenly, as if on cue, they snapped to attention and beamed. 

“Good morning, Captain!” 

A perfectly polite, perfectly innocent greeting. 

Too innocent. 

“Morning,” he replied curtly. Levi narrowed his eyes but kept walking, his boots clicking sharply against the stone path. 

The tension in his gut twisted tighter when he passed another group and, again, the moment they saw him—bright smiles, too chipper, too eager. 

Something was going on. 

His grip flexed at his sides, his headache worsening as he rounded the corner toward the mess hall. And then— 

“Good morning, sir!” 

He barely glanced at the cadet who greeted him, about to walk past when— 

“Your wife is very cute, sir.” 

Levi stopped. 

The air suddenly felt much heavier. 

His eyes flickered to the girl, who gave him an innocent, approving nod before carrying on, completely unaware that she had just turned his entire morning into a waking nightmare. 

A slow, sinking realization crept up his spine. 

The whispers. The giggles. The weird smiling. 

"For fuck’s sake..." Levi whispered, raising a hand to his face, already feeling the embarrassment creeping in. 

Her trail wasn’t hard to follow—he just had to go wherever the biggest crowd had gathered. Sure enough, he found them in the kitchen, the one place most cadets usually avoided to escape extra duties. Yet, now, everyone was hanging around like it was the goddamn market square. 

"Don’t you all have something better to do?" Levi spat, and like cockroaches when the light comes on, they scrambled, trying to make themselves scarce before they got dragged into something. "Or do I need to start handing out tasks?" 

A few murmured "No, sir," their heads ducking, backs curving as if making themselves smaller would save them from his wrath. 

Then, from the other side of the door— 

"HE SAID I COULD GO OUT!" 

A piercing scream from Y/N. 

Levi’s brows twitched as he marched over, shoving the door open. "What the hell is going on here?" 

"Levi!" "Captain!" 

The second he stepped in, everyone started talking at once, loudly, voices overlapping and stabbing at his already-pounding head. 

Levi clenched his jaw. "Enough." His voice came out sharp, cold. 

Silence fell instantly. 

"They’re forcing me to stay here!" Y/N snapped, pointing at his squad. "They kidnapped me!" 

Slowly, Levi turned his attention to his subordinates and muttered under his breath, "What part of 'act normal and behave' did you not understand?" 

"She wants to go into the forest alone," Jean cut in, standing his ground. 

That successfully shifted Levi’s attention. 

"Get to the training grounds," he ordered, not bothering to look back at them. "I’ll be there in a minute." 

The squad practically bolted, shutting the door behind them. 

Now alone with her, Levi exhaled through his nose. Levi’s arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locked onto her as she stood defiantly before him. 

“I did absolutely nothing wrong,” she huffed. 

“Oh yeah?” Levi drawled, his expression unreadable “Then why the hell is the entire regiment gathered outside?” 

She scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe they’ve got nothing better to do? I just greeted people in the hallways, that’s not illegal. What, saying hello is a crime now?” 

Levi exhaled sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to be overly friendly.” 

“Well, excuse my good manners!” 

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “You already went out. You can go back to the office.” 

“I’m not doing that,” she folded her arms stubbornly. “I want to go for a walk.” 

His frown deepened. “You’re not going into the forest.” He sighed, his patience nearing its breaking point. 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know, maybe wolves?” he deadpanned. “Perhaps people, thieves? You’re going to get lost.” 

“Well, I’ll stay close by.” 

Levi let out a scoff. “We use the forest for training with the 3DMG. We don’t live in the middle of it for pleasure. If someone drops a weapon or knocks off and you get hurt, it’s on me. I told you—this is a place where people are working.” 

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t want to be closed up in that room anymore.” 

He gave her a look, calm but firm. "Open a window." 

“Open a—?! Levi, I’m not a prisoner!” she snapped, frustration boiling over. 

“Never said you were,” he shot back. “But this ain’t a damn vacation spot either.” 

She groaned, rubbing her temples. Then, as if on cue, Claws meowed from her arms, reminding Levi of another problem. 

“And don’t take the cat out without a leash,” he added. “It’s gonna get lost, and guess what? The idiot who’ll have to go looking for it in the forest will be me.” 

“He’s not gonna run off,” she insisted. 

Levi ignored that. “Go back to the office and—I don’t know, paint something.” 

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, eyes burning with indignation. “I’m not a little girl you can just set back to colouring books, Levi!” 

He was already opening his mouth for another snarky retort when something made him pause. His nose twitched slightly. It caught him so off guard to catch a whiff of her scent that all the arguments disappeared. 

How had it ended up with him standing there, watching the cadets train with the 3DMG while she sat on a bench outside, having lunch? He had no idea. 

"You’re not hungry?" 

"I grabbed something at work," he replied, his eyes still glued to the training. 

She passed him her meal, her hand covering her mouth a little before asking, "What are you doing?" 

"Watching them train." 

Her eyes shifted to the trees, watching the cadets swing through them with ease. "That’s all?" she asked, confused. 

Levi crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I watch their patterns and correct them." 

"Ah," she sighed in understanding. "So, you’re good at that?" 

"At 3DMG?" Levi raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious. She hummed a response. "Yeah, a little." 

Y/N accepted this without giving it much thought, continuing with her art, cleaning her hands every so often to avoid staining the sketch. "Which one is Eren?" 

He wasn’t used to the chitchat during work, so it threw him off each time she spoke. "The brunette. Why?" 

"I read about him in the newspapers," Y/N replied, raising her attention from her work to compare her pencil strokes. She squinted at it for a moment. "I also read about you torturing someone. It didn’t do you any favours." 

"Your newspapers didn’t mention the MPs covering up the real monarchy?" 

"No, my parents didn’t buy that kind of newspaper." 

Her answer made him scoff, entertained, realizing she probably meant it without any opposition to the new head of power. 

He tried following her gaze, wondering what she was working on so intently. But he couldn’t make sense of it. "What are you drawing?" Levi tilted back to catch a glimpse of the paper. 

Without a hint of hesitation, she turned her sketchbook around to show him. "You." 

Levi froze in horror, a cringe creeping up his spine. 

"Don’t fucking draw me." 

"Why not? You have a good side profile." 

"Draw something else. You’ve got the whole fucking forest." Levi insisted, but when he saw her uninterested continuation, he grabbed the pencil from her hand. 

"Hey!" she pouted. "Give it back." 

"Maybe you should go back to the office. Plenty of pencils there," Levi shot, hoping to put an end to this nonsense of her hanging around outside. 

There was a brief silence before she stood up. "Fine… but only because I’m getting sunburned." She reached down, picking up the cat that had been wandering around on a leash. "I’m taking the baby." Her tone made it sound like they were in the middle of a divorce settlement, negotiating custody. 

"Better for me." 

As the sun dipped lower and training came to an end, Levi took the opportunity to address the cadets. "When I tell you to do something, just do it. If she tries anything, I’ll handle it. Don’t get involved." 

They all nodded slowly, though Connie hesitantly raised a hand. 

Levi exhaled sharply. "What?" 

Armin shook his head, silently warning Connie to drop it, but the he didn’t take the hint. "We were just… a bit confused." 

Levi’s patience was wearing dangerously thin. "Confused about what?" 

"Just drop it, dude," Jean whispered. 

But under the captain’s intense stare, there was no backing out now. Connie swallowed hard. "About… who has the final say." 

Levi processed the words, taking a slow moment to let the implication sink in. Then, his voice carried loud and clear: "Raise your hand if you think she’s in charge." 

Shakily, Sasha and Connie obeyed. After a sharp kick from Eren, Jean reluctantly raised his hand too, clicking his tongue in annoyance. 

They all avoided Levi’s dead-eyed stare, suddenly finding the gravel beneath their boots fascinating. 

Levi let the silence drag before finally speaking, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why don’t the three of you give me twenty push-ups to help jog your memory on who’s actually in charge?" 

Groans of protest echoed through the training grounds, the evening sky now tinged with warm tangerine light. 

Eren smirked proudly at Armin, as if they had somehow passed some kind of test. Levi glanced at them. "And the three of you who didn’t stop this bullshit? Another twenty." 

"Oh, fuck me," they all muttered under their breath. 

— 

That night, Levi was washing his face at the sink when he caught movement in the doorway. He looked up, eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "What?" 

"I want to go to Trost the day after tomorrow." 

Levi frowned, still bent over the sink, before slowly straightening up. "And who told you I was going to Trost?" 

"The cadets." 

Grabbing a towel, he patted his face dry. "No." 

"Why not?" she asked, following him as he moved to the bedroom after his post-training shower. 

Levi hated being chased around, but clearly, she wasn’t letting this one go. "Because I said so," Levi muttered, pulling a shirt from the drawer. His damp hair pushed backwards and still dripping a little bit. "I’m just going for a quick business deal with the Reiss company. In and out." 

"But since you’re already going, I want to go and walk around," she insisted. "The cadets want to go too." 

Slamming the drawer shut, he sighed. "What they want is none of my damn problem." 

Under normal circumstances, she would have minded seeing him shirtless, but right now, she was too annoyed by his attitude to care. Each pause he took in the argument to get dressed only added to her frustration. 

"First today, now Trost," Levi continued, slipping on the shirt. " I can’t be walking around with you glued to my side,"  

He braced himself for protests, whining, maybe even some outright complaining— But when he finally looked up, her eyes were glassy. 

Levi blinked. "What now?" 

‘Oh no. 

Not the fucking puppy eyes again.’ 

She hesitated, then whispered, "Are you… ashamed to be seen with me?" 

"No," he snapped instantly, raising a finger in the air. "That’s not what I fucking said." 

But she just shook her head and walked off toward the office, her head down. 

"Come on. You know that’s not what I meant," Levi called after her. 

No answer. 

"Y/N—" 

No answer. 

— 

The next morning at breakfast, Levi dropped into his seat with a scowl. "We’re going to Trost tomorrow." 

His squad erupted into cheers, high-fiving each other. 

"Tch. Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. 

Armin, ever the strategist, tilted his head. "May I ask why, sir?" 

Levi stabbed his fork into his food. "Because she wants to go." 

Across the table, Sasha leaned toward Connie and Jean, whispering, "I’m confused... so, in the end, who is actually in charge?" 

(I know much didn't happen in this chapter but I promise you I'm cooking T-T)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime

Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[satorella]

“𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫”

“Babe, you want a sandwich?” You asked your boyfriend, 𝐑𝐢𝐧, who was too engrossed in watching playbacks of his last game; going over what he could’ve done better, etc. You peeked your head to the side, “Babe?”

Nothing.

You sighed and made him a sandwich anyways, leaving it on the counter. You walked over and sat next to him on the couch; your eyes moving back and forth from him, to the tv, then back to him. “That was a good shot.” You said, hoping to at least get him to say something. “Mhm.” Was all he said. Better than nothing, but still. You sat there for another minute or so, before deciding to get up. “Where are you going?” He suddenly asked, eyes still glued to the tv. “You’re busy.” “Shut up. Sit.” He said in his usual cold tone. You raised a brow, but did as he said and sat back down. “Closer.” He ordered, patting his lap. You didn’t protest, scooting closer and slinging your legs over his lap. He placed his hands on your thighs, his focus still on the tv. You leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, then moved to rest your arm on the back of the couch; casually playing with the ends of his hair and turning to watch the game. Rin finally glanced at you, “Now you’re just being clingy.” He said, a hint of a playful tone laced within his cold demeanor. Your eye twitched at his words. “Ha?!?! You literally just told me to sit closer???” He lets out a sliver of a chuckle in response to your reaction. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to… do all that.” He waves his hand around, leaning a bit closer to you. Rin squeezed your thigh ever so slightly; not enough for you to notice. You scoffed, frowning. “Fine then. No more kisses for you I guess.” Rin blinked a few times at your statement. “Oh really? No more kisses? That’s fine, I’ll live.”

Asdfghjkl you’re gonna choke this guy.

Even though he’s saying these things, Rin’s grip on your thigh had tightened more than before. He then leaned in even closer and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his breath slightly tickling your skin. “Tch. Clingy my ass.” You grumbled, turning to look back at the tv. He pressed his face a bit more into your neck before he spoke once again, his voice muffled. “You know damn well that… I am… with you...” If only you could see the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks right now. He then took a deep inhale, savoring the scent of your hair. “Hmph. I guess you do love me.” You said sarcastically. “Unfortunately, I do.” He muttered, tilting his head back to look at you with a cold, hard stare for a moment before it softened up. “Of course I love you, dumbass.” He said, his voice low. He sat back up straight and wrapped an arm around you. You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as the two of you returned your attention to the tv.

Rin wasn’t really the best at expressing his feelings, and you made your peace with that. Asking you to be his girlfriend was a complete shock to you and everyone else that knew him. To be frank, you didn’t even know he liked you like that. No one would’ve ever guessed. What more, when a few months into the relationship, he practically demanded that you keep a toothbrush and a few clothes at his apartment. “Just so you don’t waste anymore of our time going back and forth.” He used as an excuse.

“Hey… you said something about a sandwich earlier, right?” He asks, breaking the silence a couple minutes later. “Yeah.” “Did you toast it? To melt the cheese and shit.” He asks, running his hand up and down your back.

“Yeah… but it’s probably lukewarm now.”

“Don’t you fucking start.”

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Join my tag list here!

[satellite-evans]

Unfaithful

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: Going trough a breakup hits harder whe you realize only your hearts gets broken.

Word count: 1.6k+

Warnings: angst, no happy ending. mention of age gap.

A/N:

I wrote something similar for Chris Evans a couple of years ago and wanted to write it now with Lewis bc I liked the concept xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Love. It’s a difficult word to understand, even harder to feel. Everyone has felt it at least once, but in different amounts. That’s why people sometimes compare it to chemistry. If you pour in too much, if the balance is even slightly off, it can become dangerous. It can destroy you.

And that’s exactly what happened with you and Lewis. You loved him too much. At least, that’s what your friends told you. They spoke in hushed voices, their pitying eyes following you across rooms, as if love had left you fragile. As if you might shatter if someone breathed too hard in your direction. You’d hear what your therapist had to say about it next week, but you weren’t looking forward to it.

What was she going to tell you anyway? That you had issues to work on, that it wasn’t your fault, and that healing takes time? Nothing you didn’t already know. Nothing you hadn’t told yourself a hundred times over in the dead of night while lying awake, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to check your phone. Because you knew there would be nothing from him.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting.

It hurt, like all endings do, but this was different. It hurt that it ended for you, but it also hurt that it never truly started for him. That realization struck you in the middle of the night sometimes, jolting you awake with a sharp pain in your chest. You would reach out for him instinctively, fingers fumbling against empty sheets, the cold linen burning against your skin like ice. The loneliness of your bed mocked you, whispering the truth you had refused to see for so long.

“You should’ve seen this coming, Y/N.”

How could you? He acted, he talked, he listened, and he loved like he was yours. In the 29 years of your life, you had never felt more alive than when you were with him. He made you want to do more, to be more. You remembered the way he used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his hands always found yours in crowded places. He was your best boyfriend.

Until he decided he wasn’t.

And looking back, you wondered if he ever really was. If it had all been an illusion, a cruel trick you had played on yourself. You combed through every moment, every smile, every touch, every whispered “I love you,” dissecting it all with a surgeon’s precision, trying to find the exact moment it all went wrong.

Was it the first time he hesitated before saying “I love you” back? The time he forgot your anniversary? The night he turned away when you reached for him? Or had he been leaving you long before that, piece by piece, while you remained blissfully unaware, drowning in a love that only you were truly feeling?

In all honesty, you never thought that someone you loved so much could become the person you hated most. But then again, you can’t hate someone you never truly loved, can you?

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” someone once told you. “People cross that line all the time. Sometimes, just one word can make you fall in love, and just one word can make you despise someone.”

In your case, it was two.

“I cheated.”

You remembered the way he said it—calm, almost indifferent, like he was commenting on the weather. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

The world had blurred around you in that moment. Your vision tunneled, sound faded, and for a few seconds, it was just you and those two words, echoing through your skull, carving themselves into your bones. You had expected guilt, regret, maybe even tears. But all you got was a hollow confession and a half-hearted apology that came too late to mean anything.

The worst part? You hadn’t even screamed. You hadn’t cried. You had just stood there, nodding, as if accepting the inevitable. As if you had known all along and had simply been waiting for confirmation.

But that was the thing about love—it made you blind. It made you believe in things that were never real.

And now, you were left with nothing but memories and an emptiness you didn’t know how to fill.

The words still echoed in your mind, playing on a cruel, endless loop. They replayed every time you closed your eyes, every time you saw a couple on the street, every time you passed a place where you had once been happy together. The thought of it made you want to pull your hair out. How had you been so blind? Had love really done this to you? Were you so deeply in love with him that you ignored all the red flags?

No. You weren’t doing this again. You weren’t blaming yourself for someone else’s choices. Lewis had painted all the red flags green with his charm and his words.

Until your tears washed the paint away and revealed the truth.

What hurt the most was that he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you stayed up talking to him for hours when you had early morning meetings. He didn’t care that you flew across the world just to surprise him at his race. He didn’t care that you were always the one encouraging him before every challenge. That realization cut the deepest. Not just that he had hurt you, but that he had never really cared if he did.

He. Simply. Didn’t. Care.

And now, you were left alone, with no one to talk to, no one to travel across time zones for, no one to encourage you.

“Why?”

It was just one word, but it held a thousand meanings.

Why did you cheat on me? Why did you make me believe I was yours? Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why me? Why did you hurt me?

It didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t worth your tears. He wasn’t worth your anger, your heartbreak, your sleepless nights.

Lewis didn’t deserve your love. Just like he didn’t deserve your pain.

Alcohol. That was his excuse.

"I—I swear, Y/N. I didn't mean to. I had too many drinks, and when I woke up, she was just… there."

Of course, he would blame it on everything but himself. Why would he take responsibility? Lewis Hamilton, the man adored by millions, was a selfish coward when it came to love.

At least he wasn’t a good liar. His stuttering, his clenched jaw, his hands running through his curls—all signs of guilt. He was suffering in front of you, and you should have enjoyed it.

But you didn’t.

Even now, even after everything, you felt sorry for him. Maybe it was because of your mother, who had always told you to see the good in people, to have empathy.

You wished she hadn’t. Especially now.

Deep down, you had known. Lewis had changed, right in front of your eyes. He went from the man who would rather stay in with you, watching movies on a rare free night, to someone who partied and came home at 3 a.m. You blamed it on stress, on pressure, on everything except the truth.

The truth was that it was all him.

“Whatever. I’m done listening to your excuses, done pretending everything is okay. You can’t even lie to me properly, Lewis. And maybe I should’ve known. You never cared about my feelings anyway.”

His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken. But his eyes—they told a story of regret. And you knew, if you stared too long, you’d start believing him again.

So you looked away.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t want to lose you.”

The urge to slap him, to scream, to break something, surged through you. But you held it back. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he still had that power over you.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stand tall.

“And I don’t want to keep waiting, hoping that one day you’ll realize I’m what you want, Lewis. I’m done. I lost someone who never cared about me. But you? You lost someone who would’ve done anything for you.”

His eyes were glassy now, staring straight into yours.

“What are you saying?”

“I was the only one who actually fell in love. You just pretended.”

With that, you grabbed your keys and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door behind you—just like he had slammed shut the door to your heart.

Your first instinct was to drive away as far as possible and never look back. But for some reason, you couldn't. For some silly reason, you looked back to see that he would come after you, begging to stay, but he didn't. The street was empty and cold, just like him.

The moment your forehead touched the steering wheel, your eyes began to cry uncontrollably. Like a leaf in the cold night, your whole body started to shake, and the only thing you could do was cry even harder. It was a blessing you hadn't cried in front of him; you didn't want him to see you vulnerable and broken. Yet every fiber of your being had fought to hold those tears back, and now, they were no longer strong enough to keep them inside. In fact, you didn't want to be strong anymore. All you'd done in life was pretend everything was okay, acting as though words didn't hurt you. As though Lewis didn't hurt you.

You were done.

After drying your face with some tissues you found in your car, you took a deep breath, started the car and started driving.

You had no exact destination in where you wanted to go, you just kept driving. But one thing was clear:

You were never going back. Even if your heart ached, too.

[rumeras]

DON’T TALK TO ME BC I SAW HIS MYTH AND I SOBBED AT THE END. SO YALL GOTTA DEAL WITH MY HEART BREAK.

You call out Sylus’ name as he comes home for the evening, beckoning him to the kitchen so you can great him properly.

“Hey! How was the meeting? It was shorter than you said it was going to be.” You stood over the stove, pan and spoon in hand as you cook.

“How long…” his tone is odd…off a little bit when he speaks.

You hum, turning your head, eyes not really drawn away from the stove. “Until the food’s done? Uh, shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

How long have you known? Is what he wants to say. Needs to say.

“No.” It cracks, his voice. “Say it again.”

Your brows furrow as you actually look away from the food this time, up to where he stands across his kitchen from you.

“Sylus,” You say questioningly, “What are you-”

“My name.. say it again.”

And you freeze. Fuck, had you said it out loud when you called him before? Said it to him? His eyes, God his eyes they’re so soft.

He’s never looked at you like that, not in this lifetime at least.

You clear your throat, turning back to the food. Play dumb, play dumb and maybe he won’t push. You think to yourself, hopefully.

“Sylus. That’s what I said.” You say, forcing a laugh. You pick up the spoon to mix the stir-fry, but you feel him behind you. His body is towering over you. Hands soft, so tender as he takes the spoon from your hand and lays in on the counter.

You close your eyes, taking a breath to steady yourself as he turns you around. When you open your eyes again, you gasp, hands shooting out to stop him as he slowly moves to kneel before you.

“What are you—!” He takes your hands into his own as he settles onto the floor, head back as his hair falls away from his forehead. Tears gather in his eyes, genuine tears like you’ve never seen before.

“Please,” He says, voice tinged with longing. Your breath is shaky as you breathe, watching as he brings your fingertips to his lips. Eyes closing as he breaths deep, “Say it again.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, your own eyes lining with tears as you speak his name. As you call to him. To the fiend you loved so long ago. To the man you love now.

A soft sob leaves his body and you immediately drop before him, hands grasping at his cheeks as his lips quiver. You soothe him, words so quiet as you wipe his tears.

“I’m sorry,” You say, words failing you in explanation. “I-I didn’t..I couldn’t..” I didn’t know how to tell you.

But he doesn’t care, not for any excuse you may have anyway. Not as he leans forward and captures your lips against his own, both your tears mix together as his large hands cup and hold your face.

The kisses come fast, no time to breathe, no time to think. You match his fervor, breaths coming out in pants as he pulls you closer. Deepens the kiss. His hand slips into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to him. He holds you like you’re fragile, like you’ll fade away this time.

Your hands rest against his chest, rest against where that blade once sat buried in his body. And your lips wobble against his, shuttered breaths leave both your mouths as you pull apart.

The air between you is heavy, tense even as you lock eyes. His brows are turnt in, almost in pain.

“Say it again.” He begs, and you comply.

He cries again, laughing through his sobs as he asks you to say it again, and again, and again. Because you remember, after all this time you remember. Once again he finds himself in that dream, where you both lay amongst the datura flowers. Where he gets to keep you.

But this time, it isn’t a dream. He has you here, in his arms, body locked around your own to keep you with him.

He feels whole again.

For what is a fiend without his sorceress?

What is a dragon without his beloved..?

[tojisun]

john price x f!reader; my uh my take on dad!price and nanny!reader; affair/infidelity

hand on the small of your back; thumb rubbing softly on your skin, feeling the dip of your spine, the pudge of your fat; scruff on your cheek, hearing him breathing you in.

“not here,” you murmur, voice quiet and breathy, but john doesn’t budge – you don’t push him away, anyway. you don’t think that you will ever have the power to.

john just rumbles, still nosing you and teasing, and you burn at the ripples of his desire because you want him back. god, you want him back, but—

“john?”

your heart stops, your lungs pinching as the horror chases the fire away and replaces the fever he etched into you with a permeating chill. but john just pulls away slowly, careful and not disjointed like it didn’t matter that he was just caught rubbing onto you, and turns to jenny with such soft smile, it crinkles his eyes.

“sweetheart,” john sings, reaching for her. she steps beside him, her pinched lips easing up just a bit but the furrow of her brows are still deep trenches.

you bite your cheeks, trying to feign ignorance of her knowing gaze.

“what are you…” she trails off.

john hums, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “she was telling me about little tim. seems like our boy really loves his new nanny.”

“really?” jenny asks, face smoothing over in delight and pure faith. you understand where she’s coming from – mr. price had that effect on everyone. he is so charismatic and charming and so capable that one just abandons suspicion and trusts him.

“oh, i’m so glad to hear that,” mrs. price says, and she’s not really upset anymore but you know that after tonight, you will never truly be free from her lingering doubts. but—

john had promised to take care of you; to spoil you; to love you the way, he said, you deserve to. and you love him. god, you love him, so you know that in spite of the friction with mrs. price, you will stay and you will not stop nuzzling into the hand that finds their purpose around your throat.

you give them a nod. “i should, uh, check on him.”

she hums while john watches on, smoulder in his eyes and his cheeks round with a small smile just so.

oh, you realize with a jolt. he likes this.

getting caught, having to explain to his wife, having to watch you swim past the quiet doubts – john likes this. the thrill of it all, the adrenaline it brings.

you meet his eyes straight-on, chest heaving.

i know, you want to tell him. i know what it is that you want, and i can give it to you.

john’s eyes narrow, his interest growing like waves lapping at your feet, and he only graces you with an even bigger smile before folding himself into mrs. price. it is a taunt. a bait.

and you swim to it, knowing what will come out of this.

(he fucks you in their ensuite, his palm pressing on your mouth to muffle your squeals.

“not too loud, little bird,” he grunts. “can’t be caught again. not yet, anyway.”

your cunt pulses around his cock, devouring so hungrily at the hissed promise.

not yet – this won’t be over just yet; you’ll still have him for a while.

thank you, you want to say. thank you, thank you, thank you.)

—————

obligatory “i dont condone this” note :D

…that said, this is pt 03 of writing cheater price. dunno why i fw this trope but i do n its delicious i fear

[robertsfloyd]

Accidental Claiming

jake accidentally claims his heat/rut partner

18+, smut, abo themes, rut/heat, knotting, claiming

you stared into the mirror, at the mark on your neck. fuck, it was red and angry, so damn painful. a crescent of teeth marks.

behind you, the alpha looked so damn sheepish. his mouth was closed, hiding his sharp, puncturing teeth. "baby, i'm-"

but your glare stopped him. "don't," you said through a growl. you knew exactly what he was going to say, the mindless apologies that would leave his lips. apologies wouldn't do you any good now.

you had been fucking claimed.

jake had been your heat partner for at least three years now. nine of your heats, nine of his ruts. nothing like this had happened before; you had no reason to think that it ever would.

but your heat had never overlapped with his rut before. your omega friends had warned you of this potentially happening, but the both of you waved it off, took the risks and fucked each other until your heats and ruts ended.

your heat overlapping with his rut was amazing. your back was arched, presenting yourself to him. that was the pose you stayed in for most of the night, rocking against him while he thrust into you, until his knot tied you both together.

the first time he knotted you, he held himself back. your smell was oh so overwhelming, he could barely stop himself. but his mind was just clear enough to hold himself back.

you laid there together, waiting for his knot to go down. as soon as it did, you were ready to go again.

everything was hazy that time; jake didn't realise it had even happened. he didn't realise his teeth were in your shoulder, wouldn't realise until the heat and rut hazes had faded from your minds.

"you fucking claimed me," you whispered as you felt over the mark. so damn painful, but it had felt euphoric in the moment, like it was supposed to happen. but now you were claimed, wrongfully claimed.

claimed by your best friend.

you met his eyes in the mirror and let your hand drop away from your mark. the blame didn't entirely fall on him, you realised. you both knew the risks, but you did it anyway.

and now you were claimed.

a sigh left your lips as you turned back towards him. sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his shirt on your body. you had gotten insanely lucky, the man who had accidentally claimed you was incredibly attractive.

"i'll fix this," he said as he stepped towards you. "i promise i'll fix this," he whispered as you fell against him, your head against his erratically beating heart.

yeah, it would have been a lot worse.