#at 7 AM so I was still asleep too

[canisonicscrewyou]

This morning's impromptu panic attack is brought to you with a reminder to check if you have any sort of game plan for procuring your animals in an evacuation setting other than "get them and gtfo". Yes even if it's a drill.

[isdalinarhot]

literally having one of those So Depressed I Haven't Even Thought About Dalinar For More Than Like Three Minutes days. one of those "literally unable to get out of bed (if you don't count getting up like twice for piss breaks)" days. one of those "i can't even relapse about it because thats too many steps" days. id say hatred malice but i have not felt a single emotion all day

[h1biscusgal]

Void/ shifting for the lazy ass mfs, a "too easy" sleep challenge for 7 days.

Hey y'all, are you the type to call your yourself lazy? Can't wait to enter? Don't wanna try and just wanna sleep and enter? Think it's easier for you to be the careless mf and enter tonight? Here's a sleep method that literally can make you wake up in the void regardless of what the fuck is happening.

I call it, the "too easy" challenge bc mf the effort is not even there, like I'm not gonna even tell you to lay still or yada yada, I entered the void through it some years ago when I was in my shifting phase and didn't know it was the void, and it's my fav method so far, and y'all, you'll seriously shift or enter the void during those 7 days bc y'know how powerful this shit is???

Now I've seen a lotta people whine and say they lay back, try for it, and "don't enter" which is obviously your assumptions that you can't enter is in the way, so I thought, how about letting them know they can skip this part and just sleep and wake up there? Fun eh?

If anyone remembers, this is actually something a lot of shifters used to do back then, but the toxic shifttokers would be like "NO YOU CANTTT, YOU GOTTA PUT EFFORT TO SHIFTTT" nah fuck you, then how come some ppl shifted through it, like be fr and how "effortless" it was. 🤨

What will you need?/

ONE affirmation of choice:

I always wake up in the void state aware.

The void is too easy to wake up in.

Why do I always wake up in the void aware?

No matter what I do, I still wake up in the void aware.

I just gotta sleep and I'll wake up in the void aware everytime.

I always wake up in my home. (Aka DR).

I always shift in my sleep.

I can always shift by sleeping.

Sleeping helps me shift anywhere I want.

Shifting is too easy for me, I can do it in my sleep (fav).

A subliminal you like:

Can be anything, choose something you like that is either for shifting or the void state, doesn't even matter which or what, just choose something that you love and stick to ONLY ONE.

Void subs = 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Shifting subs = 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Absolute suggestibility booster:

Yes, credits to "absolute power subliminals" for making this goldmine but oml, it's fucking good, either way, this is before you loop the sub we chose overnight, BUT REMEMBER LISTEN TO IT ONLY ONCE BEFORE LOOPING IN THE SUB!!! It helps to open the subconscious for the affirmations. 1

And lastly, assumption:

that you can do it during those 7 days, bc mf you definitely can tf you mean you're trying this with hope...

Let's get into it 🤭.

For the affs, repeat it as though you're REMINDING yourself something, not trying to convince yourself something, you get me? During the days and the nights and literally through anything, just affirm without needing anything, like, your wish if you wanna do robotic affirming or feeling with it while affirming, just remind yourself your goal, Go about your day repeating ONE affirmation, and this can be anything, the reason I'm saying one is bc you don't need a bunch, just one, choose one from here based on what your goal is, shifting or the void?, the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep repeat it whenever you like.

Now, this is optional, but if you like, you can loop the desired subliminal you chose during the the day, it's as you wish if you want to.

Now, sleep comes around, right? Listen to the suggestibility subliminal I provided there only once, simply once, now grab yo favorite earphones or whatever and loop the SUBLIMINAL overnight.

Don't think about it, literally don't, don't say "will this work or whatever" nope, trust and know, loop the sub in the background while you sleep, and in that moment, repeat this specific affirmation.

Subconscious mind, I command you to wake me up in (desired reality/ the void).

That's literally all....

LMK AND I AM SO SURE Y'ALL CAN DO IT, PAIR IT UP WITH HYPNAGOGIA BEFORE BED AND THIS CAN MAKE YOU WAKE UP WITH 10000 X MORE CHANCE, GOOD LUCK.

Xoxo, Coco.

[antiwhores]

You accidentally had sex with Bakugou.

You two had fallen asleep in his room after a hang out. You were bestfriends but you had some underlining feelings for him. So when you woke up in the middle of the night to him cuddling you, you almost choked.

You needed to pee really bad so sadly you had to pry yourself out of his arms. When you came back his eyes were cracked open just barely. He mumbled something before opening his arms for you to join him again.

It was out of character, maybe tired Bakugou was just a touchy guy. It couldn’t be more than that.

So you joined him on the bed. You buried your face into his neck. You had to savor this cause most likely this’ll be the last time this happens. Also, you were too tired to freak out. You just wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

You can barely explain what happened after that. He hiked your leg onto him, still with his half open eyes, and thrusted right against your clothed pussy.

The next thing you know, he’s dry humping you. And then he’s fingering you. And finally he’s fucking you.

It felt good, too good.

But the morning after? You felt embarrassed. No way you just fucked him without even a first date. He’s gonna think you’re easy. He might even tell everyone that you are.

Of course, that would never happen but you were panicked. You couldn’t possibly comprehend that the great Dynamight chose you. You weren’t famous. Not a vogue model, a hero, or even wealthy. You had nothing to give him.

He had to be messing with you.

So you slipped out of his hold at 5am sharp and went home.

You fell back to sleep in tears and woke up to several texts and calls. Good thing you had your ringer off.

Bakugou - 6:34am

Where’d you go?

I was gonna make you breakfast dumbass

Bakugou - 6:52

Y/n?

Missed call - 7:00am

Bakugou - 7:30

Is this about last night?

I’ll wait for that call back so we can talk about it.

Missed call - 10:03am

Bakugou - 10:05

Call me and we can talk about it. This ignoring me isn’t gonna make it go away.

Missed call - 11:12

Missed call - 11:26

Missed call - 11-31

Bakugou - 11:40

Fucking call me back, this shit isn’t funny.

You’re so lucky I don’t know where you live yet. I’d be there in 15 minutes if I knew.

You debated calling him back. But your embarrassment and anger stopped you from letting him explain himself. How could he use your feelings against you like that! He probably knew that you liked him and wanted a quick fuck.

You started to cry all over again.

A week passed by with no contact. He sent you the occasional text telling you to talk to him but after the 6th day he seemed to give up. At least you thought that until he showed up at your door.

You opened the door wide without checking who it was since you were expecting a package. Your eyes widened when you noticed the blonde leaning against the doorframe, still in his hero costume. He must’ve just gotten off work, saving civilians and climbing the charts. It was another reminder of how he could never want you.

“You gonna let me in or am I-“

You tried to slam the door in his face but he shoved it back open easily. He let himself in, scanning the place.

“Nice place, ‘don’t see why you hadn’t invited me over.”

Maybe it’s because your small, cosy apartment didn’t compare to his high rise penthouse at the top floor.

You grabbed his arm and tried to pull him out. But he wasn’t having it and didn’t let you move him an inch.

“You need to leave, Bakugou.”

“Wow. Last name basis and I was inside you a week ago.”

“Yeah well that shouldn’t have happened.”

“Okay but it did so let’s fuckin’ talk about it.”

You just wanted him to leave before you bursted out in tears. You shook your head, trying to pull him harder but to no avail. Your lip quivered in frustration as tears welled up in your eyes.

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and set you on the couch.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

You broke down in tears.

You told him everything, every assumption you made and every insecurity. You told him how you liked him but you knew he didn’t like you back. He sat there patiently, not speaking a word until you were done.

He got up with a blank face. You thought he was gonna leave at first but he kneeled down to be eye to eye with you.

“Wanna go on a date?”

It surprised you. It was the last thing he expected you to say.

“I’ll take you on a date and prove to you how much I want you. And for the record, I’ve probably liked you longer than you have me. When we met in that coffee shop I immediately knew you were the one I wanted. ‘S rude of you of you to make assumptions but I’ll let it pass if you go on a date with me.”

You agreed as he wiped off your tears. Who were you to say no?

[celestiamour]

Accept my Hyun-ju request and my life is yours 😩🛐 (/lh you totally don't have to accept it if you don't want to <33)

BUT. The part where Hyun-ju is about to leave to fight the masked guards. Throughout the games, fem!reader developed a crush on Hyun-ju and before she left to fight, reader decides to go for it and give her a goodbye/good luck kiss 🤭

I am SO obsessed with this queen omg

ft. cho hyun-ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ giving her a goodbye kiss before she leaves during the revolt┊0.8k words

setting: season 2, episode 7 contains: , angsty & open-ended, season 2 spoilers, canon-typical gun violence! love confessions, reader is sapphic obviously, mentioned homophobia/transphobic in conservative korea

➤ author's note: i’m so glad to see so many requests for this queen, i’m also obsessed

“goddamn it, where the fuck is dae-ho?!” you could barely even hear yourself over the sounds of shots being fired on both sides, hiding behind the pink walls which were steadily being painted red with the blood of your companions. 

the younger marine had left at some point to gather more magazines from the pockets of the deceased guards back at the barracks, but he was currently nowhere to be seen and the situation was becoming more dire by the second. although you had been conservative with your bullets to focus on accurate hits that would kill them on the spot, there were only a handful left at the moment and some of the other men were completely out. 

over all the ruckus, you could hear hyun-ju yelling into the walkie-talkie trying to get a hold of him, but he was nowhere to be seen or heard so she roughly shoved it into her tracksuit pocket and began to shout, “something must have happened! i’ll go down and check!”

“wait, let me come with you! it’s too dangerous to go alone!” you tried to get up from your position but was stopped when an oncoming bullet managed to graze your face, making you shriek in surprise as a shaky hand lightly brushed at the wound and found your fingers now smeared with blood. 

“it’s even more dangerous for you to move from your spot! i’ll be okay, i promise!”

her determination was awe-inspiring, yet your heart sank at the realization this might be your last time seeing her face. your affections toward her were unexpected even though you already knew you loved differently than most people did, something you both bonded over when being a part of the lgbtq+ community was still a taboo topic socially, but you found her to be beautiful inside and out with her caring personality and resilience in times of danger even though you were too scared of ruining your special friendship to admit it. you had no idea it was possible to become so attached to another in the span of less than a week, being so surprised at the realization you stayed up for hours when others were asleep to take it in. the only other person who knew about your feelings for her was young-mi, and she was…

suddenly hyun-ju was next to you wiping away the sole tear about to drip down the corner of your eye, holding on to you with a worried look on her face, “are you okay? i thought you went into shock for a second.”

god, you didn’t even notice with the battle going on around you sounding almost muffled with the two of you feeling like the only souls for miles around. everyone here insisted you should stay behind on account of being a woman even though you believed you had proven yourself to be tougher than most throughout the games, but she had faith that you could fight just as fiercely as a man and defended you each time they said you should turn back. (as annoying as it was, you don’t blame them since they were only looking out for you.)

you stared back at her for a second, blinking away thoughts of the past to focus on the present, the knowledge of this possibly being your last interaction with her once again coming to the forefront of your mind. taking in a deep breath, you decided “fuck it” with closed eyes and pulled her towards you for your first and possibly last kiss.

her eyes remained wide open in shock, trying to process the sudden action. it lasted for a few seconds but felt like an entire minute, feeling your soft lips against hers as she reciprocated the kiss and feeling her heart jump for joy. the earth seemed to stop spinning for those few moments until a voice called out to interrupt. “hey lovebirds! we’re kind of in the middle of something here!”

you finally parted with her, gazing deeply into her eyes and noting her blown-out pupils. “come back safe, and when we get out of here, we’re going to pay for your surgeries and move to thailand together, and i…” you closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to muster up the bravery to utter the words you might never be able to say again, “i love you.”

now it was her turn to stare at you. you loved her? loved her as she is? she can’t remember the last time she heard those words after getting essentially disowned by her family. she always knew, deep down, she shared the same feelings for you, but was too scared she would end up alone again as she has been for so long so chose to push them down out of fear of rejection. yet when you’re by her side like this in the face of certain death, she feels courage. “i love you too. we’re going to get out of this together,” her confident voice made it sound like she was an oracle who already foretold your happiness in the future, “but first, you guys are going to have to cover for me.”

“don’t worry, i got your back!”

[amortxt]

⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀𖥻⠀ㅤ⠀﹫⠀kento⠀nanami.

ㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤfluff, reader and kento are married + have a daughter, f!reader as it contains mentions of reader going through motherhood + being called mother, reader is implied to have taken nanami as a last name.

"shhh, shh, it's okay.. it's okay sweetheart.."

it was originally kento that had encouraged you to leave for this trip. you thank all your lucky stars for your husband being as supportive as he was throughout your journey of motherhood. never allowing you to have to pick your career over your family or your family over your career.

he was your balance. your hold onto the ground when you felt like you were ready to float away.

he was your everything.

but now he had begun to regret letting you leave today. your daughter was 7 months old. he had told you, that surely she was okay to spend just two nights away from her mother. but it seemed she had grown near inseparable from her mother. all understanding for just a baby, but in this moment he couldn't bare having to hear his daughter cry further. he was ready to begin breaking down himself at this point.

he tiredly reached for his phone. shamefully calling your number at 2 am, fully aware you had an important meeting early next morning. how he loathed himself at the moment. grumbling out a "dear god" as the phone rang for a few seconds.

you picked up shortly, unsurprisingly. you had made it very clear to him that he should call you no matter what, whenever he needed if he needed help. he had assured you that it wouldn't have to come to that, so you couldn't help but smile when you heard your daughters wailing in the background.

"didn't need me huh?" he didn't even need to see you. he could practically hear your insufferable smirk, that he unfortunately missed more than ever.

"never said that. now please god, sweetheart, she's not stopped crying for a good half an hour." you laughed, still on the other side of the world you were being woken up because of your daughters crying late at night. it was humorous, and strangely sweet.

you requested a facetime, and he accepted quickly. you looked straight into your daughters teary eyes, and she looked back all bug eyed, her crying slowly coming to a stop. you didn't know if she was more thrilled to see you or the metal square shine a bright light in her face.

"hi baby, you're not giving your papa a hard time, right?" your daughter responded in little babbles. your heart warmed a little, and you could see your beloved grinning in the background. you hadn't admitted it- barely even noticed it in fact, how much you truly missed your little family. you needed this too.

you and your daughter continued baby-talking for a good few minutes until you could see her yawning, to which kento had placed a bottle into her mouth. she slowly began to fall asleep, drinking the now lukewarm milk.

you looked at your husband with loving eyes. he looked back at you with just the same fervor. like you were his whole world, like you'd hung up the stars for him. even as you were halfway across the world from him. he would never hate you for caring about your career. it made you practically ill with adoration.

"stay on call with me please? i miss you."

"i miss you too, sweetheart. of course i will."

"goodnight, i love you papamin."

"goodnight mamamin. i love you too."

⠀ㅤ⠀⠀©⠀all work written by ﹫amortxt. do not repost.

[jellesreid]

Morning delays

In which Spencer and Fem!Reader are late for work yet again because Spencer can’t keep his hands off her. (Smut!)

masterlist

word count: 1.3k

tags: porn without plot, Smut, co workers, late to work, love, boyfriend&girlfriend, long term couple, showering together, sex, intimacy, P in V, unprotected P in V, Minor breeding kink, raw sex, 18+, fingering (f receiving), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), nipple play.

warnings: 18+!! whole thing is smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them guys!)

notes: I don’t think I missed any tags anyway this is the most sexual thing ever written so I hope you horny people enjoy it.

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

Just before you and Spencer had fallen asleep last night you had set the alarm for 7 am, it probably wasn’t enough time to get ready in the morning but you had a late night watching a movie with your long-term boyfriend not that either you saw much of it because before you got to the halfway point Spencer was on his knees between your thighs sucking your clit and circling your entrance, sliding his tongue into you until you had reached multiple orgasms.

You were certain the alarm hadn’t gone off yet because usually that would wake you straight away but today you were awoken to your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt resting on your breasts and tweaking with your hard-ish nipples. 

“What time is it?” You asked Spencer with a soft moan. 

“Almost 7 am.” 

“Baby we don’t have time, the alarm is about to go off,” You moaned halfway through what you were saying. 

One of Spencer’s hands slid down your stomach, “You want me to stop?”

“Well no…”

“Is your pussy already wet for me darling?” Spencer whispered into your ear. He wasn’t one for dirty talk all the time but when he did it the throbbing between your legs was only ever worse. You needed him badly and by the feel of things, he needed you too. 

You nodded, “Yes Spence.”

“Can I feel?” His hand still moving lower. 

“Yes,” With your signal he slid his hand under the waistband of your panties avoiding your clit as he ran a finger through your folds to collect your wetness, “Mhm Spence.”

“Beautiful, you’re so wet,” He spoke just before the alarm went off. With one quick movement, he took his hand from your panties and switched the alarm off before positioning himself between your legs. 

His large hands landed on your waist gripping you firmly. He leaned down attaching his lips to a nipple swirling his tongue around it for a couple of minutes until moving on to the next. 

His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop. He rested his hands at the side of your hips playing with the lace of your underwear. 

“Can I take them off now?” He looked straight into your eyes. 

“Please,” You said with a breathy sigh. 

Spencer pulled them off leaving them somewhere in the room, you’d find them later.

“What do you want?” Spencer asked, one of his hands running from your waist to your hip back and forth. 

Your eyes trailed between the both of you where you could see his erection through his boxers. 

“I want that,” You smiled sweetly and innocently. 

“What?” Spencer smirked. 

“Your dick.”

Spencer nodded, “Let me warm you up first.”

With that, he pushed your legs further apart his hands resting on the apex of your thighs, his thumbs nudging your folds due to the size of his hands. 

He used one of his left thumb to run back and forth over your closed folds. 

“Stop teasing we don’t have much time.”

Without another word he plunged his index finger inside of you, quickly curling it inside of you knowing exactly where your most pleasurable spot was. 

“Oh my god. Spence another!” You moaned with a little shout. 

“Yes baby,” Spencer pushed his middle finger inside, pulling them out a small way to push them back in much harder hitting your g-spot as hard as he could.

You reached down between you pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing it in a quick motion. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer don’t stop,” You moaned loudly throwing your head back. 

Right as you felt your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and that familiar coil in your stomach he pulled his fingers out leaving your core pulsing around nothing. 

“What the fuck babe,” You groaned. You were frustrated, the tears began to well in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, it just happened when you were frustrated or in this case when you couldn’t reach your peak of pleasure apparently.

“Hey no baby don’t cry,” Spencer wiped the tears from your eyes, “I’m going to make you cum I promise.”

“Why did you stop?” You frowned.

“I wanted you to cum when I was inside of you,” He ran his hand down your hair.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked giving you a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You reached for his boxers pulling them down just enough that his erection sprung out of them before he discarded the material completely. 

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked. 

You blushed biting your lip, “Like always.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hid your face in his neck, “Raw,” You muttered.

Spencer smirked, you usually did it like that now that you had been together for three years and knew you were both clean but he loved hearing you say it. 

He rested his dick against your folds rubbing the tip against your clit to relax you again after leaving you without an orgasm a few minutes ago. 

You loved how his veins felt against you when he did that but right now you just craved him filling the empty space inside of you.

“Please,” You stared into his hazel eyes that were clouded with lust.

You breathed in deeply as he pushed the head inside of you slowly, his fingers coming to your clit to help as he entered you. He wasn’t too girthy but he had length and his head always stretched you out the perfect amount that you experienced a slight tweak of pain before the rush of pleasure.

Spencer wasted no time in picking up the pace pounding in and out of you quickly since you really had to be leaving soon, mornings were always for rougher faster sex and the evenings were for when he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body.

His tip grazed the nerves inside of you with every thrust and that partnered with the firm circles on your clit you knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Close already honey?” Spencer moaned feeling your walls tightening around him. 

“Fuck! Mhm,” You couldn’t speak anymore without a sting of moans leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl, hold it, I’m almost there,” Spencer thrust harder, your skin slapping together and your hips colliding.

“Spence please,” You moaned. 

“Yes okay baby okay,” Spencer groaned, “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No inside please.” 

Two more thrusts and you came around his dick just before he spilled his seed deep inside of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer kissed your forehead which had a few beads of sweat on it. 

“You felt so good,” You couldn’t help biting your lip and giving him a satisfied look. 

“So did you sweetheart. I’m going to pull out okay?” 

You nodded as he pressed his thumb against your clit only to make small circles as he removed himself from you. It was slightly overstimulating but you knew he was just caring for you and nothing more.

“We are so late, we still need to shower,” You said looking over at the clock. 

“I thought we could shower at work, you know training is first on the schedule you’re just going to get sweaty again,” Spencer shrugged getting up from the bed to find the pieces of discarded clothing. 

“Excuse me? I’m showering before we leave,” You said with your eyes widening. 

“Why?” He asked and you hoped he was reading. 

“Because we smell of sex, from last night and this morning and I have ropes of your cum inside of me.”

Spencer smirked, “Leave it there, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You’re insane,” You rolled your eyes and got up from the bed.

“I was kidding, take a shower but I do like the thought of me being inside of you like that.”

Again you rolled your eyes, walking toward the bathroom, “Are you joining? We will save time and water.” 

“If I ever say no to that question, know there’s something wrong with me,” Spencer said following you through to the bathroom. 

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

[nymphaura777]

Why are u still not in the void?

No seriously ask yourself that you’ve been trying every method, listening to subliminals every night, doing breathing exercises, following this and that method, and yet...nothing? You see all these people saying "i entered effortlessly" and it’s like why not me? :(( so let’s actually talk about it.

First thing? You are thinking too much. every night you lie down, overthinking every feeling, wondering if you’re "doing it right?" You keep telling yourself "okay, tonight is the night" and then after 10 minutes, "wait, why am i still here? am i close? am i about to enter? should i move? should i start over?" and just like that, you’ve already lost. The void is about letting go, not controlling. You keep waiting for some crazy shift in feeling, some magical pull into nothingness, but the truth is? It’s not that deep. people have entered the void while just closing their eyes for a second or even just thinking abt it casually. Yes it is that simple.

And let’s talk about the whole "method addiction" thing. Why do u think u need 50 different techniques just to do something that is natural?? like, be real. some of you are cycling through methods like ur life depends on it, sats, affirm till u pass out, starfish, visualization, state of kinesthesia, lucid dreaming, awake methods, asleep methods... and every night, you try a new one bc "maybe this is the one!!" the problem isn’t the method, the problem is you don’t trust yourself. If you truly believed you could enter whenever, you wouldn’t be desperately searching for the "best" way. I'm not completely denying that you shouldn't use methods but some people use methods as some magic stick, nahhh, you have to believe it, no doubts then only you are using methods in the best way, imagine trying "distraction method" and in mind thinking "would I get into void or not by using this?" So your brain automatically puts you into the thinking mode, so how would you relax, because that's all what you need for void, honestly this how I use method : ik I always get into void easily, I don't need to worry about it, this is only just a fun thing, that's it, no overthinking and no worries.

Now let’s talk abt self-concept, because some of you are your own worst enemy. You keep saying "I can’t enter" and then wondering why you can’t enter. You keep saying "the void is hard" and then getting mad when it feels hard, like...do you hear yourself? You are literally manifesting failure. The void isn’t keeping you out, your own doubts are. You wanna know the real difference between someone who enters easily and someone who doesn’t? mindset. The ppl who enter effortlessly aren’t special, they just don’t overthink. they decide they can enter, and so they do and please stop thinking the void = being dead. You don’t need to lie still for hours. You don’t need to "feel" your body disappear. You don’t need sleep paralysis. You don’t need some weird floating sensation. You can enter while walking, while blinking, while mid-conversation if you wanted to. You can enter with eyes open, eyes closed, lying down, sitting up, doesn’t matter. You don’t have to follow a script, u just have to decide.

But the biggest issue? Y’all are obsessed. like, I get it, you wanna shift, you wanna manifest your dream life instantly, but the more you obsess, the harder it gets. the people who enter easily don’t sit there thinking about the void 24/7. They go about their day, do their thing, and when they decide to enter, they just do. The less importance you give the void, the easier it is. Because at the end of the day, it’s not something u have to "work" for, it’s just a state of awareness, honestly when I was putting the void on pedestal, and was searching 1000 methods, thinking about it whole day, I didn't get into void, but once I put off the void from the pedestal, I got into void effortlessly.

So stop overcomplicating it. stop making it a struggle, the void is not running away from you, it’s literally right there, waiting for you to stop doubting and just step in.

[foxtrology]

unchained melody (7)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 14.1k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, angst, fluff, smut, mentions of suicide.

Harry woke up without an alarm. No noise. Just instinct.

His eyes opened to the slow hum of night, the villa wrapped in silence except for the rhythmic pulse of her breath against his ribs. She was still asleep—curled around him like always, one leg slung over his hip, hand resting on his stomach like they’d grown roots there.

He blinked once. Then looked over to the clock.

11:32 PM.

The article had dropped. Thirty-two minutes ago. Or so he thought.

What he didn’t know—what no one had told him—was that Carrie Roth had gone rogue. That the article had been published early. That he had already lost the fight. That her face, her body, the weight of mystery surrounding her name and all the blanks the internet was now trying to fill had been dissected and distributed and devoured long before Harry ever opened his eyes.

But none of that existed in this room. Not yet.

For now, there was just the weight of her sleeping on his chest. Her skin warm. Her hair curled like ink along his collarbone. He hadn’t moved in hours. Hadn’t needed to.

She made stillness feel like something sacred.

Harry slid his hand gently down her spine. Stopped at her waist. Let it rest there. Then, careful not to wake her, he reached over and grabbed her phone and his—both forgotten on the floor, one tangled in the strap of her tote.

He didn’t read the article. Didn’t read the comments. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t need to. Whatever was written didn’t matter.

He knew what came next—lawsuits, statements, narrative control. Danny would have already started calling the legal team and would be on the phone with every editor he had dirt on.

Harry simply slipped both phones into her bag. Out of sight. Away from them. Just for the night.

Then, quietly, he grabbed the landline off the nightstand and called down to the kitchen.

“Dinner,” he murmured, voice low enough not to disturb her. “For two. Whatever’s ready. Wine too.”

He hung up. Laid back. Wrapped his arm around her again.

And let the weight of the day start to bleed in—slow, like dusk.

The knock was too loud. Too sharp. Too sudden. It startled her awake. She gasped softly against his chest, eyes blinking open with a confused sound in her throat. Harry moved instantly—lifting his head, tightening his hold on her like instinct.

The knock came again. He exhaled, already annoyed.

“Stay,” he whispered, brushing his lips over her hair.

He got up in one motion, pulling on the first shirt he found—still rumpled from the afternoon. When he opened the door, the poor villa staff member barely got a word out before Harry’s expression did the talking.

The tray was delivered. The door shut behind him. No thank you. No smile.

When he turned back, she was sitting up in bed, sheets pulled over her chest, hair wild, lips parted.

She blinked slowly. “Was that—?”

“Dinner,” he said. “For us.”

“What time is it?” she mumbled, voice thick.

He checked his watch. “Almost midnight.”

Her brows lifted. “You ordered dinner at midnight?”

“You were asleep. I figured we might want something. Or wine.”

Her lips curled. “You’re not real.”

“I am,” he said, already walking the tray over. “Unfortunately.”

She scooted up against the headboard as he set the tray down on the edge of the bed. There were two covered plates, a bottle of wine already uncorked, and two small glasses.

She reached for one. “You're mad at the poor guy who brought this?”

“He knocked like it was urgent.”

She smirked. “You’re an asshole.”

“You like it.”

She didn’t deny it. They ate in bed. Shoulder to shoulder. Knee to knee.

There was pasta—still warm, tossed in olive oil, garlic, and shaved parmesan. A bowl of roasted vegetables. Bread they didn’t ask for but devoured. The wine was deep red, smooth and heady, and the glasses were barely half-full before she started to feel it.

For a while, they didn’t talk. Just passed bites back and forth. Shared a fork. Ate slowly, deliberately. Letting the quiet sit between them like something earned.

Eventually, she glanced at him.

“You okay?”

Harry looked over. “I am now.”

She didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, she reached for the wine again. Poured them both another splash. Then turned her body to face him more fully—her bare legs tucked under her, his t-shirt hanging off one shoulder like it was made for it.

She studied him.

“You are quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.”

He looked down at his glass. Then set it aside. She didn’t speak. Just waited.

And finally—he let it out. Slowly. Like a confession. Since Lucy.

“My mother died when I was seventeen.”

She blinked. Sat straighter. “Harry…”

He shook his head once, like it wasn’t something he wanted sympathy for.

“She was young.”

The room held still.

“She used to sing while she cooked,” he continued. “Even if it was just eggs. She never remembered the words, always made them up. My sister would be right by her side too.”

She stayed silent.

He glanced at her. “I didn’t go back to the house after the funeral. Not once. Haven’t been in it in thirty-five years.”

“Why not?”

He took a breath. “Because she was the only thing in it that made it feel like home. After that…it was just walls.”

She reached out. Touched his hand. He didn’t pull away.

“She would’ve liked you,” he said.

She smiled faintly. “I would’ve liked her.”

Harry looked at her. Really looked.

Then reached for her hand. Brought it to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles once. Gently.

“You never talk about your family,” he said quietly.

And just like that—the air shifted. She pulled her hand back, slowly. And for a moment, he thought she wouldn’t say anything.

But then—

“My brother died too,” she said softly.

Harry froze.

Her voice didn’t waver. But her eyes did.

“He killed himself when we were twenty.”

Harry’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, looking down at her lap.

“I haven’t told anyone in years.”

He didn’t interrupt.

She looked up at him. “I know you saw the tattoo. The T.”

He nodded once.

Her voice was steadier now. “It’s for Teddy. He was my twin.”

That stopped him. Cold.

He stared at her. “Twin?”

She nodded. Harry sat back slightly, absorbing it.

“You never told me.”

“I don’t talk about him.”

She didn’t elaborate. And Harry didn’t ask. But it lingered between them now—something heavy and sacred.

She tucked her legs under her. “We were born five minutes apart. He was the loud one. The reckless one.”

Harry watched her. Waited.

“He died on a Tuesday,” she added, voice quieter now. “I still hate Tuesdays.”

Harry reached for her hand again. This time, she let him take it.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“I didn’t want you to.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then—

“I’m glad I do now.”

She didn’t smile. But her fingers curled around his. And that said more than anything else.

They finished eating slowly. The plates were pushed to the side. The wine was nearly gone. The night curled in around them—quiet and forgiving.

She laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers still tangled with his. He pressed a kiss to her temple. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

And when she whispered, “Thank you,” it was for more than just dinner.

It was for still being here. For not asking more than she could give. For holding the truth gently, like it was something delicate and worth keeping. Harry squeezed her hand once. And they stayed like that—

Long into the night. Not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

But knowing this—

For now, they still had each other. And sometimes, that was enough. But only for the night.

Because the morning arrived with a fist. A very loud, very manicured fist.

It slammed against the villa door just after eight, shattering the silence with a rhythm more fitting for the police than a houseguest.

“Harry! Open this fucking door right now—what the hell did you do?!”

They both jolted upright in bed.

She blinked, disoriented, Harry’s arm still around her waist, breath still warm on her neck. His face was unreadable, but his grip on her tightened instinctively.

Outside the door, Livia screamed again.

“Do you think you can just kill the Wi-Fi like this is a monastery? I have work! I have a fucking following!”

Harry didn’t move.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around herself, hair mussed, voice still hoarse with sleep. “Did she say...Wi-Fi?”

Harry ran a hand down his face. “I had it cut last night.”

She stared. “You what?”

“Just for today.”

“For what reason?”

His jaw ticked.

She blinked. “Wait—is this about the article?”

Before he could answer, Livia banged again, full dramatic rage now.

“I was filming a sponsored review for a blush that melts! I’ve been trying to upload it for hours! I already sent the invoice! This is fucking sabotage.”

Harry swung his legs off the bed. Didn’t bother replying. Didn’t bother dressing either—just pulled on yesterday’s slacks and stalked across the room with the terrifying calm of a man who had throttled Wall Street brokers for fun and been thanked for it.

She wrapped the sheet tighter, following him with her eyes as he opened the door with one swift pull.

Livia stood there, barefoot in kitten heels, her white robe slipping dramatically off one shoulder, a silk headscarf tied haphazardly atop her head like a fashionable war widow, phone clutched in her hands.

Her face fell the second she saw who else was in the room. “Oh,” she said flatly, eyes cutting to her.

She offered a tight smile from the bed, tugging the sheet higher. She knew this open fucking bedroom would cause her problems. 

Harry didn’t react. “You’ve had Wi-Fi your entire life. You’ll survive twelve hours.”

Livia’s voice dropped to a hiss. “We are not in the Hamptons, Harry. We’re in the Tuscan countryside. It takes six weeks to get high-speed here. And I have deliverables.”

He didn’t blink. “Cry about it.”

Livia blinked. “You—did you seriously just say that to me?”

He leaned against the doorframe. “Do you want me to say it again slower?”

She took a half-step forward, daring. “I swear to God, if this is about Lucy—”

The air changed. She stopped. His expression darkened—not with anger, but with something colder. More lethal.

“I’d choose your next sentence very, very carefully.”

The hallway went still. Livia blinked.

Then, like any decent survivor, turned on her heel and muttered, “Fucking tyrant.”

Harry closed the door slowly. Locked it. Turned.

She was staring at him from the bed, wide-eyed.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly more human again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That was...horrifyingly hot.”

That got a tiny smile out of him.

He didn’t leave the room that morning. Not for breakfast. Not for emails. Not even for the 10:00 a.m. meeting Danny had arranged with three investors who had flown in from Zurich.

Danny called twice. Harry didn’t answer. She watched him from the armchair in the corner—barefoot, hair pulled into a bun, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, a mug of lemon tea balanced on her knee.

“You’re skipping the meeting?” she asked eventually.

“Yes.”

“Won’t they be mad?”

“They’ll get over it.”

“Will Danny?”

Harry sipped his espresso. “Danny’s already got a lot of shit on his plate.”

That made her laugh.

Harry sat at the edge of the bed, one ankle propped over his knee, flipping through a leather notebook, pen tucked behind his ear like he was sketching out the next version of the world.

He looked completely at ease. Except for the muscle in his jaw.

She tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

He looked up. “Do I not look okay?”

“You look like you’re playing chess with people’s lives in your head.”

He didn’t deny it.

“Do you know what was in the article?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t read it.”

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Not interested in anyones narrative.”

He paused. She nodded slowly. But something still itched at the edge of her ribs.

“Will everything be okay?” she asked, barely audible.

Harry looked at her. And for the first time, the cool, coiled stillness broke.

“Yes. Don't worry,” he said. “Danny’s already got people watching the blogs. The subreddits. The gossip accounts. If anything comes up, we kill it before it spreads.”

She swallowed. “But what if it's not?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of her and knelt, one hand resting on her knee.

“Then I'll burn them down.”

She searched his face. And found something terrifying there. Not fear. Not hesitation. Conviction. The kind that doesn’t flinch.

“You’d burn them down?” she whispered.

His voice didn’t change.

“I’d do anything for you.”

She believed him. And that terrified her more than the article ever could.

Meanwhile, in the converted office across the villa, Danny was having the worst morning of his career. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved from his desk in hours.

The Wi-Fi Harry cut had taken down two printers, a backup router, and a $15,000 digital projector that Lorenzo was now threatening to return to France in protest.

He was fielding calls from six continents. Allegra was ghosting him. And two junior employees had locked themselves in a bathroom over rumors that “Castillo was spiraling.”

He’d already flown out three more team members overnight—Sadie from PR, Robyn from legal, and a fixer named Ben who used to work for Russian oligarchs and didn’t blink.

When Lorenzo asked if Harry was canceling the investor lunch, Danny responded by slamming a folder down and saying, “If Harry wants to picnic in hell today, we’re all going with him.” Nobody asked again.

Back in the villa suite, her and Harry were still in bed. It was noon.

She was braiding a section of her hair absentmindedly, the balcony doors cracked open behind her. The breeze drifted in soft and slow, carrying the scent of rosemary, dust, and something vaguely citrus.

Harry laid beside her. Watching her like he was memorizing every movement.

She looked at him. “You really didn’t read it?”

He shook his head. “The only story that matters is the one we write.”

“That’s a nice line.”

“It’s not a line. It’s a decision.”

She chewed her lip. Then shifted closer.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated. Then laid her head on his chest.

“If you ever find out something about me…something I couldn’t say out loud yet… would you still look at me the way you do now?”

His hand moved through her hair.

Slow. Gentle.

“I already know I don’t deserve you.”

She looked up, startled. But he wasn’t finished.

“So whatever it is—whatever you’re afraid of—it doesn’t change what I feel.”

She stared at him. Long and quiet.

Then whispered,

“I believe you.”

And she did.

Even if her chest still burned. Even if the truth still lived behind her ribs like a locked room. Even if the wolves were circling. Because right now? He was here. And the rest of the world could wait.

The hours bled. Through stone. Through linen. Through the brush of her fingers along the lip of a ceramic mug.

She had stayed curled beside him as long as she could bear it. Skin warm. Sheet tangled around her hips like an afterthought. There was honey in the air. And rosemary. And something sour just beneath it—the scent of stillness going stale.

She needed to move.

She didn’t say it out loud at first. Just sat up. Pulled her hair away from her neck. Walked barefoot across the room to where the windows overlooked the orchard, the gravel path, the ache of quiet that clung to the hills like fog.

He was still in bed. Watching her.

She didn’t turn around. Just said, softly, “I can’t stay in here all day.”

A beat passed.

“You said we’d stay in,” he murmured, voice frayed by sleep.

“I know,” she said. “But I feel like I’m losing track of time.”

Silence.

Then, quieter, “Please.”

She turned. And found him already watching her. It was the please that did it. The shower was brief. Not for lack of effort.

Harry, as always, was a saboteur in disguise. She caught the glint in his eye the moment the water hit her collarbone. The slow, deliberate way he pressed her against the tile. His mouth dragged along her shoulder like he was writing something. His hand ghosted down her stomach.

“Don’t,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t what?” he asked, too innocent.

“You’re going to distract me.”

He kissed her ribs.

“You always say that.”

“And you always prove me right.”

His tongue moved lower. She grabbed his face with both hands.

“Harry,” she said, laughing now. “Stop trying to ruin the day.”

“I’m improving it.”

She stepped out of the water.

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re wet.”

“I’m leaving you in here.”

He sighed like a man deprived of oxygen. “Fine.”

They dressed quietly.

She wore a cotton sundress with tiny pearl buttons down the front and a pair of old sandals. Her hair was damp and half-tucked into a scarf she found in her bag. He wore black again—short-sleeved linen, slacks rolled slightly at the ankle, sunglasses tucked into his collar like punctuation.

She didn’t ask if he was nervous about being seen. He didn’t ask if she still felt like running. They didn’t have to.

The car into town was old. Beige leather, sticky in the heat. The driver didn’t speak except to nod once when Harry gave him the name of the town. Not the one they had went to the other day with Francesca and Luca. Not the one with influencers and Aperol spritzes and rented designer bags.

The one past it. Where the hills stopped being curated and the people stopped pretending. She leaned her head on the window.

Harry laced their fingers together without looking. She exhaled.

“I need something stupid today,” she said.

He turned to her. “Like what?”

“A book I’ll never finish. A dress I can’t afford. A bag of lemon candy that hurts my teeth.”

“Done.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

The village was empty in the way only real places are—half-shuttered shops with peeling signs, a church bell that rang too loud for no one in particular, a woman sweeping her doorway like she’d been doing it for decades.

No one looked at them. Not once.

They slipped into a bookstore that smelled like thyme and printer ink.

The owner didn’t speak English, but smiled kindly when she held up a copy of La Noia and asked, brokenly, if he had it in English. He did. He pulled it from a low shelf, dusted it off with the sleeve of his cardigan, and handed it over like it was a secret.

Harry watched her leaf through it with that quiet reverence she saved for real things. Books. Cats. Tiny ceramic bowls that held nothing but dust and memory.

They left with three books. One for her. One Harry picked out without telling her. One she grabbed last-minute because the cover reminded her of her brother. He paid for all of them in cash.

The next stop was a boutique tucked into a stone alleyway—no name, no mannequins, just a beaded curtain and the smell of vanilla. Inside, it was chaos.

Lace and linen and buttons made of bone. Dresses that looked like they’d belonged to Italian actresses in the seventies. Shelves lined with scarves dyed the color of bruises and citrus rinds. Jewelry tangled in bowls.

She held up a pair of vintage sunglasses. “Do I look like I sell weed to college students?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“I like that for me.”

“You’d ruin them in a week.”

She handed them to him anyway. “Good. Then they’ll have character.”

She tried on two dresses. Bought neither. Harry bought her both when she wasn’t looking.

She noticed only when they were halfway down the street and he handed her a wrapped bundle.

She paused. “I said I didn’t want them.”

“You lied.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t say anything else. But he was smiling.

They passed a café with blue umbrellas and tiny espresso cups. He bought her a lemon granita and a slice of almond cake.

She ate both with her feet up on his lap, a paperback open across her knees, his hand resting low on her thigh like it had always belonged there.

No one took a photo. No one whispered. No one called her anything at all. He felt invisible. And for the first time in days, that was a relief.

They walked back to the car slowly. No rush. No panic. She had a bag of marzipan in one hand. His fingers in the other.

The afternoon had turned amber. The kind of light that only exists when you’re not trying to capture it.

Back at the villa, the gravel was still warm underfoot. They slipped inside without speaking. Up the stairs. Down the hall. The quiet was golden.

Until—

“Harry.”

They both stopped.

Lorenzo.

Standing in the corridor like a painting. Hair too perfect. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest he spent more time in mirrors than the markets.

Harry’s hand clenched slightly. Lorenzo smiled.

“We’re having a farewell dinner tonight,” he said. “My yacht. Final celebration before your flight.”

Harry didn’t respond.

Lorenzo’s gaze flicked to her. Then back to Harry.

“Should be intimate,” he added. “Just the core group. Paolo. Francesca. Luca. Livia. Me.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’ll pass,” Harry said flatly.

Lorenzo didn’t blink. “That wasn’t a question.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. Her stomach turned.

She could feel it happening—the shift. The slow, deliberate slide toward something ancient. Pride. Power. That edge of violence that lived in quiet men who had too much to lose.

She stepped forward. Touched Harry’s hand. Took it in hers. Looked up at Lorenzo with a smile so practiced it hurt.

“We’ll be there,” she said softly.

Lorenzo tilted his head. “Wonderful.”

He turned. Walked away.

Harry didn’t move. She didn’t let go. He looked down at her, the edge still sharp behind his eyes.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s just dinner.”

“It’s a performance.”

“So perform.”

A pause. Then he exhaled through his nose.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured.

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“I should be the one protecting you.”

She smiled. “Harry, I can protect you and thats okay.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then pulled her in. Pressed his forehead to hers.

And in that breathless second between silence and surrender, she knew—

He would do anything for her. Even smile at men he hated. Even go to dinner with ghosts. Even pretend. If it meant she stayed.

They walked the rest of the hallway in silence. Her hand still in his. His body still braced for a fight that had not yet arrived.

But by the time they reached the room, it was already beginning to dissolve. The heat of it. The tension. The echo of Lorenzo’s voice. All of it started to fade the second he opened the door for her, and she stepped back into the space that had briefly felt like a sanctuary.

She let go of his hand only to set her bags down gently on the bed. A scarf slipped out—burnt orange with blue stitching at the edge. Harry caught it before it hit the floor and folded it over the back of the chair.

She toed off her sandals. Turned to him.

“Help me unpack?”

He nodded. Wordless. Of course.

It took longer than it needed to. She did it slowly—like if she stretched each act out long enough, the rest of the evening might somehow never arrive.

She took each thing out of the bags one at a time, smoothing the tissue paper between her fingers, holding things up to the fading light like they might tell her something.

Harry stood behind her, occasionally reaching for the things she handed him—books, scarves, a delicate linen blouse she’d claimed was “too sheer to wear in public,” which of course meant she’d already imagined wearing it the next morning.

He folded everything with surprising precision. Sharp creases. Quiet attention.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured.

“Military school,” he said, without looking up. “You learn fast when your roommate’s a sadist.”

She laughed softly. Set a small paper-wrapped box on the dresser.

He glanced over.

“What’s that?”

She shrugged. “Jewelry. Kind of. I think it was meant to be a choker but it’s made of beads and string and I just liked how it felt in my hands.”

Harry said nothing. Just watched her unwrap it—slowly, delicately, like the beads might break if she breathed too hard.

She held it out.

“Put it on me?”

He took it. Stepped behind her. Lifted her hair. Fastened the string with a quiet gentleness that made her chest ache.

His hands lingered at the base of her neck afterward. Then dropped.

She didn’t turn around. But she reached for his hand. Held it for a second. Then let go.

They sat together on the edge of the bed for a while after that.

Just the long slope of light across the stone floor, the breeze curling through the half-open windows, the sound of forks clinking faintly downstairs where staff had begun prepping for the night.

She rested her head on his shoulder. And for a little while, they didn’t talk. Eventually, he kissed the top of her hair.

And said, “We should get ready.”

The getting ready was not hurried. It was careful. Quiet.

Intimate in a way that had everything to do with knowing someone’s rhythm well enough to match it.

She went first—starting with her hair, standing at the small vanity table with a round mirror and a glass tray filled with little hotel bottles that all smelled faintly of lemon and woodsmoke. She brushed slowly. Methodically. Let her hair fall naturally, then twisted it up in a loose, soft knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with two pins and one of the new scarves.

Harry sat behind her on the bed, silently buttoning his shirt—black again, always, the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, the collar slightly open. No jacket tonight. No tie. Just quiet confidence and careful rage tucked beneath the surface.

She glanced at him in the mirror. He looked at her reflection. Neither of them smiled. But something passed between them. Something warm. Unspoken.

She turned back to the vanity and touched her fingers to the edge of her mouth. Then leaned forward and pressed on a little lip color—nothing bold. Just enough to look like she’d been kissed recently.

She stood. Slipped into the dress she’d picked out that morning in town. The one she told him was “too much” for a dinner but bought anyway. A pale mauve silk that fell low at the back and clung just enough to make her feel like a poem instead of a person. She hadn’t worn a bra. Didn’t need to.

Harry looked up. His hands stilled. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. He stood. Crossed the room. Touched the strap of the dress like it might fall off if he didn’t anchor it.

“You’re not real,” he said under his breath.

She smiled. “Neither are you.”

He kissed her shoulder. Then stepped back.

She helped him with his cuffs. Folded each one slowly, smoothing the fabric. Buttoned them without looking up.

“You hate him, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

“Lorenzo?”

She nodded.

“I don’t hate him,” Harry said. “I hate what he represents.”

“Which is?”

“Everything I thought I had to become.”

She met his eyes. Didn’t speak. But she squeezed his wrist, gently. He kissed her forehead. They finished dressing in silence.

He found her shoes under the bed. Slid them on for her, one by one. Then stood and straightened his collar, checking her once more.

“You ready?”

He exhaled.

“No.”

He knew it would be sort of a long drive. The closest Marina to them was about an hour away.

All because Lorenzo wanted to throw a send off dinner for him on a yacht. He knew the man did it on purpose. 

“Too late.”

The villa was quiet when they opened the door. The hallway still. The lights warm and low.

Their steps echoed softly against the stone floors as they made their way down toward the main entrance.

Neither of them spoke. She adjusted the strap of her dress once. Harry reached over and fixed it for her before she could.

They were both beautiful. Both calm. Both armed. And neither of them had any idea what they were walking into.

The car Lorenzo sent them was sleek. Black. Clean in that sterilized, soulless way that suggested it was used for too many things—contract signings, last-minute getaways, discreet apologies to mistresses and board members alike.

The driver didn’t speak at first. Just nodded.

They pulled away from the villa in silence. Gravel cracking under the tires. A distant bird scattering somewhere behind the orchard. The roads twisted softly, curling through dusk. Golden hour was gone now.

Everything outside the window had turned that particular shade of blue that felt like the bottom of a swimming pool—hollow, glassy, waiting to hold something heavy.

She had one hand resting on her thigh. Harry’s was on top of it. Not moving. Just there. Like a claim.

She was staring out the window, watching vineyards fall away like memory, when the driver suddenly said—

“You’re her, huh?”

She turned. Harry did not.

The man cleared his throat. “I mean. Sorry. I just—uh. I saw your face earlier. On—on Twitter. Or X. Or—what is it now? Is it still Twitter? I feel like I should call it Twitter but everyone keeps saying X, but that just feels like a fake porn site—”

Harry looked up slowly.

The driver swallowed. “I mean, it’s none of my business, obviously. Just—my cousin in Palermo sent me a screenshot. You’re all over it. Every social media platform actually.”

He was talking too fast now. Trying to recover. Mumbling something about hashtags and name-blind profiles and how “the internet doesn’t sleep” before trailing off entirely.

She had gone still beside Harry. But he hadn’t moved his hand.

She turned her head. Met his eyes. Worried. Quiet. Not panicked. Just quietly terrified.

He looked at her for a long second.

Then, calm as ever, murmured, “You’re safe.”

She nodded once. Didn’t believe it. But needed to hear it.

What she didn’t know—what Harry hadn’t told her, at least not yet—was that while she was in the dressing room two hours ago, trying on a second dress she’d claimed she hated but couldn’t stop looking at, his phone had buzzed in his lap with a call from Danny.

Harry had stepped outside. Shut the boutique's door behind him. And listened.

Danny had been quick.

“Legal’s drafting the suit. We’re going after Carrie for invasion, misrepresentation, defamation—if we can tie in Lorenzo and Livia, we will.”

Harry didn’t interrupt.

Danny continued, “I also pulled Sofia, Ben, and Claudine. Had them flown in early this morning. Sofia’s already doing back-end wipe work. Scrubbing keywords. Dox block protocols. She’s working with two Reddit mods who owe her favors.”

Harry had only said two words,

“Make it clean.”

And Danny had replied,

“We’re trying.”

They reached the marina about an hour later. 

It was quieter than expected. The kind of quiet that made your skin feel too thin.

The sky was dark now. Bruised purple bleeding into navy. The water held the moonlight like a mirror with fingerprints.

Lorenzo’s yacht was docked at the far end. Lit up. Grand. Excessive in a way only old money could justify. The kind of boat people threw parties on just to get photographed walking off of it.

The driver parked. Didn’t say anything this time.

Harry got out first. Opened her door before she could reach for the handle. Offered his hand. She took it.

And the moment their fingers locked, she felt something strange—something subtle and electric and undeniable.

Like the gravity around him had shifted. Protective. Sharp. She didn’t let go.

They walked the length of the dock in silence.

The water lapped softly at the pylons. Distant music drifted from the yacht—something ambient, expensive, designed not to offend or invite too much thought.

They climbed the short flight of stairs onto the deck. And were immediately surprised. They weren’t late. For once.

Livia and Paolo weren't here yet.

Francesca was the first to spot them. She broke into a grin so genuine it made something loosen in her chest.

“There she is,” she said, crossing the deck in sandals and linen like a dream. “I’ve missed you. Were you avoiding me?”

The girl smiles. “Only because you’re too pretty.”

Francesca laughed. Pulled her in for a hug. Held her longer than expected. She let herself sink into it.

When they pulled apart, Francesca smiled again—gentler now. “You look... really good.”

She opened her mouth to thank her.

But then—

“Harry.”

Luca.

Crossing the deck with a glass of scotch in one hand and a suspiciously sincere expression on his face.

Harry didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded once.

Luca grinned. “Still the friendliest man I know.”

Harry said nothing. But his hand stayed on the small of her back.

Francesca looks at her. Her voice softened, slightly. “The way he looks at you, you know.”

Harry’s jaw flexed.

She smiled anyway. “Trust me I know.”

The two girls giggle making their men smile.

Then came Lorenzo. And Marcella. The hosts. Gilded. Chilled. Radiating civility like a fog.

Lorenzo offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You made it.”

Harry’s silence was a weapon. Marcella kissed both their cheeks with an efficiency that felt like surgery.

“So lovely,” she said, air-light, to no one in particular.

Then turned to Harry. “You’re glowing.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Marcella laughed. He didn’t.

They drifted away. Two ghosts in designer linen. The moment they were gone, she turned to Harry.

“Are we...in a play?”

He smirked. “You’re the lead.”

“And you?”

“Supporting role. Best in show.”

“Villain?”

“Obviously.”

She laced their fingers again.

And even in the low light, in the quiet tension of the yacht deck, in the heat of eyes that watched them like they were both flame and fuel—

Harry looked only at her. Like she was the anchor. Like she was the point. And if the world decided to burn that night—

He’d burn it back. With both hands. And her name on his lips.

They didn’t know what was coming. But they were ready for each other. And sometimes, that was enough. Even when it wouldn’t be.

The deck had been transformed.

Somehow, beneath the twilight and the soft groan of waves brushing the yacht’s hull, it looked almost… charming. Tables set in a crescent curve beneath low-strung lights. Linens crisp. Napkins folded like something ceremonial. A long, slender floral arrangement that looked like someone had plucked it from the edge of a dream and fastened it into a centerpiece with gold wire. The chairs were padded, heavy, far too luxurious for sea air.

And the food—

Well, the food hadn’t even arrived yet, but already, the air smelled like butter and salt and whatever it was rich people paid chefs to do with fish and patience.

She sat beside Harry, as always. Not across. Always beside. His hand rested on his thigh, and hers found it without thinking.

There were only eight seats. They were six. So far. And by some small miracle—some twist of fate or calculation—they had not been the last to arrive.

Francesca was already sipping from a wine glass like it was part of her anatomy. Luca had leaned back already annoyed at something Lorenzo had said. Marcella looked like a woman who had never let her face register inconvenience, and Lorenzo had adopted that particular brand of smirk worn only by men whose mistakes were always cleaned up by assistants.

But everyone was…calm.

The tension Harry had expected—the whispers, the glances, the brittle edge of politeness laced with too much curiosity—had not arrived.

Not yet.

The table hummed with that early-dinner politeness. Low voices. Faint laughter. The clink of a fork against an appetizer plate. Her glass was full of something pale and gold that she couldn’t pronounce, and Harry’s was untouched.

He looked around the table with slow, calculated precision.

Nobody mentioned the article. Nobody even looked at her like her face had been on social media all morning.

He leaned closer, voice low. “See? I told you.”

She nodded once. Still unsure. But grateful.

The chef emerged as the sun dipped fully below the waterline. French. Forty, maybe. Hair too perfect to be accidental.

He spoke with his hands. Described the first course like it was a poem about inheritance and garlic.

“Tonight, we begin with a courgette blossom stuffed with a delicate lemon-infused ricotta, resting on a green garlic velouté and finished with a saffron oil.”

The table applauded. Softly.

Francesca clapped once and said, “God, I missed food that tastes like money.”

Harry didn’t react. She just smiled around her wineglass.

The course arrived. Delicate. Precise. The kind of dish that made her feel like she should sit up straighter just to deserve it.

The fork was cold in her hand. But Harry’s hand stayed warm against her thigh.

And for a moment—a full, uninterrupted moment—it felt like maybe it would be fine. Maybe they could laugh. Maybe the wine would dull the edge. Maybe the wolves had gone quiet.

And then—

Footsteps. Hushed talking. A door opening somewhere on the upper deck.

Francesca glanced up.

“Ah,” she said. “The devils arrive.”

Livia. And Paolo. Late. By design.

Livia was wearing red. Her heels were high enough to be violent. Her makeup was severe in the way only expensive things could be. She looked like a warning.

Paolo, by contrast, looked like he’d been woken up from a nap and handed a blazer. They descended onto the deck like they owned the ship.

And immediately—

She felt it. That thing.nThat look. Livia’s eyes found her like it had been practiced.

A flick up and down. A tilt of the head. A curl of the mouth that wasn’t a smile—it was a warning.

Harry’s posture changed immediately. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But something about his silence sharpened. Like he was measuring windspeed.

Paolo clapped Luca's shoulder. Made a joke in Italian that only Lorenzo laughed at. Livia kissed both of Marcella’s cheeks, air only.

Francesca sipped her wine harder.

And then—

Livia made her way around the table. Slow. Like a lion circling the last guest at a garden party.

When she reached them, she didn’t greet Harry first. She turned to her.

Smiled. And said,

“Well. You clean up nice.”

She blinked.

Managed a polite, “Thanks.”

Livia’s gaze lingered a beat too long.

Then turned to Harry.

“Harry,” she said, like she was tasting the name.

He didn’t reply. Didn’t nod. Didn’t breathe.

Livia smiled wider. And sat across from them. Just far enough to seem unbothered. Just close enough to catch her eye every time she looked down at her fork.

The second course hadn’t even been served yet. And already, she felt her stomach shrink.

The chef returned. Oblivious. Radiating joy.

“The second course,” he said proudly, “is a handmade crab agnolotti in a shellfish bisque, garnished with fennel pollen and a whisper of citrus zest.”

She tried to listen. Tried to be polite. Tried to breathe.

But across the table—

Livia was watching her. Not speaking. Not smirking. Just watching. Like she knew something. Like she was waiting.

Harry noticed. Of course he did. He didn’t move. But he reached under the table. Took her hand. Squeezed.

She looked at him. He didn’t look back. His jaw was tight. His mouth set. But he held her hand like a promise.

And even though Livia was still staring still. Still.

Still sitting there in her red dress like a warning wrapped in perfume—

Harry made sure her hand never left his. Not once. Because she was the only reason he’d shown up tonight.

And he’d burn this yacht to the waterline if anyone touched her. Even with a look. Especially then.

As dinner dragged on beneath the strings of warm light and the low hum of the sea, Livia’s silence began to thicken. Not the kind that suggested grace or boredom. The kind that held heat. Calculated. Manufactured. Edging toward combustion.

She didn’t speak. She barely touched her food. But her eyes—

They stayed fixed. Not on the conversation. Not on Lorenzo’s inane commentary about French vintners or Marcella's Cannes Festival experiences.

On her.

Livia watched her like she was decoding something. Studying a painting she didn’t understand but deeply hated. Her gaze moved over her bare shoulders, the scarf tucked into her hair, the way Harry’s hand stayed anchored on her thigh like it lived there.

She felt it. The scrutiny.

The weight of being seen not as a person, but a project. A theory. A problem.

Harry felt it too.

His hand never left hers. But she noticed the change—his fingers tightening slightly. The occasional glance across the table like a warning. The way he reached for his wine glass only to set it back down, untouched.

He was bracing. And she didn’t know for what.

Until Livia finally spoke.

“We almost didn’t make it back in time,” she said breezily, adjusting the strap of her dress like she hadn’t just been sitting in loaded silence for an hour.

The table went still.

Francesca lifted a brow. “Where were you?”

“Portofino,” Livia answered. “Had to post something. You know how it is. Deadlines.”

Marcella made a sound that might’ve been agreement.

“I had to get the posts up somehow,” Livia continued, sipping her wine like it didn’t taste like venom. “Someone decided to turn his villa into a monastery.”

Harry didn’t blink. “You’ll survive.”

Livia smiled at him. “Will I? Because I had to drive three hours just to get a connection. It’s barbaric, really. The Tuscan countryside is beautiful, but I’m not trying to be digitally off-grid in the middle of a media cycle.”

Francesca cut in lightly. “What media cycle?”

Livia turned. Too quickly. Too eagerly.

She smiled. Not kindly.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?”

Her voice was honeyed and fake.

“I passed a newsstand in Portofino.”

Her fingers tapped the base of her wine glass.

“And imagine my surprise when I saw Harry’s face staring back at me.”

Livia's eyes flicked to her.

“And hers.”

The table went quiet.

Francesca’s smile dimmed. Luca stopped mid-cut into his steak. Paolo looked like he was pretending not to listen.

Harry didn’t move. But she felt his hand flex against her thigh.

Livia leaned forward slightly.

“You know it's crazy,”

Harry’s voice was ice. “Drop it.”

“But I mean—” she continued, sweet and sharp, “it’s a stunning photo. Really. I see why you wanted it buried. You look…” Her eyes scanned the girl again. “Domestic.”

Francesca shifted in her seat. “Livia.”

Livia waved her off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just…interesting.”

She sipped her wine again.

“Especially when the article says no one knows her last name. No one can find where she’s from. Or what she does. Or what she’s done.”

Harry set his wine glass down. Hard. The sound echoed.

“I said,” he repeated, voice steady, lethal, “drop it.”

Livia smiled again. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, laughing faintly, “you’ve always been so dramatic when you’re hiding something.”

And then—

She reached into her purse. Pulled out her phone. Her thumb moved with practiced ease. And she held it up. Face lit up by the screen.

“This,” she said, turning it so the whole table could see, “is why I’m curious.”

The screen showed a headline. Grainy. Dated. But clear.

Daughter & Wife of Convicted Fraudster Vanishes After Twin Brother’s Suicide.

It felt like the world dropped out from under the table. She went still.

Francesca inhaled sharply.

Harry’s hand froze.

Livia swiped. Another image. A courtroom.

Two women seated together—her and her mother.

Her expression was blank in the photo. Empty-eyed. Holding herself together in a dress that didn’t quite fit. A ghost caught on film.

Swipe. A photo of a memorial. Flowers. A framed picture of a boy who looked like her. Same eyes. Same mouth. A candle burned in front of it.

Swipe. The article open again.

Livia’s voice was quiet now. Laced with acid.

“She’s not just a nobody. She’s a disgrace.”

Her words cut through the air like glass.

“She’s not mysterious. She’s a cover story. Her family bankrupted entire counties. North Carolina, South Carolina—ring a bell? Her dad’s in prison for life. Her brother couldn’t handle the fallout, so he fucking shot himself. Her mother? Oh, she left to Europe, leaving behind her only living child. And now she’s here, dressed like an Italian heiress, trying to what? Reclaim the crown?”

She turned the phone back around. Smiled cruelly.

“She’s a gold digger. She doesn’t want you, Harry. She wants her old life back.”

And just like that—

The room detonated.

Harry stood. Fast. Violent. Chair screeching back.

She flinched.

The table went dead quiet.

Livia blinked. Harry didn’t say a word. He reached across the table. Snatched the phone from her hand.

And, without a breath—

Threw it. Hard. Over the railing.

It sailed clean into the dark water. A distant splash. Livia gasped.

Harry turned to her—his.

Took her hand. Didn’t look at anyone else. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t explain. He just pulled her up from the table and walked.

Fast. Sharp. Deliberate.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look back.

Francesca and Luca called after them. But Harry didn’t stop.

He held her hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. They reached the stairs. The dock. The cool night air hit them like a slap.

She tried to speak once—tried to say his name. But he didn’t respond. Not yet. He was moving too fast. Like if he slowed down, something would shatter.

At the end of the dock, a row of cars idled quietly. Drivers waiting, smoking, checking their phones. Harry found theirs in seconds. The driver startled when he saw him.

Harry opened the door. She slipped inside without a word. He followed. The doors shut. The silence hit like a bell.

The driver turned, cautious. “Would you like…music?”

Harry nodded once.

“Low.”

The man reached for the dial. Turned the volume up just enough to mask the breathless tension. Soft classical music filled the space.

But it didn’t help. Because inside the car, she wasn’t breathing right.

And Harry? Harry hadn’t said a word since the table.

She stared straight ahead, fingers clenched in her lap, the scar from her past bleeding through the fabric of her dress, visible now in ways it never had been.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But her throat burned. And Harry still hadn’t looked at her.

Still hadn’t said anything. Still hadn’t touched her. She tried again. Quiet.

“Harry.”

Nothing.

She turned her head. He was staring out the window. Jaw clenched. Eyes distant. Like he was trying to kill something in his mind.

She shrank back against the seat. The hour felt like ten. The mountains passed them in slow shadows. The vineyard fences blurred. The stars outside sparkled like they didn’t know what had happened.

When they reached the villa, the driver pulled into the gravel driveway and didn’t speak.

Harry got out first. Came around to her door. Opened it like he always did. But he didn’t meet her eyes. He just offered his hand.

She hesitated. Then took it.

Because it was habit now. Because it was muscle memory. Because it still meant something.

But her chest was splintering. Because Harry hadn’t looked at her. Not really. And she didn’t know if it was because he was protecting her—

Or because now he saw her the way the world did. Like a headline. A scandal. A past that couldn’t be washed away.

They walked into the villa without a word. The door shut behind them.

And the silence returned. Worse now. Thicker. Unspoken.

And she—

She stood in the middle of the room like she didn’t know where to go. Like she didn’t know if she still belonged.

Harry stood at the window. Hands on the sill. Looking out. Like he needed to calm the storm in his chest before he came near her.

She watched his back rise and fall. Once. Twice.

Then whispered.

“I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.

So she said it again. Stronger. More desperate.

“Harry. I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

Still, no response. And it broke something in her.

She turned. Walked to the bed. Sat down slowly. Face in her hands.

The shame crawled up her spine like fire. She didn’t know if he hated her now. Didn’t know if he regretted everything. Didn’t know if the silence was grief or fury or both.

But she couldn’t take it anymore.

So she whispered, “Say something.”

And finally—

Finally—

He turned. Crossed the room in three strides. Knelt in front of her. Hands on her knees.

Eyes searching hers like a lifeline.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said hoarsely, “because I didn’t know how to say I’m sorry.”

She blinked. Tears down her cheeks.

“What?”

He reached up. Touched her face.

“I should’ve protected you. I should’ve burned that story to the ground before it ever saw print. I should’ve never let you walk into that dinner.”

Her lip trembled. He leaned forward. Pressed his forehead to hers.

Breathed in like she was oxygen.

“I don’t care about your past,” he said. “I care that you had to live it alone.”

She broke. Right there. In his hands. Tears slid down her cheeks silently. No sobs. Just a collapse.

He wrapped his arms around her. Pulled her onto his lap. Held her like something sacred.

Like she wasn’t broken. Like she was his. And when he kissed her hair, he whispered it again.

“I’m sorry.”

Over. And over. And over.

Until the silence softened. Until her hands clutched his shirt and wouldn’t let go. Until her breath steadied. Until he knew—

She still believed him. Even now. Especially now

Harry didn’t know how long she cried in his arms. But eventually—inevitably—she wore herself out.

Her breath slowed. Her grip on his shirt loosened. The weight of everything—the article, the shame, the dinner, the past she never asked for—tugged her under like sleep was the only mercy the night had left to give.

She fell asleep in his lap. Her face still pressed to his shoulder, lashes damp, fingers curled like a child’s against his ribs. He didn’t move for a long time. Just held her. Let the room breathe again. Let the storm pass through him too.

Then, as gently as possible, he shifted. Lifted her carefully—arms beneath her knees and shoulders like she weighed nothing. She stirred for a second, murmured something against his chest, then went quiet again.

Harry laid her softly on the bed.

Paused. Looked at her for a long moment.

Then he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. Unfastened it slowly.

Pulled the silk down her body with reverence, like it was something holy. Like she was something holy. And she was. Even now, even like this—her hair clinging to her cheek, her eyes red from crying, her chest still heaving with the remnants of grief—she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He dressed her in one of his shirts. The soft black one with sleeves too long for her arms. And a pair of drawstring sweats she always claimed were too big but wore anyway when she was cold.

Then he tucked her in. Folded the blankets up to her chin. Brushed her hair off her face. Kissed her cheek.

And when he pulled back, his throat ached. Because you could still tell she’d been crying. Even in sleep. Even with the room quiet again. Even with her tucked safe beneath layers and love and silence.

He stood there for a long time. Staring at her. Hands on his hips. Head bowed. Then he turned. Slipped out of the room.

The hallway was still. The air sharp with Tuscan night.

He didn’t knock on Danny’s door. Just opened it.

Danny was still awake. Still at the desk. Still surrounded by printouts and screens and glowing things that wouldn’t stop blinking. He looked up the second Harry walked in, eyes bloodshot, tie loosened, jaw tight.

“I was about to come find you,” Danny said. “Livia’s phone is at the bottom of the sea and Lorenzo’s been calling since they docked.”

Harry didn’t respond. He stepped inside. Shut the door behind him. Then stood there. For a beat. Two.

And finally, quietly—

“She’s not who they say she is.”

Danny blinked. “Okay.”

Harry stepped closer. Ran a hand down his face. Exhaled.

“She’s not a gold digger. She’s not after anything. She’s…she’s not trying to be anything other than someone who survived.”

Danny leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

Harry stared at the floor. “Her father was a fraud. The worst kind. Bankrupted counties. Destroyed families. Her brother—” he stopped, jaw clenched, then shook his head. “Her brother didn’t make it.”

Danny didn’t speak.

“And her mother?” Harry added. “Vanished. Moved to Europe. Left her with nothing. Not even a phone call.”

Danny’s face softened.

“She was twenty,” Harry said. “Barely twenty. All that chaos, all that press—people stalking her, blaming her, speculating. She left the country. Changed her name. Disappeared. She’s been rebuilding ever since.”

He paused. Looked up.

“I didn’t know until tonight.”

Danny nodded once. Still silent.

Harry walked to the desk. Put his hands flat on the surface.

“I’m canceling the deal.”

Danny blinked. “What—?”

“All of them,” Harry said. “Lorenzo. Paolo. Anyone else tied to this. Anyone who sat at that table and let her be humiliated.”

Danny exhaled.

“You sure?”

Harry looked at him. “They don’t respect me. And they sure as hell don’t respect her.”

Danny leaned back in his chair. Ran a hand through his hair.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll shut it down. Pull the paperwork. Call legal.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll handle everything,” Danny added, voice quieter now.

Harry looked at him. Grateful.

Then he stepped back. One hand on the doorknob.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “As soon as she wakes up.”

Danny blinked. “New York?”

Harry nodded. “She needs to be home. Somewhere she can breathe.”

Danny was already typing. “I’ll have the jet ready.”

Harry lingered in the doorway for a second longer. Then left.

Back in the suite, the room was still dim. She hadn’t moved. The covers hadn’t shifted. Her hand was curled near her face, one wrist poking out from the sleeve of his shirt.

He moved slowly. Quietly. Started to pack. Not for the first time. But with a different kind of focus now.

He folded her things one at a time. Smoothed the fabric. Laid them in her suitcase with more care than he’d shown in any boardroom or billion-dollar negotiation. Every scarf. Every book. The dresses he bought her. The choker made of beads and string. Her sandals. Her sunglasses. Her hair pins.

He packed it all. Because she wouldn’t have thought to do it. Because she was still bleeding somewhere inside. Because she was asleep and exhausted and hurting and he loved her so much it ached.

He zipped the suitcase shut gently. Set it by the door.

Then packed his. Less carefully. More rough. He didn't care about his things as much as he cared about hers. He didn’t need much. Just whatever he needed to get her back safely.

When both suitcases were lined up by the door, he paused. Stared at them. His and hers. Side by side. Like they belonged to people who’d been married for ten years. Like this was just another business trip. Another morning. Another moment.

But it wasn’t. This was something else. This was a line in the sand. And he was choosing her. He was choosing her past. Her future. Her name. The shame she had to manage alone. Her silence. All of it.

Harry turned. Looked back at her. Still asleep. Still soft. Still his. And in that moment, something settled inside him. Something final.

She could’ve told him she was a storm. A wreck. A ruin. He still would’ve chosen her. Every time.

Her shame was his shame. He would defend her. Even if she killed somebody. No matter what the world said.

He crossed the room. Turned off the last lamp. Slipped into bed beside her. Didn’t wake her. Just slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close again.

She shifted slightly. Exhaled. Settled against his chest like gravity knew him.

And Harry—

Harry closed his eyes. Held her. And waited for morning. Because soon, they were going home.

It was still dark when she stirred.

No sunlight yet—just the blue of early morning crawling through the windows, brushing the stone floor like a whisper. Outside, the hills slept. The air was thick with silence, the kind that only exists just before dawn, when even the birds hesitate to speak.

Harry hadn’t slept much. He’d laid there, holding her, counting her breaths, his thumb brushing slowly over her ribs like the motion alone might protect her. He’d watched the hours crawl past on the little travel clock near the bed.

3:17. 4:09. 5:01.

He didn’t mind. So when her body tensed in his arms—barely a flinch, just the subtle stiffening of shoulders and the catch of breath—he noticed instantly.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pressed his lips to her hair and held her tighter. Not enough to trap. Just enough to anchor.

She didn’t open her eyes. But he felt it—the dread blooming beneath her ribs, the way her breathing changed. Not panic. Not fear exactly.

Just pain. Old. Familiar. Worn thin like a favorite shirt.

And then, softly—his voice still rough with sleep, or maybe something gentler—

“Hey.”

She didn’t answer. So he tried again, this time brushing his thumb along her arm, soothing.

“It’s just me.”

A pause.

Then, “You’re safe.”

She shifted slightly. Tucked her face into his chest.

Her voice, when it came, was hoarse. Small. “What time is it?”

He glanced toward the window. “Still early.”

Another pause.

Then—barely audible—

“Did it really happen?”

Harry exhaled.

And nodded against her temple. “Yeah.”

She didn’t cry. Not this time.

She just curled tighter into him, like the confirmation settled something—like she’d needed someone to say it out loud, to mark it real. To make it something they could move past.

He pulled the blankets higher over her shoulder.

Pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“We’re leaving,” he said softly. “In a little bit.”

She didn’t ask where. Didn’t ask why. But he told her anyway.

“Back to New York. Jet’s ready. Packed your things.”

That got a tiny flicker of something—a shift in her body. A breath caught between resistance and relief.

“I don’t want you doing all of this,” she said quietly.

Harry pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You don’t get a say.”

Her brows knit.

“I’m taking care of you,” he said. “Because I want to. Because I love you. And because you deserve someone who does it without being asked.”

He loves her. He said he fucking loves her.

She blinked. Soft. Unsure.

He ran a hand down her side, slow. Reassuring. Then he said it—what had been pressing into the base of his throat since last night.

“I don’t care about your past.”

She looked up at him then. Really looked.

Harry’s expression didn’t waver.

“I care that you had to go through it alone,” he said. “I care that no one protected you. That no one stood up for you. That people looked at you and saw the story instead of the person.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just stared at him, heart cracking open again—but slower this time. Less violent. Just a soft, slow unraveling in the face of something so rare it felt sacred.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix me,” she whispered.

Harry’s hand moved up to her cheek. “I’m not fixing you. I’m loving you.”

She swallowed hard. And that—somehow—hurt more than anything else.

“People don’t usually stay once they know.”

“I’m not people.”

He said it simply.

Firmly.

Like it was fact.

She blinked, lips parting slightly.

He tilted his head.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom.”

A beat passed. She blinked slowly.

Shrugged once. “She’s… she was traditional.”

Harry waited.

“She believed in casseroles and church and southern charm. Makeup on before eight. Hair done for the grocery store.”

He smirked faintly. “A real debutante?”

“Almost.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “She loved my dad. In the old way. Cooked for him. Stayed small so he could feel big. When he went down, she didn’t know how to stand on her own. So she left. Said she had nothing left to give.”

Harry didn’t speak. Just watched her.

“She wasn’t cruel,” she added softly. “She just didn’t know how to stay.”

He brushed her cheekbone with his knuckle.

“You stayed,” he said.

She looked up.

“And that’s why I’m here.”

That silenced her. For a long, quiet second.

Then—

She whispered, “I’m scared.”

Harry shook his head once.

“You don't have to be.” he said.

Then he leaned in.

Pressed his lips to her forehead.

And added, “I got you.”

They laid there a little longer.

Curled together in that fragile pre-dawn quiet, the world outside just beginning to stretch awake. When she finally pulled back and sat up, Harry was already moving—grabbing the hoodie he’d left out for her, slipping it over her shoulders before she could protest.

“I can dress myself,” she mumbled.

He raised an eyebrow. “I know. I just like doing it.”

She rolled her eyes. But let him. Because she could tell. He needed to.

They didn’t talk much as they got ready.

She brushed her teeth slowly. Tied her hair up. Didn’t look in the mirror for too long. Harry moved around the room quietly, efficiently—double checking their bags then zipping them back up, folding a scarf he had forgotten she’d draped over a chair, making sure everything was in place.

He wouldn’t let her carry anything. Not even her tote.

When she reached for it, he shook his head. “No.”

“I can handle a tote.”

He didn’t respond. Just took it gently from her hands, added it to his shoulder. She didn’t argue after that.

Because the look in his eyes wasn’t about control. It was about care. He was holding the weight for both of them because he could. Because he wanted to.

Because after everything, she was still the only thing that mattered.

They left before the sun crested the horizon.

The villa was still half-asleep. Staff lights dimmed. The air thick with rosemary and earth and silence. Gravel crunched under their feet as they walked to the car, her sandals quiet, his steps deliberate.

Danny was already outside. Waiting in a hoodie and slacks, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.

He looked up when he saw them. Gave Harry a nod.

“You’re set,” he said. “Jet’s prepped. Flight plan filed. Pilot’s already on deck.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

Danny looked at her then. Something gentler in his expression.

“If you ever need someone to scream into a void with,” he said, “I’ve got access to a few very satisfying voids.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks, Danny.”

“I’ll stay back,” he added. “Wrap things up. Pull the plug on the deal. Handle any fallout.”

“You sure?” Harry asked.

Danny nodded once. “They don’t deserve the win. And you’ve got more important things to do.”

Harry clapped him once on the shoulder. Then opened the car door for her. She slid in slowly.

Looked out the window as Harry said a few more words to Danny—quiet, brief. Then he grabbed the suitcases. Loaded them into the back without fanfare. Climbed in beside her.

The driver pulled away without a word. The hills fell behind them. And the world turned pale. The sun hadn’t risen yet. But the sky was warming. That soft, tender blue that lives only between night and day.

She reached for Harry’s hand. Found it already waiting. Their fingers laced. She closed her eyes. And breathed.

Because they were going home. Together.

The word felt heavier now. Heavier than suitcases. Heavier than shame. Heavier than every whisper that tried to reduce her to headlines.

They boarded the jet without a word.

Harry helped her up the narrow staircase, his hand at the small of her back, quiet and unwavering. The stewardess greeted them softly—eyes down, voice respectful—as if she could feel the exhaustion radiating off their bodies like heat.

“We’ll be taking off in fifteen,” The stewardess said. “Can I get you anything before we do?”

“Breakfast,” Harry said, without looking away from her. “For two. And something sweet.”

The woman nodded. “Of course.”

They moved down the corridor, past the leather seats and polished wood and too-perfect lighting. The hum of money was everywhere—but quieter here. Like the jet knew not to interrupt.

When they reached the back, Harry paused.

His hand curled around the gold handle of the last door.

“I’ve never used this room,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

His eyes flicked to hers. “This room. Never had a reason.”

Then he opened the door. The bedroom was dimly lit. Soft grey walls. A wide bed draped in dark linen. A window near the headboard framed the sky like a painting still in progress.

He let her walk in first. And when she turned to face him— hair messy, still wearing his hoodie and sweats, no bra underneath, eyes red-rimmed but defiant—he saw her.

All of her. Everything she’d tried to bury under silence and shame.

And he wanted her. Not to distract. Not to possess. But to worship. To remind her she was still flesh and hunger and fire—not just a story someone else tried to write.

Harry shut the door. Locked it. Then crossed the room like gravity had lost its patience.

“Take it off,” he said, voice low, rough.

She looked up, breath catching. “What?”

He stepped closer. Fingers already curling beneath the hem of the hoodie. “I want to see you.”

Her heart thudded. Loud. Chaotic. But she lifted her arms.

Let him pull the sweatshirt up, over her head, exposing her bare chest beneath—soft and real and vulnerable in a way that made his throat ache.

He let the hoodie drop to the floor. Ran his hands down her arms slowly. Palms flat. Reverent.

Then he kissed her. Not gently. Not sweetly. He kissed her like he had something to prove. Like he was starving. Like if he didn’t taste her right now he might never breathe again.

She moaned into his mouth. Clutched his shirt. Dragged him closer.

His hands were everywhere. On her back. Her hips. Her ass. Gripping. Claiming.

He walked her back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. Without breaking anything at all except the air between them.

She hit the mattress with a gasp, and he followed—hovering over her, already pushing the sweats down her hips.

“Harry—”

“Lift.”

She did.

He peeled them off, slow and brutal, along with her underwear. Just skin and heat and the ache between her thighs that had been building for days.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

She spread her legs a little. Just enough. His gaze darkened.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, pulled her to the edge, and buried his face between her thighs like he was trying to erase everything the world had ever said about her.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

She gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting.

His tongue was filthy. Obsessive. He licked her like he owned her. Like he could solve her. Deep, slow drags that had her legs shaking, her mouth falling open, her body arching off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please don’t fucking stop.”

He didn’t. He kept going until she came. Hard. Loud. Her thighs trembling around his face, her hands clawing the sheets, her voice breaking on his name like a prayer turned pornographic.

He didn’t even pull away. Licked her through it. Tasted her like he’d waited his whole life for this exact moment.

And when she finally collapsed back against the mattress, chest heaving, sweat on her lip—he stood.

Unbuckled his belt. Undid his pants. And pulled his cock out—already hard, already leaking, already furious.

He stroked it once. Twice. Then climbed over her.

“Look at me.”

She did.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want it.”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He pushed in hard.

One thrust. Deep. All the way. She cried out. Clutched his back. He didn’t stop.

Fucked her deep and slow. Then harder. Faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the cabin, obscene and beautiful and raw. She wrapped her legs around him, dragged him in deeper, begged for more.

“Fuck me, Harry. Please.”

“I am, baby,” he panted. “I fucking am.”

He kissed her like he couldn’t stand to be separate. Fucked her like she was his salvation. Every thrust was a promise. Every groan a declaration.

She came again. This time around his cock. Tight. Shaking. Screaming. And he didn’t stop.

He flipped her over. Fucked her from behind. One hand in her hair. The other gripping her hip like a threat. She gasped. Moaned. Took it all.

“Yours,” she kept saying. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

Harry lost it. Pulled out. Turned her back over.

Finished between her legs. On her stomach. Chest. Neck. Painted her in it. Marked her. Owned her.

Then collapsed beside her, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I love you.”

She smiled. Pulled his hand to her mouth. Kissed each finger.

“I love you too.”

The plane hadn’t even taken off yet. But they were already flying.

She laid sprawled against the sheets, hair wild, skin flushed, his breath still soft against her shoulder. The air was thick with them—salt, sweat, sex. That slow, sacred stillness that only came after being devoured and loved in the same breath.

She was half-asleep, cheek turned toward him, lips parted in that way that made his chest ache.

Harry didn’t move at first. Just looked at her. Let himself have the moment. Then, slowly, he sat up.

The room was dim, still gently humming with the lull of ascent. The window behind them glowed faintly with dawn—high above the clouds now, the sky soft and endless and blue.

He reached for the towel folded on the bench at the end of the bed. Not hotel standard—his own. Cashmere. Embroidered. Unused.

He wet it under the small sink in the en-suite, came back, and carefully cleaned her up. She barely stirred, just hummed faintly when the cool cloth passed over her thighs.

“There we go,” he murmured, brushing hair off her cheek. “All clean.”

She blinked once. A lazy, satisfied kind of blink.

He kissed her temple. Then stood, walking to the small built-in drawer beneath the bed. There was a sweater in there he’d forgotten about. Still neatly folded. Still faintly smelling of lavender and something long buried.

He paused. Fingers hovering. Then pulled it out.

A dark navy pullover. Soft. French. Lucy had bought it for him in Marseille—one of the last things she’d given him before the end. They’d fought on the flight home, he remembered. Screaming match over something stupid. She’d told him he was incapable of love. He’d thrown the sweater into this drawer the same night, not even bothering to take it out of the packaging.

He stared at it now. Then exhaled. And walked it back to the bed.

She’s not Lucy, he murmured to himself.

He gently slipped it over her arms. Over her head. Let the soft wool fall around her thighs like armor. Then found his boxers on the floor and tugged them gently up her legs, dressing her like she was a painting he needed to protect from the world.

She stirred faintly.

Eyes half-lidded. “You dressing me again?”

Harry smirked. “Better than leaving you cold.”

She smiled, drowsy and soft.

Then—knock knock. Sharp. Delicate.

Harry turned. The stewardess.

He moved quickly to the door, opening it just enough to keep the bedroom’s warmth from escaping.

“Breakfast,” she said politely, balancing a tray.

Harry nodded, took it from her silently, then shut the door with a finality that left no room for conversation.

He carried the tray to the bed and set it down gently. She was already sitting up, hair a mess, legs tucked beneath the sweater, blinking like she wasn’t quite sure where she was.

Harry handed her a fork.

“French toast,” he said. “Fruit. Coffee. Some kind of lemon tart.”

She blinked. “You ordered sweets?”

“I figured you deserved something sweet.”

That made her smile. They ate on the bed. Quiet. Close.

The toast was still warm, and the butter melted into the corners just right. She made a small sound when she took a bite of the lemon tart, the kind of sound that made his blood stir again.

He just watched her. Coffee in hand. Silent. Soft.

Her head eventually dropped to his shoulder. She sighed once. And passed out. Harry didn’t move. Didn’t shift.

Just sat there while her weight settled against him again, her breath even and deep, the hem of his sweater rising and falling with every exhale.

She was exhausted. Of course she was. She’d cried herself sick. Been exposed. Stripped bare in front of people who didn’t deserve her name in their mouths. Then fucked like a fever broke loose inside her.

He carefully slid her down onto the pillows, adjusted the blankets around her, then sat on the edge of the bed again—watching the sky change outside the window.

Halfway back to New York, his phone buzzed.

Once. Twice. Then again.

Danny.

He declined the call. Not interested.

She was still asleep. Still curled in the sweater he’d forgotten he ever owned. One hand beneath her cheek. One leg tangled in the blankets.

Then—buzz. Text.

Danny: Call me. Urgent.

Harry frowned. Another buzz.

Danny: Her mother is here.

Danny: Screaming at staff. Security is trying to calm her down.

His body went still. Another buzz.

Danny: She showed up at the villa screaming. Wants to see her daughter. She said she saw the article.

Harry stared at the screen. Another text.

Danny: I told them not to let her in. She’s calling your name now. Saying she “just wants to talk.”

Another.

Danny: Harry, what do I do?

Harry stood. Carefully. Walked across the cabin. Set the phone down. Ran a hand through his hair.

Her mother. Her fucking mother.

He’d just listened to her talk about that woman like a ghost—someone who left. Someone who couldn’t love her out loud. And now she wanted to show up like it was convenient? Like her daughter hadn’t built a life from nothing?

Harry clenched his fists.

Everyone always came crawling back when there was something to gain. Exposure. Fame.

A second chance to rewrite their name into someone else's headline.

He walked back to the bed. Looked at her. Still sleeping. Still unaware. Still wrapped in a sweater she didn’t know the history of.

His chest burned. He grabbed his phone again. Typed.

Harry: Keep her out. I don’t care how loud she gets. She doesn’t go near the villa. She doesn’t see staff. She doesn’t speak to anyone.

Another buzz.

Danny: Understood.

Harry stood at the window. Watched the sky darken slightly as they shifted time zones. His jaw set. Because there was no version of this where he let that woman hurt her again. Not now. Not ever.

He turned. Looked back at the bed. She stirred again. Brow furrowed faintly. The way people do when dreams start to turn.

He walked back over.nSat down beside her. Smoothed a hand through her hair.

And whispered, just barely—

“I’ve got you.”

Because she was his now. And anyone who wanted to get to her—

Would have to go through him first.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, it was early morning in Cape Cod.

The light outside was muted, soft and winter-pale, filtering through the gauzy kitchen curtains with the kind of stillness that came before the wind. The house smelled faintly of salt and last night’s red wine, a half-empty bottle still perched on the edge of the farmhouse table like a leftover guest overstaying its welcome.

Lucy had been awake for hours. Not out of restlessness—but purpose.

Her phone had started buzzing at 5:42 AM. Her friend Chloe, the kind who always found drama before the tabloids did, had sent her a flood of texts with screenshots and breathless voice notes. Chloe didn’t even say good morning.

Chloe: Is this his girl? The one from the article? Because HOLY SHIT...Lucy! Her dad BANKRUPTED SO MANY PEOPLE.

Lucy sat upright in bed before the last text came through.

By six, she was in a robe and socks, laptop open, tea gone cold, eyes bloodshot. The article was everywhere.

Carrie Roth’s expose had detonated overnight. Comments flooded in faster than anyone could moderate. Twitter. Reddit. Instagram. Facebook mom groups. Even Pinterest threads had gotten hold of it. People were sharing old court documents. Yearbook photos. Deep-cut gossip from towns Lucy didn’t even know existed. But one name kept being repeated.

Harry Castillo’s new girlfriend.

And beneath it—

Lucy’s name. Because of course. Because people loved a narrative. Because somehow, Lucy had become the woman he left. The one who "couldn’t hold his attention."

And the new girl? The one with a scandalous past and a messy family? She’d become a headline. A warning. A fascination.

But what made Lucy’s stomach turn was the girl’s past. It was everywhere. Lucy scrolled. And kept scrolling. Until the comments began to turn.

The hate wasn’t just about her anymore. People were dragging Harry now. For being with her. For keeping her hidden. For falling in love with the kind of story that made people feel better about their own.

Lucy leaned back in her chair. Eyes heavy. Jaw tight.

The ocean outside was calm. The wind hadn’t picked up yet. The sky was still a pale bruise.

And then—

John stirred.

From the other room, Lucy heard the soft creak of floorboards as he walked into the kitchen. The sound of the cabinet door opening. The click of the kettle.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t say a word. John yawned, scratched his chest, and reached for a chipped ceramic mug. Still shirtless, still half-asleep, still painfully unaware.

Lucy stood. “I left my sweater in the bedroom.”

He nodded absently, watching the water start to boil.

When she disappeared down the hall, he looked around—glancing at her laptop only to check the time.

And that’s when he saw it. The image on the screen. The girl. The lobby. The headline.

He froze. Brows furrowing. Not at Harry. Not at the headline.

At her. The girl in the photo. The girl now being dragged by the entire internet.

When Lucy came back, sweater in hand, John didn’t look at her right away. Just pointed toward the screen with a slow, distracted gesture.

“I know her.”

Lucy blinked. “What?”

He finally turned to face her. “The girl. In the photo.”

Lucy frowned. Repeated herself again. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I actually know her.”

Lucy’s spine straightened. “From where?”

John set the mug down.

“I used to work her family’s events.”

Lucy blinked. “What events?”

“Down in South Carolina,” John said, pulling out a chair. “Back when I was just starting out. You know I picked up catering gigs before I moved to Brooklyn.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You served food at parties.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And her family, they threw a lot of them. Fundraisers. Galas. Birthday parties that probably cost more than our rent. She was always there, running around barefoot with a lemonade or hiding from the cameras. She hated being the center of attention.”

Lucy stared at him.

“I didn’t recognize her at first,” he admitted. “But seeing this photo again… yeah. That’s her. I used to help her sneak leftovers into her room because her mom was obsessed with diets. Sweet girl.”

Lucy’s mouth tightened.

“And after everything happened?” he went on. “She disappeared. Everyone thought she left the country. But she didn’t. She showed up in New York. Looking for work.”

He looked at Lucy then. “She reached out to me. Found me through a friend. Said she remembered I was working in restaurants. Needed a job. I helped her get hired at the same spot I was serving at.”

Lucy’s face went cold.

“She was a wreck, Luce. Quiet. Barely ate. Flinched when people raised their voices. But she worked harder than anyone.”

Lucy didn’t speak. Just crossed her arms slowly.

“And when she started getting noticed—when people started looking at her again—it wasn’t because she was chasing it,” John said. “It was because she couldn’t hide anymore.”

Lucy’s lips parted. Then closed again. John turned back to the kettle.

“I hope she makes it to the wedding,” he said simply.

The words struck her like a slap. Lucy blinked.

“I hope she’s okay,” John added. “I hope he takes care of her.”

Lucy didn’t answer. Just stood there, frozen in the doorway, holding onto the sleeves of her sweater like they were reins. She stared at his back.

Then said, flatly—

“You’ve always had a soft spot for stray dogs.”

John paused. Then turned around. His face wasn’t kind anymore. It was steady. And disappointed.

“She was just a kid,” he said. “A kid who lost everything.”

Lucy flinched. And John didn’t soften.

“She didn’t choose what happened to her family. She survived it. There’s a difference.”

Lucy turned away.

John exhaled, voice quieter now.

“Not everyone has parents who can pay half their mortgage, Luce.”

Silence. Lucy walked to the window. Stared out. She didn’t say anything else. Because what could she say?

That the girl Harry had chosen was someone John used to pity? That she couldn’t stand the idea of her being loved by a man who’d once called Lucy his home? That somewhere—buried beneath all the rage and insecurity—she was afraid Harry had found someone real?

Someone soft and haunted and full of the kind of truth Lucy had never had to carry? She didn’t say it.

She just stared out the window. While John sipped his coffee.

And the world, outside, kept burning.

─────

TAGLIST @foxfollowedmehome @glitterspark @sukivenue @hhallefuckinglujahh @wholesomeloneliness @bebop36 @maryfanson @aysilee2018 @msjarvis @snoopyreadstoday @woodxtock @lasocia69 @jakecockley @just-a-harmless-patato @romancherry @southernbe @canyoufallinlove @aomi-recs @ivoryandflame @peelieblue @mstubbs21 @eleganthottubfun @justgonewild @awqwhat @xoprettiestkat @prose-before-hoes @indiegirlunited @catnip987 @thottiewinemom @rainbowsock4 @weareonlygettingolderbabe @hotforpedro @petertingless @lemon-world1 @jasminedragoon @algressman16 @la-120 @totallynotshine @joelmillerpascal @inesbethari @peedrow @escapefromrealitylol @mrsbilicablog @lunpycatavenue @ennvsco @vickie5446 @stormseyer

[tokoyamisstuff]

Second Chance At Love Epilogue

Warnings: none, maybe slight mental health issues

A/N: sorry for the wait, writing fluff doesn't come easy to me... but damn, I am incredibly thankful for everyone that has been engaging with this fic! 💌 it's been a pleasure, and I can't wait to create more for you wonderful people! ✨️

[Six Weeks Later]

"Had a nightmare again?"

Mark's half-lidded eyes were locked on you, wiping his wettened lashes dry before nuzzling against your chest again. He had fallen asleep on top of you while cuddling on the sofa, seeming rather peaceful until suddenly he had started getting restless and whisper concerning things in his sleep.

Those present days his only trouble was an irrational fear that he might hurt you during one of his night-terrors, and yet he was also too anxious of losing you again to not be at your side 24/7. So he had taken on the habit to simply hold you in his arms as and forcing himself to stay awake, admiring and protecting you even throughout the whole night.

Most of the time he'd just randomly pass out due to exhaustion, just like it had happened earlier. It's a miracle how he can even be functioning on so little rest, but Mark kept assuring you he's had it worse before and sadly, you did take his word for it.

"Mhh..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shun out the unpleasant memories haunting his dreams and instead concentrates on your heartbeat in order to calm his own.

You're alive. You're here with him. This is real.

"A true nightmare would be waking up and see you gone" your boyfriend mumbled shyly as his panicked breathing slowly evens out, trailing an absentminded path of kisses along your collarbone.

Sometimes doubt would overcome him, thinking this was too good to be true, that maybe he just completely lost his mind and made it all up in his head.

"Hey, I'm with you" you coo sweetly, planting a wet kiss on the crown of his head. It's like you always have the words he needs to hear on the tip of your tongue.

"I know, I know..." Mark's grip on you loosens a bit, although his hands remained possessively hooked to your body. "Thank you."

You try sitting up but a noise of protest drang to your ear, making you giggle as the man climbed on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

"Mark..." His mouth plays with the shell of your ear, making a pleasant shiver run down your spine. You let out a sensual sigh, hands disappearing under his shirt to feel up his muscular chest, before softly pushing him away. "We're already late..."

Your boyfriend sat up, still straddling your waist as his eyes darted throughout the room, trying to look anywhere but your face. "Are you, uh...are you sure William is okay with me accompanying you to his birthday party?"

"He specifically asked me to bring you along" you snicker, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to pull him in for another kiss. He practically melts when he feels his lips move against yours, even after all this time. He'd never get tired of this, of you.

Mark's face is adorably flushed when you finally break contact, and you poke his chest in a teasing manner, offering him a cheeky grin. "So don't worry too much, okay?"

"Alright..." he murmurs under his breath, letting himself dramatically plummet onto you again. "Ugh, this is gonna be so awkward..."

Indeed...

With the sheer endless rebuild and trying to figure out your boyfriend's place in this world, there wasn't really much time for you to have a long overdue talk with this world's Mark and his girlfriend Eve.

"We need to get it over with eventually, right? The party is a great opportunity."

Those past weeks have been rather eventful, and frankly a lot is still complicated.

You haven't even let him meet your parents yet, since it'd be hard to explain why the man you're dating looks exactly like your childhood best friend down to the last minicule detail. A long lost twin, maybe? Damn, Cecil better earns his taxpayer's money and come up with something - it's a exhausting to keep your relationship a secret as technically, your boyfriend shouldn't exist in this dimension.

But ever since he was officially allowed to stay and roam freely, he's relentlessly working to make amends for his deeds.

He once confided in you that he's afraid of his father- no, Nolan's return to earth - because even though it's not the same version that tormented him all these years, he was afraid to relapse and lose control at the mere sight of him.

But that's a worry for another day. One step at a time.

Initially Cecil wanted your Mark to become the Guardian's new leader, however that 'the strongest leads' mindset was too similar to Viltrum culture for his liking. Not to mention he has yet to earn their trust, and is still not completely mentally stable.

When he first joined the team, everyone was - and frankly, still is - pretty wary, if not downright hateful towards him. After everything they needed to endure because of the variants, it's no wonder really. And yet, up until now they managed to swallow their feelings and treating him polite and respectful, though distanced, which is more than he could dare asking for.

A small victory is that the knowledge he got from his own timeline proved useful against many foes to come. Like that he's already indirectly averted so many dangers and saved countless lives!

One would think that after defeating an enemy as ferocious as Conquest through shared efforts, the two Marks would get along by now, right? But actually they were far from it, neutral at best.

Cecil insisted that both Marks could share their identity as Invincible, down to having the same costume and all. You were surprised that the original Mark had declined, as it would've certainly worked in his favor to have more free time and less responsibility. Seems like he was against having a variant - with questionable morals at best - act in his stead. You got the sentiment.

Your Mark on the other hand was willing to accept whatever circumstances he was handed, as long as it meant that the two of you could stay together. Besides that, he didn't really care about anything else.

Much to your delight at least, he's slowly but continuously getting better, with the help of a therapist the GDA had provided. You're a little distrustful of anyone working for them, but they basically owned your boyfriend by now - and also, there's no regular therapist on this earth that would be able to unpack all of his issues.

All that counts is that it's working. He's been unrecognizeable compared to his former self, getting out of his shell lately and cautiously opens up to other people and experiences again. It's truly heartwarming to see him try to enjoy life again, because he deserves nothing less.

You were so incredibly proud of the progress he made, and would do anything to support this wonderful, resilient and kind man leaving his dark past behind.

One prolonged shower the both of you took together later, and you were almost ready to leave for the evening.

"At least in my empire didn't have to wash the dishes anymore" you hear him whine ironically as he rummaged the kitchen, making you snicker. "I was soaking them!" you said in a fake offended tone, but you knew he was just stalling. "We can do them together later. Let's go!"

Looking around your rundown apartment sure makes one wonder how luxuriously he probably lived in his world. You were just glad to afford anything to live alone, but this sure must be a downgrade for him. "Now that you finally get payed by the GDA we could affort to move somewhere nicer? I mean you basically live with me already."

"Don't overthink it, I was just trying to be funny." You sulk a little, almost smearing your lipstick while applying. "Yeah, we need to work on your humor too apparently..."

"You know I wouldn't trade this- you for anything in the world...we could be living in a trashcan and I wouldn't complai- woah..." As Mark stepped into the entrance area his jaw dropped at your getup.

His eyes couldn't stop raking up and down your form, admiring how your outfit highlighted your body in all the right places. Anything from the way you wore your hair over the necklace he got you with his first paycheck, it was a sight to behold.

The most important accessory however was the radiant smile that appeared on your face when you noticed his reaction, so warm and bright that it felt as if bathing in sunlight itself.

"Wow, you, uh...you look incredible."

Only now he realized for how long he has been staring, and your innocent smile turned into a wide, amused one as you noticed the effect you had on him.

"The compliment goes right back!" You wink at him and Mark swings an arm around your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "How do I even deserve you?"

"It should be me asking that question" he insists, ignoring the way his stomach churns at the thought of meeting all of your friends. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

7:20 pm and you're finally at the bowling alley, not even half an hour too late. A new record. And as you were soon told, the party didn't start until 10 minutes later - you were just given an earlier time since they knew Mark would be late in any dimension.

To be perfectly honest, you were surprised that William invited your boyfriend, yet kept quiet to not worry him any further. But a few weeks prior you tried to get them acquainted, and of course William had pestered Mark about his counterpart's fate - until the latter finally confessed having gruesomely killed him at his father's request.

You reassured him that it was William's fault for riddling him with so many uncomfortable questions, and that he shouldn't have asked if he can't handle the truth. Seems you were right at least, there's a reason they were best friends across so many timelines.

The two of you were the first to arrive, before the actual birthday boy even, and still you needed to coax your boyfriend - who was currently spiraling - inside like one would lure in a timid animal.

You could only imagine what went through everyone's mind as they entered one after anothe - especially since not only them, but also Amber and her new partner had come. Feeling the anxiety radiating off of him, you remained at your boyfriend's side, squeezing his hand ever so slightly to remind him you're not going anywhere.

"Kinda awkward, huh? The relationship dynamics are all over the place" William teased, before turning around and busying himself with playing. "Try to act like adults, I'm busy destroying all of you with my skills."

"You wish!" Eve seemed the least rigid out of all of you, jumping up and materializing a custom bowling ball as she joined the couple. At least she seemed approachable...you'd rather not want to be on the receiving end of such a powerful being's wrath.

To be perfectly honest, seeing the original Mark - your former and hopefully soon again friend - after all this time wasn't nearly as strange as you imagined it'd be. You were glad to see him of course, but other than that you felt nothing but a siblinglike bond between you - the heartache and unrequited love you had felt for so long had vaporized completely.

He wasn't your Mark after all.

A few drinks later the mood loosened up eventually - at least for those of you who could still be affected by alcohol.

"They seem to get along surprisingly well" Amber noted, taking a seat next to you and clinking her bottle with yours, before nodding towards the two Marks conversing in the background. "What are they taking about?"

"They're complaining about the animation of the new Seance Dog season, I think?" You roll your eyes and both of you break out in laughter. "It was the first thing he did after the whole war. Made me sit through the entire thing in one night."

"Glad to hear our world's Mark is not the only hopeless nerd" Eve commented as she joined you two, now effectively trapped in between Mark's ex and his current girlfriend.

You took a deep, shuddered breath, before trying to explain yourself. "Eve, hear me out, before you say anything, I didn't-"

"I know" she interrupted you anyways, shooting you a sympathetic look. "I think we all understand. No matter how crazy the situation is, I think we're used to stuff like this by now..." You huffed an uncomfortable laugh, but she was right wasn't she? "Amber and I have been through similar things not long ago. I had a crush on Mark when they were still together, but we talked it out and are still friends."

"Why would we even be mad?" Amber added, "You never acted on your feelings and respected our relationship with Mark."

"Still, it's just...weird, isn't it?" You're fidgeting with your fingers, eyes darting between your boyfriend and the floor. "I mean, I'm dating a different version of Mark, that's just-"

"But he's his own person. It's not like you're setting for him just because you couldn't get the original, right?"

"Of course not!" you blurt out mildly upset, though you had also once accused your boyfriend of using you as a rebound. "He's not a replacement. He's himself. Even though they look alike and share similar memories, my Mark is different in so many ways...I didn't even plan to, we just happened to fall for each other."

Yeah. It may have started wrong, but the two of you got to know each other beyond your unhealthy obsession for the concept of your other variants.

"I'm glad to hear that" Eve and Amber both lay a hand on your shoulder, proclaiming they're very happy for how things turned out for you and the alternate Mark...

...but were rudely interrupted by the TV volume increasing due to emergency news about a villain rampaging in a nearby city.

"Mark!" all three of you yell in unison, and both of them flinch at the sound and rush towards you.

"We may need to give them nicknames..." You chuckle at Eve's idea, turning your attention to your partner. "Maybe I should call you 'Sebastian' from now on, so we can distinguish you two better?"

"Whatever you say, babe!" he chirps like the lovestruck fool he is, before realizing what was going on. "Oh. I'll go take care of it!" He turns to the original Mark, determination present on his face. "You can stay with your friends."

"You mean our friends" the original corrects him, and both crack a appreciative smile at each other. "And I don't think so. How about we go together?"

"Sure!" his counterpart chants happily, giving you a last quick embrace from behind before going outside. "Should be quick work with the two of us, see ya soon!"

Later this night the two of you were entangled under the sheets, long since stripped of any clothing as you enjoyed the warmth of each other's body. Your boyfriend absentmindedly caresses your skin, raising goosebumps as his fingertips trace little paths across your curves.

"Sooo..." you ask curious, now facing him while you pepper countless kisses across his face. "Did you enjoy the evening after all?"

"You have no idea" he admitted, feeling as content with himself as never before. "It's been forever since things felt so...normal. Also..." His thumb gently stroke your cheek and you eagerly leaned into his touch. "Mark said that our- uh, his mom and brother want to meet me."

"Oh?" Seems like things were progressing even better than you anticipated. "Well, what did you say?"

"I couldn't object even if I wanted to. Opened my mouth and he directly cut me off by saying something like 'what's one more half-viltrumite to accept into the family?'"

"Yeah, sounds like them." You snort with laughter, tears of happiness forming in the brim of your eyes. "But I'm glad, really. There's so many good people who welcome you into their lives now. You are so, so loved, do you know that?"

Mark leans his forehead against yours, briefly closing the gap between your lips. "All thanks to you" he claims, his voice wavering with almost worship-like reverence.

"No, that was all you." He tends to take all the blame but rarely gives himself credit. After the tragic turn his life took, throughout all the pain and loss...in the end he chose to do what's right.

If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him - and you will make sure he gets it.

"Do you think Angstrom will return one day?" You ask cautiously and in an instant your boyfriend has securely cradled you against his chest.

"Of course, that bastard is tough. Being driven by insanity does that to a man, I know what I'm talking about." His joke only caused you to frown, but the sanguine smile plastered on his face was contagious nonetheless. Not to mention you were too drunk and tired to argue anyway. "Don't worry. This time we're two Invincibles, and I'll make sure nothing happens to this world. It's my home now...because you are on it."

Mark proceeds to rub a soothing pattern between your shoulderblades, draping the blanket over both of you as he watched you slowly drift into sleep. He leans in to plant a last, lingering kiss atop of your temple, closing his eyes as well to indulge in this peaceful closeness.

"...maybe I should be thanking Angstrom, for making me meet the true love of my life..."

[jeonginsleftcheek]

With you, always

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader (implied fem)

genre: fluff, suggestive, pinch of angst

wc: 5.5k

synopsis: you ask your best friend to help you win over your crush.

warnings: college!au, fake dating, best friends to lovers trope, crying, a few kissing scenes and one make out scene

a/n: wanted to try my hand out at a fake dating scenario, hope you like this one🥹🫶🏻

(i also needed something cute and fluffy bcs i had the shittiest week😭)

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

masterlist

Maybe it was an exaggeration, but for Hyunjin today was the most important day of his life.

It had been more than a month since he started gathering the courage to finally confess to his best friend, you.

He was more than nervous, tossing and turning in his bed the night prior, imagining all the scenarios, every single possibility from you falling into his arms to you slapping him and walking away forever.

He couldn't stand the thought of the last option, hoping that even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings, maybe you'd still be his best friend cause he really would suck it up for you, just so he can stay by your side.

But Hyunjin was 99% sure you felt the same, and that the 1% was just his own doubts creating negative outcomes in his mind.

You've been best friends for almost five years now, meeting through your mutual friend Changbin who you lived close to and hung out with, inevitably becoming close to Hyunjin too.

Changbin moved away but still kept in touch, leaving Hyunjin and you to bond with each other; going as far as attending the same university.

You've been inseparable since then, there was rarely any moment you didn't spend together.

There was no way you spent so much time with him and didn't come to love him the way he loved you; that's what Hyunjin kept telling himself.

Anyways, you were always so good to him, it must mean something right?

Hyunjin's palms were clammy as he wiped them on his jeans for the nth time today, giving himself the ick for a moment.

He was on the edge, jittery as he kept shifting from foot to foot, waiting for you to arrive so you can go to your classes together.

He had it all planned.

After class he would ask you to meet up in your 'secret place', a bench under a tree near the campus where you two would sit and spend time together, and there he would gift you the painting he had carefully created for you, the beautiful everlasting bouquet of flowers that would never wither just like his love for you.

Then he would tell you how much you mean to him, how he has loved you this whole time... And he didn't know how you'd react, maybe your eyes would tear up, maybe you'd hug him instantly... But he knew it would end with a sweet kiss and Hyunjin asking you to be his.

He got lost in the scenarios he's been making up for weeks, not even noticing that you appeared before him.

"Earth to Hyunjin?" you wave your hand in front of his face and he snaps out of his thoughts, hoping he didn't say anything out loud and accidentally revealed his plan.

"Oh, sorry I'm still asleep." Hyunjin chuckles, his cheeks rosy.

"That's why I got you this." you give him a cup of coffee, holding another cup in your other hand.

"See now, this is why I hang out with you." Hyunjin nods, grabbing the cup from your hand.

Your fingers touch for a moment and he feels electricity run through his body.

"Glad to know you're just using me for coffee." you act annoyed even though you know he's just teasing you.

"And your notes. You're way better at taking them than I am." he says after taking a sip of his beverage, a smug smile spreading on his face.

"That's cause you daydream 24/7, you dork." you nudge him with your shoulder as you start making your way across the campus.

"I do not." Hyunjin pouts.

"Yes, you do. You were literally doing it just now when I came up to you." you poke his side and he jumps a little, letting out a squeak.

"I was just... nevermind. Listen-" Hyunjin starts, swallowing a big lump that's forming in his throat.

You look up at him, your eyes big and curious as you stare into his, making him melt into the ground.

"There's something I want to tell you. Today. I mean, later. Yeah. We can meet up at our spot?"

You notice his voice trembling a little, hoping it's not some bad news.

"Really? I have something I wanna tell you too." you smile wide and Hyunjin's heart starts pounding against his chest.

Did you think of confessing to him too?

"What?" he laughs in disbelief. "About what?"

"Well... Should I just say it? I'm impatient, you know that." your eyes sparkle as you keep looking at Hyunjin, your smile wide and cheeks dusted in pink.

"Yeah." Hyunjin's throat constricts. This is it.

"Okay. Well. Remember Minho? We have a few classes with him?"

Hyunjin frowns. What does Minho have to do with anything?

"Yeah, vaguely. What about him?" he gulps.

"I think I have a crush on him."

And just like that, Hyunjin's ears start ringing as he stands there, feeling like someone just dumped icy water all over him and also smacked him with the bucket for good measure.

"What?" he doesn't want to believe that you just said that.

"Minho, I have a crush on him. Like- it's been there for some time but it was just a little one, I didn't pay attention to it but last weekend I ran into him and we talked, and he was really sweet."

"Is that all that it took for you to develop a crush on him?" Hyunjin's scowl is evident, annoyance written all over his face.

"Hyunjin!" you were taken aback by his tone. "No. It's just- we had a brief conversation and I felt like we had so much in common. I thought you'd be happy for me, you always tease me that I'll die alone if I don't find someone."

Hyunjin can see the confusion and insecurities reflecting in your eyes and his face softens.

He can't be cruel to you, never.

"I- I am happy for you. I just... Need to process."

"Are you jealous?" you smirk. "You'll always be my best friend, Jinnie, you know I'll never replace you."

"Best friend, huh?" Hyunjin scoffs. "Great. I just remembered I gotta go do something." he turns around, muttering under his breath.

"What? Class is about to start, where are you going?" you look at him confusedly as Hyunjin stares at the floor, walking away from you.

"Hyunjin, watch out!" you try to warn him, but it's already too late, his head collides with one of the trees growing in front of the building, the force of it making him fall back down on his butt as he wails loudly, grabbing at his forehead, his coffee spilled by his side.

"This is what I get." he mumbles, his bottom lip trembling as his eyes water.

"You dumbass." you appear by his side in mere seconds. "Let me see."

Hyunjin puts his hands down as you inspect his forehead.

"I think it's gonna be okay." you say, leaning so close to him so he can feel your warmth and smell your shampoo.

"Since when is this tree here?" Hyunjin grunts.

"Since like 60 years ago." you giggle.

Before he can compute what's happening, you grab Hyunjin's face and lean in, pressing your lips on his forehead gently.

How could you do this and not love him?

His eyes water again.

"Oh, don't cry you drama queen. This is like the third time this week that you ran into something with that thick head of yours. By now, I think the tree took more damage than you." you joke, trying to lift the mood up.

Hyunjin chuckles a little, not being able to stay mad at you even though you were driving him crazy in this moment.

"Come on, let's go to class now." you help pull him up, throwing the spilled cup in the trash.

"Here, we can share my coffee." you give him your cup, and Hyunjin shakes his head.

"It's okay."

"Also, what were you going to tell me?" you beam at him and Hyunjin feels like someone has squeezed his heart and lungs.

"Nothing. It's not important." he forces a smile, finding it harder to breathe suddenly.

"Really? Sounded important to me."

"It's not. Forget about it." he says as you walk through the front door.

"Alright, if you say so."

The two of you sit in one of the back rows as always, your eyes immediately searching for Minho, who always sits up front.

It's one of the classes you share with him and you await eagerly to see him, hoping he'd look up and wave at you.

Hyunjin takes out his notebook and pen, trying to act normal even though he feels as if he's been shot right in the chest and his heart is now bleeding out slowly.

He hears you gasp quietly and looks up.

Minho just walked in, dressed in a sleek black shirt and some jeans, looking effortlessly perfect and Hyunjin can see you visibly perk up as you stare at the man with a smile.

You should be looking at Hyunjin like that.

No, Hyunjin shakes his head. He shouldn't be thinking like this, he should be happy for you, he should support you.

After all, that's what best friends do.

You're getting ready to wave, but Minho doesn't even spare a glance your way, his face unreadable as he sits down, talking to some guy that's sitting next to him.

You visibly deflate and Hyunjin feels bad, putting his hand on your shoulder to reassure you.

"I'm sure he'll say hello to you later." Hyunjin says and you nod at him with a sigh.

During the entire lecture, your eyes kept wandering over to Minho while Hyunjin kept his eyes on you, his heart breaking as he watched you falling for someone else right before his eyes.

Why the hell did he wait for so long to tell you how he feels?

Now, he's lost his chance.

Hyunjin slumps back in his seat and decides to actually start taking notes even though he knows he'll end up stealing yours like he always does.

For the last three days you've been gushing about Minho nonstop.

Minho did this, Minho did that, Minho said this, Minho said that. Minho, Minho, Minho.

Hyunjin was already sick of it and imagining that guy actually reciprocating your feelings and becoming your boyfriend was making Hyunjin's stomach churn.

Minho seemed to take some kind of interest in you, at least that's what you thought from the brief conversations you'd have with him in the halls while Hyunjin watched you interact with him, your eyes sparkly and cheeks rosy.

He wanted to smack his own forehead against the wall until it hurts enough so he can forget about the pain he feels on the inside.

But the more Hyunjin observed Minho, it seemed to him that the guy was just being polite to you, answering your questions with a small smile on his face, nodding here and there as you talked.

That was not the face of a man in love, at least that's what Hyunjin believed.

"Minho told me that this shirt really matches my eye color." you're almost jumping around Hyunjin and he rolls his eyes.

"It's ugly."

"Hyunjin!" you smack your best friend's arm and he winces, acting like you just broke his bones.

"What?" he looks at you, his brows furrowed.

"You're jealous, Hyun. Admit it." you smirk, poking his side.

"Am not. Let's just go to class."

"Did you know that Minho's a dancer?" you quip suddenly as the two of you sit down.

"So what? I dance too." Hyunjin answers, taking his notebook out and not sparing you a glance.

He can't bring himself to look at your face while you talk about your crush.

"I know you dance but I didn't know he does too. He told me I could come watch him practice some time." you smile and Hyunjin almost chokes on his breath.

"He w-what?"

"I'm gonna watch him dance." you smirk and Hyunjin shakes his head.

"Whatever. Enjoy."

"Come with me." you grab at his arm and he tries to swat you away.

"I don't want to."

"Come on, pleaseeeeee." you whine, pouting at your best friend as you lean your cheek on his shoulder.

Hyunjin melts when he looks down at you.

"Fine." he sighs.

"Yay!" you quickly kiss his cheek and Hyunjin dies on the inside a little. "You're the best, Jinnie."

"Yeah, yeah, I know I am." he smirks at you while shaking his head.

Hoping somewhere deep inside that this is just a phase.

-

The very same day, Minho has dance practice and you drag Hyunjin to the dance room to watch.

There are some other dancers there, and some people sitting and watching so the two of you sit down next to them.

Hyunjin takes out his phone and you frown at him.

"Aren't you gonna watch with me?" you ask.

"I don't really care about his dancing. But you go ahead and enjoy." he shrugs.

"Sure." you look at Hyunjin for a few more moments as he concentrates on scrolling, a little sigh escaping your lips.

You're a bit worried since Hyunjin has never acted like this before and you kept wracking your brain, trying to figure out what is going on with him.

The music starts soon and you look up, your eyes falling on Minho.

His dance moves are sharp and on time, executed so smoothly, you've never seen someone dance so perfectly before.

You stare in awe and Hyunjin looks up with an annoyed face, his eyes traveling between the two of you and how flabbergasted you look.

When Minho finishes dancing, you're ready for him to come up to you and talk but instead a guy skips towards him and starts talking with a big smile on his face, his arms flailing around in excitement.

Minho smiles wide, eyes all sparkly and cheeks all rosy, you've never seen him react like that.

"So, what did you think?" you ask Hyunjin, hoping Minho won't just ignore you.

"He's too stiff." Hyunjin mutters, still looking at his phone.

"He totally isn't." you squint your eyes at him before standing up.

Sadly for you, Minho doesn't spare you a glance, quickly leaving the room with the guy who joined him.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" Hyunjin laughs in disbelief.

"Keep your voice down." you pinch his thigh.

"Ow!" he swats your hand away. "There is no way, y/n. I'm not gonna pretend to be your boyfriend."

"Please, Hyun! Who else will I ask? You want me to go to some stranger?!" you almost yell yourself and Hyunjin shushes you.

"What's in it for me?" Hyunjin crosses his arms and leans back.

"Mm, you're helping your lovely best friend?" you bat your eyelashes at him.

"This is crazy." he shakes his head.

"Is that a yes or no?" you beam at him.

"Fine. Fine, I'll be your fake boyfriend." Hyunjin feels like crying and laughing at the same time, the absurdity of his reality was really something.

"Yes! Thank you, Jinnie!" you throw your arms around him and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close, his heart fluttering in his chest.

"I owe you." you mutter into him.

"Damn right you do." he exhales, trying to calm his fast beating heart down.

For some reason, in your mind it made perfect sense.

Minho needed a nudge to make a move on you, and what better way to nudge him than making him jealous?

Hyunjin thought it was the dumbest idea he had ever heard but at this point, he was hoping that through your fake relationship you'd come to realize that he would be the perfect boyfriend for you, not some random guy you talked to a few times.

While he was trying to fall asleep in his bed that night, Hyunjin wondered just how far are you willing to take the lie.

-

The next morning, while Hyunjin waited for you to arrive like he always did, his heart was beating fast.

He was so nervous about the whole ordeal, not knowing how you'll approach him.

"Jinnie!" you waved slightly with a cup of coffee as soon as you spotted him.

He waved back a bit reluctantly as you beamed at him.

"Morning. Coffee for my handsome boyfriend." you smirked as you gave him his cup.

What the actual fuck?

His legs trembled for a moment and Hyunjin felt like the ground was crumbling underneath his feet and pretty soon he'll be joining it.

"Don't say it like that." he freaked out on the inside, hoping he wasn't blushing too hard.

"What? We need to get into character." you smiled, hooking your arm with his and practically dragging him towards the campus.

Oh, you are so going to be the end of him.

"Why can't we just act like we normally do?" Hyunjin whined as you approached the building.

"Because it won't be believeable. We have to act sweet like... like imagine if we were actually dating what would you do?"

You must be crazy, Hyunjin thinks as his lips fall open in shock.

"I'd probably kiss you." he says, half joking and knowing you'd never say yes to something so ludicrous.

"Okay, let's do it." you stand close to him, your hand slipping down to his as you interlace your fingers.

"What?!" Hyunjin yells and you squeeze his hand as a few people look your way.

"Hyunjin. Make it believeable. Come on, kiss me." you nod quickly.

Hyunjin's lips open and close a few times as he searches your face.

"In front of everyone? Shouldn't our first kiss be more intimate?" Hyunjin swallows and that's when your cheeks become rosy.

"They don't know it's our first kiss. Plus it's just pretend so let's do it." you don't know how much your words hurt him but Hyunjin is a fool for you so he nods.

"Okay." he lets go of your hand only to cup your cheek, and for some reason your heartbeat picks up speed.

You chalk it up to not kissing anyone for so long.

It's definitely not because of Hyunjin, right?

His eyes soften as he leans in and you meet him halfway, hearing his breath hitch before your lips finally make contact.

Hyunjin doesn't care why you're kissing him, because in this moment nothing really exists except you and him, the world around you melting away.

His lips are soft against yours, he tastes of coffee and the chocolate croissant he had for breakfast and just so Hyunjin.

It's exactly what you imagined he'd taste like.

Not that you ever thought about kissing your best friend.

You lean back before thoughts consume you and before the kiss can escalate.

Hyunjin feels like you just took his breath away.

"See? It went good." you say, but your voice trembles and your face is red.

"I think that was better than good." Hyunjin pouts but before you can retaliate someone calls out to you.

The two of you turn towards the voice and see Chan, one of your acquaintances from class as he approaches you with a smirk.

"Did you two finally get together?" he asks and Hyunjin coughs as your eyes widen.

"I- yes we did." you answer quickly as Hyunjin tranforms into a frozen tomato next to you.

"Gosh, I'm so happy for you guys. I always knew you were into each other, it was so obvious. Good luck!" Chan throws finger guns your way before running off to class.

His words echo in your mind. You were obvious? What the heck does that mean?

"Let's go to class." you grip Hyunjin's hand and he nods, still stunned by the kiss you shared and what Chan had said.

You sit in your usual spot in the back, Minho arriving a few minutes later and you visibly perk up.

"Quick, put your arm around me!" you startle Hyunjin who was doodling in his notebook but he does exactly what you asked.

His arm wraps around your shoulder and he brings you closer to his body just as Minho looks up your way.

You wave at him and Minho waves back with a smile, his eyes moving to Hyunjin shortly before he turns around and sits down.

"Did you see that? Do you think he looked jealous?" you whisper to your best friend.

"Maybe." Hyunjin shrugs, retracting his arm.

"Maybe?" you whine. "I need a yes not a maybe."

"Give it some time, y/n." Hyunjin is back to doodling.

How is he gonna endure this torture?

As it always was on the weekends, Hyunjin came to your place to hang out.

Usually your roommate was staying with her boyfriend every weekend so you had the apartment all to yourself.

After a good old gossip session and a movie marathon with snacks, Hyunjin and you were still snuggled up in your bed.

You were barely awake now, trying to focus on the third movie in a row while Hyunjin was keeping his eyes only on you.

A small smile danced on his lips as he observed your pouty face, your eyes fighting to stay open as you blinked tiredly, your face illuminated only by the tv.

He scooted closer to you, putting his arm around you and that jolted you from your half asleep state.

"What are you doing?" you asked and he chuckled, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"Getting my cuddles." Hyunjin smirks.

"Who gave you cuddle privileges?" you smirk back, deciding to tease him a little.

"I'm your best friend, of course I get cuddle privileges. Plus, consider it your payment for making me fake-date you." Hyunjin nuzzles into you, making you shiver a little.

"So it's that horrible to date me, hm?" you giggle, some kind of tension washing over you.

"Oh yeah, the absolute worst." Hyunjin jokes and you smack his arm immediately.

"Hey!" you protest and he laughs.

It's quiet for some time, and you close your eyes, your body is suddenly aware of everything.

You're aware of Hyunjin's warmth, his familiar and comforting scent, the way his breath hits your neck, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek, the heaviness of his arm and leg thrown over you and your heart starts beating faster.

You wonder why since this is not the first time Hyunjin and you cuddled, you started this tradition a year ago, it became normal to cuddle every weekend he stayed over.

You suddenly also wondered if that was normal; to cuddle your guy best friend.

You also thought about the kiss the two of you shared, what mostly replayed in your mind wasn't the actual kiss, it was the way Hyunjin looked at you when you parted.

His eyes seemed full of love and affection, he seemed soft and putty in that moment like he really wanted to kiss you, like it meant so much to him.

"Hyunjin?"

"Hm?"

"Can we practice kissing?" your brain just always comes up with great ideas.

Hyunjin freezes, his body stiff against yours.

"What?" he looks up at you with a nervous chuckle.

"So that it's more believeable in public."

He smirks.

"Are you sure it's not because you liked kissing me?" Hyunjin jokes, though on the inside he hopes you'll say yes.

"Shut up!" you whine. "This is just pretend, okay?"

"Sure, if you say so." he stares at you with a grin and you don't know if you would rather slap him or kiss him.

"Go on then." you whisper.

Hyunjin chuckles at your impatience, throwing his head back for a moment as his laughter jostles you.

When he looks back at you, something shifts in his eyes and you swallow the lump in your throat.

He slowly leans in and why are you nervous suddenly?

Hyunjin's lips press against yours and this time you melt as he hovers above you, kissing you gently, his fingers caressing your cheek and tracing your skin.

Your hand comes up to hold the back of his neck and play with his hair which makes Hyunjin press against your lips harder, kissing you with more passion than before.

Your mind is dizzy suddenly, this is nothing like the innocent kiss you shared in public, and something starts stirring up inside you as you drown out the noise of the movie, focusing only on your best friend.

Oh my god, you're making out with your best friend!

That thought crosses your mind just when Hyunjin's big hand ends up on your waist, squeezing a little as his tongue swipes your lip and you hear it in his heavy breathing, how worked up he's getting.

Something inside you ignites when you part your lips, letting him push his tongue inside as he starts gently playing with yours.

You almost quit thinking, your brain feeling foggy as your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull just a little.

It's enough to make Hyunjin groan into you and that snaps you back into reality.

You gasp, suddenly backing away as Hyunjin slowly blinks his eyes open, his face filled with lust and confusion of the sudden stop, his plump lips even more swollen and red after kissing you.

You can't believe he looks so attractive.

"I think we should stop now." you gulp.

"Was it too much?" Hyunjin's voice is raspy and something throbs inside you.

"Yeah."

"You wanted to practice." he adds, his eyes glued to your lips.

You didn't know what to say. Suddenly, you felt so confused about your feelings.

It's not like you never imagined kissing your best friend or being in a relationship with him but it always seemed to you like you would never be able to cross that barrier.

Being Hyunjin's best friend was familiar, comfortable, you didn't want to spoil that.

"What's wrong?" Hyunjin asks, seeing the cogs turning in your head.

"Hyunjin, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Pretending to be my boyfriend." you sit up so he follows.

"Because you asked me to? I wanted to help you." Hyunjin lies through his teeth and you can read it now. It's like everything became clear to you.

"Would you really be happy if I got together with Minho?"

Hyunjin's stomach churns and anything good he felt just moments ago when he was kissing you disappears and is replaced by a feeling of nausea.

He averts his eyes from you, nervously biting on his lip.

"Hyunjin?"

"No. No, I wouldn't be happy." he admits quietly, his eyes trained on his lap, unable to look at you.

"Why?" you ask.

"Why? Why? Is it not obvious, y/n?" he says and your eyes meet.

"I love you, that's why." Hyunjin feels the weight of his hidden feelings finally lifting from his heart.

Your lips tremble as you stare at him in shock.

"Since when?"

"Since forever."

You suddenly get up, the reality of the situation dawning on you.

"You've loved me this whole time? And I never realized? And I asked you to fake date me to make another guy jealous and you- you went with it." your eyes well up with tears. "Oh my god, I am so stupid and insensitive!"

Hyunjin gets up too, quickly wanting to comfort you.

"No, y/n it's okay, I wanted to help you! I mean, if you're happy, I'm happy too even if it's not with me." you can hear the pain in his voice when he says that and your chest hurts.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"It's okay if you don't love me like I love you, I can't force you to feel the same." Hyunjin shakes his head.

"It's not like that... It's just; I need to process all of this." you back away from him as he looks at you, sadness in his eyes.

You can't look at him in that moment.

"Do you want me to leave?" his voice is quiet and small when he asks that.

"Yeah, I need to be alone."

Hyunjin doesn't say anything at first, only grabs his things as you stare at the wall, your brain on overdrive.

"Call me when you're ready to talk." he says and you nod, watching his back as he leaves your room.

As soon as you hear the apartment door close, you break into tears.

How could you've been so blind? Hyunjin was always right next to you, he was your person, your comfort, your best friend.

He did everything to make you happy, even indulging you in dumb requests like this one and now that he told you how he feels, everything started flooding in.

The way he'd hold you, the way he looked at you, the way he blushed when you touched his hand, how he seemed annoyed when you told him about Minho.

You were beating yourself up for being so stupid and hurting him when deep inside you always knew you loved him too.

But now, you were afraid that you'd also hurt Minho if he liked you.

So you decided to test that.

-

The next morning, Hyunjin was already awake when his alarm rang, a sleepless night behind him filled with tears and scenarios of you not being a part of his life anymore.

He screwed up, confessing like that, in the heat of the moment.

He can't forget your face, how shocked and sad you looked and how you didn't even wanna look at his face.

Hyunjin still waits for you at your meeting spot, hoping you'll arrive with a smile and a cup of coffee like you always do.

But as minutes pass, with a heavy heart, Hyunjin realizes you're not coming so he reluctantly makes his way to class alone.

His heart freezes when he walks into the building and sees you talking to Minho.

Unable to look at that, he quickly walks into class, sitting at his usual spot.

This is a disaster, he thinks.

If he just kept his mouth shut, you'd be here sitting next to him now, joking around and laughing like you always do.

If he'd kept it all in, maybe he'd have just a glimpse of how it would feel to be yours.

Maybe you'd have that sleepover you always do, when you fall asleep in his arms and Hyunjin can pretend you're his.

But you never come into class, even after Minho did, sitting up front at his usual spot, smiling at the boy next to him.

Hyunjin frowns and stands up, quickly making his way out before the class started as he searches for you.

He finds you sitting on one of the benches outside, looking exhausted and sad.

He wants to run to you but instead he decides to approach you slowly.

"Y/n?" he leans down to look at you and you scoff.

"Minho has a boyfriend."

"What?" Hyunjin asks.

"Minho. He's gay. Or whatever. He's dating Jisung. And I'm just so stupid." you frown as Hyunjin takes in the information.

You can hear the laughter bubbling up inside him.

"Go ahead, laugh at my embarrassment, I know you want to." you look at him and he does just that.

Hyunjin starts laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation and as you see his cute face becoming red from the laughter, you can't stay serious.

Breaking into giggles yourself, the two of you probably end up looking like a pair of maniacs as you keep laughing.

"You were really barking up the wrong tree." he sits next to you and you smack his arm, making him whine.

"Stop it, at least let some time pass before you start making jokes about this." you pout and he chuckles at you, finding you so endearing at that moment.

Without thinking, Hyunjin tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and you feel your face warm up.

"I'm sorry for dumping all my feelings on you. I didn't wanna make anything awkward and that is not the way I wanted to confess. Actually... I wanted to confess to you that day when you told me about Minho." Hyunjin says.

"Oh my god! When you asked me to meet up? I am double stupid." you groan, smacking your forehead with your palm.

"It's fine. We can be friends, I'll just try to-"

"Hyunjin." you stop him.

"Hm?"

"I love you too. And I'm sorry for not realizing that before and hurting you."

"Oh. Oh!" Hyunjin's eyes are wide. "You feel the same?"

You chuckle at his surprised expression, needing him close so you wrap your arms around his waist, scooting closer to him, your face buried in his chest.

Hyunjin feels relief wash over him as he wraps his arms around you, his hand caressing your head.

"Does this mean you want to be mine?" he asks breathlessly.

"Oh, I always was." you look up at him with a smile and he giggles, his heart beating fast.

"I'm gonna kiss you now." he leans in.

"Please do." you chuckle and he cradles your head in his hand as his lips press gently into yours.

This kiss feels even more special, the confession between you melting through your lips as you taste each other.

"Wanna ditch classes and get some coffee?" you ask when you part.

"With you, always."

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @laughatdanger @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun

[pearlcigs]

⋆ waking up on christmas morning ft. ellie, abby, and vi — tlou discord server

the air is cold, snow sticking to the cloudy window. the sky outside was pure, the wind sneaking into the cracks of the window. ELLIE kept you close, hands wrapped around your waist with your back pressed against her chest. the blanket wrapped around both of your frames to shield you from the barren cold. you both know there's presents to be opened but neither of you really find it in you to care. they'll still be there later. you stay there for an hour or so, with her soft kisses along the back of your neck and her stupid christmas puns.

"hey babe," she snickers before she can even start the joke. "what do you call people who have a fear of santa?" she grins widely, laughing to herself knowing she had been planning on telling you this joke for weeks now. you laugh at her silliness, shaking your head, imagining the stupid grin she had on her face. "what?" you inquire. "claustrophobic." she tells eagerly, waiting for your reaction. "god, that's— that's stupid." your laughs beginning to mix with hers.

small snowflakes fell down from the sky, painting the ground white. the sun had just barely rose when you stirred awake, excitement immediately flowing through your veins. the covers are thrown off you by your own accord, the chilly air nipping at your skin. you couldn't help yourself, pulling the blankets off ABBY just as you had done to yourself. she groaned, pulling you against her in an attempt to keep herself warm with no blanket. you giggled in her ear, kissing her cheek with too much energy for her liking.

"wake up, wake up." you kiss her cheek between each word. "what time is it?" she questions, face still pressed against her pillow. "who cares, it's christmas!" you exclaim, pulling on her arm to get her up. "it's time for presents— ooh! i know exactly which one i want you to open first." you continue to pull on her. "alright, alright, i'm coming..." she lets out a small 'oomph' as she sits up, pulling you into her lap. "merry christmas, my love." she gets sweet and sappy for a moment, kissing your forehead. "we're making coffee first." she demands and you just roll your eyes.

the fire crackles, blankets askew on the floor, barely covering both of your bodies. you slept in front of the fire place, VI insisting she just had to stay up all night to catch santa. you couldn't recall when you both fell asleep, only knowing you felt safe in her arms the night before. vi was the first to wake, eyes wondering to the tree that she was just sleeping 10 feet from. presents littered the skirt of the tree, a smile forming on her face as her eyes flickered between your sleeping form and the presents.

"santa came!" she shook you awake, eliciting a groan from your sleep deprived lips. she wore a toothy smile on her face, knowing it wasn't really santa who put those presents under the tree, but you. "come onnnn. these presents better be opened by 7 am on the dot." she threatened emptily. she leaned down, kissing your face, your shoulders, your stomach, anywhere she could. with each kiss, the grogginess vanished just a little. you had to admit, seeing her this excited made your heart warmer than hot cocoa.

finished this at 10:53pm 😅 better late than never i suppose..

[bloggerspam]

Fic of a Fic: Caroline meets Ellie

This is a direct homage to @clockwayswrites Caroline from their fic A Hill to Die on.

Ya'll can blame @deathlysilent13 for this.

Disclaimer: I am not super familiar with alters or systems, and in this AU Tim isn't thinking about it/stumbled into it--please do not take this an accurate experience in any way! It's just for fun :)

===

"You're pretty. Do you like boys?"

Caroline blinks. looking to her left and right, trying to find the source of the chipper voice.

It's 3am in the morning, she's just spent the last 5 hours dancing in heels—she can be forgiven for taking a little long to realize that the voice is coming from slightly below her sight line.

When she finally (blearily) looks down, a girl of maybe 7 or 8 is looking up at her with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Thank you." Caroline huffs a confused laugh, smiling as she leans down and braces on her knees to be a little closer and meet the little girls height. "You're quite the darling yourself you know."

"Thank you, I got it from my brother." The little girl blushes, apples of her cheeks truly working hard to turn the same shade as its namesake, but her wide-eyed curiosity is still not abated. "Do you like boys?"

"Yes, I do." Caroline tilts her head, biting her lip against a laugh. "But most boys don't like me."

"Well most boys are stupid." The little girl scrunches up her face in distaste, which is honestly too much cuteness for Caroline to handle right now. The Tim part of her is starting to wake up, albeit sluggishly, in the face of a possible lost child. "But my big brother isn't stupid! He's the best, actually."

"Oh?" Caroline looks around exaggeratedly, though she does scan the area the way Tim would. Nothing in particular to note. Weirdly empty for Gotham, but otherwise… "And where is this so-called best big brother? Little girl like you shouldn't be out and about so early."

The little girl looks shifty then, fiddling with her fingers and kicking up dust, mumbling. "He's still sleeping at his desk."

"His desk?" Caroline is a little worried now, truly. How far can a little kid walk? Caroline searches through her memories, but realizes that Tim's knowledge on such things would be heavily skewed and probably incorrect. Damian isn't the best example, and Tim used to stalk Batman. So.

"He fell asleep working." The little girl explains, before the beans truly spill out. "I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I wanted some milk, but Danny didn't have a blanket so I got him a blanket, and then I figured maybe he'd like some hot chocolate when he woke up, 'cause he always makes me hot chocolate when I can't sleep, or had a nightmare, but we didn't have any hot chocolate at home so I thought maybe I could get some hot chocolate, but the bodega's closed."

Caroline watches bemusedly as the little girl gesticulates her story, walking back and forth and presenting her case as if Caroline is the one who has the issue.

"And then I saw you, and you're like, really pretty, and I definitely think my brother would like you," The little girl beams up at her, as if she's done something great. "Jazzy said that Danny's been lonely, taking care of me all by himself. So I thought, if I can't give him hot chocolate, I can at least let him meet a pretty lady!"

Caroline laughs, she can't help it anymore, trying her best to stifle it in the echoes of the night. "Well now, that's very sweet of you!"

"Thank you!" The little girl wiggles in her happiness. "If you want to meet my brother, I think he'll be happy. We don't have to go if you don't want to though, Danny said consent is important."

"He's right." Caroline wipes a tear and smiles widely down at the little girl. "I'm also pretty sure he's going to be worried out of his mind when he wakes up and finds you gone, so how about we get you home, okay?"

"So you'll meet him???" The little girl jumps up and down in excitement, cheering, "He'll be soooo happy to meet a pretty lady like you!"

"That's very nice of you to say, darling." Caroline's eyes go half lidded in exhaustion, yawning as her smile quirks a little differently, Tim blinking a little more in the forefront. "But I'm afraid I'm not a lady most of the time. Most times, I'm a boy."

The little girl doesn't even hesitate. "Danny likes pretty boys too!" She reaches up a hand, as if waiting for Caroline, no, Tim? to take her hand and lead her home. "He'll be extra happy that you can be both!"

Tim doesn't know what to say to that—his skirt is starting to feel a little too tight, and his feet are killing him. Heels were a mistake, but at least his tights and sweater keeps him warm, even if it's off the shoulder and cropped. The sweater paws are appreciated at least.

"That's very equal opportunity of him." Tim decides to say, drawing it out as if unsure. It's very typical of Caroline to leaving Tim to clean up her messes. "But I'm not sure Danny wouldn't like a random stranger showing up on his doorstep with his little sister."

"Oh!" The little girl jolts, straightening up and putting her hand out for a handshake instead. "My name is Ellie Nightingale, I'm 8 years old, and I love my brothers and sister very much!"

"Hello, Ellie." Tim shakes her hand, deliberating before deciding fuck it. "My name is usually Caroline in this outfit."

Ellie eyes him up and down, scrutinizing him as she twists their clasped hands into a different hold and leading them seemingly towards her home. "But you're not Caroline now."

"I am not." Tim agrees, adjusting his gait into an awkward walk. His feet still hurt, but he's had worse as Red Robin. "Well, I am. But not. She went to…bed, I guess. So now I'm awake."

"What's your name now that you've woken up?" Ellie asks, stopping them at a crosswalk and looking both ways even though it's as empty as Gotham could ever get. Tim thinks on this for a moment, before again, deciding fuck it.

"It's Tim." He replies. "Caroline had a long night, and she thinks I'm better with children."

Ellie gives him a look for that. "I liked Caroline better."

Tim honks out a laugh, quickly covering it up with his free hand. "Sometimes I like Caroline better too."

"That's kind of sad." Ellie reaches up to pat Tim on his hip, the easiest place she can reach. "It's okay, Danny can like Tim better."

Tim feels his face hurt with how wide he's smiling. Kids are a riot. "Sometimes, when I'm a boy-boy, my name is Alvin."

Ellie shrugs. "Is he mean? If he's mean Dante might like him."

Tim, with a wobbly voice from holding in laughter, tries his best to answer. "He's sometimes a little mean."

"Dante can be mean with him. He's not as nice as Danny, but he's just as good of a brother." Ellie chirps, swinging their arms back and forth as she skips. "Do you have another name that Jazzy can like?"

"…I guess I was Todd Richards, once." Tim hums, swinging his arm with her and using his free hand to rub at his chin in thought. "Though he didn't stay long."

"Jazz doesn't like deadbeat men who leave." Ellie primly states, sticking her nose up. "Jazz deserves better."

"…Are you setting me up with all of your siblings?" Tim hesitantly asks, unsure how to explain that they're all monogamous, but like to share? He's never figured it out.

"No, just Danny." Ellie slants an offended look. "You have lotsa names but you're one person right?"

Tim feels lighter than a feather, and he's not sure how to explain that, so he settles for a nervous smile and nod. He's never actually sat down and thought through this whole identity thing in the first place—method acting gone wrong? Right?

Doesn't matter. Ellie's chill with it, so Tim's chill with it. Logic.

Take that, Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. And—

"It's okay to have a buncha names. I used to have a different name." Ellie continues over Tim's righteous thoughts, this time leading the way through a side alley. Tim is actually surprised how empty it is. "My creator was a dickbag though, and Jazzy said it's important for my i-den-ti-ty to have a proper one."

"Language." Tim bites his lip from snorting, noting the peculiar wording Ellie uses. "Creator?"

"Dante said it's okay if it's true." Ellie bites her lip, side-eyeing Tim as she pinches the fabric of her jeans. "And Danny says it's okay as long as Jazzy doesn't hear."

"Is that so?" Tim chuckles, subtly eyeing her fingers.

"It is so." Ellie sniffs, pinching the fabric of her jeans again. "Danny's the best like that." No pinching this time.

A tell. Tim hides his grin with a little cough. "Of course." Ellie seems to be pleased with Tim's agreeable actions.

They're just exiting the alley, coming around the bend, when the door to an apartment complex across the road swings forcefully open. A man, shirtless and NASA patterned pajama pants at barely cling to his hips shoots out, grabbing the before it slams against the wall, forcing it closed as gently as he can so that the security system locks engage. He's handsome even though his hair is a mess, with crease lines Tim can still see from all the way over here that indicate he was just asleep on possible pencil, maybe a screwdriver.

There are. Abs. And arms. Holy shit, those sure are arms.

Ellie perks up, zooming towards the man and dragging Tim with him. "Danny!"

"Ellie!" Danny's head whips up in their direction, the man running towards them with zero hesitation to scoop Ellie up into a hug. "Bug, you worried me, I woke up and you weren't there!"

Oh, shit, even his voice is nice, deep and raspy from sleep even through the sheer relief. Tim tries to focus on the conversation as Ellie recounts her obviously genius and completely founded (to her) reasoning on why she just had to leave the apartment, but ultimately fails.

Did he mention abs? And arms??

The man is taller than Tim by a good couple inches, and bulkier in the shoulders. He's robust, even with that shoulder to waist ratio that Tim (and Caroline) kind of want to aggressively bite at. Deliciously hunky, as Steph would say. He has a unique undercut that's all white, though the stop part of his hair is black as night.

His eyes almost glow green in the dinky streetlights, and Tim's kind of losing it at the soft helpless look the other man's giving his little sister once she's finished her explanation. He's got her sitting on one arm, holding her up so that their faces are level, with Ellie bracing her tiny hands on his shoulder and chest.

Tim kind of wants to cry.

"I know that—" Danny sighs, pinching his brow in a way only exasperated older brothers can. Tim knows, because Dick does it all the time. "I know that you're used to going out alone, but I thought we established that once you started living with me you'd tell me?"

Ellie purses her lips in what seems to be both guilt and indignation. "I did okay before. Nothing happened and I can take care of any bad guys!"

Danny's face crumples a bit for a flash of a moment, stabbing Tim in the heart like thirty million times. "Ellie, it's not that I don't trust you, it's that I care. What happened before…" Danny sighs looking a little distressed and at a loss for words.

Ellie reaches over, smooths a tiny hand over Danny's furrowed brow. "Ok. M'sorry Danny. I love you."

Danny smiles then, once more helpless, "I love you too squirt." Then, as if finally noticing Tim, Danny coughs and turns abruptly red. Like, super concernedly red, actually. Tim's worried he might feint.

"Oh, Ancients, sorry," Danny adjusts Ellie to put her down, but she clings to him, still a little upset. Danny smoothly straightens back up, patting her on the back as she nuzzles into his neck.

Seriously, Tim might die.

"Thanks for bringing her back to me." Danny reaches a hand out, "My name's Danny. Is there any way I can repay you for finding her?"

Tim almost says please date me but thankfully, Bat-training has him calm, collected, and in total control of his mouth.

"It's no problem," Tim smiles his best smile—a little awkward in Caroline's fit, but Tim's no stranger to women's clothing. "And I didn't exactly find her." Tim chuckles as he darts a glance at a now perked up Ellie.

"I found them Danny!" Ellie proudly pronounces, wiggling in place in her excitement again before scrunching her face. "Well. I found Caroline. For you!"

"For me?" Danny confusedly tilts his head, even pointing a finger at himself. "Why would you—"

"Jazzy said you're lonely." Ellie whispers loudly into his ear, Tim trying to stifle his laughter as he bites his lips. "And Dante said that you need to find a friend to have sleepovers with."

Danny's face goes alarmingly red again, slapping a hand to cover his eyes as he groans in embarrassment.

"I'm going to kill them—nosey older—" Danny grumbles, before huffing and smiling apologetically at Tim. "I'm really sorry about this Miss Caroline—"

"He's Tim right now!" Ellie interrupts, yanking at Danny's ear and causing him to yelp. "Caroline went to bed. I like Caroline more, 'cause she's so pretty, see?"

Ellie points at all of Tim, which causes him to smile shyly. He notices that Danny follows where Ellie points, gulping when he meets Tim's eyes again. "Y-yeah, I see that squirt but—"

"But Tim's been really nice, he treats me like a proper person! Most people just think I'm a dumb kid."

"You're not dumb." Tim and Danny say in unison, which makes both of them squeak embarrassingly. So much for Bat-training.

"See! So I thought Tim could be for you, and I could play with Caroline sometimes, and Dante could play with Alvin—"

"Alvin?" Danny asks quietly, to which Tim flashes three fingers, before pointing to his head. Danny nods understandingly before focusing back on Ellie. The quick understanding and no reaction makes all sorts of butterflies bloom in Tim's gut. Like a little mosh pit of bugs. Maybe he needs coffee.

"—and so I said that Jazz deserves better than that, right Danny?" Ellie smooshes Danny's cheeks, making him look all sorts of ridiculous and cute. "Maybe we can even share Caroline!"

"-at's right squirt. S-he does." Danny says through his squished face. He scrunches his nose up—which makes their relation seem so very clear, Ellie's the spitting image of him—before bopping his forehead onto hers and making her giggle as she lets go of his face.

"So, uh. this is all very nice of you, Ellie. I, uhm." Danny glances at Tim, wincing a little, "I love that you did something so nice for me, but you can't gift people, so we're gonna let uh, Tim get on their way okay?"

Ellie pouts, wriggling out of Danny's grip to hide behind Tim and grab at his skirt. "But, but you like pretty ladies! And pretty boys!"

"Where did you even get this information?" Danny's voice cracks, frantically looking back and forth between Tim and Ellie as if he's not sure whether to be embarrassed or indignant.

"Sam said you like pretty ladies that look like they can beat you up." Ellie ticks a finger up, looking up as she recalls this info, "and Tucker said you like guys who look like they need to be taked care of."

Danny groans, head in his hands and hunching his shoulders up to scrunch up as small as he can even as Ellie steamrolls over the noise, "And Jazzy and Dante said that you need somebody that can be weird with you."

Danny jolts up, straightening as if he's found some kind of salvation. "Hey, that's right, and I'm sure Tim is a perfectly awesome guy, uh, girl?" Danny looks at Tim in distress, making Tim chuckle.

"Right now I'm a guy." Tim tries to keep his voice soft and low, smiling a little shyly. Distantly, he wonders if he's smudged Caroline's lipstick.

"Right!" Danny coughs, red again, "Right, so he's a perfectly normal guy and totally not weird, Okay, Ellie? C'mon, let's not take up more of Tim's night, okay?"

"I like weird." Tim nonchalantly says, innocent as he lays a hand on Ellie's back. "I mean, I've got at least three people sharing space in my noggin. Sort of." She beams up at him and snuggles closer to his leg, a warm line of comfort and affection. "We can be weird together, I think."

Danny flaps his mouth open and closed, at a loss for words. Tim's not about to explain this whole method acting turned stress relief gender euphoria turned alternate identity thing, so he plows on.

"I'm sometimes a lady—" Ellie interrupts him with an adamant pretty! "—a pretty lady that can definitely put you in your place." Tim does a slow up and down, Caroline peeking through in body memory even if she's not fully forefront.

It makes Danny do that cute little squeak again—-That's three times now, and Tim wants to know if he can manage a fourth. It also makes Danny remember how shirtless he is, making the other man twitch as if he might cover his chest but doesn't want to bring more attention to this fact so he restrains himself.

Tim licks his lips, staring at his pecs and—there's that fourth squeak and arms crossing over that delicious chest.

"And y'know," Tim goes a little shy now, scratching at the back of his neck, "I sometimes forget to sleep and eat." He shrugs with a little moue of distaste as the words he's about to say, "My family says I'm kind of a workaholic and need taking care of."

"Oh!" Ellie bounces up and down, tugging at Tim's skirt again, flashing a little hip that makes Danny eep and slap his hands over his eyes. Big guy like him should not be this freaking cute, seriously. "Oh! Jazzy says Danny's a work-a-ho-lic too!"

"Yeah?" Tim says to Ellie, even as he keeps eye contact with Danny as he's peeking through his fingers, "Guess that means I gotta at least give it a shot, right?"

Tim's not sure where this confidence is coming from: remnants of Caroline, being so free with his other…roommates, Ellie, or Danny's reactions, but it's bolstering him up.

It makes him bold, and kinda reckless. Mr. Sarcastic would approve.

"Yeah!" Ellie agrees, tugging Tim's hand into hers. She pulls him towards Danny, who obliging gives her his hand when she asks for it wordlessly with her own. "You gotta at least try. Jazzy said you give up too much for me!" Ellie makes the saddest, most pathetic looking pout Tim's ever seen. "I don't wanna be the reason you're sad and alone Danny!"

Danny bites his lip, looking at Tim for a long moment. Tim tries to smile reassuredly, to convey that he's totally on board for at least one date. (For maybe many many dates?) His shoulders slump, but his blush is still rampant. It's crawling down his neck, up his cheeks and bleeding into his ears.

He's the cutest thing Tim's ever seen at 4am in the morning.

"O-okay, uhm." Danny fumbles with his phone, "I-I could give you my number?"

"Sounds great." Tim shyly smiles as they exchange numbers, Ellie keeping both their hands hostage as if they might run away the second she lets go. Good thing Tim's ambidextrous. "I'll call you, maybe set something up this weekend?"

"It's a date." Danny smiles, Ellie squealing in excitement and cheering as she finally lets go to jump around.

Just as they get ready to part ways, Ellie tugs at Tim's skirt again, cupping her hands in a bid for Tim to crouch down and lend an ear. He does so obligingly.

"Can Caroline wake up for a second so I can say goodbye?" She whispers loudly. Tim smirks a little, rummaging up the vestiges of Caroline and sort of—blinks.

"Goodnight darling." Caroline does a sly little smile, kissing Ellie on the cheek and winking up at Danny. "And you were right! Your brother is the best."

Ellie beams, giving her a kiss on the cheek back. "Good night, Caroline!"

[mistytanzanite]

Early morning with Toby

You wake up slowly. You can feel the warmth of your boyfriend, his arms, strong from years of throwing hatchets around, are loosely wrapped around you. Soft breathing escapes his slightly parted lips as he sleeps.

He’s so beautiful like this. 

Still, as much as you’d like to ogle him, you have things to do today. Slowly, you inch yourself off the bed, careful not to disturb him. It takes longer than you’d like, and after a few minutes, your feet touch the floor.

You straighten up, watching as he moves around in his sleep, his arms seemingly searching for you, even while unconscious. You resist the urge to crawl back into bed.

You make your way to the kitchen, letting out a yawn as you prep the coffee maker. You’re gonna need it today, for sure. You turn it on, and the sound of it almost lulls you to sleep, but you force your eyes open. Just a few more minutes until you get your caffeinated ambrosia.

You walk over to the cupboard where your mugs are stored, but just as your fingertips reach the handle, you feel those familiar arms wrap around your body. You startle just the slightest bit, and he presses his face into your hair.

“You abandoned me.” He says, not even lethargy being enough to stop his dramatics. 

You let out a noise that’s half sigh, half laugh. “No, I just woke up early. I’m making coffee if you want some.”

He grumbles a little. “What I want is for you to come back to bed.” He buries his face into your hair even more, as if he were trying to burrow into it.

Just then, the coffee machine stops. It was ready. “Ignore it,” he pleads tiredly, “come back to bed.”

You want to say no. You want to complain about how you’ll have to microwave the coffee to warm it up. You want to retort with all of the things that need to get done. But how can you, when he’s like this?

When he’s so warm, it seeps into your bones more than that cheap coffee can? When he still smells of the nice shampoo you forced him to use rather than 2 in 1? When his voice, deep from the early hours of the morning, speaks to you so pleadingly?

You let out a long sigh, but you can’t fight the smile that forms.

“Alright. Let’s go back to bed.”

Despite still being drowsy, Toby picks you up bridal style as if you weigh nothing (you are very thankful for his proxy strength), and carries you back to bed.

Toby sets you on the bed, and adjusts the both of you so he can properly cuddle you, a goofy smile on his face as he kisses your forehead. You smile, wrapping your arms around him. You yawn, which makes him yawn.

“Goodnight.” He whispers. You snicker. “It’s 7 am.”

Toby doesn’t reply, likely too embarrassed, or maybe too tired. Maybe both. Instead, he buries his face into your hair once more, and falls asleep almost instantly. You follow quickly, letting sleep overcome you.

[lolasangelz]

easter at the cameron-hills

w/c: 565

a/n: happy easter!! im imagining if this was at gigi's family due to their traditions it would be religious (and intense)

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

easter at the cameron-hills household was never simple.

whether it was at the camerons, the hills, or at home, it always came with a side of chaos - strained smiles, too many expectations, and kids way too hyped on sugar before 9 a.m.

but this year, it was at home.

and it started with screaming.

"has the easter bunny came?!" "CHOCOLATE!" "i saw something by the sofa!" "it was probably dad’s sock." "EW!"

rafe groaned beside her, face buried in the pillow. georgia cracked one eye open and saw the clock blink 6:41 am

“they’re too loud,” he mumbled.

“they’re your kids.”

he rolled over, arm thrown across her waist. “they’re only mine when they’re quiet.”

grayson burst through the door then, basket in hand, cheeks flushed. “mama! mama! the bunny CAME!”

gigi sat up, rubbing her face. rafe stayed horizontal.

it only got messier from there. there was chocolate smeared on the wall by 7:06 am, and maggie had somehow managed to get an entire foil wrapper stuck in her curls. maddie wore her bunny ears upside down and insisted it was fashion. emerson - clipboard in hand - had drafted a detailed egg-hunting map, complete with time slots and a “no dad interference” rule.

gigi gave up after grayson hid an egg inside a shoe.

rafe, to his credit, handled breakfast. store-bought cinnamon rolls, sliced fruit, coffee so strong it made gigi blink twice. he moved slowly but with purpose - and not once did he look at his phone. not once did he talk about work. just… was there.

“you let them eat chocolate before breakfast,” gigi muttered, walking past him in a cloud of bunny stickers and glitter.

“you were still asleep,” he said gently. “you needed it.”

she wanted to argue, but he smiled at her, soft and knowing, and she didn’t. she just stole a sip of his coffee and leaned into his shoulder for a second longer than usual.

photos came after. gigi wrestled the kids into pastels, rafe snapped the pictures, and somehow one turned out perfect - four laughing, wrinkled-nosed babies, and gigi standing behind them mid-laugh, rafe’s hand just barely visible on her waist.

“we’re getting good at this,” he said quietly when he showed her the photo.

“what, parenting?”

“no. surviving.”

the day died down after that. the kids watched a movie, half-asleep in a nest of blankets and sugar comas. maggie drooled on rafe’s chest, grayson curled against his side. gigi watched from the kitchen, heart full in a way that made her ache.

later, when they were alone, rafe found her in the bedroom folding tiny pastel clothes into a too-small drawer.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low.

“just tired.”

he wrapped his arms around her from behind. she leaned back, let herself breathe.

“remember our first easter?” she said.

“you cried in the bathroom.”

“i didn’t cry.”

“you did. your sister sent some passive-aggressive gift basket and you threw a chocolate bunny at the sink.”

she laughed, soft and surprised.

“we were a mess.”

“we still are.”

she turned, rested her forehead against his. “i don’t mind anymore.”

he kissed her then, sweet and slow. like something that had always been there, just waiting for the quiet to come out.

outside, the sky turned that easter-evening gold, and inside, in the warm hush of home, everything felt a little more possible.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[nereidprinc3ss]

Happy 2k babe! I have a request for fluffy Spencer smut based on the song "touch tank" by Quinnie! (the song gives me like golden retriever vibes so maybe you could put something about reader playing with his hair in there? I don't know I'm having later seasons fluffy hair Spencer brainrot and I never make requests, obviously feel free to ignore or change things if this is too specific! <3)

hi angel babe!!! i love this song!! and i too am always having later seasons fluffy haired spencer brainrot!! i wrote this super quick, please let me know if its any good, ILY!!! xo

warnings/tags: fem!reader, softdom!spence, sub reader, fingering, oral f receiving, sorta kinda overstimulation, implicit consent, praise n stuff, not proofread, written at 9 pm on a tuesday night, so fluffy

18+ (smut)

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

Spencer is clearly almost asleep on the couch next to you. That’s one of many things you find endlessly fascinating and charming about him—his ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time within minutes. 

So you probably shouldn’t speak. But the stakes are low; it’s barely 7:30 in the evening. 

“Spence?” You whisper. His eyes don’t open, but his thumb goes back to making little passes where it’s settled over your hip. 

“Hm?”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

He smiles, slight but beautiful—yet his eyes remain stubbornly closed. 

“Why not?” 

“’Cause I want you to be awake.” 

“Then you can’t keep playing with my hair like that.”

You pout as if he can see you.

“But I like playing with your hair.”

Spencer hums, and you can tell you’re losing him again as you continue carding your hand through stupidly soft locks. 

“One or the other. You can’t have both.”

“I love you both, though,” you complain. “I don’t know who to pick.”

The grin has been steadily fading from his relaxed face but it flickers back to life for a moment. 

“I’m getting a haircut tomorrow. That should make it easier for you.”

“What?”

It’s the genuine horror in your voice that finally gets him to open his eyes. A little line appears between his brows as he regards you with bleary eyes. 

“What what?”

“You didn’t consult me!”

The momentarily tensed muscles in his face relax and he rolls his eyes affectionately before craning his neck to kiss your forehead. 

“I’m not in the habit of requesting your approval before I make choices like that.”

“Spencer, please don’t cut your hair,” you beg, genuinely distraught. “You can’t. It’s so so pretty.”

“It’s too long, baby. I don’t want to grow it out again.”

“You don’t have to grow it out! Just don’t get it any shorter! It’s perfect how it is,” you insist. Spencer narrows his eyes as you plead with him. But you stand firm in your position. His hair is sort of shaggy, sure—too long to be considered cropped and too short to be considered long. It’s like a beautiful curly halo and it’s perfect playing-with length. “I’m serious. I’m asking you to not cut it short, please. This is what I want for my birthday.”

“Your birthday’s not even—”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top? I love your hair so much and I love you more but I just really don’t want you to cut it, please—”

He’s laughing when he silences you with a soft kiss, and you melt, sighing against him as his hand slides up and down the back of your thigh. When he knows you’ve been sufficiently soothed, he pulls away, still smiling. 

“Oh my god, baby—are you about to cry?”

“Stop!” you whine, burying your face into a throw pillow and screwing your eyes shut. Your nose crinkles up with embarrassment. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and though he’s no longer outright laughing, traces of humor still color his lowered voice as he kisses all over the side of your face.  “I had no idea you felt that way. I didn’t realize I’d be causing you so much emotional distress if I cut my hair.”

You sniffle away any unfortunate emotional reactions and turn your head back to him. He’s ducked down slightly, still peppering kisses over your jaw and neck, and you lace your fingers through the contentious hair. 

“Obviously I’m not the boss of you. If it makes you uncomfortable I want you to cut it. But I really like it how it is.”

He hums against your throat and the vibrations send a chill down your spine. You arch against him unconsciously. 

“You are definitely the boss of me. I don’t know anyone else who I like receiving orders from so much.”

“Hotch,” you whisper, and you can feel Spencer’s teeth against your neck as he smiles and presses another loving kiss to the sensitive spot above your collarbone. 

“Not the kind of orders I was talking about. And I don’t particularly care what Hotch thinks of my hair, honey.” He kisses tenderly until he earns a tiny whimper from you—which sates him enough to raise his head until you’re eye-level again. His hand, however, has other plans—it creeps south, slipping under the waistband of your pajama pants. “What if we compromise? I just get it trimmed so it doesn’t keep getting in my eyes when I have a loaded gun in my hands, yeah?” You nod dutifully, looping your arms around his neck as his fingers dip beneath your underwear. When you don’t reply verbally, he prompts meaningfully, “okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, voice small as you look into his searching eyes. 

For a few moments, when he finally pushes his fingers against your clit and begins rubbing with slow, gentle strokes, his eyes are everywhere on your face—then they focus back on your eyes, watching with that habitually intense interest permeated with a sense of devotion—like he wants to see exactly what pleasure looks like reflected in your irises. Like he could see through them to your brain and watch your dopamine transmitters working overtime. A soft moan escapes through parted lips, which seems to spur Spencer on. He drags more arousal over your aching bud and openly chuckles at your airy sigh of pleasure, unable to resist from giving you a short kiss. 

“Feels good?”

“Mhm,” you breathe. 

“Mhm,” he agrees, kissing you again just as quickly before pulling back to study your face once more. “Pretty girl.”

“You’re pretty,” you insist, with what little brain power is available to you as you rake one hand through his hair. He smiles, eyes pinging between your own and your mouth like he can’t decide where to look.  

“I’m pretty?” he asks, speaking over another quiet, yet unabashed moan. You nod, hips bucking slightly off the couch cushion as he speed up the motion of his hand. The grin widens and his soft amber eyes soften further. “You’re so sweet.”

You give him a moan he can’t ignore and he takes it as a signal to slip two fingers into you, sighing in what sounds like relief just as your breath catches. The way he seems to feel your pleasure will never get less erotic. Once he’d explained it—something to do with mirror neurons—but whatever the reason, watching the way his arousal rises with yours is exhilarating. 

A squeaking sound is expelled from your lungs and your whole body tenses, propelling you maybe an inch upward involuntarily. 

His lips part the same as yours—but only allowing another dry laugh to pass between them. 

“Relax. I’ll come to you.”

You hum as he leans down and kisses you back into the pillow—a proper kiss, this time, lips parted and the tip of his tongue grazing yours—all the while, still pumping his fingers much deeper than your own could ever manage. Each moan and gasp he allows you to release freely, only barely parting from your lips every few seconds to let you breathe and make your noises. When his fingers begin pumping faster, and you can hear it, you whine, knees clamping shut as the small of your back jumps away from the couch. 

“Fuck,” you pant against his lips. 

“Need you to keep your legs open, baby,” Spencer reminds you gently, giving you a peck and a moment to relax as his hand stills. 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit shyly, still wriggling. “Um, can you—can you use your mouth, please?”

Your boyfriend chuckles again and your cheeks get warmer. Momentarily you allow yourself to be grateful that his face is pressed too close to your own for him to be really be looking at you. 

“You still have to keep your legs apart for that.”

“I know. It’s easier when—when you’re not inside.”

The smile in Spencer’s voice when he replies gives you butterflies as if he’s not knuckle deep in you already. 

“I bet you think that’s true.”

“It is!” you whine. 

“You’ve never had your thighs wrapped around your head so tightly your ears pop, have you?”

“That did not happen.”

“Only once,” Spencer reassures you. “And I happen to like your thighs. So no harm done. Go lie down on the bed.”

You let out a small chirp as he withdraws his fingers from you and your waistband snaps back into place against your skin. 

“Where are you going?” you ask suspiciously, once you’re on semi-steady feet and watching him rise from the couch too. At once he kisses your forehead and grabs your ass—the contrast is dizzying. 

“To wash my hands,” he says, popping the fingers that were just in you into his mouth like a preliminary clean up. “Go,” he urges, jutting his chin in the direction of the bedroom door. You hang from him just a second longer, biting back a smile, before tearing yourself away and only half-skipping to the bedroom. 

Only a moment or two after you flop joyfully down on the mattress, he appears in the doorway again, immediately noticing the way you’re practically vibrating with excitement and unable to hide your grin as he approaches. It seems the smile is contagious—he’s sporting one of his own as he climbs over you. 

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs toothily, kissing you once and then speaking again, “I love you so much.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing that makes you feel all soft and shy and giddy and speechless—even as he gives you one more parting kiss and then is sitting up to slide your pants off. 

Maybe even especially then. 

The sweetness dissipates only a little, still hanging thick in the air as you kick your bottoms off, and he leans back down, pushing your shirt over your chest and pressing kisses to your ribs and down your tummy. He doesn’t waste much time, only taking one brief detour to suck a mark and sink his teeth into your inner thigh until your breath catches loud enough to appease him. Then it’s all easy—his cool fingertips trailing up and down the backs of your thighs as he kisses all over and around your core. Intimacy with Spencer is definitely a spectrum, and while you can always feel the depth of his love for you in every touch, right now it’s so tangible, so potent you can feel it in your teeth. 

You coo when one of the kisses finally sticks, lacing your fingers through the hair you love so much and pushing it out of the way as he laps gently at you. He looks as beautiful as always in the golden hour light as it filters through the window, but you’ve always thought he’s just that extra bit prettier when he’s eating you out. 

Visually you’re entranced—it’s only when he begins easing you into the deep end with the flicking of his tongue that your brow knits and you gasp. 

“Spencer,” you whisper, and it melds into a louder gasp. “Baby.”

He hums into you, reaching around your thigh to grab one of your wrists. You allow him to drag your hand from his hair and intertwine your fingers, his hand on top of yours, pressing them against your stomach where he sweeps his thumb back and forth over your knuckles.

The display of tenderness only makes you ache deeper in your belly, singing in airy, open-mouthed praise for him with a moan you know he would describe as pretty. Spencer says things like that often. He always talks about you like you’re an art form. When it comes to talking about touching you, he’s especially poetic. 

When he begins to suckle, your moans get a little more explicit. 

But he likes those ones just fine, too.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, though it’s a little choked, as you writhe just slightly against him. “That’s so good—oh my god.”

The hand that’s not holding yours rapidly changes position—pressing your thigh to the side with his elbow while he slips his fingers inside you once more. 

At that, you really do choke, your body attempting to sit bolt upright but set off balance by the way your hips buck. You moan, loud, lilting, head still lifted to watch as he begins fucking you with his fingers. Your fingers brush through his hair several times before you’re anchoring your hand in it and falling back. 

“Wh—please, baby, I can’t—”

But you can, and you both know it. You always do this; your body sends you signs that you’re over-indulging and fights to escape the stimuli and Spencer has learned to recognize your false flags for what they are. His hand speeds up along with his tongue and you cry out again, fighting to keep your legs open and your hips on the bed as every nerve in your body seems to light up neon. 

“Oh—Spencer I’m gonna come,” you warn, all high pitched and synthesized into one word. He simply hums a long mhm in acknowledgment, and decides at that moment to brush his fingers over that spot inside of you which proves to be exactly the right button to trigger your detonation. 

You can’t help the way you twist then as your orgasm washes you out—jaw dropped as your final keen starts loud, sputters into silence, and melts into an exhausted whine as your hips wind down. Spencer (wisely) adjusts his position, letting go of your hand only so he can sit up as your thighs clamp shut hard. But he’s still pumping his fingers as you writhe, his own mouth hanging open and groaning as you mewl. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, ready to beg him to stop—but as usual, he knows your body better than you do. An orgasm that you had thought was on its way out gets a second life and you can’t even breathe as you feel it so deep within you, pinpointed to one spot of focus, that you have to curl in on yourself, keeling onto your side because it’s simply too intense. 

Either your vision goes black or your eyes are simply closed—regardless, time ceases for an unquantifiable moment, and you come to with Spencer rubbing your back and murmuring your name. 

“What did I do to you?” he laughs, not unkindly.  

Your back arches as mild aftershocks trickle through your system. 

“I don’t know,” you slur. “Dark magic.”

He allows himself to be pulled on top of you once more, and you tangle your hands in his hair again. 

“But you’re okay?” he murmurs, using his dry hand to play with your hair and brush over your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes fluttering shut once more. Then you laugh, sudden and unexpected to both of you. “I think. That was intense. I felt that one in my soul.”

You smile as he exhales a laugh against your skin. 

“Okay,” Spencer sighs after you catch your breath, bumping his nose against yours before sitting up—this time, not allowing you to pull him back down. “I need to take a shower. You should come with me.”

“Five more minutes,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows. 

“But this is your last chance to wash my hair before it’s a whole inch shorter tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you laugh, but it turns deadly serious very quickly. “Spencer, I am not letting you cut a whole inch off your hair. I need that inch.”

“For what?” He snorts. 

You smile big, glad he didn’t see your joke coming for once. 

“Handles! Duh!”