#but if i counted this i think i would probably be like ten books over

[mariasont]

A Puddle in Running Shoes A.H.

summary: your boyfriend finds out you have a praise kink and is having way too much fun with that information

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: some suggestive content, hotch being a menace, reader having a praise kink, end suggests something may happen but nothing explicit in this one folks im getting my libido under control swear, also count how many times r refers to hotch's face as stupid im crying

wc: 1.9k

You hated running. No, correction, loathed it. Detested it. Despised it with every fiber of your being. If there was a stronger word, one that captured the burning, irrational rage you felt whenever someone suggested going for a jog, Spencer might have known it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to ask. Simply put, running was not your thing.

But when Aaron, your boyfriend and somehow the most persistent man alive, asked you to join you on a run, you couldn't exactly say no. He didn't beg, Aaron Hotchner did not beg, but his version of asking, that soft it'd mean a lot to me paired with an encouraging smile, was close enough to begging in your book. Besides, you figured there'd be some sort of reward when you got back home. Aaron was good at those.

So here you were, contributing absolutely nothing to your marathon-obsessed, fitness-loving FBI boyfriend's training. Sweat coated every inch of your body, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every ragged breath you managed to suck in. The sun blazed overhead, making you feel more like a roasting chicken than a willing participant in this so-called fun activity.

Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he'd stepped out of a fitness ad, shirt clinging to him in ways that felt outright scandalous. Even the sweat on his face somehow made him look even more attractive.

He was at least ten paces ahead of you and every few steps, he'd glance over his shoulder, probably checking to make sure you hadn't spontaneously combusted or snuck off to find an air-conditioned cafe. Honestly, both were real possibilities.

Aaron's pace slowed until he was running beside you, throwing you a smile so unfairly handsome it made your legs feel weaker than they already did.

"How are you feeling?" The question felt retorical, anyone, profiler or not, was sure to be able to read you like an open book right now. "Still alive, or do I need to start figuring out the best way to carry you home without breaking any traffic laws?"

"I think I'm alive," you managed between gasps, wiping sweat from your brow. "But if carrying me is on the table, I'm not above playing dead to make that happen."

"Not necessary, I'd carry you anyway, if only to reward you for keeping up this long. You're doing great."

You foot caught a crack in the pavement, nearly hurling yourself into it, but Aaron's hand was there quicker keeping you upright as you tried to ignore the terrifying way your body had reacted to his compliment.

"Okay you can't just say stuff like that while I'm trying to run," you blurted out, avoiding his gaze. "You're trying to kill me, I swear."

You planted your hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath, secretly relieved to have a break, even if it almost involved a face-first meeting with the sidewalk.

"Stuff like what?" He tugged at your ponytail and you swatted his hand.

"Nothing," you said way too quickly, shaking your head like you could physically toss what you said aside. "Forget I said anything. Let's just... keep running."

You quickly realized your mistake as soon as you started jogging again. You would never willingly suggest to keep running. Unfortunately, Aaron was actively aware of this, moving to come up beside you. You didn't need to look at him to know he had the stupidest smirk on his face.

He didn't say anything at first, to your immediate relief, just kept jogging beside you. The silence stretched on, his calm breathing only seeming to make your wheezing sound worse.

"You're breathing too shallow," he said after a moment, his tone completely casual like he wasn't even winded. "Try to take deeper breaths, match them to your strides. It'll make it easier."

You glanced towards him out of the corner of your eye before attempting his suggestion. You had no intention of letting him know that it worked. His ego was far too substantial for that.

"See? You're a natural," he said, shooting you a sidelong glance. "Atta girl."

Your brain flatlined and you almost tripped over your feet again, every rational thought replaced by static. What was wrong with you? You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people with unresolved daddy issues were prone to developing praise kinks. Was that what this was? Whatever the reason, hearing Aaron talk like that shouldn't make you feel all gooey inside, but here you were, a puddle in running shoes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yup, fine!"

You stared at the ground so intensely, it was a miracle you didn't bore a hole into the pavement. Your voice had betrayed you, far too shaky and way too rushed, and you knew Aaron was probably filing away every bit of your reaction.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as he spoke. "Stop staring at the ground. You'll run better if you keep your head up, it'll open your chest so you can breathe easier."

His hand lingered for a second too long than what your body could handle, leaving you completely flustered and fighting every urge to do exactly the opposite of what he said.

"There you go," he murmured, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, honey. Just like that."

His voice, his god forsaken voice, was like lightning to your system, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was��a good way, which was the problem. It was bad enough to hearing it out here, on the jogging trail, but your brain decided to replay it in an entirely different inappropriate context: one that involved you, him, and a bed.

Your face burned, and you couldn't tell if it was from the exertion, or the very real possibility that your body was too receptive to those words. And now, not only were you fighting for every breath, but you were trying to figure out if the dampness between your legs was entirely from sweat. Surely it was sweat. Right? Gods, you hoped it was sweat.

You stopped so suddenly that Aaron jogged a few steps ahead before he realized you were not longer beside him.

"Okay, I'm calling it. I'm done. Can we please go home now?"

He jogged back to you, an easy smile on his face, and placed his hands on your shoulders as he reached you.

"Alright, we can be done," he teased, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones. "You survived, and you did great. I'm proud of you."

He leaned down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that made the ache in your body a little easier to ignore.

When he pulled away, you barely managed to keep standing.

Aaron let out a low laugh, his hands squeezing your shoulders. "Alright. What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said over your shoulder, practically power walking towards the car.

Aaron's laugh deepened and you ignored the funny feeling curling in your chest.

"Sweetheart," he said, gently tugging your elbow to slow you down. "Come on, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine!" You avoided his eyes as you tugged your elbow free. "I'm just tired, and, uh, need a shower."

A cold shower, your brain screamed, but you shoved the thought down.

"I know, I know you're tired," he said, lips curving into a smile, "but that's because you actually pushed yourself. I'm proud of you for sticking with it."

You were pretty convinced you were you were about to go up in flames. Your obituary would read death by too many unnecessary compliments. When your heart inevitably gave out, Aaron would have to explain to Rossi and the others how his dumb smile and sweet words had resulted in second degree manslaughter.

But then you saw it, the smirk. The one that said he absolutely knew what he was doing.

"Oh my gosh, you know!" You groaned and threw your hands in the air. "You know, and you're enjoying this!"

Spinning away from him, you stormed to the car, and slammed the door like it might shield you from his stupidly smug face.

You barely had time to exhale before the passenger door swung open, revealing Aaron, casually leaning against the car.

"You know," he said lightly, his tone far too casual for your liking, "slamming car doors isn't a great habit. You could hurt yourself."

"And you know," you snapped back, pointing at him, "torturing your girlfriend isn't a great habit either!"

He leaned in slowly, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed your seatbelt. As he clicked it into place, his face lingered close to yours.

"I wasn't trying to torture you, baby. Just wanted to give you the chance to admit it, that you liked it."

Before you could muster a reply, Aaron's hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb moving along your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was so deep, leaving you no choice but to sink into it, even as the faint remnants of your annoyance tried to surface.

By the time he pulled back, you felt like you were under his spell. Then, without another word, he shut your door and headed to the driver's side.

"That's not fair," you muttered, crossing your arms and pouting as you stared out the window.

Aaron's hand found the back of your neck as he backed out of the parking spot, rubbing gently into smooth circles.

"I don't mean to be unfair," he said with a small smile. "I just needed to hear it, because sometimes people don't even realize what they need until they say it out loud. And I wanted to make sure I didn't misread anything, though I'm rarely wrong, as you know."

"Trust me, you remind me every chance you get." Your tone was dry, but you were well aware that the twitch in your lip was giving you away.

"Alright, smartass," he said, chuckling as his fingers pressed a little firmer into your neck. "Now tell me, how does it make you feel when I say those things to you?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, okay? I just... like it! Do I have to explain it?"

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," he said, "but I'd like to know what it is you like so much."

Aaron's hand moved from your neck to your hand, his fingers sliding between each of yours while his eyes stayed glued to the road, a thing that only came from months of familiar motions.

You let out a long breath. "I don't know. I just like hearing it. It makes me feel good. Special, I guess."

"You are special, sweetheart." His eyes flicked to you before returning to the road. "You're my best girl."

Your stomach flipped violently. You shifted again, trying to disguise the way your thighs pressed together tightly as your face burned hotter than ever. The debate earlier in your head was officially over, absolutely not just sweat, you thought miserably.

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Something I said?"

You swatted his shoulder, your glare losing all its bite thanks to the flush all over your body. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I can't help it," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to get you on edge. "But don't worry, I'll take care of my best girl once we're home."

You slumped in your seat, muttering something unintelligible that made Aaron chuckle again. And even though you wouldn't admit it, you found yourself smiling, already dreading and anticipating whatever he had planned when you got home.

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[pathologicalreid]

missed calls | s.r.

in which Spencer answers Hotch's daughter's phone when he calls to check in after a case

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: hotchner!reader, minimal case information, spencer's pov word count: 741 a/n: yooo this is the shortest margotober fic!! but it's so wholesome that i couldn't pick anything else 😭

Your nose whistled with every exhale, with every page he turned, Spencer looked down at your sleeping form to make sure he wasn’t disturbing you. He ignored the buzzing of your phone, Hotch told everyone not to come in until the briefing at ten, so the buzzing wasn’t something he’d concern himself with. He’d rather you catch up on sleep.

Turning the next page, he moved his hand down and swept some hair from your face, freezing when you stirred. He kept his eyes on you, making sure you didn’t fully wake up before he returned to his book.

Last week, a case had gone wrong, and you ended up at the center of it. Physically, you were unharmed, but the way the case went down took a toll on you mentally. You tried to accept the blame, but no one else would allow you to be blamed.

It had been keeping you up at night, thinking you could’ve done something differently that would’ve led to a different outcome. You would stare at the ceiling for all hours of the morning until either your alarm went off or you physically couldn’t keep your eyes open. Sleep deprivation in the field was dangerous, Spencer knew that from personal experience.

So, when the two of you came home from work, decided to decompress on the couch and you fell asleep with your head in his lap, he resolved himself to a night on the couch. If he had to suffer a stiff neck in the morning, he’d get through it just so you can get the rest you so desperately need.

Looking back over at your phone as it rang again, he adjusted the blanket that you had thrown over yourself before finally picking up the phone. He hummed at the screen, your dad was calling you, three times in the last ten minutes.

Spencer looked down at you, your hands folded beneath your head as you dreamt, and he couldn’t get himself to wake you. It felt cruel to wake you when this is the first time you’ve fallen asleep naturally in days, so instead of having you answer the phone, he clicks the green icon and answers the call himself.

“Hey, Hotch,” he greeted, keeping his voice low so that he wouldn’t ruin his own plan and wake you up.

Your father is silent on the other line for a moment, probably checking his screen to double check which number he had called, “Where’s Y/N?” He asked, a hint of fatherly concern laced in his tone.

Watching you sleep, Spencer looked at you as he responded, “She’s right here, she’s asleep.”

Hotch was silent on the other end of the call; he was more than aware of your sleeping problems. Just yesterday, he had pulled Spencer into his office to ask him what was going on with you, which clued Spencer into the fact that you were messing up at work. Little things like missing a checkbox on paperwork and forgetting files on your desk when you were supposed to be in the roundtable room.

Spencer gently cleared his throat, “Did you need to talk to her?” It was a leading question, Spencer was providing the answer on a silver platter, nearly begging your father to just let you sleep.

“No,” Hotch answered quickly, practically scrambling to get the answer out. “No, don’t wake her,” he iterated, “Just, uh… will you tell her I called?”

Nodding even though he couldn’t see, Spencer responded, “Yeah, I’ll tell her in the morning.”

Your dad was quiet for a moment before he spoke up again, “Reid?”

“Yes, sir?” He answered dutifully, his voice just hovering over a whisper as you adjusted in your sleep.

“Thank you,” he responded, matching Spencer’s quiet tone over the phone, likely because Jack was already asleep for the night. “For watching over her,” he continued, clarifying why exactly he was expressing gratitude.

Spencer gently smoothed your hair back, personally grateful to see peace on your face as you slept. “It’s my pleasure,” he whispered in response.

Your dad cleared his throat, “Have a good night, Reid.”

“You as well,” Spencer moved the phone, ending the call before returning it to its place on the side table. Unable to reach you, he pressed two of his fingers to his lips before resting them on your temple, effectively kissing you goodnight before he lifted his book and went back to reading.

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[notlongtolove]

in the woods

three photos. three crime scenes. three notes. slowly, then all at once, it hits you. you know these words. you’ve read these words before. why do you know these words? where have you read them before? this work is part of the little red cap series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff?

content: very brief mentions of a crime scene and blood. lit student reader helps spencer put together a clue he missed.

word count: 2.6k

note: this idea was truly so random but if you like it and are interested to see a p2 that includes her meeting the team feel free to lmk! i would love to develop this story but im having mad writers block rn lol anyways the linked poem is amazing, one of my favourites.

a line: Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit.

But then I was young – and it took ten years In the woods to tell that a mushroom Stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds Are the uttered thought of trees, that a greying wolf Howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out- carol ann duffy

Spencer’s distracted tonight. You noticed it the moment he breezed past you, pressing a distracted kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the study. Normally, you’d give him space, let him untangle the thoughts on his own, but it’s past midnight now, and you’ve decided enough is enough.

“Spence,” you call softly from the doorway. 

He doesn’t look up.

​​You take a breath and step inside, the floorboards cool under your bare feet. The study feels foreign to you. You’re hardly ever in here despite Spencer’s gentle efforts to make space for you after you’d started spending more time at his place. He’d cleared half of the mahogany desk for your own books and files—a space now claimed by a few framed photos of the two of you from last year’s Christmas market.

You’ve always preferred his bed over the confines of this room, the comfort of his sheets beneath you, his bedside table the perfect coaster for your copious cups of coffee as you slog over your essays. The study always felt too still, almost stifling. It’s the kind of quiet that breeds overthinking, though Spencer thrives in it—Especially when it’s work.

Which it does seem to be tonight, judging by the furrow of his brow and the way his hands are clasped, tense, as he pours over the file in front of him. You cross the remaining space and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, thumb moving in soothing circles. 

“Hey,” you murmur, leaning down to speak into the curve of his neck. He reaches up absently, fingers threading into your hair, but his eyes stay fixed on the contents on the desk. 

“Come to bed,” you whisper, quieter this time, softer, as though you might coax him away if you’re gentle enough. 

He murmurs something you don’t quite catch, his focus still locked on the papers. You frown, the corners of your mouth tugging downward as you try again, this time layering your voice with the soft insistence you know he can’t resist.

“Please?”

That gets him. He sighs, the sound heavy, before slowly swivelling his chair around to face you. There’s a small flicker of satisfaction in your chest—still got it, you think, though his tired eyes make it hard to fully savour the victory.

“Soon, honey,” he says, soft and apologetic, but it’s not enough for you.

“Missed you today,” you murmur, stepping closer.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, reaching out to pull you into him. His arms wrap around your waist as he presses his face into your stomach, breathing you in like you’re the first fresh air he’s had all day. And with the day he’s had, you might as well be. 

“It’s almost 1,” you remind him gently, brushing a strand of his hair back. “And you haven’t even showered.”

He makes a sound—somewhere between a groan and a half-hearted protest. Probably indignation, though he doesn’t bother to articulate it. When he finally lifts his head to look at you, your chest tightens. He looks so so tired. Handsome, always, but tonight, the weariness in his eyes is impossible to miss.

“Aw, honey,” you coo, voice soft with affection. “C’mere.”

It’s ironic, considering you’re the one climbing into his lap. The chair protests under your combined weight with a faint creak, but neither of you care. Just your presence alone is a comfort that Spencer accepts all too willingly. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you closer and burying his face into you, fingers toying with the edges of your—his shirt.

“Tough case?” you ask quietly, your fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He nods defeatedly, the motion slow and heavy, like even that small acknowledgment takes too much out of him.

“He’s already—” Spencer sighs, low and weary. “Already killed three women. And the profile is… flimsy at best.”

You nod quietly, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his shoulder. Though crime-solving and criminal profiling aren’t your expertise, the weight of what he carries is never lost on you. You’ve come to know the signs all too well.

You see it in the way he comes home after cases like this—silent, drained, his body curling into yours. You hear it in his voice when his worry spills over during arguments, like the time he snapped at you for drinking too much on a night out after a brutal final. It wasn’t out of anger but fear, raw, born from the evils he sees every day. He’d never explicitly linked it to the horrors of his work, but you didn’t need to be a profiler to piece it together. 

“You’ll catch him,” you say softly, keeping your voice steady despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “You guys always do.”

Spencer sighs, releasing one hand from your waist to rub the bridge of his nose. “There’s something off,” he mutters, words tinged with frustration. “I just... I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” you offer gently, watching his face for any sign of what he needs.

He manages a faint, tired smile and shakes his head. “I’d rather not,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting it go. Spencer tries, always, to keep that part of his life separate from you. But even you know some things are impossible to leave behind. Shadows don’t adhere to boundaries. They’re stubborn and heavy, sometimes seeping into the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is try your best to hold him together when that weight gets too much to bear. Leaning into him, you rest your head against his, the silence between you filled with a kind of unspoken understanding.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers after a moment, as though he can sense your quiet disappointment at not being able to do more. His arm tightens around your waist as though anchoring himself. You press a soft kiss to his temple, a quiet gesture of acknowledgement.

��Now,” you say, standing up. Spencer leans forward instinctively, unwilling to let the warmth of you go. “Shower?”

He glances between you and the desk strewn with papers, hesitation in his face. “After I—”

“Nope,” you interrupt, grabbing both his hands and gently pulling him to his feet. “I’ll handle this,” you say, gesturing to the chaos on the desk. “You,” you point toward him, then toward the bathroom, “Shower. Now.”

Spencer lets out a long-suffering sigh, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “Bossy,” he teases softly.

“Maybe,” you reply, a playful glint in your eyes. “But you love me.”

Without missing a beat, Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Wow,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone warm and teasing. “Bossy and smart. How did I get so lucky?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling, nudging him lightly toward the bathroom. “Go,” you say, laughing. “Before I add ‘violent’ to that list.” At that, Spencer tears his arms away from your waist, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he backs slowly toward the door. “Go!” you laugh again, shaking your head at him before turning your attention to the desk strewn with papers.

You turn your attention back to the desk surveying the organized chaos, trying to piece together how he usually files them. The thin sheets—pale and slightly crumpled—belong in the manila folder. The thicker briefs, stapled neatly, go in the black case. And the photos…

Huh. 

Your hand pauses mid-reach, brow furrowing as your eyes fall on the glossy prints. You tilt your head. Something about them feels—almost… familiar, maybe. You stop to lay them out side by side, studying them more closely. 

Three photos. Three crime scenes. Three notes. 

The first note reads, ‘I burn.’ The words are scrawled haphazardly, the letters jagged and uneven.

The second is darker, more ominous, ‘Your knife.’ Its edges marked by splatters of blood.

The third is the most unsettling of all. Just two words. ‘All alone.’ Stark and final. 

Slowly, then all at once, it hits you. 

You know these words. You’ve read these words before. 

Why do you know these words? Where have you read them before?

It gnaws at you. The exhaustion you felt earlier is long gone as you find yourself sinking into Spencer’s chair. Your fingers trace the edges of the prints as you try to piece together your fragments of memory. You don’t know how much time has passed since you first laid eyes on the photos until Spencer calls to you from the bedroom.

“In here,” you answer absently.

When he steps into the doorway, your heart flutters despite yourself. He’s a sight to behold—hair damp, shirt slightly clinging to his chest, a towel draped over his shoulders as he dries his hair.

“Hey,” he says, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Why’re you still in here?”

“Got distracted,” you murmur, gesturing to the desk.

“Intriguing, huh?”

“She definitely is,” you reply, almost without thinking.

“I don’t know when he’ll strike next—” he starts, then stops abruptly. His expression shifts, his gaze sharpening as he looks at you. 

“What’d you just say?”

“Hm?” You blink, finally meeting his eyes.

“You said ‘she’s’ intriguing,” he repeats, stepping closer now. “You think the unsub’s a she?”

“Isn’t she?” you say, frowning at the question. “I could definitely use a lot of other words to describe her, but…” your voice uncertain.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the poems, for one—I mean, they’re all about hurt and enraged women,” you explain. “And signing off with them? That’s definitely not not intriguing…” You trail off, puzzled by the sudden gravity of the conversation. 

Spencer goes rigid, every muscle in his body locking up. “Poems?” 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice small now, “The notes. They’re all closing words of Duffy’s poems. I thought you—Did you not…” 

Your words trail off as you see his face harden, eyes widening as the weight of your words hits him. 

“Oh my god.” Your hands fly to your mouth as the realization hits you, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “You didn’t know.”

Spencer Reid hardly swears, if ever, but the next words out of his mouth are nothing short of explicit. He’s already moving towards the desk, the towel falling unnoticed to the floor. “Show me,” he says, urgency in his voice. You get up quickly, wanting to make room, but he stops you. “No, you sit,” he says, eyes locked on the notes. “Show me.”

“Okay, okay.” You steady yourself before pointing to the first note. “Um, look, this one, ‘I burn.’ It’s from her poem Warming Her Pearls. She’s a maid who secretly pines for her mistress. She loves her but, well, she can’t be with her cause they’re from different societies.” You look up at him expectantly. “It’s about class inequality and…”

“Unrequited love.” Spencer finishes gravely, his voice low but certain.

“Right, exactly.” You glance up at him, searching his face for understanding. Spencer nods, taking it in, and you move on to the next. 

“And then this one, ‘Your knife.’ It’s from Valentine. The speaker, she doesn’t want the usual valentine gifts, so she gives an onion instead. But… she says it’ll make the receiver cry, because well, onions do that. It’s a basically a metaphor for love, how—” You take a deep breath, your throat tightening. “How dangerous it can become.”

Spencer stays quiet, but his eyes are fixed on you. His hand finds your back, giving a reassuring, gentle rub.

You hesitate before pointing to the last note. “And this one, ‘All alone.’” You swivel the chair around to face him fully, the tension in your chest growing. “I wasn’t sure about the first two, but when I saw this, I knew.”

“Little Red Cap,” Spencer finishes for you, his voice tinged with self-reproach. “Your favourite. God, why didn’t I see this?”

You nod, your voice softening. “Yeah. The opening poem of The World’s Wife. She uses Red Riding Hood to explore growing up, losing innocence and… well, you know the rest.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line as he nods grimly. “The wolf represents someone older, predatory. A lover.”

“Yeah, and she uh,” you say, barely a whisper. “She kills him.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens, his frustration evident. “How did I not—How’d you—” If the situation weren’t so dire, you might have joked about never expecting to hear those words from Spencer Reid. Instead, you force a shrug, casual, as if your analysis hadn’t just reshaped everything. “TA-ed a few classes on Duffy,” you say grimly.

The silence stretches, heavy and charged, until Spencer crouches down in front of you. His sharp eyes soften as they meet yours. “You’re… you’re incredible, you know that?” His tone is low, reverent. He presses a brief, warm kiss to your forehead before standing, running a hand through his still-damp hair. Then his expression shifts, eyes darkening with urgency. “I need to make a call.” 

You nod silently, still curled up in his chair. You don’t trust your legs to carry you to the bed that’s one room over, not right now. Spencer steps away, his phone already pressed to his ear. It takes only a few moments before he starts speaking.

“Hotch,” he begins, “I think the unsub is a woman.”

The reply on the other end is muffled, but you can follow the conversation through Spencer’s responses.

“Poems, yeah—Carol Ann Duffy,” he says, pacing a few steps. “We’ve been looking for patterns in the wrong places.”

He pauses, listening, before adding, “How’d I—? Just… from a friend.”

His tone is careful, protective. You know Spencer doesn’t want his team knowing about you. When Spencer told you he wanted to keep his professional and personal lives separate, you didn’t understand at first. But after he’d opened up about what happened to his boss—how it shattered everyone—you stopped pushing. You understood then why he was so insistent on drawing those boundaries, even if it meant staying in the shadows of his world. 

You watch him, eyes tracing the way his jaw clenches, the restless motion of his fingers. “This is the lead we need. What—No, we don’t need to bring them in.” ​​You can see the moment his patience snaps.

“What we need is to focus on her work—her themes, her voice. It’ll give us insight into the unsub’s mindset. No, I—” Spencer’s tone sharpens, frustration creeping in as he rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. 

“I know this is important, I’m not saying it isn’t—” He stops mid-sentence, the voice on the other end cutting him off. His lips press into a thin line, and he exhales through his nose, fingers pinching the bridge. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone tense but resigned. 

“Okay.” He pauses for a beat, “We’ll—she’ll be there.”

As he hangs up, Spencer turns back to you, his expression carefully guarded. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, tentative.

You have two lectures. “Nothing,” you say, the word slipping out easily. He frowns, uncertain. 

“Kristoff’s out sick, and Burton doesn’t care about attendance anyway,” you quickly lie. The tension in his face eases just slightly, but you can still see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Right, um, my boss,” You can sense a hint of nervous energy in the way he shifts his weight. “He wants us in at 8, sharp. I’ll drive.”

The apology is clear in his expression as he crouches down, taking your hands in his. “I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for,” he says, his voice quieter now. “But... I know he wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” 

A simple, quiet “I know” is all you can manage.

You can tell he feels bad about dragging you into this. You definitely hadn’t imagined this would be your introduction to his world either—messy, intense, and impossibly heavy. And from this brief glimpse, you’re not sure if you’re ready for it after all.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[theauthorandtheartist]

I think that, in Hyrule, there would be some legislature specific to the heroes. Like, there would be some protections in the books so that the hero wouldn't get sued or arrested for doing his job or protecting himself. There would probably even be laws specifically to help him along. (Disclaimer, I know nothing about how laws are made in a monarchy, or how to word them in legalese).

I think one of them would just be titled The Hero's Duty Act (and you bet that gets made fun of by everybody). It would basically state that a dedicated Hero of Hyrule has the express permission and ability to take care of a major threat in any way he deems appropriate: whether that be by sealing or execution or some other fashion. That way, after the journey is over, no stilted goons can come after the hero in court for murder or unlawful imprisonment. Of course, there would be Hella stipulations for what counts as a "major threat," as well as conditions that need to be met in order to qualify as a Hero of Hyrule.

"Impeeding the Hero's Journey" would be a crime. Basically, if anyone knowingly and in their right mind tries to hinder or full-on stop the hero from completing his quest, they can be arrested. I'd imagine the punishment would scale with the level of offence (a fine for needlessly charging the hero more for potions (since he kinda HAS to buy them), jailtime for blocking his way or restraining him somehow, or execution if you actively try to murder the kid (and he doesn't get you first)). You bet there are lawyers trying to prove in court that their clients didn't know that the skinny twink in green swinging a sword around was the hero, or that they were totally mind controlled.

There would probably be some sort of national emergency price cap specifically for when the hero is questing. Like, usually a red potion would go for 60-80 rupees a pop, but when catastrophe strikes the merchants are required to lower the price to 20 rupees max in order accommodate the influx of injured people and make sure the hero can survive off of minish-gifts and dropped monster wallets. The fine for breaking this law would stack with the fine for Impeding the Hero's Journey because come on man, that's just a dick move; he's like ten.

Of course, there's an entire section of the "self-defense" defense completely dedicated towards the hero, and what does and does not count as self-defense when fighting hylian foes. It's basically the same as the regular self-defense laws, but with mind-control added in and with words specific to the hero. It's in the books pretty much exclusively to prevent grieving angry families from coming after the traumatized ten year old who just saved them.

None of those laws probably existed when the first few heroes were around, in fact, I'd imagine that most of them didn't get written into legislature until the Hero of Legend. I'd imagine that "Impeding the Hero's Journey" would be written in sometime around the Hero of the Four Sword era, as well as a few of the self-defense laws, but the Hero's Duty Act and the finer details of the mind control stuff wouldn't be penned until after the Hero of Legend dealt with Aganahim.

There would probably be more hero-specific laws, but I can't think of any at the moment. If anyone more versed in law wants to revise or add any to my list, feel free.

[adoristsposts]

all the seasons | quinn hughes

author's note; guys i fear i may be coming back with my first non-song-inspired quinn hughes fanfic... and it's loooong. anything can be a oneshot if you post it all at once, right? summary; when stumbling upon quinn hughes seems to become a year-round habit, it's hard to deny that maybe fate might be pushing the two of you together. word count; 4.7k warnings; a little bit of purple prose probably idk i've been writing this on and off. swearing + mentions of drinking

winter

There is a large chance, you realise, that Quinn Hughes will not like you as much as your best friend has been assuring you. Cole, of course, is beaming at you like he knows some shit is going to go down. The idiot. It had taken a lot of groveling for him to convince you to come - and a lot of whining about how all the other 'old farts' on the team would bore him to death with hockey talk and flaunt their hot girlfriends, making him miss his hot girlfriend who had flown home for Christmas. All of it had ended in the promise that you would get to talk puck with your favourite players and he would buy all your drinks at the bar the eldest Hughes brother had rented out. You had agreed reluctantly. Cole was hard to say no to. After you had spilled hot chocolate all over him his first year in Vancouver and begged him to send you the dry cleaning bill, you had become a bit of a lifeline to the boy. You became someone whose apartment he stayed in whenever he was called up to the Canucks, and someone to drive the long commute to his weekend games. The two of you had become inseparable. Well, separable only by the distance between Vancouver and Abbotsford that you refused to cross on workdays. Recently called up, and staying in the guest room next to yours, Cole had been invited to the Canucks' Christmas party. A party "usually organized by Millsy's wife, but she's like, sick or something" Cole had explained to you. Therefore the responsibility fell on Quinn Hughes. "What are you all stressed about?" Cole asked, looking up from his phone and settling his gaze on you. You had been lost in your thoughts, listening to the hum of the Uber's engine and the quiet radio the driver was playing. "Dude," You breathed out, "I'm going to puke." "You are not" He said, well aware of your dramatics, "going to puke. You will be fine, they'll love you." "In ten minutes I have to talk to the Vancouver Canucks. The captain of the Vancouver Canucks. I deal with enough talking to you." You hissed out, glancing at the Uber. Was this information safe to share? Should you be worried he was going to dox the Christmas party address? Oh, God save us all. Happy birthday, Jesus. Thanks a lot. Cole laughed at you "Would you chill out? I keep telling you Quinn will love you." "I'm chilling out, I promise," You breathed, "Just thinking about all those drinks you're going to buy me." "Alright, alright."

Ten minutes later the two of you were clambering out of the Uber. "Do I look okay?" You asked him, adjusting your dress. He just shrugged and let out a grunt that almost sounded like an 'I don't know.' You rolled your eyes at him but followed him as he led you towards an eerily quiet bar. It was obvious it had been booked for a private event, but the missing element of drunk people lining the streets outside of it made the whole thing feel a little out of place. A pub for Christmas? Cole opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside first and take the place in. Whoever Quinn had hired had done a great job - red tinsel was strewn about just about anywhere it could go. Christmas decorations lined the bar, as well as a handful of Menorahs and other Hannukah decorations. The whole place was alive already. You and Cole were fashionably late, you presumed. "Let's say hi to Quinn" Cole said, pressing a hand against your upper back to help lead you towards the Captain. You wouldn't have needed the help. For God knows whatever reason, Quinn basically shone in gold to you. His face was flushed and his hair slightly sweaty from the pure heat radiating throughout the place. There was a lopsided grin on his face as he smiled at whatever joke the man across from him was telling. The bar lights, slightly tinged red, fell over him like water that cascaded down his strong nose, off his shoulders, and over his body. It was a pull you had never felt before, one that made you forget about the fact Cole was literally pushing you towards the man. Quinn's gaze slid away from his conversation and across the room, obviously taking note of if everything was running well. For a moment it scanned over you before coming back. And for a second, it was like everything in the world fell into place. Almost as if he felt it too, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed. Or, perhaps, you realized, he was wondering 'Who the fuck is this girl at my party?' "Quinn!" Cole greeted happily, darting out from behind you and giving the man a hug. Over Cole's shoulder, Quinn held you in a quizzical stare. When he pulled away, he asked, "Who are you?" Cole laughed awkwardly at the blunt question. "This is my friend I was telling you about. The one from Vancouver?" Quinn's face showed no sign of recognising or remembering any mention of a 'friend from Vancouver.' Instead he just stared. It was stranger, probably, that you just stared back. "Okay..." Cole said, glancing between the two of you. "I'm going to go get a drink. You want anything?" "Whatever you think I'd like." You said, finally breaking your gaze to give Cole an appreciative smile. He gave you an odd look and then backed away before fully turning around and heading towards the bar. Just you and Quinn now. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name." Quinn said. His face still held a look of perplexity. He looked so intently at you that you felt like he was trying to figure out if he recognised you from somewhere. You gave it to him, lips curling up as he nodded at the information like it was some interesting fact. "I'm Quinn. I mean- Cole just said it but.. I'm Quinn." You laughed. It really wasn't that funny, but it bubbled out of you before you could stop it. "Hi Quinn."

A few drinks later and you and the captain of the Vancouver Canucks that you were so anxious to meet had been glued at the hip for hours, talking about anything and everything you two could think of. You had wandered out to the outdoor seating of the bar. It was entirely empty, thanks to the freezing conditions of a Vancouver winter that everyone inside was trying to escape from. But you had discovered throughout the night that the heat in your cheeks seemed forever present around Quinn, and the cold air was like a soothing kiss. "Are you cold?" He asked you. "No, are you?" You asked back, eyeing his red nose and bouncing leg. He smiled and shook his head. It was quiet out here. Conversation in the bar had gotten difficult the rowdier everyone had gotten. Cole had long left you two, pouty that you wouldn't save him from awkward conversations he couldn't relate to about marriage and kids with the older guys. Quinn's hand on the railing brushed against yours. "Listen, I don't really know how to approach the topic, but do you think I could get your-" "There you are!" If you could pick a time and place for a person to drop dead, you would pick right here, right now, and Cole McWard. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I am desperate to go home- No offense Quinn, the party's great." "Okay, okay," You said, "Right now?" "The Uber's outside. I've been frantically searching for you ever since I realized you and Huggy here had left your little corner." Shit. Okay. You turned to Quinn. Even at the sight of him, a stupid grin broke out on your face. There was something romantic about him that you couldn't quite place, like it was written all over his face that he should be the star in some cheesy movie about loving and loving hard. "See you around?" You said. "See you around."

"Did you get his number?" Cole asked in the Uber. "No," You sighed, "And fuck. 'Cause he's hot." "If it's meant to be, it'll be." He shrugged.

spring

April hit like a drug. After a few weeks of pining over Quinn Hughes (who had chased Cole down to ask if you were single and then gone radio silent), and then a few hours of remembering you were single and didn't have to care, the first few months of the year had flown by. Work had been hectic, and you loved it. You navigated the isles of the florist's shop, on call with Cole through your headphones. You made a beeline to the lilies, choosing the pink ones and complaining to Cole about some client of yours that had been beyond difficult. "Seems to me like you need to lock Hughesy down and retire so you take all this over-achiever energy and put into being the captain's wife." Cole snorted. You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you, "I told you, I'm over that." "You were like, in love with the man." "And he did nothing about it!" You exclaimed, walking up to the cashier and paying for them. You mouthed a quiet thank you and moved on. "He literally always asks me about you." "Yeah, on the rare occasion you get called up. I think that's just called small talk." You huffed. Cole sighed, "Listen, just... I don't know. You guys seemed good together. It'll happen." And then he ruined the moment by quoting Surf's Up "I can feel it in my nuggets." You snorted at him. "Whatever, it's whatever. I've got to get home, I'll call you later, okay?" "Okay, bye." He hung up quickly. No drawn out goodbyes for you two. With a start, you realized you had forgotten to ask him if he had remembered to set aside a ticket for you for his game Saturday. You quickly pulled up your messages, typing out the question for him. About to hit send you- A grunt and the feeling of the hard pavement on your ass stopped you before you could. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, that's totally my fault and- Quinn?" You were surprised by the blue eyes that stared at you as you pick yourself up. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, then open, then shut, like a fish. You furrowed your eyebrows at him. "Are you alright?" He stuttered to life, like a machine rebooting. "Yes! Um, yeah, I'm all good. I haven't seen you since..." "Since the Christmas party." You finished for him. You wanted to press your lips into a thin line, tell him to have a good life, and move on. God, you wanted to. But something about Quinn made your brain muddled. You smiled at him. He smiled back. "Want to grab a coffee? I can buy you some flowers to make up for the ones I just crushed." True to his observations, the lilies you had just bought were bent out of shape from hitting the floor with you. "Yeah. That would be nice."

Quinn Hughes, you were beginning to realise, was easy to stare at. It was like every part of his face was designed with some gravitational pull that just beckoned you closer and closer until you were entirely enamoured with the way his mouth curled as he talked. You didn't realise the conversation went quiet until it did, too busy staring to clock that he had finished talking. He cleared his throat and you broke out of your trance. "Sorry." You said. "Listen.." Quinn trailed off. You were a little afraid he was going to call you out and tell you that you were making him uncomfortable. "That night. The Christmas party- God, I hope I don't come on too strong here but.. We were good, right? There was some crazy, cosmic connection. Please tell me I didn't make that up." It was like the air had been sucked out of the room and forced into your lungs. You wanted to call all your friends who had told you that 'delusional doesn't get anyone anywhere' and tell them that he had felt it too. The feeling that before you locked eyes the world hadn't moved, hadn't been set in motion until you knew the feeling of his gaze on you and yours on him. You wanted to cry out, 'Yes, you idiot', but instead you settled for a smile and "I felt it, trust me." "I was going to ask for your number, but Cole interrupted and I felt like maybe it was a sign that I wasn't ready for you yet. Like maybe the universe was telling me to wait for you. God I sound like such an idiot. And if I freak you out and you turn me down just know I will still replace those flowers," He was talking slowly, sure of himself, "But I would really like your number now. If you and the Universe want me to. Have your number, that is." You placed a hand over his, hoping that the sign of interest would get him to stop rambling. "Firstly, my lilies better be replaced. And secondly, you could've had my number at the party, universe be damned, but I'm just as happy to give it to you now"

summer

There was nothing that compared to the absolute defeat reflected in Quinn's face as he wrung his hands sitting on the couch. An injury for earlier in the season had flared up again, leaving him scratched from the second round of the playoffs- a round that the Canucks were struggling in without their Captain. It stressed you out to see him so stressed out. And you honestly had no clue what you were supposed to do. Since exchanging numbers, the two of you had done just about everything other than put a label on what you were. It was terrifying and exhilarating and you didn't know if you should turn the television off or not to spare Quinn from what was beginning to turn into a nasty loss. It killed him to not be able to fly out for the away game, to not be able to be there for his team. Having him play through his injury had left him sidelined for weeks, and not allowing that injury to fully heal before he picked up his stick again had bothered him until finally the medical team had to force him to rest. Even now you knew he'd be laced up and on the ice in seconds if he could be. "You alright?" You asked him, "Need any ice or heat or anything?" Your apartment had become his over the past few months. His gear had a permanent spot in your coat closet and his Yankees cap hung up next to your Abbotsford one. And now everything Quinn-care was stored around the place. He grunted in response, eyes still glued to the screen. "Quinn." "Jesus, what?" He snapped. At least he broke his gaze from the TV. Immediately, he softened. "Sorry. I'm alright, thank you. I'm sorry." You moved from your station behind the kitchen counter and sat next to him on the couch. "I know it sucks." You told him. "It's one more week. I want you healed, Quinn. You gotta help me here." "I know, I know." He pressed his lips into a thin smile, grabbing your hand and turning back to the game. He stroked circles onto the back of your hand. Even with the ups and downs of the game, they never lost their rhythm.

You fell asleep listening to the hum of the commentators and the sounds of skates and sticks on the ice. When you woke up, Quinn was texting furiously, the pads of his thumbs beating on his phone in an almost soothing dance. "Everything alright?" He didn't turn. "Yeah, babe." "How was the game?" "They lost. Sorry- give me a second, I'm texting the groupchat." You hummed in response, not bothering to talk. He was lost to the hockey he was replaying in his mind. Over and over on a loop until he felt he had identified what went wrong and how he could fix it. You unfurled yourself from your place amongst the pillows and rose, your bones cracking and groaning in pleasure from getting out of the position. You padded to the windows, closing them. They had been open to release some of the heat in your apartment, but now all you wanted to do was sleep without worrying about pesky insects getting in. When you turned back to the couch Quinn was still typing. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" You asked him. He turned and gave you his big stupid grin that hung lopsidedly on his face. "In a minute. Don't wait up, okay? I know you have work tomorrow." "'kay" You wandered into your bedroom, slipping yourself into your sheets. Over the past few months of seeing each other it had become near impossible for you to sleep without the white noise of Quinn's quiet snores next to you. Roadies were beginning to genuinely impact your functionality at work, with the lack of sleep and following overconsumption of caffeine messing with you. Quinn was the complete opposite of everything you had searched for. Being best friends with Cole, you knew what dating a hockey player was like. And you had been adamant you didn't want anything like it. His schedule made everything about dating difficult- not to mention the added privacy that was required in his situation. On top of it, he was entirely enamoured with hockey. When you caught him zoning out during movies or taking a little too long to reply in conversation, you knew he was just dreaming of it in the same way he had his whole life. It was what made him so undeniably talented on the ice. And as a fan of the sport yourself, you understood. And God help you, you forgave. Because you wanted nothing other than him. The boy had tainted you completely. If you ever had to date again, if the two of you never did label anything and just fizzled out, he would have ruined you for anyone else. There was no one else with his passion and dedication. His ability to take charge and make the best of difficult situations. And no one who made you feel so whole. He was far from what you were looking for, but he was what you needed. A man. One that was still texting his groupchat as you drifted closer to sleep without the heat of his body next to you. But twenty or so minutes later you felt the brush of a kiss at your temple and the familiar dip of the bed as Quinn slipped into his side. And you fully fell asleep to the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his chest against your back.

fall

"You're going to be my wife." Quinn cooed. You turned around from your seat in front of your vanity, narrowing your eyes at him. "Quinn, what?" You were shocked at the statement. Also shocked at the fact that you didn't quite hate the idea. The two of you had become official a month or so back, and the four weeks had felt exactly like the four weeks before it: calm and blissful. He was smirking at you from the bed. You studied his face. You had never been more obsessed with someone's face. You could probably close your eyes and still accurately point to where his beauty mark was, you were so obsessed. There was something so romantic about him. It opened a pit in your stomach and swallowed you whole. You were like a teenage girl with a crush. Quite literally weak in the knees at your big-girl age of 23. "You're going to be my wife." He repeated, rising from where he sat on the edge of your bed. You turned back to your vanity, allowing him to plant both hands on the back of your chair and lock eyes with you in the mirror. "My wife." He said. Third times the charm, you suppose, as the reality of how insane he sounded hit you. "Your wife?" You almost snorted, "Is this a proposal after one month, Hughes? You know you're yet to even meet my parents." "I've met them!" He defended, "Over the phone- that is so not the point." You rolled your eyes at him. "It's also not a proposal. I just know." At your unimpressed look, he said "The universe, baby." "Sure, Hughesy. Are you ready to go?" You and Quinn were heading out to your last dinner of the pre-season. Getting ramped back up had been difficult with off-season trades and signings and finding the chemistry in a practically new team had taken it's toll on Quinn. But the pressure would be tenfold once the season started. The players and fans were ravenous for a cup. Years of hard work were starting to pay off with better records and longer playoff runs, and you knew that when Quinn closed his eyes at night he was dreaming of that pretty piece of metal. One that, you had admitted to him while drawing patterns on his chest, you had always wanted to be able to kiss like all your hockey idols before you. "I'll get it for you" He had said like it was a shiny piece of jewelry. "You better" You had replied, sealing the promise with a kiss. "Yeah, I'm all ready, pretty lady."

winter

"Happy three years" Quinn smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. You laughed at him, "What are you talking about? Put your shoes on." The two of you were on your way to the Canuck's annual Christmas party. This was your first year sharing the responsibility with JT Miller's wife. You still weren't quite ready to fully take on the role. Although the woman insisted you would have been fine on your own and seemed a little eager to officially pass the mantle of party-planner onto you. Quinn was still staring at you. "The uber is here, you goof" You tugged him by his shirt out of the door. "We're going to be late." "Happy three year," He repeated. "What? Our anniversary is in September" "We met three years ago. Happy three years, my love." You stopped in your tracks. "Oh my god, Quinn, I'm so sorry - I didn't even realise." He smiled at you. Three years in and that look still made you melt. His hair was freshly washed, and the wet strands fell across his forehead like they were styled to look perfectly messy. His ever-scruffy facial hair seemed custom made to frame his perfect smile. "If you don't stop looking at me like that, we're going to miss the Uber and the party. That I planned" You put an emphasis on the last part like it would deter him at all. You had left a couple 'you' planned parties because he wouldn't stop looking at you a certain way. Being in love had never been so entirely overwhelming for you before. You could remember when you met him like it was yesterday. The electricity that charged between you two. The feeling that your heart was trying to claw itself out of your body so it could get to his. It was nothing you had felt before and something you had felt every day since. He grabbed your waist with one of his hands. One of the many things Quinn brought up when he raved about fate and the universe was the fact that he claimed you fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. That it was his "God-given spot." The sap. You felt the same, secretly. "Happy three years," He said, still giving you that fucking smile. You tilted your head to look up at him. Lifting to your toes so you could reach him comfortably, you pressed your lips against his. He parted his lips quickly, a hand making it's way to your chin to angle you into the perfect position. The kiss got passionate fast, and your hands explored his chest, smoothing over his pecs. One wandered over his shoulder, pulling him into you, while the other grabbed a fistful of the flannel he had thrown on over his long-sleeve.

The buzzing of your phone interrupted you. He tried to chase your lips with his as you pulled away, but you gave him a playfully stern look and he gave up. "The uber is literally texting me, Quinn, we have to go." "I have the flu." "You do not." "I'm very truthfully ill. I don't think I should risk giving it to my teammates and their girlfriends. I think we should stay home." You quirked an eyebrow, "We? I can go without you." "If I'm sick, so are you." "You are not sick, Quinn." "Oh I am. Outrageously so. The Scarlett Fever, I think." "Quinn," You laughed. "The Bubonic Plague." "Come on." "Marry me." "We're- What?" Quinn hadn't faltered at all. "Let's miss the Uber. Marry me." "Quinn, what? Are you still joking?" His face paled a little at the question, "Why? Do you not want to?" You swatted his shoulder, "Obviously I want to. This is so not a funny joke." He looked into the hallway past you, like he was scanning for an aggravated Uber driver coming in to drag his customers into his car. "Wait here." You opened your mouth to protest that you really truly were going to be late now, but he was already thundering back towards your apartment. He rushed in, the door not even having enough time to click behind him before he raced back out. In his hand was a black velvet box. "I was waiting for a good opportunity. I thought maybe when I got you that Stanley Cup. Or at the lake, but I couldn't wait that long." "Quinn" You breathed out. "I love you. So much. And I know I've said a million times that I'm going to marry you, but this time I'm asking for real. Marry me? We can have a big wedding with everyone from the team and a crazy venue and my mom can fuss over your bridesmaids so you don't have to and Cole can even be your Man of Honour. Or we can have a tiny, courthouse wedding with just you and me- and maybe Jack and Luke. I don't care. Just marry me?" You had expected, your whole life, that the world would spin on its axel the day you got engaged. You had thought profusely about this exact moment, and how everything would change, and wondered if your husband-to-be would pick the perfect ring. But you didn't even care if Quinn ever opened the box. If it was the ugliest thing you'd ever seen in your life. And it didn't feel like the air had left your lungs, and it didn't feel like everything was changing. It felt like everything was slotting in where it was supposed to be - and this was your place. Maybe not in your dingy apartment that you loved too much to move out of for your boyfriend Quinn (a problem that would not arise for your fiancee Quinn, you realised as you began to dream of a gorgeous house and a few little Hughes running around that most certainly would not fit in your one-bedroom one-bathroom) but your place with him, however you could have him. You couldn't even get the words out, opting instead for a tearful nod. Quinn surged to you, wrapping his arms around you. Overcome with emotions, you practically collapsed. Quinn helped you lower yourself to the floor. You grabbed for him, taking a fistful of his shirt and using it to pull his lips to yours. "I love you," You murmured against them, "And we are totally missing this party." He laughed in response, pulling away and pressing his forehead to yours. "Absolutely. Now get this ring on and let's get off this gross floor, yeah?" Your face hurt from smiling, but your grin somehow got even wider. "Yeah."

[agroteraa]

The Best Friend in the Whole Wide Universe

Tenth Doctor x gn!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: Donna Noble helps you and the Doctor sort out your feelings, but only if you help her avoid becoming a bride once again.

Tags: fluff, mutual pining.

Word Count: 4,2K

"Doctor, where are you now?" a voice came from the phone, "I need you here and now!"

"Donna? He-e-ey! Hi, how are you? You won't believe where I've been..." the Doctor began joyfully, but a voice from the phone irritably interrupted him, "RIGHT. NOW!"

You were sitting on the couch in the console room of the TARDIS and looked up from your book in surprise, "Donna? Is this that Donna?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor goggled his eyes, "And apparently we're flying to her right now! I know that tone."

You were excited. You knew that the Doctor had traveled with her before, and for quite a long time. Longer than you? Probably, you didn't know for sure. But you knew exactly what you were starting to worry. They were friends, he said, but were they? Maybe they were more than that? Maybe there was still something? You would never have started thinking that way right away if you weren't having feelings for the Doctor yourself.

A few months ago, you were finally able to understand this and admit it to yourself. But did he understand something? Of course not. And you weren't going to confess to him, you didn't want to spoil this wonderful, fantastic, brilliant friendship between you. Because he was wonderful, fantastic and brilliant. You've had so many incredible adventures, and you hoped there was much more to come. You didn't want to, couldn't spoil and complicate it all with most likely non-reciprocal feelings.

And yet you began to think more and more about the warm looks he gave you, how he constantly hugged you and hold your hand gently but firmly. He used to do this during your runnings, but recently he had been doing it just like that if he led you through or helped you step up somewhere. Sometimes holding you by the waist. God. You would never let go of his hand if it was possible. His hand was warm, with the tips of his long fingers being slightly cold.

But you tried to stop yourself from thinking with that he was just a tactile alien, just a person who was used to communicating with so many people quite that way. Especially with his companions. It was stupid to think that he was less nice to them than he was to you.

So, the chance to ruin everything was much, much greater than taking the risk and confessing your feelings to him.

Ten minutes later, the Doctor was knocking on Donna's door. Opening the door, she happily opened her mouth, squeaking and throwing herself into the arms of the alien.

"Doctor!!!"

"Donna!!!"

He hugged her and spun her around in his arms. Releasing her back to the ground, he took a step back to you, proudly declaring, "Y/N, this is Donna Noble, my best friend in the whole wide universe! Donna Noble, this is Y/N… My, well... Y/N L/N."

The doctor looked puzzled, quickly looking from you to Donna, as if he didn't know what else he could say about you. Whereas he called Donna his best friend. In the whole universe. Oh. It hurt you. Maybe you need to go through even more time travels and trials, but you thought, you wanted to believe that there was something special between you, that it was you who could be his best friend. But it turns out that he didn't even call you just a friend. He probably didn't want to offend with such a comparison after all.

Donna grinned at him.

"Hi, Y/N L/N!" she said, playfully pronouncing your name and looking you over. But she quickly returned to the Doctor, ceasing to smile, "So, now let's get back to business."

"Get back to what? You haven't even told me what happened to you!" The Doctor complained.

"You tell me! Why is it that so long after our adventures, some alien knocked on my door this morning and told me that my hour had finally come and tomorrow I would be honored and taken to the wedding? What sort of wedding?? I've had enough of running around with you from other aliens in a wedding dress, you know!"

The Doctor frowned, "What alien? Describe them."

"It’s a turquoise semi-lizard. Just like on the planet..."

"Lacertius-3!" exclaimed the Doctor.

"Yes, that's right. Where you and I were captured by some local king or something..."

"Of course! And where I told him that you would become his bride, so that..."

"YOU SAID WHAT?!"

"... so that he would let us go! How do you think we got out of there?"

"Doctor..." you interjected, gently tugging at his coat sleeve, but he didn't pay attention to it given he was busy defending himself from Donna's attacks, "Doctor!"

"Hmm?" he turned to you.

"Do these Lacertises have a crest on their heads?" you asked.

"Lacertonians, not Lacertises. But yes, they do. Oh, well done, Y/N, you're learning fast from me the cognition of the universe," The Doctor chuckled approvingly, but then frowned, "But how did you know?"

You silently pointed your finger to the side, where two such lizard people were standing, who began to move towards you, "It seems we should probably-"

"RUN!" the Doctor shouted, grabbing both of you by the arms.

"No, but tell me, WHY did you promise that to that lizard king?!" Donna asked indignantly, out of breath from running.

"To save us, I told you! Well, and I didn't "promise", I just said it! And if you didn't know, and you didn't, these creatures have a habit of choosing a new partner once every hundred years..."

You barely dodged the blue beam of the blaster, and the Doctor had to jump over the guardrail.

"...but who knew that those hundred years were already coming to an end!"

"Well, YOU should have known, Mr. Smartass!" snapped Donna, sweeping a cyclist riding towards her off the road. The blasters fired a few more times after you, but you managed to turn the corner after the others in time.

You were breathing heavily, hiding in a small corner.

"Are you okay?" the Doctor asked anxiously, lightly touching your cheek, "These were most likely stun blasters, not attack blasters, but nevertheless! Did it hurt you?"

"No, Doctor, it's fine!" you assured him, running your hand over his forearm and looking into his eyes. There was a slight pause.

"I'm fine too, if anyone cares! No, just won-der-ful! Except for the fact that they want to make me the wife of some lizard! Doctor, do something about it!" demanded Donna.

You spent the rest of the day running around London, hiding from the Lacertonians as they surrounded the TARDIS and Donna's house. You sneaked your way back to the nearby cafe, from where you started to spy of the window at the TARDIS and all the lizards surrounding it and try to come up with a plan of action. The Doctor was visibly relaxed, as the whole situation did not seem too serious to him against the background of saving planets and galaxies and even "just" someone's lives. Of course, he would help, but the whole adventure was perceived by him as more of a side quest, during which he allowed himself jokes about Donna's new lizard husband and simply demonstrated a good mood from meeting an old friend.

Right now, he was sitting with you across from Donna, with his arm thrown over the couch, and eating ice cream from your bowl.

"Doctor, enough!" you jokingly protested, "You've already eaten your own, go get another portion for yourself!"

He grinned broadly, scooping up another spoonful of sherbet, "You know it tastes better this way. Besides, I don't have any Earth money!"

You moaned, pushing his spoon away from your bowl with your spoon. He deftly fended off your attack, took your spoon aside and scooped up some more ice cream, "Don't even try. I don't like weapon, but I'm definitely better at fencing than you are!"

Before you could say something indignantly, he put that spoon in his mouth, smiling innocently, lights danced in his eyes.

Donna, who was sitting opposite with a stony face, asked, "Am I bothering you two? I can invite you both to witness my apparently future wedding."

"Sorry. So, what is our plan?" the Doctor asked a little more seriously, although the smile was still playing on his lips. Before Donna could say anything, he continued, "I've already thought of everything! That!"

"A spoon...?" said still-Miss Noble, puzzled.

"Yes... Melchior! In this cafe the kitchen utensils are made of nickel silver! This alloy should reflect the rays of the P-type in its composition! Let's take some trays..."

"And lure these lizards out step by step, reflecting their paralyzing rays back into themselves!" said Donna.

"Exactly, brilliant!"

It turned out to be quite long and tedious, but Donna coped with the task best of all, in the end even stunning one of the Lacertonians with this very tray shouting "I'm not going to marry your boss!"

Laughing, the Doctor ran into the TARDIS and hugged Donna, saying, "Isn't the legendary Donna Noble the best? Oh, how I missed this!" and went to set up the spaceship for the course to the planet of the turquoise lizardmen.

"I'm warning you, it's going to take quite a long time to fly there, so you go do something… Oh no," the Doctor groaned, "They damaged the defensive system while they were trying to get in here! We need to fix it before our stop at Lacertius-3! So definitely go and get busy with something, yeah?"

That was what you did, taking a walk around the TARDIS with Donna.

"I missed it. Everything is so familiar and at the same time... unusual..." she mused, running her hand along the walls of the spaceship, "When you stop traveling with the Doctor, it starts to feel like you don't belong here anymore, even though there is such a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia, as if you have returned to your hometown or school..."

You smiled slightly, "I think he's very happy to see you and even... ready to travel with you again if you wanted to?"

"What?" asked Donna, "Oh no, my time here is over, it's your turn to enjoy it. And you seem to be doing it well," she grinned, "The Doctor's favorite companion."

"What?" it was your turn to wonder, "Didn't you hear that he called you..." your voice trembled slightly, "The best friend in the whole universe?"

She laughed, "Yes, which makes me very flattered. And the Doctor is my best friend too, even if he is far away from me now. And?"

"And... and I'm his... Y/N? Y/N L/N, to be precise, as he said."

"Yes? Would you also like to be his best-best friend? I'm sure he greatly appreciates you as a friend too, of course! It's the Doctor! I can't imagine that this man would fall in love with someone without seeing them as a close friend!"

"He would WHAT?"

"What?" Donna was no less shocked than you were, "Aren't you...? Aren't you... a thing, the two of you?"

Looking at your speechless face, Donna had an insight, "Oh, did I make a mistake? I'm sorry, Y/N, it just seemed so natural.… I wanted to ask later, but it's good that it happened between us now. I thought you liked him, I'm sorry. Are you sure it’s not the case?"

"I..." you could barely mumble it softly, feeling your cheeks fill with heat, "Like him..."

"Oh...OH," and now Donna had a final insight, "This man. This SPACEMAN. Sure. I should have known. I'll go and tell him everything..."

"What? No, no, no, what are you going to tell him??" You barely managed to stop Donna in her determined stride back to the console room of the TARDIS, where the Doctor was still fiddling with the protective field settings.

"That he's the biggest idiot in the universe. In case he didn't know about it yet, but apparently he didn't."

"What do you mean?"

Now she stopped herself, "I didn't know it makes the two of you here… Are you serious right now?"

"Don't tell me he likes me too. I mean, likes me so much so that..."

"What do you think, Y/N? From the minute he introduced you, I felt there was some other energy here. And I sense it, believe me! You've been acting like a couple the whole day. The way he held your hand, asking if everything was okay.… Oh, and the cafe? Do I really need to say that I felt like a third wheel on your date? If this isn't flirting, then what is?"

You were embarrassed, "We were just chatting and sitting there… As usual."

"And how often does he usually throw his arm around you and hugs you?"

"He what? We were just sitting next to each other! His hand was on the couch..."

"... lying almost on your shoulder. Oh, please, Y/N." Donna twisted her smile.

You were visibly confused, "I can understand all this... probably… But nothing else is happening, right?"

"And it won't happen as long as the two of you..." she began, but was pushed back against the wall of the TARDIS with you. You heard the Doctor's voice, "We're here!"

"Please don't say anything to him now! Donna, I'm serious! I'll handle this on my own, okay?" you pleaded. You still couldn't believe what she'd said, and you definitely wanted to think about it some more.

But there was really no time to continue the conversation – you were immediately captured by a series of adventures on the planet Lacertius-3: you soon met a girl of another race, the adventurer Piich, who told you that you could try to appease the lizard king with an ancient treasure, showed you the way through the red lush jungles to the temple, where you had your daily portion of running through the traps (although the most dangerous thing was enraged Donna). The ancient treasure, of course, turned out to be a product of technology from a completely different forgotten alien race (but, of course, the Doctor knew about it).

Then Piich helped you get into the king's castle, where you were hiding from the guards, running away from the guards, and eventually tried to appease the king with the treasure, who immediately forgot about it after seeing an alien girl who helped you on your travels. But did she help?

To your great luck, Piich forgot about her initial plan and about her upcoming reward, which she wanted to get by giving Donna to the lizard king, because, to even greater luck, the lizard king forgot about Donna when he saw Piich, and decided to make Piich his new wife. Unlike the human red-haired woman, this alien girl was not at all opposed to marrying the king of an entire planet, albeit modest in its size.

Everyone was left satisfied and having their feet sore. And personally, you also got the vague feeling that the Doctor was acting a little strange and distant, communicating more with Donna the rest of the day than with you.

You were invited to a feast, but you all refused it. The Doctor, because he didn't like feasts, Donna, because she found out that the king has a crown prince and wouldn’t he just dare to lay his lizard eyes on her. And you, who didn't have an appetite and mood at all because of the whole thing with the Doctor and that interrupted conversation with Donna. You decided to finish it while the Doctor was chatting lively with Piich and congratulating the future newlyweds.

"See?" You said softly to Donna, pointing to the Doctor and how he nicely communicated with Piich and hugged her tightly, "I'm far from being the only one in the universe with whom the Doctor behaves like this. Plus, I know how many companions he had. I won’t believe he was any less sweet to them than he was to me."

"You've got to believe it. Moreover, there will be another proof soon. A-a-and… now!" Donna elbowed you lightly. At that moment, the Doctor, continuing his conversation with Peach and the lizard king, began to look around the room and finally saw you and smiled so broadly. You couldn't help but smile back, and he slightly but merrily jumped up a little on the spot and continued his conversation with two aliens.

"How did you know he was going to turn around??"

"See? Secrets of the Time Lords," Donna smirked, "Seriously, Y/N, it doesn't take a minute for the Doctor to look at you, no matter where you are! Don't you notice that? If that's the case, you can thank me and take it as a sign to act at last."

You stood there, amazed once again, and your slightly numb brain could only come up with, "Yes, but... Rose?..."

Donna paused, and then continued, "What do you mean? She was... a long time ago. And as I see it, he's finally happy now again, really happy. He allowed himself to be like that. With you. Do you understand, Y/N, how he looks at you? It's not just a gaze of a friend. He laughs, smiles like a child, a happy child. And all other things he does with you. Because of you. No, just... don't argue. I’ve traveled with him and have known him for a long time to say that he has never looked at others or me like that. And he won't ever. I'm just his best friend in the whole wide universe, after all."

She smiled.

"Now go and do something about it, you two."

You were finally back on the spaceship. Before launching the TARDIS, the Doctor was leaning against the frame of the open door, dreamily but slightly sadly admiring the view of the blooming red jungle with silver flowers. You knew what he was thinking, because he often told you about his home planet.

"Just like on Gallifrey..." he said with a mixture of nostalgia and longing in his voice and added softly, "I wish I could take you there."

Your eyes met, and there was silence. Your heart skipped a beat, making you remember the conversation you had with Donna before.

"Doctor, I..."

"Well! Let's go home, then!" he interrupted you, abruptly turning deep into the TARDIS, he went to the console, intending to take off. You followed him, not knowing what exactly you wanted to say to him, but you didn't want to left the dialogue like that. But the Doctor didn't seem to be paying attention to you, fiddling with the buttons on the console with slightly trembling hands, carefully avoiding your gaze.

"Hey, Doc, wait!" said Donna, "I want to walk around here a little more. It's not that I'm visiting another planets so much these days, you know," she winked and headed outside the TARDIS.

"Wait, wait, wait, Donna, I'm going with you!" the Doctor protested and was about to left with her. Well. He didn't even want to continue the dialogue and listen to what you were going to tell him.

But still-Miss Noble turned him and said through clenched teeth, "No, Spaceman, you stay here, I want to go for a walk ALONE. Do you understand me?" she scowled at him and before the Doctor could object, she slammed the TARDIS door shut, leaving the two of you alone.

The silence returned to you again, and the Doctor came back to the TARDIS console. Usually you did not understand most of his manipulations with technology, but even you already began to feel that his actions were meaningless at that moment.

"Doctor..." you started.

"So, now we'll set up a return route and I should probably do a condition check of the ship, in case something is damaged again..." he muttered.

"Doctor!"

He turned around, there was an almost unreadable mix of emotions in his eyes, so many of them were at one point in time.

You came a little closer, "Doctor, I... want to talk to you, if I may."

"Yes, Y/N?" his eyebrows started to rise up slightly pleadingly.

"You said that Donna is your best friend in the whole universe."

"That's right!" The Doctor smiled broadly, feeling slightly relieved, thinking that this was the point of the conversation, "She's brilliant, isn't she? Now you've seen it for yourself!"

"And then who am I?"

He stopped smiling for a moment, swallowed, and then a nervous wry smile began to appear on his face along with a red color on his cheeks.

"Y-you... well, you're also my… best friend, of course!"

"Isn't the point of a best friend that there can only be one?"

"Yes!" the Doctor readily agreed.

"Then how is this possible?" you wondered.

"Well, Donna is my best platonic friend," the Doctor replied, not realizing what trap he had just walked himself into.

"What kind of friend am I, then?" you asked.

"And you... are… not platonic..." he said slowly and softly, turning even redder.

You'd just noticed that with every question and answer you took a step towards each other, and now you were inches apart. Your own cheeks started to burn from that realization.

He was so close now, you looked at his beautiful face and once again wanted to count all the freckles on it. Your gaze moved from his thin nose to his thin but sensual lips, and then to expressive eyes of the color of a melted chocolate.

"Can you explain to me it better..?" You almost whispered, raising your eyes to him.

The Doctor brought his face close to yours with his mouth slightly open and his eyelids half-closed, lightly hugged your shoulders. You began to hear his breath and the beating of his two hearts, which became louder and louder. It was all happening like in a slow motion.

And then he kissed you.

It was a very gentle and careful kiss, you could feel the tingle from his warm, slightly electrified lips, which sent goosebumps through your whole body. He pulled back a bit to see your reaction, his eyes expressing a mixture of tenderness and incredible seriousness, bordering on the almost immobility of his gaze.

Your hands moved to his waist during the kiss, and they stayed there.

"Yes." was all you said, reaching out to him and kissing him back more firmly. With a loud exhale and a light moan, he deepened the kiss, which made you want to moan yourself, increasing the degree of emotion every turning second.

It was as if his lips were made for yours, as if they were pieces of a puzzle that had once been there. Like himself as a whole, it was one big piece of the puzzle that had finally come together, completely and irrevocably.

After a lips-to-lips kiss that seemed to last forever, he ran his tongue over your lower lip, asking for permission to go inside. Did he need that permission? Of course not, but you were glad that he asked it non-verbally anyway.

You opened your mouth slightly and the Doctor, sighing noisily, slipped his tongue deep into you. It felt like some sort of a human and alien heaven already, but now it had become absolutely impossibly good. Your tongues danced with each other as your legs felt weak, your whole body seemed to melt in the Doctor's arms. Your Doctor’s arms.

Your arms, which had been hugging his neck for a long time, moved to his hair, burrowing into it. Oh, how you'd wanted to touch them for a long time. Not to ruffle them jokingly like you'd done a couple of times before, but... like this. As if you had every right to do that. Now you probably really had it now, and that made your legs even wobblier.

You pulled his hair lightly, which made the Doctor moan slightly, and you felt his arms tighten around you. It seems that both of you were ready to split into atoms from all the feelings that overwhelmed you.

It was a wonderful feeling of the nucleating supernova of your love.

"Doctor, I..." it was all you could say after that, to which he just happily exhaled, smiling broadly, looking into your eyes and gently holding your shoulders, being not able to say anything himself.

You were amazed not only by what happened, but also by how quickly it all happened. Then it began to dawn on you. You smiled a little.

"Let me guess... Did Donna talk to you too?"

While the Doctor was taking a deep breath to give some long, babbling answer, at that moment the door of the TARDIS slightly opened, from where Miss Noble herself stepped inside.

"Of course. Because how else could you two figure it out?" she replied nonchalantly, "Now I have every right to invite you two to my future wedding. NOT with an alien husband, I emphasize, otherwise I'll put you at different tables, and you'll just sit here and only be giving Y/N all the hopeless looks again, Doctor. Waiting and dying for my wedding dance all day long, so that after it you can get to and finally invite Y/N to dance or something like that!"

You laughed happily with the Doctor, still holding together and looking into each other's eyes, realizing that this just sounded like the first plan for your future together, one of the many, very many plans in this whole wide universe.

[roanofarcc]

TABLE TOP CONFESSIONS.

meddling kids pt.2

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader (requested)

summary: an accidental 1-on-1 dinner with yelena leads to feelings being confessed. (part 2 of this fic!)

warnings: mentions of drinking, anxious reader (self projecting gang!). confessed feelings!

word count. 2.4k | masterlist

The first time, you forgave your teammates for meddling in your crush on Yelena, leaving you alone with her for a movie night that ended with the two of you falling asleep, slumped onto each other. When the morning came, neither one of you said a thing about it. You assumed it was because Yelena didn’t see it as a thing, whereas you couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after. 

Your mind was swarmed with her soft gaze, the feeling of her body pressed against your side, and the way she said you made her feel comfortable. To her, it had to be nothing more than a friendship, a teammate, something nice, but not something to be made into more by your imagination. 

It only made you feel even weirder around Yelena as your crush caused your heart to nearly break through your chest every time she met your eyes or said your name.  You just couldn’t do it, be alone with Yelena, in fear of you saying something that completely threw off the dynamic you and the team had built. 

You had tried to explain that to your other teammates, but they said you were overthinking it and being wildly overdramatic, which wasn’t helpful. 

What also wasn’t helpful was when they decided to meddle for a second time in your love life. 

“I thought we were supposed to leave at seven,” you said, looking around the almost empty living room. You had your shoes and coat on in anticipation of the cool spring weather that waited outside. 

The team had made dinner reservations as a form of bonding, and the only activity they could all agree upon was eating. But only you and Yelena were ready to go. 

She buttoned up her green coat with a shrug. “I don’t know, but they'd better hurry. I am starving.” 

The two of you waited for a couple of minutes before it turned into five, then seven, then ten minutes with no sign of your teammates. Yelena had volunteered to knock on and potentially break into their rooms to see what in the world was taking them so long. When she returned, she wore an annoyed expression and came with no teammates trailing behind with some excuse as to what was holding them up. 

“They left us a note,” she said. 

You furrowed your brows, confused. “A note?” 

Yelena crumbled up the sticky note and tossed it in the trash. “They ditched us again.” 

“For fucks sake,” you muttered. One time was mean enough, but a second time was cruel. 

“Forget their flaky-asses,” Yelena said after a beat. “We shouldn’t let the reservations go to waste, right?” 

Your heart beat spiked, and a familiar nervousness twisted around your body. Being with Yelena and at least one other teammate helped a little to ease your growing, embarrassing fondness for the blonde, but alone, you were nearly helpless. At least last time, you had the buffer of a movie. Dinner was too intimate, left too many spaces for you to say or do something stupid. 

But as she fixed her bag over her shoulder and looked at you expectantly, you couldn’t find your voice to say no. You couldn’t come up with an excuse quick enough, not one that an ex-spy/assassin would believe. 

Silently, you cursed your teammates to hell and back for the second time and nodded in agreement. 

The table had only been booked for two. Ava and Walker were dying first, you decided. You’d kill them and then Alexei, Bucky, and even Bob for going along with their plans. They were all dead to you. 

Yelena whistled lowly as she took a seat. “This place is fancy. You think they’ll have bread? Like, the fancy bread?” 

You set aside your murder plot and laughed lightly, trying to hide your internal panic that would probably cause your heart to give out before the night concluded. Yelena, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine with your current situation. 

There was indeed fancy bread, and you busied yourself by picking at it and staring at the menu, avoiding the heavy gaze of Yelena from across the table. 

It wasn’t until your drinks arrived and your food was ordered, leaving you with no menu to stare at and nothing else to divert your attention to, that Yelena spoke to you again. 

“Did I do something?” she asked suddenly, catching you off guard. 

“What?” 

Yelena rarely looked worried or upset. There were a few times you saw her as such, and it was always startling. “I don’t know…” she trailed off, playing with her drink’s straw. “I thought we were, like, cool after the team ditched us for the movie night. But lately you’ve been avoiding me and being weird. Are we not friends? It’s okay if we are not. I just thought…you know-” 

You had never seen Yelena ramble before. You almost didn’t want to stop her, but you didn’t want her to keep thinking that you were avoiding her because you didn’t like her or want to be her friend. That was the worst part; you wanted to be her friend terribly. But you were so scared you wouldn’t be able to do that and keep your crush at bay and keep things from being weird. Yet, you had made them weird anyway. 

“Yelena,” you said, cutting her off with a swift shake of your head. “We are friends; we are. I’m not being weird because I don’t want to be around you. I’m not even avoiding you because I don’t want to be around you.” 

She raised her brows in question. “That makes no sense.” 

You groaned quietly so as not to draw too much attention in the nice restaurant. “I know,” you said. “It’s just complicated, ‘Lena.” Your feelings weren’t complicated; they were fairly straightforward, but everything else surrounding them was complicated. 

“Complicated,” she said with a huff and a lighthearted roll of her eyes. “Is it really, or do you just not want to talk to me about it?” 

“A bit of both,” you admitted. 

Yelena was quiet for a moment before she leaned against the table on her elbows. “How about this? I tell you something complicated, and you tell me something complicated. We see if we can figure it out anyway, yeah?” 

Your gut reaction was to reject that idea. You already felt yourself at the edge of a slippery slope, and it seemed like Yelena wanted to push you off of it. Yet, you also felt too deep in to back out. That, and you’d be lying if you said you weren't curious as to what Yelena’s complicated thing was she wanted to tell you. 

“This isn’t where the team had made dinner reservations,” Yelena said, her voice steady. 

You weren’t sure how that was ‘complicated’, just confusing. “What’re you talking about?” 

She sighed. “I may have…lied.” You stared at her, wanting her to continue. “Since we watched that movie together and hung out, just the two of us, I’ve been trying to find an excuse to do it again, but it’s like every time I try to talk to you, you have somewhere to be or something else to do. You run away, basically. So I thought if I set up a dinner as our friends ditching us again, maybe I could actually get you alone for a little bit. Which I know is not, like, the best way I could have gone about it. Trust me, Bucky had some choice words about my little plan, but it’s not like I kidnapped you or something. Just a little white lie, okay? Which, I guess, is not that complicated. I just wanted to tell you sooner rather than later because I do feel a little bad about it.” 

You weren’t sure you had ever heard Yelena talk that much at one time. She was a woman of short replies, drenched in sarcasm or light teasing. Each word felt vulnerable, something she had to really convince herself to say aloud instead of keeping it all bottled up inside, which was what you had been doing since you realized your little crush was a little more than just that. 

“Please say something before I steal the bottle of wine from the table next to us.” 

You weren’t sure what else to do but laugh. Not a laugh like you found her words funny, but more like a laugh of relief. Her admission made you feel a little better, a little more understanding. She set up this whole thing just to hang out with you; she wanted to hang out with you. Platonic or not, that had to mean something. Her admission also made you feel a little less scared of your own rambling feelings that overtook your brain every time you were around Yelena. 

Maybe it was the nice, candle-lit restaurant or the fancy bread, but you became just brave enough to put your own admission out there. If she rejected it, then you’d steal the bottle of wine from the next table over and drown some of your shame. 

“I’ve only been acting weird around you because I…I like you.” 

Your words hung heavy in the air for a moment, just the two of you staring at each other. You felt your heart in your throat and kind of wanted to throw up as the admission of your crush left your mouth, especially as you stared at Yelena’s unmoving expression from across the table. 

“You like me?” she repeated. 

“I really like you,” you said with a sigh, staring at your hands folded on the table. “So much that I can’t even function when I’m around you. You’re just…you. And it drives me crazy, and then I act weird, but I honestly didn’t even think you noticed or cared-”

Yelena cut you off. “Why wouldn’t I care?” 

You shrugged. “Because we’re just teammates, friends by circumstance, and because we have to live together. And I didn’t want to make things weirder by telling you, even though that’s what I’m doing now. I know you don’t feel the same, and I’ll get over it, I just-” 

Once again, she cut you off, a hardening look in her eyes. “How do you know what I feel?” 

Heat rose to your face, even more if that was possible. You almost wished you had some alcohol in your system; maybe that would have made you feel off balance for a better reason. 

“Come on, 'Lena,” you said. “You don’t have to pity me or my feelings.” 

She sat up a little straighter, not breaking eye contact. “I’m not pitying you. Have you stopped to think for a second that maybe I wanted to hang out with you, not just because we’re friends, but because I have feelings too?” 

You blinked. “Feelings…” 

She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice or annoyance in the action, just light frustration. “Yes! Feelings for you. What, you think I’d set up a dinner date for me and Walker because we’re friends? No. I set one up for us because you make me feel…a lot of things. You’re so nice and pretty, and it drives me crazy because every time I try to get close enough to tell you that, you’re running away. Why? Because you assumed I couldn’t have a crush on you too?” 

For a moment, you sat in stunned silence, eyes wide and brain trying to understand every word that fell from her lips. 

You had been so wrapped up in your own head that you didn’t even think of the possibility that Yelena could reciprocate your feelings. It had felt too impossible.

“Yes,” you answered truthfully. 

Her features softened in the low glow of the restaurant. “Well, you are wrong.” Your heart skipped a beat. “I do like you. I like you so much it’s…it’s scary.” 

“I thought you weren’t scared of anything?” you teased, trying to calm your spinning head and heart. 

Yelena laughed as a smile stretched across her face. “You are the exception.” 

“It scares me, too,” you admitted. “I just don’t want to screw anything up.” 

Yelena hesitantly extended her arm toward where your hand rested on the tablecloth. As if she was scared you’d bolt, she ever-so carefully curled her pinky around yours; a small yet intimate touch that made you fuzzy-headed like you’d drown a bottle of wine, warm and smiley.  

“I think we’re already pretty screwed up,” Yelena said quietly. “May as well make the most of it, yeah?” 

You squeezed her pinky and nodded. “I’d like that.” 

“Me too.” 

bonus!

On the walk back from dinner, you held Yelena’s hand, but half expected her to let go by the time the elevator brought you to the main floor of the tower where the team spent most of their time. But as you stepped out of the elevator, she didn’t let go, neither did you. 

“Do I spy with my little Russian eye my girls holding hands?” Alexei said as soon as you two were spotted. Yelena glared at her dad and squeezed your hand harder. 

“And what about it?” she snapped, though with no real bite in her tone. 

Ava met your eye, a smirk on her lips. 

“So, where have you two been all evening?” Walker asked with fake innocence, abandoning the card game he, Ava, and Bob were playing around the coffee table. 

“Out,” Yelena answered casually. “And now we’re going to watch movies in my room.” She tugged on your hand, and you laughed, a giddy feeling drenching you from head to toe at the almost teenage-like antics.

“No funny business!” Alexei called out, laughing heartily at his own words. Once the two of you slipped into Yelena’s room, sharing laughter and movie ideas to probably fall asleep to, the rest of the team remained in the living room. “Ah, young love.” 

From the couch, helping Bob cheat at the card game by looking at Ava and Walker's cards, Bucky shot a look at the two. “See. I told you, you didn’t need to meddle for something to happen.” 

Ava scoffed. “Oh, you think their date just happened on its own?” Bucky furrowed his brows. 

Walker shook his head. “No way, man. We’re the ones who put the idea in Yelena’s head and handed her the phone to make a dinner reservation for two. We get credit for making this happen.” 

In a rare moment of agreement, Ava nodded at the man seated beside her. “Meddling is sometimes the only way to make two idiots realize they’re in love.” 

With a defeated sigh, Bucky settled back into the couch. 

“Hey, Walker?” Bob spoke, a handful of cards in his hands. “Draw four.” 

“God damnit!” 

tagging everyone who requested a part 2 on the og post!

@k1ngbutch, @baylegend6, @modernvenuss, @badl4nder, @tyunminni, @hail-brod

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 NOBODY KNOWS kim minji x reader

👛★ ͘ ⴰ ever since summer 2022 new jeans has been at the top of the world surpassing and creating records and getting biggger and better every month but then SM Entertainment drops a new girl group stardom out of knowhere on everyone’s heads “surpassing and creating records” just like a certain group, causing a rivalry in the media and between the groups behind closed doors.

in which behind the secret of rivalry between stardom and new jeans, there’s an even bigger secret between their leaders.

PARING — kim minji x idol!reader

last. masterlist. next

★ ͘ PAGE#1 nobody knows — ❝tonight let’s start a masquerade, I’m coming over but nobody knows my little secret ❞

“the rising sensation, stardom, is adding yet another major endorsement to their growing portfolio, now becoming ambassadors for Sony. they’re set to release a special line of headphones with the iconic brand, already racking up over 100,000 pre-orders—and counting.”

a groan came from beside minji, drawing her amused gaze toward the source of irritation.

“we’re listening to the radio! since when did radio news start caring about stardom’s endorsements?” hanni muttered, rolling her eyes. “that’s not news.”

stardom's name had been everywhere lately, dominating headlines as they skyrocketed to fame.

“they’re still not bigger than us,” minji said, patting hanni’s shoulder as she adjusted her seatbelt. “so why does it matter?”

“they have their own sony headphones, minji.”

“ahh, they have it in purple ,” hyein murmured from the seat behind, eyes glued to her phone.

hanni shot her a sharp glare, haerin pinched her arm, and danielle threw her a disapproving look.

“sorry,” hyein mumbled, shrinking back.

“i just want one day where i don’t have to hear about them,” hanni sighed, her frustration clear as the other girls nodded in agreement. “it’s bad enough they’re performing tomorrow, too.”

“how about see them everywhere,” minji chuckled, gesturing out the window at a bus stopped next to their van. plastered along the side was an ad for pocari sweat, featuring stardom smiling brightly for yet another endorsement.

“ugh”

“rate how shady you think they’re gonna be tomorrow, out of ten ,” summer asked, turning to face the rest of the girls lounging in the back of the van, while eunjin quietly flipped through the pages of her book beside her.

“eight point five ,” yuri replied, lifting her head from yn’s shoulder, causing the van to erupt in laughter.

“I was gonna say nine, but I’m bumping it to ten,” hana chimed in, mischievously kicking the back of eunjin’s seat, sending the girl jolting forward. “i don’t trust that hyein girl. she’s always staring at me.”

“oh, you wanna talk about staring? let’s talk about their leader, who’s always staring at our leader,” yuri said, rolling her eyes. “sometimes, i feel like she’s just gonna jump and eat yn, it’s probably all that jealousy.”

yn playfully rolled her eyes at yuri’s comment. “i’ll go with a seven. that sunshine girl can’t do any harm,” she said, finally answering summer’s question.

“i dare them to say something slick,” summer added, turning back to the front with a smirk. “what do you think?” she nudged eunjin, who sighed in response.

all eyes shifted to eunjin—whenever she spoke, the girls paid attention. she didn’t say much, so when she did, they hung onto every word.

“jealousy is a nasty thing. it eats away at you. and they’ve definitely got it,” eunjin replied, calm and thoughtful. “so yeah, i’m with yuri—eight point five.”

a slow clap broke the silence. “bravo, the wise words of eunjin unnie,” yuri teased, making the others chuckle.

the sound of screams and clapping filled the air as minji watched stardom walk onto the stage to receive their award. both newjeans and stardom had been up for artist of the year in japan, and while everyone kind of knew stardom would win— even though it was just a year into their career the girls had been dominating asia—it didn’t stop the girls from feeling a bit salty

"at least we still have the western market," danielle muttered quietly, just loud enough for the girls to hear. they all watched as stardom struggled to start their speech over the deafening cheers and applause.

"they're probably coming for that too," hanni replied, trying to keep her face neutral, fully aware of the cameras trained on them. with the ongoing internet war between newjeans and stardom, their reactions would undoubtedly make headlines. "right, minji?"

hanni glanced at their leader, expecting a response, but minji was silent. her gaze was locked on the stage, fixed on stardom's leader, yn, who was the last to deliver her thank you. yn's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, like crystals catching the stage lights—so captivating, it was impossible to look away. yuri gently wrapped an arm around yn’s waist, offering quiet comfort, which caused minji to slightly clench her jaw, while the other members leaned in supportively as yn spoke.

"thank you to our fans, to everyone who's believed in us," yn's voice trembled slightly, thick with emotion. "we wouldn't be here without you. this award means the world to us... and we promise to keep working harder."

as she finished her speech, the cheers erupted again, louder than ever, but minji hardly noticed. she was still mesmerized, completely taken by yn’s beauty and the way she seemed to glow under the stage lights. hanni glanced at minji again and saw the way she stared, almost hypnotized by stardom's leader.

"dude, are you okay?" hanni asked, raising an eyebrow.

minji blinked, snapping out of her daze, her face suddenly flushing. "what—uh, yeah, i'm fine," she stammered, her voice a little too quick.

hanni narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced but chose to let it slide. "okay..." she mumbled, though her suspicion lingered as she turned back toward the stage. minji's weirdness wasn’t something she was going to ignore forever.

yn linked her arm with yuri’s as they strolled through the hallway, trying to track down their managers. “leave it to us to get lost,” she sighed, glancing around with a hint of amusement.

“who cares that we’re lost? we just won artist of the year! everybody celebrate!” hana exclaimed, jumping onto eunjin’s back, earning a startled yelp from the quieter girl.

"we’re going to a sushi restaurant and eating everything," yuri chimed in, her tone playful as she squeezed yn's arm.

the girls were so caught up in their laughter and excitement that they didn’t notice another group walking toward them from the opposite direction.

summer, still laughing at hana almost slipping off eunjin's back, wasn’t paying attention and kept walking backward—until she crashed into someone with a hard thud. the hallway suddenly fell silent as everyone froze.

“ow!”

“oh, i’m so sor—” summer started to apologize, but her words faltered the moment she realized who she’d bumped into. “—ry,” she finished awkwardly, eyes locking with hyein from newjeans.

hyein’s eyes flashed with recognition, but she quickly masked it, shrugging off summer’s apology as if it were nothing. her gaze briefly flickered to hana, who had slid off eunjin’s back under the weight of the tense moment, though she averted her eyes as hana shot her an icy glare.

hanni stepped forward, her expression hardening as she glared at the five girls. her eyes locked onto summer. “you should be sorry. maybe watch where you’re going. hyein’s already had an injury—we don’t need another.”

summer’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not liking the tone. she glanced behind her, almost in disbelief, as if confirming hanni had really spoken to her like that. a dry laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. “i know you’re not serious—”

eunjin gently placed a hand on summer’s shoulder, a silent plea to drop it. “leave it alone.”

yn stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “summer unnie, just let it go.”

but hanni wasn’t done. “what? i was just reminding your member to watch where she’s going. what’s the problem?” she snapped back, the situation wasn’t serious but she couldn’t hold back her resentment towards the girl group so she used this as an opportunity.

hanni didn’t back down, her focus now shifting to yn. “maybe your leader can explain it, so you understand better.” she said coolly, her challenge clear.

yn did exactly what summer had done—looked behind herself in disbelief—before she took a step forward, but yuri’s arm quickly wrapped around her waist, pulling her back. "leave it.” yuri whispered, though yn’s eyes were still locked on hanni's, before switching to minji’s who looks away.

“you’re right.” yn said her voice calm, “they’re just bitter.” she says her eyes still on minji before walking straight past the rest of the group the rest of the girls following behind her.

“you two,” yuri muttered, shaking her head as she pointed at yn and summer, “need serious anger management.”

yn cursed under her breath as her phone buzzed softly, hoping it didn’t wake yuri, who was fast asleep beside her in the hotel bed. glancing at the screen, she saw the message

she looked at the message.

“I’m near your hotel.”

she sighed quietly, running a hand through her hair before carefully sliding out of bed, moving cautiously so as not to disturb hana, who was sprawled out in a starfish position on the other bed.

with a quick glance around to make sure no one stirred, yn slipped out of the hotel room as quietly as possible and made her way down to the street outside, her heart racing with anticipation.

"hey."

minji looked up from her phone to find yn standing in front of her, a juicy couture cap pulled low over her head. minji couldn’t help but smile. "hey."

"you texted," yn said softly, her eyes scanning minji's face as if searching for something.

"i did."

"so..."

"i missed you," minji admitted, gently pulling yn closer by the arm. yn’s eyes dropped, her cheeks flushing as she looked away, clearly flustered.

"same," yn mumbled, clearly embarrassed. after a pause, she added, "your member really wanted to pick a fight today, huh?"

minji groaned, rolling her eyes as she tugged yn even closer, until there was almost no space left between them. "yeah..." she trailed off, unsure what to say. it wasn’t like she fully agreed with her group's dislike toward stardom, but she understood the frustration. stardom had come out of nowhere, sweeping up all the attention.

"let’s not talk about that," minji murmured, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the gold “s” necklace hanging around yn's neck. all of the stardom girls had one, each in either silver or gold.

minji’s tone shifted as she changed the subject. "there’s this 24 hour ramen place..." she started, watching as a smile slowly spread across yn’s face. "if you want to…"

"of course i do," yn replied, her smile now fully blooming, the tension between them melting away.

[pixiexdusts-world]

Quiet & chaos

Civil war Bucky Barnes x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Bucky’s quiet, his girlfriend’s not. She teases; he listens.

Word count: 805

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d date a guy like Bucky Barnes. Not because he’s an ex-assassin or a super soldier or because half the world wants him dead—those are just technicalities. It’s because he’s quiet. Like, really quiet.

And I? I’m not.

“You’re brooding again,” I announce, flopping onto the motel bed next to him. “Which means I have to annoy you out of it. So, let’s start with a classic: If you had to fight one Steve-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized Steves, which would you pick?”

Bucky blinks at me, expression unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I asked.”

He exhales through his nose—his version of an amused huff—and looks back down at the knife he’s been sharpening for the last ten minutes. “One big duck,” he mutters.

I gasp dramatically. “Wrong answer. Have you seen how aggressive geese are? Now imagine a duck with super soldier strength.”

“I’ve fought worse.”

“Not the point.”

His lips twitch, and aha! there it is—the ghost of a smile. It’s fleeting, but I’ll take it.

Bucky’s not much of a talker, but that’s okay. I talk enough for both of us. When I first met him, I assumed he was grumpy and brooding all the time, but really, he’s just… shy. He never knows what to do with all the words I throw at him. Sometimes I think he just lets me ramble because it’s easier than stopping me.

I roll onto my stomach, chin propped in my hands. “Okay, next question—”

“I didn’t agree to another question.”

“—if you could live in any fictional world, where would it be?”

He hesitates, turning the knife over in his hands. “Dunno.”

“Come on.”

He sighs, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “Somewhere quiet.”

I groan. “That’s so vague! That’s not how this game works, Buck.”

He shrugs. That’s it. Just a shrug.

I narrow my eyes. “Fine. I’ll answer for you. You’d want to live in the Shire because it’s peaceful, and you could just sit under a tree with a book while I steal all the good food from the hobbits.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then mutters, “Sounds nice.”

I gasp again, clutching my chest. “A real answer! I’m so proud of you.”

He rolls his eyes, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch again.

I flop onto my back, staring at the cracked ceiling. “So, hypothetically, if I went missing, would you come find me, or would you just assume I got distracted by something shiny and wandered off?”

Bucky stiffens. His grip tightens on the knife, and when he looks at me, his expression is unreadable again—but not in the funny way from before.

“Don’t joke about that,” he says quietly.

Oh.

I sit up, my usual playfulness fading. “Bucky, I didn’t mean—”

“I would find you.” His voice is firm now, serious in a way that makes my stomach flip. “Doesn’t matter where. I’d find you.”

I reach for his metal hand, running my fingers over the cool plates. He tenses for a second before relaxing, letting me trace the seams.

“I know,” I say softly. And I do.

Bucky Barnes might be quiet, might keep most of his thoughts locked up in that head of his, but when he cares about someone, he really cares. I see it in the way he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeping me closest to the buildings. In the way he lets me steal half his food even though he pretends to be annoyed. In the way he never says much, but when he does speak, it’s always something that matters.

I squeeze his hand. “For the record, I’d find you, too.”

He looks down at our hands, then back at me. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Though you’d probably make it easier than me by leaving a trail of brooding and emotionally loaded sighs.”

That gets an actual huff out of him. Progress.

I grin and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before standing up. “Alright, I’m starving. I vote we find food before you get sick of me and dump me in a ditch somewhere.”

His brow furrows, lips parting like he’s about to say something. Then he shakes his head, standing up to grab his jacket.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he mutters.

I laugh. “I know, Buck. That’s what makes it funny.”

He just grunts, but when I loop my arm through his, he doesn’t pull away.

Bucky might not say much, but I hear him loud and clear.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part eleven: somebody's watching me

word count: 1.9k

warnings: paranoia, being watched, stalking, etc.

ten | eleven | twelve

Logan had been watching her all week.

He had watched her leave her apartment for her date with Alex, the way she hesitated at her door for half a second before stepping out, smoothing her hands over her coat as if steadying herself. He had followed at a careful distance as she walked to the restaurant, tracking her movements without ever getting close enough to raise suspicion.

He had watched her meet Alex – had seen the way the guy smiled at her, how he pulled her chair out for her, how she laughed at something so hard that her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Then he had watched her come home, her expression thoughtful, fingers lingering on the strap of her bag as she unlocked her door.

She hadn’t known she was being followed.

Logan never got caught.

It was part of his job – only being visible when he wanted to be.

People were oblivious—too caught up in their own worlds to notice the subtle things. The man who sat on the same park bench every other day, always scrolling through his phone. The extra customer in a café, sipping coffee while pretending to read today’s paper. The car parked just a little too conveniently on the corner, its driver somehow never actually going anywhere.

He leaned casually against a lamppost across the street from Brews & Books, dressed in a well-worn hoodie and jeans, a disposable coffee cup in one hand. The cup wasn’t empty, but he wasn’t really drinking it either—just using it as a prop like the camera slung around his neck to give him the appearance of any other student, perhaps one studying film or photography. 

Across the street, inside the sunlit café, Y/N sat at one of the back tables, a book open in front of her and a cup of tea resting beside it. The shop was quiet at this hour, none of the usual rush hour customers, their usual hum of conversation replaced by the occasional rustle of her pages turning or the faint clatter of a spoon against porcelain.

She looked up when she heard the phantom sound of a camera shutter, and had barely pinpointed a head of blond hair standing on the other side of the street.

But when she blinked, there was no one there at all.

It had started small.

A lingering glance over her shoulder as she left work. A slight hesitation at crosswalks, as if debating whether to change her usual route. She hadn’t altered her patterns yet, but Logan could tell she was considering it.

She was smart. Observant in a way most people weren’t.

It was a problem.

Logan exhaled slowly, tilting his head just slightly as he spoke into the discreet mic clipped beneath the collar of his jacket. His voice was low, casual. No one would think twice if they overheard him.

“She’s gonna catch on soon. This is why I don’t like round the clock work, strategically it's got the highest probability of–.”

Lando’s voice crackled through Logan’s earpiece. Steady, controlled.

“That’s fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked slightly. He turned his head, pretending to check for traffic as he processed the words.

That’s fine?

He had expected Lando to tell him to pull back, to ease off before she fully realized what was happening. That would’ve been the logical move.

Instead, Lando wanted her to keep noticing.

It wasn’t a mistake. Lando didn’t make those.

Logan’s fingers curled slightly around his cup as he considered what that meant. Y/N was already tangled in something far bigger than she understood. And if Lando wasn’t cutting the thread, then that meant—

He wanted her there. Even if he wouldn’t admit it just yet.

Logan sighed, pushing off the lamppost and stretching slightly. Then, with practiced ease, he disappeared down the street.

Y/N would keep looking, and he would make sure she only saw what they wanted her to.

A few days later, they sat in Lando’s study—a sleek, dimly lit room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the scent of aged leather and faint cigar smoke hanging in the air. Lando, leaning back in his chair with a drink in hand, looked entirely at ease. Logan, on the other hand, sat forward on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, fingers idly turning his phone over in his palm.

“She’s definitely noticed now,” Logan said after a beat, his tone casual but pointed. “But she’s not panicking, not running scared or nothin’. But she knows something's off. If I keep tailing her like this, she’s gonna confirm it sooner or later. Give me some leeway, let me switch it up a bit.”

Lando hummed in response, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. His expression was unreadable, the dim light casting sharp shadows along his jaw.

“What have you got f'o me?” he said simply.

Logan exhaled and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Nothing too interesting, I guess. Mostly just little things. She’s more aware of her surroundings now – stays in well-lit areas when she walks home, keeps her headphones out instead of wearing them. If someone’s behind her, she doesn’t look back, but she adjusts her pace—sometimes slows down like she’s testing if they’ll pass her, sometimes speeds up like she wants to lose ‘em.”

Lando’s lips quirked at that, amusement flickering behind his otherwise cool gaze. “Smart girl.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, yeah. She’s got good instincts. I don’t think she’s ever been in a situation like this before, but she’s probably read enough crime novels to know some of the signs.”

Lando let out a quiet chuckle, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You really think she’s piecin' it together?”

“Not fully? She’s suspicious for sure, but like, she doesn’t know what she’s looking for yet. If I pulled back for a few days, she’d probably convince herself she imagined it.”

Lando tilted his head slightly, considering. Then, after a long pause, he decided, “Stay on it.”

Logan raised a brow. “You sure about that, Boss? If she clocks me, this gets messy.”

“That won’t happen.” Lando says with a firm that has Logan questioning whether it's a statement of opinion or fact. The Brit leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk. “And if it does, well… we’ll deal with it then.”

Logan knew what ‘dealing with it’ meant.

He didn’t push further. Lando was the boss, and while Logan had enough leeway to offer input, he knew better than to question a decision that had apparently already been made. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and switched gears. “Right. Other than that, she’s been normal. Work, books, the occasional late-night tea. Still talks to that Alex guy whenever he stops by the café.”

That seemed to catch Lando’s attention. His fingers tapped once against the desk, barely perceptible. “How often?”

“Not every day, but regularly enough. She’s comfortable with him.” Logan watched Lando’s expression carefully, but his face remained neutral. Lando was silent for a moment. Then, instead of addressing that, he simply asked, “And the date?”

Logan shrugged. “It went fine. Nothing remarkable. She looked like she enjoyed herself, but she didn’t seem overly smitten or anything. She went home alone, no invitation upstairs, no lingering at the door like she was hoping he’d kiss her.”

Lando’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, almost smug. “Huh.”

Interesting.

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. He knew better than to dig into whatever that was about. Instead, he continued, “If you’re wondering, Alex didn’t say anything about who you are. Either he’s not suspicious about your connection to her, he doesn’t recognize you, or he’s playing the long game.”

I’ll take my chances.

He tapped his fingers against the desk again, just once, before settling back in his chair. “Keep watching her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Logan stretched his arms over his head before letting them fall back to his sides. “If she does ID me though, I’m not gonna be the one explaining that.”

Lando just smiled.

It wasn’t reassuring.

She wasn’t paranoid—she wasn’t looking over her shoulder every few minutes or rushing home in a panic. But there was a newfound awareness in her actions, a certain scrutiny of her surroundings.

Her fingers hovered over the pages of her book instead of turning them with ease, her eyes flicking toward the window more often than before. When she got up to clear her table, she did it slower than necessary, almost like she was giving herself time to listen, to take in what was going on around her.

And when she finally locked up the café for the night, she didn’t just step outside and start walking. Instead, she’d linger. Her hand hesitated on the key for just a moment longer than normal, her head turning slightly as she surveyed both ends of the street before finally walking home.

It started as a whisper in the back of her mind. A quiet, nagging thought that told her something was off.

At first, she dismissed it as paranoia. She was tired, overworked, and had the expertise of someone who’d watched all 16 seasons of Criminal Minds. That was all.

But then there were the little things.

The first time, she told herself it was nothing.

There was flicker of movement in her periphery, a shape disappearing around the corner just as she turned her head. It could’ve been anyone. Just another pedestrian on the street, someone heading home like she was.

But the feeling lingered.

The second time, she tried to rationalize it.

Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was the murder mysteries she read growing up or listening to one true crime podcast too many, filling her head with nonsense about tailing patterns and body language cues. That was probably it. Or maybe she was just more aware lately because of the—well, the incident. Even if she hadn’t seen much that night, it had rattled her. The shock had faded, but maybe her body hadn’t fully let it go yet. Maybe this was just her mind playing tricks on her.

She let out a slow breath, shaking her head at herself. You’re being ridiculous.

But the next time it happened, she couldn’t shake it off as easily.

She was on her way home when she felt it again—that slow, creeping sensation of being watched. She didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn her head, but she adjusted her pace slightly, testing the presence.

The sound of footsteps behind her matched her rhythm for a beat too long before they finally disappeared.

She barely slept that night.

But then there was the third time.

The third time, it wasn’t just a flicker of movement. It was a presence. Not close, not intrusive, but there. A weight behind her, light but perceptible, like something unseen pressing against her back. She had slowed her steps, adjusted her pace, just to see if it changed. It didn’t. The presence lingered—never overtaking her, never retreating entirely.

She’d walked the long way home that night. When she finally shut the door of her apartment behind her, her hands were shaking.

It wasn’t every night, and that was the worst part.

If it were constant, she could confirm it. If it were obvious, she could prove it. But this? This was the kind of unease that nestled under her skin and made her feel like she was on the edge of figuring something out—only for the answer to slip through her fingers the moment she reached for it.

And yet, at the oddest of times, she still felt a chill run down her spine.

a/n: thank you all so much for ur sweet asks and comments! they are so delightful and have me blushing and giggling and kicking my feet in the air omg

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Where'd You Come From?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: An adorable customer wanders into your bakery and introduces you to someone you'd never met, who piques your curiosity. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the first fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Fluff, Meet Cute, Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: I don't think there's really any? The reader is really soft and likes to bake? The reader simping over a man's voice (as we all should)? Din might be a little bit OOC. It's mostly just fluff.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! This is my first time writing for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Honestly, I've been kinda afraid to post this for a while, but @jollyhunter thank you so much for encouraging me! You're a wonderful friend 💗

The smell of fresh bread, cinnamon, and brown sugar wrapped you in a blanket of warmth as you pulled a tray from one of the large ovens at the back of your bakery. It was not the first tray to be born of flame and love today, nor would it be the last.

You smiled down at the perfect pan of browning pastry with pride swelling in your chest, admiring your handiwork. It had been two days since you opened your small bakery tucked into the corner of a colorful street on Nevarro and you were already convinced that it was the best decision you had ever made, despite your older brother's insistences that you were crazy for doing so.

Sure, Nevarro was in the middle of nowhere, was populated by angry bounty hunters, and probably wasn't the safest place to live, but you loved it. Every day there was a market that opened in the early hours of the morning, close enough that you could wander through the colorful stalls meeting new people, trying food and sweets from all over the galaxy, and browsing through the handcrafted wares the others sold. On weekends the new fountain in the center of town was surrounded by parents while children squealed and ran through the cooling sprays of water. It was a lovely place to sit and soak up the warm sun, while your mind slipped into the soothing prose of a book perched on your knee.

The longer you stayed on Nevarro, the more you felt apart of its growing community and the more you felt like you belonged there. You hadn't felt like you belonged anywhere in years, not after you lost your grandmother, and you were left with an cold empty house filled with echoes of someone long gone, shades of a life you lived that could only exist in your memory.

Your brother had left you years before, angry, fueled with a fire to make the people who destroyed your home and orphaned the two of you pay, choosing rather to leave you with your grandmother than watch from the sidelines.

But you never blamed him for leaving when he was only fifteen and you barely ten. You weren't angry anymore about losing your parents to the war the way so many others had. Maybe it was because you'd lost them when you were too young to remember their faces while your brother was still haunted by the voice of your mother singing him to sleep.

But you supposed that without your grandmother you never would have fallen in love with baking and found the thing that made you feel whole and brought you comfort when everything else seemed to fall apart around you. It was her that fueled your own love of baking, tempered it and helped it grow from a small spark to a burning flame.

Her constant praise and encouragements in the time the two of you spent tucked into her kitchen filled with light and love made you the person you were today. She taught you everything you knew, spoke about opening a bakery of her own for years, but never did. You knew that she would have wanted you to sell the house to do what she couldn't, so you did, and you didn't look back.

The constant flow of customers in and out of the shop, the chatter that rose from patrons sitting on the carved wooden tables made of strong smooth wood, and the people who continued to say how wonderful it was to have you there only supported your decision to move here.

She would have loved this.

You think to yourself with a smile, gaze falling to your grandmother's overstuffed book of recipes that sat with pages fanning on the counter, before you drop your free hand to smooth a wrinkle from the floral apron wrapped around your waist. One of hers that you'd tied there for good luck over your dark blue skirt.

You supposed that it was working given the fact that you'd completely sold out of treats yesterday and now already halfway through the third day, you were out of some of your favorites.

At this rate I'm going to have to hire someone else to work the counter for me.

You never imagined to have this kind of response, but now you lived for it.

The fresh tray you pulled from the oven is heavy, but it's a pleasant weight. You maneuver through the cozy kitchen to place it on the counter where the sweet buns could cool before you iced them with the thick periwinkle colored frosting chilling in the refrigerator in the corner, but as you do, you hear the front door chime.

It was later in the day, and you were taking advantage of the lull before you expected another rush of customers to come in. The last patron had left fifteen minutes ago, placing her ceramic mug in the big plastic bin on top of the trashcan by the front doors, before walking out with a cheerful "goodbye."

The smile you have when you hear the jingle is genuine, the prospect of sharing your gift of baking with someone else warming your heart.

"One minute." You call, arranging the tray on the crowded countertop before you wipe your flour covered hands on the apron at your waist and make your way through the green curtain that hangs in the doorway of the kitchen, dividing the front and back of the shop. Your eyes flick upwards, expecting to see someone standing there behind the counter waiting for service, but the shop is empty.

"Hello?" You ask tentatively, looking over the counter at the empty wooden chairs and tables arranged beyond before the doorway and wide windows at the front of your shop. Sunlight filters through the glass in happy patches of light, illuminating the furniture just inside the door.

But no one answers you.

That's weird.

You hear something make a cooing noise, but you still can't see anyone, and there's a small part of you that's disappointed someone left without asking for help.

The odd noise sounds again, almost like the small multicolored bird-like creatures in the cages hanging above the shop next door.

Maybe one got out and is trapped in here somewhere.

The thought makes your fingers itch for the broom leaning in the corner, expecting something to come swooping down at you from the rafters above. Nothing was worse that finding out at the last minute that something you were trying to shoo could fly.

You walk around the counter looking for the source of the sound while bracing yourself for attack, but stop when you see a little green creature swaddled in brown cloth standing in front of the one of the glass cases loaded with sweets. He turns his gaze in your direction, presses his little three fingered hand against the glass, and coos softly as if asking you for one of the treats that sit in organized rows within.

"Um-" You look around the room hoping to see an adult, someone who he belongs to, but there's no one. "Hey there little guy." You stoop down next to him so you can see him better.

The creature smiles and gurgles happily, tapping his hand against the front of the case filled with pastry again to make a point.

"Where's your mommy?" You pick him up gently, cradling him in your arms. "Did you get lost?"

He coos again and touches your chin with a smile so cute that it's impossible not to return it. The sharp nails catch against your smooth skin, but you don't mind.

He's so cute.

You think to yourself with a soft smile.

I wonder who he belongs to?

You bite the inside of your cheek and contemplate what you should do. You were still relatively new on Nevarro and hadn't introduced yourself to the sheriff yet, but you'd heard of her. The problem was you had no idea where Cara Dune would be at this time of the day and you'd never seen a creature like him walking around when you went to the market or... really seen a creature like him ever.

I can't just keep him! Someone could be looking for him and it wasn't on my agenda today to become a kidnapper. I mean, that's never on my agenda, but today isn't any different!

You raise your eyes to look out the front door and large windows of your bakery, watching a few people pass by, but you don't see anyone resembling the child in your arms.

A sigh builds in your chest, contrasting the thrumming anxiety building in your body.

Maybe I should feed him, he looks hungry. And if his family doesn't come in by the end of the day I'll go find Cara Dune. She's got to know who he belongs to.

It seemed like a good plan, plus you figured the way that the creature was looking at the pastries it wouldn't hurt to give him a little something before you tried to find his family.

"Well, I don't really know how you ended up in here, but somebody's gotta be looking for you." You sigh, softly stroking his green ears. He wriggles in your arms, sighing under his breath and leans into your comforting touch. "Are you hungry?"

He turns and waves his hand at one of the glass cases loaded with multi-colored pastries again.

"Guess that's a yes." You laugh as you walk back around the case to place him on the counter right next to the register resting in between the two glass displays. "Sit here cutie. I'll get you something."

He waits patiently on the counter kicking his little feet where they hang over the edge, while you turn to the case on your left and grab a Uj'alayi square, a traditional Mandalorian sweet, from the display. The brown sticky pastry crumbles in his little hand as you give it to him. "This one's my favorite. It's my mother's recipe."

Your mother had been born on Mandalore years before the Clone Wars, but she'd left when she met your father, taking the traditions from her family with her to start anew. You'd never met any of her family members before and supposed that they died in the purge of Mandalore. The recipe for Uj'alayi was one of the only things you had left of her, something you'd found in the box of belongings pulled from the remnants of your home following it's destruction.

It had taken you years to perfect the recipe, thought that making it would awaken some memory deep inside of your mother, but it never did. Your brother, Ezekiel, remembered the moments that slipped between your fingers like running water, seeping through the cracks in your memory of the fleeting moments you'd spent with your parents before they were killed.

When the creature bites into the square, he gurgles, his dark eyes blinking at you and crinkling slightly from the lights that line the ceiling of your shop.

"I know. Good huh?" You smile and break off a piece of the cake before popping it into your mouth. The crunch of nuts and the tang of the sweet syrup brings a melancholic feeling of nostalgia rising on the crest of a wave, but slowly ebbs out to sea with your exhale.

It wasn't an unusual feeling, you'd been feeling more nostalgic since you'd opened the bakery.

The child munches on the square with a happy giggle and it makes you smile. Sharing your gift of baking always brought joy to your heart, and this was no different.

I wonder where his family is. He's so small, he couldn't have gotten too far, and he shouldn't be out by himself. Something could happen to him.

The thought makes your smile falter. The population of bounty hunters on Navarro had lessened in the months before your arrival, but you weren’t sure that someone as little as him should be walking around by himself.

The front door of the shop opens with a pleasant jingle.

"There you are." Someone sighs in a buzzing monotone.

You glance up from the little one your counter with curiosity, blinking in surprise at who stands in the doorway. Honestly, you weren't expecting it to be a Mandalorian, you were expecting someone else who was maybe a little bit bigger, but also green.

Maybe the little one is a foundling? That or he’s green under that thing.

The thought of the broad shouldered man standing in your shop squeezing pointy ears underneath his helm makes a laugh tickle in the back of your throat.

You'd heard your patrons talk about the Mandalorian who lived just outside of town, in hushed whispers around the crunch of pastry within your shop. The one that everyone steered clear of for fear that he would hurt them and take their children in the night, as if he was a creature that dwelled in a cave crouched over piles of gold. The people in town were all afraid of him, said that he was a blood thirsty bounty hunter who should be avoided at all costs, but seeing him stand here in your shop, arms crossed over his chest, hip cocked to the side, while looking down at the small child on the counter, you don't feel afraid.

The child coos happily and reaches up with two sticky hands opening and closing, asking to be picked up by the intimidating figure.

They never said he was a dad.

Despite their reputation, Mandalorians didn't scare you. When your brother left trying to find an outlet for his anger, he had found solace with a small clan of Mandalorians inhabiting a planet in the Outer Rim. They'd taken him in when he needed a home and given him a place where he could learn to control the rage he kept close to his heart. You were grateful for that, but it didn't make you miss him any less.

Whenever he would visit, he'd bring members of his clan with him all of which who were nothing but kind to you. But you still worried about him.

You worried he wasn't eating enough and when he came you would spend most of your time cooking for him and his new family. It was never a bother, you liked doing that for other people, cooking for them and taking care of them when no one else could. It was a form of comfort and warmth you believed that no one should be deficient of. In your heart everyone deserved to feel at home and have someone who wanted to take care of them.

"He belong to you?" You smile at the man standing just inside the doorway. He's so tall that he'd had to duck when he came in through the front door.

"Yes." He lets out another sigh that pops and crackles in the modulator.

"Well, I'm glad you found him, at the rate he's going, he's probably going to eat everything I have."

The man tilts his head to the side as if confused. You wonder if maybe you came on too strong or if it's just a habit of his, to size up everyone he comes in contact with.

He is a bounty hunter. Probably picked it up along the road somewhere.

His armor is a startling silver, sending flickers of the sunshine behind him over the walls of your bakery. You'd never met a Mandalorian who didn't paint their Beskar. Your own brother's was painted in shades of red and orange, and embossed with his clan sigil in a startling white.

But there was something about this Mandalorian's armor that was almost… pretty, but you supposed it was the same glinting beauty of a knife sitting on a kitchen counter, beautiful but deadly.

You look back down at the creature, who touches your hand and points back at the Uj'alayi in the case as if asking for another. The three fingers are sticky with the remnants of the desert. "Fine. One more. But I don’t want you to spoil your dinner."

You reach back into the case for another crumbling brown square to give to him with a laugh on your lips and watch as the skin around his little black eyes crinkles in gratitude before he bites into the treat.

The Mandalorian approaches cautiously and despite the helmet, you can feel his eyes on you, contemplative and curious.

"Is that Uj cake?" His voice comes out through the harsh buzz of the modulator.

"Yeah it's Uj'alayi. He really seems to like it. Is he your foundling?" When you look up and smile at the helm, you can only see your reflection in the brilliant metal of the armor.

Surprise flickers across your mind. You weren't expecting him to still be wearing the helmet and you're not used to talking to someone who didn't reveal their face to you. It was a little odd.

Whenever your brother or his friend Josh were talking to you, they always took off their helmets, but this felt different.

Honestly, even though he had the visor, you still weren't quite sure where to look to make eye to (through the helmet) eye contact.

Is it rude to tell him to take it off?

You'd never been put in this kind of position before, so you decide to ignore it.

"Yes." The helm turns from you to the other Uj cakes in the case. "Did you make it?"

You nod, blushing with pride.

"Are you Mandalorian? Do you speak Mando'a?" The Mandalorian asks, you can't but help notice that he sounds a little bit hopeful.

"No, I'm sorry. My mother was from Mandalore, it's her recipe." You admit sheepishly.

He nods in understanding.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments watching the child eat on your counter, the sticky brown cake smeared against his cheeks.

It gives you a moment to size up the Mandalorian out of the corner of your eye. Again, you're struck by how beautiful the armor is. A brilliant silver and polished to a shine, proud, but not haughty. There's a charcoal cowl that wraps around the base of his throat and extends into a cape behind him and he's wearing a set of tan and brown gloves to ensure that no part of his skin is showing.

I wonder if it gets hot under there. Nevarro isn't exactly temperate.

And when the Mandalorian turns to the left to look at the other mulit-colored pastries in the display case and you catch a glimpse of the sigil of a Mudhorn on his shoulder.

Makes sense that someone so formidable would have that as their clan sigil.

Your brother's clan had the sigil of one of the large birds that inhabited the cliffs of their home planet. Each child had to scale the cliffs and bring back the skull when they came of age to prove their strength and prove that they were worthy of the mark.

I wonder what he did to get that as his sigil.

Your eyes fall back on the creature munching happily on the pastry.

"Look at you, you're a mess." You laugh, pulling a napkin from your pocket and wetting it with your tongue before wiping it over the little one's face to clean him.

He squeals indignantly, but you avoid the impetuous swipes of his hand as he tries to push you away.

"He doesn't like it when you do that." The Mandalorian says, but you can hear some humor come through the crackle of the modulator.

"I can see that." You snort, before disposing of the napkin. "Here, you take some. He really likes it and you should try it. It's my favorite thing to make for the shop." You turn back to the case and wrap up several squares for the Mandalorian to take with him. “I’m-” you say your name, busying yourself with folding the tissue paper around the pastry.

He whispers your name back to you as if he's trying it out and you're not prepared for the warmth that travels through your body when he does.

That's weird.

When you give him the bag, he holds out a handful of credits, but you push his fingers into a fist, feeling the rough scrape of his gloves against your fingertips. "It's okay. Free for first time customers. Plus it was payment enough to see this little one."

You give the kid an affectionate pat on the head, who coos and reaches for your face. It makes you laugh at how friendly he is and you pick him up so he can lay his hand on your cheek. He squeezes it between his fingers, crinkling his eyes with a wide smile. "Aww. You gotta go with your dad now okay? But you can come back and visit me any time you want."

The Mandalorian is watching you, and you again wonder why he hasn't removed his helmet to say hello.

I'll ask Ezekiel about it.

You were sure your brother would be showing up soon. When you sent him the transmission that you finally opened the shop, he said he was excited at the prospect of eating sweets for free, as if he already didn't do that.

I miss him.

It had been at a few months since you'd last seen him, right after you sold your grandmother's home and before you moved to Nevarro. He'd tried to talk you out of opening the shop, asked you to stay with him for a little while, but you thought it was about time you went out on your own.

You hand the child to the man standing on the other side of the counter, trying not to notice how his muscles flex beneath his Beskar when he does or how broad and wonderfully tall he is. So broad and strong that you know he could probably lift you just as easily and the thought makes a flush burn against your cheeks.

Get a grip, he's not a piece of meat.

"Thank you." He says in the buzzing monotone, but it makes you long to hear his real voice.

"You're welcome. Come back anytime."

"We will."

"Good. I'll look forward to it. It was nice to meet you-" You hesitate.  "Um- Actually, I didn't catch your name."

The Mandalorian doesn't answer immediately as if he's mulling it over in his head, while the child coos and giggles in his hand touching the bottom of the helmet on his father's head. It was a startling contrast the the formidable form of the Mandalorian to have a wriggling bundle of joy in his arms, one that made you smile just a little wider.

"Din." He says in a whisper.

"Din." You repeat slowly, rolling the name around in your mouth and enjoying how it sounds on the tip of your tongue. "It was nice to meet you Din." You smile widely up into the helmet, watching the reflection of yourself glinting in the metal.

Din doesn't move for a minute, he's hesitating, and it makes your smile falter on the end of your mouth for a moment in confusion.

Did I do something wrong?

But then he nods once and leaves, the only clue that he'd been there is the almost empty batch of Uj Cake and the brown crumbles covering your counter.

The next few days pass in a blur of you baking, cleaning, and selling as many sweets as you can while trying not to think about Din and the kid, but it's proving to be impossible.

You didn't understand why you were so focused on them. You'd had many customers that day and on the days that followed, but for some reason you couldn't get him out of your head.

When you'd lie awake at night you'd remember how he sounded when he said your name, how you wished that he would remove his helmet to look at you and let you see what he looked like, because with a voice like that the man underneath had to be just as beautiful-

Stop.

You cheeks warm as you clean the counters with a wet rag, your back to the door while you try to forget Din and his voice. This had never happened to you before, being unable to stop thinking about someone.  But each time everything went quiet, your mind would flash to the image of Din ducking to get though the front door of your shop and the sound of his voice through the helm.

The clock on the wall behind the register stated that it was exactly two minutes past closing time, which meant that you were about an hour away from crashing in your bed. You still had to clean the ovens, and pack away any leftover supplies. Not to mention the tossing and turning that came when you would lie awake and think about Din, hoping he would come back.

I need to get over this. He's just a man you met one time. Don't romanticize him.

You blamed the stack of books on your bedside table, the ones you read over and over about adventures all over the galaxy and true love. It also didn't help that you'd never once had a relationship, but why would you when it was more exciting to live vicariously through your favorite heroines? Not to mention you didn't have to make a fool of yourself falling for someone who probably thought you were just a weird person who smiled too much and baked for fun.

You wondered if that was why Din hesitated before leaving the other day when you smiled at him, that he couldn't figure out why you were so happy.

The bell on the door rings behind you, pulling you out of your head.

"I'm sorry we're closed." You respond without turning around, fingers scrubbing with the cloth at a particularly stubborn smudge.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was." Din's familiar voice floats through the air and makes a shiver travel down your spine.

"Din. Hey." You smile as you turn around, waving a hand, cloth still clasped between your fingers. "It's okay, you're always welcome."

He's still wearing his armor and helmet, the silver catching in the dim lights of the room, contrasting with the yellowed light that streams from the streetlights outside and emphasizes his figure.

Your eyes drop to the bag hanging on his hip expecting to see the child, but it lies empty.

"You're alone today." You say a little disappointed, but still happy that Din is here.

"Grogu's asleep. I didn't want to wake him." Din clears his throat.

"Grogu." You say the name back to him slowly. It didn't seem to fit the small child who swung his little feet on the end of your counter and shoved as much pastry into his mouth as he could. "That's an interesting name."

"Came with the kid." Din's voice shifts a little bit and you wonder if it means he's smiling at a memory. Your mind predictably begins to imagine what Din's smile must look like. "I was wondering if you had any Uj cake left." He continues, oblivious to your train of thought.

"You're in luck, I just pulled a tray out of the oven for tomorrow. Come on back." You motion with your hand for him to follow you through the curtain that divides the front of the shop from the kitchen. "Sorry it's a little bit messy, haven't had time to clean up back here yet."

The kitchen looked exactly as it should, two large ovens on the right wall with fire still burning underneath, a sink filled with dirty mixing bowls, spoons, and utensils, a large table in the center of the room that served as a counter top, and in the corner there was a plush armchair that you had fallen asleep in more than once with a book open on your chest.

Your apartment was a few doors down, but you found yourself spending more time here. So much in fact that you were contemplating moving in to the back of the shop. You didn't have many possessions, mostly books, and seriously started thinking about it last night because the people who lived on top of your basement apartment were so loud that you could see the floor vibrating with the sound of their yelling.

You walk over to the tray of reddish-brown pastry cooling a rack in the center of the kitchen.

"It's alright. You should see where I live." He freezes on the edge of the room, realizing what he said, but you only laugh.

"I'm sure its no worse than my apartment. I’ve lived here a few weeks and I’m still not completely unpacked. Each time I go home I have to avoid stubbing my toe on the boxes”  You pick up a knife to cut the pastry into generous sized pieces. "But I guess you liked the Uj cake to come back here so late." You tease him, glancing up with a smile. "Midnight craving?"

He laughs and it makes your heart stutter to a halt. Even through the helmet it's hypnotic and you want to hear it again. "It was good, it reminded me of-" Din stops mid-sentence.

"Of?" You look up into his helm, wanting to hear more.

Truthfully, you were curious about him. You wanted to know more about the Mandalorian who lived on the outskirts of town, the one that everyone else seemed avoid.

"When I was a kid." He says it quieter, almost embarrassed.

"Me too. Whenever I make it I feel like I'm in my grandmother's kitchen again." You smile to yourself as the memory of her washes over you again. "She's been gone for a few years now, but I like to think that I honor her memory by baking, she taught me everything I know. Raised my brother and me by herself." You wrap the squares in tissue paper before placing them in a white paper bag.

"What about your parents?"

His question surprises you, you didn't think that he actually cared enough to listen.

"They-um- they died when I was little. My brother and I were visiting my grandmother when it happened."

"I'm sorry." Din sounds sincere.

You shrug. "I can’t remember them. My brother remembers more..." You trail off a little bit. "It was harder on him, but somehow it all turned out okay." You hand him the bag, but when he tries to reach for the credits at his belt, you push his hand away. "I don't make friends pay."

“But-“

“Din, I refuse to let you pay.” You smile wider, saying it a little more forcefully, but it holds no bite. “Don’t make me ban you for life.” I don't want to do that to Grogu."

He huffs out a laugh. "Thank you." His helmet tilts down towards you and you again try to imagine what he looks like underneath.

Would he have a strong jaw covered in a thick beard? Curly blonde hair that falls past his shoulders? Green eyes with flecks of light that resemble the stars?

No matter how many times you thought about it over the past few days, nothing seemed to fit Din.

There's an audible silence between the both of you as you stand there in the kitchen, and you don't want him to leave yet.

“You’re welcome.” You could feel yourself beginning to blush a little under his gaze. It was odd to feel someone’s eyes on you and not know what they looked like. "Now, don't forget to share with the kid. He deserves some of that too." You say raising an eyebrow and pointing to the white bag in the Mandalorian's hand.

Din chuckles. "Thank you-" He says your name and it makes the warm feeling come rushing back.

Even through the helmet, it was inviting, and made you want to curl up in the feeling it brought over you. You try not to imagine what it might sound like if he wasn't wearing the helmet.

"You're welcome Din. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't." He hesitates again, the same way he did when you'd first met in your shop. Standing in front of you for another few fleeting moments, his head tilted curiously in your direction. And for just a second you think that Din doesn't want to go either.

But he turns and shoulders his way through the curtain hanging in the doorway, boots thudding against the floor, and you hear the jingle of the door as he closes it behind him.

Something inside pricks when he leaves and maybe that scares you the most, the fact that you were already so attached to him and you didn't know anything about him except the rumors everyone in town said. The ones whispered on tremulous breath that condemned the man you were so curious about to be a blood thirsty bounty hunter who couldn't be trusted.

But in your heart those warnings held no power, because the man who'd sincerely cared about you losing your parents, couldn't be the same one.

Could he?

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist:

@jollyhunter

[ravewing]

whirlpool — is he really as awful as the fandom makes him out to be ?

a wings of fire character analysis. minor content warning for mentions of abuse, grooming, pedophilia, and the likes.

whirlpool is, indubitably, the most universally disliked wings of fire character (and by a long shot, too). in the seven years that i've been an active wof fan, i think i've only seen two, maybe three, people say that they can even stand him. ask anyone in the fandom who the "worst character" is; nine times out of ten, they will probably answer, "whirlpool." ask the reason for this, and they will probably reply with something along the lines of him being a pedophile.

but is he?

i would like to note that i am in no way defending whirlpool. he is by no means a morally good, nor redeemable, dragon. i recently reread the lost heir, so i'm trying to approach this with an unbiased, strictly objective viewpoint. this is just my analysis of his character based on what i've heard people say about him compared to his actual character in the novel.

for a character that appears only in one book (two, if you count turtle's brief flashback in talons of power), whirlpool is a character that wings of fire fans just cannot seem to let go. for countless years, whirlpool has been the subject of a wide array of jokes, memes, and is overall used as the fandom's punching bag—and with good reason (at least, to an extent). however, this has, in recent years, quickly downspiraled into blatant pedophilia jokes.

pedophilia is something that, as i've noticed, is seen as "funny" or "quirky" in certain niches of the wings of fire fanbase, especially so on reddit. make a post asking for people to share their favorite ships, and you'll get at least five people saying something like "clay x bumblebee" or "burn x auklet" to be funny. perhaps it's just the fact that most of the people cracking these "jokes" are teenaged redditors, but the fact that pedophilia is watered down to nothing more than "Boiii!😂😂Cursed funny joke🗿🍷" is, without a doubt, an issue. this downplaying of such a heavy topic not only leads to people just blatantly saying insensitive things for a bad jest, but it also results in the people making those jokes becoming desensitized to the severity of the issue.

when something as serious as pedophilia is treated as nothing more than meme fodder or a buzzword to casually throw around, it diminishes the real harm and suffering experienced by victims. and over time, this normalization will blur the line between satire and genuine endorsement and create spaces where predatory behavior is either ignored or, in the worst cases, subtly encouraged under the guise of just being “dark humor.” this kind of discourse can also alienate victims of a genuine real-world issue, which inevitably makes it harder for them to speak out or feel supported in these communities. and while yeah, humor can be a tool to cope with difficult topics, there’s a stark difference between using it to challenge harmful behaviors and using it to trivialize them.

but i'm getting off track.

whirlpool is not a good dragon. he's manipulative, concerned with nothing more than his personal status and wealth, lacks proper seawing etiquette and self-awareness of his patronizing, annoying personality, by all accounts, an awful teacher, and is just overall a condescending know-it-all. he was a one-off pretentious antagonist, and that is all he was ever meant to be.

he serves as queen coral's most trusted advisor in magic and publishing in her council, and, since he's practically bending over to kiss the ground that her talons walk on like a well-trained circus seal, she finds him to be absolutely delightful, intelligent, and just overall a brilliant gift to all the world. considering this, it's no wonder why coral arranged for him to marry anemone in the future.

that's a detail that most people seem to forget. coral is the one who set up the whole anemone and whirlpool thing. of course, this doesn't mean that whirlpool didn't want to marry anemone; it's just that he was only in it so that he could become the future king of the seawings. he is never shown to have any sort of attraction to anemone (nor to tsunami or auklet); he simply views them as pawns in a game that will ultimately result in his seat in a throne. obviously, this is not a good thing. it's implied by anemone that he was essentially manipulating her to use her magic more, thus becoming "evil" and more susceptible to challenge her mother for the seawing crown (and i'm pretty sure that blister was encouraging this, too; the only difference is that her ideal end result would be using anemone as a war weapon to secure her reign over the sandwings). he is a manipulator, but not a pedophile.

when i first read the lost heir in elementary school, whirlpool was nothing but just an annoying side character who's only trait was being a boring "erm, ackshually" kind of guy who spent his every waking moment praising queen coral's literary works. obviously, i didn't fully pick up the more serious underlying tones of manipulation for power and the intricacies of royal politics, but after re-reading the book many, many times over the course of seven years, i've gathered a much more comprehensive grasp of his character.

the thing is, he just... doesn't have that much depth to him. that's the whole point; he's meant to just be a one-off antagonist that the reader isn't supposed to like. think about it. why would tui intentionally put a pedophile in a book directed towards elementary and middle schoolers? she wouldn't. he's literally just supposed to be annoying and die.

compare him to coral, for instance. yes, whirlpool was awful. but unlike coral, he did not write a scroll about eugenics, treat and harness a dragonet like a literal dog, publicly torture and execute loyal subjects for an accident (that was really coral's brother's fault), threaten to KILL his own daughter (okay, well, he did attempt to murder tsunami, but i think it's also pretty bad to tell your kid that you're going to kill her), neglect over 30 other of his own children, among a bounty of other not-so-great things. what i'm trying to say is, people often bash repeatedly on whirlpool with the same three jokes (like, come on, at least make a new joke. like whirlpoop or something i haven't heard that one before) while overlooking awful things that other characters do as well.

people love scarlet, blister, burn, darkstalker, vulture, mastermind, and countless other villains, despite the fact that many of them have done the exact same things as whirlpool or worse (elaboration in like two paragraphs). and there's nothing wrong with liking villains at all (personally i love a ton of wof's villains; i mean, come on, who doesn't?), so long as you're not trying to justify/redeem/defend their actions!!

what i'm trying to say is this:

this extreme vilification of whirlpool relies on literally nothing but exaggeration or outright misinformation. while yes, it is absolutely true that he was manipulating anemone to serve his own ambitions, his interest in marrying her had nothing to do with attraction or pedophilia—it was calculated power play, one arranged by queen coral herself. many people conflate his manipulative tendencies with predatory behavior, but his treatment of anemone was no different than how many other power-hungry characters in wings of fire have used young dragons as pawns in their schemes. this does not make him any less of a bad person, but it is important to distinguish between the two accusations.

another major issue with the fandom’s treatment of whirlpool is the sheer inconsistency in how different villains are perceived. as mentioned earlier, characters like darkstalker, scarlet, and even queen coral have committed arguably worse acts than whirlpool. darkstalker, for instance, manipulated young dragons like anemone, moonwatcher, fathom, and his own girlfriend, placed magical compulsions on his own friends, and tried to commit genocide—yet he has a massive fanbase, with many people willing to justify or romanticize his actions. scarlet is a tyrant who tortured innocent dragons for entertainment, but she is often seen as a charismatic, even beloved villain. (i can't lie, i love her too) coral, despite being directly responsible for the forced betrothal of anemone and whirlpool, does not receive nearly as much backlash as he does. why, then, is whirlpool singled out as the worst villain when he is hardly unique in his cruelty?

the answer likely lies in the nature of his character. unlike other villains who are powerful, charming, or entertaining, whirlpool is pathetic. he is not a fearsome warlord like burn or a tragic antihero like darkstalker is meant to be—he is an annoying, self-important sycophant whose ultimate goal is to climb the social ladder by cozying up to queen coral. he is the kind of villain who is easy to mock, easy to laugh at, and easy to pile hatred onto without deeper discussion. it’s the same reason why villains like mastermind or vulture don’t inspire the same level of vitriol—they are manipulative and amoral, but they aren’t written to be particularly cool or interesting in the way that characters like darkstalker or scarlet are.

at the end of the day, whirlpool is a terrible dragon. he is an opportunistic manipulator, annoying, a pathetic wet cat, and an overall detestable character. however, the way the fandom fixates on him, and exaggerated or misrepresents his crimes while ignoring worse actions from other villains, makes me wonder: why do some villains get a "pass" while others are relentlessly mocked? why do people misrepresent certain characters in ways that turn serious topics into joke fodder? and most importantly—why are we still talking about whirlpool, a one-off side villain from a book released over a decade ago, as if he’s the worst thing to ever happen in wings of fire?

side note: i couldn't figure out how to work this in there, but i don't know where the misconception that whirlpool is a super old decaying man came from. is he far too old for anemone? without a doubt. but from what i gathered from reading tlh, it seems like he's implied to be only slightly older than tsunami; somewhere around riptide's age, perhaps. anyhow, thank you for reading my chaotic mess of a character analysis! as a treat (or an abhorrent punishment, depending on the kind of person you are), here are some funny whirlpool expressions. the last two are my favorites .. he looks like he has eyeliner on in the last one lol

[lovrre]

Agreement prt1

Art Donaldson x Fem black reader

Warnings: cursing, infidelity(kinda), slight smut (fingering) sub ish Art. Slight he loves her more trope, needy Art and probably some other stuff

Word count: 2k

Summary: Despite being engaged to one of the top and richest tennis players in the US, you feel unfulfilled. But everything changes when you transfer schools and meet Art Donaldson, who just can’t quit you.

Author note: GUYS GUYS, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. MY WRITERS BLOCK HAS BEEN SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTANDDD, But I’m finishing all my requests and unfinished fics soon so stay tuned. 😚

Sitting on the bed in your brand new silk pajamas, you found yourself distracted, just like you had been the day before and the day before that. You played with The edge of the book you were attempting to read,mindlessly repeated the last sentence over and over in your head trying to retain anything. The loud television and the whirring of the ceiling fan only added to the chaos. Plus the freezing cold air conditioning of the hotel room made it impossible to concentrate.

In a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of focus, you clumsily reached for the remote, hoping to silence at least one of the distractions. your eyes falling on your fiancé who was sleeping peacefully, his dark hair all messy, in his crisp white t-shirt that matched perfectly to the expensive hotel sheets, he looked so sweet,so innocent. You thought if he slept more, maybe everything could work out

Mike slept while snuggled into your side. Like he often did when you two shared a bed, You had attempted to remove him several times but every time he ended right back at your side so you gave up, In any other scenario his action would seem romantic but they only made you feel worse than you were already feeling. In an effort to relieve some guilt you liked to reminded yourself your engagement was never out of love but business. But then again the line did blur in the beginning of your relationship. Before you left for Stanford, you and Mike got caught up in the act of pretending be in love.

After that you could never really tell real from fake with him, he didn’t like you talking to other men. He’d shower you with really expensives grift but then leave town and not answer your calls or text for days. But when no one was watching he’d try to hug and kiss you. The whole thing was confusing, You had known idea how he persived your relationship but you knew You Felt guilty, without all the technicallys, you knew that you still lied,

The people ate up the role you and Mike played. occasionally you’d have to leave campus and go out in public holding hands or sharing kisses in the rain. But it was all for show, at least on your end. Your Dad made sure to reminded you That, it was the love sick tennis player in love with his coaches daughter that sold tickets. kept the stands full of women hoping to catch the world win romances in action. Also Brought in a large number of his clientele. He promised It wouldn’t be forever unless you wanted to be. And Really how could you complain? 20 years old engaged to One of the wealthiest and most talented tennis players in the world and he wasn't bad looking either. Before all this, you weren't too keen on love anyway, so what were you really missing out on?

~~~

Ten months before

Patrick serves but Art's attention is elsewhere. The ball zooms past Art for the second time, prompting Patrick to turn around and finally see who's behind him. His gaze lands on you, playing tennis alone on a smaller court. The sun shining off your smooth, glistening skin, and your pink tennis dress gracefully flowing with each jump and run.

"Oh, I get it," Patrick chuckles, glancing back at Art. "She's hot. You should talk to her, maybe offer her a lesson. She could use it," Patrick suggests, looking back at you as you let another tennis ball from the machine fly past you . "I think I've seen her somewhere before," Patrick mutters, tapping his racket against his leg.

Still in a daze, Art jogged over to your court. "Oh, you're serious," Patrick murmured watching as he went over to you following closely behind him. "Hi," Art greets, slightly out of breath walking up to the net. "Hi?" you respond, slightly confused, giving him a small wave.

"Are you new here?"

"To the school or the court?" You ask

"Both."

"I'm new to both” you say a little breathless wiping sweat from your forehead.

“I just transferred," you explain.

"Where did you go before?"

"A small community college in Virginia."

"What about tennis?"

"You have a lot of questions," you laugh, tapping your tennis racket against your leg.

"Im just curious “Art jokes.

"I'm just doing this because my fiancé is a tennis player. I thought I'd try to learn," you reveal.

“Finance?” Art questions.

“Yep”

“ how old are you like 20?”

“ actually 19, I turn twenty in a couple months”

“And you're getting married?” Art asked clearly dumbfounded

“Yes” you laugh at his forwardness

", is he a pro or college?", Art asked, assuming the answer would be college.

“Pro," you replied, letting your curls fall freely from your hair tie. Art couldn't help but admire how beautiful you were,too young to be tied down

"Anyone we would know?" Art asks following you as you walk over to the bench with your tennis bag. "Hmm, maybe," you hum, sitting down to tie your shoe. "Mike Fitts."

"Your fiancé is Mike Fitts!" Patrick exclaims a little too loudly. "Mhmm," you confirm, starting to tie your other shoe. "If Mike Fitts is your fiancé, why are you here?"

"Are you referring to the court or the school?" you ask, looking up at both Art and Patrick.

"Both," Art and Patrick respond in unison.

You chuckled as you stuffed your tennis racket into your bag. "Well, whether I'm engaged or not, I always planned to graduate college. And Mike is too busy right now to teach me, so I'm trying to teach myself."

The two of them nod in understanding as you stand up. "It was really nice meeting both of you, but I have class," you announce, throwing your tennis bag over your shoulder. "By the way, it would be great if you guys could keep the whole fiancé thing on the down low. I'm trying to keep it as quiet as possible for now."

"Yeah, no problem," one of them replies.

"Of course," the other adds.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," you say giving them a small smile before turning around to leave the court.

just as you're about to walk away, Art calls out after you, "Wait! You said you're trying to learn, right? we could coach you if you want” Patrick gives him a look and Art ignores it waiting for your response.

You pause, considering the offer.

”the both of you?” you asked gesturing between them. Art gives you a nod. at that moment The risk didn't seem too big so you said

. "Sure," with small shrug

"How about tomorrow at 12:30?" you suggest, checking the pink Bvlgari watch Mike got you.

"Perfect," Art responds with a shit eating smile

“Ok see you guys ” you laugh walking out the court

~~~~~~

“Yeah see” Patrick says reading a newspaper. “Olympic coach, Dylan yLn, Daughter engaged to Olympics gold medalist Mike fitts” Patrick reads next to a photo of you and Mike smiling as you showed off your huge

engagement ring. “She wasn’t bull shitting”

“Let me see” Art says grabbing the newspaper. “She didn't have on her engagement ring when we saw her...” Art trails off

“You can't be serious” Patrick laughs

“What?”

“She’s engaged Art, not to anyone either,” Patrick leaned in on the table so only he could hear. “she’s engaged Mike Fitts!”

“I didn't say anything,” Art defends

“ you don't have to” Patrick says stealing a fry off Arts plate plopping it in him mouth.

”I know you,”

~~~~~

After that day, everything seemed to blend together. Art and Patrick dedicated themselves to training you throughout the weekdays for three entire months until you got tired of it and decided on once a week. You told Mike you found a coach but never told him who. Since they were kinda the only people you knew in the entire school, the three of you grew close fast. You started going out to bars and parties together. you had your most memorable college moments with the two of them. And then, your birthday arrived. Patrick had left for some torment and it was just you and Art.

You two were just having so much fun that night. On thing led to another And before you realized it, the two of you were constantly having “fun together”. It didn't matter where - in the dorm, in the shower, or even on the floor. It was bad, but you two couldn't stop

Trying to clear your mind you Let out a sigh. you carefully remove Mike from your side sitting up to taking a sip of you're water on the nightstand. Trying to ignore the ache of your core. This is how you spent every night away from him, needy, uncomfortable. You heard a knock at the door which almost caused you to spill water on yourself. You Quickly put your drink down and run to answer it before the person could knock again careful to be quiet not to wake up Mike.

You swung the door open to find Art standing there, hair slightly damp, with huge smile on his face. "Are you out of your mind?" you whisper, stepping out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind you. You can't help but notice his thin athletic hoodie and gym shorts. Slightly wet clinging to his skin as if he just stepped out of the shower.

"It's past one ,"Art huffed out , his voice filled with urgency and desire as he leaned in for a kiss. his hand gently cradling the side of your face in the process.

When the realization of what was happening washed over you, you pulled away, but still stayed close enough to feel his breath against your skin. "Art," you breathed out, eyes darting down the hall to check if anyone saw. Your hand instinctively found its place on his strong chest, you savored the feeling and the look of your manicured nails there, not knowing when you be able to do it again.

"I like these," Art hummed, playing with the hem of your pajama shorts. He rolled the fabric between his fingers, his big hand gracing you thighs in the process. The little touch sent shivers down your spine. You somehow composed yourself pushing him away gently with your index finger, creating some distance between you two.

He looked at you with sad eyes like a rejected puppy. "Mike’s sleeping inside," you whisper, worried someone could hear. "What does that mean?"

There was a long pause as you carefully choose your next words. Art stared at you intently, trying to decipher your expression. "You slept with him?” Art asks, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, I didn't sleep with him!” You whisper yelled, “He just showered and fell asleep," you explained,

"What's bothering you then?"

"I feel guilty."

"You didn't feel guilty at Stanford."

"Mike wasn't at Stanford."

“You care about Mike's feelings now ?" Art's asks furrows his brow, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and hurt.

" I don’t know… he’s been nicer lately and were supposed to be married in three days”

“You’re actually thinking about going through with it?” Art asked the hurt now evident in his voice.

“There’s nothing I can do now, I signed contracts, this isn’t just about us anymore I’ve told you this”

“What about the private investors?”

"That's just a 'what if,' a perfect 'what if,' but we don't even know if he's seeing someone."

“ If I win tomorrow?”

“Art If you win are lose tomorrow it doesn’t change anything, my Dad expects me at the alter on Sunday regardless, nothings gonna change that”

“But you don’t love him ”

“ I could” your words come out more a question, maybe a hope. “I loved you?”

“You love me” Art corrects

"There's too much at stake now, Art. This is my father's career. We don't come from money, this is all he has."

“You honestly believe this will ruin his career?”

“It could” you reply with a small shrug your voice cracking slightly.

“It won’t” Art response

“You don’t know that”

“ Don’t do this ” Art whispered closing the small space between you. He sounded so tortured, like he was pleading with you.

you hadn't realize it but tears welled in your eyes Threatening to spill any moment. When You blinked an a tear fell down your cheek. Art tenderly brushed it away with his thumb. The stress of the last two weeks had finally caught up to you. “it wasn’t supposed to be this hard” you murmured, your voice barely audible, tears streaming down your face as Art wiped them away.

“Do you love me?” his questions sounded genuine but you knew, he already knew the answer. ”more than i’d like to” you joke, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes.

“Then let me make you feel better,” Art whispered leaning down so he was directly above your ear.

“You’re right about what you said earlier, Mike wasn’t there at Stanford”. He paused for a second moving a piece of your hair out the way, “I was,” he hummed brushing his face against yours “just me and you” he whispered leaving a trail of kisses on the outside of your earlobe down your neck. Causing Your breath catch in your throat .“We had fun right?” Art question, his voice deep and breathy causing you to instinctively press your legs together as you leaned back against the door. “Art” you mumble trying to shake the sexual haze that was swirling inside you.

“I missed you” he whispered his free hand slinking up the side of you short griping your thigh, hiking your leg up slightly. “So bad…All day”

“we can't” you manage to breathe out unconvisingly.

“I’ll beg,”

“Art” you warned

“I’ll do anything baby” he mumbles leaving slowly kisses on your neck. “Anything you want me to” he says kissing under your chin. “ I need you” he hums kissing down your neck, ”don’t you need me?” Art asked kissing below your ear. You don't respond giving small nodd biting the inside of your lip. “Can I hear it?” Art asked, the way his voice sounded so desperate, Damn near whiney had you looking for friction. ”I need you so fucking bad” you basically moan pushing your body against his.

“I love you so much you don't understand” Art said smiling against you cheek. sliding his free hand down the front of your shorts. He rubs his fingers through your folds collecting your wetness on his fingers. You throw your head back with a quiet moan, quickly biting your lip to silence yourself. “Fuck your so wet” Art groans before pulling his hand from your shorts, sucking his fingers clean like it was second nature. You clenched around nothing at the sight.

“I missed that taste” he groans returning his hand to your heat. “Can I make you cum right here” Art huffed out peeping down the hall.

"Yea,” you breathed out, nodding your head feverishly. He could have asked you to drive to the moon in that moment, and you would have said yes. Art slowly pushed two fingers inside of you creating a medium pace before bringing his thumb to rub your clit, you moan lifting your hips to meet his fingers. “Fuck I could eat you out right here” Art groaned watching you Practically fuck yourself on his fingers. “Promise me you won't ever let him see you like this” Art goans leaving kisses on your collar done. “this is mine”

”You can bearly hear a word he's saying the feeling of his thumb on your clit and finger damn near touching you cervix was too much to bear. “I’m gonna cum” you moaned out grabbing Arts shoulder hard in an effort to ground yourself. “I can feel it,” Art breathed pressing his forehead against yours. He presses down harder on your clit causing you to buck into his fingers, letting out a loud moan You cum. his movement don't falter, he continues to pump them in and out while still rubbing your clit until he feels like you've finally had enough.

he removes his fingers from your pussy returning them to his mouth. “I’ll never get tired of that” Art laughs leaning in for a kiss, you return it, taste yourself on his lips. He gently places you leg back on the floor and you stumbled slightly grading his shoulder for balance. He instantly goes to your waist holding you steady. “You ok?” Art ask slight consern on his face. You don't respond afraid of what your voice would sound like after an orgasm like that.

You nod with a smile and Art led you to the hotel room directly next to yours, pulling out a key card from his pocket with a grin.

“You didn't,” you exclaimed as he opened the door.

“I did,” he replied, motioning for you to enter.

“How did you even know our room number?” you ask, stepping inside.

“I have my ways,” he answered, closing the door behind you.

“How did you afford this?” you asked, looking around.

“Are you going to keep ask questioning or are you going to take of your clothes” Art laughs , watching as you sit on the bed.

“You first,” you countered, settling back .

“Yes ma’am,” Art chuckled, starting to undress.

~~~~

Morning arrives and you found yourself back in your original room. Mike was in the bathroom getting ready while you fix your dress in the mirror of the bedroom. As you adjust the straps, you notice a hickey you hadn't seen before, one you forgot to cover up after coming back last night. You laid your hair over it and walk towards the bathroom to retrieve your makeup bag, slightly tripping as your sore legs gave out on you. "You good?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I think I'm just sore from tennis practice," you say, reaching past him to get your makeup bag.

"You know no one expects you to play," Mike laughs while drying his hair with a towel. "I'm not doing it for anyone, I want to learn," your words come out more offended than you intended. "I just mean you could spend your time doing something else."

"Like what?" You respond plainly, walking out of the bathroom back to the mirror. "Like calling your dad and asking him what time he'll be here," Mike says from the now open bathroom. "Is your phone not working?" You asked rhetorically, pulling out your concealer . "I don't want to fight today, okay," Mike Replies sternly, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. "This is a big match," he mumbles while running his toothbrush under the water.

"I thought you said it was going to be 'nothing,'" you chuckle dryly, applying the concealer as his face was turned. "It is, but from what your Dad's been saying, he's been getting good. So I'd like to be on my A-game and not have you trying to start shit."

"Whatever you want honey" you respond, quietly laughing in disbelief. He had resorted right back to his old ways,How could you ever agree to marry someone like him, someone so vastly different from the man you spent the night with.

~~~~

soon as you and Mike were finished getting ready, your father called you to come downstairs to join him for breakfast. You and Mike both stood in line, slightly overdressed, picking out your favorite breakfast items. Mike only getting French toast, disregarding his strict diet. Suddenly, you heard a familiar laughter and turned around to see Art chatting with your father near the entrance. Your heart sank as your father motioned for you both to come over. After dropping off your plates, you and Mike walked towards them, feeling Mike's hand slip around your waist.

"I'd like you to meet someone," your father announced with a smile, putting his arm around Art's shoulder. "This is Art Donaldson," he introduced, "the man I'm competing against today." Mike stated extending his hand for a handshake, and Art reciprocated. Your stomach churned at the sight. "This is Mike, you know him, he's also my daughter's fiancé." Your father says with a smile.

"Stressful, huh?" Art jokes. "Oh, you have no idea," your Dad replies, laughing. "You're both at the same college, right? Stanford?" your Dad asked, nodding towards you. “maybe you could try your luck at training her because I just can't get through," your dad jokes. Art's eyes rake over you, as if looking at you for the first time. "It be my pleasure" Art smiles, looking directly at you. You to discreetly warn him with your eyes but You notice Mike's grip on your waist tighten, clearly not pleased. "Actually, I've been training y/n already, she's improving every day," Mike says, planting a quick kiss on your head.

"Really?" Art inquires, trying to keep up the act to the best of his abilities. "Monday through Friday," Mike replies with a smug grin. “How do you manage with your Busy schedule?” Art asks tilting his head to the side slightly in the process.

“You find time for the people you love,” Mike says with a fake smile. You had to physically hold back your laugh. But you played it off as wiping your face. He had taken a line straight from media training. Silence filled the air as the two have a silent conversation with their eyes.

“Well I wanted to introduce all of you, as I will officially be coaching Art starting next fall,"

Your Dad says in an attempt to break the tension. But it only makes it worse, Somehow Mike's grip on you tightened even more, now you were concerned he’d leave a bruise . "When did you make this decision?" Mike asked, his face showing no emotion but you could tell he was angry. "two weeks ago, and I've been waiting for the right moment to properly introduce you two. I know the timing is awkward with the match, but it's better to do it now than later."

Mike doesn’t say anything giving an expressionless nod. There was another awkward pause before you decided to speak up. "It was nice meeting you…Art?" you trail off , purposely sounding unsure. He nodded with a knowing smile. "But our food is getting cold," you joked, trying to escape the suffocating tension. "I wouldn't want to keep the couple from their food," Art said, while a smiling again only looking directly at you. You wanted to scream, he was being so obvious and the way Mike was already acting, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. "You two eat, I have to go handle some things, I won’t be long" your father said, gesturing for you and Mike to sit at the table before walking off with Art.

Once the two of you sit back at the table you feel caught. "I don't want you near that guy," Mike says, taking a sip of his coffee. You roll your eyes and stab at your scrambled eggs. “He was basically eye fucking you the whole time, and it doesn’t help that your dress is so tight”

“I think you forget sometimes this isn’t real,” you reply, taking a bite.

"Lower your voice," Mike warns, glancing around to see if anyone heard.

"You didn't care about it being real when you accepted the gifts," he scoffs, "or in Virginia."

"It was once, Mike. And every day, you make me regret it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You don't get to control me just because you buy me shit. Anyone can buy me shit."

“I told you i’m not doing this with you today” Mike laughs dryly standing up from the table. "I'll see you later, okay babe?" he says a bit louder, forcing a fake smile as he plants a kiss on your head before walking away. You try your best not to flinch when he touches you. Once he's gone, your phone buzzes, and you glance down to see an unsaved number. It's a text from Art.

“meet me at the restaurant next door in 20, alone.”

Author note : GUYS FEEL FREE TO COMMENT I LOVE READING COMMENTS

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This one's the first of many doozies. I recommend you clock out now if you think the following will distress you: mentions of rape, but no scenes or explicit description. If not, read on! Chapter Title is from Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Your first mission is delivered, and it goes about as expected. Contains usual tags, emphasis on mention of rape/non-con.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When your team stepped into the safe house, you could see the moment the smell hit their noses.

“Merde,” Frenchie was the first to speak, a poor omen within itself. “What the fuck am I smelling?”

“Uh, probably the milk and meat. They’re the strongest.”

Annie said your name carefully, watching your reaction as she spoke. “What happened.”

“He wouldn’t put away the groceries.” You said with a shrug. You were over it. It was like, ten bad things ago.

“So you just. Left them out?” Hughie said, seemingly baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Mallory said she delivered them on the first night.” Annie glanced between you and Hughie.

“She did.”

Hughie’s eyes widened further. “That was almost two weeks ago.” When you just nodded in agreement, he pushed further. “They’ve been out the whole time?”

You frowned. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“What are you, five?” 

You just sighed, giving Hughie a pleading look. “Don’t tell MM.”

“What?” Butcher taunted from the back of the group. “That he was right, and you can’t handle Soldier Boy?”

“I thought you were on my side about this.”

“I’m on the side of the truth, Love.”

Both you, Annie, and Frenchie let out huffs of amusement at that claim, with Hughie looking sheepishly amused.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” Annie gave Butcher a pointed look. He only winked in response, leaving her to turn back to you with an eye roll.

“Has it been like this,” Hughie gestured vaguely around him. “The whole time?”

“Nah. Worse.”

Really, hell would be a better word for it. After the knife incident, there had been the toilet paper incident, which you had won, the coffee incident, also your victory, the laundry incident, point Soldier Boy, the TV incident, point you, and the Lord of the Rings incident, another point Soldier Boy. The Elton John, Jimmy Carter, and Rockefeller Center incidents had ended in stalemates akin to the Cold War, but should those fuses reignite, you were sure you could take them home. Overall, you’d burned him seven times, he’d thrown two chairs at you, you tossed shit in his face once and threatened castration on fifteen separate occasions, and he had offered to sleep with you thirty-one times.

“He hasn’t, he hasn’t hurt you. Right?” Hughie wasn’t fully looking at you when he asked, his voice soft and nervous.

“No. I mean, he’s tried. Not in… that way, but I’ve had a few things thrown at me. All the physical violence died out around the laundry incident, though. Now we’re using psychological warfare.”

“Laundry incident?” Hughie said at the same time that Frenchie said, “Psychological warfare?”

“Don’t ask.” Was your response to both. You’d avoid revisiting the laundry incident in your mind for the rest of your life if you could help it, and the actual practice of your warfare was more childish than you’d like to admit.

“Well, as lovely as a reunion this has been, we need to talk to you both. Where’s the cunt,  anyway?" Butcher craned his neck to look down the hall.

“Probably moping around in his room.” You shrugged. “Let’s talk in the living room, standing at the door is weird.”

While the living room hadn’t taken even close to as much damage as the kitchen, it had not escaped you and Soldier Boy’s sparring unscathed. Books provided by the CIA, which were mostly stereotypical classics, had been upended from their shelves and strewn across the floor. The TV was still intact, as was the sofa, but the former was stuck on PBS, and the latter was, at this point, compromised of 70% trash.

“Holy shit,” Hughie muttered as he stepped over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You can’t plan on living like this the whole time?”

“Well, if America’s number one man-baby would stop moaning and bitching about his glory days, then maybe, yeah.”

Annie gave you a concerned look. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll castrate him.” Though the threat had now been made sixteen times, it never satisfied you less to say it.

“I’ve told you, Sunshine, if you did that, you would only be hurting yourself.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained over you with tense gazes. You turned to find Soldier Boy almost directly behind you. “I’ve told you, by definition, I’d only be hurting you.”

He gave a mocking pout. “Wouldn’t that plague your perfect little conscious?”

“I’d live.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“Prude.”

“Manwhore.”

“Whiny Brat.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of good pussy.”

“Waste of government money.”

“Waste of Compound V.”

“Pathetic, assfaced Dickwad.”

“Stuck up, pretentious Ice Queen.”

“Geriatric, entitled, blue-balled G.I. Joe Fuckdoll”

The room had practically vanished around you as you and Soldier Boy fell into your now well-tread path of insults. Your blood was burning with that feeling, aching to burst across the room as both of you glared hard enough to, fingers crossed, kill the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie said, breaking you out of your own spell.

“What are they doing here?” Soilder Boy asked, somehow having only just clocked their presence. “Do I finally get to do my job and leave?”

“No,” Annie answered. “We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be here at this point.”

“That’s what I said,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to your team.

“Yeah,” Soldier Boy said at full volume. “And I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Will you get off my ass about it now?”

“I think you like me on your ass, Sunshine. My offer never leaves the table.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Helpless man-child.”

“Prissy tease.”

“Glorified propaganda poster-“

“No,” Annie cut it. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Party pooper,” Butcher grumbled. “I was hoping they’d kill each other this time. Then we could just go home.”

“Well, did you at least bring me drugs?” Soldier Boy seemed to search the room, as if a pile of weed and coke would miraculously appear on the floor amongst the mess of wrappers and fluid-filled paper towels.

“We’re not buying you drugs with government money.” Annie said, giving you a look of apology. “As I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Many times,” you affirm under your breath. You’d had to hide the glue on day five, which had let to the toilet paper incident on day six. A day had not passed since where you didn’t catch him trying to turn a new household object into something to snort.

“I thought weed was fucking legal now.” Soldier Boy glared at you, as if you were personally responsible for the CIA not buying him blunts. “It’s a free fucking country. I should be able to smoke whenever I damn please.”

“Porn is legal,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean the federal government is going to bring you some.”

“If they brought me porn and weed, I’d be far more open to whatever shit you want from me.” He winked at you.

“We gave you that last time,” Hughie pointed out, shifting nervously. “It barely helped.”

“Will you be a good little supe if we come back with porn and weed? Because we can go and-“

“No, we need to do this now.” Annie spoke over Butcher, and you noticed a line of worry on her forehead, along with Hughie’s nervous fidgeting. Though Butcher didn’t seem plagued by an anxious tell, he relented to Annie faster than you’d ever seen, and alarm bells went off in your head.

“Annie,” you bit the bullet, asking softly. “What is the ‘this’ you need us for?”

She gave you an apologetic look. “Trial run.”

“Trial run?”

“We’re giving you a test, Love.” Butcher said with a smirk. “See if your little experiment is even viable. Maybe take out a player in the process. All depends on if you and him,” he jerked his head to Soldier Boy. “Do your jobs right.”

“I don’t need your little ‘test’ to know if I can do my job.” Soldier Boy snapped.

“Last time you failed,” Hughie muttered.

Frenchie nodded in agreement. “In a spectacular manner, yes.”

“Because that bitch and that pussy stopped me.” An angry scowl was thrown at Annie and Butcher, who returned it and grinned widely back respectively.

“You were going to kill a kid,” Annie said coldly.

“He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“The line of fire? Do you hear yourself? Do you really care about others so little that-“

“I’d do it again,” he snapped back, unbothered by Annie’s disgust. “You don’t get to ask me for help and get mad when I do.”

You gave Butcher a pointed look. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

Though all you got in response was a grunt from Butcher, Soldier Boy’s eyes shot to you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You returned his glare, steeling your own eyes to match his interrogating gaze. “We’re removing the ‘kill a kid’ option from your choices. You want to know why we’re stuck here? Because you fucked it last time, and we won’t let you fuck up again.”

“You won’t let me?” He sneered, leering at you coldly. “You don’t let me do anything, Sunshine.”

If the “Sunshine” thing continued to stick, you might have to throw yourself off a roof. But you didn’t flinch, just tilting your head mockingly. “You wouldn’t need a shock collar if you hadn’t bit the hand.”

“I wouldn’t bite the hand if it hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“Nobody tried to kill you, Mate.” Butcher interjected. Soldier Boy’s anger switched back to him with fists curling at his side, but Butcher kept talking with a bored drawl. “You shouldn’t have bloody fucked up.”

“And, like I said,” you shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

“If I see the shot, I’ll take it. Whether you like it or not.”

Looking into his eyes, you believed him. No doubt fogged your brain that, given the opportunity, Soldier Boy wouldn’t hesitate to take out Ryan Butcher with Homelander. Part of you, the angry and bitter part still trapped underground, understood that. But you’d see Ryan once, from afar, and he had looked so young. You didn’t have to imagine his fear or touch him to understand what it was like. For your life to change abruptly and without reason, to have to sprint to keep up with your new one. Soldier Boy had volunteered for this life. Ryan hadn’t. You hadn’t.

So, holding Soldier Boy’s gaze, you made your voice clear and steady. “You don’t get to take the shot until it’s clear. Ryan will be out of the picture before you even see Homelander.” You turned to Annie. “What’s the test?”

“Head-popper.” Butcher answered for Annie with an odd look at you. His voice carried the usual light and oddly joyful tone he used when discussing murdering supes, but his eyes on yours were quieter, with less manic vengeance than you’d seen before. If you didn’t know better, you’d call them thankful.

“Head-popper?”

Hughie jumped in at your confused frown. “Neuman.”

“Oh,” you paused, looking over Hughie’s worried face. “We’re going after Neuman?”

“Who the fuck is Neuman?” Soldier Boy asked with a reluctant grumble. You had picked up on his consistent annoyance with new things after you’d found him screaming at the microwave three days ago, and not knowing new people didn’t seem to be any different.

“She’s a supe who can pop people’s heads like balloons.” Frenchie gestured in imitation for effect. “It’s disgusting.”

“And she’s the VP elect, which would put an ally of Homelander in the White House, one step from the Oval Office.” Annie said pointedly, giving Frenchie a look. You offered him a small smile over her head. Though the demonstration hadn’t been helpful, watching his hands fly around mimicking Neuman’s powers was undeniably entertaining.

“She's dangerous,” Hughie added. “But she’s not a bad person. We don’t want to kill her, just remove her powers.”

“What do we need her for then?” You didn’t have to look to know Soldier Boy’s accusation was directed at you. You bit your tongue, trying to ignore the way the words seeped into your skin.

Because he’s right. A cruel whisper said into your ear, and the itch on your skin began to feel like a rash. You were saved from the plague of your thoughts—the urgent feeling to fall prompted by almost nothing—by Butcher.

“If you think you’re going anywhere without her, Governor, you’d better get used to being wrong. She’s there for the same reason she’s here. So you don’t go postal.”

Soldier Boy gave you an unreadable look as the rush of your heart in your chest slowed from Butcher’s words. You turned away from him, but you could almost feel his eyes through your skull as you looked at Butcher with a blank face.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, praying it would be simple, with as few people as possible around and, ideally, in the middle of a desert filled exclusively with fire extinguishers.

“MM and Kimiko are doing recon on one of Bob Singer’s rallies. Frenchie will create a distraction for the secret service, and Neuman’s personal detail is going to suddenly disappear-“

“Disappear?” You interrupted Butcher with raised eyebrows.

“Keep your panties on, they’ve been bribed. Once she’s isolated, Soldier Boy’ll blast her, and we can all go home confident in your little gambit.”

You hesitated, trying to imagine the last political rally you’d seen. Group of people in tight groups, electrical wiring for microphones, speakers, and lights. Gates and closed doors, hallways leading out onto streets. “How are we going to isolate her?”

“Me and Butcher will work on that,” Annie said, almost reaching for you with a reassuring pat, but thinking better and jerking her arm back. She opened her mouth, an apology certainly on her, but you raised your hand to cut her off.

“How long until we leave?” You asked. Maybe they’d say ‘three hours’ and you’d get to talk to someone who didn’t think swing music was sonically viable for a bit.

Hughie checked his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Ago?” Your eyes widened.

He gave you a sheepish look. “We thought it would take less time to get you.” He turned to Soldier Boy. “Your suit’s in the van. I can bring it out-“

“I can change on the way.” Soldier Boy grumbled, ignoring Hughie’s start of sputtering protests. “Let’s get this over with.”

———-

Much to his annoyance, they had forgotten Ben’s shield, and nobody would let him change in the van. He tried several times, only to be met by a chorus of groans, shouting, and swearing. He had listened to their complaints only because she had started giving him a look he recognized as a flag for a storm of uncontrolled fire. No hot disgust or sparks of rage, only a cold and quiet, almost glassy-eyed stare. Her heart steady but her breathing too fucking controlled to be natural, measured so equally that it sounded mechanical. So, because he figured she would only become more bitchy to live with if she incinerated her alleged “friends”, Ben stopped trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Once he did, the van fell insufferably silent. The edged pleasantries and conversation he’d overheard during Butcher and his band of Assholes arrival had ceased save for tense questions and hushed conversations. Ben didn’t fail to notice all the spineless avoidance and careful words directed at them both. She, even after the foggy look faded, remained curled into a corner, trading small and toothless smiles with her team. More timid than he’d seen her before, almost like a scolded child as she looked around the van nervously. Her eyes watched the shadows as though Homelander himself might jump from them, the chew of her lip giving Ben a headache. The only words she spoke were a jab at Ben when he’d said something about political rallies post-election being fucking pathetic—giving him a lecture about American politics now heavily depending on something called “going viral”—only to fall silent once more after. Her team looked at her like a glass bomb, as if she was a delicate statue looming over their heads and not the vulgar, violent woman who slept down the hall from him. That woman infuriated him, testing his patience every time she opened her mouth, but this paranoid, skittish pussy of a girl was so much worse. So when the van halted and Butcher’s team began to filter out, he called her name. When she ignored him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck!” She pulled herself out of his grip in a second, staring at him with anger. She glanced down at her arms, a look he didn’t understand crossing her face, before returning her attention to him. “Do not touch me.”

“I barely touched you,” he glowered, annoyance quickly flooding him. He had only brushed skin, with a light grip she had thrown off, there was no need to be so dramatic. “When I touch you for real, you’ll fucking know, Sunshine. And you’ll fucking beg for it. I needed to make you listen, you were fucking ignoring me.”

Her brows knit, and he heard the chew of her teeth on her tongue. “I’m not going to beg for anything, and I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“I said your name, and you kept fucking walking.”

“I didn’t hear you.” She snapped, but didn’t relent. “Speak up next time.”

She knew just as well as Ben did that they were both far from quiet, pussy-voiced fuckers. And while he definitely hadn’t yelled for her attention, it shouldn’t have fucking mattered. He’d seen her pick up his grumbled insults and mocking comments just fine over the past two weeks. “Bitch.”

“What do you want?” She asked with a sigh, ignoring his jab and looking at him as if he exhausted her just by breathing. “We have to go, and you still need to change.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.” He said, not hiding the contempt from his voice. He wasn’t going to skirt around his thoughts, lining them gently to help her fucking feelings.

Her body tensed, her limbs looking as if they’d locked into place. “Like what?” Ben heard her swallow as she answered, her voice not lost enough to make her sound clueless to his words.

“Like you’re a child they have to coddle. A problem they have to deal with.”

She stared at him, her glassy-eyes returning. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, cunt-face.”

Ben snorted. “They don’t treat you like the bitch you are. They always use that sweet, pussy voice, like they’re talking to a fucking puppy, when they say something to you. They’re always all fucking pouty when they look at you, pussyfooting around so they don’t make you sad.” He gave her a mocking grin, hoping the next words landed like a bullet. “They treat you like me.”

It had clearly worked, as the van had grown hot, and her eyes were clearing as her heart began to pick up. Ben felt an odd feeling cover him as he heard it, almost familiar and sparking pride in his chest. She wasn’t a jittery shell anymore, she was going to try and kill him. It made his grin grow genuine, and the van grew only more heated, the air waving around them.

Her mouth opened, and Ben hoped whatever came out of it would be vile and crude.

“Hey!” She turned her head and clenched her jaw as someone called her name from outside, the van rattling as a fist banged against it. “We need to go!”

The door opened to reveal the Cocksucker, whose face grew quickly red, a bead of sweat falling from his hairline, as he was blasted with a quickly dying wave of heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning from Ben as the heat dropped further. “Coming.”

Cocksucker gave her a worried look, his gaze flying quickly to Ben, but just nodded and stood aside for her to move past.

As the door closed and Ben began to change, he listened for their soft, tense words.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Cocksucker’s voice was nervous and gentle, like being suffocated by one of those fucking fluffy blankets Ben had seen in the empty bedroom of the safe house.

“No, he just grabbed me to talk. And you don’t have to keep asking me that. I’m fine, and it’s not as helpful as you think it is.” Ben frowned at her voice, the malice from it drained entirely in only a few seconds, replaced with only a tired hollowness.

“Grabbed you?! Like, he touched you?”

Having anticipated Cocksucker being more interested in the “talk” part of her sentence, or the shit that sounded like it was about feelings, Ben's brain rattled over Cocksucker’s word, his tone of panic looping in Ben’s head. He spoke of Ben’s touch as though it were a plague, and not something many people would kill to feel. Ben almost burst out of the van to say just that, but froze when he heard her answer.

“It was fast, I didn’t feel much. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go the rest of my life without touching people.” Her voice had a finality to it, and Ben could almost picture her downturned lips and wrinkled brow.

“You touch us when you heal us.” Even Cocksucker’s voice didn’t sound sure of his response.

“It’s not the same, and you know that.”

There was a momentary stall in their words, and Ben took the opportunity to emerge, securing his belt as he walked to the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see, but Cocksucker looking pathetically around, anywhere but the woman as she curved into herself, wasn’t it. She held a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of her jacket, her thumb running up and down in small movements. They both turned to him as the door banged open, and Ben caught the empty look behind her eyes before her indifference slipped back into place.

“Did you hurry me just to sit around like pussies, or are we going to start fucking moving?” He asked, the air feeling too uncomfortable to sit in.

Cocksucker blinked, glancing at his watch. “We have a few minutes until they arrive, but I guess it can’t hurt to be vigilant-“

“Arrive?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Ben saw smoke curl from her hold on her jacket. “They’re coming here?”

Cocksucker nodded. “It’s a high-security escape exit-“

“It’s a fucking street, Hughie.”

“That’s used as a high-security escape exit.” After a moment of searching the area, Cocksucker pointed a few yards down, at a large door set against brick. “Neuman will come right out of there, and her guards will close her out here, where Soldier Boy will blast her.” He paused, glancing at Ben, before looking back at the door and taking small, cowardly steps away from his spot between them.

“It’s a public area, anyone could walk past! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Her voice was hushed and agitated, and Ben had never seen her face lose color at that speed before, had never heard her heart stutter and jump as if trying to escape her body.

“It’ll be fine,” Cocksucker’s voice wavered, giving them both a nervous look. “It should be fine. MM said it would be fine.”

“You heard him, Sunshine,” Ben gave her a wink, adding a half-cocked smile when she didn’t even return him with a dirty look. “MM said it would be fine. And have some fucking faith in me, I’m not a fucking monster. I won’t blast any running pussies except for this head-popper broad.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.” Her tone wasn’t quite the vicious mockery he was used to, but it was better than the apathetic, empty voice she’d been using. She was rolling on the balls of her feet, speaking without looking at him, her eyes moving restlessly from the door to the end of the street. “And I don’t believe you.”

Ben just shrugged, allowing the silence to hang. The wind was picking up, whistling through the chill of winter air, making the heat around them, emitting from both Ben and the woman, all the more obvious. Despite the biting cold, Cocksucker had taken off his stupid puffy jacket, even stepping back further from where they stood, with Ben in the center of the street and the woman off to the left. Despite her slowly stepping further and further back, her back now almost against the wall, Ben could feel her watching him, hear her heart continue its new and erratic beat.

“How long now, Hughie?” Her voice was raised to carry over the wind, though it hadn’t lost that stupid fucking weakness. Cocksucker, thank fuck, didn’t get a chance to respond with pathetically comforting words, as only one skipping heartbeat after she spoke a shrill fire alarm sounded.

“I’m assuming that’s your stupid French fuck's plan?” Ben asked dryly. “Start a fucking fire? I thought you pussies were all about minimal damage.”

“He probably just pulled the alarm.” The Cocksucker’s answer lacked any confident assurance. “And I think we’re just against needless murder.”

Ben almost started to rant about their so-called needless murder being a mighty high horse for a group of people who had manipulated him just as much as Vought, who’d been willing to help him kill all those backstabbing pussies from Payback so he’d help them. About how their stupid fucking moral purity complex seemed to adjust perfectly to aid them, and maybe he wasn’t a fucking angel, but he was strong and powerful—something they fucking needed—man, and he wasn’t a pussyfaced liar about what he was, what he did. The words died on his tongue, though, as hundreds of frenzied footsteps reached his ears.

“Fuck!” he growled, turning around and pointing at Cocksucker. “You fucking pussy.”

Cocksucker gave him an idiotically confused stare. “Dude, uncalled for.”

“She,” Ben pointed to the woman, whose heart was beating impossibly fast and looking on with a bloodless face. “Was fucking right. This is a stupid plan, because unless your head-popper walks like a human centipede, it’s not going to be just her that I fucking hit when that door opens.”

Cocksucker only gaped at him like a fish as the footsteps grew louder, annoyingly unsure stutters  escaping him, and just as Ben decided it might be good to slap the idiot out of his daze, the woman stepped forward.

“We need to move, Hughie. Now.” Her voice wasn’t steady, her whole body was tensed and hyper, but it held a determination Ben almost admired. “We can’t be here.”

“He- he could be fucking lying, or wrong-“

“That’s not a risk we can afford to take.” She cut off Cocksucker’s doubts, and Ben found himself surprised at her defense of him, even if it could barely be called that. Her hands were smoking once more, but she had firmly planted herself in the middle of the road, eyes turning sharply to Ben. “If people see you, any element of surprise over Homelander would be lost. We need to fucking move, you need to get in the fucking van now-“

The door banged open, and the streets flooded as hoards of people in star and stripe-themed outfits flooded the road. Everything became so loud, and that rapt, snapping sound in Ben’s head started to spread through him, spurring the drum in his chest. They were finding rhythm so fast, everything fading as Ben tried to slow it. But there were screams and shouts, and everything was getting further and further away from him while carving into him all the same, so though Ben could hear the sounds of metal clanging and shouts of his supe name, he couldn’t think anything past the beat beat beat, until he lost it all at once.

As his vision grew clear with his head, Ben expected to see shattered bodies and bloody walls. Instead, all he saw was the woman and fire. Her face was flushed red, her eyes crazed, and her clothes had become charred with holes as the fire surged from her into a barrier, cutting them off from the crowd. Cocksucker was yelling her name, urging them both to return to the van and leave, but as Ben moved, he glanced back to see the woman frozen and heard her heart as if it were his own. The wall was growing wider and shooting high, Cocksucker wouldn’t shut the fuck up about moving, but her eyes had squeezed shut, unresponsive to anything but the growing flames.

“We need to fucking go, now!” Ben turned to see a large man he vaguely recognized barreling down their side of the street, his face twisted in anger. Butcher, Starlight, a small woman he remembered fighting, and that French prick followed him, all loading into the van as the large man stopped beside Cocksucker.

“I told you he’d fucking blow it,” the man said, giving Ben a disgusted look, so flawlessly revolted Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fucking practiced in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t fucking blow it, you pussy-“

“You said that Neuman would come out of here, that it would just be her!” Cocksucker, much to Ben’s shock, cut him with a high voice and a wave at the wall of fire. “That’s way more than just her! Is she even there?!”

“No,” the man said gruffly. “Neuman saw Butcher and figured out something was up. She’s long gone.”

“Fuck!” Cocksucker yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Oi, we can go over how MM fucked up later,” Butcher leaned out from the van. “We need to go before she sends Homelander.”

“How I fucked up? You’re the one who disobeyed me and blew our cover-“

“What’s wrong with Madame Anomaly?” The French Prick appeared at Butcher's side.

Cocksucker glanced at the woman, calling her name before turning to the large man Butcher had called MM. “She absorbed Soldier Boy’s blast. I think it got her stuck.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get Soldier Boy in the van, I’ll take care of the Anomaly.” MM repeated the French Prick’s words, and Ben realized they were, for the first time, using the woman’s supe name.

“You heard him, Gov. Get in the bloody van.” Butcher’s words were clearly directed at Ben, but as he climbed into the van Ben saw Butcher’s attention locked on the woman.

MM had moved closer to the woman, a move Ben deemed more fucking stupid than brave. If she had “absorbed his blast,” as Cocksucker said, he wouldn’t recommend any non-supe be anywhere near her. MM seemed to realize this himself at the last possible second, taking a pathetic, stumbling step back with a pause. He and Cocksucker exchanged a look, something passing between them that Ben didn’t understand, before Cocksucker leaned down to grab a pebble from the road. Ben watched as he shakily shook out his arms, wound up, and tossed the pebble at the woman.

It was a terrible fucking idea, Ben didn’t have to be Einstein to know that, but the chain reaction that played out still managed to go worse than he might have guessed.

The woman whirled around, her eyes blazing, with a roar sounding from her chest. Fire shot from the wall directly at Cocksucker. In almost slow motion, Ben watched her face become painted with horror as she recognized her target, a different, fearful sound leaving her. She reached an arm out, her heart seeming to falter, and barely redirected the flames before they hit Cocksucker in the chest. The blaze just grazed Cocksucker’s arm, passed the van clear of anyone else, and hit the building with a boom.

The moment the bricks caught fire and the ground began to shake as the building crumbled, the woman's wall of fire fell. The woman herself remained upright, but only barely as MM shouted her name and she started to stumble to the van. Cocksucker was hauled in by Starlight and the French Prick, the former fussing over his burnt arm—Ben had seen worse at Herogasm and nobody whined about it—and Cocksucker waved her off. The woman pulled herself in, ignoring Butcher’s outstretched hand, and the door closed behind her. MM appeared in the driver’s seat, and as the engine started everyone fell into a heavy-breathed silence.

Through the ride, Ben watched the woman open and close her mouth a million times, returned to her fetal position in the corner but watching Cocksucker with a strained face. Her hands tapped against her still-smoking jacket, reaching out hesitantly before she pulled them back into herself. No words were spoken, not even the anxious whispers of the ride there. Ben felt relief as the van stopped, MM climbing out and opening the doors to reveal the exterior of the safe house, grateful for any excuse to leave these stupid, sniffing pussies to wallow in their failure.

MM led Ben and the woman to the doors, opened them by leaning oddly at the doorbell, and gestured for them to walk through. The man followed them in, shutting the doors behind him with a rough push.

“If we failed the test, I am not doing that fucking shit again.” Ben grumbled as MM turned around from the now-shut entrance.

“Butcher told me about the fucking mess you and him made in here.” MM ignored Ben entirely, speaking to the woman as if he wasn’t even there. “A team cleaned it up while you were gone, and Mallory will send more groceries tomorrow night. I saw a picture, it was fucking gross. I’m only doing it once, because I don’t want a new disease to develop in here. You’re an adult, you should take care of this place by your goddamn self.”

The woman looked at her feet, humming a small acknowledgment. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Is Hughie going to be okay?”

MM sighed. “The kid will live. I’ll look at him when we get back.”

“I could help-“

MM cut her off with her name. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

She gave another nervous hum, and Ben jumped in.

“Can you answer my fucking question-“

“We’ll let you know what our next steps are after we talk to Mallory and Singer. This wasn’t good, but it’s not the end of the damn world.” Once again, MM ignored Ben. It was starting to feel personal. Before Ben could push further, MM reached a hand out to rest on the woman’s shoulder, right over a hole in her sleeve. Her head shot up with her heart, but the panic in her seemed to evaporate just as soon as it appeared. Her name was gentle as MM spoke it, eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t fuck up. You did your job.” She nodded slowly. “It’ll be fine.” With those last words, he exited the building, leaving Ben and the woman in the hall.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Ben grunted, half directed at the woman, half to just say it.

She gave him a flat look. “You killed his family.” Before he could come up with a clever response, honest or dodging the annoying feeling of guilt forming in his throat, the woman turned from him and walked away.

———-

You were so tired. Your bones ached, oddly cold in a way you hadn’t felt in a while, your skin crawled with feverish chills, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the flames graze Hughie and the building turn to dust. As MM’s lingering calm he’d offered you faded, all you felt was tired. Worthless. A liability. You had fucked up, just as much as Soldier Boy. Maybe more so, because he had PTSD, even if he would deny being a “hung-up pussy”. He had lost control because he’d been tortured by Russians, you’d almost killed your friend and definitely destroyed a rec center because you’d been startled. You just wanted to sleep, to deal with the inevitable fight about groceries in the morning, running on more than quickly expiring adrenaline and caffeine pills stuck in your throat.

You made it to your room, changing into one of the pajama sets folded in your drawers, hoping someone mentioned that the allegedly fire-proof wardrobe you’d been given apparently wasn’t strong enough for the full force of your fire combined with Soldier Boy’s nuclear explosions. A shame, you’d liked the pants you’d chosen for the mission. You’d live without the jacket, though. You’d hardly pulled the shirt over your head when the door ripped open, a still suit-clad Soldier Boy standing at your door.

“What fucking happened to you?” His question was blunt and confusing as he entered your room, remaining near the door but over the threshold.

Your body was too heavy to fight with him right now. There was no tense prickling on the bridge of your nose, only the throbbing stab of a headache. “Go away, Soldier Boy.”

“All of you have a fucking thing. A weird, sad reason to whine around and pretend you’re better than me.” He didn’t budge, but rather leaned forward. “What’s yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I killed MM’s family. Butcher’s always pussying around about Homelander stealing his girl. Cocksucker mentioned something about that fast asshole doing something as well. I’m not sure what the French Prick bitches about, but I’m sure it’s something.”

“First of all, you did kill MM’s family.” You really don’t want to do this right now, but maybe he’ll give up and fuck off. A fruitless wish, a small part of you knows, but you have nothing left to push back with. “And Homelander didn’t ‘steal Butcher’s wife’, he raped her.”

“Right.” Soldier Boy watched you, his expression unreadable in the shadowy room. “Those are all fucking things. So tell me what yours is.”

“I don’t have one,” even as you speak the insistence, it sounded fake and hollow.

He takes another step forward. “Yes, you do. I saw how you froze, nobody without a thing locks up like that. I heard Cocksucker ask you if I ‘hurt you’. Just for the record, Sunshine, I may not be a Boy Scout, but I’m no fucking rapist.”

“You’ve tried to sleep with me thirty-three times.”

“And I’ll blow your mind when you realize how much you’d love it, no sooner. What’s your fucking thing.”

You stare at him, the intensity in his voice throwing you off. He’s insistent, comfortable in your room but standing at his full height, attention fixed entirely on you. That impression of dissection has returned—the feeling as if he’s trying to pick you apart for him to play with. “Why do you even care?”

“Because maybe if you tell me, I can kill what supe fucked up your pretty little head and you’ll be less of a bitch.”

You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. “What a selfish fucking cunt reason.”

He shrugged in something that could’ve been an agreement. “Maybe.” He falls silent, but doesn't leave.

You collapse to sit on the edge of your bed, staring ahead as you rub your temple. “Please just go.”

“No.”

You look at him, not caring if he sees the desperation in your eyes. “Can this not wait six hours for the morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know any words but no?” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t miss his annoyed humph. “Oh, just fucking tell me.”

“No.” It was your turn to snap. Your exhaustion was becoming lined with bitter childishness, and you didn’t care enough to try and suppress your urge to sneer at him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an idiotic, self-absorbed, sadist asshat who wouldn’t know empathy if it started sucking his dick.” You mocked.

He grinned. “Ok, now name my bad qualities.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll start guessing,” he took another step forward, now almost directly before you. “Did that red-headed lesbian steal your puppy?

You frowned up at him. “Maeve was bisexual.”

“Did Noir take credit for a college project?” He ignored your comment, leaning down with a mocking smirk.

“Trust me, I got all my dues in college.”

“Did that gay-for-Jesus blond steal your boyfriend? Did the fast asshole that stole Cocksucker’s girl break up with you? Did water-boy eat your goldfish?”

“I’ve never met Ezekiel, A-Train actually murdered Hughie’s girlfriend, and The Deep famously doesn’t eat seafood, he fucks it. But by all means, keep going.”

Soldier Boy blinked. “He fucks it?”

“Yep. It’s gross.” You shrug. “Are you done?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You give a toothless smile. “Not until you get all your guesses out.”

“Oh?” There was unquestionable surprise in his voice at your relent, only making your fake cheer grow and your immature anger fully overtake you.

“I want you to feel like a real fucking asshole when I tell you.”

His face split open with a grin. “Well then, did the Twins kick you out of Herogasm? Did that bitch, Crimson Countess, overshadow your big debut? Did a Z-lister get more attention than you from the Vought pussies?”

You just raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms as Soldier Boy continued until the list of supes ran dry. As the last jeer left his mouth, he mirrored your face of cold amusement.

“Well?”

You leaned back, watching him closely as you spoke. “Homelander kidnapped me, kept me in a dungeon, raped me in an attempt to make more mini-Homelanders, and, after you returned, started experimenting on me to try and recreate the V used on you.”

A small shock rushed through you after you spoke. You hadn’t said any of that out loud, not fully, since you’d escaped. You danced around it with Butcher and his team, with Mallory and the CIA leaders, always picking and choosing parts to omit so nobody would look at you with pity and fear. It hadn’t worked, they did anyway, but there had still been control over it. Up until this moment, nobody had known why Homelander had done all those things to you. Everyone had seemed happy to chalk it up to him being a fucking psychopath, not anything deeper. Certainly not attempting to create a small army of additional Ryan Butchers. Small things were still yours, flashes of hunger and warped sounds remaining in your head, but everything else you had just told him.

Why did you do that? A voice hissed as the high from your petulance faded. Why did you let him win? Why did you give him a weapon to use that could hurt you?

But looking at him, he didn’t appear to be a portait of self-satisfaction and heartless triumph. He was staring at you, scanning you as though the scars Homelander left would be visible on your bare legs and arms. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t weak or coddling, but angry.

“He kept you locked up?”

You nod, part of you getting ready to fight him over something.

“He hurt you? To try and recreate me?” Your repeated nodding only seemed to inflate whatever was happening. “Did it hurt?”

Your arms and face started at that, an uncertain feeling spreading through you. There had been no reverent tone as Soldier Boy had asked the last question, no sadistic for affirmation. But you didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Why he even wanted to know. But an involuntarily honest answer escaped you. “Yes.”

He stared at you for another second before he opened his mouth, only to close it without making any sound. Abruptly, he whipped around and began to leave, giving you only one more indecipherable look as he closed the door behind him, leaving you on the edge of your bed, alone in your room.

You lay down slowly, half expecting him to storm back in at any moment, but minutes passed, quickly turning into a half hour, and your body sat at the edge of collapse once more. Soon it was unbearable, and you lay down, your racing mind being forced to a halt as sleep pulled you under.

Your sleep, as had been the case for a while now, was haunted by nightmares of blue eyes and yellow, fluorescent lights. You woke up in a cold sweat, and took a long, needlessly warm shower before forcing yourself to leave your room around 9:30. Despite your lingering fatigue, no part of you wasn’t restless as you walked down the stairs. Your body tense and ready to run, your head spinning with hypotheticals and lining up words you may need—that feeling under your skin creeping up your spine and fluttering in your gut. But Soldier Boy wasn’t in the living room or the hall. You poked your head in the dining room, hoping to avoid the minefield of the kitchen, but it was empty, the plastic chandelier lights off, the table occupied only by a vase of wilted flowers. You moved to the kitchen, ringing growing in your ears, but he wasn’t there. You turned to walk away, continue your search, but double-back as it hit you.

Nothing was in the kitchen. It was empty. Of Soldier Boy, and of the groceries MM said would be delivered.

You wandered in slowly, watching the counters as if they might start to glitch and flicker, revealing hidden produce and dirty dishes. But, leaning over the sink, there was a single plate, soaking in water that was dotted with crumbs. Slowly, you moved to the refrigerator, slowly opening it as you glanced around the room. Your eyes widened at the sight inside. Milk, drinks, and produce had been placed inside, disorganized and haphazardly. There was a jar of mayonnaise in the fresh drawer, along with a box of pasta on a side shelf, but the fridge was full. You moved quickly to the pantry, which had been sorted in a similar fashion, but filled. And when you opened the last cabinet, you saw a piece of paper stuck under a jar of peanut butter.

I know I did a shit job. Clean up if it bothers you, but don't bitch to me about it. And tell Mallory to get smooth peanut butter next time, or I’m not doing anything for her but killing Homelander - Ben

[mingigoo]

hi sie!! i'm happy to see that your requests are open and would like to request something myself c: 1. seonghwa 2. roommate au 3. prompts 11 and 17 4. with spice please 🙏 thanks so much! i rly appreciate you and your writing even if you can't get to this 💕

I hope you like this!!! really enjoyed writing this one :)

— sleep-talker || p.sh (m.)

“You know you sleep talk?” 

“Stop looking at me like that.

🌊pairing ⇢ (fem) reader x roommate! Seonghwa

🌊 summary ⇢ when you and your friends decide on a trip to the beach for spring break, you get stuck rooming with the man you "hate" the most. The line between love and hate is as thin as ice, and you were about to break it.

🌊 genre/au ⇢ roommates au, vacation au, one bed trope, forced proximity au, smut

🌊 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors DNI, wet dreams, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, PDA, "enemies" to lovers, one-bed trope, teasing, jealousy, intense tension like holy hell

🌊 word count ⇢ 10.2k words

🌊 taglist ⇢ @jjhmk @yesv01 @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @yukine-smx @y00nzin0 @8tinytings @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts (please let me know if I forgot you!)

masterlist

ateez masterlist

“Are you for real right now?”

Spring break. A time for rest, relaxation, and lots and lots of sex.

And now, your plans of being a whore for the vacation were ruined.

“Yes, y/n. I can't afford another room just for you to have to yourself,” Hongjoong, your older brother, mumbled as he stuffed the last bit of clothes into his luggage. “You’ll have to room with Seonghwa. San and Wooyoung already called each other.”

He zipped up his suitcase and stood up to leave, but he couldn't get off that easily. “Please, Joong. I’ll do anything. Cant I just room with you and Mingi?” he hastily made his way out of his room and into the living room, trying his hardest to get away from you. “I’ll sleep on the floor. No blanket, just the floor. Please.”

He turned to face you, a confused expression on his face. “Why are you so adamant about not staying with Hwa? What did he ever do to you?” he asked you, genuinely curious. The truth is, he did nothing to you personally. Maybe that was why you hated him, because god, if he gave you the time of day, you would pounce on him like a cat in heat.

You groaned, running a hand through your messy, unwashed hair. “Because he’s a dumb ass jerk that gets everything he wants.” 

Hongjoong laughed at you and turned away. “It's only a week, y/n. He’ll probably spend most of his time in our room, anyway. Just bring a book to read or something to distract yourself.”

As if reading is the thing you'll be focused on if you were in a room with him. Oh Nah, you'll be wishing he’d walk around shirtless and hoping he somehow takes a shower and walks out with nothing on—

“I hope you're packed and ready….” Joong trailed off as he looked at your messy exterior, and stifled a laugh. “And if you're thinking of getting laid, you might want to shower.”

You slapped him on the shoulder, having no drive to shower. You'll get one when you get there. It's not like you were that stinky.

“Shut up, dickhead.”

You stood on the sidewalk of your apartment building, Hongjoong’s little yellow Geo Tracker sitting there lookin’ all cute. However, the tiny thing only had five seats.

There were six of you.

“Welp looks like I can't go! What a shame, what a shame,” you sarcastically yelled out, tossing your hands in the air exasperatedly.  “Have fun without me!”

“Shut your mouth, will you?” Hongjoong groaned, tossing your luggage into the “trunk” or whatever it was. “It's only a ride to the airport. You can sit on someone’s lap for ten minutes.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why am I the one that has to do that? Wooyoung is like the size of my arm. He can do it.”

Joong shut the trunk with force at your comment, totally disregarding you. “Hop in,” he said. “Enjoy shotgun while you have the chance.”

You got in reluctantly, even though you were very excited about the beach itself. Your excitement was short-lived as you approached the devil’s lair.

“Stay here, I’ll go help them,” Hongjoong mumbled, pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead as he put the car in park. 

You nodded, your arms crossed over your chest. You didn't mind the rest of the group— San and Wooyoung always knew how to make you laugh, and Mingi was absolutely eye candy. You wouldn't mind sitting on his lap on the way to the airport.

Just as you got comfortable with your head resting against the window, the door abruptly opened, causing you to nearly fall out of the vehicle. “For fuck’s sake, who the hell—” your words got caught in your throat as you met eyes with Park fucking Seonghwa. “Oh, it's you…”

He stood there, his thin torso draped in a sheer white top and his long, lean legs covered in a pair of black pants. You swallowed your drool like a schoolgirl, making sure he never knows how you think of him.

“What?” you raised your eyebrow, not moving an inch and not even reaching to unplug your seatbelt. “This seat’s taken, buddy.”

He snickered, his lips mockingly curled up in a sneer. “Oh, aren't you a sweetheart? Now move, I called shotgun.”

“Well, I did first.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

“Yes—”

“Neither of you are getting shotgun,” your brother laughed from behind Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung giggling like the goofs they are next to him. You still didn't move, even as Joong approached and unbuckled your seatbelt for you. “Y/N, please help me out here.”

You debated on throwing a fit, but knowing that it would just cause more problems, you sighed and pushed yourself out of the front seat. Now standing on the curb of the sidewalk right in front of Seonghwa, you tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. His gaze was intense—it made you envision what it would be like in bed, looking down at him from above, and how his eyebrows would knit together in pleasure. God, you needed to get laid this vacation, or you were going to be suffering from delusions.

Without warning, Mingi pushed through both of you, interrupting your staring contest.

“We better go, I don't want to listen to their bickering any longer,” the tall boy huffed as he plopped himself in the front seat, a proud smile resting on his lips. 

San sat in the backseat on the right, Wooyoung next to him in the middle. That left either you or seonghwa to fight to the death for that last seat, but you knew how this was going to end.

And it wasn't going to end well.

—

“You comfortable, y/n?” your brother called from the driver’s seat, looking back at you through the rearview mirror.

You frowned so deeply you could've sworn your face was permanently stuck like that.

There you were, in the back of the car, in the most uncomfortable seat ever. Seonghwa groaned underneath you, his bony body not offering you any wiggle room. You didn't answer your brother, you were certain your expression was enough of a response.

You adjusted yourself on Seonghwa’s lap, looking out the window for any distraction. As you moved, you felt him move his hips, and you had to shut away your filthy thoughts about him as soon as they came. Between his movements and his groans, your stomach was knotting in something more than butterflies.

The car was filled with conversation, however, you and Seonghwa remained quiet and in your own little worlds. As the others bantered, you pushed yourself up further on his lap, grimacing as you heard him let out a grunt in your ear. 

And then when his hands gripped onto your bare thighs, you were the one to gasp.

“Stop moving,” he whispered in your ear with haste, almost like a sneer. You kept your vision forward as his breath danced in your ear. “It hurts.”

You swallowed hard. “Oh? Is your little dick that sensitive?” you whispered back, smirking. You moved again, this time on purpose, feeling his bulge through his pants. You kept your cool, ignoring his shaky breaths from behind you. “Are you that happy to see me, Hwa?”

“Shut your mouth or you won’t see the sunrise,” he hissed, but his voice was weak. 

The ten-minute ride felt like an eternity as he breathed underneath you, your mind constantly thinking about how hard he was getting underneath you and how sweet it would be to turn around and face him to see his reaction to you.

You looked to your right, seeing Wooyoung with a knowing smile on his face. “What?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, grinning. “Nothing, nothing,” he said, letting out a giggle. “Just that you both seem…cozy.” 

You slapped him on the shoulder, your movements causing Seonghwa to wiggle underneath you.

“Dammit, Y/N I told you to stop moving,” he seethed, his grip on your thigh tightening. Hongjoong looked back through the mirror, worry in his expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked, meeting your eyes before focusing on the road once again. “We’re almost there, only about a minute or two.”

“Ten-minute ride my ass,” you mumbled, and as you entered the Airport, you should've known that there were going to be speed bumps on the way in….

The shitty old car hopped over the bump, feeling like it hit a huge boulder. You bounced up, not held by any seatbelt, landing hard, right on Seonghwa’s family jewels.

“Fuck,” he cried, tossing his head back against the headrest. Your hands were now holding onto his legs for dear life.

“Joong, will you slow down for those things? Some of us are suffering back here,” you said, to which seonghwa started laughing.

“You're telling me.” he scoffed.

“Okay okay, I just have to park. I have no idea how this works….where the hell is the long-term parking—”

“Probably over there,” Mingi pointed in the opposite direction.

“No, no, I think it’s—”

“I can't take this anymore!” you cried out, leaning forward to assist Hongjoong since Mingi isn't helping. “There's a huge sign in front of us. How can you miss that? It spells it out, dammit.” you huffed, throwing yourself back into your “seat.” This time, he didn't let out a single groan, probably just as fed up with you as you were with him.

Finally, Hongjoong found the lot and parked the car, and as soon as it was stationary, you tossed yourself out of the vehicle like there was no tomorrow. You knew that you couldn't last a minute more on his lap, because if you did, you would be so tempted to turn around and make out with those painfully pretty lips of his. God, he made you so mad. Ever since you met him, there were only the same thoughts circulating round and round. 

Dirty thoughts.

Seonghwa crawled out of the car like a decrepit old spider, his long legs holding up his body with grace. You bit your lip, looking down at where you were sitting on him. Quickly, you looked away as he noticed your gaze, and ran away to go help the others with the luggage.

You weren't quick enough to miss the achingly attractive smirk on Seonghwa’s face.

Why did he have to be so….. libidinous? He was like a wild animal, able to take the lives away of his prey with just an expression.

No more seonghwa on the brain—it was beach time. You were certain you could find someone at a bar to sleep with later, and it wouldn't be Hwa.

Not now, not ever.

—

You got lucky with the plane ride.

Your seat buddy was Mingi, and Hongjoong knew how much you like your window seats.

Mingi nearly slept the whole flight, his head rested against your shoulder. He snored a little, but it didn't matter. The gentle giant had a place in your heart, so he could do no wrong. 

You often stole glances at Seonghwa across the aisle, his head bobbing up and down as he fought his tiredness. He was so much more likable when he was sleeping, but that was definitely due to the fact that he couldn't stare at you with those entrancing eyes or run that mouth of his.

You were the only one awake by the end of the flight. It was difficult for you to sleep in public places. It didn't feel right. So you would fight off sleep as hard as you could and distract yourself with anything around you.

After the fiasco of leaving the plane, you anxiously trailed behind Hongjoong through the busy airport, pushing past loads of people who had places to be. Thank goodness you were able to leave the airport without a fuss, even if seonghwa was nearly breathing down your neck as you exited.

Luckily, the ride to the hotel wasn't far—and there were more than enough seats for all of you. You distanced yourself from Seonghwa, ignoring his hellish gaze.

The hotel you were staying at stood tall, facing the gorgeous blue ocean for a perfect view. You shut your eyes as you took everything in, smelling the saltiness and the warmth of the air. You smiled to yourself, but your delightful moment didn't last long.

Seonghwa bumped into you purposely, digging his shoulder into yours before walking past you toward the hotel entrance. “Hey, what was that for?” you growled, a scowl on your face.

“You were in the way,” is all he said, not even bothering to turn to face you as he spoke. He continued walking, his beautiful silhouette showing through his sheer shirt. Oh, you wanted to tear it off of him so badly.

You let out a huff of air, but then followed your friends into the building, knowing the end was near if you had to share the room with your snack of choice.

Hongjoong went up to the front desk as you and the boys stood near the doorway, waiting for him to check us in. It didn't take him long, and soon enough, he was walking back over, key cards in his hand, and a bright smile on his face. “All checked in! This’ll be our home for the next week.”

San grabbed his key card first. “Are we all on the same floor? Like in a row? It would be no fun if I had to actually put on clothes to go on the elevator.”

“Yes, San, we’re all on the same floor.” Hongjoong held in his laugh, already clearly enjoying his time away from reality. You stood angrily with your arms across your chest next to seonghwa, who didn't look any happier than you. “And will you two brighten up? You’re killing the vibe.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing up at the boy next to you. His dark hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, sticking to his forehead like it would if he were sweating. You gulped, thinking dirty thoughts once more before regaining your peace of mind. “I’m not doing anything. It’s all him.”

“No, it’s all you, not me.” he retaliated.

“You’re the one that got a hard-on from me just innocently sitting on your lap.”

“You were purposely shoving your ass on me like a freak—”

“You are ruining the vacation already—”

“Annnd we’re not doing this again,” Mingi sighed and then gripped onto your arm to pull you towards the elevator. 

“Let’s go, we got bars to get wrecked at.”

—

“Oh, hell no.”

You dropped your luggage as you entered your room for the week, staring at what was in it.

Or lack thereof.

One bed—a queen, maybe, sat in the middle of the room. A chair was tilted by the sliding glass doors that opened to the balcony, and a lamp stood in the corner. It was cute, of course, but you thought this couldn't get any worse.

Seonghwa walked past you into the room, setting his suitcase on the floor by the chair. “Don't worry,” he hummed, his voice low. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I–” you paused, taking in a breath before continuing. “You can sleep on the bed, I ain't that mean.”

“So you think I’m going to let my best friend’s sister sleep on the floor?” he laughed, but it wasn't out of humor. “That’s funny. I’d get my ass beat.” He sat down on the floor, stretching out his long legs before opening his suitcase. “Just forget about me like you usually do and take the bed.”

You had no snarky remarks to throw at him this time, your eyelids feeling heavier than ever. You sighed, sitting down on the bed with a thud. “Okay, fine. Wake me up when we are going to leave.”

“Yeah yeah,” he snarkily replied, too focused on his luggage in front of him. You shut your eyes slowly, holding on to your consciousness a little longer, before drifting off into a sleep that would cause an unexpected uproar a few hours later.

—

After your amazing nap, you and the boys found your way to a beach bar, sand filling the floor and loud music playing in the background. You took your rightful spot at the bar, sitting right next to Wooyoung, who was already chugging a fruity margarita. 

“You should try this, Y/N,” he let out a satisfied sigh after he finished his gulp. “Tastes like fucking unicorns and rainbows.”

You laughed. “Sounds divine, but I’ll pass and get my whiskey sour.”

He grimaced. “Ew, you should spruce it up a little bit sometimes.”

San sat down on the other side of him, a fancy glass in his hands as well. “Yeah, you’re kind of a bore.”

“San what the—”

“She is, isn't she?” Seonghwa hummed from behind you, and of course, sat his ass in the chair right next to you. You groaned, ignoring him once again, although it was quite hard to not drool as he gulped his beer, his throat bobbing as he drank it.

Fucking hell.

You looked around for any sign of your brother to save you, and once you saw him, you cringed, turning right back around to face the bar. “Dear god, can't he keep his dick in his pants for five minutes?” you shivered, trying to think of anything else other than your brother making out with a random person. 

Seonghwa looked back, a smirk on his face as you ordered your drink. “Hypocrite. Just last week I walked in on you with Mingi in the chem lab,” he snickered, his midnight eyes catching the neon lights behind the bar. “Your tongue was so far down his throat I swear I—”

“Says the guy who I caught watching porn freshman year in the computer lab—”

“Here’s your Whiskey sour,” the bartender awkwardly interrupted, but thank god he did. You quickly chugged it, finishing it within a minute of getting it. He gave you another right away, and you downed that one as quickly as it came. He was cute, a little on the scruffy side, but definitely a good one-night. You gave him a look, feeling accomplished as he smirked a little before serving someone else.

“Maybe you shouldn't drink so fast, y/n,” San murmured from Wooyoung’s side, his strong arms holding his weight against the table. “You get drunk really quick on an empty stomach. Remember what happened last time? You have a bad habit of trying to kiss everything you see.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, setting the empty glass down on the bar. As you did that, you felt the warmth of the alcohol fill your body. “What? Who did I kiss?”

Seonghwa laughed from the other side of you while you focused on San.

“Me.” San blinked. “Tongue and all. But not just me, you kissed the statue outside our campus. You know, that really rusty one?”

You gagged. “Ew, no. stop. No, I didn't.”

“Oh, yes you did,” Seongwha piped in, sipping on his third or fourth beer. “And then you threw up on my shoes when I brought you home.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, taking his beer right out of his hands. “Phew, thank god I didn't kiss you,” you shivered, bringing the bottle up to your lips. After you started chugging it a little bit, Hwa ripped the bottle away from you.

You felt your vision start to sway from the alcohol. You loved the feeling of being drunk—just hated the hangovers. Right now though, you wanted to get wasted and go home with a stranger. The hangover will be tomorrow’s problem.

But seonghwa had to just run his mouth once again.

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” He laughed, a full, humorous laugh. He tossed the bottle to the back of his throat and then continued to laugh at you. “Something about how awful the airplane food was and how drinking milk reminds you of cum.” he grimaced at the last part, but a playful smile still rested on his face. “God you are explicit.”

Your cheeks flushed, looking anywhere but his direction. “I do not sleeptalk.”

You looked to Wooyoung and San for help, but they looked dumbfounded. “I wouldn't know, y/n, I never slept with you,” San smirked, smiling deviously at you. “Unless you’re down with that, I’m all for hearing you sleeptalk in my ear all night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Woo played along, knowing he was just doing it to tease you. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was trying desperately to embarrass you in front of the hot bartender.

“God, it’s so annoying, I wanted to rip my hair out earlier,” he smiled devilishly, his teeth even brighter than normal under all the neon lights. “I thought I couldn't hate you more, but you proved me wrong.”

You looked straight ahead, ignoring Seonghwa’s goofy smile. “Whatever,” you huffed, resting your face on your hand, your elbow holding up the weight. You watched the sexy bartender notice your stare. He smiled and walked over to you.

“Need another sour?” he asked, his cheeks pinched with dimples. You had your eyes set on going home with him, and you were going to follow through with it. Seonghwa can stay outside for the night—or watch, it didn't matter to you. 

“Actually,” you pondered, blinking slowly as the alcohol hit your system even harder. “I’ll take a vodka and Sprite. Grey Goose.” you hummed, watching him nod with a smirk on his face.

Seonghwa chuckled, but you were too focused on your mission to hear him blab about how much he hated you over and over again. Soon enough, that damn grey goose hit you harder than anything. Your eyes fluttered after your second glass, your vision fuzzy, and your heartbeat racing. 

You let out a heavy sigh, unable to remember your original mission.

“Hey,” you coughed, your cheeks burning up from the toxin. You looked around the bar, only meeting Seonghwa’s eyes…..oh…they’re so pretty. “Where did everyone else go?”

He was facing you, looking at you through those sparkling irises of his. He took in a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, your brother left with that girl he was making out with earlier….San and Woo left not too long ago to go to another bar, and Mingi….” he paused, watching your expression change when mingi was mentioned. “Mingi went with them.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Why’d you stop at mingi like that?”

He furrowed his brows. “Why’d you look like that when I mentioned him?”

You sniffled, feeling a burning sensation in your throat from all the vodka. “What do you mean?” you were too messed up to defend yourself. You didn't even know your expression changed.

“You looked…different when I said his name.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his dreary tone. “Pfft. Hwa, do you think that just because I slept with him once that I have feelings for him?”

He frowned, his eyebrows knit with confusion. “You slept with him? Mingi?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Just once, though.” Oh god, you officially couldn't think straight. Why were you even telling him this? “But that was it.”

He looked at you with an unknown expression, flattening his lips. “So you just sleep with anyone, huh?”

You scoffed. “Well, no, not usually.” you bit your lip, looking at him without knowing how you were looking at him. “I kind of always wanted you, but I didn’t understand why, so I ignore the feeling by sleeping with other guys.”

“That makes no sense, y/n,” he spat. “What are you saying?”

You rolled your eyes, drunkenly gripping his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Awh, shut it, Hwa. Haven't you ever felt that before?” you paused, not realizing how close you were. His eyes were sharp, and his lips parted. “Wanting someone you can't have? Knowing that they wouldn't want anything to do with you?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze piercing into you sharply. “You’re drunk, y/n,” he paused, looking at you intently before shaking your hands away. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Oooh, don't tempt me, baby,” you poked his chest, giggling as he stood up off the barstool. You were completely oblivious to the fact that you just admitted to wanting him, but it didn't seem like he took it seriously. 

“Get up,” he huffed, gripping under your arms and lifting you off your chair. You groaned, wrapping your arms around his waist. You held onto him tightly as he reached into his back pocket to grab money, tossing it onto the counter with a glare at the bartender. 

“Enjoy your night,” Seonghwa growled, holding onto you, and made his way towards the hotel with you clung to him.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, a giggle under your breath.

He grunted, pulling you along with him. “What?”

You sniffed. “Can I kiss you?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Why?” you mumbled, shoving your face into his chest.

“Because it’s your drunk habit.”

“So would you kiss me if it wasn't?” you asked, completely obliterated. There was no way you were going to remember this in the morning. 

He didn't answer you.

“Come on, Hwa,” you moaned, stopping and gripping onto his collar in front of the hotel. You looked up into his eyes, feeling his intense gaze cut right through your intoxication. You needed him. Needed him bad. “Just once. God, just once.”

“I…” he swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides, crying out to touch you. He kept them away, even if he didn't want to. “Not now. Not while you’re drunk.”

You blinked slowly, watching his lips flatten into a frown. “Does that mean you want to?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair aggressively. “Please just….let’s get back to the room and get you to bed.”

You groaned, but complied, following him into the hotel and into the elevator. The ride was silent, Seonghwa standing in the corner, farthest away from you, his breathing slowed. You stared at him, leaning up against the wall.

“I really hate you,” you mumbled, glaring at him. He was too sexy, his hair messy, his eyes dark, his long legs taller than a skyscraper. You only admitted your attraction to him when you were drunk, but you couldn't deny the pull you had to him.

He looked up at you, his starry eyes looking from your legs, up to your hips, over your breasts, and finally to your eyes. He took in a sharp breath, biting the corner of his lip.

“I hate you too,” he whispered, his vision low.

And in what world would the words I hate you cause someone’s heart to flutter?

The elevator dinged at your floor, and after a moment of longing stares, Seonghwa gripped your arm and dragged you out. He held onto your drunken body as he searched for his keycard, and once he found it, you tumbled into the room together. 

Your back was pressed against the wall, his arms caging you in on both sides. His forehead was on yours, and you were able to feel his hot breath against your lips.

“Oh,” you hummed, your hands subconsciously dancing at the hem of his t-shirt. You watched his throat bob anxiously as you looked into his eyes.

It took everything in him to move away. He coughed awkwardly and then nodded toward the bed. “Come on, you need to rest.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, unable to move in a straight line. You kicked off your sandals, and pulled off your shirt with ease, leaving you only in your bra and that skimpy skirt seonghwa was looking at all night.

He watched as you walked, holding his breath without meaning to. 

As you neared the bed, you reached back to unclip your bra, but you couldn't reach it. “Hwa?”

He was looking at the floor. “Hm?” 

“Can you…” you paused, giving up on trying to get it off. “Take this off of me? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He blinked, his eyes wide. You couldn't see the confusion in his expression, but you heard the shakiness of his tone. “W-what? Your….bra?”

“Yeah.”

He didn't say anything else. He slowly walked over to where you were, and as his fingertips traced the middle of your back, you shivered under his touch.

He unclasped the hook, but held on to both ends of the bra, afraid to let it drop. “It’s done,” he whispered, backing up slightly.

You dropped the bra onto the floor and then reached to take off your skirt. As you slid it down your hips, you heard seonghwa nearly trip over his feet trying to turn away.

“Do you…always sleep naked?” he asked you, looking anywhere but where you were. You were way too drunk to care about what he sees, but you were also too tired to try. You fell onto the bed, your arm covering your breasts and your underwear still on.

“Fuck, y/n,” Seonghwa huffed, finally looking over and doing everything to not look where he shouldn't. He gently reached for the blanket, tossing it over you in one swift motion.

You shut your eyes tight, feeling his presence loom over you. He brushed away the stray hairs on your face and made sure you were laying on your side. 

“.... I’m so screwed,” he muttered, giving you one last look before walking into the bathroom and turning on the cold water. 

A cold shower, especially knowing that there was a beautiful, nearly naked girl in the bed just outside the door. 

The cold water ran down his body, giving him a rush of pain. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, biting his lip as his attraction to you only worsened. 

—

After his attempt to cleanse his messy thoughts, Seonghwa stepped out of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips. He hesitated before looking over at you, and after he got a good look at your pretty face, he made his way to his luggage, rooting in there for a t-shirt to toss on.

“...seong…hwa,” you moaned. 

Moaned. 

“....y/n?” he whispered, maybe thinking you were awake and needed something. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but that sounded too….sensual than just a normal tone.

“I…ugh,” you groaned, “don't stop, please. H…Hwa.”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, dropping the clothes he had in his hands, eyes wide.

“Seonghwa….”

Okay, that was the third time. You were most definitely dreaming about him….

“Oh…my…god.” Hwa gulped, cautiously standing up and backing away as far as he could from you.

Little did he know how detailed your dream was.

—

His hands snaked up your bare hips, your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips were on your ear, biting, teeth clashing against your skin. 

He thrusted into you, hard, his hips buckling as he moaned. You cried out his name, back arching, nails scratching. He fucked you hard, his forehead against yours, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“You like that?” he whispered, his tongue sliding into your mouth before you could answer. His sweat fell on your cheek, and you moaned out his name once more. You weren't sure how you got here, how this came about, or anything. All that mattered was that you were finally with him, the man you always thought you hated.

“…hwa,” you moaned, “fuck me harder.”

And as he slammed into you with even more force than before, his lips crashed onto yours, his black hair blocking your vision. You wanted more, and more and more—

“Y/n,” 

“Just shut up and keep going,” you cried out.

“Y/N!”

You shot awake, gasping for air as your back hit the headboard. You breathed heavily, realizing that you were dreaming about all of that and that the real seonghwa was standing in front of you, shirtless, with an expression you weren't quite sure you’d ever seen before.

“Seonghwa, what—”

“S..stop it. Don't say my name,” he stuttered, looking anywhere but your body. He quickly tossed a t-shirt at you—his t-shirt. “Just put this on. The guys are down getting breakfast, so we gotta go.”

He quickly walked to his own luggage and grabbed a shirt for himself. You watched him as he tossed it on and slid on his shoes, and with one last awkward glance at you, he left the room in haste.

You were too scared to look down, hoping that you still had underwear on. You weren't too sure if that was a dream or not, but given the way he acted, it made you even more confused.

You felt the wetness between your thighs, clenching them with a sigh. You stood up, tossing on the bra that was laying on the floor as if it was thrown off of you.

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you made your way to the breakfast area on the first floor, immediately noticed by Hongjoong. “There you are! I was worried you weren't going to—” he stopped, noticing the shirt that was way too big on you. “That’s the shirt I got Hwa….”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, shoving a bagel into his mouth to distract himself.

You ignored him and sat down across from him and next to Mingi. You looked up, meeting eyes with the man you thought so filthily about, seeing a swipe of cream cheese on the bottom of his lip. You held back, knowing that it’ll just send you into another spiral if you pointed it out.

But when he stuck his tongue out to lick it off, you felt the tingle in your stomach once more, thinking back at the dream you had, and how his tongue caressed you in more ways than one.

He met eyes with you, his lips parting slightly. His gaze was much different than it ever has been. You've never seen him so….lost. His expression was conflicted, his eyes not leaving your lips.

Wooyoung smirked. “Did you guys fuck or something? What’s with the mood?”

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong yelled.

“What? I’m just pointing out the obvious,” he shrugged.

“We didn't. Keep dreaming,” Seonghwa muttered lowly, taking another bite of his bagel.

Hongjoong huffed. “I don't want to imagine my sister and seonghwa in that way…that’s super weird.”

“Why?” seonghwa questioned, his tone serious. You looked at him, confused as to why he cared. It seemed like everyone else was just as confused as you. “Ahem, I mean…uh, is it that hard to imagine?” Seonghwa’s voice was shaky, his gaze hopping from Hongjoong to you.

It made your brother laugh. “Well, yeah. You guys hate each other, right?” he took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “It makes no sense for you to even see eye to eye, I couldn't imagine you two in any type of relationship. Maybe her and Mingi, out of everyone.”

Seonghwa dropped his bagel face down onto his plate. “Why Mingi? What’s so special about—”

“I’m right here guys….” Mingi tried to interrupt, but Seonghwa shot him a dangerous glare, causing the gentle giant to hold his tongue.

Hongjoong looked around at the boys awkwardly and picked up his fork to continue eating his eggs. “I��m just saying.”

This was too awkward. You kept stealing glances at Hwa as if he were a magnet. You assumed he felt similarly, because every time you looked, your eyes would meet, and then you would awkwardly stare for a moment too long before looking away.

And when he got up to get more food, you got up, too.

“We need to talk,” you whispered, coming right up next to him as he put a muffin on his plate. “Why are you acting weird?”

He sighed and continued to add food to his plate. “I’m not acting weird.”

As he moved to get a drink from the drink machine, you continued to follow him. “Did I do something wrong yesterday?” you gasped, holding a hand over your mouth as he still ignored you. “Did I kiss you? Dear god, I hope not—”

“No, you didn't,” he said quietly, walking back over to the table.

“Something must have happened, seonghwa—”

He stopped, nearly causing you to bump into his back. “Don't.” he paused, taking in a sharp breath, looking over his shoulder at you. “Don't say my name.”

You frowned in confusion, watching the muscles in his back move as he walked away. You couldn't remember your antics yesterday, but maybe you made him uncomfortable by sleeping nearly naked—he hated you, so you could only imagine how irritated he was.

“Listen, if it was because I was naked, I'm sorry—” 

Everyone at the table looked up as you spoke, including seonghwa. He looked shy, a blush on his cheeks, and he sat down quickly and stuffed the muffin in his mouth.

“Naked?” Mingi laughed, looking from you to seonghwa suggestively. “Sounds awfully smutty, Seonghwa.”

“We didn't—” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “Nothing happened with us.”

“Mhm, okay,” San smirked. “Whatever you say. Anyway, we have a whole day out planned, so you two better get back to your normal selves or we won't have any fun.”

You really needed to talk to seonghwa, but it seemed like you'll be busy the whole day with the boys—and he didn't seem to be very interested in talking to you, anyway.

You tilted your head in curiosity. 

“What are we doing?”

—

The day was eventful.

First, you went to the beach. Seemed innocent, until Seonghwa took off his shirt and got all soaking wet, sending you in a mess of thoughts and a mess below. He would look over at you, and wouldn't look away, paying intense attention to your body in a skimpy little bikini. 

When you went to talk to him, he body-slammed you into the ocean, and normally you would've fumed, but this time, you enjoyed his hands on your bare skin. 

After the beach, you walked along the boardwalk of shops and lots of food. You grabbed a popsicle, licking it without a thought, but when you felt an intense pressure on you, you looked over to see seonghwa looking at you with an expression you've never seen on him. His eyes were focused on your lips, his own lips curled up as he bit them. You continued to eat your popsicle, but couldn't stop looking at him.

When you tried to bring up last night, Hongjoong came over and took the rest of your pop, running away from you like a child.

At dinner, you sat at the far end of the table, as far away as possible from Seonghwa. It wasn't intended, but now there was no way you could talk, as everyone would hear your conversation.

You ate, feeling defeated. Maybe you should just forget about it.

It was still daylight after dinner. As the guys conversed about what to do next, San and Wooyoung decided to go their own way and walk the beach, which was just their code word for “shopping” for girls. Hongjoong agreed with them, shocking you since he was always hell-bent on not going off a schedule. You assumed he was just going to meet that girl he was with yesterday, but whatever, it just meant that you could be left alone with Seonghwa.

After those three left, it was only you, Seonghwa, and Mingi. Hwa stood with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly looking around as you stood outside the restaurant. Mingi was even more awkward, looking at you before speaking.

“Um, I’m just gonna go with Woo and San, so,” he breathed, looking to seonghwa now. “I’ll see you guys back at the hotel tonight.”

“Okay, Mingi,” you smiled. “See you later.”

You watched him leave and then looked at the boy standing next to you.

“So,” you tried to initiate conversation, but seonghwa started walking in the opposite direction from where everyone else went. You followed. “What should we do?”

“I’m going surfing,” he said blandly. “I don't know about you, though.”

“I’ll come with you,” you smiled, finally catching up to him. He let out an aggravated groan as you walked close to him. “Do you even know how to surf?”

He scoffed. “Yeah, of course, I do.” 

“I’m just saying,” you noted, shrugging as you followed him. “You’re too….dainty. I feel like if you fell off you’d break every bone in your body.”

Seonghwa didn't react in any way you were hoping he would. Instead, he kept walking silently, until you reached the part of the beach where the surf shack was. Wetsuits were laid out, ready to be picked up, and surfboards stood tall through the sand and against the building. You stared in awe as you approached, seeing that there was no one else here but you two.

Finally, alone at last. 

“Grab a suit if you’re gonna do this,” he pointed to them, raising an eyebrow when you stood there anxiously. “What? Don't you know how to surf?” he mocked.

You kicked at the sand, your hands behind your back. “Pff. yeah, of course, I….no. I don't.” you pleaded with your eyes sweetly, despite all of the dirty things you wanted to do to him. “Could you please teach me? Pretty please?”

He held his own suit close to his chest as he looked down at you. “Why should I?”

You stepped closer to him, causing him to step back cautiously. “Because I’m pretty?”

“Oh honey, who lied to you?” he joked.

“Please, Seonghwa?” you stressed his name, hoping to break him. You watched his eye twitch as you said it, reminding you of earlier when he told you not to say his name.

“Seonghwa seonghwa seonghwa seong—”

“Okay, fine! Jeez,” he huffed, tossing you a suit, only for it to hit you in the face. “Get dressed.”

You walked into the shack with him, going your separate ways at the locker rooms. Everything went smoothly until you tried to zipper the suit up, only being able to get it halfway. You pondered on asking seonghwa for help or completely turning into a contortionist, but after failing to do it yourself, you gave up and left the room to ask him.

Seonghwa stood amongst the surfboards, his lean body looking delicious in that surf suit. You nearly drooled looking at him.

“Hey,” you started, slowly approaching him as he picked out a board. “Can you help me zipper this?”

He turned to you, his expression conflicted as he saw you. You turned around, showing your exposed back, causing him to clear his throat. “O..okay.”

His delicate fingers brushed against the skin of your back, nearly causing you to shiver. You felt his breath hit the back of your neck as the zipper moved up and up until he zipped it completely.

“....There,” he said, swallowing. “You’re all good.”

He didn't move his hands until you pulled away from him, turning back around to face him. The silence was deafening, so you decided to break it.

“Seonghwa, about last night, what exactly happened—”

“Let’s just get started before the sun goes down,” he interrupted, looking anywhere but your eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

That was good enough for now. You watched him try to pick out a board, but he seemed extremely nervous. After a good bit of time, he grabbed a pink one, causing you to smile. Pink suited him so much, more than he’d probably like to admit.

“Let’s start with some basics,” he spoke smoothly, tossing the board down onto the sand. “Get on it. On your stomach.”

You lay down on the board, looking up at him for more directions. He taught you how to paddle with your arms, explaining that you'll have to dive under the waves sometimes if you were okay with doing that. You couldn't look weak now, especially not to him. So after the little training lesson, you were finally in the shallow water, sand already in every nook and cranny of you.

“Try to keep balance,” he said, his voice raspy. It wasn't the time to turn you on, but of course, he could do it just by his voice. “Keep your chest up.” his hand caressed your back, down your spine.

You looked up at him, his wet hair dripping down his face. You held back, as much as you could, from pouncing on him.

But when you fell off the board and got stuck underwater, you’ve never seen him so concerned before.

He grabbed you under your arms, pulling you back up and holding him to you while you coughed. You were perfectly fine—maybe a little too much water in the ears, but it was the least of your worries. What you cared about was the look on his face and the way he caged you to his body.

“y/n?” he rushed his hand over your face, pushing away your drenched hair so he could see you. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, blinking away the salt that infiltrated your eyes. Seonghwa noticed your distress and gently rubbed your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“Don't rub your eyes,” he pushed your hand away, still not letting you go from his embrace. “You'll make it worse.”

“It hurts,” you mumbled, causing his look of worry to worsen. True, the salt started burning your eyes, but you couldn't get enough of his caring touch—maybe because he’s never shown this side of himself to you.

He took in an anxious breath as he looked around. “Maybe we should get back to the hotel,” he spoke softly, the sound of water filling your senses as you looked at him. 

Everything about his appearance aggravated you—from the way his midnight hair draped his face, dripping with water down his cheeks, to the way his normally judgemental eyes seemed gentle and sweet. He looked kind, the type of man who would worship his lover like a queen, and all the time knowing him, you tried your hardest to only see him in a negative light.

Now, as he held you in the cold, sparkling ocean as the sun was setting, all you saw was your reflection in his eyes and all you felt was the undeniable pull to be with him. To touch him. To kiss him. To tell him that maybe, just maybe, you’ve always had a piece of him in your heart.

“Seonghwa, I…” you paused, ignoring the burn from the salt water. You watched his lips as they slowly parted, his eyes wide as he picked you apart. They looked at you differently, like they never looked at you before, and you wanted him to never stop looking at you. 

The distance between the two of you was nonexistent—you saw every drop of water on his skin, and you were certain he was able to gather the meaning behind your gaze. If he did, he didn't say anything—he only looked back at you with those entrancing irises of his, a look you’ve never seen from him. He waited patiently for you to finish your sentence, but you had nothing else to say.

As your lips neared his, you heard his breath get caught in his throat, and you felt his embrace tighten around you. You closed your eyes, taking in the feeling, hoping that he would be the one to lean in and meet your lips.

He didn't. 

Instead, his hands trailed down your back, the pink surfboard still floating next to you despite being forgotten. His breath was shaky as he touched you, but the moment ended too quickly as he shook himself out of his trance.

“I um, we should, you know,” he nodded towards the beach, even though you weren't too far out. “We should get back to the room.”

You slowly blinked at him, watching his expression stay the same despite the change of mind. He coughed, letting go of you, but then he grabbed your hand and the board before pulling you to shore.

The walk back was quiet. He didn't let go of your hand until you got back to the surf shack, and he reluctantly let go knowing you had to change.

You both were silent as you looked at each other, but the ache in your chest convinced you to break this tension.

Before you entered the changing room, you quickly turned back around to face seonghwa, who still stood with that….sex-charged expression on his face.

“….Stop looking at me like that,” you hummed, your chest heavy as he breathed in deeply. He looked at you with those bedroom eyes of his, half of his wetsuit already off. He looked deadly, which didn't help your desire.

He swallowed hard but tried his best to remain calm. “Like what?”

You took a step closer, reaching back to your zipper to pull it down just a little. You shrugged it down your bare shoulders, making sure he got to know that there was nothing else but you under that wetsuit once again.

And when you got as close as you could, you said the words you knew would be life or death for him. 

“Like you want to fuck me,” you shrugged, acting all cool even though you were falling apart by the second. You were lucky you were at the surf shack at such a late time of day, and that no one else was here except you. 

He choked on air, stepping away from you until his back hit the wall. You noticed how his chest rose and fell as he breathed in, and how delicious it would be to just lick him all over….

“I…” he gulped, but his eyes lingered on your shoulders and the curve of your breasts. “I don't know what you mean?”

You smiled through your haze, mind focused on getting to the bottom of his sudden change of attitude towards you. You reached out, gently guiding your hand down the plain of his chest, down his slim, but muscular waist. Oh, you couldn't get enough of him already.

You smirked. “Then tell me why you’ve been eye fucking me all day, or at least what happened last night, so I can understand.”

He blinked fast, looking from your lips, down your neck, to your bare shoulders. 

“You…” he took in a sharp breath as your hands trailed down his body. “You sleeptalk.”

“I know that already,” you whispered, looking into his captivating gaze. 

He leaned forward slightly, veins popping in his neck as he strained against his judgment. “I mean, you…kept moaning my name. I…I couldn't take it anymore….I can't take it anymore. Every time you speak I just want to fucking shut you up with my mouth for fucks sake.” he huffed, subconsciously gripping your hips as he grits his teeth. “You so annoying, so damn annoying, I can't—”

“Then take me,” you spoke against his lips. “Fuck me. Just like you did in my dreams.”

His forehead pressed against yours as you pushed him further against the wall.

“And how did I do that?” he growled, his fingertips tugging at your wetsuit. “Was I rough? Gentle?” he paused, lips pressed to your neck. “Did I make you say my name, or was that all you with that filthy little mouth of yours?”

You couldn't speak as his lips glided down your neck to your collarbone. He sucked on the skin there, roughly, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and run your hands through his dripping-wet hair.

You moaned, biting his earlobe. “I want you to tear me apart.”

He smirked against your skin, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

“Rough it is, then.”

Without warning, he bit his lip hard as he pulled your wetsuit right down to your ankles, the water from his hair dripping onto your bare shoulders. He nearly growled as you stood in front of him, naked as ever, his gaze darkening before gripping the back of your neck to pull you to him.

As he sucked on your neck, you pulled down his suit with aggression, not quick enough for the hunger in both of your souls. His hot breath tickled your skin, his hands clawed at your hips, and his lips begged to kiss yours as you shoved him against the wall once again, skin on skin. He breathed heavily, his eyes dancing from your breasts to your waist, to your lips.

You gripped onto his hair, staring into his eyes for a moment before you locked your lips with his, tasting the saltiness of the ocean and the sweet warmth of his saliva. Your tongues fought for their lives, dancing as you deepened the kiss. Foreheads slamming, hands invading space. It was all over for your sanity the minute his long fingers glided against your core, his middle finger finding your clit and rubbing gently. His kisses were rough as his fingers delicately touched you, fueling the fire within you even more than it already was.

“Seonghwa,” you moaned against his ear, causing him to move his hand faster with a grunt. “Push them in me.”

He hissed, his eyes rolling back into his head as he pulled his hands away for a moment, only to suck his fingers in front of you before shoving them into you, curling them up inside you. You arched your back against him, crying out as his lips found yours once again.

He kissed you deeply as he made love to you with his hands, his fingers long enough to reach deep inside of you—but it wasn't enough. You bit his lip sharply as he fingered you, causing him to hiss in pleasure. “I need your cock in me. Now.” you licked his jawline, watching him squirm in your embrace. 

His cheeks were flushed red as he looked at you, his eyes looking as if he were intoxicated. “I…fuck,” he sucked in a breath, kissing you as his fingers moved faster and faster. “Okay.” 

As he pulled his fingers out of you, he licked them once more, his eyes on yours seductively. 

“You taste so good.” he moaned, his mouth parted. He then lifted you up, walking you over to the table of waxed surfboards in the middle of the room. Shoving everything off with one hand, he threw you onto the wood, causing you to let out a little grunt.

“You’re so sexy,” he leaned over you, slamming your hands above your head before silencing your moans with a rough kiss. “So fucking sexy, you have no idea how long I wanted to shove my dick inside you.” His words were like gasoline to your fire, causing you to cry out in a whimper for him to do exactly what he said he would do. You kept your mouth shut as he tugged you to the edge of the table, lining up his hard-on to enter you.

After a look of longing, he spit onto his fingers and rubbed them onto his cock and your heat, his chest falling and rising with his heavy breathing. He then buried himself inside you, deeply, causing your breath to hitch. He was even bigger than your dreams, tearing apart your expectations of his skills. You tried your best to free your arms from his hold, but as he moved in and out of you, you had lost the desire to escape it. You really liked the feeling of his fingernails tearing into your skin.

“Ah,” he whimpered, his hips rocking quickly, his eyes shut tight. His thrusts were deep, not slowing down for a second.

Your legs curled around his shoulders, his one arm holding your hands and his other piercing into your ankle. He grunted as he pumped into you, tearing at your insides, feeling him fill you up. “Hwa,” you groaned, back arching in pleasure. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He grunted in response, speeding up faster as his hips slammed into yours. You felt him quiver inside you, precum dripping into you without a care. You loved the feeling, you didn't care about the risks in the moment. 

You climaxed without warning, your legs tightening around his head. He kept muttering your name over and over again against you, kissing the skin of your ankles as he continued to fuck the living shit out of you. You started to see stars as he nearly cracked your spine, and right before he nearly came, he flipped you over onto your stomach without ever leaving you.

Your face was shoved against the wood of the table, the sweet smell of sex enveloping your senses. You cried out his name as he gripped onto your hips, moving faster as his own orgasm came close. His lips met the small of your back, his fingers gripped your ass with haste. 

“I’m going to come,” he mumbled, his voice raspy. “Can I come in you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Come inside me.”

As if your words stirred something within him, he immediately moved in shorter movements, his grip on your ass tightening as his orgasm came. His breathing shallowed as he came into you, filling you up with his cum. You let out one last moan as you felt his warmth, and he kissed the back of your neck as he finished.

He pulled out of you slowly despite how rough he was—he could've been rougher, but you didn't want him to think of you as the insane slut everyone thought you were.

Even though you only ever slept with others because you couldn't have him.

And now…..what comes next?

He helped you sit back up to a normal position, and when he saw the dark, purple bruises on your neck and collarbone, he gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” his fingers gently brushed against your hot skin as if he didn't just totally destroy you. “I kind of….went crazy, didn't I?”

You smiled up at him in a daze, both your cheeks blushed in embarrassment and enjoyment. “I like crazy.”

He paused, standing proudly in front of you with that delicious body of his. You sighed in contentment, a lazy smile on your lips. “I dreamt of this. Literally.” you reached out to him, pulling his lips down to yours. He kissed them softly, opening his mouth wide as he made out with you. You didn't want to pull away, but as the thought of you both having sex in a public surf shack came to your mind, you pulled away quickly, startling him.

“Um, so,” you laughed awkwardly. “Should we head back now? We are kind of in a public place….”

Seonghwa looked around, smirking as he leaned forward on the table, kissing you once more. “It was kind of thrilling, not gonna lie.”

You leaned into his embrace, his hands caressing your back romantically. “So,” you whispered against his lips. “We should get back. And this time, you better sleep in the bed with me.”

“Oh, baby, I plan on doing more than just sleeping.”

—

After countless rounds of ‘sleeping’, you ended up waking up late in Seonghwa’s embrace, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder as he held you. He quite literally rocked you all night long, and you even discovered his love for reverse cowgirl—making him come within two minutes of the fifth round.

Now, as you lay in his arms while he slept, you finally felt content. He was all you ever wanted, even though your words said otherwise this whole time of knowing him.

“Hey,” you turned around in his embrace, pressing your lips against his forehead. “Seonghwa.”

“Hm?” he grumbled sleepily, his eyes blinking open to meet yours. 

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “We should get up. The others are probably waiting for us in the lobby.”

“Ugh, why?” he groaned, holding onto you tighter. “ I don't want to leave this bed today. Or ever.”

You giggled, pecking his lips. “Come on, Hwa. I really would like to get a tan on the sand today.”

His eyes were wide open now, but he blinked slowly from his sleepiness. “We barely got any sleep,” he huffed, shoving his head into your shoulder. “And I can't kiss you in front of everyone, I can't wait the whole day to touch you.”

You grinned chaotically.

“Who says we have to hide it?”

—

“Dear lord,” Wooyoung huffed, sitting with his arms crossed at the beach. “Are they ever going to stop and come up for air?”

Your friends sat on towels on the sand, while you sat on Seonghwa’s lap as you made out with him. His hands gripped your face as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, both of you having no care for those around you. 

“I knew this was going to happen,” San mumbled with a smirk, elbowing Wooyoung playfully. “Just let them have their fun. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Pfft,” Woo scoffed, looking at how seonghwa touched you.

 “I always thought I would be the one tapping that.”

“Wooyoung shut the fuck up.”