#but like he could have shaded her about how it ended too and he didn’t

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 1

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, definitely disordered eating, kinda depression?, isolation

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

He found her deep inside the House of Wind. Far enough from the festivities of Starfall that it was startling to find her.

The second oldest Archeron Sister must have wandered off just like he had.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Azriel asked her as he spied her sitting in a puddle of her skirts on one of the couches, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Why aren’t you?” Zahra gave back drily, not even looking up at him.

What exactly was he supposed to answer to that? Oh, I can't stomach watching your sister dance with her mate? And even if I could stomach that, Rhys's mental commentary to him about it had turned his stomach. Even when Azriel had kept away from Elain just like Rhysand had ordered him to do, ever since last year. So really...what was he supposed to answer?

“Dancing isn’t exactly my favourite activity,” Azriel finally replied. It wasn’t a lie. 

"Yeah, well, mine neither," she answered with a shrug. "Not that I ever learned."

"You never learned?" he asked surprised. Nesta had learned. Elain had learned.

"Bastard, remember?" Zahra said drily. "I am lucky that I got to learn how to read and write and do basic math. I was not going to be molded into a perfect lady, because no self-respecting man would marry me anyway."

The blunt way Zahra was talking stunned Azriel momentarily. There was something harsh, something almost...bitter and resentful in her voice as she spoke.

It seemed like it didn't matter if one was born a bastard in Illyria or the Human lands. It was horrible either way.

"Your sisters will miss you," he said instead quietly. "And you'll miss the spectacle."

"I don't really care for the festivities," she said with another shrug. "I don’t like the holidays. Humans don’t have any. We… they are too busy trying to survive," Zahra corrected herself quietly. "And besides, I am only here anyway so I don't end up being an indentured servant until some of you decide that I am back in your good graces,” she gave back caustically.

He grimaced. That Zahra had vehemently disagreed about their treatment of Nesta was well known.

It had surprised him too because it was just as just as well known that Nesta seemed to not care for her half-sister on a good day. They weren't particularly close, in any way, shape or form.

Something in his chest clenched painfully. Not from the insult she threw in his direction, but from the defeated way she said it. That she thought that they would just…toss her aside like that.

She was one of them.

"We won't," he said firmly. Her eyes slowly turned toward him and there were dark shadows in those eyes. Out of all the Archeron Sisters, she was the only one with green eyes. Azriel wondered if she had inherited them from her late mother.

Zahra was only the half-sister after all. The result of her father’s dalliance with a maid. Her age put her somewhere between Nesta and Elain. 

It was easy enough to pick out the differences between Nesta, Elain and Feyre and Zahra. Dark hair similar to Elain’s, but green eyes. Skin a few shades darker than any of theirs. Lips that looked like Feyre’s but a nose that looked like none of her sisters. 

Zahra seemed to belong but didn’t. 

And right now, these green eyes…something was wrong. Something was off with these eyes. 

"You don’t know that," she said with a humourless laugh. "Do you want to lie to me too, and  tell me that Rhysand has nothing to do with whatever happened between Elain and you?"

Azriel stiffened, a low sound escaping his throat. She knew. She knew.

"How did you-" he croaked hoarsely and Zahra cocked an eyebrow at him.

 "Do you really think that I hadn't noticed the two of you dancing around each other for months? Or the fact that you two can barely manage to be in the same room together?" she asked dryly and Azriel averted his gaze.  "There is no one as beautiful and kind as my sister," Zahra said drily. "I don't fault you for falling for her."

Azriel said nothing, the pain in his chest growing at her words. The pain...and the bitter realization that his feelings were not as well-hidden as he had thought they were. 

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She has a mate. She deserves better than me anyway."

"Did Rhysand tell you that too?" Zahra said drily. "You never tried to hide the fact that your mate was dying from the same, so you have that on him."

Azriel gritted his teeth, the pain in his chest becoming almost unbearable. "It doesn’t matter," he repeated firmly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Elain is happy. I would do nothing to put that in danger." 

"Yes, she is," Zahra agreed. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," she apologised to him, her voice honest.

Azriel swallowed, the pain in his chest lessening only to be replaced by something else. Something...much more complicated. Something like…pity.

He pitied her. This young female was so full of bitterness. He couldn’t even fault her for it either. She had been just a bastard. Even when they had first met the Archeron Sisters…Zahra had been working in the household as a maid. Half employee, half part of the family. Like their father couldn’t make up his mind what he should do with his bastard daughter. 

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Azriel finally told her quietly. "Do you really not want to watch?" he asked her. "You are supposed to wish for something when you see the stars fall."

She snorted, the sound bitter. "What I want, I am never going to get," Zahra said, her voice brittle.

He took her in in more detail at that moment.

The simple green gown she wore, high necked and long sleeved...that long gown that did little to hide how thing she was. The dark brown hair, pulled into a braid, obviously trying to hide the pointed tips of her ears and failing...the way her skin, darker than all of her sisters, was nearly ashen.

They had all thought that she was doing well. That Zahra at least was adjusting well.

But she wasn't. She wasn’t doing better.  She hadn't adjusted. Azriel would bet anything that all she wanted in her life was to be human again.

She hadn't adjusted. She just acted in a way that didn't bother anybody, that didn’t spell trouble for anybody.  Zahra had gotten herself a job, managing the accounting at an apothecary in the city.  She had gotten herself a little cottage to rent. She didn’t go out and get drunk. She didn’t use any money from Rhys or Feyre. She showed up for family dinners, staying quiet and polite. 

And if she was miserable…well, then nobody cared, because she didn’t bother anybody. Azriel could understand that. The same was the case for him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, watching her quietly sitting here. The way she was trying to hide away. The dress that was more like a potato sack than anything else. The way her skin was almost...grey. That bitter voice. 

The shadows were stirring and he was unable to look away from her. She looks upset, Master, they told him helpfully. 

"Do you want to go home?" Azriel offered quietly. Home to her cottage? Maybe some peace and quiet would make her feel better. 

Zahra shrugged, not looking at him. Not giving him an inch. That wall of bitterness and sarcasm was so firmly in place, that it was practically a solid wall between them. 

“Don’t want to end like an indentured servant, remember?“ she quipped drily.

“You won’t,“ Azriel said evenly. “You had a headache. I brought you home.“

She still didn’t look at him, her hands tightly knotted into her skirts as she sat there. She was so thin, almost fragile-looking. Her skin was sickly grey. “Come on,” he said finally, walking towards her.

Zahra finally looked up at him. Those green eyes. A bitter and lonely light in them. “What are you doing?“ she muttered. 

“I’m bringing you home,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “Come on, get up.“

Zahra looked at his hand, her gaze wary. “Why?“ she asked quietly. 

“Because you look like you are about to keel over,” he said, more bluntly than intended. 

“Gee, thanks,” she said dryly, her voice sarcastic and bitter. But she placed her hand into his own and let him pull her to her feet, even though he could feel the tension in her entire body. 

Azriel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “Come on. Let’s get you home and into bed,” he said firmly. 

He led her towards the balcony, the last few streaks of light painting the sky, and he grasped her tightly as they shout these few feet into the air until he could winnow to the cottage she rented. 

It’s ugly, the shadows complained. 

He had to agree with them. The cottage was an ugly little thing. Plain. Small. The type of thing that was more of a hovel in the outskirts, rather than anything else. 

“Home sweet home,“ Zahra said dryly, pulling away from him and a key out of her purse. 

That cottage was in serious need of some renovations when the red paint that was flaking off the door was anything to go by. 

As she unlocked the door it became obvious that while she kept it clean and neat.. even that couldn’t help much. This is a hovel, the shadows hissed.

Azriel was inclined to agree. He looked around with a frown, as the shadows scuttered around the tiny cottage. “You live here?“ he couldn’t help but ask. It was a terrible hovel indeed. 

Zahra shrugged as if she didn’t notice the disgust in his voice. “I couldn’t exactly afford anything else at first,” she said drily. 

At least not without taking any money from Rhys and Feyre, and clearly that was nothing that Zahra wanted to do. 

He was struck by how empty it all looked. There was a small kitchen space, a table with a few chairs a fireplace… And the door that led to her bedroom, he assumed. 

“How long have you lived here?“ he asked carefully, taking in the bare emptiness. There were no pictures on the walls. No trinkets and little belongings anywhere. It was…lifeless. She shrugged again and kicked off her shoes, making her way towards the bedroom. “A year?“

The room was equally simple and bare. A bed, a few clothes. A little bathing chamber. That was it. 

“You’ve lived here for over a year?“ Azriel repeated, his voice turning sharp as he looked at everything. There wasn’t even a mirror on the wall. 

When she just shrugged again, he was done. He grabbed her arm and towed her back into the main room. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at the table and one of the two rickety chairs. 

“What are you doing?“ Zahra asked, raising both eyebrows at him. Her irritation had started to rise considerably. At least that had done something to the sickly colour of her skin. 

“Making sure you eat something before you pass out on me,” Azriel muttered, turning back into the kitchen area, looking around with a frown.

There was…nothing. His shadows reported as much. She literally had a few pieces of bread and some cheese in the whole house. He was more than fuming. That was not enough that she was living in…this hovel, she was apparently also starving herself.

He pointed at the chair again. “Sit,” he ordered a little sharper than he had intended. 

The glare she gave him did not surprise him. Zahra hated being ordered around. “No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not hungry.“

Azriel clenched his jaw, the anger flaring. How stubborn could she be? 

“You clearly haven’t eaten in days,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “You have nothing in your house to eat.” 

“I have what I need,” she retorted, her own anger flaring. Azriel gritted his teeth, the urge to snap at her almost overwhelming.

“You are skin and bones,” he hissed. “There is barely enough fat on you to keep out the cold.“ 

“Why do you care?“ she snapped right back.

The question hit him squarely in the chest. Why did he care? Why, he asked himself for a moment. Why indeed.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that it was just because she was Feyre’s sister. 

Thankfully, Azriel was saved from actually having to answer, when her stomach grumbled.

Loudly. Azriel almost chuckled at the sound of her own stomach betraying just how hungry she really was. “Clearly your body disagrees with you,” he said drily. 

“Shut up,” Zahra snapped, her skin flushing at the sound of her own stomach. 

“I will shut up after you’ve eaten something,” Azriel said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

Zahra gave him a glare that could strip the paint from the walls, (but then, the paint was already flaking off anyway). Still, she grudgingly sank down on the chair, her eyes avoiding his. 

He turned back into the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers and found absolutely nothing. There was nothing. Not even some fruits or vegetables. 

He slammed the last cupboard closed, almost causing the hinges to break, the anger flaring hotly in his chest. That stupid, stubborn, stubborn woman.

“I will personally come here every day and stuff you full until you burst,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“Why?” she asked and he could hear the challenge in her voice. Her own anger rose to meet his own. “Why would you even bother?“ 

“Because you are starving yourself,” he said, spinning around to face her. “Because you are so thin, I could snap you in half with one hand. Because I’m pretty damn sure you haven’t eaten a proper meal in at least a year. That’s why.“

“Maybe I don’t deserve a proper meal,” she shot back and something inside of him snapped at the tone in her voice. 

Because he knew that feeling. He knew. For just a moment he froze. They were far more similar than they should be. 

It was a terrible realization. He knew what the self-hatred and bitterness was like. He understood it far better than he wanted to.

“Nobody is going to suddenly show up and care,” he told her quietly. He saw her eyes flare at the words and he knew she got the meaning behind them instantly.

She sat there, her jaw tensed. “And what do you know about it?” she snapped, her voice bitter. 

“I know what it feels like to starve oneself,” he said calmly. “I know what it feels like to have not a single person notice or care.“

The words rang truer than they should. Her eyes widened for a moment, shock flashing through her. 

“I know what it feels like to be the one be always at the edge of the family. I know what it feels like for everybody around me to meet their mate but not me.“

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The pain he had buried so deep, deep down flaring up. The pain and loneliness and bitter realization that would never have what everyone else had.

He realized only then how much they really had in common. How similar they were. 

“I know what it feels like to be the afterthought,” he continued, unable to stop now. “I know how it feels to be shoved aside. I know how it feels to watch everyone around me find someone while I’m the one left behind.“ 

He took a step closer to where she was sitting, towering over her. “And I know how it feels to hate myself enough to deny myself the basic needs I actually have.“ 

The last words made her flinch. He was so close he could almost see the pain and guilt and bitter realization flit across her face. Her eyes were on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. 

“I know what it feels like to feel as if I don’t deserve to eat,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not deserving enough.“

He knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. To meet his eyes. 

She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to see. To understand that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. “I know what it feels like to punish myself by not giving myself what I actually need,” he said quietly. 

Her breath hitched at the last words, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She was listening. Really listening to what he said.

“You’re not the only one who hates yourself, you know,” he said quietly. The look in her eyes shattered him. The look of realisation. Of bitter understanding. The realization that they were so much more similar than either of them had thought before.

Zahra bit her lip, the guilt flashing across her face. Her hands started trembling, ever so slightly.

“You don’t deserve to go hungry,” he said quietly, his voice firm and quiet. “You don’t deserve to starve yourself. You don’t deserve to live in this… hovel.

“The cauldron should just have killed me,” Zara said her voice brittle. “I don’t like this life.”

And didn’t that break his fucking heart? 

She laughed bitterly, but there was no humour in it. “I’m not even surviving,” she said, a bitter smile on her thin lips. “I’m existing. There is a difference.“ 

The words hit him hard. She was right. She didn’t survive, she just existed. There was a difference and a huge one at that. “Then stop just existing,” he said quietly.

His hand was still cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her skin. 

“Says the guy that just keeps moping around,” she quipped.

It was a low blow but also true. Azriel’s jaw tensed at the comment. “I don’t mope,” he bit. “I just..“

He didn’t really have a good argument in his defence at the moment. 

He sighed. “We should both stop rotting away,” he said drily.

“Yeah, well, that’s easy to you to say,” Zahra said and he could hear the bitterness in her voice. 

“Eat your cheese,” he responded.

She rolled her eyes and snatched away the slice of cheese off the table. “Happy now?“ she muttered. 

“Delighted,” he gave back drily, as he moved towards her fireplace.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zahra said quietly. “I can do that.”

“Considering you’ve been too starved to think straight, you are going to let me do this,” Azriel cut across her calmly. “You are more than likely to burn yourself.” 

“Don’t the flames bother you?” She asked him quietly. He froze.

Nobody else had ever asked him. They had just expected him to be over it by now. He had 500 years to be over it. His hands clenched.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “They still do.” It was the honest truth. A truth he never told anyone before, least of all someone like her. The shadows curled around his shoulders and arms as if to calm him down. The flames still bothered him. They always would. “But I learnt to deal with it a long time ago,” he continued.

“That’s not fair to you,” Zahra said, her voice quiet. “You are always the one in discomfort. And nobody cares.”

Her words hit him square in the gut. It was true. It was painfully true. He was always the one being uncomfortable. Always the one on edge. It had always been expected of him to be over it by now, the pain and the hurt. The fear and the bitterness. 

He finished building the fire. Using a match to light it carefully, then closing the door quickly.

“I can deal with it,” he answered quietly. “You should go to sleep,” he advised her.

“So should you,” Zahra told him just as quietly. “You look terrible.“ He knew he looked like crap. But that didn’t matter. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing off her comment. Even though he knew it was a lie. Even though he knew they were both terrible at taking care of themselves. 

“You are a terrible liar,” she quipped. He looked at her and was surprised to see a tiny smile on her face. 

“And you’re a very stubborn, very stupid, very annoying woman,” he quipped back just as quietly. 

The smile on her face broadened the tiniest bit at the comment. “I could say the same about you,” she shot back. 

“Sleep,” he told her again.

And then he left that little cottage to get back to the House of Wind. He didn’t bother winnowing, instead, he shot up into the sky with one flap of his mighty wings. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

His mind was whirling as he flew back to the House of Wind. So much had happened in the last few hours and it was all still a lot to process.

He had always been good at keeping a rein on his thoughts and his emotions. But this time, he simply couldn’t. 

Zahra and him, always on the outskirts of their family. Ignored and expected to get on with it.

They were so similar in so many ways. It was shocking to realize just how much they actually had in common.

The loneliness and solitude he had come to live with, she had experienced herself. The pain and the bitterness, he could recognize it on her, for he had felt it himself. 

Where are you, Az? Rhys demanded at that moment mentally. Azriel would like to scratch out his eyes, but he didn’t.

I’m flying back to the House, he sent back curtly. Zahra had a headache, so I brought her home.

A headache, Rhys shot back incredulously. Azriel could almost see the look on his High Lord’s face. You really think I will buy that?

I don’t care if you believe me or not, Azriel responded icily, his temper rising already at the tone. It is the truth and I really don’t wish to have a discussion over it.

There was a pause in Rhys’ mind. Then a slight huff. You can be so unbelievably stubborn sometimes, you know that?

Azriel didn’t bother reacting to that.

Elain and Lucien are figuring things out. So keep away from her, Rhys told him sharply.

I am keeping away from her, Azriel shot back, irritation flaring. You really think I will go and ruin this for her?

I don’t know what you are up to, Rhys retorted, and Azriel knew the High Lord was irritated. But I really don’t have the time to deal with your crap right now. That’s an order.

Understood, High Lord, Azriel snarled back and he felt Rhys chuckle in his mind at the tone. I will keep away from your precious Elain, I promise. 

Damn right you will, he heard Rhys mutter in his mind and the mental connection between the two of them snapped close. 

Azriel snarled in irritation as he landed on his balcony and stalked into his room. It wasn’t enough that he was wrestling with his own emotions, No, he also had Rhys all up his ass about it. 

And he was infuriated about the whole thing.

Nobody will suddenly show up and care, he has told Zahra. It was the truth. Nobody would care.

They only cared as long as they got what they wanted from him.

Chip away the pieces they didn’t like. Mould him into a person they could stomach. 

Either it was Rhys ordering to keep away from Elain…or ordering him to behave around Mor and Emerie… and to be quite honest…Azriel was done.

It was always him that needed to bend to make everybody else comfortable. Nobody bends for him.

So many years of following orders, of keeping his mouth shut, of bottling up the anger.

Even when everyone around him was getting what they wanted. They got their happily ever after. And he was left behind.  Not once did someone ever realize that he was struggling. Not once did someone notice that he needed something…anything. That he was hurting and in pain. Nobody even bothered to check on him, to ask how he was doing. 

They all got what they wanted. Mor, Emerie, even Feyre. They all got the mate that they wanted. Rhys, Cassian and even Amren had Varian. 

He was the one always helping everyone else. Always the one having to endure everything. Never anything for himself. No love for himself.

Orders, commands, demands…that’s all it ever was. He didn’t get a say in anything. They just expected him to be fine. And if he wasn’t…he had to push through it. 

He was the tool that did whatever needed to be done. The spy that got the order to do the dirty work. The shadowsinger that just had to endure everything. 

All for scraps of attention.

Azriel was done.

He was so done. With everything. With everyone. With the one-sided affection that he had given in a desperate attempt to feel…something, anything…. 

He needed to stop expecting to get anything from them.

Zahra did not. She seemed to have given that up a very long time ago

The cold realization that they had been doing the same to her hit him. She was also the tool they used when they needed it. She may not be a spy, but they used her just the same. Expected her to be fine. 

She was alone just as much as he was. 

Alone and isolated, an afterthought to their family just as much as he was. 

***

It was quiet in the little cottage. 

Peaceful. 

Comfortable.

Sie should be happy. Or at the very least…she should be content, should she not?.

Zahra had a roof over her head. And if she wanted to…she could afford food.

Her job didn’t pay that well, but it wouldn’t leave her starving. She just wasn’t hungry. She seemingly never was.

That was a lie and she knew it. Deep down she was hungry all the time. She just refused to give in to eating. She refused to listen to her body screaming for sustenance. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nobody cared.

She didn’t care.

Something inside her had broken during her bath in that cauldron. Her humanity had burned away and with that…with that everything Zahra had ever wanted.

She didn’t crave anything anymore. Not love. Not affection. Not attention. Not food. It was all gone. All she felt was numb. 

Cold, empty and numb. Like her shell had hardened and frozen over.

She had never thought it was possible to feel so damn tired without having done anything. 

Zahra forced herself to get up. Forced herself to heat some water on the stove… to make tea. The cheapest tea she had been able to find at the market.

It wasn’t the best. The taste was bitter and the color was more brown than black. But it was tea and she was thirsty enough to drink it.

It wasn’t very warm and left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Like her life itself. 

Maybe just dying would have been easier, she reflected bitterly. Was this how eternity would feel? Alone? Tucked away in this cottage? 

All her sisters had been given a mating bond. They had been given another person who loved them unconditionally…that was at their side. That wanted them around. That wanted to spent time with them. 

And then there was her. 

She had been closest to Feyre during the years in that cottage. Nesta gave her the fault for seemingly everything htat had ever gone wrong in her life, though Zahra privately thought that for Nesta, Zahra was just the evidence of another of her father’s failings…Elain…well, Elain was more embarrassed than anything about Zahra’s very existence. But Feyre…well, Feyre hadn’t cared. And so Zahra had tried to dote on her as much as she could. 

And then clearly she had been replaced in Feyre’s affections. 

She didn’t fault her for that. 

Feyre had made her own life. And she had every right to do that. She was busy with her mate and her son and Mor was her best friend and…there was seemingly no place for Zahra there. 

Which was fine. 

It was. 

But if Zahra was completely honest with herself…she was unspeakably jealous of the mating bond of every single one of her sisters. 

Of that promise of at least one person that would be on her side, come Hel or High Water. 

Clearly, something was wrong with her that she hadn’t been given a Mating Bond.

She wasn’t worth a mate. Clearly, something was broken inside her. Otherwise, the cauldron would have given her a mate, right? 

Maybe she was broken so thoroughly that nobody even wanted her. 

Why would they? She was a shell of a person, a ghost of the woman she was supposed to be.

She was cold, empty and numb. Everything that nobody could possibly want. 

Everyone else got a mate, love and happiness. Not her.

She had nothing.

Her hands clenched around her lukewarm cup of tea. 

Some random sparks of light sparked against the mug. A gift from the cauldron. They didn’t seem to do anything but warm whatever they touched. Maybe that was that random power the cauldron had given her. Neither future or death…but…warmth. She supposed it was something.

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and she had never bothered telling anybody about it. 

Sometimes she allowed herself to play with them when she couldn’t sleep. They were strange and utterly useless. 

It wasn’t the power of foresight or the power of a death god…no. She had the stupid power to create sparks. Useless sparks of light. 

Oh well. 

Complaining about her sparks wasn’t going to help her either. 

So she pulled out her work and sat down to do her work as the sun came up and the day went on. 

Zahra balanced the account ledgers for one of the apothecaries in Velaris. Which meant she had a whole box of receipts to sort through and put into said ledger.

One receipt at a time, one name after the other. 

It kept her busy. It paid well enough. She seemed to have some kind of aptitude for it…maybe the fact that her father was a merchant had come through for once. 

She worked until the late evening. Until her eyes couldn’t concentrate on the numbers anymore.Until her back and shoulders ached with pain. She stretched her shoulders back. 

She wondered if she should eat something. Her cheese was gone, thanks to Azriel standing over her until she ate it…but she still had one or two slices of bread, didn’t she? 

She could go food shopping…buy another bread, another chunk of cheese tomorrow. 

Then Zahra heard a knock on the door. 

Confusion spread through her. Who would knock on her door at that very late hour? It was after 9 pm already. 

She got up, walked towards the door and opened it carefully.

It was the last person she would expected to be standing on the front porch. Azriel. 

“I am making you dinner.“

Her eyes widened at that announcement. “You are what?” she asked him dumbly. 

He just gave her a deadpan look and pushed past her. “I am cooking dinner because I am assuming that you haven’t eaten yet,” he told her plainly. 

It was true. Zahra hadn’t eaten a proper meal in god knows how long. But why did he care?? “Why?” she blurted out. “Why do you care if I’ve eaten?” 

He gave her a sharp look and pushed her towards the kitchen chair. “Sit down,” he simply ordered and she was too taken aback to protest against it. 

He had brought his own ingredients. His own knives, all tucked away in a little basket that he put on her countertop. “Can you peel potatoes?” He asked her as he rummaged through it. 

She could just stare at him. 

“Who do you think cooked the meat Feyre hunted?” Zahra replied drily.

Azriel froze in the process of digging something out of the basket on the counter. “You can cook?” he asked her and she heard the surprise in his voice. 

Zahra let out a snort. “Yes, I can cook,” she retorted. “What did you think I was doing this whole time in the cottage? Twiddling my thumbs?” 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I had no idea what you were up to,” he told her truthfully.  “I thought you were as useless as Elain and Nesta were at that point,” he admitted.

“Nesta did all the cleaning and hacked the wook,” Zara corrected him quietly. “Elain mended. I cooked. Feyre was the only one who hunted. And yes, we should have done more, but I did help run the household. The only one who never helped was our father.” The bitterness bled into her voice at that. 

There was a long pause after her admission. Then Azriel exhaled. “I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am,” he muttered. “You don’t strike me as a pampered useless damsel.” 

“Thank you for that assessment, Shadowsinger,” she quipped back. “I will make sure to remember it when I need a pick-me-up.” 

He put a sack of potatoes in front of her. “I take it I’m peeling potatoes,” Zahra murmured, staring at the sack that was in front of her.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed in that no-nonsense voice of his. “While I prep the meat. I do hope you like rabbit,” he added drily.

“Oh good,” she muttered, grabbing a knife and started to peel away at the potatoes. “Did you hunt it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice neutral. Zahra bit back a snarky remark and focused on the potatoes. 

They worked like that in silence. Him preparing the meat, her peeling the potatoes and the carrots.

It was odd. This whole thing was odd. Sitting and cooking with Azriel. She hadn’t even known he could cook. 

And yet…it was comfortable. Like the silence wasn’t awkward and neither of them felt the need to break it. It was a comfortable domestic kind of silence. Like they had done this a thousand times before. 

“How are you with spicy food?” Azriel asked her after he had taken the potatoes from her. 

Zahra blinked in surprise. “I have a pretty good tolerance, why?” she asked, curious. 

“All the food I can cook is Illyrian,” Azriel answered drily. “I learned from Rhys’ mother and later from my own. It’s spicy.”

“I can handle a bit of spice,” she assured him. “It should be fine.” He nodded in response. 

The sound of the fire crackling in the stove and him stirring up the meat were the only sounds filling the kitchen as they continued their work. 

Zahra honestly had no idea Azriel could cook. He didn’t seem like the type of male who spent time cooped up in the kitchen, making meals. It was a little surprising. 

And yet, the scents of spices and rabbit were filling her kitchen right now... It smelled almost heavenly. 

She hadn’t smelled something as heavenly in a long time. And her stomach growled in response to the delicious scents of food. Zahra tried to remember when she’d last eaten something actually decent, but she couldn’t think straight. The food was distracting her.

“You look half starved,” Azriel observed in a deadpanned tone and she snapped her head up only to find him looking at her. 

His eyes were focused on her, a frown playing on his forehead. “When was the last time you actually ate something properly?” he asked her, his voice firm. 

She averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away from him and to the pot bubbling on the stove. “Maybe a week ago?” 

He was silent for a moment. “That long?” he asked her, his voice carefully neutral. She just shrugged in response to keep herself from admitting that she actually couldn’t remember exactly. 

He poured hot, thick stew into a bowl for her and then put it in front of her, holding out cutlery for her to take. “Why are you doing this?” Zahra asked him weakly.

“Because I wish somehow had done it for me,” Azriel responded

That simple statement made her blink in surprise. It was not an answer she had been expecting. She bit her lip, not really sure what to say. 

And then he simply said. “Eat. You look like you’d blow away at the slightest breeze.”

She should have been angered by that blunt statement, but somehow she wasn’t. 

So Zahra ate.

The food tasted incredibly good. She had to admit that the Shadowsinger was talented with cooking. The food was spiced just perfectly, hot and filled with flavour. 

Every bite made her realize just how incredibly hungry she was. Her stomach filled slowly and the hunger abated with every spoonful. It was like her insides started to come back to life. The numbness was slowly disappearing, replaced by an odd sort of warmth flowing through her limbs. 

"Thank you," she finally said weakly.

Azriel just nodded at her, watching her eat. “Of course,” he murmured and continued with his own food. 

[kiwriteswords]

hear me out, hear me out... is it possible to get shy!reader x bearded!hotch?????????????

Shades of Stubble

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy Female Reader||Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical themes, shy reader, teasing team, teenage Jack, bearded Hotch, post-season 10/11 with no Mr. Scratch, reader has a crush

Sypnosis: When Aaron Hotchner returns to the BAU sporting a beard after a rare week off, it draws more attention than he expects—especially from you, the shy but perceptive team member whose lingering glances reveal more than you realize.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t often take full advantage of the rare breaks the team received, but this time, a solid week away from the BAU had given him time to unwind—if that’s what growing a beard counted as. Normally, his morning routine was methodical, almost meditative—a quick splash of cold water to wake himself up, followed by lathering shaving cream across his jaw and carefully dragging the razor along the angles of his face. It was a task he’d repeated every day without fail, a ritual that helped him maintain the sharp, controlled image he knew his role required.

But when the break started, the razor stayed on the sink. The first morning, he told himself he’d get to it later. By the second, he rationalized that there was no harm in skipping a day or two. By the third, a faint shadow of stubble had appeared, and he caught himself in the mirror, running a hand along his jawline, curious. It wasn’t like the full beard he’d grown out during his time in Pakistan—this was something new, something... untethered. For once, he wasn’t adhering to his usual strict standards, and there was a quiet freedom in that.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d chosen to let it stay. Maybe it was exhaustion—seven days free of the ever-present weight of the BAU felt like both a luxury and an anomaly. Or maybe it was a small rebellion against the routine that so often defined his life. This was about as rebellious as he got these days, maybe a silent nod to his pre-boarding school days, but nonetheless. He didn’t have to answer to anyone for a week, and he didn’t have to fit into the box of Aaron Hotchner, Supervisory Special Agent. He could just exist.

By the time the week ended, the beard had grown in enough to draw attention, though he hadn’t considered how it might be received by the team—or anyone else, for that matter. It wasn’t a decision he put much thought into, at least not until he walked into the bullpen on Monday morning.

The reaction was immediate, though not unwelcome. JJ’s playful quip cut through the usual hum of activity, and heads turned in his direction. He caught Rossi’s amused smirk, Morgan’s raised brow, and—most notably—your wide-eyed, stunned expression. For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt a little... self-conscious. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

JJ’s voice rang out across the room with playful familiarity. "It's baaaack!"

Heads turned, but Hotch’s gaze landed on you. You were seated at your desk, a pen in your hand paused mid-air, as if frozen in the act of jotting something down. Your eyes widened when they met his, and though you tried to look back at your work, Hotch caught the way your cheeks flushed, betraying your reaction.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed you looking at him like that—soft glances quickly averted, the occasional stammer when he addressed you directly. He’d always assumed you were shy by nature, but there was something about the way you reacted to him in particular that stirred a feeling he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. Not until now.

He crossed the bullpen, nodding a silent acknowledgment to JJ, who grinned knowingly and sipped her coffee. As he passed your desk, he noticed your gaze dart up to him again, only to quickly drop back to your notes. Your pen moved, but the faint smile tugging at your lips told him you weren’t really focused.

“Good morning,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet bubble you seemed to have surrounded yourself with.

Your head shot up, your eyes meeting his again before flickering to the beard and back. “G-Good morning, Hotch.”

There it was—that hesitation, that barely there crack in your voice. You managed a small smile, but your hands fidgeted with the pen, betraying your nerves.

He nodded, letting the moment linger just a second longer than usual. “I hope you had a good week.”

“I did,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly, before glancing away. “Did you?”

“I did.” His lips twitched in a barely-there smile. “It’s rare to have so much time off. I’ll see you in the meeting room.”

With that, he moved on, climbing the stairs to his office, though he couldn’t resist glancing back once. You were still sitting there, staring blankly at your notebook, one hand pressed against your cheek as though trying to will away the blush.

The day moved forward with its usual rhythm—briefings, paperwork, follow-ups on ongoing cases. But throughout it all, Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. The way your gaze flickered toward him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your voice softened when you addressed him. And, of course, the way your blush deepened whenever someone—namely Morgan—commented on the beard.

“Looking rugged, Hotch,” Morgan said during lunch, his grin teasing as always. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Hotch replied simply, though he couldn’t help noticing you sneaking a glance at him from across the table. He decided not to meet your eyes this time, sensing you’d only shrink further into yourself if he did.

By the end of the day, Hotch found himself in the bullpen again, finishing a conversation with Rossi. As the older man walked away, he turned to see you standing by your desk, gathering your things for the evening. You glanced up and froze when you realized he was watching you.

“Heading out?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, clutching your bag tightly. “I, uh... just finishing up.”

“Good.” He paused, then added, “I’ve noticed you’ve been very focused today. I appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he thought you might not respond. Then you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He didn’t miss the way your gaze lingered on his face—on the beard—before you ducked your head again, clearly embarrassed by your own boldness. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement—and something else, something warmer, deeper—at your reaction.

“Have a good night,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You too,” you replied, finally looking at him again. And this time, there was a tiny smile on your lips—shy, but genuine.

As you walked away, Hotch stood there for a moment, watching you go. He didn’t usually dwell on personal matters, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about something—or rather, someone—other than the job.

Hotch lingered in the bullpen after you left, his gaze fixed on the space you had occupied only moments before. The quiet hum of the office around him faded into the background as his thoughts drifted. You had always been reserved—soft-spoken, diligent, and almost painfully shy in his presence—but tonight had felt different. The way your cheeks had flushed when you glanced at him, the way your voice trembled ever so slightly when you said, “Good night,” lingered in his mind like a melody he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way you avoided his gaze during meetings or the nervous energy that seemed to bubble to the surface whenever he was near. At first, he chalked it up to his position, assuming you were simply wary of interacting with your boss. But over time, he began to notice the subtler details—the way your focus seemed to falter when he entered the room, the way your lips pressed together in a shy smile whenever he acknowledged you. He couldn’t deny that your reactions had begun to stir something within him.

With a sigh, Hotch headed up to his office, closing the door behind him. The mirror by his coat rack caught his eye, and he approached it, scrutinizing his reflection. The beard, now fully grown, had transformed his appearance in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It softened the sharpness of his jawline, gave him an edge that felt rugged and unpolished. It reminded him of a different time—a different man—but also felt like a small reclamation of his identity beyond the suit and title.

He ran a hand over the coarse hair, considering whether it was time to shave it off. His routine had always been a source of stability in his chaotic life, and the beard felt like an indulgence he wasn’t sure he could afford to keep. Yet, as he stood there, the image of your wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. The way your blush deepened when JJ’s comment drew attention to him. The tiny, shy smile you offered as you said goodnight.

A warmth spread through him, surprising in its intensity. He’d seen countless reactions to his decisions over the years—respect, defiance, admiration—but the unfiltered awe in your eyes when you looked at him tonight was something else entirely. It wasn’t about the beard, he realized, not really. It was about you, and the thought that he might have been the reason for that smile, fleeting as it was.

Hotch turned away from the mirror and sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair. The thought of shaving the beard felt distant now, almost trivial. He knew he would eventually, but for now, he decided to keep it—if only to see if he could coax another smile from you.

And maybe, just maybe, to hear your voice tremble in that sweet, shy way one more time.

Aaron Hotchner stood in his bathroom, razor in hand, staring at his reflection. The beard was staying—for now—but it was time to bring it under control. He wasn’t the type to let his appearance slip too far, and even if the beard was uncharacteristic for him, it didn’t have to be unruly. With steady hands, he trimmed the edges, shaping it neatly to suit his features. The coarse sound of the trimmer filled the quiet bathroom as he worked methodically, the precision calming in a way that reminded him of his usual shaving routine.

When he was satisfied, he stepped back to examine the results. The beard was tidier now, the lines clean and deliberate. It still felt like a small rebellion against the rigidity of his usual image, but it was a rebellion on his terms.

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts from the hallway. “You’re keeping it?”

Hotch turned to see his son leaning against the doorframe, a teasing grin on his teenage face. Jack had grown so much, taller now, his voice deeper, but the playful light in his eyes hadn’t changed.

“For now,” Hotch replied, setting the trimmer down. “Why? You don’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I mean, it’s fine. Just... you look like you’re trying to be cool or something.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, amused. “Trying to be cool?”

“Yeah,” Jack teased, crossing his arms. “Like, what’s next? Leather jackets?”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to suits, thanks.”

“Good call,” Jack said, grinning as he walked away. “But don’t blame me if people start calling you ‘Hotch the hipster.’”

Hotch rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a towel and cleaned up.

The next morning at the BAU, the beard caught its usual share of attention. You were the first to notice when Hotch walked into the bullpen, your eyes flickering up from your desk. As usual, you tried to hide your reaction, but Hotch caught the way your gaze lingered on him before you quickly looked back at your screen. He felt a small, unfamiliar pang of satisfaction.

Throughout the day, it became a pattern. Your eyes would drift toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. You seemed more flustered than usual, fumbling over your words when he asked you a question during a meeting and avoiding his gaze entirely when Morgan teased him about the beard.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Rossi made his move. The two of them were standing by the coffee machine when the older man gave Hotch a knowing look.

“So,” Rossi began, casually stirring his coffee. “You’re keeping the beard.”

“For now,” Hotch replied, taking a sip from his own mug.

Rossi smirked, his tone light but unmistakably teasing. “I think someone likes it.”

Hotch frowned slightly. “Jack? He’s made his opinion very clear.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jack.” Rossi’s smirk widened as he nodded toward the bullpen, where you were seated at your desk, your gaze darting toward Hotch once again before you quickly turned your attention back to your papers.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rossi chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You might want to pay attention, Aaron. She’s not as subtle as she thinks.”

Hotch glanced toward you once more. You were chewing on the end of your pen, deep in concentration, oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

He turned back to Rossi, shaking his head. “Let it go, Dave.”

“Sure, sure,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with false innocence as he pushed off the counter. “But for what it’s worth, I think the beard suits you. Clearly, I’m not the only one.”

Hotch didn’t reply, but as Rossi walked away, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of him was glad he’d decided to keep the beard. If nothing else, it gave him one more reason to notice the way your cheeks flushed and your gaze lingered just a little too long.

Hotch was used to reading people—it was part of his job. He could pick apart the smallest details in someone's behavior, uncovering motives and intentions hidden beneath the surface. But when it came to you, he had learned to tread carefully. You were quiet, meticulous, and hardworking, but there was a guardedness about you that he respected, even if he didn’t entirely understand it.

The subtle glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your voice softened when speaking to him—it had all been easy to dismiss as shyness. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was more to it. Rossi’s teasing hadn’t helped, planting a seed of curiosity that grew every time your gaze lingered on him just a second too long.

The revelation, however, came unexpectedly, in the middle of a case briefing.

The team was gathered in the conference room, the case details spread across the table. Hotch was at the head of the room, presenting the profile, when he asked a question about the unsub’s potential targets. You were the one who answered, your voice steady but quiet, offering an insight that made the rest of the team nod in agreement.

“Good observation,” Hotch said, his tone even but sincere. “That could narrow down the list.”

Your eyes darted to him, and for a moment, there it was again—that slight hesitation, the way your gaze lingered on his face before you quickly looked down. It was subtle, but it wasn’t lost on him.

What followed, however, wasn’t subtle at all.

“Careful, Hotch,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Keep praising her like that, and she’s gonna think she’s your favorite.”

The comment drew a few chuckles, but your reaction was what caught Hotch’s attention. You froze, your cheeks turning a deep shade of red as you fumbled with the pen in your hand.

“I—uh—I didn’t...” you stammered, your words trailing off as you avoided everyone’s gaze, especially his.

JJ, ever the empathetic one, tried to steer the conversation back to the case, but Morgan wasn’t done. “I’m just saying,” he added, his grin widening, “you don’t see him handing out compliments like that to the rest of us.”

“Enough,” Hotch said, his tone firm but not harsh, cutting off the teasing. He could see how uncomfortable you were, your shoulders tense as you kept your eyes glued to the table.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and as the team dispersed, Hotch stayed behind, watching as you gathered your things with hurried precision. He could see the embarrassment still etched on your face, the way you avoided looking at him as you moved toward the door.

“Wait,” he said, his voice stopping you in your tracks. You froze, gripping the edge of the file folder in your hands as he stepped closer.

“Sir?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his tone softer now. “Morgan’s comments—”

“They were just jokes,” you interrupted, though your cheeks were still flushed. “It’s fine.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your grip on the folder tightened. And then, as if unable to hold it in any longer, you blurted out, “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

That caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the door as if debating whether to make a run for it. But then you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly as you said, “I—it’s nothing. I just... I know I’m not subtle. I’ve been trying, but...”

You trailed off, your words hanging in the air between you. Hotch felt his chest tighten, the weight of what you weren’t saying suddenly very clear.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes wide and uncertain. “I’m not making this weird, am I? I don’t want to... I mean, I know you’re my boss, and I shouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted gently, his tone firm but kind. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the room thick but not unpleasant. Hotch could see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you seemed torn between fleeing and staying rooted in place.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch nodded, stepping back to give you space. “Take the rest of the day if you need it.”

You shook your head quickly, a small, shy smile appearing despite your obvious embarrassment. “I’m okay. I just... I’ll try to be more professional.”

“There’s nothing unprofessional about being yourself,” Hotch replied, his voice calm and measured. “Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, you nodded, clutching your folder tightly as you slipped out of the room. Hotch watched you go, his thoughts swirling as the door clicked shut behind you.

For a man who prided himself on being able to read people, the realization of your feelings hit him like a revelation he hadn’t seen coming. And yet, as he stood there in the empty conference room, he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him at the thought.

Aaron Hotchner lingered in the empty conference room after you left, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence. He was rarely caught off guard, but your words—and the vulnerability behind them—had shaken something loose within him. You hadn’t outright said the words, but the implication was clear. And now that it was out in the open, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the signs before.

He sat down, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he let himself think about it—about you. The way you’d look up at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your cheeks flushed whenever he praised your work, the way you stumbled over your words in meetings but always managed to recover with a thoughtful, intelligent point.

And then there was his reaction to it all. How his gaze would linger on you longer than it should. How your shy smile had a way of softening the edges of his day. How, against his better judgment, he found himself looking forward to the moments you shared, no matter how brief or inconsequential they might have seemed.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair. He’d spent so long guarding himself, compartmentalizing his emotions to stay focused on the job. But with you, those walls had started to crack, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Your presence had a way of grounding him, reminding him that there was still room for warmth and connection in his life.

Later that evening, Hotch was in his office, going over the case files, when a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, expecting one of the team.

Instead, it was you. You stepped inside hesitantly, your file folder clutched to your chest like a shield. “I just wanted to apologize,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “Again. For earlier.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hotch said, his tone gentle as he set the file aside. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his before darting away again. “I just—I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

Hotch stood and rounded the desk, leaning against the edge of it as he regarded you carefully. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

That made you look up, confusion flickering across your face. “What? Why?”

“Because I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve noticed the way you look at me. The way you try to hide it. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make you feel self-conscious. But I also didn’t want to admit to myself that I’ve been doing the same thing.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as his words sank in. “You... what?”

Hotch offered a small, almost hesitant smile. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. To convince myself that it’s unprofessional or impractical. But the truth is, I feel it too.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. He could see the disbelief in your expression, the way you seemed to be processing his words in real time.

“I don’t know where this goes,” Hotch continued, his tone careful but sincere. “But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”

You stared at him, your grip on the file loosening slightly. “I didn’t think... I mean, I never thought you’d...”

“I know,” he said gently. “I haven’t exactly made it easy to tell.”

A small, tentative smile broke across your face, and Hotch felt a warmth spread through him at the sight. It was as if some unspoken weight had lifted, leaving room for something lighter, something brighter.

“I guess we’re both bad at this,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of shy humor.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. But we can figure it out.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing as your smile grew. “Okay.”

For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel the full weight of hope, the possibility of something beyond the job, beyond the walls he’d built around himself. And as he watched you leave his office, your steps lighter than before, he couldn’t help but think that this—whatever it was—might just be worth the risk.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[navybrat817]

Has Sweet Pea's mom called Bucky? 🥺

Not yet, nonnie.

Heart and Home

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: You reflect on the love you have for your daughter and your loneliness.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, light angst, loneliness, single parenting, daughter nicknamed Sweet Pea, thinking about Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Follow up to Moving in Slow Motion. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky hadn’t left your mind since the museum. How could you not think about him? The man looked like he’d been ripped right out of one of those romance novels you liked to curl up with once your daughter fell asleep. Tall and built, movie star handsome, a smile that made your heart stop. Not only that, he made your little girl smile. That meant the world because she was your world.

But that didn’t mean anything was going to happen and it was way too soon to think it would.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” You called out.

“Okay, Mama!”

You glanced at your phone as you grabbed a couple of plates, wondering when and if you should call Bucky. You couldn’t remember the last time someone offered their phone number once knowing you had a kid. It was a dealbreaker for some. Not to mention, you had been out of the dating game for some time and you weren’t even sure what was an acceptable period of time to call or not call.

“He isn’t thinking about me,” you muttered, loading up the plates once everything was ready. A man like Bucky probably had a line out the door of people who wanted to date him. Beyond his looks, there was something mysterious about him. Maybe even dangerous. You couldn’t put your finger on why you felt that way. It likely had something to do with those books you couldn’t stop yourself from reading and it was bleeding into reality.

“Dinner is served!” You smiled as you set the food on the small dining room table. Your daughter was still in the living room, occupied with coloring at the coffee table. Your apartment wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but things like trinkets, snuggly throw pillows, and photos of you and your daughter helped make the place a cozy home. “I made dino nuggies.”

Her eyes widened as she looked up from her sheet. “Dino nuggies!” Both of you laughed when she held her hands up and roared. She loved nuggets and dinosaurs. “One more minute, please?”

You pretended to think about it. “Okay, one more minute,” you said, taking a seat to watch her. She grabbed another crayon and pursed her lips as she colored. It was an adorable expression of concentration. She must’ve picked it up from you since she didn’t get it from her father.

You shut your eyes for a moment when her dad’s face shimmered in your mind. The two of you weren't together anymore and he wasn't part of your daughter's life either. He likely never would be since he wanted nothing to do with kids. It hurt some days. Not because you missed him, the man was never meant to be your forever partner. But how could anyone look at your daughter and not love her?

At the end of the day, the two of you were better off alone instead of forcing him to stick around. And you did your best to give her the love of two parents. But what would happen as she got older and wondered why her dad wasn’t there? You would never regret having her, but what if you weren’t enough for her? What then?

“What are you working on?” You asked, pulling yourself from those sad thoughts and concentrating on the present.

“The museum!” She answered, scrutinizing the paper. She took her coloring very seriously. “Finished!”

“Let’s take a look,” you said, holding out your hand when she brought it over. It was the room at the museum where she built the roller coaster, full of wonder and energy. The bright colors jumped off the page, like the shade yellow reflecting her natural happiness. Maybe you were a little biased, but you thought her drawings were perfect. “Wow! Beautiful, just like you.”

She giggled at the compliment. “You’re beautiful, Mama. A queen!”

“I guess that makes you a princess then,” you smiled, booping her nose and getting another giggle out of her. “You did a wonderful job drawing the roller coaster.”

She held her head high. She was so proud. “I did. And look! That’s you and me,” she said, pointing at two of the stick figures in front of it. “And that’s Mr. Bucky!”

Your smile faltered as you looked at the third stick figure, the colors matching the outfit he wore along with a pair of blue eyes. Your finger traced it before you could stop yourself. She was adding him to drawings after only meeting him once? It shouldn't surprise you since she kept talking about him as you took her around the museum. “It’s a very nice drawing, Sweet Pea.”

“Thanks, Mama.” She smiled, taking a seat and pulling her plate closer. “Can we send it to Mr. Bucky? Please?”

“The nuggets may still be a little warm, so blow on them, please,” you warned, looking at the drawing again. The innocent look in her eyes made it hard to say no. “I don’t think we can send it to him. I’m sorry.”

She made an exaggerated show of blowing on the first before she took a bite, but the happiness from the meal faded quickly at your response. “How come?” She asked sadly, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout she easily learned to perfect. “H-He liked my art.”

You reached over to rub her back when she hung her head, your comforting instinct coming out. “Oh, I know Mr. Bucky liked your art. He really did. I just don’t know where he lives, which is why I can’t send it,” you replied gently, which was true. It didn’t take the sad look off her face. “But if we see him again, we’ll be sure to ask if he’d like a drawing from you. I’m sure he’d love it.”

You tried to emphasize the word “if” since you didn’t want to get her hopes up or have her get attached. You wouldn't get your hopes up either. Being cautiously optimistic was the way to go.

After a moment, she lifted her head and took another bite of her food. “Okay, Mama.”

You quietly dug in, knowing this wasn't the end of it. She had such a loving heart, so pure, and you wondered if she sensed your loneliness some days or if it rubbed off on her. You did your best not to let it show. She was a child who didn't need to carry any burden of your feelings.

“How about after dinner you pick out a book for us to read together?” You suggested, giving her a tiny smile as she contemplated it. She still enjoyed having bedtime stories and you’d indulge that as long as she let you.

“Any book I want?” She smiled.

“Any book you want,” you promised.

As the two of you continued to eat, you glanced at the empty chair across from you with a heavy heart. Maybe one day it wouldn't be empty. Maybe a caring person would occupy the seat. Someone who would bring more love to your home. Until then, you would give Sweet Pea all the love she deserved.

And maybe you’d give Bucky a call once you were in bed.

Oh, Bucky is eagerly awaiting that phone call. And I just want to wrap them up in a hug. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[everyonewooeverywhere]

NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 1 : oh shit. a cowboy.

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.9k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers, toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😗 (sry baby), yj and reader get into a pretty big fight

notes: literally thank you so much to @ateez-main-yapper for helping me write this! like this would not exist without her letting me yap in her dms. or letting her help build the story up. or asking her to help edit. this was a two woman job 🙂‍↕️ so thank you baby 💗

ALSO there have been a couple changes and edits from the teaser, so not everything of the first 1k words is the same ☺️

and YES there will be a part 2 (& 3 💀) so PLEASE don't ask for it 😭 she will come when she's ready

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley, the sky strangely overcast for two in the afternoon.

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music since the stereo had broken months ago when Yeonjun slammed his fist against it in a fit of rage when you asked him to skip his gig this weekend to attend your sister’s wedding. Now it just blinked periodically when the car hit a bump, giving it miniscule signs of life. And for a man who focused his whole life around his music, he seemed uncharacteristically uninterested in getting it repaired. And maybe it would never get fixed because you could only afford to get the big issues fixed today.

After six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended this garage when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she insisted on here. You had your doubts when she pulled up the Instagram of one of the mechanics to show you the shop and ended up going on about how hot he was for several minutes, but you didn’t really have any other options.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house two large garage doors that opened up the shop to the dusty parking lot. Peering inside, you could see that there weren't many people inside the garage. There were only two mechanics in your line of sight, the closer of the two venturing back and forth between his toolbox and the taillights of an old Chevy, and you were their only customer as far as you could tell. You shrugged, Maybe they’re understaffed. 

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside. 

You spent several moments hovering by one of the garage doors, shuffling your feet and trying to catch the eye of one of the mechanics, but neither of them looked up. Entirely too absorbed in their work to notice your presence. They must not get very busy. 

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them. 

They both turned to you, and the man who’d been fixing up the Chevy opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off by his coworker, who jogged over from where he'd been partially hidden from view behind a rack of miscellaneous parts, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.” 

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god. 

“Hey Doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but you chose to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt that anyone else uttering that word toward you would’ve disgusted you to your core. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backward on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face, strands you imagined yourself brushing up under his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “‘Course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration’s been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was a little loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?” 

You pointed across the lot. 

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction. 

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing them over, embarrassed. 

He took them from you with a 'thanks doll' and a tip of his head, hand hovering over his forehead in a way that made you think he was used to wearing hats much bigger than this simple baseball cap. Before you could even question it further he was jogging across the lot and pulling the car through the big garage doors. 

When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, nodding slowly. 

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so I would get tired of his whining and go on and get it fixed myself,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face. 

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back, and your grip on your hair tightened just a little in frustration. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I doubt I could get her done any sooner than tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try and get a ride home then.”

“Alright, Doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I–so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash. 

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

Yunho watched as you stepped out into the parking lot to call someone, presumably that questionable boyfriend of yours who seemed to be way more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t help how his heart had dropped when you told him you had a boyfriend in the first place. After a long while of singleness, he was kind of hoping to test the waters when he saw you, and it even seemed like you responded positively to his obvious flirtations.

“So a boyfriend, huh?” Mingi startled him from behind.

Yunho let out a small sigh, trying not to let himself get too worked up about it. You had only met twenty minutes ago for fucks sake. “Yeah, seems like a real piece of work though.”

“Really?” MIngi gave his friend a skeptical side-eye, “Or is that the jealously talking.”

“No, seriously! This is his car. And she said it’s been actin’ up for a while, but he never made the time to bring it in. She only brought it here ‘cause he wouldn’t stop whining ‘bout it.”

“Huh. Sounds kinda child-like to me, but who are we to judge? We haven't even met the dude,” Mingi pat his friend on the back, “Try not to let it get you down, man. I’m sure there’s a cowboy-lovin girl right around the corner waiting for you.”

Yunho nodded, moving along so Mingi would let the whole thing drop. But no matter how many times he repeated in his head that you were taken, he just couldn’t stop looking over in your direction. You just seemed so…tired. He didn’t want to assume, but he got the feeling that this boyfriend of yours might be the main cause of that. And try as he might to reign in his ego and keep it in check, he couldn't help the part of him that knew that, whatever this man was providing for you, he could do so much better. That wasn’t really his place, though. So he let you be. 

“Yeonjun what do you mean you’re busy? You were on the couch when I left an hour ago,” you sighed through the phone.

“Baby, come on. You know I have a gig tonight,” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And I need to get in the right headspace, so I can’t leave the apartment. It’ll ruin the mood.”

“Is that really more important than picking me up? I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know. Call an Uber?” Oh, you were gonna kill him.

“What? Why would I pay for an Uber when I have a boyfriend at home with my perfectly functioning car who could drive his ass over here and pick me up? For free!”

You hated how difficult it was to get him to help you out in any way. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Listen, I really can’t break my flow right now. Maybe wait a couple hours, and I’ll come pick you up, okay? Or maybe have one of your friends pick you up.”

“It’s 3 pm on a Tuesday, Jun. Most people are at–” He hung up on you, “Work..” You trailed off.

God, this is so embarrassing. What the hell were you going to do now? You could call an Uber, but you could barely afford groceries this week. And getting this car fixed was gonna drain the last of your paycheck. 

You bit at your lip anxiously, wracking your head for options. Your friends would be more than happy to pick you up, but most of them wouldn’t get off work for another two hours. So maybe you could just wait until then. Or maybe you could hitchhike? The highway was miles off. And your gut wrenched at the idea of a stranger knowing where you lived…But maybe that could work. Or maybe you cou–

“Everything alright out here, sweetheart?” 

You jumped at his voice, “Oh! Yeah,” you scratched at your head, trying to force a smile, “My boyfriend’s just really busy, so he can’t come get me.”

“Do you…need a ride?” He offered sincerely, “I don’t wanna overstep or anything, but I could help ya if you need it.”

“Oh god no! You don’t have to do that.”

He grinned softly at you, “It’s really nothing at all. I’ll tell you what, I’m leaving here in about an hour. If you can’t find a ride before that, you’ll let me give you drive you home.”

Just say ‘yes.’ Your brain was practically begging you to speak, but you knew this would cause an argument with Yeonjun. A random handsome man bringing you back to the apartment? Oh, it was a recipe for disaster. But what other choice did you have? It wasn’t like he was gonna pay for an Uber to help you home or pick you up himself. No, he left you stranded here with a shit reason, so you were gonna get home the best way possible, and, if it pissed him off, that was his own damn fault.

“Ok,” you smiled up at him, “If you really don’t mind.”

“Trust me, Doll, it’s no problem at all. Let me just finish a couple things up and change, and then we’ll get going, okay?”

You sat on the bench inside the shop while he finished his work. Trying to give yourself a moment to breathe. This was supposed to be your day off. You had finally been able to get a break from both of your jobs, and this is how you were spending it. Trying to fix the car of your boyfriend who couldn't even put his “pre-show ritual” on hold to make sure you got home safe. Part of you was mad at him. Livid that his priorities were so far in the gutter. But you were mostly angry at yourself. Because at the end of the day, when all was said and done, you were the one who had spent six whole years of your life bending over backward for a man who wouldn’t even reach out his arm to catch you. 

You worked two jobs to support the two of you. Your paychecks paid for groceries, rent, insurance, everything. And what did he pay for? Nothing. Because he didn’t have a job. He played two gigs every month at the dingy bar two miles from your apartment, which somehow justified not even bothering to look for employment. 

How did you even get here? A deep sigh rose out of your throat. What the hell were you doing all this for? Your head hurt just thinking about all the times he’d let you down and all the stupid little arguments those let-downs had caused. And yet you were still out here paying his bills and running his errands.

“Alright, sweetheart, ready to go?” You broke out of your spiral when he called for you, and you looked up to see him no longer in the denim and baseball cap he was sporting earlier. 

Lord help me. You silently prayed to whoever might be listening, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat. He was sporting a light blue button-down shirt with the top two buttons left open so his collarbones were exposed and a light brown cowboy hat that almost exactly matched his hair. A cowboy. Of course. You couldn’t help the racing of your heart as he reached to adjust the brim of his hat. Unsure of whether you wanted to praise or curse whatever fate had sent him your way.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the bench, barely pushing a ‘yes’ out of your mouth. 

He grinned and motioned for you to follow him to the parking lot. The innocent gesture left you lightheaded as you focused on the way his index and middle fingers curled towards his wrist.

As you approached, he gestured to a baby blue pickup truck, “Here she is. My baby.” You chuckled, endeared by the pet name, the image of him gently patting the hood of 'his baby' as he walked around the front of the truck with you reminding you of cowboys in old westerns, leaning their foreheads against their mares as they gently stroked their manes. 

It was sweet. So sweet that you almost missed the fact that he was coming around to the passenger side of the truck with you.

He brushed past you, reaching for the passenger-side door. Swinging it open, he held out a hand to you, and you took it without much thought. 

“Up you go,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice, helping you hold your balance as you climbed into the truck.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Doll. I got ya.” He was going to be the death of you for sure.

“Ten years. You’ve been working there that long?” you looked over at him, amazed, “How old are you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Twenty-five. Mingi and I used to come up after school every day and help out. His grandpa used to run the shop but he retired a few years back and left it to him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” The thought of a little Yunho sweeping the floors and vacuuming cars made you smile. 

He hummed, “Yeah, it’s been a real nice job. Flexible hours, good pay, get to meet pretty girls from time to time.”

The tips of your ears burned at his blatant flirting. You looked over to see him focused on the road in front of you. The rays of the late afternoon sun shone on his face, letting you see the tan glow of his skin up close. 

Why did you have to meet such a seemingly perfect man today? Why couldn’t this opportunity have fallen into your lap six years ago? 

And fuck you knew you needed to end things. But more than half a decade of your life had been poured into this relationship and you couldn’t find it in your heart to let that go so easily.

Yunho noticed you looking over at him in his periphery, expecting some kind of playful rebuke, but was more than a little worried by your silence. Afraid he'd crossed a line, he was quick to apologize, eyes sincere and tone sober when he chanced a proper glance your way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’ mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! It’s fine,” You assure him, unconsciously threading your fingers through the ends of your hair, “I just don’t usually get this kind of attention. I know you’re just being playful.”

He nodded, some of his playfulness seeping back into his expression as he cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fixed his attention back onto the road in front of him. “I promise I’m not lyin’ about the ‘pretty’ part, though. I hope you know that.”

You scoff, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks rise, “Thank you…”

Silence enveloped the two of you after that, but he didn't seem to mind. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the music playing out of the car's stereo. In another life, one where the man waiting for you back at your apartment wasn't hell-bent on driving you insane, you wanted to believe that you could be strong enough to look away. To ignore the butterflies filling your stomach. To ignore the way he made your heart flutter. But you just couldn’t find it in you to look away, but he didn’t seem to catch on.

He thinks it's cute that you think he doesn’t notice. He’s very keen on noticing your every little move. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when he called you pretty and the way you awkwardly fidgeted with your bag when you told him that you didn’t normally receive that kind of attention.

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep him from prying. But he couldn’t help the way he started to hate this man that he’d never met even more. What he wouldn’t give to have a partner who was willing to go get his car fixed without asking. Someone who was so dedicated to the relationship that they were willing to sacrifice the little free time they had just to help out.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he glanced over at you and met your eyes for a second. You quickly whipped your head away, embarrassed that you’d been caught red-handed. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, smiled, “Here we are.”

“Mhm,” you nodded awkwardly, busying yourself with checking that you had all your things set to go. “Thank you for the ride. It means a lot.”

“Not a problem at all, Doll. Need me to walk you up?” he asked, leaning forward to try and meet your eyes.

You shook your head, “No, I’ll be alright.” You gave him a smile, “So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

He nodded, the tip of his hat dropping slightly, “Yep, I should be done with ‘er around noon.”

“Perfect! Again, thank you so mu–”

You were cut off by the sound of someone pounding on the passenger side window. Both of you turn at the sudden commotion. 

Yunho watched as you hurriedly swung the door open and slid out of the car. And he heard a muffled, “Jun, what the hell!?” after you’d slammed the door of his truck.

Ah, the boyfriend.

“Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled.

Yeonjun glared at you through the wild strands of his crimson hair, “My problem!? Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, that’s your issue? That I had to have the mechanic drive me home?” You seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest, “This could’ve easily been avoided if you had picked your sorry ass off the couch to drive me home yourself. Like any decent partner would.”

Your not-so-subtle jab seemed to go over his head, his mind too focused on the image of you smiling and blushing in response to a man that wasn’t him. “You really couldn’t have found a woman to drive you home? It just had to be this dick.”

“No, Yeonjun, I couldn’t find a woman to drive me home. You know why? Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon and all of my friends have jobs. Unlike you who can’t even take the time to take a break from whatever the fuck you do all day to give me a ride.”

He gawked at you, clearly offended, “I have a job.”

“Oh my god. This again?” You ran a frustrated hand over your face, “No. You don’t. Practicing with your bandmates twice a week and playing a single gig a month is not a job. You make $100 a month.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a nine-to-five? I like my schedule the way it is.”

You could feel angry tears forming at the back of your eyes, stinging as you held them back, “You think I DO!? Yeonjun, I work sixty hours a week trying to keep us afloat. I pay for our food, our rent, our insurance, your fucking car! And I can’t even get you to pick up the damn apartment when I’m gone.” The tears started falling before you even realized it, shocking both of you. It had been a long time since he’d last seen you cry. Because you always chose either anger or an eerily calm response to his childishness. Knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you if you slipped into vulnerability. “I’m fucking tired Jun. This was my first day off in three months, and I spent it trying to get your car fixed. And I can’t even get a ‘thank you’ out of you. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You aren’t nineteen anymore, and I think it’s time you grow the fuck up.”

He didn’t say anything. The anger in his face replaced by a mix of shock and awkward discomfort, one of a man who was embarrassed to even be in this situation.

You stayed like that for a beat, holding your breath, praying for the moment when he realized everything he’d done wrong. Where he woke up from the immature daze he’d been trapped in since you were teenagers. But you supposed that was all wishful thinking, the tension broken not by either of you, but by a honk from behind him. His bandmate was here to pick him up. 

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled before jogging up to his friend’s car and sliding into the passenger seat. You watched him give his friend one of their ridiculous handshakes, the sound of blaring music and feminine laughter spilling out into the parking lot before the car door slammed shut. The scene was so ironic in the face of everything he'd just yelled at you for that you really couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up through your tears, bitter as acid on your tongue.

Yunho sat in his truck as he watched your asshole of a boyfriend leave the parking lot. He stayed like that for a while, watching you wipe at your tears and try to compose yourself. When you’d calmed down enough for his conscience to let him leave, he looked down at the passenger seat and noticed you had left your purse behind.

Grabbing the bag, he exited the truck and approached you. Trying his best not to startle you, he cleared his throat. 

Surprised by the sound, you turned around to find Yunho standing there awkwardly, holding out the purse you now realized was missing from your shoulders, “You left your bag.”

“Oh…thank you.” You mumbled, closing the distance and grabbing it from him with a bit more force than you meant to. The mechanic didn’t so much as flinch.

How could he when his heart hurt for you? This woman he could barely even claim to know. He hated the fact that you felt the need to respond defensively, the pain in your eyes, and how you could barely look at him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of this. It wasn’t your fault. But Yunho knew without you having to say anything that you were incredibly embarrassed. 

“Listen–”

“Oh god. Please don’t”

His shoulders dropped, “I just wanted to–”

You lifted a hand to stop him, “Yunho, please. You’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate your help today. But please for the love of god don’t make me dump my relationship problems on you.”

“Hey now,” he said, holding both his hands up in a calming motion as he spoke in a voice so deep and steady in contrast to your own that it caught you by surprise, “I don’t mean to push or pry, Doll, you just look like you could use someone to talk to is all.”

“I just don’t want you to think down on me,” you sighed.

He looked at you sincerely, slipping the hat from his head and placing it on the hood of the truck, “Now, have I given you the impression that that’s somethin’ I would ever do?”

The appreciative smile you gave him almost made him melt. You leaned back against the side of his truck, tilting your head back until it hit the window with a soft thud, “I’m just so tired.”

Yunho slid next to you, awkwardly scuffing his boot into the pavement, “Would it be too rude to say I could tell?”

You chuckled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve been trying for years to get him to just put in an ounce of effort, but he won’t budge. But we’ve been together so long I don’t know if I have it in me to end things.”

“You know it’s not your job to teach him how to be an adult, right? He’s a grown-ass man. You shouldn’t have to beg him to help you out.” 

The somber look in your eyes when you looked up at him made Yunho want to pull you in and hug you to his chest, but he respected your boundaries. 

“I know. I just…” you trailed off, no longer finding it in yourself to argue for your relationship.

Yunho took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he wanted to get off his chest, “Look, Doll, I don’ wanna overstep or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt with you.” He paused, giving you room to tell him to stuff it and save it for someone else if you wanted to. But you were looking up at him expectantly, teary eyes nearly pushing his little speech clean out of his skull. He had to clear his throat a little before continuing. “The way that man treats you is just disgusting. For everything you do for him? The least he could do is make sure that your apartment is spotless and you never have to cook again. And I’m not saying it’s me who should give it to you, but you deserve worlds better than that.”

“Yeah…” was all you could get out before you felt a tear fall down your cheek, and you tried to wipe it away before Yunho saw. But of course he noticed.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort, running his thumb along the fabric of your t-shirt. You surprised him, though, when you turned into him and started sobbing into his chest. Your fingers desperately gripping his button down.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. Holding you with so much warmth and sincerity that you felt safer than you had in years. In the arms of a stranger, no less.

general taglist: @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha

ateez taglist: @certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer takes care of you after a serious accident.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: hospital, rehabilitation, neck and brain injury, nud1ty

𝐚/𝐧: this is one of the potential endings of my fanfiction "with the light off" which officialy remains open up to your own interpretation. this version written to comfort all the hearts i've broken <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

Spencer felt embarrassed by how, just an hour after leaving the apartment, he already wanted to call her.

She had already occupied a near-constant presence in the back of his mind, slipping in like a shadow—elusive and playful—darting between his thoughts, flitting from one corner to another whenever he tried, even briefly, to forget about her. But now? After that night they had spent together?

Spencer knew a lot about obsession. He understood the weight of the word and was acutely aware of its gravity. Yet he couldn’t deny it—he was obsessed with her. Physical contact had always been a sensitive yet profoundly significant subject for him. He didn’t allow many people that close. 

For him, touch was the ultimate proof of closeness and trust. Intimacy bred attachment. This wasn’t about desire in its rawest form—it was something else… though he wasn’t entirely sure what. He couldn’t define the bond they shared.

He felt bored, detached from the world when she wasn’t in it, and the only thing keeping him tethered to some semblance of normality was the thought—the imagining—that at this very moment, they were breathing the same air.

He was starting to think he might be losing his mind.

He held off on calling her precisely to avoid coming across as a lunatic in her eyes. He managed to restrain himself only once he was at work, where the seriousness of his profession demanded it. In a way, though, he felt lighter. Throughout the day, he was buoyed by the thought of their upcoming meeting, the excitement it brought—and the nerves. That mixture of emotions was enough to make the entire team glance at him with curiosity.

Garcia was handing out case files, her hair recently dyed a vibrant shade of red. Rossi, instead of opening his folder like everyone else, was watching Spencer from across the table, leaning on his elbow.

“Did you win the lottery or something?” he asked, so unexpectedly that Spencer glanced around at the others, unsure who the question was meant for.

When he realized the question was directed at him, he swallowed hard. Morgan’s raised eyebrow seemed to challenge him to a duel.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because you’re practically glowing, sweetheart,” Penelope chimed in with a sly smile. “Don’t think you’re getting away without telling me everything later. I’ll get it out of you, don’t you worry. But for now, let’s get started…”

They immersed themselves in the case, but a few hours later, during a brief moment of downtime, he realized he was looking for an excuse to call her. Was a simple desire to ask what she was up to reason enough?

He wondered if she was still at his apartment. He hoped she was. He knew she’d eventually have to leave to prepare for the shift she was starting later that afternoon, but he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him about the whole situation with her roommate’s ex-boyfriend.

Realizing he’d been staring at his phone for far too long and that he’d soon need to get back to work, he made a snap decision and called.

But no one answered.

Logically, he reasoned that mornings were probably her time to sleep. Afterward, he tried sending a text message. But by late evening, when he finally returned to his apartment, he was starting to feel genuinely worried.

The question nagged at him: could it have been about the previous night? Maybe he’d done or said something wrong, something that had put her off completely?

Slowly, he walked into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway as his eyes landed on the perfectly made bed. It definitely hadn’t looked like that when he left it.

Then his gaze fell on the slightly ajar safe, and he froze. The combination was incredibly complicated, so he must have left it open when he took out his gun and badge. Besides those items, there was one more thing inside.

He had once again fallen into the trap of keeping Dilaudid close, even though he wasn’t using it. Was it possible she found it, and that’s why she hadn’t reached out?

It wasn’t that he had lied to her about being clean. She had seen how much effort it took for him to talk about it, so she approached the subject with incredible subtlety, never asking directly, but watching him closely, carefully, yet without pressing.

If she had really found it in his safe, she might have felt betrayed. Or maybe she decided she didn’t want to get involved with someone who had such a problem. Perhaps she had seen the whole previous night as one big mistake and then decided to throw him out of her life. Spencer, though it pained him, couldn’t help but feel that he deserved it.

He sat on the bed, crushed by his own thoughts. Something didn’t sit right with the version of events he had imagined. First and foremost, she wasn’t the type of person who would turn him away because of this. Her heart ached to help others; she couldn’t ignore someone else’s troubles. Even if he had hurt her, her immense capacity for understanding would have remained intact. Empathy was imprinted on her, like a deep, unshakable mark.

Driven by a hunch, he reached for his phone to call her again. That’s when he noticed two missed calls from an unknown number, just fifteen minutes ago.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his brow furrowing in confusion as he heard the first sound on the other end… a sob?

The sound went on and on, and Spencer was too confused to utter a single word.

“Who am I talking to?” he finally asked. Unable to stop himself, he stood up. He didn’t even know what was going on or who he was talking to, but he sprang to his feet anyway. His body compelled him, his insides twisting with unpleasant spasms.

It could just as well have been some stupid prank. The problem was, it wasn’t.

“H-hey, it’s J-Jude,” a voice came from the other end. Female, shaky, and choked with sobs so severe that if he didn’t already know her name, he would never have guessed he was speaking to her roommate. He stopped pacing the room. “I-it was me…I called earlier. S-she doesn’t have any…any family, and I didn’t know…I didn’t know who to inform…I can’t handle this on my own…they just took her away again…”

It wasn’t as if the world suddenly came to a halt. It simply became both sharper and blurrier at the same time. Spencer could see that single, bright strand of hair on the pillow with perfect clarity, yet his own legs seemed out of reach. When he looked down, all he saw was darkness stretching below him. Somehow, he was still breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. Later, he couldn’t explain how his voice—those first words—had sounded so composed. “W-who took her… where… and why…?

“I have no fucking idea!” she shouted, followed by a long silence during which Jude took a desperate gasp of air. “I mean, I do, I do know! They just brought her in, but... but suddenly they took her back because there was some kind of…bleeding…”

“...ding?” he blurted out, the first syllable swallowed entirely by his panic.

“No, I don’t want anything to calm me down, I am calm, can’t you tell?” Her voice grew distant, as if she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. Then it came back, clear and pleading. “Please, come here…”

She hung up. The phone slipped from his hand as if it burned him. In a frenzy, he bent down to grab it, only to drop it again. Finally, he fell to his knees, managing at last to pick it up. As he stood, he felt as though some substance was spreading through his brain—black, toxic, and utterly destructive. Its effects left him barely tethered to reality. He could hear and see, but everything was overlaid with Jude’s words, looping in his mind like printed text on a screen.

The next thirty minutes were a blur.

How could it be logically explained that, in a state of complete detachment from the outside world, he somehow managed to figure out, based on the map of the area imprinted in his memory, which specific hospital she was in? How did his panicked, trembling hands manage to cover that distance by car without causing an accident?

The only thing he knew was that he ended up at the nearest hospital, wearing just a shirt with no outer layer. It was shocking that he even had shoes on. 

He should have been looking for the woman who had called him, demanding every bit of information she had. But somehow, instinctively, his eyes searched for someone else—a familiar face. He prayed it was all some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe he was fooling himself, hoping to spot her among the people passing by. A part of him simply refused to accept the possibility that anything could have happened to her.

Nothing had happened.

She was fine.

Her blue eyes were soaking in the surroundings, their gaze carrying that faint sparkle that always appeared at night. Maybe there was even a smile on her lips. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow himself to imagine what might have happened to her. It felt as though the universe itself should be ashamed for ever entertaining the thought of harming her.

"Are you family?" the man at reception asked. Spencer nodded. "I'm sorry, but I can't provide you with any information,"

"Just tell me, is she alive?"

"I can't…"

"Just fucking tell me…"

"They’re operating on her right now," a voice spoke from behind him. Spencer turned and blinked. Only then did he realize he was in a hospital. Before, he’d only had a goal—an urgent need to get there. The surroundings were just beginning to take shape in his mind. He had never seen this woman before, but he guessed it had to be Jude. Her face was swollen from crying, but she seemed less shaken than during their call. She had probably accepted the sedatives. "Again. First, they spent almost four hours working on her neck… they said she was stable, asleep, but then suddenly there was that bleeding… I watched them take her out of the room right in front of me…"

“Did you see her?”

Unexpectedly, she hid her face in her hands.

“I didn’t know who to call. She mentioned you a few times, and I had your number, and I didn’t know what to do…” she began explaining chaotically, as if it mattered at all. “It’s my fault, you know, all of this is my fucking fault…”

They were standing right in front of the receptionist, blocking his access to others who needed help. Spencer snapped back to the moment, pulling her a few steps aside.

“W-what did you say? That they operated on her for four hours?”

“Yes, the first time…”

So, she had been there for at least four hours. Longer, considering the time needed after surgery before visiting a patient. Pain spread across his chest. While he was wondering why she hadn’t answered his calls, coming to various conclusions, she had been fighting for her life?

He... had been at work, moving around, talking to others, living, while all of this was happening? He felt as if... as if he had betrayed her. It was absurd, even he knew that. Despite the state he was in—tragic, to be precise—he understood just how absurd that thought was. But he couldn’t stop the guilt and shame that washed over him every time he tried to imagine her on the operating table while he had been completely unaware of her condition.

“I need to sit down," Jude muttered, and after a moment, they found themselves on narrow chairs lined along the hospital walls. Spencer barely managed to force his knees to bend, his body to settle into the seat.

He was only beginning to adjust to the foreign gravity that was pressing down on him.

In his head, there was only one thought, one resolution, one desire. The only thing that could save him from losing his mind in this waiting room.

"I need to see her."

"We have to wait," Jude replied, pressing her hand to her forehead. More tears appeared in her eyes. She wasn’t just terrified, she was completely falling apart. "We... we once gave each other permission to access information about our health. You know, in case of an accident. The doctors told me everything. A neck sprain. A concussion. Two broken ribs and a broken forearm." Although her speech had been unclear earlier, when she listed the injuries, she sounded like a movie announcer.

Spencer quickly realized that these words must have been echoing in her head since they were first told to her. The same thing had been happening to him. Each word was like a blow delivered with full force, and his extensive medical knowledge wasn’t helping him avoid panic. He was too aware of the danger and too aware of the suffering her poor body must have endured.

They both squeezed their eyes shut tightly. Spencer felt as though his temples might explode. Waiting. Was there anything worse in the world than waiting? Being stuck in ignorance, teetering between uncertainty, relief, and utter despair? Feeling all of it at once?

"How did this even happen?" he asked the woman sitting next to him.

He was sure he already knew the answer to that question. She didn’t even need to say it. It was enough to see how she dropped her gaze, heavy with pain, and how tightly her jaw clenched.

“She... fell down the stairs.”

Spencer wanted to scoff at the understatement. The real version of events couldn’t pass Jude’s lips, but in some way, he considered that a blessing. If Jude had openly admitted that she had been pushed, he might have crumbled under the weight of the fury flooding him. But for now, his anger didn’t matter. Only the passing time did.

He felt as if he hadn’t taken a single breath since leaving his apartment. Leaning his head back in his seat, he endured what felt like two whole days, then glanced at his watch only to realize that exactly forty-seven seconds had passed.

Time—a relative concept. In physics and in human perception. Einstein had proven it, and so had that particular moment.

He started to fear that he might never leave the waiting room. Memories and emotions began to blur together. He formed a theory: that he had been trapped there for quite some time—weeks, perhaps. Back when another loved one had been on the operating table, and he’d been losing his mind in much the same way.

Could it be that, under the strain of this torturous waiting, he’d lost his sanity? That his brain, desperate for relief, had simply imagined everything that followed? The trip to the library that night, finding himself at her door, the string lights on the Christmas tree, the Venus flytrap, the bar, opening the door that night and seeing her on the stairwell—at once flushed from a night spent at the club and chilled from the December air?

And now that illusion had simply shattered, like a fragment of broken glass. He was back in the waiting room again, waiting, hurting too much—and yet feeling as though he had no right to. His pain was nothing compared to what she was going through. He should be doing something, anything, to make himself useful, to not succumb to the weight of his own helplessness.

When the doctor finally approached them, Spencer almost knocked over his chair in his haste to stand. The doctor, however, focused solely on Jude as he delivered the update, leaving Spencer questioning whether he even existed.

“We managed to stop the bleeding. That’s the good news,” he began, his dark eyes unreadable—at once cool and concerned, with the practiced composure characteristic of people in his profession.

“Thank God,” Jude whispered, rubbing her chest as if trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

Spencer, on the other hand, felt no relief. Not even a sliver.

"‘That’s good news,’" he repeated the doctor’s words, drawing the man’s gaze to him. ‘But… but is there something bad?’

That brief moment before the doctor answered felt longer than nearly the past two hours of waiting.

“Due to suspected brain swelling, we had to induce a coma.’

“What?’ Jude mouthed silently. “How… how could she be in a coma? Why? Was that necessary?’

“They needed to reduce the intracranial pressure,’ Spencer replied, the words spilling from his mouth without him even realizing he was speaking. ‘The coma prevents further damage and minimizes the brain’s oxygen consumption. But will she… how long will she…?’

“Only for a few days,’ the doctor assured him, understanding the question he couldn’t quite form. “As long as there are no further complications or additional bleeding. But I can reassure you for now: there’s no indication of that. Her condition seems stable. She was… incredibly lucky. It was a serious accident—a miracle, a sheer miracle—that she didn’t break her spine.’"

For a moment, he couldn’t utter a single word, his throat still tight, and the relief never came. He knew he wouldn’t feel it until he saw her, fully conscious and awake. Until that happened, he would grimace every time he heard the word miracle. 

"When will I be able to see her?" he asked, surprisingly calm and composed. The question was so important to him that his voice didn’t tremble even once. In fact, it was the only thing that mattered right now.

"You’ll need to wait a few hours before visiting. We have to make sure there’s no risk of a sudden deterioration in her condition. Also, only authorized individuals can visit her."

The last part of the doctor’s statement felt almost like a slap in the face.

"How many hours?" he pressed, impatience creeping into his voice. "Two? Four? Six?"

"Please, calm down," the doctor asked, making a gesture with his hand.

“Eight?”

His voice grew increasingly sharp, desperately demanding an answer. The doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Jude interrupted with a question.

"As an authorized person, can I, on behalf of the patient, allow him to visit?" she asked, catching Spencer’s gaze for a brief moment before quickly turning away. "She would want this, I know it."

The doctor shook his head in refusal, providing them with a few more details about the surgery before turning to leave. Spencer watched him leave, something in him wavering between a sigh and a snort. So they wouldn’t even let him visit her? He understood the hospital procedures and rules perfectly well, but when it came to his own case, he hated them with all his heart. They wouldn’t allow him to see someone who meant so much to him, simply because they weren’t bound by blood or a ring on his finger. A ring on his finger… maybe he should lie and say they were engaged?  Although, would it really make any difference in the eyes of the hospital staff?

Before the loose fragments in his mind began to form a plan, he noticed that Jude was staring at him. She had sat down again, pressing her back tightly against the chair's backrest. She hadn’t cried for a while now; a certain relief had settled on her face when she heard the surgery had been successful, but then the old devastation returned, stronger than ever before.

"I won’t be able to visit her," she said, her voice hollow. "Not even while she’s unconscious. And when she wakes up, look her in the eyes. Tell me, how could I do that after everything? After all of this was my fault?"

Spencer turned away and walked off.

He knew that if he didn’t, something inside him would break. He couldn’t stop the anger he felt toward Jude. From what he knew, she had repeatedly refused to report her ex-boyfriend to the police, perhaps more or less aware of the danger he posed. She had the right to do so, theoretically. But that didn’t change the fact that someone else had suffered because of her foolish decision.

In his eyes she deserved the guilt she felt.

Not knowing what to do with himself, he found a place far from her, far from anyone, where he spent the next few hours, hardly moving. Sometimes he observed the relatives of other patients in the hospital, also broken, but he had some selfish feeling that even they wouldn’t understand what he felt. He placed himself on some distant, elite orbit of suffering and felt almost embarrassed by it. 

Pain always makes sure that a person feels as lonely and misunderstood as possible in it. That is when it has the most power over them.

He kept away from the windows, the darkness outside, slowly losing its intensity, putting him into a state of shock and contemplation. Maybe time was a relative concept, but that didn’t change the fact that it existed. Somewhere far away, there was light beyond this waiting room.

For some time now, he had been occupied with a certain task. He was aware of the hours passing and how, with them, his desperation grew. He felt he would go mad if he didn’t see her. The designated time during which the patient should be ensured complete rest after surgery had ended, yet he knew they wouldn’t let him in to see her. But he had a brain for a reason, right?"

He found the room where everything that mattered to him at that moment was. A young doctor was just leaving.

"Excuse me, ma'am,” he approached her politely, trying to appear calm, though his appearance and trembling hands clearly suggested otherwise. “I need to visit this patient.”

“Are you a relative?”

“No, actually…” He knew this was a desperate move and resorting to a lie, but he didn’t care. What was morality in his situation? Just a word. He reached for the badge he had with him and cleared his throat. “I’m with the FBI. I’ve been assigned to see this particular patient; it’s a matter that cannot be delayed."

Believe it or not, but people often lost their minds at the mere mention of the FBI. Spencer suspected that such a young doctor might have some gaps in experience and not know what procedures were in place in such a situation.

The surprised woman took a half step back.

“But she’s in a coma…” she said uncertainly, turning toward the room. “Are you sure it’s this patient?”

“Absolutely. And as I said, there’s no time to waste.”

He didn’t put his badge away, still holding it raised, with a serious expression on his face, as if he were interrogating someone. It was clear she was torn with doubt, but fortunately for him, she decided to give in without consulting the decision.

Spencer almost ran into the room, unable to hold back his impatience any longer. At first, he felt as if in a dream, one where you achieve your greatest goal. However, it quickly turned into a nightmare, all because of what he saw.

Whatever he had imagined, he was not prepared for this sight. 

Especially because before he even noticed her face, the face he was so desperate to see, he first noticed everything else surrounding it. The hospital equipment, the machines and devices monitoring her vital signs. The wide orthopedic collar tight around her neck. The sterile whiteness of it all, obscuring her and making her almost disappear against its backdrop. It wasn’t until he approached the bed, his legs weak and unsteady, that he started to look at her, but again, not specifically at her, but at the injuries. The sight of swollen temples, the sunken eyes, pale and dry lips, skin like a sheet of paper. Every injury on her body caused him unimaginable pain, so intense it almost stopped him from breathing. He felt so much anger and injustice that she had to go through this that he almost wanted to fall to his knees and apologize to her, beg for forgiveness. For what? He couldn’t decide. It wasn’t a need driven by logic, it was something deep inside him.

And that’s what he did, even though there was a place beside the bed where he could sit. He slowly knelt down, his hands touching the edge of the bed, but not her body. After all, he wasn’t about to risk causing her any pain due to his lack of control. But he had such an overwhelming desire to take her hand, the one whose fingers shyly peeked out from under the cast.

"I should have gone with you," he said, after about five minutes spent in complete silence, undisturbed even by his breath, which he was holding back. "I should have. Walked you to the door and made sure you got inside safely. I’m sorry…"

He felt that with his pitiful apologies, he was disturbing her peace. She needed it to fully rest. So, he fell silent again, alternating between looking at her with furrowed brows in tender concern and resting his forehead against the edge of the bed whenever the sight became too painful. While before, time seemed to crawl at the slowest possible pace, now it was racing forward wildly.

In his perception, barely a minute had passed when someone’s presence appeared behind him. He turned over his shoulder, noticing the young nurse who had let him in, and it took him a long time before he even realized it. After all, he had lied to her, saying it was some professional matter, yet she had found him kneeling by the hospital bed.

He quickly got to his feet, nervously rubbing his face.

“For the patient’s well-being, no visits should last longer than twenty minutes,” the woman said surprisingly gently, leaning slightly against the door with her shoulder. An unidentified expression lingered in her eyes, making them seem...warm.

He didn’t answer, just nodded. He no longer felt the need to play that little charade that had helped him get inside. He allowed himself one last long moment, looking at her face, peaceful in sleep. He passed the doctor in the doorway, feeling her eyes turn to him, and he did the same, out of curiosity. She smiled, sadly and with compassion.

"This had nothing to do with any FBI assignment, right?”

Her understanding seemed almost touching. However, Spencer, caught in the moment, quickly withdrew, once again making his way down the hospital corridors, now completely unsure of what to do with himself. He leaned against one of the walls, slowly feeling the fatigue from the entire night spent waiting to see her. He found his phone in his pocket, realized it was already morning, and that… Hotch had called him.

It was a quick collision with the outside world. He called back, as nothing else came to mind that he could focus on.

"Reid," the serious voice of his boss came through on the other end. "Why aren’t you at work, and why aren’t you answering?"

He needed to take a breath before he could respond.

"Sorry, Hotch," he said, trying not to sound weak, but that’s exactly how he sounded. Weak, a little pitiful, and on the verge of exhaustion. "Something... something really important happened, and... I... I won’t be able to come in today..."

Spencer realized he had no idea how to explain himself in this situation.

"I can’t remember the last day you were even late. What happened?" He didn’t answer. "Where are you?" Silence. "Spencer."

"It’s... a personal matter."

There was a brief silence from his boss, and Spencer could almost imagine how he furrowed his dark brows in confusion.

"I understand." His voice was tense, but not with disapproval, which surprised Spencer. More with... concern. Had he managed to read the seriousness of the situation just from his voice? Probably, after all, he was the best profiler Spencer knew. "You’ll need to explain later, but for now... take care of yourself. Do you need any help?”

He assured him insincerely that everything was fine and found an empty chair to sit in, hunched over. A strong pressure formed in his head, amplified by the helplessness and uncertainty about what he should do next. She was in a coma, and according to the doctor, she would be in it for the next few days. And what was he supposed to do during that time? He felt that physically, he could spend another hundred hours on that specific chair. Occasionally stretching his legs. It was his plan, one that seemed more real with every passing minute. At least, until a figure cast its shadow over him.

"Reid," a familiar voice spoke.

He looked up, surprised, at Morgan. His mouth was slightly open in confusion, his forehead deeply furrowed.

"What are you doing here?"

"How... how did you know where I was?" That was the first thing that came to his mind.

"Penelope. How she knew, I have no idea, but I’m starting to suspect that her joke about having us all chipped wasn’t really a joke. But anyway, what’s going on? Hotch told me you called, and you sounded... unsettling."

His friend was watching him closely. His wrinkled clothes, his tired face.

"So... Hotch sent you to find me?"

"Reid, you’re our friend. Did you really think we wouldn’t be worried about you?"

Spencer lowered his head, listening to his words. Derek was silent for a moment, his hands resting on his hips, his tense face scanning the surroundings. After a while, he focused his gaze back on him.

"Who is the person you’re visiting?"

He hesitated before answering, not because he didn’t want to share the information, but because he wasn’t sure how to refer to her. What should he call her? After all, it wasn’t like they were in an official relationship, and the word friend seemed to leave something unsaid.

“Someone... someone very important to me. She had an accident. She has... a cervical spine injury, and the doctors, suspecting brain swelling, decided to put her into a coma for a while.”

Morgan's eyes widened.

“Damn, Reid. I’m so... I’m so sorry.”

He sat down on the empty chair beside him, his face still showing shock. Exhausted, Spencer simply rested his head on his knees, no longer able to keep his posture straight. He felt drained, yet at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave—couldn’t leave her…

Morgan’s hand fell onto his back, and finally, then sighed.

“Come here, man.”

With a firm pull, he drew him into an embrace.

Spencer found it hard to admit, even to himself, how much he needed this. No words left their mouths for a long while; only that brotherly, supportive embrace remained between them.

“Have you seen her?” Morgan asked after a while.

He confirmed, but didn’t reveal the circumstances. His friend paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“Okay, listen to me. You need to get back to yourself.”

Spencer scoffed and shook his head, ready to argue.

“Let me finish. I know you don’t want to leave her right now, but with all due respect, you look like death. You need to eat and get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” Spencer replied firmly.

“You’re going to collapse soon. You said she’ll be in a coma for a few days. You won’t make it sitting here, think realistically. No one’s asking you to go back to work, you just need to rest.” He looked at him seriously, knowing how hard it would be to convince him. Finally, he sighed once more. “Do it for her, alright? Do you really think she’d want you to wear yourself out like this?”

He had no ready answer for that. Well, he did, but it sounded like no, she wouldn’t want that.

“I’ll take you home. For God’s sake, you came here without even a coat?”

It's a strange feeling to let someone take care of you. Completely. Derek not only drove him to his apartment but also came inside with him. There was no emotional discussion between them, which he found to be a relief. Silent support, he thought.

His relationship with the other team members had been tested after Emily's death—or at least, that's what he had thought up until now. He had begun isolating himself, not wanting to intrude on their grief or burden them with his own problems. But in reality—something he hadn’t seen until now—it had been the opposite. It strengthened their bond.

The next few days revolved mainly around hospital visits. Somehow, he had managed to gain visiting rights, and the time spent by her side filled him with a certain sense of calm. He could see how stable her vital signs were, and he clung to the doctors’ reassurances that she would regain consciousness in just a few days.

He once read a series of articles and interviews with people who had been in comas. Their accounts sometimes contradicted medical facts and often included embellishments, but a significant number of them mentioned remembering the voices of loved ones and certain sounds.

He didn’t want her to remember only the sounds of medical equipment from this period. But he also wasn’t sure what he could talk to her about. Would she want to hear about the overly salted carbonara that Garcia had forced an entire pot of on him? Or about the abstract mural being painted across from his apartment—something he was sure she would have liked?

In the end, he decided to read to her, though choosing what to read proved challenging. Sleeping Beauty seemed too ironic, even though she would probably laugh about it later. She had once told him Girl, Interrupted was her favorite book, but its hospital setting made him suspect she might prefer something that let her escape this place, even if only in her imagination. The Silence of the Lambs referenced one of their past conversations, but if a doctor overheard him reading it to her, he would surely be banned from visiting altogether.

“All right,” he began one day, sitting down in the chair by her bed. “I know you’re not a big fan of fantasy. And yes, you’ll have every right to call me out on this when you wake up. But still, I hope you’ll like it.”

Arabian Nights was a collection of tales and stories originating from the Middle East, India, and Persia. Somehow, he assumed that the mysterious, often nocturnal atmosphere might resonate with her, even soothe her. After all, night had always been her favorite time of day—the backdrop to so much of her life.

That day, as he was about to leave, he leaned slightly over her bed, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Tomorrow, I'll read you a romance, how does that sound? But I’ll have to go to the bookstore because, despite your beliefs, I don’t have any in my collection. I wish I’d had more time to get to know your reading preferences better."

During none of his previous visits had he touched her, afraid it might disturb her peace in some negative way. Besides... in the state she was in, she looked so fragile and delicate that he feared even the slightest touch could hurt her. But that time, he simply couldn’t hold back. After a long internal struggle, he placed a very brief kiss on her forehead.

Spencer couldn’t keep his promise. While he did buy a romance novel recommended to him with enthusiasm by a young bookstore clerk, he never had the chance to read it to her.

The next day, he received a message. 

She had woken up. 

*

You didn’t remember much.

Only fragmented scraps. The memories began with a brief moment of complete physical helplessness, a terrible pain in your neck, and a series of flashing lights mingling with raised voices—even shouting. Then came silence, vile and terrifying.

But that wasn’t the end. Something came after the silence.

Softly spoken stories. For some reason, they were comforting. In your mind, only a few blurred images remained—no clear events or words. What you remembered most was that soothing, calm voice. It felt like an embrace, like warm bedding, the first rays of cosmic light piercing through clouds, or the gentle chill of evening air.

It was… beautiful. But it couldn’t last forever. After an indeterminate amount of time, your body decided to reject that comfort and tried to open its eyes. It was an excruciating effort. You sighed with the strain. The first colors and surreal shapes began to appear before you. Slowly, you started to become aware of your existence, yet at the same time, you felt suspended somewhere outside your body and mind—alone and terrified.

The sensations were both faint and overwhelmingly intense, making you want to hide, to somehow cut yourself off from them. Yet you were equally afraid to close your eyes again. You muttered things that made no sense. You remained in this panicked state until two tiny brown points hovered above you, widening with concern. Only then were you able to calm down—at least enough to stop straining your body with attempts to move. Attempts, because your body seemed entirely unwilling to follow your commands.

The fear buried itself deep within you, drilling into your chest. At first, it suffocated you, but eventually, it began to weaken and fade.

This was how the first hours after waking from the coma unfolded.

Weakness, disorientation, mumbling, pain, discomfort, and light sensitivity.

It took a long time before you regained awareness of being in a hospital. Even more time passed before you remembered why. And then, your own condition and state.

You were so incredibly weak that it filled you with disgust, terrified by how much effort even the smallest movement required—like the twitch of a finger or the blink of an eye. Frustrated by it all, you cried, and he cried too. But his tears were born of relief and joy.

Those two specific emotions reached you the latest—only after they transferred you to a different ward, and your thoughts began to clear. Relief and joy. Hand in hand with fear and anxiety. 

It felt so unreal, yet it was real—real like nothing else, and it held you tightly, exactly the way you needed it to.

*

Spencer was aware that her awakening was just another step in a very long journey.

His medical knowledge, modestly speaking, was fairly extensive, and he understood the gravity of the injuries she had sustained. Their first meeting after she had opened her eyes for the first time was nothing like a scene from a movie. She was confused, still drowsy, and as she slowly started to comprehend everything, she was primarily terrified. Her body, after the time spent in the coma, though brief, was extremely weak, and every little movement exhausted her as though she had just run a marathon.

The fear on her face pierced his chest.

He had the impression that none of the words he spoke, almost whispered in an attempt to calm her, were having any effect.

"I... I can't move," she stammered as one of the first things she said. Her eyes intensely focused on his face, searching for safety in it, and he feared he wouldn't be able to provide it for her.

"It's just temporary," he reassured her gently, leaning over her bed and trying to smile, but it came out uncertain, he was too worried about her condition. "The doctors say so, and that's the truth. Your body is just very weak right now."

"Will... will it be like this forever?"

"No, no, it will pass. I promise, it will pass," he nodded fervently. She hesitated and took a breath, as though discovering an entirely new action. But as soon as she did, out of fear, it became fast and irregular. He was terrified that his touch might cause her pain, but he didn't know what else he could do to help her. Gently, as gently as he could, he placed his hand on her cheek, barely grazing it with his thumb. "You'll feel better soon. Really, it won’t be long now. For now... just don’t overexert yourself, please, breathe."

At first, she flinched. He wanted to withdraw his hand as quickly as possible, but then he felt her press her face against it, almost nuzzling into it. A shy tear danced in one of her eyes, barely noticeable.

"It’s good to see you," she said after a brief silence, a soft sigh escaping her lips—almost like a laugh, though it didn’t quite make it. Her breath was still shallow and uneven, but with each passing moment, it seemed to steady as he held her close.

And in that moment, seeing her like that, feeling her presence so close, a smile spread across his face—a smile so genuine, so long-awaited—and with it came the tears he’d been holding back for what felt like forever.

"I feel the same," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much."

*

The orthopedic collar pissed you off like nothing else.

It wasn’t even the discomfort that bothered you, it was just... the collar was such a painful reminder of your condition, a testament to what you had been through. And you were supposed to wear it for another six to eight weeks.

Two weeks after waking from the coma, preparations for leaving the hospital were beginning. The risk of brain swelling had subsided, the injuries were healing, and the concussion still made its presence known, but the pain was no longer as intense. You could even have a normal conversation, which you seized almost immediately, striking up a chat with the teenage girl in the bed next to you, her sad expression tugging at your heart.

Few people visited you; you preferred that the two most important ones could spend as much time with you as possible, rather than inviting coworkers or acquaintances you hadn’t spoken to in months. The two most important people.

Spencer had been with you since the moment you woke up, and as the doctor confessed to you with a small smile, he had also stayed by your side while you were in a coma. You were in shock. Not because he had done it—it made perfect sense, given his caring nature. The shock came from the simple fact that one person could care so deeply about another, about you.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that the moments when he visited you became your favorite part of the entire day. And not just because they revolved around checking your condition, tests, and the first, incredibly light rehabilitation exercises. You simply found yourself waiting for the moment he would appear in that doorway again, holding his coat in hand, smiling.

"Hello, handsome stranger," you greeted him one day, the first day you were starting to feel better.

 Spencer stopped at the sound of that term, tilting his head with an even wider smile.

 "How else did I used to call you?" you mused aloud. "Ah, I used to call you Mr. Mysterious. But I suppose that's no longer fitting, you smile too much to seem mysterious."

 "Because I have a reason," he replied, stopping beside your bed and glancing at the flowers placed there, the ones that had greeted you when you woke up that day. "But in that case, 'Handsome stranger' doesn’t fit either, since you know me now."

"But you are handsome. Half of it fits, so I have the right to call you that. Who... who sent me these flowers?"

"Better question would be, who didn’t send you those?" he muttered, referring to their large number. You could only admire them—the beautiful, colorful arrangements—but you hadn’t had the chance to read the notes and messages attached. Spencer glanced at one of them, his smile fading, though not in a bad way... somehow, the expression that appeared on his face was even more pleasing than his smile. "This... this one’s from my team."

You were simply speechless.

 "They... they even know I exist?"

 "Of course they do, how could they not?" Spencer paused for a moment, looking at you thoughtfully. "They... they were with me the whole time you were in a coma. They helped me keep my head together."

 "Don’t exaggerate," you tried to dispel the sudden serious mood. You didn’t want to delude yourself into thinking he had been that worried about you during that time. 

 "It’s not an exaggeration," he replied briefly and seriously, his face almost motionless.

For a moment, you fell silent, your hands resting on the blanket in front of you.

 "Sorry, Spencer. I just realized I’ve never thanked you for this..."

"What?" he asked, surprised, his brows furrowing. "This isn’t something you have to thank me for..."

"But I feel like I have to. This... this isn’t some small, silly favor. You really did so much for me... I still don’t fully understand why..."

 "You don’t understand why?"

"Yeah," you sighed uncertainly, not sure how to put it into words. "Don’t get me wrong... I’m so grateful to you, it’s just... look at it this way. We didn’t know each other that long, we saw each other rarely. We slept together once. It’s not like you were…obligated to help me."

"I didn’t have to be obligated to do it," he said after a moment of hesitation, circling your bed and sitting on the edge, just barely touching it. "And I didn’t have to know you for years. I just wanted to do it because of how much I cared about you. And if that explanation doesn’t convince you... then..." He swallowed hard. "Remember, you were there for me during one of the worst moments of my life."

“It’s not the same...”

 “Oh, but it is. For me, it is. But I don’t want you to think that I was there for you because I felt like I owed you something. Or that I had to... I don’t know... repay you in some way. That’s not it at all.”

You didn’t answer, something tight gripped your throat. You just tilted your head, overwhelmed with emotion, speechless. The only thing you truly wanted to do was stretch out your arms and drape them around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder. Spencer sighed, surprised and tense. It wasn’t until a brief moment passed that his hands gently touched your back.

“How much longer are you going to act like I’m made of glass?” you asked.

You knew his caution was justified, but Jesus. You just really wanted to hug him properly.

“Probably forever,” he replied, to which you rolled your eyes.

He was the one to break the hug, but in compensation, he quickly kissed the top of your head. You leaned back against the bed, feeling a pleasant sensation in your stomach. Spencer returned to the flowers to tell you who had sent them all.

“So these are from my team,” he picked up the lost thread, pointing to the arrangement of white and pink carnations. He chuckled. “And I’m pretty sure Penelope picked them out, not just because her name is listed first. White represents perseverance and strength. Pink stands for admiration and respect.”

“That’s really thoughtful. And beautiful. I’ll have to thank them. And these tulips?”

Spencer took the note attached to the mentioned flowers between his fingers.

“From... Jerry.”

“What? My husband sent me flowers?”

 “What?” He jerked his head up in surprise.

You laughed so hard at the look on his face that it made you wince in your ribs.

 “I’m fucking kidding, you fool,” you replied, clutching your side with a groan. “Jerry is the librarian. You should know him. He once asked me what flowers he should buy for his wife, and I suggested yellow tulips. By the way, it's so nice of him”.

You said it affectionately, but it sounded incredibly weak. Along with the pain in your ribs, a headache joined in, and suddenly all the energy you'd had earlier evaporated.

“What's happening? Should I call a doctor?”

“No,” you shook your head in refusal. “I just need to lie down for a moment. Come here.”

Spencer followed your request and sat beside your bed, his body a little stiff, as if in guilt.

"I'm sorry I made you laugh."

"That's probably the strangest thing you could apologize for," you muttered, lying down in the position that was best for your neck, one you almost hated as much as the orthopedic collar. "Well, I guess I could come up with something stranger. Sorry I left that million dollars in your nightstand. It won't happen again."

"I'm not sure if this kind of chatter is particularly good for your condition."

"It helps me mentally, and that's what matters most. Besides, stop complaining."

"How could I possibly dare?"

He fell silent, simply watching you with quiet concern. You closed your eyes for a moment, unsure if you might accidentally drift off. After spending a week in a coma, your sleep routine had become completely erratic. You slept through the nights, mostly because there was little else to do, and you didn’t want to disturb the other patients in the ward. During the day, Spencer would visit, and you wanted to be as rested as possible when he was around.

When he wasn’t there, you sometimes napped during the day as well. According to the doctors, it was one of the best things you could do for your recovery—sleep and rest as much as your body needed.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked.

You hesitated for a long moment, because yes, something was weighing heavily on your mind. Had he guessed, or had he read it on your face?

“It’s just…” you began with a sigh. “You know Jude barely visits me? I mean, she shows up every day, but… she’s so tense and distant when she’s here. She doesn’t say much, and she won’t look me in the eyes.”

"She’s blaming herself," Spencer said softly.

“God, that’s so stupid,” you muttered.

You had a strange relationship with the accident. You thought about it as little as possible, keeping it at arm’s length. You knew Richard had been arrested, but you didn’t want to know the details of his sentencing. In no way did you see any of it as Jude’s fault, and it hurt you deeply to think that she did.

You spent a quiet moment together before Spencer leaned over you again, intending to kiss your forehead.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go now,” he said, to which you nodded in understanding.

But then you shifted your head, pulling back just enough to stop him from brushing his lips against your forehead. He looked at you, puzzled, since you’d never minded it before.

This time, though, you wanted him to kiss you on the lips.

He kissed you slowly. You had almost forgotten how he tasted.

After that, you didn’t bother opening your eyes again. You let yourself imagine that he wasn’t leaving at all, and with that comforting thought, you drifted off to sleep.

*

Spencer had felt strange since the morning.

 Energized and excited. In the absolute best possible way.

That day, he could finally take her home. Well, to his apartment. She needed someone to take care of her, and he felt honored to be that person.

The day before, he had made a very important, yet difficult decision. He invited JJ over and confessed everything to her—about the past few weeks and his struggles with relapsing into addiction. He needed to rid himself of that burden. Besides, he had promised himself that as long as she was living with him, not even the smallest dose of Dilaudid would find its way inside. Never again.

In his worst moments, he imagined that his friend would react with disgust—pure, painful disgust—and push him away. Instead, her eyes filled with something strange the moment he began to speak about how he had felt after Emily's death. Over and over, she whispered apologies, as though she were the one responsible for it.

He still missed Emily, of course, and he knew he would always miss her. That was just the way of things—people left, and it was up to you to decide whether you would remember them with heartbreaking despair or with a wistful sigh. In fact, these were merely two ends of the same spectrum, and it was very easy to get stuck at the beginning, unable to move forward.

She was surprisingly quiet in the car and seemed depressed. Actually, it was hard not to blame her. She had spent a long time in the hospital, gotten used to that routine, and the change made her feel lost. Sitting in the passenger seat, she kept her gaze fixed ahead, but not on the road. She couldn’t see where they were headed, which made it difficult for Spencer to tell her something… at least important.

 When they stopped, she furrowed her brow in surprise.

 “Why are we here?”

They were parked under his apartment, and she had been under the impression they were heading to her place.

 “Sorry, I should’ve told you earlier, I really apologize,” Spencer blurted out in one breath, chaotically. “I absolutely realize that this is like putting you in a situation you didn’t expect, but… but when you were in the hospital, Jude found herself a new roommate. She didn’t really know how to tell you, but she had to do it because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own.”

For a long moment, she stared at him in silence, her face a mixture of shock, followed by understanding. She took a deep breath.

 “Okay,” she muttered. “I understand her, I just… I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me this herself.”

Their relationship still remained deeply complicated, put to the test by guilt. Spencer couldn’t say much about it. It was something between the two of them, and he hardly knew Jude at all.

 “I’m also sorry for asking you this so late,” he continued after a moment. “But… you can’t live alone, you know that. Someone… someone needs to be with you over the next few weeks and… I’m willing to be that person.”

Her lips remained slightly parted for a moment.

“You want… no, wait, you want me to move in with you?” It was clearly a rhetorical question, because before he could answer, she started shaking her head. “Spencer, I can’t. I can’t be that burden for you.”

“A burden? You’re not…”

“But I will be. In the next few weeks, I definitely will be.”

He took his hands off the steering wheel, placing them loosely on his knees.

“Can you… can you look at me for a moment?” he asked.

It took a moment before she hesitantly met his gaze. Her eyes were filled with embarrassed tears, tears full of unjust shame. Seeing this, pain spread through his chest.

“If the accident hadn’t happened, would you want to live with me?”

 Her lips remained pressed together, and she sighed.

 “It’s a big decision. Aside from the fact that if it weren’t for the accident, I wouldn’t even have to consider this option…”

“I just want to know if you would want to. Don’t think of it as an option, just as… a completely normal, life decision. Do you think you’d be able to handle having me around every day?”

She couldn’t help it, and her lips curled into a slight smile.

“We could try,” she finally replied.

Spencer straightened his arms.

“In that case, let’s go inside.”

 “No, wait, it’s not that simple! My opinion shouldn’t matter; it’s you who needs to think about whether you want this…”

 “I do.”

She snorted, resigned, not knowing what else to say.

“I can’t even tie my own shoes,” she tried one last time.

“I’ll gladly do it for you. What’s more, I know all kinds of knots. Simple, sailor’s, Chinese…”

“Spencer Reid, you’re impossible.”

For the rest of the day, she tried every possible way to talk him out of his decision. But when she finally accepted it, she struggled to accept his help with tasks she couldn’t do on her own.

 It wasn’t until later that he realized how much she had been pretending in the hospital. He had only seen her for a fraction of her day, and she seemed so positive then. But this temporary disability had really taken a toll on her mentally. He could repeat and assure her, completely sincerely, that she wasn’t a burden to him, but deep down, she still believed otherwise.

So, when two days later, she timidly appeared in the bedroom doorway with the question of whether he could help her wash her hair, Spencer felt like he had won the lottery.

“Sure,” he agreed, probably a bit too enthusiastically, jumping to his feet so quickly that he almost tripped.

She pretended not to notice.

In the bathroom, he slowly helped her pull the shirt over her head, careful not to catch it on the collar still around her neck or accidentally cause her any pain. 

“Be careful not to tilt your head too much, okay?” he asked, wetting her hair with the showerhead. She closed her eyes when a few drops of water splashed onto them. “Sorry!”

“For god's sake, Spencer, you're doing it more carefully than I would have done myself.”

It was true; he was acting as if he were performing some task at work that required absolute precision. He shrugged, massaging the strawberry shampoo into her hair. Foam quickly appeared, smelling sweet.

Suddenly, her hands tightened around the front of his shirt.

“Sorry,” she whispered, loosening her grip. “I got a little dizzy.”

Spencer immediately pressed his hands, still covered in shampoo, to her waist, afraid she might fall. He stared at her face for a long moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

And just then, her body suddenly went limp, falling forward.

Terrified, he let out a strangled cry.

“Hold on, please, don’t fall!” he kept repeating, doing everything he could to keep her upright.

Her hands hung limply on his shoulders, the foam and water soaking into his shirt, but he didn’t care at all.

“I’m right here, hold on to me as much as you can. C-c-can you hear me at all?”

He wondered whether it would be better to stand her up or lay her down while he could get to the phone and call an ambulance, when suddenly her weak touch grew stronger, and she let out a soft groan.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologizing. I’m still holding you, can you hear me?”

His heart was pounding incredibly fast as she gently pulled her head away from his chest. He, of course, didn’t let her stand on her own, constantly supporting her body, protecting her from a fall that could be disastrous.

Together, they left the shower cabin, her hair still covered in foam.

“Are you aware that this is how it’s going to look now?” she asked seriously.

Completely unfazed, he wiped the foam from her forehead, which was dangerously close to her eyes.

“I’d rather have you lose consciousness in my bathroom, right next to me, than risk… I don’t know, cracking your head open.”

For a moment, she was silent, the color beginning to return to her pale face, her gaze becoming more alert. He had a strange feeling that she was about to start crying, and since he really didn’t want that, he pulled her close again, in his usual protective gesture. Everything around them smelled of strawberries.

“Do you really have to be this good?”

Spencer snorted.

“I’m afraid it’s just my curse.”

*

“Are these people really arguing about whether a cucumber is a fruit or a vegetable?”

Sitting on the couch, you jumped when a voice spoke right behind you. At the last second, you caught your laptop before it slipped off your lap. You had been reading some absurd discussion on an online forum you stumbled upon completely by accident. And yes, these users were indeed arguing about whether a cucumber is a fruit or a vegetable.

“Damn it, Spencer!” you shouted, putting your hand over your heart, which was pounding in an agitated rhythm. You looked at your boyfriend with a scowl. “You almost gave me a heart attack. How is it possible I didn’t hear you come in?”

He shrugged. Leaning his elbows on the back of the couch, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed the skin of his forearms. In that position, he had a perfect view of the screen on your laptop. He had just returned from work, a rainy July evening, his hair slightly damp.

“I wasn’t sneaking around. You must’ve just been lost in thought. Want to tell me what’s occupying that beautiful mind of yours?” He leaned in to place a kiss on your temple.

“Beautiful mind, huh?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Just a few days ago, you told me that if a 19th-century priest heard even one thought from my head, he’d go into anaphylactic shock. Whatever that was supposed to mean.”

"In a big simplification, what I meant is that even though I love you, sometimes your way of thinking scares me."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"By the way, I bought land for Alexander."

Alexander was your new flycatcher, which had grown so much that it completely prevented the other flowers on the windowsill from growing. Due to its conqueror tendencies, you decided to name it after one of them.

"Do you want to repot it into a new pot now...?"

"No. Now you need to come to me."

You set the laptop aside and waited for him to take a seat on the couch. Before fully snuggling into him, you untied and removed the tie from his neck, then unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, just the way you liked.

You sighed almost instantly; his body was more comfortable than a pillow. Warm, with your favorite scent. You rested your head on his chest as his fingers gently combed through your hair.

In the first few weeks after you were discharged from the hospital, you couldn’t even sleep in the same bed. There was a risk that, in his sleep, he might accidentally bump into your neck and cause damage. Spencer enforced that rule strictly, as he did with every precaution related to your health.

Six months had passed since the accident, and for the past four months, you hadn’t worn a neck brace or needed help with daily tasks. But that didn’t change the fact that, sometimes, when you showered together, he would wash your hair just like he used to. Anyway, you were still attending rehabilitation and would need to for a long time, but despite that, you felt like you had fully returned to normal life.

You lifted yourself slightly to look at his face.

"I was walking to the bar today," you began.

You’d been considering going back to work for a while now, and the doctors had assured you there was no reason you couldn’t. You wanted something to occupy your hands and craved the sense of purpose that came with a task. You’d mentioned it to Spencer long ago, so he didn’t seem surprised when you brought it up.

"And? Will they take you back?"

"No. I mean, it’s not that they don’t want to, I just didn’t get there. That’s why I said I was walking and not that I went to a bar. Are you following?"

"I'm trying."

"So, listen to this. I took the subway and got off at that station near the room I used to rent."

The landlord had asked for the keys back shortly after your accident. Your arrangement had been that, in exchange for using the space, you cleaned it daily. Of course, you hadn’t been able to keep up with that anymore.

"...And I don't know, I was overwhelmed by this strange feeling, like I wanted to go back to it. Helping people."

"You help people all the time," Spencer reminded you. "All our neighbors come to you to vent about everything happening in their lives."

"That's true, but I mean, you know, professional help," you said, taking a deeper breath. You couldn't decide whether you were more excited or nervous about the decision. "I've been thinking about going back to uni, Spencer."

He straightened up, almost causing you to slide off his chest. Filled with tension, you watched his reaction closely. You’d spent the entire day wondering what he might say. Would he share your enthusiasm and support your plans, or would he try to talk you out of it, reasoning that you’d dropped out of school once and might not manage it again?

These thoughts were incredibly silly. Spencer—knowledge-obsessed, ever-curious Spencer—would never say something like that.

Instead, he pulled you into a tight embrace, whispering how incredible the idea was. You melted into it completely, feeling more elated than ever and unable to stop thinking about the crazy chain of cause and effect that had led to this specific moment, this particular relationship, and above all, this exact happiness. 

do you accept this overly sweet ending as my apology? :> tagging: @nightfullofparadox @lillaberry @fortheloveofgubler @opheliahotchner @cowboy1ikereid @penelopegarciaismygf

sorry if i forgot about someone!

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

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

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 

“From The Wizard of Oz?” 

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  

“You did?” 

She nods, shining with pride. 

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 

Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 

“Where’s your dad?” 

“Umm. Cleaning?” 

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?” 

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 

“You kill someone?” 

He stiffens. “What?” 

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 

You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 

“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 

“I’m not sneaky!” 

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 

“Then trick-or-treat?” 

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 

“They look stunning! You painted these?” 

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 

“You’re a talented artist.” 

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 

“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch. 

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 

“Now it’s perfect.” 

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 

“Go and look– get the treats.” 

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?” 

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 

She nods. 

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 

She nods again, equally jaded. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 

“Ew! Daddy!” 

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 

You gasp. “Penelope!” 

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 

“I was?” 

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 

“Oh. Am I still little?” 

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 

“She likes princesses’.” 

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 

“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 

“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 

“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 

“No?” Penelope giggles. 

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 

“Is that when we got pizza?” 

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?” 

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.” 

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 

“Very much. You?” 

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 

“Addams family?” 

“Who’s who?” 

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 

“You held it?” 

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 

“See you Friday?” He asks. 

“See you then.” 

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 

[endless-ineffabilities]

eclipsed (Aemond Targaryen x f!reader)

You loved him. He didn't feel the same. Until everything changed – but is it too late?

main masterlist ▪︎ word count: 1.7k

a/n: I envisioned modern Aemond as I was writing this. Also, the usual taglist is sadly not included for this spontaneous oneshot. I trust that the angst will find you if it's meant to be!

Aemond Targaryen was once everything to you. 

Your guiding light. Your sun and your stars. You knew you had a heart, you knew it was beating true, because it worshipped him with such a ferocity that would put a devotee to shame. Nothing and no else compared. You would have been content to simply exist in his orbit, to watch as he lived and loved.

He loved you too. You knew that. But as a brother loved a sister, as a friend loved a friend. 

And all kinds of love were meant to appear dim and pale in comparison to what he felt for Alys.

He doted on her. She was everything to him. She was his guiding light, his sun and stars. You could never compare. 

It was an unbearable truth, one you had tried for too long to ignore, but there came a time when you reached your breaking point. One evening, you asked to meet him. You knew you were about to ask for so much more – you were asking for something he could never offer.

You were asking to be seen. 

You could no longer sit idly by, watching the sun shine on the world while the moon was left in the shadows.

When you confessed, his reaction was as callous as it was predictable. Aemond laughed in disbelief, as though your words were at the end of some punchline. “Okay,” he said dismissively, “I love you too.”

“No.” You shook your head, looking away. You had to bite your lip to keep the tears from falling. “I love you, Aemond.”

“Yes, I know,” he smiled, taking a step closer, grimacing when you put your hands up to stop him from reaching out for you.

“I’m in love with you.” You had to take a deep breath before you continued. “I love you. Maybe you knew all along. Maybe you didn’t. But you have to know that.”

There it was, suspended in the atmosphere between the two of you, before the inevitable crash and crumble. 

“I don’t get it, darling.” He exhaled roughly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You love me?”

“What don’t you get?” Your voice came out sharper than intended, but you couldn’t be anything but honest. 

“I… this is… but you’re like a sister to me!” 

“Oh, fuck off, Aemond.” You waved his words away, trying to dampen just how brutal they stung. Just how much they cut deep. 

“Well, then,” he sneered, his eyes darkening with a defensive anger. “Thanks for that.”

“Is that…” You met his eyes once more, that heart-wrenching shade of blue. “Do you have anything else to say?”

His gaze hardened. “I’m with Alys.”

“I know that.”

“I love Alys.” He spat the words out like they were meant to be a scolding. Didn’t you know this? What exactly were you expecting from him? That he would cry and take you in his arms? I love you too… I love you too… I always have…

“I know that too.” The first bitter tear fell down your cheek. You inhaled sharply, wiping at your face with the back of your sleeve. You began pacing in an attempt to get a hold of your nerves. You did not want to have a complete breakdown in front of him. But then again, the worst has already happened. How much more humiliation could there possibly be?

“I’m sorry, darling.” His voice softened as he reached for you again, and this time, when you resisted, he simply caught your arms gently and pulled you against him. “Truly, I am. You have no idea.”

He held you, however long you needed to be held. He was good like that, he always has been. But it felt like a cruel comfort – mere scraps of affection when you wanted the entire feast. 

“I do love you, you know,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soothing as it broke your heart anew. “Always, I promise.”

And he did. 

But it was never going to be enough.

You were the moon to his sun, forever watching from a distance, knowing you would never truly share the same sky.

Aemond rarely saw you after that night. A week passed, then two, then a month. The silence between you stretched longer than he had expected, but still he thought nothing of it. Perhaps you were simply giving each other space, allowing the awkwardness to settle.

But then, when he tried seeking you out, there were no responses. He found out from a mutual friend that you had moved to another region. There was a promising work opportunity, apparently, one that had been too good to pass up.

You just conveniently failed to mention this to him. 

You drifted from his life without warning, and Aemond was not prepared for how deeply it would hurt. How lost he would feel. He was out of orbit, reeling, mourning the ghost of someone who still lived, but seemingly no longer wanted anything to do with him.

Alys was not blind to it. But there was nothing she could do. She could only watch as Aemond’s light began to dim, gradually fading until it barely reached her. She had no choice but to stand by as he became a hollow version of the man whom she thought loved her so fiercely.

An entire year passed before Aemond saw you again. 

It happened by chance, or perhaps some cruel twist of fate. You were there, with your adorable flushed cheeks and smile as bright as the sun. He did not know what to expect, but there you were, hugging him like the long lost friend he had become.

You looked better than ever, while he was barely getting by. 

“You look like you could use some sun, Aem,” you remarked lightheartedly, noticing how pale he got. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.”

You appeared carefree, but all Aemond could feel was the weight of the past year pressing down on him. 

“You left me,” he spat out before he could help himself. It sounded like an accusation, like a wound that never healed. How could you?

“I did leave, yes,” you say tentatively, confused by the venom in his tone. “But I don’t think I left you.”

“What would you call it then?” His tone was bitter, bordering on desperate. 

“I moved away,” you shrugged. “It happens. Friends move away, they move on.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he muttered. His hands clenched at his sides when what he truly wanted was to reach for you.  

“I had to,” you replied, your voice quieter. “It was the only way.” 

Aemond frowned, his gaze fixed on your face, searching for something he couldn’t quite name. "The only way for what?"

You spoke again, slower, “It was the only way to get over you.”

He was hanging by a thread, and right then, he became untethered.

“I loved you, Aemond,” you continued. “And I couldn’t just stay there and watch you be in love with someone else. I’m sorry, but I had to leave. It was the only thing I could do to save myself.”

Your words hit him like a blow. He stared at you, the one who had been everything to him once – his anchor, his confidante, the one constant in his life. If only he hadn’t been too goddamn stupid to realise it then.

You reached over and squeezed his hand. He looked down and without thinking, he interlaced his fingers with yours. He felt you hesitate for a moment – a brief second where you considered pulling away – before you gave in.

The old you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. The old you would have held onto Aemond with everything you had, believing that if you just stayed close enough, he’d realise what was right in front of him.

But you were different now. Everything was different – no sunshine, just grey – because you said that you loved him.

Loved. Not anymore.

The roles were reversed, and maybe he deserved it. The bitter irony wasn’t lost on him as you pulled your hand away, offering him a soft, understanding smile. 

“And Alys?” you asked suddenly, your voice gentle but curious. "How is she?”

He stiffened. A part of him thought that staying with Alys was his path forward, the thing that would make sense of the chaos in his life. But it hadn’t. Not really. 

“We’re not together anymore,” Aemond finally admitted.

You blinked, visibly surprised. “Oh. I’m… I’m so sorry, Aemond. I didn’t know.”

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It wasn’t… meant to be.”

You studied him, your brows furrowing in concern. “Even so, I know it’s hard,” you said softly, your voice full of empathy. “Breakups are… They’re never easy. But there’s someone out there for everyone. I truly believe that. I mean… I found someone, didn’t I?”

His entire body tensed, his breath hitching as his mind tried to process the full weight of your statement. You had found someone. You had moved on. There was the proof, hitting him right in the face. 

He had lost you. For good.

“You… found someone,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it more real.

“Yes. I did.” There was a tenderness in your voice, but it only twisted the knife deeper. “He’s wonderful, Aemond. He’s kind, supportive. I didn’t think I’d find something like this after – ” you paused, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again, “after everything.”

“Are you in love?” The words came out before he could stop them, his voice tight with something like despair. He hated himself for asking, for needing to know, but the question was out there now, and he couldn’t take it back.

“Aemond.”

“Can you tell me this, at least? Do you… love him?”

There was a long pause, as if you were choosing your words carefully, and when you finally spoke, the answer was clear. “More than anything.”

You had become someone else’s sun. Someone else’s guiding light.

And he was the moon, forced to watch and drift in shadow. 

For the first time in his life, Aemond Targaryen understood what it meant to lose everything.

[diejager]

Imagine that the hybrid 141 was getting a teammate and that teammate was a hybrid and Laswell wanted it to be a surprise for the team what they are as in hybrid was and soon as they get off the aircraft and onto the tarmac, the boys realize that they’re with another dragon hybrid and her “heat” would be soon upon her (dark blue in to black better for stealth or, whatever you prefer, she also has her wings) how would the boys handle that you can take the story anyway you want 

This… I might make it self-indulging because this idea has been clawing at the back of my mind for a long while. Cw: mating/heat cycle, fire/water magic, tell me if I missed any.

Laswell had Price wait for the surprise she had planned, the secret she kept from them when they received your file. It had all he asked for in attributes and skills, but all things personal that should have been on it were scratched out in black. He was told that it was a need to know basis, your name, age or species wouldn’t be divulged unless you told them yourself. He knew you from words from mouth to ear, ad read of your skill and efficiently but nothing he heard and found told him an ounce about you as a person. Your character was a mystery he died to know.

So when he got word from Laswell that your ETA was just over half an hour, he had the boys reconvene to the airstrip, watching the aircraft carrying you land not too far from them, the rotors slowing to a steady thrum. The anticipation that bubble din his chest made this moment crawl at a snail’s pace, the ramp lowering too slowly for his liking and the droning sound of the aircraft’s irking his ears. Then, seconds after the ramp fully dropped, he caught sight of blue horns, tines growing from a singular robust beam, segmented like those of a scale. Your head, covered by a custom made helmet to let your antlers peek out and sit comfortably on your head (at least you wore something, unlike his constant frustration with finding one that wouldn’t bother his horns), followed after you walked out, decked in your gear and a bag slung over your shoulders. 

You weren’t what he was expecting, not exactly. He read that you had a masterful experience in hydromancy, stealing water from the air and humidity and contorting it to cause havoc in the field and cutting through the enemy. He and the others shared their theories, one possibility made you into a water witch, a leviathan, or one of those creepy monsters from the deep sea. Not what… whatever you were. You had elk-like horns painted in the deepest blue he’d ever seen and a tail covered in scales of the same shade, glistening under the light like it was wet with tufts of hair - or was it fur? - crawling down the base of your fourth limb to create a silky and soft end with long, slowing locks. 

What were you? What was that smell? It got sweeter the closer you got, a softness that clung to his nose and made him salivate. He wondered how strong it must be for the Soap and König who’s noses were more enhanced and sensitive than any others, they’d probably sniff the source - you - out and answer his undying question.

“Captain Price,” you nodded your head, a small smile gracing your lips, your slitted eyes narrowed in greeting, “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

That sweetness lingered around you and stuck to his hand when you shook hands, giving him a firm shake and stronger grip that he could admire for the strength you showed. Had you face been as bright as it was a few seconds before? Perhaps it was the musk that oozed off you, it was uneasily addicting and pleasing to his lizard brain, slowly moving the cogs of hos old machine. He watched you take a step back, making some distance between his Task Force and you, and his mind got clearer, nose less stuffy and cheeks wash away the slight flush. Then it hit him, the sweetness, the dazed perception of you and the growing need in his body, he was reacting to you. 

“Sorry, I was told I’d be off for the week once I landed,” you cocked your head, sharing an apologetic smile, “My cycle follows the Lunar year.”

Ah, everything made more sense now, the gracefulness of your beautiful tail, the glistening of your scales and the sharpness of your horns. He had agreed to welcome another dragon to his Task Force, he was fortunate that Asian dragons were calmer and benevolent than his European counterpart. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[bellatrixscurls]

two ghosts | part 1

pov : lily rejects james many times, until he finally gives up. but y/n and sirius are there for him, in more ways than one.

warnings : smut (next part), mentions of ex!bully!james, fluff (it probably sucks cus i only know how to write smut), sub jamie if you squint, pet names, established relationship between reader and sirius. please lmk if there are more! <3

part two

“I’m telling you, sweetheart. It’s nothing your pretty cunt can’t fix” Sirius winks at you, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth, causing you to roll your eyes. He obviously notices, as he is sat across from you, and smirks.

Remus is eyeing you both suspiciously, and clears his throat. “I can think of more situations you,” he looks at you and you blush slightly in embarrassment, “cannot fix. So what is it now?”

Sirius giggles like a little kid, and you shake your head, your cheeks way too red by now. “I think Prongs needs some.. relief. Poor thing is so crabby these days, and it’s all because of that stupid mudblood.”

“Sirius!” you shriek, kicking his foot under the table. “Okay, alright! I was just looking for something bad to say about her.”

Remus rolls his eyes and Peter places his fork down, blue eyes wide as he stares at you, clearly interested. “What do you mean by relief? I mean, he’s been refusing to tell me what’s wrong and yes, he is acting a bit strange, but I can’t think of anything that could help him. Unless you want to get him a date with Evans, which is not an option.”

Peter’s speech leaves all of you speechless. You’ve looked at the situation as more of a joke, not realising how sweet Jamie turned to grumpy, fussy James. “I mean, not that I would want to get him a date with that one” Sirius scoffs, his hands raising in surrender as you and Remus glare at him.

“And why would that be, Sirius?” you find it’s your turn to tease him, to which he scoffs again, giving you an wide-eyed look when he spots James approaching the ton of you.

His head is a mess of curls that bounce furiously as he walks messily, his eyes are bigger than usual and his face seems to scream ‘I’m tired!’. His clothes, surprisingly, are not wrinkled. Well, it’s a surprise to anyone but you, cus you are the one who prepared them for him the night before.

“Morning” his voice is thick with sleep, barely gazing at you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you into his side only for a few seconds. “Thank you for taking care of me” he says softly, obviously referring to his robe, shirt and trousers.

Your eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised by the little gesture, and the guys seem to be as surprised, if not more than you are. “No bother, Jamie.”

The atmosphere in the common room is tense, and you all can sense it. Even James.

“You can talk to me, you know” he scoffs, slightly annoyed as he looks up for merely a second, eyeing Sirius, and his face somehow softens.

Sirius looks at him sadly. “We are worried about you, we don’t want you to lose yourself just because some red-headed chick doesn’t want you.”

And then, you all know that he screwed up.

James stands up abruptly, and looks down at Sirius, his usually gentle blue eyes now a few shades darker. “She’s not- You don’t know what it feels like, Sirius” he calls him by his first name, not Pads, and not Siri, and you can see Sirius’ face soften and his bottom lip jutting out just slightly. “You’ve found Y/n a long time ago, and even before you didn’t have a problem with girls ever refusing you. You don’t know how it feels.”

You all fall silent, your hand coming up to gently rub at his back, his head leaning into your neck as he nuzzles against your skin. “We just want our Jamie back, honey. I promise you so many other people in this school want you for you.”

“You promise?” he looks at you with those doe eyes that always make you melt.

“I do. And maybe it’s best that you didn’t get with Lily, who knows what would’ve happened. I promise there is someone there for you.”

By the end of your speech, you can only hear James hum softly as you continue to rub his back. A few minutes pass by, and Remus whispers to you, letting you know that James is sleeping. And so you sit more comfortably against the sofa, allowing yourself to rest for a little bit as well.

♥︎

Shifting pulls you from your deep slumber only a few hours later, and you find your arms empty, no trace of James anywhere. You sigh softly as you move to stand up, taking the blanket, that you were not aware was there, with you.

“Sweetheart, you’re awake” Sirius beams when you stand up, and you almost have a heart attack when you hear his voice, being pulled away from your thoughts.

You turn to look at him, lazily dragging yourself and finally throwing yourself into his arms, the boy taking that as a sign to sit down, with you still in his arms. “I missed you” you smile into his chest, engulfed by his intoxicating scent. He smells like he always does, but to you, it’s much more than that.

“Me too, sweetheart” he kisses your forehead, his eyes closing and so do yours.

But little do you know, James is watching the two of you the entire time, and his heart drops and swells at the same time. He wants that, but he is glad that his best friends have it.

♥︎

The next day, you walk with Sirius, hand in hand, towards your Herbology class. He is telling you about his new partner in partner in Potions when you spot James leaning against the wall, talking to Lily.

“Siri, he’s doing it again” you pout, looking up at your boyfriend as he looks in their direction, his eyes darkening at the sight.

“Oh fuck” he swears under his breath, and you frown. “I can’t hear him cry for the entire night again, breaks my heart” he gulps and you brush your hand against his cheek gently, making him look st you.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. Maybe he is okay now” you try to reason with him and he seems to soften for a moment, not long though, cus James is messily walking away from Lily, his eyes red and lips puffy. You look back at him, his eyes not once leaving yours as he walks away, heading towards the Gryffindor Tower.

“Yeah, he seems pretty content” Sirius scoffs to himself, running one of his hands through his hair as the other holds your waist.

“Bring him to my dorm” you tell him, your eyes widening before you continue. “I- I mean, both of you. We can take care of him, make sure he doesn’t feel alone and maybe forgets what happened for the night.”

Sirius looks at you like you are his Moon, the one who always brightens his path when it gets dark. I mean, he’s told you that before.

“You are a genius!”

♥︎

After classes, you went to find James, but found him in the worst situation you thought possible.

He is with Lily. Meanwhile the red-head is reading her book on the sofa, James is knelt in front of her, gently tugging at her delicate arm, but she pays him no mind. “Lily, I just- please, just a date, just one” he whispers softly, not wanting to disturb her more than he already does.

She rolls her eyes, and sighs. “James, I don’t know how many times to tell you that I’m not interested” she says sadly, and you can see his bottom lip quivering. “I don’t.. you were mean to my friends, James. Mean to me. For a very long time, and even though it was long before you liked me, I can’t” she finally confesses, cupping his cheek with her palm.

Your eyes widen and so do James’.

He lets out a soft ‘oh’ and quickly wipes his tears, baby blue eyes blinking in shock. He didn’t know.

“Oh okay... Okay then, that’s fine” he nods frantically, slowly standing up from his knees and brushing his hands over his robe. “I’m sorry, Lily” you see him pout slightly before he practically runs away.

You wait until Lily stands up and finally follow James upstairs, not wanting to make it seen like you were eavesdropping. You were, but.

Knocking gently on the door, you are met with a muffled and small ‘yes?’

“Jamie, it’s Y/n” you lean your head against the door, your eyes closing as you listen to the shuffling in the room.

Moments later, he opens the door and your shoulders drop when you see his state. He hasn’t been himself for weeks now, but he has never looked this way until now. He looks a mess, and his bed is the same.

“Darling” you frown slightly, not touching him because you don’t know if that’s okay yet. “D’you wanna go to my dorm? You can stay with me tonight, Siri will be there too.”

You try to soothe him, explaining that you will listen to him as much as he needs, but when he hears ‘your dorm’ and ‘Siri’, his ears perk up and he starts nodding fervently, grabbing his blanket and shutting the door behind him.

You give him a small smile before you guide him to your dorm, where your boyfriend is waiting for you. He probably doesn’t expect you to manage to get James to come, so his eyes widen a little bit when he sees him, but he clears his throat and stands up from your couch, greeting you. Sirius’ arms snake around your waist as he gives you a sweet peck on the lips, before he moves to James.

The bespectacled boy’s back is glued to the door, sitting there timidly as he tries not to look at you both, but he fails miserably. “Hi there, Prongsie” Sirius teases him and James smiles a genuine smile, his eyes closing as Sirius brings him into his arms, the long-haired’s boy scent just as intoxicating as it is to you.

“Do you want to talk to us, babe? Tell us what happened?” you quip as you take James’ hand in yours and you usher him to sit on your perfectly made bed, the sheets soft beneath him.

He looks up at you, then at Sirius, and sighs softly. “I used to be a bully” he confesses, as if it is a secret, “And ‘s why she doesn’t like me... Lily.”

Sirius’ grimace is more than present on his face. He remembers those times, up until third year, when he met you. You’ve changed him, and them, for that matter. James has always been a sweet boy, but he used to think that he was superior to the others. Not now, though.

“That was way too long ago, though. We were kids” Sirius whispers defeatedly, he knows that’s not an excuse.

“I was terrible” James says and a sob catches in his throat. Your heart almost breaks and then you understand what Sirius meant when he said that James crying made his own heart break. “I regret that, I don’t want to ever do that again.”

You pout, inching your hand closer to his as you slowly caress it, your eyes moving from him to your boyfriend. “It’s been age, Jamie” Sirius speaks softly, “you have changed, that’s not you anymore. Sure, you cannot erase your past, but you cannot let it define you either. That’s. not. you.”

James looks up at him with hope, and Sirius grins widely. “Look at you, you are the sweetest boy I’ve ever met. So pretty as well” Sirius’ tatted hand cups James’ soft, pale cheek and the younger boy melts against his skin. “Yeah?” he breathes, batting his eyelashes at Sirius, who nods proudly.

But when Sirius notices that James’ hand is moving up his thigh, he removes his hand from his hand from his cheek and stands up, walking towards a smaller chest of drawers, where you keep his clean clothes for when he comes over.

James’ breath hitches and tears start pooling at his eyes. He tries to be quiet, but you are still beside him and hear it. “What is it, sweet boy?” you ask, frowning.

He just shakes his head, burying his face into your soft pillow. “M sorry” he sobs, his tears most definitely soaking your pillow.

“Sorry?” you ask and he hums, still not looking at you. “Tried to touch Siri” he admits, “you have.. you’ve just been so good to me, I-”

“Oh, love, I’m not upset with you. I mean, who wouldn’t want to touch Siri?” you joke and he giggles softly, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Okay I’m back and I got you my shirt and this pair of boxers, I hope they fit you- Hey, why are you crying?”

─

next part will probably be just a little bit of fluff and smut, but i thought i’d share this little thought with you guys. i will write the other fic ideas soon, please bear with me <3.

[little-diable]

Kinktober Day 1 - Jasper Hale

Here we go – my favourite month is finally upon us! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🖤 Blood 🖤

Warnings: 18+, smut, rough piv, blood play

Pairing: Jasper Hale x fem!reader (700 words)

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

header by @theanythingbuthuman 🤍

The room was barely alight, only a few candles were offering some flickering guidance. (Y/n) had lost all sense of time, unsure how long she and Jasper had been hiding away in her bedroom, finding comfort in one another’s presence as they chased one high after another.

“Can you take another, darlin’?” His voice had a slight condescending touch to it, leaving her choking on a “Yes”. The vampire smirked down at her, losing himself in his thoughts about his mate - seconds she used to flip him around, straddling his waist.

“It’s my turn now.” Not once had she done this before, preferring to have Jasper guiding their moments together. But something had shifted inside of her today, something that left (y/n) ending up right here, sinking down on his cock while his eyes turned into a darker shade. Her walls fluttered around him, holding onto his cock while he impatiently bucked his hips.

(Y/n) could tell that Jasper was struggling to hold himself back, but perhaps it was also the fault of the small dagger she reached for. Somewhere along the way, they had begun to include knives into their back and forth, Jasper liked to tease her with the cold metal, seeing the excitement swim in her pupils. But not once had he cut her, always careful not to harm her.

Her fingers trembled as she brought the tip of the dagger up to her pointer finger, smirking down at Jasper. (Y/n) knew that she could trust him fully, knowing that he would never risk her safety, and yet her heart still skipped a few beats the second she lightly cut her skin. The groan leaving Jasper made her gasp, keeping her eyes focused on him before bringing her bleeding finger up to his lips.

They held eye contact as he parted his lips, eyes filled with an unfamiliar sensation she hadn’t seen thump through his system until this very moment. He was struggling, knowing that he needed to do something before the predator inside of him could gain the upper hand, so he flipped her around again, hovering over (y/n) to roughly fuck into her.

“Oh, fuck, Jas’.” She was close to screaming, wide eyed staring at the man who fucked her harder than ever before probably. He was high on the taste of her blood, knowing that he would be forever addicted to it, unable to ever forget about the no longer foreign taste.

Sounds she couldn’t pinpoint left him, blending together with the sounds of their bodies meeting with every ferocious thrust. (Y/n) knew that her overstimulated body wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, not expecting him to react like that to her taste, a single drop which had elevated his mood to new levels.

She felt him deep inside of her, close to destroying the metallic frame of her bed with how roughly he moved. And yet she didn’t find it in herself to complain, both were too far gone, (y/n) with her body trembling with need, Jasper with eyes that were close to turning so black that even night itself would fear the depth of the darkness he emenated.

“Jas,” (y/n) choked on his name as she came. With her head thrown back, with her fingernails scratching at his skin, she let her orgasm clash through her. Jasper kept snapping his hips against hers, burying himself inside of her with a strength he’d apologise for later on.

(Y/n) lost her grip on reality, allowing him to use her body while he came himself, falling over the edge with a choked out groan. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled him down for a kiss, letting their tongues meet while he pulled out of her.

“Are you hurt, darlin’?” Jasper’s voice was rougher, lower, still high on the scent and taste of her blood. She could only shake her head, too far gone to put her thoughts into proper words, and yet (y/n) couldn't help but pull Jasper closer, needing to feel him with his arms wrapped around her to guide her to safety.

[kudossi]

only god can write this script

“I’m, uh,” Lionblaze mutters, his tail sweeping behind him, “sorry for your loss.”

You would be, wouldn’t you, Dovewing doesn’t say, because she’s ex-ThunderClan, because she’s ex-prophesied, because his sister died for hers and because he’d wanted to kill her son, because she’s the leader’s mate, because her feelings about the cat who practically kidnapped her from her family to raise as a substitute for another are complicated and thorny at best. “Thank you,” she says at last, like she’s expected to. The diplomacy Tawnypelt has spent so long teaching her tastes rotten on her tongue.

Lionblaze wipes his mouth with one paw. Dovewing’s sister is ThunderClan’s deputy now, not him. She wonders how he feels about it. She wonders whether he thinks Hollyleaf should be there instead. She wonders if, just as she had been, Ivypool is just another substitute for a black cat with too-sharp eyes, too much potential. All wasted, of course, because StarClan was nothing if not good at wasting.

She wishes she knew why the she-cats suffered most. She wishes she didn’t know that they did.

She wishes Rowankit had been born a tom, sometimes, in her darkest moments. If he had, he wouldn’t be dead. “Simple as that,” she’d said to Ivypool last Gathering.

“Simple as that,” Ivypool had echoed, hollow. Bristlefrost had died for — what, exactly? So that more toms could live? So that the she-cat didn’t get the happy ending?

“There are never any happy endings for us,” Hollyleaf had murmured to her the morning of her death. The implication had been clear. Dovewing had stared at the only cat who ever understood her with wide, dry eyes until Hollyleaf had set her chin on Dovewing’s head, and then she’d been helpless not to lean in, a sob rattling her chest as she did.

“I approve,” Sorreltail had grinned at her as Briarlight had hissed defiance at the idea of being evacuated.

“Do I need it?” Dovewing had wondered.

“No,” Sorreltail had answered, simple as anything. “If it’s Briarlight, wonderful. But if there lies something for you outside of these borders — take it. Take it and never look back.”

It was the last time she had spoken to Sorreltail until she was cleaning her blood off of Lilykit and Seedkit as another panic swept over the camp. And even then, she was only speaking to a corpse, reassuring a cat who wasn’t there anymore that her kits would be okay.

(And Seedpaw had drowned to keep a stick — the closest memory of her mother she had — in ThunderClan’s possession. Dovewing had wept that night, inconsolable. Another daughter lost to the memory of her mother, a mother who had died because she had been expected to be a mother before a warrior, a mother despite the worst of wounds. A beaver’s dam bursts and is built again, over and over, until Dovewing’s coat drips with invisible blood.)

“Nursery work isn’t simple,” Ferncloud had smiled once, taking her through each task. Her demeanor was gentle, but the undercurrent was hard. Bumblepaw hadn’t taken this lesson. She knew that Lionblaze hadn’t, either.

“Why us?” Dovepaw had asked, looking up at her.

Ferncloud’s gaze, fixed on a point deep in the den, snapped to hers as if pulled there. “Because it’s only us,” she had said after a moment.

Less than a year later, Dovewing would step through Ferncloud’s blood to block a Dark Forest shade, all murk and mire and claws made of filth, from taking a bite out of her corpse.

“Don’t have another litter,” Lionblaze says now, callous in his way. “It never ends well for us.”

She knows — oh, does she ever know — that. No one star-touched could get away with a second litter, not if the stars had touched you young, even if they took the blessings they’d given away. Lionblaze’s first litter had led unremarkable lives — Hollytuft, despite her namesake, was quiet and unobtrusive; Fernsong had stepped a little farther than his bounds with Ivypool (and had paid for it, perhaps, with their daughter drowning in a lake made of rot); and Sorrelstripe’s history seemed to begin and end with her own litter (another dam, rising high; Dovewing looks away, now, because the alternative hollows her chest with rhythmic scraping of dulled teeth — pain comforted by pain). But the second? Two of them kittypets, the third an active rebel who had lost her mate to her own leader’s claws? A gentle fate, all told. They were all still alive, but what did that matter to him? Did the shame of having two living kittypet children outweigh the idea that both were alive, that both were happy, that he could visit them if he cared to?

“He shouldn’t have allowed it,” Jayfeather had said, his blind eyes staring into Dovewing’s soul.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it,” Lionblaze had said, anger toying at the end of every word.

But Dovewing had wanted, and now her tiny, perfect son is dead. “I won’t,” she says, hoarse. After all, she hadn’t ever been allowed to want. What had she expected? That StarClan would grant mercy to one who had only ever done their bidding?

“Guess some of us have to learn our lessons,” Lionblaze mutters. He scratches at an ear and averts his gaze from the direction of ShadowClan’s medicine den when someone stirs within.

Dovewing wonders if she can muster up the energy to be truly angry. She wants to be so badly, like one might want to escape sharpened claws dipped into soft flesh, but it’s hard to muster in this cruel, gray world without her son, with only callous gods to stare down at her. “Guess so,” she says, and wonders which god wrote this script she’s living. Her losses burn hot in her throat, the injustices as cold as ice, but Lionblaze could never fathom a story more unhappy than his own. “I guess so.”

[d4yl1ghts]

allure

damon salvatore x shy, fem!reader

summary: amidst a bustling atmosphere, the one thing that catches damon’s eye is the silent girl

-

Damon sat down beside Alaric as he ordered bourbon. “Hello, Ric.”, he said with his signature smirk. “What do you want now?”, Alaric asked with an annoyed expression. “Can I not spend some time with my friend?”, Damon questioned as he pouted like a baby. Alaric fake laughed. “Whatever.”

Gazing around the grill, Damon’s eyes strayed over to a veer corner where he noticed you with Elena and Bonnie. He watched as you laughed along with them but you remained quiet. He couldn’t move his eyes away from you. He was captivated by you. He was curious about you. Alaric moved his hand in front of his vision to distract him. “Hello?”, he asked dramatically.

“Hello. Move your hand.”, Damon muttered with venom laced in his tone. Ric followed his eye-line and saw you. “Damon, she is far too innocent to have to suffer with the presence of Damon Salvatore.”

“Hmm, we’ll find out.”, he mumbled as he smirked to himself. He gulped down his bourbon and elegantly made his way over to your table. “Hello, ladies.”, he said as he sat in the empty seat which was fortunately next to you.

“What do you want?”, Bonnie asked protectively. “Relax. I was just wondering why I haven’t seen her around before.”, he pointed to you. Your cheeks flushed. “Umm, Damon she’s been here for like her whole life.”, Elena rolled her eyes. “You’re just too arrogant to notice her.”, she added. “What’s your name?”, he turned to look at you. You were stunned by his eyes that were the perfect shade of ocean blue and the way his eyes crinkled as he smirked at you. No man had ever looked at you in such a way. “Y/N.”, you simply answered.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”, Damon replied charmingly. “Damon, can you leave us alone now?”, Elena mumbled angrily. Bonnie nodded in agreement. You didn’t understand why they disliked Damon so much like obviously he could be very irritating but he was tolerable and he was nice to talk to.

“Well, I’d better get a move on since some people don’t want me here.”, he glared at Bonnie and Elena. He smiled at you. “Can I give you a call later?”, he asked softly. “Yeah, sure.”, you answered automatically.

It was currently six in the afternoon and your phone started buzzing. You looked at the screen and saw Damon’s contact flashing across it. You decided to pick up. “Hey, Y/N.”, he said. “Hi.”

“Would you like to go to the grill with me? I’m bored and I know you already went today but…”, he continued. “It’s fine, I’ll be on my way.”, you ended the call as you freshened yourself up before leaving a note on the fridge telling your parents where you were.

You cautiously walked into the grill and you saw Damon waving you over. “How are you?”, he asked. “Fine, what about you?”, you reciprocated after ordering a Diet Coke. “Great.”, he answered. “Do you know what I like about you?”, he questioned as he gazed into your eyes. “I love how quiet you are. It’s so alluring.”, he added with a genuine expression. You smiled at him. “Really?”, you asked. “Yes, why would I make that up?”

“I don’t know, I’m just used to being picked on for how quiet I am, to be honest.”, you stated as you played with your fingers, avoiding his intense eyes. “Don’t feel like that. That’s what makes you… you.”, he said. “I never thought someone like you could be so wise.”, you responded. “Well… I am over a hundred years old so you could say I’ve gained some experience.”, he smirked at you. “Fair enough.”, you simply stated as you proceeded to talk with him for another hour.

[probablyintensemuses]

BED CHEM- A. ARETAS

🎧- Bed Chem: Sabrina Carpenter

summary: After a game of 'Never Have I Ever,' you ask Armando for a simple favor. He complies in the best of ways.

warnings: so much smut, cursing, drinking

a/n: It's Kinktober, I hope you enjoy this. Sluts.

"Alright,' Kelly takes another swig of her beer, calling everyone's attention towards you. "Your turn, sweetheart, never have I ever."

You chuckle, throwing back another shot of amber liquid, rejoicing in its burn on the way down. You took in the living space of Mikes mansion, how all the colors began to mix and swirl, the room titling about half as much as your stomach.

Still, with flushed brown skin, you poured yourself another shot. "Hit me," You hiccupped.

“Never have I ever...’ Kelly slurs, tapping her manicured finger against her chin. She points at you, spitting out, “fucked a man in my car.”

You laugh, picking up your shot glass and throwing it back, shivering at the warmth it brings you.

Kelly squeals and claps. “I knew it! I knew you didn’t go all the way with that guy from the bar last week!”

You hiccup, throwing a fist full of popcorn at her. “Hush!" You shush her.

Waving to the guys--Mike, Marcus, Dorn, and Armando sat on the sofa--who were better equipped at handling their liquor than both you and Kelly, you say, "They'll find out. I don't need Mike disappointed in me."

Mike stands while chuckling, he walks towards you and like a magician playing a trick on a child, he distracts you with one hand patting your shoulder and swipes your shot with the other.

"Hey!" You whine, stumbling to get up.

“I think that’s enough of that.” Mike tosses it into the sink, rinsing it down the drain.

You groan, falling back onto the stack of pillows on the ground, Kelly following suit.

The world spins in slow circles above you and your stomach was spinning.

"Truthfully,"

"Hm?" Kelly hums.

"I've never fucked anyone before."

Kelly shoots up, wide brown eyes boring into your own amber ones, and the room goes deathly silent.

It takes a beat, but eventually Marcus cracks the quiet wide open.

“What do you mean you’ve never fucked anyone?”

“Yeah,’ Mike adds. “If Marcus is getting laid, you damn sure shouldn't be having any problems.

Marcus slaps Mikes chest, earning a laugh out of everyone.

You wave your hand in dismissal. "I'm content with the state of my virginity." You shrug, throwing some popcorn into your mouth while wishing it was a greasy burger.

Dorn scoots close to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your shoulder. "Is it a religious reason, because if it is, I totally understand."

You laugh. "It's not. I just never got there with anyone...I guess."

"I guess?" Mike sucks his teeth. "Girl, when I was your age I was getting all types of action."

You let out a loud groan and roll your eyes as Mikes goes on and on about his never ending playboy era.

"You ain't got to remind us that you were a bad boy, Mike. The proofs right here." Mike says, pointing to Armando.

You look over, watching Armando take another sip of his beer.

You knew Armando was Mikes son, yet no matter how close you felt to Mike, his son was just a part of him you couldn't feel piece together.

Apart of you felt fearful of his rather unpredictable nature, while another part of you, not so deep down, felt hypnotized by him, his demeanor, his attitude, not to mention his face and body. it was all enough to make your core pool with a feeling that could only be declared as one thing--desire.

Pulled into another trance, your eyes cut over and meet Armando's. They are the deepest, hypnotic shade of chocolate brown, hung low and dark. You presume, like everyone else, he too was drunk.

You swallow, taking him in, how his muscular arms wrap around the back of the couch like a snake, only enhanced by the black, fitted top he was wearing. How his thick thighs were spread in front of you, giving you full access to his package.

If you were to ever fuck a man, Armando was the type you'd want. A man who was gruff with an eclipse of something kind. A man who could no doubt pick you up, pull em' down, and turn you around.

You hadn't even realized you were practically salivating until Kelly's voice washes over you, cleansing your dirty thoughts away.

"You ready to go?" She says, you hadn't noticed everyone start to clean up, and apparently Armando hadn't either, his silky gaze still lingering on you.

"Oh,' you flush. "I think I better stay behind. I'm supposed to be helping Christine with a friends party tomorrow, anyhow." You say, pushing to stand.

"Alright then,' Kelly extends her arms for a hug. "We'll talk later, okay."

You pat her back, taking in her cherry scent. "Okay, get home safe everyone!"

Everyone says there goodbyes.

"I'm heading up for the night." Mike announces. "Goodnight!"

You dip down to pick up the last of the trash. "Goodnight."

Hands full of garbage you turn, jumping when you see Armando hasn't moved.

You clutch your chest. "Jesus. How long have you been--I thought you went upstairs already."

Armando places his beer down on the marble coffee table. "Wasn't done drinking."

You nod, avoiding his hot gaze. "Well enjoy." You breath, tossing the trash into the garbage. Quickly, you b-line towards the staircase.

"Lo haré."

You pause, hand on the stair railing. "What?"

He chuckles, pushing to stand. You suck in a breath taking in his godly figure as he walks over, the wetness from earlier resurfacing again.

At the staircase, Armando crowds your space, your back to his front. You wouldn't dare face him right now, you were drunk and loose, who knows what you were capable of if you turned around.

Your breath comes in and out in hitches as he swipes your hair to one side of your neck. The heat radiating from him becomes blistering as he leans down, plump lips barely grazing your ear when he whispers, "Disfruté tu historia."

You gasp, craning your neck to the side only to see, like a snake, Armando had already slithered past you with a smirk on his face.

"Have a goodnight." The way he called your name had you melting like butter.

You slide down until your bottom touches the cold steps, hoping it will shew away any nasty feelings you have for your bosses very, very hot son.

Unfortunately, it did nothing. Instead, you pull out your phone googling everything Armando had just said to you. And even though it was only two things, it was enough to carry you upstairs and into a very, gushy sleep.

---

Thunder crashes against your window, jolting you from your sleep.

Your tired blurry eyes look over at the night stand.

It's 3 am.

You've been out cold for at least three hours, the dryness of your throat being a definite tell-tell.

You throw the thick, lavender comforter off yourself, swinging your feet into your house shoes.

You toss on you glasses and sneak out of your room, trying your best to be as quiet as possible as you sneak down to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you fill up your water bottle and quickly head back to the room Christine had assigned you to sleep in for the night.

Thankfully it had an ensuite, because you'd definitely have to pee after all this water you were going to chug.

Taking a swig of your water, movement in the corner of your room captures your attention.

You lower your water bottle, fastening the top and setting it aside. You know your vision is bad, but not this bad.

You shrug it off, kicking off your night shoes.

Another string of thunder, paired with a loud shriek of lighting barrels down on the house, illuminating the corner in which you had just thought you'd seen something.

With the bright light of lightening striking twice, there was no mistake. There was someone there.

But not just anyone. Armando.

You gasps, immediately throwing your arms up and not knowing where to cover first: your exposed cold, hardening nipples or the rounds of your ass exposed in your sleep shorts.

You choose the former, your nipples only straining more against the fabric of your tee shirt the closer Armando gets.

"What are you doing here?" You manage.

You continue to drink him in the closer he gets, his golden skin and abs on full display as he dawns nothing but a pair of grey sweats.

"I heard you get up." He says, his voice gruff with sleep.

"So you followed me?"

Armando shrugs. "¿Eso no está permitido?"

"I don't know what you're saying." You sigh, holding back the moans in your throat at just the scent of him.

Armando steps forward again, the force of his presence pushing you to sit down. "I think you do."

"I--I don't." You sputter.

Armando sucks his teeth, hooking his index finger under your chin. Your eyes lift and meet his.

This angle, you several inches below him, has you pressing your thighs together, keeping the desperate monster who wants to swallow the man before you whole at bay.

"Then I'll help you,' Armando's thumb strokes your chin. "What you said earlier, was that true?"

"What I said earl--," Your eyes narrow than widen.

You swallow. "You mean about?"

Armando chuckles. "Yes, about you not fucking anyone yet."

You squirm, feeling your heat begin to pool again. Your core must be draining all the liquids from your throat because find it hard to reply.

"I'll take that as a yes." Armando plays with the ends of your hair.

You aren't sure if somehow you'd been struck by lighting, but sudden surge of confidence shakes over you.

You stand, still several inches shorter than him. "Is there something you wanted to do about it, Armando?"

He hisses, throwing his head back. "Do you want me to do something about it?" His warm fingers trail your neckline.

You shiver, closing your eyes and pushing into his touch.

Only if you promise to come right on me.

"¿qué?"

Your eyes snap open. "I meant camaraderie, as long as you promise camaraderie."

Armando growls, taking your face in his hands once more. "No you didn't." He says in one breath before taking yours away.

You shudder against him. Then, his palms wrap around the nape of your neck, turning the kiss scolding and fierce. His mouth open and hot.

Armando pulls you in closer by your hips, a surge builds between you, a shared exchange of demand a desire as your mouths rummage, searching for that peak together.

There's a groan, movement, and then you're airborne, Armando's rough hands digging into your back.

You're not sure where Armando takes you until you tear yourself from him entirely, panting as you catch your breath.

"Why'd we come in here?" You question, looking around his room.

"Your rooms too close to Mikes." He says, grappling for you and pulling you close.

"What does that mean?" You question. It doesn't fully register for you until you sink down and straddle his clothed member.

Oh. Oh.

Even strained against two layers of clothes, you could tell Armando was going to be huge issue.

"That was probably best." You pant, grabbing his face and kissing him once more.

Armando pulls at the hem of your shirt, in between kisses he whispers, "Take this off.:"

You're hesitant and don't comply because no matter how hot and needy you are, this is still new to you.

Taking a beat, you pull back. "Maybe we shouldn't."

Armando sits up. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" You shake your head. "You're great, it's just...I'm a little nervous."

"We don't have to, I'm sorr--."

You stop him, grabbing his hand. "Don't apologize."

You take a deep breath, shaking off all the doubts allowing yourself to just seep in what the pleasure is and how it could morph.

You were here, in this blistering moment, with Armando. Going further than you ever had with any other man.

That shows that there’s something there, an underlying current that’s got you both pooling with desire for one another after a few drunken glances and intoxicated words.

Maybe it something that couldn’t be put into words, like chemistry.

Bed chem.

Whatever it was, it had you swallowing your fears, trudging past them.

You sit up straighter, locking eyes with predator in front of you. Your heart skips beats like a rabbit just looking into his eyes.

"I want to." You breath.

Armando nods, shifting. He slowly presses you into the mattress, the warmth of his gaze and comforters engulfing you. Yet, you can't help but shiver as he pulls down your sleep shorts, allowing his warm breath to blow over your exposed thighs.

You whimper.

It was finally happening and you were ready to drink in every moment of it.

Armando trails light kisses on the inside of both your thighs. The light touches make you gasp and shiver.

He trails his lips, slick as a cat, towards your heat, placing breathy kisses onto your clit.

You flank, gripping either side of the bed, relishing in every suck, swirl, and spit Armando gives your pussy.

The attention to detail on this man was unwinding you like a doll, so much so, you could feel your climax ramping up.

It starts deep within your core, and with every painting Armando makes with his tongue against your soaking heat, the more you primely unravel.

"Necesito que vengas por mí." Armando groaned, plunging to thick fingers inside of you.

None of his words register with you, all you know is that this mans pleasure is unfurling you and you just want to reach its peak.

Armando pumps faster, you grip his hair and pull him in, smothering him within your walls.

"Fuck, yes!" You moan, arching your back and exposing your hardening nipples to the ceiling. "I'm so close." You cry out.

"Cum for me baby," Armando whimpers.

Like you've been compelled, you do as he says, spilling out on to his beard in a symphony of moans and twitches.

"Shit." You catch your breath. "That was amazing."

Armando licks his swollen lips, his eyes dimmed with desire.

"Tienes un sabor aún mejor del que imaginaba." He groans.

"What does that mean?" You question.

Armando grabs your ankles, yanking you until you're under him.

"I'll show you," He says, smothering you into a kiss, allowing you to taste the sweet-saltiness of your vagina.

"I need more of a demonstration." You say between kisses.

"your wish." Armando pulls off your top, groaning at the sight of your full breast and eager nipples.

He doesn't hesitate to latch his lips onto them, giving them a good suck.

"Fuck." You moan, lowering your hand down to his crotch.

Armando grabs your hand, stopping you from touching further. “No. Not today.” He urges, moving your hands, one by one, up by your head and holding them there.

He continues his delicious assault on your nipples, you never knew your pussy could be this wet with pure want.

Armando unlatches himself, he comes up to face you, hovering above you.

He looks gorgeous in the light. Warm hues of the bedside lamp blend with the crystal moons glow, showing off his dark, sharp features.

You touch his face, trailing your index finger from his sideburns down his jaw and under his chin.

“When?” You say, breathless. “When did you realize you wanted me?”

Armando dips down, placing a slow, firm kiss on your lips. “Since I first saw you.” He admits.

You quiver.

“Are you sure about this?” Armando questions, peeling off his pants, leaving him in nothing but a tight pair of underwear.

You hiss at the sight of his print. “I’m sure.” You swallow.

Armando nods.

You reach up, and together, you peel off the final layer between the both of you.

Instantly, his cock springs to life.

You’ve seen many cocks online, all of them impressive in their own right, but Armando’s was something glorious.

He was large, thick, and veiny, the tip slick with pre-cum. If you had to guess his entire cock was anywhere between eight to eight and a half inches of glorious man.

He couldn’t be more perfect.

You were prepared to take all of it.

Armando moans snap you back to reality.

You Watch eagerly as he jerks himself off a bit. “Should we use a condom?”

You shake your head no. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, princesa.” He hisses, positioning himself atop of you.

Armando gives you one last glance of worry, you bite your lip and watch it melt off his face and burst into something new as he sweeps the tip of his cock against your soaking wet entrance.

You let out a light moan, spreading yourself wider in anticipation for his massive member.

Armando complies, pushing into you slowly, letting you savor ever inch of him.

You had heard the horror stories of girls loosing their virginities. How bloody it would be, how much pain would be involved. So much so that it turned you off from sex for a long time.

That and your parents forcing a pure moral on you created an adult who didn’t know when she’d first get a taste of something so sweet.

But now that you’re here, you could confirm one thing: they were all wrong.

As Armando bottoms you out, his cock buried deep within you, you feel nothing but pleasure.

“Are you okay?” Armando asks.

You moan out, “yes,” giving Armando just what he needs to keep moving.

What begins as slow strokes changes into something much brighter as Armando grips your hips and begins to dig into you.

The room fills with echoes of skin colliding and the sounds of moans.

Your breast bounce on your chest as Armando continues to rails you, hitting spots you never knew was possible.

You squirm, feeling another orgasm building inside of you, it was coming at you like a freight train with no sight of slowing down.

Armando grips your hips, hoisting you up and turning you around.

He pushes your head down and you find your self arched—face down ass up.

He lets out a breathy moan as he slips back inside of you, pounding recklessly into your soaking wet pussy from behind.

“Joder, nena, necesito correrme dentro si tú.” Armando moans.

The language doesn’t seep into you, but by the way his groans are slowing turning into whimpers and how his cock is twitching inside of you, you can tell Armando is close to.

Your walls clench around his cock, milking him, as you orgasm builds closer.

“Fuck,” you moan out. “I’m about to cum.”

“Me too!” Armando groans, slamming into you harder then before.

A few more reckless pumps in and out of your tight little pussy and your spilling all over his cock in shouts and moans. Armando isn’t too far behind you, his twitching cock emptying inside of your warm heat.

“maldita mami.” Armando takes a deep breath, wiping the slick sweat off his forehead.

You twist, out of breath and shaking, falling flat onto your back against the bed.

You watch as Armando heads over to the en suite.

He comes back quickly with a two towels.

Sitting beside you he uses the smaller, damp towel to clean up the mess spilling out of you.

You shiver at his touch as he wraps the large towel around your shoulders.

Taking the opportunity, you kiss him gently. “Thank you.”

Armando smirks. “Anytime, bebé.”

Without warning, Armando scoops you up in his strong arms. He carries you bridal style, walking you over to the shower.

“Now, let’s get you all cleaned up.” He says, kissing your cheek.

You smile into the crook of his neck, wondering just how you were going to tell Kelly that you and Armando Aretas have fucking fantastic bed chem.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Make You Mine II

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, explicit language, tit sucking, orals (f receiving), p in v, marking, dirty talk, rough sex, belly bulge, hair pulling, making out, love at first sight, more embarrassing awkward moments at the end. 

Word Count: 4.8k

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If that makes you uncomfortable feel free to scroll and do not interact with my posts. 

Index: karyu - teacher, hupx- miss, kelku - house/home

This is part 2 of this fic! If you like my work feel free to check out my other work here!

You feel so giddy, you walk to work the next morning with a smile. Sleep did not come easily last night your mind was racing, but when you did fall asleep his face, his lips plagued your dreams. Your brother thought you were crazy this morning when he saw you skipping around the kelku. 

“Good morning class, how’s about we do some reading this morning then we can go play outside for a bit” you were so excited for your day to be over that you kept looking up at the sky for the general time. The children ran in circles and played, skipping around and screaming but you couldn’t find any of it annoying. You know yourself; you know if Neteyam asks you to be his mate you would say yes. You met him yesterday, but you would still say yes. 

You could hardly keep your excitement in but your daydreaming stopped when you heard the wailing of one of your kids, Tuktirey. “Hey hey, what happened here?” you rushed to her side and saw her clutching her knee. “She tripped on the rock and fell down; it was an accident” one of her classmates that saw what happened spoke up. Tuk was sniffling next to you and you had to pry her hand away so you could see her cut. It was just a little graze but you knew how much it must have hurt her, your pain tolerance is properly equivalent to hers.  

“Alright it’s alright, I’ll take care of her” After you said that the other kids started running around and playing again besides a couple of Tuk’s friends who stayed by her side trying to cheer her up. “I’m fine go play, hupx y/n is here with me” you smile at her as her friends ran away.  

“Come on let’s sit in the shade.” you picked her up and walked over to some rocks that sat under a tree with Tuk on your lap. You cleaned up her cut but not without the occasionally protesting in pain. But eventually she calmed down and rested her head on your shoulder. You didn’t realize at first because you were paying attention to the other children in the class that Tuk had fallen asleep on your shoulder.  

When it was time for you to take the kids inside you made them line up and walk orderly back into the small area where class was held. Tuktirey was still asleep, so instead of waking her you held her in your arms as you walked back to class with the other children. You didn’t bother waking her as the day was almost over and the crying must have made her very tired.  

Taking care of her made you completely forget you scheduled a date for the evening with Neteyam and when all the kids sprinted out towards their parents’ he walked in. Your back was turned facing away from him and Tuk’s limbs were wrapped around your body and her head rested on your shoulder as you tried to neaten up the classroom before leaving. He admired you both for a minute, he thought you looked so beautiful, so domestic with a kid in your arms, he could feel his stomach bubbling from how much he wanted that to be his kid.  

“Hey” he said softly but still startled you, you jump and whipped your body around to look at him. “Oh, you scared me, you were so silent, hi” you smile at him. “I am a hunter; it would defeat the purpose if I was noisy” he chuckled making you giggle too.  

“What happened here?” he gestured to Tuk in your arms. “We were all playing outside and she tripped and cried when it was almost time for us to come in, she just grazed her knee but she was sitting with me after and just fell asleep and speaking from someone who cries and then falls asleep I didn’t want to wake her.”  

He chuckled, “She’s not heavy, Lo’ak complains all the time when he has to pick her up” he moves to take her out of your arms and you let him, he gets so close you get a whiff of his scent and you almost cum. He smells so good; how does he smell so good after a long day of work?  

“No, I’ll feel that pain later, maybe tomorrow too in my arms.” you giggle as tuk shifts and wakes up. She was not being held on Neteyam’s hip and she raises her head to see you. She did what you thought was the cutest thing ever, she stretched her hand out and when you took it she laid down on her brother's shoulder and went to sleep. Neteyam saw the way your eyes teared up at her cute gesture and puffed his cheeks so he wouldn’t laugh.  

“So, what did you have in mind for us to do today?” you turned and asked him. You both started walking out of the classroom. “I have to take Tuk home, then I thought we could take a walk through the forest and have dinner together at my family kelku.” you smiled and agreed, “that sounds wonderful what will your mom be making?”  

Neteyam cleared his throat before answering in a sort of shy tone, “My family is going to the communal dinner, I thought it could just be me and you, I was gonna cook, but if you prefer they stay-” 

“No! I mean, no, that sounds lovely” you smile at him as we made it in front of his family kelku. You both walked inside and greeted everyone pleasantly. You felt a bit awkward seeing his father and brother after the last time but you decided to just ignore it. You made small talk with everyone while neteyam handed Tuk over to her mom to put her to bed and he took your hand and walked out of the kelku.  

“So, where are you taking me?” Neteyam never let go of your hand and you didn’t pull away either, it was so much bigger than yours, his hand was rough like a man’s but it was somehow soft at the same time. “Well, I was planning on taking you to a make-out spot I found so we can finish what we started last night” that statement kind of set you off, how much other girls does he take there.  

You pull your hand away from him and stop walking, you cross your arms over your chest unintentionally pushing your breast together. “I’m not going to your make out spot, how much people do you even take there?”  

Neteyam was confused as to why you pulled away at first but when he heard you speak, he chuckled a bit which confused you, but before you could say anything he said, “Oh no, Lo’ak told me about the spot, yea he’s a whore, but I've never taken anyone there before. I was hoping you’d be my first.” 

His response made you feel bad about jumping to conclusions and you run your hand over your face to hide your smile, “that’s not nice.” Neteyam mirrored your smile and chuckled, “It’s true.”  

After a couple minutes of walking, Neteyam pulled back some vines that hid a beautiful clearing, a small pond sat on the side with a few lily pads floating in them. Neteyam lets you walk in admiring the clearing and he looks around outside to make sure no one is around when he follows you in. 

“This is beautiful Neteyam” she said in awe. He didn’t take much time to admire the area the way you did, he instead admired you, “You look beautiful kalin txe’lan” (sweet heart). You turn towards him and he walked up to you wrapping his arms around your waist, “don’t waste time, do you?” you whisper as his face got closer to yours. “I don’t wanna waste a second with you” he mumbled before he pulled you in for a kiss.  

Just like before his lips were soft, warm, he tasted sweet like fruits he must have eaten earlier. Your hands came up to the back of his neck and he deepen the kiss, like yesterday his body bent over yours as if he wanted you closer but he already had you pressed up against him. His hands slid down your hips to your ass and gave it a squeeze making you moan into the kiss before he lifted you off your feet without breaking the kiss.  

You let out a yelp of surprise and held on to his shoulders as he stood like you weighed nothing in his strong arms. He walked slowly until your back was pressed up against the rough bark of a tree and he continued his assault in your mouth. You pulled away for air pulling your head back and resting it against the tree behind you. Neteyam didn’t waste a second kissing down the column of your neck.  

He kissed your neck from your collarbone up to the bottom of your ear. His teeth grazed that perfect stop on the junction between your shoulder and neck making you moan, “oh Eywa” your eyes rolled and your legs wrapped around his back and locked at your ankles. He chuckled a bit feeling the way you squeeze his waist with your thighs. His lips came back up to your mouth and you intertwined your tongues in your mouth.  

You were starting to feel hot, his hands roamed your body, your hands scratched at his shoulder and he was kissing so intensely, so good, you didn’t want him to stop. If he laid you on the grass and fucked you know you would let him, you were so close to begging for it. Neteyam heard static coming from his ear piece, someone was trying to talk to him, after a few second, he recognized Lo’ak’s voice in his ear. As irritated his brother’s voice sounded in his ear instead of yours, he didn’t pull away from your hot tongue. 

“Bro, mom and dad just left to go to dinner, place in yours.” Neteyam’s ear perked up, he was going to take you home. One of his hands held you up easily while the other came to his throat to press the talk button, “yea, thanks bro-” he said between the kiss hearing a muffled ‘ew’ come from the ear piece from his brother.  

“What?” you pull away and ask, “that was my brother” he pointed to the ear piece, “Let me take you home, have some dinner” you looked at him from your position pressed up against you, his strong arms bulging under your weight but he lifted you so easily, his lips swollen from kissing you. You didn’t want him to stop. Neteyam dropped you to the floor and you stumbled a bit but his arms were still around you and you were still against the tree.  

He was going to step back and allow you to walk with him but you pulled his head down for another smearing kiss, “I am dinner” you mumbled the words into his mouth making him groan and push up against you, “nah baby, your dessert” you smiled into the kiss before pulling away and wrapping his arms around you.  

The walk back to his hut was silent aside from the occasional kisses he left on your neck and shoulders, sometimes your head. He pulled the flap to his family kelku open and you walked in, it was silent now so you got a chance to admire the space. The sully’s put a lot of effort into making their place a home, you say touches of each person when you looked around along with the family photos that hung on the walls.  

Neteyam told you to get comfortable sitting in the common area of the home and you watched him light up the fire and cook up some stored meat, before cutting up some vegetables and fruits for you to eat, it was a generous amount you didn’t want to waste it. “I’m not gonna eat that much neteyam” you looked at the serves he dished out, “Don’t worry about it, whatever you don’t eat I will” you were still worried some of it might go to waste but decided to drop it. “So, where did you learn to cook?” you asked him as you leaned back against the wall watching in focus on the food over the fire. “My mother taught us, everyone besides my father and Tuk knows how to cook. Mother tried teaching him but he’s pretty much a lost cause, he can’t cook to save his life” you laughed at his comment and engaged in small talk until he handed you a leaf with steamy food on it. You admired how well cooked and good the food looks, “It almost looks to pretty to eat”  

He chuckled and sat with his own serving which was the rest of the food, “You’re gonna eat all that?” you looked at the food you could never finish in his leaf. “I’m a big man sweetheart, I eat way more than you think” he laughed making you laugh with him. You both talked until you were done eating and cleaned up the space, “That was delicious Neteyam. Everything tonight was wonderful.” you smiled at him and he took both your hands in his pulling you close.  

His thumbs rubbed back and forth on the top of your hands and he smiled down at you, “I had a really nice time tonight with you, I know we didn’t do much but-” you raised on of your hands to his mouth shushing him with your finger. He instinctively kissed it but you didn’t move it. “I had an amazing time, it doesn’t matter what we did, you provided, you made sure I was safe and had fun- lots of fun” you giggled making him join in. 

Neteyam pulled you closer wrapping his free arm around your waist and he held your hand with the other, he kissed you softly on the cheek, then again on the corner of your lips then fully. You moan sweetly into the soft kiss. You pulled away but he chased after you with him lips slotting them back together. The kiss got heated and he walked you back until you were in his private room. You were so in your head thinking about how good it felt to kiss him that you didn’t realize he moved you until his scent hit you in the nose.  

You pulled away darting your eyes around his room and his lips went back down to your neck, you didn’t take in much detail when he bit you in that same amazing spot again and you fell weak in his arms. He moved you to his bed and sat you down on the soft sheets breaking the kiss. You looked around at the bed then up at him and he held your face with both his big palms. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, wouldn’t want you to go home so late”  

“Neteyam the sun is just setting, we just had dinner, what about my brother.” 

“Lo’ak invited him to a party they are gonna crash here when they come back you don’t have anything to do tonight, just stay with me” you bit your lip looking up at him contemplating whether you should stay. Your mind was quickly made up when his thumb pulled your lip from between your teeth and looked down at you so lustfully. You nod your head meekly and pushed yourself further into his bed and he crawled right over you.  

Neteyam slotted his hand under your back to the knot holding your top together and brought his head down to kiss you, he didn’t untie your top it’s like his fingers were teasing you, you’ve had enough of that, you want him to lay his cock on you. “Take it off” you whisper into his lips; he didn’t need more when he pulled the string on your top loosening in. Neteyam broke the kiss to watch himself pull your top of your chest and admired the way they bounced when he released them. His staring made you a bit self-conscience until he bit his lip and blushed at the sight.  

His hand came up to squeeze the flesh of your tits watching it spill through his fingers. “You’re so fucking sexy, couldn’t help but think about this when I first met you. You were just so gorgeous” your face flushed at his words and his finger gave you a nice squeeze before threading lightly to your nipples. Neteyam circles light touched on the buds watching the way they harden with a smirk.  

His head dips and licked a stride up your right boob to your nipple and sucked on it. Neteyam tugged on the nub feeling the way you squirmed under his touch, you were so sensitive. He switched to your other nipple mimicking his actions until your nipples were swollen and wet. Your thighs were wet with your essence you wanted him down there now. His lips moved back up to your neck kissing and sucking on your skin making purple marks. Your hands moved down his body to his loincloth and shoved your hand in grabbing his cock. 

Neteyam stuttered at the feeling of your small warm hand engulfing him, you give it small strokes in the restricted area and feeling the way Neteyam’s breath picks up. He kisses down your body until he’s in line with your covered core, he admires the wet spot before licking a stride up on the stop making you jolt. Neteyam unties your loincloth tossing it to the side off the bed and spreading your legs wide for him to see. He sends you a wicked grin that making you face flush and turn deep purple, “so wet baby, all for me?”  

You bit your lip when his voice makes you clench around nothing and you nod your head. Neteyam smirks and kisses your clit lightly loving the way you slightly jump at his every touch. His tongue darts out tasting the slick between your folds and he groans at the sweetness. Neteyam buries his head down between your slick thighs making you moan, his tongue darts through your folds and into your clenching hole, his noises make you shiver when he sends vibrations up your cunt.  

No one has ever gone down on you and it felt so good, at a point you thought it just wasn’t something you enjoyed, but Neteyam is clearly proving you wrong. His tongue glides up to your clit circling and flicking your sensitive bud making you whimper. “Eywa, you taste so fucking good” he groans and looks up at you. You both make eyes contact and you can’t find it in yourself to break it, or to hold in your whimpers. You are so close you feel yourself getting closer and closer every flick of his tongue and you thread your hands through his hair and pull him up away from your cunt.  

You breath heavily as you say, “I’m gonna cum” 

He smiles at you words, “Let me make you cum” he replies almost immediately as he tries to go back down on you but your hands move to his shoulders, “no Neteyam, wanna cum on your cock”  

Your eyes are glassy and your face sports a deep blush, your swollen lips and caught between your teeth once more and your chest rises and falls rapidly. Neteyam adores how you look in his bed, all fucked out and pretty, and you haven’t even seen his cock yet. He sits up on his knees in between your thighs and unties the knot for his loincloth, he pulls it off tossing it to join yours and bends over your body, your eyes take in his toned figure and his hard cock.  

Neteyam is huge, you’ve never been with someone that big but you want it so bad. His lips met your ear as he strokes his cock, you can see from under his body the way his tip leaks pre-cum and it drops on your cunt. His tip prudes at your entrance and you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. When his cock head enters you squeeze your eyes shut from the stretch and Neteyam moves slowly back and forth until his entire length is buried in you. You both moan when his tip hits your cervix and your belly bulges.  

“F-fuck Neteyam it’s so big” you whimper, you rock your head back so your cheeks are touching and your hands move up his chest to his muscular biceps, you only feel hard muscle on his body as he tenses up from your tight cunt sucking him in.  

Both you and Neteyam look down when he pulls out until it’s just the tip and thrust back into you, “Yea? Gonna take this big cock baby?” his words feel like it goes through one ear and out the other when he starts to speed up his thrust but it doesn’t matter when your already chanting ‘yes yes yes’ in his ear.  your fingers scratch at the skin you can reach and you mewl in his ear.  

You feel yourself getting so close to cuming you want it so much more since the last time you edged yourself. Neteyam sets a pace that makes your head spin, his cock is angled to hit your g-spot every time he thrust. Your jaw is slack and you bite his shoulder to help muffle your moans but your thoughts are spinning around his cock you can’t even think about how much strength you need to bite. Neteyam kisses along your neck whispering sweet praises in your ear about how good you feel, and how you’re such a good girl for taking him so good. 

“Fuck Neteyam! I’m gonna cum!” you shout he speeds up his thrust. You can barely see when your vision turns white and you gush on his cock. Neteyam slows down his thrust and pulls out of your gaping hole. His cock drips your essence off the tip and he smiles down at you, “Fuck, you okay baby?” you nod your head up at him with your eyes shut but you realize he never came and your eyes shoot back open.  

Neteyam looks down at your spent body observing your every little feature committing it to his permanent memory, “You didn’t cum nete...” you say softly making him smile down at you, “It’s okay tonight was about you”  

You look down at his raging cock and suddenly have all the energy to take more, “No I want your cum” you mumble at your sit up and turn around. Neteyam didn’t quite hear you so he didn’t stop you from getting up, “What? Baby what are you doing?” 

You get on your hands and knees; your ass sits up in line with his chest and your tail sways in the air, “I said I want your cum” you repeated louder as you look back at him with a sweet blush on your face. You heard him growl behind you and shuffle to line his cock up with your hole. “You’re just perfect hm” he said and stuffed his cock back into you.  

Neteyam thrust slowly as he gathered up your hair into a makeshift ponytail with your kuru handing down his forearm as well and he yanks your head back thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “You’re such a good girl sweetheart, taking my cock so fucking good, look at you” his hand slaps down on your ass hard creating a nice hand print covering your ass, making you scream out his name. You can’t form any words besides his name.  

You feel yourself cuming again, you're so close to another sweet release, but this time you can’t warn him about it because every thrust makes you breathless. Neteyam feels the way you gush once more on him and he gets an ego boost, he’s so happy he is the one fucking you and making you cum on his cock and no one else, “Yea sweetheart, cum on my cock just like that, so fucking good for me yea?”  

“Yesyesyes tey pleasee, w-want your cum!” your words are jumbled but you scream them out, all your body wants is to feel him pump his cum into you. He doesn’t take long after to cum hard inside you, you feel his cock twitch as he pumps himself empty in your cunt. “F-fuckkkk yea take my cum baby” his breathing is heavy and his body drops to the side pulling you down with him, he doesn’t pull out or anything just covers you both with the blanket and wraps his arms around you as sleep finds you. 

“Tukteiry wake your brother” Neytiri says as everyone sits in the common area and Neteyam still isn’t awake. “Okay mama” she jumps up and runs into her brother room. You and Neteyam are still sound asleep, but he is not laying on his back with his hand under your body and you lay with your face in his pillow and hands up by your head on your stomach stuck up every close to him, the blanket has been pushed to both your waist showing your hair cascading down your naked back and his ripped abs.  

When Tuk runs in, she’s confused at first, she has never seen a girl in Neteyam’s room before let alone his bed. When she does realize who it is due to your bracelet that you made in class the day before she knows it was you. Tuk lets out a loud blood curdling scream making you and Neteyam jump up and she runs out of the room. 

You both look around for the alarming noise and you hear Tuk shout, “Daddy! Neteyam kidnapped hupx y/n!” you and Neteyam scramble when it finally hits you, the situation you’re in. The sun has risen and the high in the sky and beaming through the room, you were surprised it didn't wake you. “What?” you hear footsteps coming closer to the room you presume it’s his father so your flip your body around and bring the blanket up to your chest to cover your body. Your hair is a mess and Neteyam scrambles to find both of your clothes but he throws them off the bed last night so you pull him back and cover his body just in time for jake to walk in.  

Lo’ak follows closely behind him and suddenly you are in another awkward situation with them, including Tuk as she darts in the room right after. Lo’ak tries so hard to hold in his laugh you can see him turning purple and Jake stands like he doesn’t know what to say. Your eyes dart to Neteyam and back to the three people standing in front of you. “I thought you were gonna wake me up” you whisper, “I thought so too apparently Tuk beat me to it” he said in the same tone,  

“See daddy he kidnapper my new karyu. You can’t keep her! Hupx Y/n is my karyu!” you ran up to you on the side of the bed and started pulling you. You didn’t think she was strong enough but you almost drop the blanket, but didn’t thanks to Neteyam. 

“I did not kidnap her; she’s is here because she wants to be here” his tone was snappy with Tuk like he’s fighting for a toy. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you out of her grip. Jake still stands quietly at the entrance of the room and Lo’ak is quickly losing his battles about laughing at you both. “Okay Tuk enough come on; they’ll be out in a minute.” Jake grabs Tuk and pulls her outside. 

 “But daddy he kidnapper her-” 

“No, he didn’t kidnap her, they were playing- to late last night and... she had a sleepover here...” Jake says making Lo’ak laugh as he followed them out.  

You turn your head to neteyam and fall back onto the bed groaning in embarrassment, “I’m never gonna show my face in public again” you cringe at the interaction that just took place making Neteyam laugh. You both wash up in his room and step outside and everyone, including your brother turns their head to look at you while you awkwardly greet them. Neteyam gently nudges you to sit down on a stop next to you brother and Neteyam on the other side and your brother spoke up, “So, how was your night?” you slowly turn your head to him and slap him in the face with cushion you were leaning back on.  

It was an eventful morning but you wouldn’t do anything to change the night.  

🪸 I hope you al enjoyed reading the second part! I appreciate all the love I’ve been getting for them!

🪸Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!

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[euaphora]

Bully!Saturo please 🤗

gave it all just to hold you close!

✎ᝰ mean!dom!gojo x reader

bully!gojo who can’t ever stop staring at you in class and gets caught by the teacher.

“Satoru, something you need from her? She sure won’t tell you the answer if you keep eyeing her..” she asks, her eyes motioning to you while half the class turn their head towards him then towards you.

You would sit a seat in before him. He would always watch you take notes and raise your hands when the teacher would ask the class a question.

He feels his cheeks turn a dark shade of red and his heart racing, “what I need is for her to learn what a brush is so I can see in-front of me, gosh.”

You feel a pit in your stomach and duck you head down, feeling self-conscious now with everyone making side conversations and giggling at his comment, the teacher shushing everyone up quickly.

“That’s enough of that, back to the lesson…”

He wanted to punch himself for what he had said but he knew it was too late by the way your chest rose up quickly, making it obvious to him you were crying in your arms.

bully!gojo who “makes” it up to you when he sees you struggle with the only class you didn’t understand.

“It’s C…”

You look up from your paper and turn your head towards him, “what?” You asked once you took a glance back at your work, “you must have confused it ‘cause they both have a decimal towards at the end.”

“Oh, thanks!” You smile at him, all of sudden trusting what comes out of his mouth. He grins at your smile, later telling his friends how much you want him.

Delusional.

bully!gojo who thinks he’s the only who you should talk to or be bullied by.

“You should have punched that guy in the face for taking away your notebooks from you, he shouldn’t be-”

“So you could treat me the same way and it would only be okay if you did? Alright, Satoru..” you say, rolling your eyes back. He laughs at your demeanor and harshly pulls you by your face by squeezing your cheeks together while he grits his teeth, “he shouldn’t be touching what’s mine.”

You look up at his eyes to met his dark gaze, “I didn’t know you felt that way ,‘toru…you should have said something.” He gently pushes you off his grip and sighs, shaking his head.

bully!gojo who fucks you against the teachers desk in a empty classroom after finding out she failed you with a D-!

“…and she said s-she— fuck ‘toru — wouldn’t give me an A+…feels so good, please let me cum!” You beg while arching your ass out for him.

Feeling his balls hit your pussy, you let out a small whine— quickly covering your mouth, forgetting you were still in school. He laughs at your poor demeanor with the way you fail to cover your mouth, doing it for you with his two hands while repeatedly slamming himself is die you while you hold onto his biceps.

“doing so good for me and only me baby…aren’t you?” He groaned out, reaching down to your nipples to play with the bud of them.

bully!gojo who likes to tease you by following you around the school, you just trying to get to your class!

“What class do you have right now, princess?” He asks, hands in his front pockets while his uniform tie is loose around his neck, white button up shirt untucked.

You wanted to ignore him because of the pet name but he seemed genuinely interested, “uhm…chemistry, how about you?”

“I don’t really go to my classes, ‘usually skip with the guys and go to one of their houses.” He bluntly told you while he sees you pull your skirt down.

Then why would he always go the classes you both had together? “Weird”, you thought.

You mutter words out that he can’t hear but can guess it has to do with your tone and facial expressions.

“Since when was your skirt too short for you?”

“Since of now I guess?” You say unsurely.

“Gaining weight, baby? Seems like it all went to your ass then,” he laughs off, making you smile a bit, had it really?

“Ah! She smiles, has a great one too..” He looks down at your lips and back up at your eyes, pupils dilated.

“Whatever, Satoru…this is my class,” you point out to the door standing infront of you both, you leave him alone without saying a goodbye as you enter your class and greet the teacher.

He looks down at your skirt hiking up and curses at himself when he feels himself hard when he slightly sees your the bottom of your panties, weight definitely went all to her ass, he thinks.

bully!gojo who stays after school with his friends and passed through the library and sees you tutoring a boy.

“So, you should be able to at least get a 79 with all the notes you have and the Flashcards I gave you to study.”

Gojo watches you smile at the boy infront of him, feeling his blood boil. He walks over to you—leaving his friends dumbfounded on why he walked off— without thinking and sits next to you and places his stuff down on the empty chair next to him.

Turning your head over to him, you furrow your brows and watch him give you a big smile, clearly being sarcastic.

You only ignore him and continue with the conversation you were having with your client when you feel Gojo’s long slender hands rub on your clothed panties.

“So j-just remember what I said and you should…be g-good!” You yelp, trying to form a sentence while his fingers rub hard against your clit.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to make up for everything you’ve done for me these past-”

“She’s good, she has me to take care of her needs..trust me.” Gojo speaks with a angry tone, trying to keep his temper after finding out what he’s been trying to do this entire time.