#but then a small part of me wants to keep it for a reminder of 'progress' but what is progress when you're afraid to make mistakes

[sturnsrecord]

OVER THE PHONE

— [ex!matt x reader. angst] matt bites the bullet and decides to call you on a lonely night, desperate to just hear your voice.

ʚ part two ɞ

the thought of you often appeared in matt's head. and when it didn't, he'd consciously think about you, all the things he remembered loving about you.

it could be as simple as your smile, or even the way you rolled your eyes at him. 

he contemplated your entire relationship. going over how it ended, as well as every mistake he ever made.

he hadn't been like this with any other girl he'd seen or dated. he'd usually shut all the memories out and move on. convincing himself that it was for the better, which apparently it was. 

but you – you plagued his mind, with both wanted and unwanted thoughts. 

he tries to keep some dignity, acting like he's fine and that he doesn't miss you. but despite the persona he plays in front of his friends and family, he knows the truth. he knows how much he misses you. 

he's considered calling you a few times, mostly on nights where he feels lonely and nostalgic, his memory of your voice not being quite enough to fuel his dopamine. 

so he drops his pride, scrolling through his contacts to find your name. his finger hovers over the call button, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip nervously.

maybe he should just send a text, he thinks to himself. but he knows he doesn’t want that – he wants to hear your voice, and your tone. 

he decides to go for it, starting the call as he brings the phone up to his ear. his heart pounds in his chest, there's a good chance you won't even pick up, or that you'll hang up as soon as he starts speaking. 

but his heart stops as soon as he hears your voice.

“matt?” you question, confused. his mind goes blank, short circuiting. he hadn't really thought about what he was gonna say, now just sat there, his mouth run dry as he listens to you.

“matt?” you say again, now slightly worried. “hello?” you chime, wondering what the fuck was up.

he finally speaks up, his voice coming out in croak. “uh, he- hey.” he mumbles, his palms sweaty. he swallows, trying to calm his nerves.

“hi?” you say, still not understanding what was going on. you sigh when he doesn't respond, considering hanging up on this non-eventful phone call. 

he notices the way you sigh, his heart picking up again. “don’t - just don't hang up.” he panics slightly, taking a deep breath.

“ok.” you mumble, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “i just wanna talk - just about anything.” he mumbles weakly, trying not to sound pathetic. “tell me ‘bout your day.” he says quietly, a meek suggestion.

you sigh again, reluctant to do this. but you'd be lying if you said a part of you didn’t wanna talk to matt. you thought about him sometimes too.

“tell you about my day?” you question, frowning a little at the suggestion.

“yeah.” he breathes out, trying to relax his body a little. “anythin’, just wanna hear your voice.” he admits. you sigh, rubbing your temple. what the fuck were you doing? 

“i've not been doing much - mostly just work.” you mumble out, abiding by his simple request. he lets out a small breath at your words, happy that you'd decided to continue the conversation. 

he smiles to himself, reminding himself that you were in college now, living a whole other life. “right, college. forgot ‘bout that.” he mumbles out, fiddling with the bottom of his top as he speaks. “how is it over there?” he asks, suddenly desperate to know everything about your new life.

“it's ok. hard work, but it's good.” you nod as you speak, trying to respond as casually as possible. “nice change in pace.” you add quietly.

he swallows, listening to your every word. he sat there imagining you in your new life, studying at college. you were always smart, and it made him happy that you were doing something good with your life, something you'd spoken about to him when you were together. 

“they’re not workin’ you too hard are they?” he jokes, keeping the conversation light and interesting for both your benefit.

“what, at college?” you joke back sarcastically. “nah, it's just what i signed up for.” you sigh, smiling to yourself without even thinking.

he nods, biting back a smile. “you happy though?” he asks sincerely, wanting to make sure you were good. 

you think for a second, nodding to yourself. “yeah, i am.” you respond quietly and honestly. “social lifes good, turns out not every girl here is a bitch.” you joke, getting more comfortable in the conversation. 

he raises his eyebrows, chuckling under his breath. “that’s surprising.” he chimes back, amused by your lack of filter that he knew so well. “s’no surprise though, you've never been bad at making friends.” he says kindly, knowing damn well how easy you were to talk to. how you'd effortlessly charm everyone with your addictive personality, in a way he admired and wished he could do.

his compliment makes your brain fizzle with happiness, but you push past it to keep the conversation lighthearted. “yeah, not socially awkward like you.” you retort back playfully, smiling ear to ear as you speak. 

he scoffs at your insult, although he found comfort and relaxation in the light teasing. finding it easy. “wow, rude.” he responds, shifting around his bed to get more comfy. “s’not my fault i like a smaller social circle.” he defends.

“yeah, you tell yourself that.” you snap back quickly, lightly chuckling as you speak. then there's a silence across the call, one where it would feel like a good time to hang up. but neither of you wanted to, that much was clear. 

“you doin’ okay?” you mumble through the phone, knowing that now was probably the only time you'd be talking like this. checking in on one another wasn't exactly a usual occurrence.

he swallows hard, his whole body feeling hot at the caring tone in your voice. “yeah - i mean, i've been better.” he mumbles awkwardly, trying to sugar coat his emotions. he was fine, just not great. but you weren't in his life like that anymore, you didn't need to know. 

your face drops a little at his words. right, so he wasn't doing okay. “m’sorry, ‘bout that.” you mumble quietly, unsure what to say. 

“it's fine” he huffs, fidgeting with the blanket under him, also unaware of what to say. the conversation veering in a slighter deeper direction, a direction he didn't particularly wanna go with you right now.

but his words escape his lips quickly and quietly, his emotions coming out over his logical thinking. “i miss you.”

his words send a thrilling shock through you. you let out a sigh, trying really hard not to say it back and make this whole stupid phone call an emotional breakdown over your past relationship. 

he swallows at your lack of response, knowing it was stupid of him to say. but talking to you on the phone like this was driving him insane, knowing he couldn't just do this whenever. it's like he was on a time limit to get everything off his chest before he went back to his life without you. 

the call is silent, but he knows you won't just hang up without saying anything. he feels his emotions bubbling over within him, the hurt consuming his mind with thoughts and questions, consuming his everything.

one question rattles in his brain, gnawing at him on a replay, so much that he didn't know if he was saying it outloud by accident or if his inner voice was just that loud. but considering the hole he's already dug himself into he stupidly lets it slip, needing to know the answer so deeply.

“are you seeing anyone?”

you shut your eyes firmly, hoping you hadn’t just heard that. “matt.” you whisper, practically pleading him to stop with just the tone of your voice. 

“i know, i know.” he mumbles, backtracking as he realises what he's just said. he knows he shouldn't have pried like that, but the need to know overtakes his pride. “i just.” he begins, sighing to himself. “i just need to know.” he croaks out, voice breaking. 

“matt.” you whisper again, in the same pleading tone that was telling him to stop asking questions he didn’t wanna know the answer to. “please don't.” you huff, practically warning him of the answer already. 

his stomach drops. fuck. you’d just answered his question, and fuck did it hurt. he was taking this a lot worse than he thought he would, jealousy surging into every nerve ending of his body. an emotion he didn't often show because of how ugly it was.

“just tell me.” he mutters, his voice coming out in a rasp of both desperation and pain. you bite down on your bottom lip nervously, honestly debating hanging up, but you owed him at least this. to be honest with him.

“yeah.” you say weakly, your heart rate picking up as you become nervous. “i have a boyfriend.” you mumble out. you know that's not what he wants to hear, but what were you meant to do.

“fuck.” he whispers under his breath, his body relaxing from its tension as the words finally leave your mouth. but what filled in was much worse, the pain and jealousy of knowing you'd moved on whilst he was still sat here thinking about you almost everyday. he felt pathetic in all honesty. 

“matt, m’sorry-” you begin, feeling bad. but he cuts you off quickly. “no, no- you don't need to.” he sighs, rubbing his temple. “you don't need to apologise, for that.” he speaks softly, trying his hardest to rationalise with that part of his brain. the logical part screaming at him to not get upset over this, to not let it completely ruin him. 

“m’happy for you.” he mumbles out, the words catching in his throat, like he's struggling to say them. maybe thats because deep down he didn’t really mean them, some fucked up, jealous part of him cruelly wishing you weren’t happy. but he couldn't act out on that. he was smart enough to understand this wasn't his place to comment, nor let his ugly emotions get the better of him. 

“thanks.” you mutter back, trying to keep the situation civil. you knew he was upset. you knew because if he had a new girlfriend you'd be freaking out, probably hating it more than you'd like to admit. and maybe that wasn't fair, but weren’t gonna dwell on the logistics of the situation.

he takes a deep breath, trying to keep up his calm demeanour, not wanting to pathetically slip up. but it's difficult trying to keep his mind at bay with thoughts of you happy with someone else. a part of him crumbled, knowing that something he had dreaded for a while now was true, and it had been for a while.

“i'm uh- i'm gonna go.” he mumbles, deciding that he couldn't talk to you anymore without practically breaking down. 

“right, okay.” you mumble, mentally smacking yourself for letting the conversation get to this. you scrape your brain for something else to say, something to fix the now low mood. but nothing comes to mind, regret taking over. 

“bye matt.” you whisper softly, the shock of the situation beginning to take over, your eyes brimming with tears as you think about the fact you've just hurt someone you care so much about. 

maybe it had been easier this whole time when you weren't talking to matt, able to keep him so incredibly separate from whatever life you were living now.

the only reason you'd been able to move on is because there was hardly anything else in your life that had any attachment to matt anymore. but getting a call from him, and hearing his voice, it really fucked you up.

“bye.” he whispers back before hastily hanging up, letting out a sigh as his eyes water. god was that a bad idea. he takes a few deep breaths, stopping himself from crying over this.

he felt pathetic and sad for himself. here you were moving on and he was just stuck, stuck on a part of both your lives that you had so easily left behind.

he hated himself for it, because he only had himself to blame.

©sturnsrecord

notes . this was inspired by @pearlzier c.ai chris bot lmao

tag list . @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss @hearts4sturniolo @emely9274 @dominicfikeenthusiast

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 3 (Final Part)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 6.7K

Part 1 / Part 2

The days following your kiss with Spencer had been a whirlwind of barely contained feelings. It was unspoken but there—something unshakable between you and him. You had agreed to take things slow, to let your connection build naturally without forcing it into a label or rushing anything.

But the more time you spent together—both on and off cases—the more impossible it seemed to keep your growing bond a secret.

Growing Together

The weeks passed with surprising ease. You and Spencer began doing things together outside of work—real, honest-to-God dates. You went to that quiet café again, and Spencer insisted on getting the most obscure drink on the menu to make you laugh. You went to see a movie, and instead of just watching it, you spent the entire time discussing the plot afterward, each of you analyzing the other’s take on the characters and the themes. You cooked together more often, laughing when things went wrong, and celebrating when things went right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You realized, as your connection deepened, that it wasn’t the moments of perfection that mattered. It was the moments where you were both present. Where, even in the chaos of your careers, there was a softness between you that felt like home.

Spencer began leaving little notes for you—little reminders of things, like “don’t forget to hydrate” or “call me when you’re done with your shift so I can hear your voice.” They were small things, but they meant more than he could know. The affection was there, and it was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

One evening, as you walked out of the precinct after another long shift, Spencer stopped at the door and turned to face you. His expression was quiet, earnest.

“You know, we’re kind of doing this,” he said softly, his hand finding yours in a gesture that felt so natural. “A real relationship. No more pretending.”

You smiled back at him, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. “Yeah, we are.”

The Leak That Led to Living Together

Things between you and Spencer had only grown closer, and you were starting to feel more at ease with your relationship. But one evening, after another grueling case, you got a call from your landlord about the persistent leak in your bathroom. The water had been dripping for weeks, and no matter how many times you had contacted maintenance, nothing had been fixed.

When you’d first reported it, the landlord’s maintenance team had insisted it was just a small issue with the seal around the tub—an easy fix, or so they’d claimed. But the leak hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had grown worse, and the water had started to spread beyond the bathroom floor, staining the ceiling beneath it.

This time, the landlord called with an update, telling you that the plumber had discovered a more serious problem. After taking a closer look at the pipes, they’d realized there was extensive water damage to the plumbing, likely caused by a burst pipe that had been slowly leaking for a while. The entire system needed to be replaced, and unfortunately, the damage was so severe that the apartment was now uninhabitable.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” the landlord said over the phone. “But it’s going to take weeks to fix this, and it’s not safe for you to stay there.”

You stared at the phone, feeling an odd sense of dread creep into your chest. Your apartment, the one place you’d tried to make home, was no longer a safe place to live. And now, you had no idea where to go.

That evening, you called Spencer, you could hear the usual soft smile that sat on his face in his voice, and when you explained the situation with the apartment, you could hear it drop and the sound of concern taking its place.

“You could… move in with me,” Spencer suggested after a long pause, his voice almost hesitant. “I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I have the space. You could even have the guest bedroom if you want.”

The offer hung in the air between you, filled with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. On one hand, it felt like a natural step forward; on the other, it made everything feel even more real. You’d only just started to find your rhythm with Spencer, and now you were being asked to share more than just occasional meals or nights spent watching movies. You were being asked to share your life.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said slowly, but deep down, you knew you needed something—someone—and Spencer had always been there for you.

“It’s not an imposition. I promise. And besides,” he added with a playful tone, “you’ve already spent enough time in my apartment, you might as well move in anyway.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing. It didn’t feel like a big leap anymore. It felt like a logical step. So, with a sigh of relief, you agreed.

Living Together

The transition to living together was smoother than you expected. You slowly brought in a few of your things, mostly clothes, some books, and a few personal mementos. Spencer had insisted on helping you rearrange the guest bedroom to make it more comfortable, though you mostly ended up sharing his room. His apartment, for all its quiet, neatness, had always felt a little impersonal—a place to sleep, a place to work. But now, with your things scattered around, it felt… like home.

The first week was awkward in some ways, but those little things that had once been awkward became comforting. Like how you both gravitated toward the kitchen to cook together or how Spencer would leave a cup of coffee on the counter for you, even though he knew you’d be up hours before him. There was the gentle hum of everyday life—the kind of life you hadn’t expected to build with anyone.

As the weeks went by, there were still moments when you caught each other’s eyes, the depth of your connection reflected in the soft gaze you exchanged. Spencer was still Spencer—quirky, brilliant, and occasionally awkward—but now, there was something more. Something comforting. Something real.

The BAU's Subtle Observations

It started with a few casual glances. A look exchanged when you thought no one was watching. Spencer offering you a small, private smile after a long day. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion… or so you thought. But of course, you weren’t fooling anyone.

It was a Tuesday morning when Emily Prentiss, ever perceptive, first noticed the change.

You were at the FBI field office, surrounded by your team, sorting through case files and preparing for a briefing. Spencer was deep in conversation with Hotch, his voice low and focused, but every time you passed him to grab a file, he would offer you a look—an expression of something deeper than just professional respect.

Emily raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange. You didn’t think she caught it, but you were wrong.

After the briefing, as the team dispersed to prep for the next part of the case, Emily approached you casually, her voice light but her eyes sharp.

“Everything okay between you and Spencer?” she asked, a small, knowing smirk on her face.

You stiffened, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, why?"

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. "I don’t know, just seems like you two have... chemistry." She paused, leaning in as if to whisper. "I mean, more than usual. Like… special chemistry."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t hide the flush creeping up your neck. “We’re just… working together, Em. You know how it is.”

Emily didn’t press any further, but she wasn’t buying it. She gave you one last look—a blend of curiosity and something close to satisfaction—before moving away.

Derek’s Unsubtle Observations

The next person to pick up on it was Derek Morgan. Of course, Derek. He had a way of reading people, of catching little things that others missed. And Spencer, despite his usual oblivion, wasn’t immune to Derek’s sharp eyes.

It was during a case briefing that Derek shot you an exaggerated grin from across the table. You felt a little off balance as he did, glancing over at Spencer who, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—head down, focused on the whiteboard.

When Derek caught your eye again, he leaned toward you, his voice lowered just enough that no one else could hear.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid. He’s definitely been… extra concerned about you lately.”

You froze, trying to remain casual, but Derek wasn’t having it.

“Extra careful, extra protective,” Derek continued, a grin tugging at his lips. "I mean, I can’t blame him. But it’s cute, the way you two dance around it."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept your tone steady. “You’re reading too much into it, Derek. We’re just… working the case together.” You realized too late that saying the words out loud didn’t make it sound any more convincing.

Derek’s grin only widened. "Oh yeah? 'Cause it sure looks like you’re both trying really hard not to actually admit what’s going on here."

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. “Drop it, Derek.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised if the whole office catches on sooner or later.”

Hotch and JJ’s Quiet Knowing

By the end of the week, the rumors were practically brewing behind closed doors. Even Hotch had noticed. You had no idea how, but there was something in his eyes when he looked between you and Spencer—a hint of quiet awareness.

You were in the middle of a strategy session, with the entire team gathered in the conference room. Spencer and you were standing next to each other, closer than usual, both scanning a map for clues. When you turned to point something out to Spencer, his hand brushed yours, and it was the lightest of touches, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Hotch.

Later, as the team filed out, Hotch approached you with a quiet, almost fatherly tone.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “if you and Spencer are figuring things out, just be careful. This kind of thing... it can get complicated.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected Hotch—of all people—to bring it up. But of course, he’d been around long enough to know how these things worked. He knew how the lines between work and personal life could blur, especially in an environment like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound casual.

Hotch gave you a small, understanding nod. “Just remember what’s at stake. I trust both of you. But you need to be sure about what this is.”

You swallowed hard. “We’re just... getting to know each other, sir.”

Hotch didn’t press further, but his look lingered, as though he was waiting for you to come to him with the truth when you were ready.

When you walked out of the room, you saw JJ talking quietly with Emily and Derek, her eyes flicking between the two of you. You knew they were all trying to be respectful, giving you the space to sort things out. But there was no doubt in your mind now that the cat was out of the bag. They all knew.

The Unit's Observations

It wasn’t just the BAU team that was starting to piece together what was happening between you and Spencer. Your own unit had begun to notice, too—particularly when it came to your seemingly frequent visits to the BAU.

It was a Friday morning when the comments started. You had just wrapped up a case with your team and had come over to the BAU to debrief, a habit that had become almost routine since you and Spencer started spending more time together. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by, but your colleagues had begun to raise eyebrows at how often you were around—and this time, they weren't going to let it slide.

A Casual Observation

You were sitting at your desk, chatting with a few agents from your unit about the latest case developments when one of your colleagues, Michelle, leaned against the back of your chair. She had a mischievous grin on her face, and you could tell something was coming.

"Y/N," Michelle said casually, her tone teasing, "I think I need to have a little chat with you."

You turned to look at her, pretending to look confused. "About what?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "About how you're always over at the BAU. And not just when you're assigned to a case with them." She paused, making it sound as casual as possible. "I mean, you’re like a permanent fixture over there now. Kind of makes a person wonder if you're spending more time with them than you are with us.”

The rest of your team, who had been quietly watching the exchange, shifted in their seats, clearly waiting for your response. You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“What can I say? I’m just a really good team player," you replied, your tone light. "We’ve got a great working relationship. You know how it is."

Michelle leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Uh-huh. A ‘working relationship.’ Sure. So, are you really just popping over there to discuss case files and not, you know, just hanging out with your ‘husband’ Reid?”

You froze, eyes widening slightly. You had thought you were being subtle, but apparently, you hadn’t been as stealthy as you’d hoped. You shot Michelle a mock glare.

“Really?” you said, trying to hide the warmth rising in your cheeks. “You’re going to start with that?”

Michelle just grinned. “You know, the team’s been talking. We’re not blind. Besides he is your “husband”, we’re just waiting for you to admit it.”

Before you could come up with a clever response, another colleague, Greg, chimed in, his tone light but unmistakably teasing.

“Yeah, Y/N, you’re always over there, like, even when you don’t have a case to work on. And when you do show up, you’re practically glued to Spencer’s side. We get it—he’s a great guy, but you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just there to consult. We can tell what's going on.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried to keep it under control. "You guys are crazy. There’s nothing going on."

But your colleagues weren’t buying it. They exchanged knowing looks, their grins widening.

“I don’t know,” Greg said, nudging Michelle playfully. “I think we’ve been more than patient. It’s time for Y/N to spill the beans. Don’t you think?”

Michelle gave you a sideways glance. “Seriously, Y/N, you can’t fool us anymore. We’ve all seen the way Spencer looks at you. And, well... you’re always there.”

You laughed awkwardly, realizing there was no point in denying it.

"Okay, okay," you relented with a sigh, finally conceding. "You got me. It’s not just casework. Spencer and I... we’ve been spending time together."

The team’s reaction was immediate. Greg, with his usual playful grin, said, "Well, it’s about time!" while Michelle gave you a satisfied smirk. “Told you, Y/N. We can spot a love story from a mile away.”

But it was when your unit chief, Captain Harris, finally spoke up that you knew it was all over. He had been quiet during the exchange, simply observing with his arms crossed.

“I’m not one for gossip," he said, his voice low but carrying a sense of humor that you hadn’t expected. "But I gotta say, you’ve been spending a lot of time with the BAU lately. If you’re gonna keep coming around here, at least bring us some donuts next time. You know, for your ‘official work-related visits.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in days, you found yourself relaxing. They weren’t angry, just amused. Your unit might’ve been a little surprised by the news, but they had no problem with it.

The BAU’s Silent Understanding

Back at the BAU headquarters later that day, the air was thick with unsaid words. Spencer was caught up in a phone call with Penelope, and you found yourself sitting with Emily at the desk, both of you pretending to focus on paperwork while silently trying to decipher the elephant in the room.

“So,” Emily said, finally breaking the silence. “You and Spencer…?”

You tried not to flinch, trying to maintain a cool facade. “We’re fine, Em. Really.”

Emily’s eyes softened, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not going to push you. But... if you two are figuring it out, I just want you to know that we’re here for you. You don’t have to hide it.”

You glanced over at Spencer, still engrossed in his conversation, and your heart squeezed in your chest. Could you really keep this hidden? Could you keep him hidden? The bond you shared felt undeniable, and yet, the idea of anyone else knowing—of being out in the open—was terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s just... we’re not sure yet. I don’t want to make things complicated for the team. For us.”

Emily nodded, her smile understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But trust me, no one’s going to judge you. If you and Spencer want to take this further, you just have to trust yourselves.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, though inside, you weren’t as sure as you wanted to be. Everyone—your coworkers, the BAU—had started to catch on, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came spilling out.

The Unspoken Decision

That night, after the case had wrapped up, you found yourself alone with Spencer in the quiet of the bullpen. The weight of everything—the team’s observations, the unspoken tension, the growing closeness between you—was pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly.

Spencer was typing something on his laptop, oblivious to your thoughts. You stood in the doorway of his office, watching him, feeling a strange mix of longing and uncertainty.

Finally, Spencer looked up, sensing your presence. His expression was open, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” he said quietly.

You nodded, taking a step toward him, your heart racing.

“I think we do.”

The Slow Unraveling

Over the next few weeks, the quiet buzz around you and Spencer only grew. The teams was trying to be subtle—too subtle—but it didn’t take much to realize that they knew. The way their eyes would flicker between you and Spencer, the little smirks, the awkward attempts to cover up knowing smiles. You and Spencer tried your best to act normal, but it felt like the world was watching.

You were in the bullpen, sorting through case files, when Spencer walked up behind you, his voice soft but steady. “You find what you need?”

His presence was always comforting, but you could feel it today—there was an unspoken electricity between the two of you. You’d been careful not to make it obvious, but everything had changed since that first kiss. The way you found yourself seeking his gaze. The way your heart skipped a beat whenever his hand brushed against yours.

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when Spencer leaned over to grab a file, his shoulder brushed against yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken.

“I’ll check in with Penelope about the latest report,” Spencer said, his voice steady, but you could hear the underlying warmth in it.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you let yourself feel the quiet, unspoken weight of the moment. Spencer was always careful with you, and for some reason, that mattered more than it ever had before.

“I’ll be right here,” you finally managed, turning back to your work, trying to act like you weren’t both navigating a minefield of what comes next. 

Spencer paused for just a second longer than necessary, and then he was gone, his steps light but purposeful.

And you were left behind, quietly trembling in the wake of his presence.

Emily's Subtle Prodding

It wasn’t just Spencer who was making things harder for you to ignore. Emily had, by now, practically perfected the art of nonchalantly mentioning things you could never fully ignore.

“Y/N, I was thinking we could grab lunch after this,” Emily said, her voice casual, but there was something in her tone that made you pause. You raised an eyebrow, instinctively looking toward Spencer, who was still at the other end of the bullpen, typing something on his laptop.

Emily leaned in, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to give me a play-by-play of the Reid Chronicles,” she teased, though there was a glimmer of something else in her eyes. “But, you know, if you and Spencer want to talk about whatever this is—whatever you are—feel free to do it over lunch. I’m just here for the ride.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized how much the team was piecing together—especially Emily, who was always so astute.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said with a forced laugh, though even you could hear the falter in your voice.

Emily gave you a soft smile, her expression almost too knowing. “Right,” she said, the grin still lingering. “Just thought you might want someone to talk to.”

You met her gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you. She knows, you thought. And maybe, everyone else did too.

You couldn't deny it anymore—things were no longer subtle. Emily’s knowing smile was only the beginning. The team had been dropping hints, making observations that were becoming harder to ignore. You could feel the weight of their knowing looks whenever you and Spencer exchanged a quiet glance or lingered a second too long in conversation. It was like living in a house with the walls closing in. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, the quiet buzz was building, and soon enough, it was going to explode.

The Teasing Begins

Of course, it was Derek who noticed first. He was never one to miss anything, and the way he watched the two of you in the bullpen, you could tell he had put two and two together. It was the way Spencer had kept glancing at you—his gaze filled with something new, something unspoken. The way you two had been spending more time together lately, working late into the evening, sharing quiet moments that didn’t go unnoticed.

It all came to a head one morning during a case briefing. Spencer was scribbling equations and notes on the whiteboard, and you were at the table, trying to stay focused. But Derek was looking at the two of you with that mischievous grin on his face, clearly enjoying whatever he had figured out.

"Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid," Derek said, his voice laced with teasing, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ve been... extra attentive to Y/N lately. Extra careful, extra protective."

"Yeah," Derek continued, turning to you. "I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like you’re trying real hard to pretend you’re not a thing."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "Derek, it’s not like that," you said, trying to deflect.

"Oh, come on," Derek said, his grin widening. "You’ve been hanging out a lot more, spending all this time together... and don’t get me started on how you two finish each other’s sentences."

 "What are you talking about, Derek?" Spencer asked, clearly oblivious to what Derek was implying.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You two are too cute for your own good. And I’ve got to say, it’s about time."

You groaned inwardly, glancing at Spencer again. The last thing you needed was for the whole team to catch on.

Before you could respond, Derek added with a wink, "Just make sure you two don’t get too distracted on the next case, alright? We all need you sharp, not distracted by how adorable you are together."

Hotch’s Proposition

It didn’t take long for Hotch to catch wind of the situation. He was always observant, always reading between the lines, and you had a feeling he knew something was going on with you and Spencer.

One afternoon, when the case was on hold for a moment, Hotch asked you to step into his office.

"Y/N," Hotch began, closing the door behind you. He seemed unusually serious. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

You gave a quick nod, trying not to let the nervous energy in your chest show. "Sure, Hotch. What’s up?"

"I’ve noticed you’ve been around more often," he said. "Not just on cases, but in general. Whether it's to consult or to visit Spencer, you’re practically a regular. This way, it’ll just be… more convenient. You’ll have access to all the resources here, and we can stop pretending that you’re not already basically a member of the team." Hotch shrugged, his smirk widening. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. You appreciated his directness, and in a way, his offer felt like the culmination of everything that had already been happening. You had spent more time with the BAU than any outsider in recent memory, and not just for casework.

"I’m guessing this means you don’t mind having me around permanently?" you teased, half-expecting Hotch to shut down the joke.

But Hotch surprised you again, his smile turning more genuine. "You’re one of the best agents I’ve seen, Y/N. That’s why I’m offering you a permanent spot. We could use someone like you."

You felt a rush of pride at his words, but you also felt the weight of the decision. Joining the BAU wasn’t just a job—it was a life choice. Spencer and you had already crossed the threshold from colleagues to spouses. If you took this step, there was no going back.

"Let me think about it, Hotch," you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

"Take your time, you’ve got a lot to think about." he said with a small nod, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure you knew the offer was on the table, we’re all in this together. And I think Spencer would be happy to have you stay—officially, but don’t take too long. I think Spencer might be getting jealous of how much time you spend here."

You nodded slowly, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I’ll think about it,” then chucked, “and I’ll be sure to tell him to keep his distance," you said, only half-joking.

Hotch’s smile was almost affectionate as he waved you off. "Good. Because if he keeps showing up to work with a take-out coffee for you, we’re going to have to have another conversation."

The Decision: Joining the BAU

A week later, you found yourself walking into Hotch’s office once again, this time with an answer. Spencer had teased you endlessly about your long deliberations, but you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right step for both your career and your relationship.

"I’ve thought about it," you said, standing in the doorway of Hotch’s office. "I’m in. I’ll transfer into the BAU. Just… don’t regret it."

Hotch looked pleased, but he gave you a knowing look. "Regret? Not a chance. Welcome to the team."

And with that, your new chapter truly began.

The Turning Point

Another week had gone by and you and Spencer were working late again. The case had been closed for hours, the team long gone by now, but you both had stayed behind to tie up loose ends. The quiet felt different now—calm, but charged with the weight of unspoken things. Spencer had just finished his report and was gathering his things when you caught his eye.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, his fingers frozen over the edge of his laptop. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and for the first time in days, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"I don’t think we can keep pretending that nothing’s happening," he said quietly, voice low but certain.

You felt your heart race. You had been trying to be so careful, so mindful of not making things too real too soon. But now, standing there with Spencer, the weight of everything between you finally felt like something worth acknowledging.

"I don’t want to lie anymore," you admitted. "Not to them. Not to ourselves."

Spencer’s lips curled into a small smile—tender, like a promise. "Me neither."

And just like that, in the quiet of the bullpen, the truth hung between you. You weren’t just figuring it out. You knew.

Telling the Team

The next day, after a brief but tense conversation with Spencer, you decided it was time to tell the team. It had to happen. There was no denying it anymore—they had figured it out long ago, and trying to keep it under wraps felt like an act of avoidance. It was time to own it.

You and Spencer had agreed that this would be a joint decision. It wasn’t just about you anymore—it was about both of you, navigating a new chapter in front of people you respected and trusted.

At the end of the day, as the team gathered in the break room to grab a quick bite before the next round of interviews, you stood by the door with Spencer, exchanging a glance.

"Do you think we’re ready for this?" you asked him softly.

He nodded, a small but sure gesture. "We’ve been ready since that first case."

You smiled and then walked into the room, feeling the team’s eyes immediately flicker to you both. The silence was almost oppressive as you and Spencer shared one last, unspoken look before you took a breath and spoke.

"Listen, guys…" you began, your voice steady but filled with the truth. "Spencer and I… we’ve been, well, figuring some things out. And I guess it’s time you knew—we’re together. Officially."

The room was still for a moment, and then Derek broke into a wide grin, clapping Spencer on the back. "Finally!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted. "Took you two long enough."

JJ and Emily exchanged knowing looks, while Hotch’s expression remained neutral, though there was a small flicker of approval in his eyes. Penelope practically bounced in her seat.

"I knew it!" Penelope exclaimed, grinning. "The lovebirds finally came clean!"

You and Spencer exchanged a quiet laugh at the chaos, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the team erupted into laughter and teasing. It wasn’t just about the case anymore. It was about the two of you, and you had no idea what the future held—but you were both ready to face it, together.

A Real Beginning

The days following your confession to the team were a whirlwind of adjustments. There was no more hiding between the lines or pretending that nothing had changed. Now that everyone knew, you and Spencer could finally breathe—and, more importantly, finally be.

The Subtle Shift: Something More

The team was thrilled, though their reactions were a mix of teasing and support. Derek had joked about needing to buy wedding gifts, and Emily kept giving you knowing winks whenever Spencer was around. But beneath it all, there was a sense of ease that settled over the group—a sense of understanding that allowed you and Spencer to stop hiding, to stop pretending.

The strangest thing was how quickly your relationship settled into something more. What had started as an arrangement born of circumstance and convenience slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned into something deeper. The quiet moments shared in the hallways, the soft touches that were no longer brushed off as incidental, the steady, almost intimate communication that felt like second nature now.

There was the evening when Spencer came to your apartment after a long day of casework. You were both exhausted, but he’d insisted on making you dinner. He had done this before—he’d made you pasta, insisting that it was the "quickest recipe I know," only to end up with a kitchen disaster that both of you found hilarious. This time, though, it was different. The food was actually good, and there was no need for any laughing off awkwardness.

As you sat down to eat, Spencer caught your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," he said softly, "I think we’re… actually pretty good at this. The not-pretending part."

You raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by his bluntness. "You mean being married?"

Spencer’s expression softened. "Yeah. That."

You chewed on your lip for a second, looking at him from across the table. The way he’d said it, with such quiet sincerity, made your heart ache in a way that was becoming more and more familiar. Spencer wasn’t just your husband by law anymore. He was someone you needed, someone you wanted, in ways that went beyond the comfort of knowing him as a colleague.

"I don’t know what this is, Spencer," you admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable in the quiet of the evening, "but I think it’s something real. Something I didn’t expect."

He smiled—a slow, warm smile that made your chest tighten. "I think I’d like to see where it goes. Together."

And that was when you both realized that the line between work and personal had faded. You were no longer just co-workers trying to make the best of an unexpected situation. You were… something more.

The Proposal As the weeks passed, life with the BAU began to feel like the new normal. Your official transfer had gone through without fanfare, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The dynamics of the team hadn’t changed—they were still as close-knit and unpredictable as ever—but now, there was a certain comfort in the way you and Spencer moved through the day. There was no need to keep your distance, no need to hide in the shadows or keep your relationship a secret. You were married. And, as the days turned into weeks, it became clear that your bond wasn’t just about paperwork—it was about something deeper, something more permanent.

Work was busy, as always, but there was a rhythm to your days now. Spencer, ever the brilliant mind, worked alongside you seamlessly, your roles in cases complementing each other. The team continued to tease you both, of course, but it was all lighthearted, filled with the camaraderie you had long come to expect. They had known the truth for some time, but now it was something everyone could openly acknowledge—without the lingering tension that had once colored those moments. Every stolen glance, every brush of hands, was no longer something you had to hide. It was something you could share with them, as well as with each other.

Yet, despite the ease of these days, there was an unspoken weight between you and Spencer—an unresolved feeling that neither of you had fully addressed. You’d already tied the knot in a way that felt true, but there was still something more, something unspoken that lingered in the quiet moments you shared. It wasn’t about a grand gesture or a fancy ceremony—it was about the commitment, the promise you had made to one another, in the simplest and most profound way. But Spencer was never one to leave things unsaid for long.

It all started with a case. Well, several cases, but one, in particular, brought you closer to Spencer Reid than you'd ever imagined. You had worked together on many investigations before, but this one was different. The case was grueling, and you had been called in to help, as usual. Your skillset and unique perspective had proven valuable to the team, and you had spent many late nights alongside Spencer, working through the complexities of the investigation.

One of those nights, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in the bullpen with Spencer, still poring over case files. The atmosphere in the office was quiet, almost intimate in the way you two moved around each other without saying much, both absorbed in the work.

Then, unexpectedly, Spencer stopped what he was doing and looked up at you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tentative, "can I ask you something?"

You turned toward him, still absorbed in your own thoughts but curious at the change in his demeanor. Spencer’s gaze was intense, but it held something new, something vulnerable.

"Sure," you replied, wondering what was going on in that head of his.

Spencer hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, his words coming out in a rush. "Would you... would you marry me?"

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

He immediately regretted it. You could see it in his face as he stammered, "I mean, not like marry me, marry me, but... it just seemed like the simplest way to... well, to say it."

"Say what?" you asked, trying to make sense of his jumble of words.

Spencer flushed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. I just—I thought... we’ve been working together so much, and I feel like we get each other, and—"

It clicked. You knew exactly what he meant. You’d felt it too—the late-night talks, the comfortable silences, the connection that had been there all along, unspoken, lingering in the air between the two of you.

You smiled softly, your voice quiet but warm. "Okay. I’ll marry you."

A Simple Wedding

The wedding that followed was everything you both wanted: small, intimate, and full of love. No big ceremony, just the team gathered around you in a quiet chapel, smiling and congratulating you. Spencer, dressed in a suit, looked more handsome than you had ever seen him. You, in a simple but elegant dress, felt like the luckiest person alive.

The vows were short but meaningful, exchanged between only the two of you, as your team stood by your side. No formal speeches, no extravagant rituals. Just love, spoken in simple words.

“I vow to always listen, always be there, and to love you, in all the ways that I can, for as long as I can,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady.

You smiled, your own vows coming out as you held his hand tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I vow to stand by you, through everything, and to love you in all the small moments as much as the big ones. I promise to always choose you, every single day.”

And as you walked out of the chapel hand-in-hand, you knew this was only the beginning.

No more secrets. No more pretending. Just the future you had always hoped for, finally in your grasp.

The day of the wedding arrived—quiet, intimate, and beautiful. No huge fanfare, just the people who mattered most: your closest friends, the team. Derek was there, teasing you both just as he always did, while Emily and JJ shared warm, knowing smiles. Penelope dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide her tears, and Hotch gave the kind of approving nod that you knew came from a place of true warmth.

The ceremony itself was simple—held in a small chapel, surrounded by the team, who had supported you both through the hardest and best of times. Spencer stood beside you, his hands slightly trembling as you exchanged vows.

When the officiant pronounced you both married, you kissed Spencer again—this time, without hesitation. The kiss was filled with everything you had been through together, and everything that was still to come.

The Future

Later, as you walked out of the chapel, hand-in-hand, Spencer leaned toward you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said, his hand tightening around yours.

“Me too,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder. Together, you stepped out into the future, finally knowing that it wasn’t just about the wedding—it was about the life you would build together.

[er1nne]

Own You

Pairing – coriolanus snow x black!reader Word Count? 9.3k Summary – What happens when you’re forced to confront the unsettling truths about your place in a world that feels both luxurious and inescapable? Tags: (18+), cw: mentions of suicidal thoughts (small part in the middle), dark!toxic!coriolanus, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, physical abuse? AN: This is my first time sharing my writing on Tumblr, so please ignore any typos. It hasn’t been proofread, but I hope you enjoy reading. Please let me Thank you! Do not reshare or use without giving me credit

The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your skin and settled deep in your bones. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung your nose, sharp and cloying, almost like it was trying to suffocate 

The room was freezing, the chill creeping into my skin and settling deep in my bones, leaving me restless and uncomfortable. The sterile air smelled of antiseptic, sharp and chemical, clinging to the back of my throat in a way that made me want to gag. It was the kind of smell that had grown familiar over time but never less unpleasant, a constant reminder of the reason I was here. I perched on the edge of the examination table, its crinkly paper cover rustling beneath me every time I shifted. The noise felt deafening in the oppressive silence, each movement amplified in the cavernous emptiness of the room. I swung my feet slightly, my heels tapping against the cold metal frame in a nervous rhythm. It wasn’t a conscious movement—more of an outlet for the tension that had been building since I arrived.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, their harsh glare reflecting off every polished surface in the room. The white walls were devoid of anything resembling warmth or comfort, the kind of blank canvas that seemed designed to erase the humanity of anyone inside. My gaze wandered to the counter where an assortment of medical tools sat neatly arranged, their metallic edges gleaming under the stark light. Everything here was too precise, too pristine, as though the room itself wanted to remind me that I didn’t belong. My fingers twisted at the hem of my sweater, pulling at the fabric until it stretched, the familiar texture grounding me just enough to keep the growing anxiety at bay.

I let my eyes drift to the window. Outside, the rain poured steadily, streaking down the glass in thin, erratic lines. It had been raining all day, the kind of relentless storm that turned the world into a dull, gray blur. The sound of it was faint but persistent, a soft, rhythmic tapping that filled the silence like a heartbeat. I watched the droplets race each other down the glass, merging and splitting, their paths as unpredictable as my own thoughts. For a moment, I focused on the rain instead of the sterile cold of the room, letting its soothing monotony lull me into a false sense of calm.

Through the frosted glass of the door, I saw two figures standing in the hallway. Even distorted, Coriolanus Snow was unmistakable. His silhouette was tall and commanding, every line of his posture exuding power and control. He stood with the same unshakable composure he always carried, an aura of authority that seemed to demand respect—or fear—from anyone in his presence. Even blurred by the frosted glass, I could sense the sharpness of his gaze, the calculating mind behind those ice-blue eyes. Beside him, the doctor looked small and uncertain, his shoulders slightly hunched as he clutched his clipboard like a lifeline.

My stomach churned as I watched them. The doctor gestured faintly as he spoke, his movements stiff and hesitant, as though he were choosing his words with extreme care. Every so often, he glanced at Coriolanus, his eyes darting toward him like a child seeking a parent’s approval. Coriolanus didn’t move, didn’t respond outwardly, but his mere presence was enough to command the entire interaction. Even here, in the sterile confines of the hospital, the weight of his influence was palpable. He didn’t need to speak; his power was a constant, unspoken presence that loomed over everything.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the sound made my heart skip a beat as I straightened my posture. The doctor entered first, his expression carefully neutral, though his eyes flicked toward me with a mix of pity and reluctance. Behind him, Coriolanus followed, his movements precise and deliberate. The faint scent of his cologne—crisp and sharp, like cedar and rain—cut through the antiseptic air. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound final and unyielding, much like him.

The doctor cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence like a shard of glass. He began, his tone professional but edged with hesitation. “After reviewing your latest results…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly toward Coriolanus, seeking some unspoken signal. Coriolanus gave the barest nod, and only then did the doctor continue. “It’s clear that your condition has progressed. The flare-ups are becoming more frequent, and the current medication is no longer sufficient.”

The words landed heavily, like stones dropping into my chest, one after the other. “I thought…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I thought I was getting better.”

The doctor hesitated again, his hands tightening around the clipboard. “Sometimes these conditions are unpredictable,” he said carefully, his words slow and deliberate. “We’ll need to start you on a new treatment plan. It’s a stronger medication, and while it comes with potential side effects, it should help manage the symptoms more effectively.”

I nodded automatically, the motion robotic and detached, as though my body had moved without consulting my mind. It always happened like this. Every time I thought I was making progress, every time I allowed myself a glimmer of hope, it was snatched away. Improvement followed by relapse, hope followed by despair—it was a cycle I was trapped in, and I was tired of fighting it. The thought settled in my chest like a heavy stone, cold and unyielding.

Coriolanus moved then, stepping closer to you with a deliberate grace that made your stomach tighten. He placed a hand on your shoulder, the weight of it grounding and suffocating all at once. “I know this isn’t the news you were hoping for,” he said, his voice smooth and measured, each word carefully chosen. “But this new medication will help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

The doctor handed him a folded piece of paper—the prescription—with a motion that seemed almost reluctant. His eyes met mine briefly, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something in them. Pity? Regret? Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the same professional detachment he’d worn when he entered.

Coriolanus nodded to the doctor, his tone polite but firm. “Thank you, Doctor. That will be all.”

The doctor nodded stiffly, his movements tight and deliberate. “Take care, Miss,” he said, his voice softening slightly, though it did little to cut through the haze in my mind.

I weakly nodded again, my motions mechanical, my thoughts dulled by the weight of it all, not trusting myself to speak. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around me as I digested the information. As the doctor left, the silence that followed was suffocating. Coriolanus squeezed my shoulder gently, a subtle reminder of his presence, a silent signal to follow him.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Let’s go home.”

I slid off the examination table, my legs feeling like lead as I moved to gather my things. The crinkle of the paper beneath me was loud in the oppressive quiet, a final jarring sound before I stepped into the hallway. As I followed Coriolanus out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was leaving more behind than just the sterile confines of the room. Something inside of me had been left behind too, my hope.

The rain outside hadn’t let up, the steady downpour creating a symphony of soft taps against the hospital’s glass doors. As Coriolanus and I stepped into the hallway, the storm seemed louder, closer, as if the entire world were drenched in the same heavy weight pressing down on my chest. His hand never left my shoulder, its pressure firm, steering me like a ship through a tide I didn’t have the strength to resist. My feet moved in time with his, though each step felt disconnected, like I wasn’t in control of my own body anymore.

We passed room after room, the doors half-open, revealing glimpses of other patients. My eyes were drawn to them, even as Coriolanus’s hand guided me forward. In one room, a woman lay motionless in her bed, her face gaunt and pale, her thin arms resting limply at her sides. A monitor beeped steadily beside her, the sound faint but insistent, like a clock counting down. In another room, a man was hunched over in a chair, his head cradled in his hands, the kind of exhaustion on his face that spoke of battles fought and lost. The sights blurred together, each one feeding the gnawing fear in my chest. Is that my future? The thought clung to me like the rain clung to the windows, cold and inescapable.

Coriolanus’s voice broke through my haze, but it was like hearing him underwater. “We’ll have your favorite dinner tonight,” he said, his tone soft, almost kind. “And I’ll stay home with you. No work tonight. Just us.” He paused, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder, the gesture almost possessive. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

I nodded, the motion automatic, disconnected from any real thought or feeling. A faint smile tugged at my lips, the kind of smile you give when someone expects it from you, not because you want to. My gaze remained on the passing rooms, each one a silent reminder of what could be waiting for me.

The rain was relentless, its presence enveloping the world around us as we stood in the lobby. It was louder here, the sound of it drumming against the glass walls a constant, unyielding rhythm that seemed to echo the weight in my chest. The streaks of water on the windows distorted the view of the city beyond, turning the Capitol’s towering buildings into blurred silhouettes. Their lights shimmered faintly through the storm, muted and dulled by the gray haze that cloaked everything. I couldn’t decide if the sight was calming or oppressive—perhaps it was both.

Coriolanus pulled a small communicator from his coat pocket, its polished surface gleaming faintly under the soft light. “Bring the car around,”, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable command. As he slipped the communicator back into his pocket, his gaze turned to me. His blue eyes, sharp and penetrating, scanned my face with an intensity that made me feel exposed, like he could see every unspoken thought lurking beneath the surface.

As if the moment couldn’t have come quick enough, the black car appeared, gliding to the curb like a shadow. Its polished frame gleamed under the rain, water beading and rolling off its surface in perfect, smooth rivulets. The driver stepped out swiftly, umbrella in hand, his movements quick and efficient. He was a man I’d seen countless times before but knew nothing about, his presence always hovering at the edges of Coriolanus’s world.

As he approached, I caught a glimpse of his face, illuminated briefly by the dim lights of the lobby. His expression mirrored the doctor’s earlier—a tight, strained politeness that bordered on discomfort. His eyes flicked to mine for the briefest of moments, and I thought I saw something there—something like fear, or perhaps duty so deeply ingrained it had choked out anything else. Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, his gaze lowering as he came to stand before Coriolanus.

The umbrella opened with a soft snap, a shield against the unrelenting storm. Without a word, the driver handed it to Coriolanus, who took it with the kind of quiet authority that seemed to dictate every interaction around him. He held it over us, his other hand pressing lightly against the small of my back. “Go on,” he said, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “Get in. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

I hesitated, my gaze lingering on the hospital behind me. The glowing facade loomed in the rain, its sterile, unyielding light spilling onto the wet pavement like a beacon. For a fleeting moment, I considered turning back, retreating to the cold, clinical detachment of its walls. It felt safer in its distance than the warmth Coriolanus offered—an offering that always came with invisible strings. But his hand at my back applied the faintest pressure, guiding me forward, and I found myself moving without thought.

The interior of the car welcomed me with a warmth that was almost suffocating after the cold rain. The leather seats were smooth and cool against my skin, their faint scent mixing with the ever-present cedar of Coriolanus’s cologne. He slid in beside me, folding the umbrella with a practiced ease before handing it off to the driver, who returned to his post without a word. The door closed with a soft, final thud, sealing us in from the outside world. The rain became a muted hum, a backdrop to the quiet of the car and the faint purr of the engine.

“Home,” Coriolanus instructed, his voice steady, deliberate. The driver nodded, the car gliding smoothly away from the curb.

I stared out the window, the city outside blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Neon signs glowed faintly through the rain, their reflections shimmering on the wet pavement like fragmented pieces of another world. It was beautiful in its distortion, distant and untouchable, like something from a dream. My reflection in the glass was a stark contrast—pale and tired, my eyes hollow and rimmed with unshed tears. I tried not to look at it for too long, but it lingered in the corner of my vision, a ghostly reminder of the weight I carried.

Coriolanus reached for my hand, in a gesture that was both gentle and unyielding. His thumb ghosted over my knuckles, the motion slow and deliberate, as though he were trying to coax some life back into me. With his other hand, he reached up to my hair, his fingers gliding through my curls with a softness that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

The car ride felt like drifting through a dream, one where the edges of reality blurred into an indistinct haze. he sound of the rain was ever-present, a steady, rhythmic patter against the car roof that merged with the faint hum of the engine. It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t soothing. It was simply there. I stared out the window, my eyes tracing the streaks of water as they raced down the glass, but the sights outside barely registered. The city lights, distorted and shimmering, passed in a swirl of gold and silver against the wet pavement, but they felt as distant as stars in the night sky. My thoughts churned endlessly, a tangled knot of emotions too heavy to unravel. The weight of the day pressed heavily on my chest, each breath a little harder than the last. My thoughts circled endlessly, tangling into a mess of guilt, doubt, and something I couldn’t quite name. My hand rested in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in that slow, deliberate way, but instead of comfort, it only brought a creeping sense of suffocation. My mind spiraled, darting between the doctor’s words, the fleeting looks of pity I’d received, and the heavy, inescapable presence of Coriolanus beside me.

When the car slowed, the shift in motion barely registered. It wasn’t until the driver stopped and stepped out, the faint sound of the rain growing louder in the sudden stillness, that I realized we had arrived. Blinking as though waking from a long sleep, I glanced toward the window and caught sight of the house looming ahead. The sharp angles of its pristine white facade stood stark against the rain-heavy sky, the warm glow of its lights spilling out in quiet defiance of the storm.

A tear clung to the corner of my eye, unnoticed until I felt its chill against my cheek. I brushed it away with the back of my hand, the motion automatic and strangely detached, like it was someone else’s tear I was wiping away. The door opened, and the driver was there, his umbrella poised like a soldier at attention. His movements were precise, practiced, the kind of efficiency that spoke of discipline but also a careful avoidance of anything personal. For a moment, our eyes met, and I saw something flicker in his expression—a faint echo of the doctor’s earlier look, a blend of duty and something sharper. It was gone as quickly as it came, his gaze dropping as he held the umbrella higher, waiting for me to step into its shelter.

Once Coriolanus emerged from the car, his gaze quickly dropped from me onto the ground below me. Corioalanus’ movements were fluid and unhurried. He adjusted his coat with a subtle flick of his wrist before joining me under the umbrella’s shelter. His hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the grand entrance as I allowed myself to be led by him. The umbrella shifted slightly above us as he adjusted it, ensuring not a single drop would fall on my head, though his shoulders were speckled with water.

The house loomed larger with each step, its towering white facade glowing faintly against the storm’s dreary backdrop. The marble steps leading to the entrance gleamed under the rain, their slick surfaces reflecting fractured glimpses of the golden light spilling from the windows. For a moment, I hesitated, my feet slowing ever so slightly as I stared at the building. It looked like something out of a painting, too perfect to be real, its grandeur almost mocking in the face of the storm. The house was beautiful, undeniably so, but tonight, it felt imposing, its towering columns and immaculate design a reminder of how small I felt within its walls. Coriolanus’s hand pressed gently but insistently against my back, breaking my reverie and guiding me forward once more.

The servant at the door opened it with practiced precision, his bow low and exact, his movements almost mechanical in their efficiency. He didn’t look at me, not really—his eyes barely skimmed over my figure before fixing on Coriolanus with the kind of deference that bordered on reverence. For a brief second, I caught the faintest flicker of emotion in his expression—a shadow of something that felt too fleeting to name. Was it pity? Resignation? I wasn’t sure, and before I could decide, the moment passed, his face smoothing into the polite neutrality of someone who had long since learned how to mask their thoughts. The rain slipped from the edges of the umbrella as Coriolanus handed it off, the sound of droplets splashing against the stone floor oddly soothing.

Inside, the warmth enveloped me instantly, a stark contrast to the chill of the storm outside. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, lilies mingling with the subtle aroma of polished wood and leather. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their golden light spilling across the polished marble floors in shimmering pools. Everything about the space was designed to impress, from the intricate molding along the walls to the soft glow of the sconces that lined the hallway. It should have been comforting, this carefully curated display of wealth and power, but instead, it felt overwhelming, the sheer perfection of it all pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. The house was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t warm. It was pristine, a masterpiece of design, but it lacked the lived-in messiness that might have made it feel like a home.

“Rest for a while before dinner,” Coriolanus said, his voice calm and steady, yet carrying an undertone that left no room for argument. He removed his coat in one smooth motion, handing it to a waiting attendant without so much as a glance. His movements were fluid, deliberate, every gesture calculated with the precision of someone who knew exactly how much space they commanded. “You’ll feel better,” he added, his gaze settling on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. There was no question in his tone, no suggestion that I might disagree. It was a statement, a certainty, as if my well-being were something he could dictate with his words alone.

I nodded, the motion small and automatic, as though my body were responding on its own. “Perhaps I will,” I murmured, the words slipping from my lips before I could think about them. They felt distant, hollow, as if I were borrowing someone else’s voice to fill the space between us. The corners of my mouth lifted in a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes but seemed to satisfy him all the same. He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on me as though searching for something he wasn’t quite sure he’d find. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he turned and strode down the corridor toward his study, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble.

I didn’t rest. Resting felt impossible, the idea of lying in that massive bed, surrounded by soft linens and perfectly fluffed pillows, too stifling to bear. The very thought of it made my chest tighten, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a stone. Instead, I found myself drawn to the window, its towering panes offering a view of the rain-soaked grounds. The bench beneath it was soft, lined with cushions that felt almost too indulgent for the ache that had settled in my chest. I curled up there, tucking my legs beneath me and pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass. The chill seeped into my skin, sharp and grounding, a welcome contrast to the oppressive warmth of the room

The room I slept in was so vast, Coriolanus’ way of showing me the treatment he thought I deserved, but instead I felt small here, swallowed by the grandeur of it all; a grand four-poster bed draped in silken fabrics, its headboard carved with elaborate scrollwork; a writing desk positioned by one of the room’s smaller windows, its surface empty save for a single vase of fresh flowers; a seating area complete with armchairs and a low table, the kind of space meant for quiet conversations that never happened. 

The room dwarfed me, its elegance a stark contrast to the gnawing emptiness inside my chest. The air felt heavier the longer I sat, the silence pressing against my ears until even my own breath seemed too loud. I curled up tighter on the window bench, tucking my knees against my chest as if making myself smaller might somehow lessen the weight of the space around me. The glass was cool against my forehead, a sharp reminder that the world outside this cage continued on without me, unbothered by my existence.

The rain continued its relentless descent, streaking down the glass in chaotic trails that blurred the world outside. Beyond the window, the gardens stretched into the darkness, their carefully manicured edges softened by the storm. The lights of the estate shimmered faintly through the rain, their golden glow distorted into shifting patterns of light and shadow. I followed the path of a single raindrop as it slid down the glass, merging with others before disappearing from view. There was something oddly mesmerizing about it, the way it moved unpredictably, as though it held a secret I couldn’t quite grasp.

I was grateful to be home, I told myself. Grateful for the warmth, the shelter, the quiet that wrapped around me like a cocoon. Outside, the world was wild and chaotic, full of joys and freedoms I could never hope to experience. Here, within these walls, I was safe. Protected. Hidden. Yet, even as I tried to hold onto that gratitude, it felt hollow, as though the edges of it were fraying under the weight of something I couldn’t name. The house was a sanctuary, yes, but it was also a barrier—a place where the outside world couldn’t reach me, but where I couldn’t reach it either.

I stared out at the rain-soaked grounds, my gaze tracing the endless trails of water that blurred the gardens and trees into a muted palette of green and gray. Beyond the estate’s walls, the world stretched out in ways I couldn’t imagine, filled with wonders I would never see, joys I would never taste. The thought settled in my stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, pulling at the edges of my mind until it became hard to ignore. This room, this house, this carefully curated life—it was all I had ever known, and yet it felt so far removed from anything real.

 Why am I here? The question slipped through my thoughts like a whisper, delicate and fleeting. My hand moved almost without thought, fingers brushing against the cold glass of the window. The coolness seeped into my skin, grounding and yet strangely distant, as though I were touching something that wasn’t really there. I watched the rain beyond the glass, its chaotic patterns blurring the world into something unrecognizable, unreachable. My fingertips lingered, tracing the faint condensation that had gathered on the surface, and I felt the weight of the thought pressing down on me.

Why am I here?

The question wasn’t just about this room, this house, or even this life. It was something deeper, a quiet ache that I had never been able to name. Was there a reason for all of this—the endless routines, the careful balance, the constant feeling of being preserved and protected like something fragile and breakable? My hand slid lower on the glass, the smooth surface unyielding beneath my touch, as if even it refused to give way to my wandering thoughts.

The doubt began to creep in, threading itself through my mind like the rain streaking down the window. What was my purpose here? Was I anything more than a burden, something to be cared for and kept out of harm’s way? The room seemed to grow larger around me, its vastness pressing in on my small, curled frame. The grand furniture, the soaring ceiling, the soft golden light—all of it felt suffocating, like a gilded cage meant to hide me from a world I would never know.

My gaze drifted back to the rain, following the erratic trails of the droplets as they merged and split, their movements unpredictable and yet strangely beautiful. I thought of the world outside, the one that carried on without me, filled with joys and freedoms I couldn’t touch. For a fleeting moment, the thought came softly, unbidden: What if I wasn’t here at all? My breath hitched, the idea settling in my chest like a stone. It wasn’t angry or desperate—just a quiet acknowledgment, a shadowy corner of my mind whispering truths I didn’t want to hear. If I disappeared, would anything really change? The rain would still fall, the house would still stand, and the world would move on, untouched by my absence.

I pressed my palm flat against the glass, the chill biting into my skin like a reprimand. The thought lingered, heavier now, and I found myself gripping the edge of the cushion beneath me, the rough texture grounding me as I fought against the pull of my own doubts. Stop it, I told myself, the words harsh and insistent. I shouldn’t think like that. I had no right to. The ache in my chest was my own burden to bear, but it didn’t mean I should give in to it.

I forced my hand away from the glass, curling it into a loose fist in my lap. The cold sensation lingered on my fingertips, a reminder of the path my thoughts had taken. “You’re better than this,” I whispered aloud, though my voice sounded small, almost childlike in the vastness of the room. I didn’t know if I believed it, but I clung to the words all the same, as though saying them aloud might make them true.

The rain continued outside, steady and relentless, its rhythm unbroken by my turmoil. I turned my gaze back to the storm, letting the endless cascade of water fill my vision. I wasn’t the rain. I wasn’t free to simply exist, to move and flow and disappear without consequence. But perhaps that wasn’t my purpose. Perhaps my reason for being here was something I couldn’t yet see. The thought didn’t bring comfort, not exactly, but it was enough to steady the trembling edges of my mind.

The world beyond the glass remained blurred and unreachable, but I stayed there, watching the rain and telling myself that the doubts would pass. They had to. For now, I would sit in this room, in this house, and try to remind myself that my place here, whatever it was, mattered—if only because I was still here to question it.

And then came the knock.

It wasn’t loud, but in the stillness, it might as well have been thunder. The sharp sound jolted me, shattering the fragile thread of calm I’d been clinging to. I pulled my hand back from the window as if caught doing something I shouldn’t, my pulse quickening as I turned toward the door. The knock came again, softer this time, followed by the hesitant creak of it opening just enough for a maid to peek through.

“Dinner is ready,” she said, her voice small and careful, almost apologetic. There was a nervous edge to her tone, as though she were unsure whether interrupting me had been the right choice. Her gaze lingered on the floor before darting upward to meet mine for the briefest moment.

I swallowed, my throat dry as I nodded. “Thank you,” I replied, the words leaving my mouth almost automatically. My voice was steady, but quieter than I expected, like the weight of my thoughts still hung over me.

The maid nodded quickly, ducking her head before retreating from the room as quietly as she had entered. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence rushed back in, even louder than before. For a moment, I remained where I was, staring at the door as if expecting her to return. The interruption had pulled me out of my spiral, but the lingering threads of doubt still clung to me, fragile yet persistent.

I exhaled slowly, smoothing the fabric of my clothes with trembling hands. My fingers lingered over invisible wrinkles, a futile attempt to press them out as though tidying my appearance might restore some semblance of order to my mind. My reflection in the glass caught my eye, pale and uncertain, my posture slouched in a way that felt unfamiliar. I straightened my back, forcing my shoulders into a semblance of composure. You’re better than this, I told myself again, this time with more conviction.

Turning from the window, I glanced around the room, its vastness suddenly more pronounced in the dim light. The grand bed loomed in one corner, its silken sheets untouched, while the writing desk sat pristine and empty, a silent testament to a life I wasn’t living. I resisted the urge to glance back at the window, knowing that if I lingered there again, the weight of my thoughts might pull me under.

The dining room was like a scene from a painting, too perfect, too composed to feel real. The chandelier above cast a golden glow that danced across the pristine table, stretching longer than it needed to, its polished surface almost blinding under the light. Each place setting was immaculate, every fork, knife, and plate precisely where it should be. Yet the grandeur of the room felt oppressive, as if it were bearing down on me, reminding me how small I was in comparison. The rain outside provided a soft, relentless drumbeat against the windows, its sound faint but unyielding, a background rhythm to the suffocating silence.

Coriolanus sat at the far end of the table, his posture so perfect it looked carved from stone. His sharp blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my chest tighten, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t a warm smile, not really. It felt deliberate, calculated, as though he were allowing me a moment to think I was safe. He rested his elbows lightly on the table, his fingers steepled, his presence filling every corner of the room. The distance between us, though vast, felt suffocating. Every time I glanced up, his gaze was there, steady and unwavering, like he could see through every thought I didn’t dare voice.

The maids moved like shadows, their footsteps silent against the marble floor. One glided to my side, adjusting my chair ever so slightly, pushing it closer to the table until the edge pressed against me. Another refilled my wine glass, her hands steady, but I caught a flicker of hesitation in her movements. I muttered a soft “thank you,” but she didn’t respond, her head bowed as she stepped back into the background. I noticed the way her eyes darted briefly toward Coriolanus before returning to the floor, the faintest tremor in her hands betraying an unease that mirrored my own.

I forced myself to pick up my fork, my fingers trembling slightly. The food on my plate was a masterpiece, a delicate arrangement of colors and textures that should have been appetizing. But it felt alien, like it didn’t belong to me. Each bite turned to ash in my mouth, my stomach twisting with unease. Across the table, Coriolanus ate with deliberate precision, each movement of his utensils smooth and controlled. He wasn’t eating much; he was watching me. His gaze was too steady, too penetrating, and the longer it lingered, the more I felt like an insect pinned beneath a magnifying glass. The silence was unbearable, broken only by the faint patter of rain against the windows and the muffled shuffle of the maids moving in the background. They moved like ghosts, their footsteps barely audible, their eyes flickering toward Coriolanus with an unspoken understanding that sent a chill down my spine.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Coriolanus said finally, his voice soft but unnervingly sharp. He set down his utensils with deliberate care, the clink of metal against porcelain echoing like a gavel in the stillness. “Do you have nothing to say? Nothing at all?”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I’m just… I don’t feel well.”

He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes narrowing. “Not well,” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm. “Is that all? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?” His smile was faint, but it carried no warmth. It was a warning, a reminder that he could see through me.

I shook my head, my hands gripping the edge of the table. “No, there’s nothing else. I just…” My voice faltered, and I dropped my gaze to my plate. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were giving me time to reconsider my words. “Interesting.”

The maids paused in their movements, their presence like shadows against the edges of the room. I could feel their unease, see it in the way their hands hovered just slightly too long over a decanter or a tray. They knew something I didn’t, something that made my stomach churn with a sense of impending doom.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, my words tumbling out clumsily. “I appreciate it, I really do. I’m just—”

“Just what?” he interrupted smoothly, his voice lowering slightly. His eyes narrowed, the faint smile on his lips disappearing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Tired? Distracted? Ungrateful?”

The last word hit me like a slap, and I flinched, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I’m not ungrateful. I just—sometimes I feel—”

“Feel what?” he pressed, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. “That this is too much? That you don’t deserve it? Or that you don’t want it?”

“No, it’s not that,” I tried to explain, but my voice cracked, betraying the panic rising in my chest. The maids moved silently around the edges of the room, their movements slowing as though they, too, sensed the shift in his demeanor. One of them hesitated by the sideboard, her hands trembling as she adjusted a tray that didn’t need adjusting.

“Then what is it?” Coriolanus asked, his words deliberate, slicing through my feeble explanations. 

“Because from where I’m sitting, it seems as though you’ve taken everything I’ve given you for granted.”

The words were harsher than anything he had ever said to me, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. He had never spoken to me like this before, not even in frustration. My chest tightened, and I felt my cheeks flush with both shock and embarrassment.  “That’s not true,” I said, my voice trembling. The word hung in the air like a slap, and I flinched, my hands gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. “I’m not ungrateful,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I’m grateful, Coriolanus. I swear I am.”

“Are you?” he asked, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table, his sharp gaze narrowing. His faint smile faded, replaced by an expression so cold and calculating it sent a chill down my spine. “Because from where I’m sitting, it seems as though you’ve taken everything I’ve given you for granted.”

“That’s not true,” I stammered, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I didn’t mean—”

“What did you mean, then?” he interrupted smoothly, his tone dropping an octave. “Do you think this life is too much for you? Or perhaps, you believe you don’t deserve it?”

“No, it’s not that,” I said desperately, my words faltering as I tried to explain. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong.”

The admission hung in the air like a toxic cloud, suffocating and irreversible. Coriolanus’s expression didn’t change immediately, but I saw the flicker of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. Slowly, methodically, he straightened in his chair, his movements so controlled it felt like watching a storm gather in slow motion.

“You don’t belong,” he repeated softly, almost to himself. He let the words linger, rolling them over like a bitter taste on his tongue. “After everything I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve given you, you dare to sit at my table and say you don’t belong?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out the rain outside. “I just… I don’t know. I feel out of place sometimes. Like I’m not doing enough.”

“Not doing enough,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you know what it takes to ensure you have everything you need? The time, the effort, the resources? And you’re sitting here, telling me it’s not enough?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said desperately, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry,—” I said quickly, my voice cracking under the weight of his gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Offend me?” he said, his voice soft but seething. “No, you didn’t offend me. What you’ve done is far worse. You’ve wasted what has been given to you, what others can only dream of having. And for what? Because you’re ‘not hungry’?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach churn. “Do you know what it takes to provide this life for you?”

“I am grateful,” I said, my voice breaking under the weight of the moment. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I swear I am.”

“Gratitude,” he said softly, his tone turning icy as he tilted his head slightly, studying me like a predator might study prey. “Do you even know what that means? Because from where I’m sitting, your gratitude looks hollow. Empty. Like a facade you wear to appease me, nothing more.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered, shaking my head, but my voice lacked conviction. The words felt weak, fragile, like they might shatter under the weight of his scrutiny. The rain outside pounded harder, the sound merging with the thundering in my chest, a relentless rhythm of fear.

The maids froze mid-motion, their faces carefully blank, but their eyes betrayed them. I saw the unease flicker there, a shared, silent acknowledgment of something I didn’t yet fully understand. The maids exchanged glances again, their movements almost imperceptible, but I caught it. They weren’t just silent; they were terrified. One maid’s hand trembled as she adjusted a wine decanter that didn’t need adjusting, her eyes darting toward Coriolanus as though gauging when it might be safe to breathe again. The realization struck me like a blow—they had seen this before. They knew this version of him, the one that simmered with a quiet, unrelenting fury. But I didn’t. This side of him was foreign to me, and that unfamiliarity made it all the more terrifying.

Even the rain outside seemed to intensify, its relentless drumming against the windows a hollow backdrop to the suffocating stillness. My heart raced, a staccato beat that I was sure he could hear from across the room. His gaze bore into me, unflinching, cold, and I felt my breath catch as if he’d wrapped an invisible hand around my throat.

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, to claw my way out of the pit I’d inadvertently dug, but no words came. My throat felt tight, as though invisible hands were squeezing the air from me. The maids shifted nervously, their glances darting between him and me like animals watching a predator. They seemed to know what was coming, their wary expressions a silent confirmation of what I had begun to suspect: this wasn’t the first time Coriolanus had unleashed this quiet, seething fury. But for me, this was uncharted territory, and the man sitting at the far end of the table no longer resembled the Coriolanus I thought I knew.

He raised his hand, and the nearest maid stepped forward instantly, her movements stiff but quick. “Take her plate,” he commanded, his voice calm but carrying a finality that sent a chill through the room. The maid didn’t hesitate, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the untouched plate from the table. The absence of it felt like a blow, a visceral reminder of just how easily everything could be stripped away.

“Coriolanus,” I tried again, panic rising in my chest, but he ignored me entirely

“Quiet,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through my words like a blade. He didn’t raise his voice, but the command in it was undeniable. 

He raised a hand, silencing me instantly, the gesture so precise, so commanding, that I found myself shrinking under the weight of his authority. “Take her plate,” he said, his voice calm, yet carrying a quiet menace that made my stomach churn.

The nearest maid stepped forward, her movements quick but visibly strained. Her hands trembled as she reached for my plate, her fingers brushing the porcelain as she lifted it away. The absence of the plate felt more significant than it should have, a hollow emptiness settling in its place. My chest ached with the realization of how effortlessly he could strip away something as mundane as a meal, a symbol of care now reduced to a calculated show of control.

“Coriolanus, please,” I whispered, desperation creeping into my voice, but he ignored me entirely. His cold, unrelenting gaze remained fixed on mine as though daring me to protest further.

“Take her chair,”

The scrape of wood against marble was deafening, and then, without the support beneath me, I fell hard to the ground. The impact was jarring, the cold marble biting into my knees and palms as pain radiated through my body. My breath hitched as I struggled to push myself up, my limbs trembling under the weight of my humiliation. The sound of the chair being carried away echoed in the now silent room, leaving me alone on the floor, exposed and vulnerable.

The clack of his shoes broke the silence, each deliberate step sending a fresh wave of dread through me. Coriolanus rose from his seat, his movements slow and controlled, his composure unbroken. The maids disappeared quietly through a side door, their departure as seamless as their service, leaving the two of us alone. Each footfall brought him closer, the sharp sound of his polished shoes against the marble floor growing louder, more oppressive.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered, my voice trembling as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

“Stand,” he said, the command sharp and unyielding.

I tried to push myself upright, my arms shaking as I braced them against the cold floor. My legs felt weak, useless, and I collapsed back onto my knees, my breath coming in shallow gasps. “I—I can’t,” I stammered, shame and fear choking the words as they left my lips.

His eyes narrowed, and without warning, he reached down, his hand gripping my arm with an iron strength that left no room for resistance. The suddenness of his touch made me gasp, and he hauled me to my feet effortlessly, his movements precise and controlled. My knees wobbled beneath me, my body leaning against his for balance before I quickly pulled back, trying to steady myself. His grip didn’t falter, his hand unyielding as he turned toward the door.

“This,” he said, throwing the door open with a swift motion, “is what waits for you out there.”

The storm roared beyond the threshold, the wind howling and rain slashing against the marble steps with relentless ferocity. The cold air rushed in, chilling me to the bone, and I recoiled instinctively, my arms wrapping around myself as though I could shield against the biting cold. The darkness outside stretched endlessly, a yawning void that promised nothing but chaos.

“Do you understand now?” Coriolanus asked, rising from his chair with a deliberate grace that made my knees feel weak. He circled the table slowly, his footsteps measured and purposeful, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. “Do you see how easily everything you have can be taken away? How fragile it all is? Is that what you want?”

“No,” I sobbed, my voice breaking as I shook my head. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the rain that clung to my skin. “I don’t want to go. Please, Coriolanus. Don’t make me go.”

“Then prove it,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, each word delivered with a measured precision that made the air around me grow colder. It wasn’t a shout or even a reprimand; it was a challenge, calculated and cutting. His tone demanded submission, his icy blue eyes pinning me in place as though daring me to contradict him. His hand on my arm tightened slightly, enough to remind me of his physical presence, his control. “Convince me,” he continued, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to an almost intimate murmur. “Because right now, all I see is someone who doesn’t understand the gravity of their position. Someone so blind, so ungrateful, that they’d rather throw away everything they’ve been given.”

My breath hitched, a shiver rippling down my spine. His words struck a chord deep inside me, each one carefully chosen to cut through my defenses and twist the knife. I tried to look away, to retreat from the intensity of his gaze, but his fingers moved to my chin, tilting my face upward with deliberate force. The gesture was controlled, not violent, but it carried a weight that made my heart pound painfully against my ribs.

“Do you think anyone else,” he continued, his tone softening but losing none of its edge, “would have done what I’ve done for you? Do you think anyone else would have kept you alive, sheltered, cared for, when the world outside would swallow you whole without hesitation?” His thumb brushed against my cheek, a movement so slight and calculated it made my stomach twist. “No,” he answered himself, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “No one else would. No one else could.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him that wasn’t true, but my throat felt like it was closing. Words died before they could form, and I was left trembling under his relentless gaze. “I didn’t mean it,” I finally managed to whisper, the words cracking as they left my lips. “Coriolanus, I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean it?” he echoed, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile, though it carried no warmth. “Words, darling, are meaningless without action. An apology without understanding is hollow. A lie.”

“I’m not lying,” I protested weakly, my voice trembling as tears spilled over my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” he said, his voice cool and measured, like a judge handing down a sentence. “Gratitude isn’t a word you utter when it suits you. It’s knowing your place. Knowing that without me, you wouldn’t just be lost—you wouldn’t exist.”

His words landed like a physical blow, and I felt my legs weaken beneath me. The rain outside seemed to roar louder, a violent symphony that mirrored the storm brewing in my chest. I tried to hold his gaze, but the weight of it was unbearable, and my vision blurred with tears. “I—I understand,” I stammered, the words trembling on my lips. “I do. Please, Coriolanus, I understand.”

He studied me for a long moment, his piercing gaze never wavering. His hand remained on my chin, keeping me locked in place, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin as he leaned in closer. “Do you?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Because right now, all I see is a child throwing a tantrum, blind to the reality of their situation. Blind to the lengths I’ve gone to ensure their survival.”

“I’m grateful,” I sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I am. I swear, Coriolanus, I’m grateful.”

His thumb pressed slightly against my jaw, a subtle reminder of his control, before he released me abruptly. The absence of his touch left me unmoored, trembling as I tried to steady myself. He stepped back, his icy gaze flicking over me as though assessing whether I was worth the trouble. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he adjusted the lapels of his suit, smoothing the fabric with practiced ease.

“Good,” he said finally, his voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. But then he leaned in once more, his hand catching my chin again with a sharpness that made me flinch. His eyes burned into mine, and when he spoke, his words carried a menace that froze me in place. “If you ever forget again, I’ll remind you. And you won’t like how I do it.”

I bit back a sob, nodding frantically, the tears on my face mingling with the rain still dripping from my hair. My knees threatened to give out, but I forced myself to stand, every muscle in my body trembling. His grip on my chin tightened for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as though to drive his point home, before he finally released me. I staggered back slightly, my hands trembling at my sides.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, his voice calm now, almost indifferent. “And get back to the table. Dinner isn’t over.”

With that, he turned and walked back toward the dining room, his footsteps echoing against the marble with an unhurried grace that made the contrast between his composed exterior and my internal chaos all the more jarring. He reached the table, smoothing his suit as he lowered himself back into his seat. When he glanced up at me, his lips curled into a faint smile, as though the scene that had just unfolded was nothing more than a momentary hiccup in an otherwise pleasant evening.

I remained frozen in the doorway, trembling, my hands clenched into fists as I tried to stop the shaking. The storm outside raged on, its fury a stark contrast to the eerie calm that had settled over the dining room. The maids began to move again, their steps quiet and practiced as they brought fresh dishes to the table, their faces carefully blank. Coriolanus picked up his fork, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the meal in front of him.

But his smile—it lingered, soft and satisfied, a chilling reminder that this was his world, his control. And as his words echoed in my mind—Without me, you are nothing—I realized with bone-deep certainty: He owns me. Entirely. And there’s no escape.

[riotwritesthings]

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron, M, 5.8k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, angst, drinking, mentions of past ships

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends- It can’t be- But they are.

This chapter suuuure went a direction. I really hope you enjoy and don't want to burn me at the stake ahaha

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

~~~

Chapter 3: the ceiling starts to swerve

“This is Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey sounds exhausted, and stressed, and Tony knows that as usual it’s at least ninety percent his fault. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background, and Tony’s willing to bet that he’s having a hell of a day.

He wishes he didn’t have to make it worse.

“Hey SourPatch,” Tony forces himself to say in greeting, his throat suddenly dry.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says in a rush of air, his voice dropping in volume halfway through. There’s a shuffling sound, and then all the background noise is cut off by the heavy thud of a door closing. “Tony, what the hell happened?” He demands in a strained, tense whisper, "you- are you okay?"

“I- I’m fine,” Tony lies.

He’d hoped that hearing Rhodey’s voice would feel comforting, familiar.

Instead he feels… nothing.

No, not nothing. He is relieved to talk to Rhodey again.

But it feels more like- Some small part of him is relieved to have a link to the world. Anything outside of this weird little- soulmate bubble they’ve accidentally set up for themselves, some reminder of what’s real. But even that slice of relief is-

Disconnected.

There’s no warmth to it, no rush of calm comfort that Rhodey’s voice usually gives him. He remembers their decades of friendship perfectly clearly, but- There’s no connection to the voice on the other end of the line, like he’s talking to someone else.

Like he’s talking to a stranger.

Tony’s breath catches wetly in his throat and his eyes burn.

Fuck this stupid bond.

It’s already apparently taken most of his self-control and personal space, replacing them both with- with a stranger. It took all of his plans and goals in Berlin, and probably any remaining scraps of trust his team had in him.

And now this inexplicable thing, some weird imbalance of chemicals or something, is taking his oldest, closest relationship.

Barnes- Bucky- is still staring out the front window, keeping an eye out for whatever and pretending not to listen.

Tony is painfully aware of the distance between them, of the tension winding Bucky’s shoulders up tight. Tony can feel it like a pull in his own chest and if the phone weren’t mounted to the wall he would go over there-

He viciously shoves that thought down, shoves down the ache in his sternum.

Rhodey is still talking on the other end of the line, repeating his name in an increasingly frantic tone, and it’s a struggle to focus on that.

It’s so much easier to focus on the mere feet separating him from Bucky, the way it felt to wake up next to him. Whatever it is that’s been twisting Bucky tighter and tighter since they woke up-

“Tony-”

“I’m here,” Tony says quickly. “I’m okay.”

Over by the window, Bucky’s shoulders twitch up a little higher.

“What happened in Berlin?” Rhodey asks, sounding impossibly more freaked out than he had before.

And that’s the big question, isn’t it? Laughter bubbles up in Tony’s chest before he can stop it, high-pitched and hysterical.

“I’m- It’s- I really can’t get into it right now,” Tony says weakly around slips of laughter that he can’t contain, and he can hear Rhodey’s worry spiking.

Reading his best friend even without seeing him is still as familiar as breathing, but Tony doesn’t *feel * anything.

Not like he can feel Bucky trying and failing not to shift on his feet, painfully curious and trying to fight it. Or maybe just trying to hide it, Tony can’t quite tell but he’s sure that if he got closer-

It’s making it really hard to focus on the conversation. And fuck, he wants to talk to Rhodey. He swears he does. But suddenly it’s not as easy as it’s always been.

“Are you-” Rhodey asks carefully, his voice low, “are you still with him? Are you being held captive?”

The ‘again’ goes unspoken and Tony fights down another hysterical giggle.

He is, but not in any of the ways Rhodey would be expecting. He’s being held captive by himself, by an inability to leave Bucky behind that is so deep-set the idea hasn’t even fully occurred to him.

“Yes, but no, he- he’s here, but it’s nothing like that,” Tony says, because that’s the easy answer. “This is not a Taken situation.”

“That’s not- never mind,” Rhodey says, and things must be really bad if he’s not taking the time to correct Tony on the finer points of action movies.

Fuck, why doesn’t he feel anything?

“So- What then?” Rhodey asks slowly, struggling to wrap his brain around the situation when Tony can’t tell him anything. "Did- I mean, you didn’t- did you kidnap Barnes?"

Tony laughs again and part of him wants to say yes. They kidnapped each other, and themselves, and now they’re holding themselves hostage.

But he knows Rhodey is in no mood for vague jokes.

“Why and how would I have done that?” Tony asks with a strangled chuckle. He remembers the way Barnes had been fighting before they ran into each other, all vicious, brutal efficiency. Even if he’d had his suit, Tony’s not sure he could have gotten The Winter Soldier out of there against the man’s will. At least not alive.

"I don’t know," Rhodey says in a huff, annoyance briefly winning out over his worry, “but Rogers is convinced that you absconded with his friend for some reason.”

“Why?” Tony sputters out while Bucky twitches again.

The other man is more tense than ever, wound so tightly that he’s about to snap. Tony can feel it in his teeth and he wants to dig his fingers into the muscles of Bucky’s shoulders, feel the warmth of him as the tension slowly fades-

"You tell me," Rhodey shoots back. "I’ve seen the security footage, Tones, and no one knows what to think. It looks a hell of a lot like the two of you just- left together."

“That is-” Tony says with a wince, “the extremely short version.” He can tell Rhodey is about to jump in with more questions, and Tony really wants to get to the reason he called. “So, what are people saying, exactly? Other than Steve.”

Rhodey lets out a long, heavy sigh, but tells him.

It’s about as bad as he expected.

There are people who think Tony was captured by the mysterious terrorist, and of course people who think he went rogue and recruited Bucky for his own nefarious purposes. About half of the team thinks it’s some kind of mind control, which would probably break Tony’s heart if he stopped to let himself think about it. But he just urges Rhodey to continue.

Ross has managed to convince a concerning number of people who matter that Tony is some kind of sleeper agent for Hydra, taking back possession of their soldier. Which is an insulting angle for the man to take, he can’t even imagine Tony as a high-ranking undercover genius?

And apparently, Steve thinks Tony kidnapped his best friend. Tony isn’t sure if he should be offended or not. Honestly, he can’t figure out what Steve thinks his reason would be.

“All in all, about half the world is hunting the two of you for one reason or another,” Rhodey finishes. He doesn’t waste a second before demanding, "Now are you going to tell me why?

“I’m sorry, Platypus,” Tony says, and he means it. He wishes he felt it. “I just- I couldn’t-”

Tony knows how he wants to finish that sentence.

‘I couldn’t let anyone take him, couldn’t not go with him, couldn’t fight it.’

But he can’t say any of that out loud, it’s still too raw and terrifying even in his own mind. The power that the bond has over him is still- It’s like a light that’s too bright to look at directly, he can’t face it fully yet.

And he definitely can’t put it into words or he’s pretty sure he’ll throw himself right back into a panic attack.

“I- There was- a thing, and we had to get out of there,” Tony finally says weakly. “And I- I can’t explain it any more than that right now.”

He can hear Rhodey’s displeasure with that answer, but Tony doesn’t feel as guilty as he should. He feels guilty that he doesn’t feel more guilty.

Tony’s chest clenches and he can feel Bucky fighting the urge to turn away from the window to look at him.

“I will, eventually,” Tony promises and hopes like hell it’s not another lie. “I just- I have to wrap my head around this first,” he adds, “and- hopefully my brain won’t fucking explode in the process.”

Rhodey blows out a hard sigh and then asks, “You’ve really gotten yourself into it this time, haven’t you, Tones?”

“You have no idea, SourPatch,” Tony says, fighting down another strangled laugh. He tears his gaze away from Bucky for probably the first time in the conversation so he can rub at his dry eyes. “First I have to- fuck, figure out how to fix this.”

“Well,” Rhodey starts slowly, "it would help a whole hell of a lot if you brought Barnes back-"

“No,” Tony cuts him off, surprising everyone with the vehemence in his voice.

When he drops his hand away from his face he catches Bucky’s eye for a moment, wide and so blue, before Bucky whips his head back around to the window.

“I can’t do that,” Tony continues, trying to keep his tone normal, “he- he’s innocent, Rhodey, he wasn’t even in Vienna.”

He doesn’t need Bucky nodding at the window to confirm it, somehow Tony knows. He’s felt it in the confused tension still wound tightly through Bucky’s chest. In the quiet, terrified exhaustion that started to set in as soon as they made it out of Germany.

Bucky doesn’t know why, or how, but he knows he’s being framed. So Tony knows it too. And he knows that true to Bucky’s word, he’s so used to not having control that he’s not even surprised to be used in this new and creative way.

Rhodey sighs. "Well then, bring him back and prove-"

“C’mon Platypus,” Tony cuts him off again, “you know it isn’t that easy. Someone already got to him while he was in ‘safe custody,’ and if that doesn’t happen again then he’s likely to get ‘disappeared,’ and I can’t-”

Tony’s voice comes to an abrupt stop as his chest clenches painfully, his throat pulling tight. The thought of someone trying to take Bucky away-

The force of the fury that rushes over him knocks the air out of his lungs. Through the pounding of blood in his ears all he can think is that he can’t let that happen, he can’t- he won’t.

No one is going to take his soulmate away from him, not at any cost.

Somewhere far, far beneath the weight of that knowledge, the rational sliver of his mind that remains is terrified to find out what price he’ll be willing to pay.

He doesn’t even want a- but he won’t be able to fight it any more than he’s been able to resist the bond until now, he already attacked Natasha without thought- What else would he do-

Bucky lets out a low, pained sound that Tony snaps out of his spiraling thoughts.

The fuzz and dancing spots fade from his vision as he drags in a shuddering breath, and he sees that Bucky is still politely staring out the window. He can tell that Bucky isn’t actually seeing anything though, too caught up in his own thoughts, in the tension pulling his shoulders painfully tight.

Tony forces himself to take another slow breath, and Bucky relaxes minutely.

"Hey, Tones, Tony-" Rhodey is saying in his ear and it filters slowly into Tony’s consciousness, so much less important than watching Bucky’s hand shake as he balls it into a fist.

“Yeah, yeah I’m still here,” Tony forces out, his voice rough.

He must sound really bad, because Rhodey takes pity on him and doesn’t ask any more questions.

“Look,” he says, almost as gently as he spoke when Tony first came back from Afghanistan, “I’ve been working to clear up all the most ridiculous lies. Are you safe right now, wherever you are?”

Tony only has to stare at Bucky’s back for a second before the man nods stiffly.

“As safe as I can be in a haunted shack,” Tony replies with a weak attempt at a smile, hoping that Rhodey can hear it over the line.

“Okay,” Rhodey says, “okay, here’s the plan.”

~~~

Tony is not a fan of the plan.

He doesn’t like that Rhodey is fighting Ross and his ridiculous lies for him. He doesn’t like that he’s just supposed to wait until Rhodey can make sure that they won’t be black-bagged the second they step foot back on the grid.

And he especially doesn’t like that he’s supposed to wait here, in the farmhouse from hell. With its outhouse and its single broken bed.

Despite the size of the mess, part of him had been looking forward to cleaning it up. Arguing with Steve and rich old senators is at least familiar, would make him feel like he still has some semblance of control over his life.

He was really fucking looking forward to feeling in control again.

Instead he’s still stuck out here, just him and Bucky.

It’s like they’ve left the rest of the world behind and Tony- He needs to get back to the real world. He can’t fight the bond but maybe he could- could ignore it a little more with other people around, with all the complicated problems that he can’t- He can barely remember right now.

The Accords, the Avengers, SI and everything, it’s all so far away. And if he doesn’t get back to it soon-

He’s not sure that he’ll want to.

With a frustrated sigh Tony finally stops glaring at the phone hanging on the wall.

Bucky is still standing at the front window, resolutely pretending to ignore Tony’s conversation. Despite everything, Tony feels a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, excellent ignoring,” Tony says with a huff, “you can stop now.”

After a second of hestiation, his fists still clenched, Bucky turns to face him again and-

Blue.

Tony’s next inhale is so much easier, like his lungs are filling fully for the first time since Bucky stepped across the shack. It’s so damn nice, all the stress of the phone call melting away. The guilt and the distance of hiding from his best friend are inconsequential.

The real world is all mistakes and panic attacks. Why does he need-

Bucky’s gaze drops to the floor and Tony’s chest pulls tight again.

Something is still tearing Bucky apart, and he doesn’t know what.

It’s been getting worse and worse since they woke up, since whatever occurred to him and ruined their relatively peaceful morning. And Tony doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t think it’s just Bucky taking his turn with the panic attack. It’s related to being stuck here for an unknown amount of time, the tension spiked sharply when that part of the plan came up, but that’s not the whole story.

Whatever it is, it’s stabbing through Bucky’s lungs and turning his stomach, making it almost impossible to breathe. Tony can feel it like a phantom pain in his own chest, he can feel it crawling its way up Bucky’s throat.

The silence stretches as Bucky stares at the floor and Tony stares at him. Tony’s pulse is picking up as the tension builds.

It- it’s bad. It’s hanging over them like an anvil, like a guillotine, and Tony stops breathing as Bucky takes a shuddering inhale.

Bucky opens his mouth, and Tony tries to brace himself.

But all Bucky says is, “I was tryin’ not to listen.” His tone is sheepish but his voice is tight, nearly strangled.

Tony lets out a hard rush of air. Part of him wants to pry, most of him wants to pry, but-

He shouldn’t even know that something’s wrong with Bucky. They don’t actually know each other, they met yesterday.

Without the bond he wouldn’t be able to read Bucky at all, or at least not nearly this well. If he tries to pry- It’s like he’s giving into the bond. Accepting it.

And he can’t do that.

So Tony forces himself to let it go, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s carefully blank face.

“If we’re stuck here, there better be food,” Tony says as he turns towards the small kitchen. “I am not above eating you for survival.”

After a couple of seconds Bucky silently shuffles after him, like he just can’t help himself.

There is food, and most of it is still safely packed in cans and sealed jars. Even if it doesn’t look very appetizing. There’s no coffee, though, which means that Tony’s headache is only going to get worse.

While Bucky hopefully determines if the water is safe, Tony slams through the cabinets a final time. He’s not pouting, but he’s also not actually expecting to find anything else.

Until he discovers the large jar of clear liquid hidden in the back of a high cabinet.

“'S that moonshine?” Bucky asks, suddenly standing just close enough that Tony can feel the rumble of his voice.

“Samanė, I believe,” Tony says, already unscrewing the lid, “which, basically the same thing.”

He’s trying to ignore the shiver running down his spine. And he’s trying even harder to ignore the urge to lean back into Bucky and chase the feeling.

It may not be the best idea at the moment, but Tony does need a distraction. And if he’s stuck here then he’ll take what he can get.

~~~

"This’s strong," Bucky says, squinting into his chipped glass.

Tony hums in agreement.

He’s not sure where his own glass is. He knows he had it when he dropped down onto the couch.

Before he can work up the effort to look for it Bucky is picking Tony’s glass up from the ground and offering it to him. Tony takes it with a grunt of thanks. Bucky quickly returns to staring into his own glass.

His next swig of the strong liquor doesn’t burn, just settles nicely in the warm pit of Tony’s stomach.

The tension is being forcibly melted out of his limbs. All the problems are being drowned out by the pleasant buzzing between his ears.

He considers the other man, because through the warm haze nothing else matters. And he can’t quite remember why that matters right now.

Bucky decided to sit in front of the couch when Tony sprawled out over the entire thing. He’s been shooting Tony increasingly un-subtle looks as they drink. With the way he’s leaning back, if Tony just moved his leg a little it would press against the strong, tense line of Bucky’s shoulders.

Tony takes another sip and forces himself to stay still.

Bucky glances over him again. The faintest hint of pink is spreading across his cheeks.

They’ve been carefully not talking since they started drinking. They don’t really need to.

But Tony still finds himself asking, “Is this- is it doin’ anythin’ for you?”

Bucky looks over at him and Tony tips his glass in explanation. Bucky’s lips twitch as he nods. He returns his gaze to his half-empty glass, then downs it.

"An’ it’s disinfectin’ my throat," Bucky says with a cough and a wince.

“Good,” Tony says as Bucky grabs for the jar again, "pretty sure you’re drinkin’ most of it. And if you’re just doin’ it to feel the burn I will- I’m gonna be mad."

Bucky snorts as he refills his glass.

“And Steve can- can’t even get drunk,” Tony adds.

The words slip out before he can think them through. The way that Bucky flinches minutely at the name isn’t really a surprise. Tony feels bad for bringing it up, he feels-

A lot of things.

He slid further down against the arm of the couch at some point and he’s mostly staring at the stained ceiling. His shin is pressed against the line of Bucky’s shoulders and he doesn’t remember doing that either. It takes effort to lift his head enough to keep Bucky in his field of view.

Now that he’s started Tony can’t seem to stop talking. The words are bubbling up in his throat and he can’t quite remember why he shouldn’t let them out.

So much for their unspoken ‘no speaking’ agreement.

"Still can’t believe he thinks I fuckin’- That I kidnapped you," he says with a snort.

Bucky’s metal thumb moves restlessly around his glass. It clicks against the chipped rim.

“No of-ffense,” Tony adds. He rolls his head along the arm of the couch to stare sideways at Bucky. “You just- you seem more the kidnapper- kidnappy type.”

He watches with fascination as emotions make their way across Bucky’s face. Wondering if he should be offended followed by reluctant amusement. Tony can feel all of it.

And he can feel the cold knot that wraps itself back around Bucky’s lungs as soon as the moment is gone. Tony still can’t put a name to the feeling and he’s getting pretty sick of all the things he can’t explain.

Like what’s bothering Bucky. And the fact that he has a soulmate. And why Steve would even think-

“Wait,” Tony says, failing his way upright. He spills a good half of his drink on his undershirt and takes a split second to wonder when he lost his dress shirt. “Wait,” he says again and has to blink a couple times as the room spins, “wait, did- tell me I didn’-”

He trails off, trying to tell through the haze of liquor if what he’s remembering is real. Bucky looks up at him again, and Tony’s breath catches.

Fuck, when is that going to stop happening? He already has enough trouble breathing.

Bucky is still staring at him and Tony struggles to remember what he’d been about to say.

“Was- Is there any truth to the rumors of- of war-torn lovers?” Tony asks, alarm creeping into his voice. "Did I steal Captain America’s boyfriend?"

The way Bucky’s eyes go wide and his shoulders hunch up around his ears says plenty, even as his mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

Tony groans as he flops heavily back down onto the couch. At least he doesn’t spill his drink this time. There’s a laugh building in his chest, edged with hysteria. It certainly explains a lot.

“I think he might- he might actually kill me,” Tony says to the shifting patterns on the ceiling.

They fall into silence while Tony tries to wrap his head around just how fucked up this is. He can hear Bucky finishing off another glass. His own drink is suddenly sitting a little too warm in his gut.

“It wasn’-” Bucky says slowly and Tony cranes his head around to look at him. “It wasn’ really like that. Or- We jus’- We never-”

“Never quite found the right time?” Tony guesses when he trails off. Because isn’t that how all the tragedies go?

Bucky nods into his empty glass, his expression twisted in misery.

The hot pit of something in Tony’s stomach is getting worse, starting to crawl its way up his throat. He’d almost think he’s about to be sick except-

He’s jealous. It’s jealousy burning its way through his chest, familiar but twisted.

Which is stupid for so many reasons, but the biggest one is that he doesn’t need to be. According to all the legends Bucky can’t- They’re stuck together now. Neither one of them can leave.

Tony has to remind himself that it’s because they don’t have a choice. It shouldn’t be comforting, to know that someone can’t leave him, can never even want to-

No, he wants Bucky- Someone, he wants someone to have a choice about staying with him.

He tells himself that’s what he wants. He wishes he believed it.

“I need more- more booze,” Tony says as he pushes himself upright, "way more booze for this fuckin'- conversation."

Bucky hands him the jar, turning towards him in the process. Tony squints at the amount of liquid remaining before taking a swig directly from the jar.

"You- What’d you mean, rumors?" Bucky asks. His eyebrows are pinched and it’s-

Definitely not adorable.

Tony hums and takes another sip, stalling.

“You, uh-” he says slowly, “the two of you- may have been a brief topic. In my- Um, in my queer history elective?”

Bucky blinks slowly. Then he lets out a long groan and drops his face to the couch cushion next to Tony’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Tony says with a wince and does his best not to laugh. “Is that- Is it better or worse than bein’ a ghost?��

“Worse,” Bucky mutters into the couch.

Tony decides not to tell him about the recovered sketches that were shown in that class.

When Bucky eventually lifts his head again it’s to steal the jar of Samanė back and take a long drink. His face is distinctly more flushed and loose strands of hair are clinging to his forehead.

The rest of the room is spinning, but Tony has no problem focusing on the tired blue of Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky looks away again, embarrassment and some new flavor of guilt twisting him up. There’s no sadness though, and Tony’s pretty sure that’s the reason for at least half of the guilt.

“You- Don’ feel bad,” Tony says and nudges his knee against Bucky’s shoulder. “Who- I mean who hasn’t had a big ol’ crush on Steve?” He adds sarcastically.

He slowly realizes he’d forgotten to add any sarcasm to his voice as Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. Tony could try to play it off, but he can feel his own cheeks warming. And Bucky will see right through him.

“There was a fan club at my boarding school,” Tony says defensively. He’s not sure if it helps his point or not.

Bucky snorts out a laugh halfway through taking another drink and winces. Tony doesn’t feel bad for him. But he can’t stop talking.

"And then I met Steve, which- He’s- I mean, I guess I don’t have to tell you-" Tony finds himself saying, despite swearing he’d never admit this to anyone.

It’s easier than he would have thought. The battle of New York and everything that followed feels so far away now. He remembers all the feelings, the hurt followed by longing and the sting of rejection when Steve- when no one stayed-

But it’s like it all happened to someone else. Like he read it in a story.

Bucky is still watching him, arm propped up on the couch. The flush of liquor doesn’t hide the complicated mix of emotions moving over his face as he waits.

"Not that anythin’ ever- y’know, happened," Tony finishes quickly and doesn’t bother wondering why he needs to assure Bucky of that. “He never- And I’m me, so-”

Tony sinks his teeth into his lower lip, cutting himself off. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He starts to open his mouth, and Tony cuts him off too.

“And then someone came back to life,” he says with the best glare he can work up at the moment, “an’ there- there went my chance. Or my delusional dream of a chance, anyways.”

Bucky winces apologetically and offers him the liquor. Tony laughs and takes it while he watches the other man clench his jaw. This time he knows exactly what Bucky is feeling.

“Super weird backward jealousy pangs, right?” He asks knowingly and tries not to be pleased about it. He fails.

A wry smile pulls at Bucky’s lips as he nods slightly. He drops his gaze to the couch and watches himself pick at the worn fabric.

“An’- An’ what about now?” Bucky asks without looking up. “Was- I-Is there-”

It takes Tony a second to figure out what he’s asking, and then he huffs.

“No, no worries,” he says, leaning forward slightly to pat Bucky’s metal elbow. “You’re not the- the homewrecker here, jus’ me.”

For a second he doesn’t even remember that that wouldn’t have been true, a couple of weeks ago.

The breakup with Pepper had been so fresh and raw even- fuck, just a day ago. When he’d been reluctantly admitting it to Steve and fighting down a twisted mess of emotions. Now it doesn’t hurt any worse than when his first crush had laughed in his face.

The soulmate bond makes one hell of a bandaid, and at least that’s something.

Bucky is still staring at him, like he can see Tony going over all of that in his mind. And he probably can. Tony’s hand is still resting on the other man’s metal arm, and he wonders if Bucky can feel it.

The silence stretches and Tony takes an uncomfortable swig of Samanė. He should probably move his hand, but he doesn’t.

“I am- 'M pretty good at chasing people off all- all on my own,” he can’t help adding, and Bucky’s eyebrows furrow again. “Don’ make that face at me,” Tony says and lifts his hand to poke Bucky between the eyebrows instead.

Bucky blinks and his face softens in surprise. Then he laughs, and Tony grins as his heart thumps in his chest. Bucky reaches up to grab Tony’s hand and pull it away from his face. Their fingers fit together without any effort and Bucky’s skin is surprisingly soft against his.

“Why d’you- you keep-” Bucky starts and then trails off, distracted. He runs his thumb over a burn scar on the side of Tony’s hand.

Tony’s breath catches and doesn’t restart as Bucky’s thumb moves down to his palm. He can feel the swirls of Bucky’s thumbprint against his skin. Every drag sends a bolt of warmth through him that the warmth of the liquor can’t compare to.

He inhales shakily when Bucky looks up at him, caught in those blue eyes.

What had they been talking about? He doesn’t remember now.

Bucky licks his lips and Tony stares. The way they’ve been drinking, they probably taste the same- And once the thought hits him Tony has to know-

He’s not sure which of them leans forward. Maybe him, because the room is spinning again. Bucky sighs and Tony can feel the rush of air against his cheek.

Tony shifts his fingers against Bucky’s wrist and realizes he can feel Bucky’s rapid pulse. He’s pretty sure his own heart is beating in time and he’s still moving closer.

It’s like he’s being pulled in, like he doesn’t have a choice.

Does he even need a choice? This feels- Why does he need anything else when this is so-

Right.

He can almost feel Bucky’s lips against his. Tony’s eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep them open.

He wants-

Beneath his fingers, Bucky’s pulse skips. It stops entirely for a terrifying second, then starts racing sickeningly. Something cold rushes through Bucky and he sucks in a sharp breath as he jerks away.

His hand slips away from Tony’s.

It’s just like this morning. The same icy chill running through Bucky as he pulls away. The same gut-twisting feeling that’s- It’s like guilt but so much more complicated.

It's different than when they were talking about Steve, or anything else. It’s-

Part of Tony doesn’t want to know.

Bucky won’t meet his eyes. He’s curling in on himself, withdrawing.

And Tony can’t let that happen. He can’t let this keep happening. He can’t-

He tightens his grip on the nearly empty jar and swallows thickly.

“Alright, out with it,” he says.

“What?” Bucky asks, practically flinching. He pulls his arm off the couch and curls it into his chest.

“Out with it,” Tony repeats, his voice shaking. “Whatever you need to tell me, just spill. It- It’s been driving you crazy all day and that- it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky goes carefully still. He doesn’t look up. He’s not breathing.

Tony waits. He bites his lip again so he won’t start demanding answers.

There are already so many things right now that he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand. He needs to know.

What could be so bad?

This isn’t- Bucky isn’t supposed to be able to pull away. He can’t, that’s not how it- This isn’t fair.

Tony can’t completely swallow down a hurt noise. His eyes burn. It feels like his chest is cracking open, his lungs filling with ice- with snow-

Bucky’s gaze flicks up to him and then down again, expression pained. Blue eyes haunted.

Neither of them are breathing now.

He can’t stop thinking that none of this is fair.

Tony doesn’t- he didn’t even want a soulmate and now- The thought of Bucky pulling away is gutting him. It’s not fair that something as stupid as a secret is cracking his chest open.

It isn’t fair of him to need answers, either. Part of him knows that. They’d still be strangers, if they had a choice-

But they don’t.

“Bucky,” he says, his voice a harsh croak. A plea. He wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

The other man flinches like he’d shouted. Tony waits.

Finally Bucky drags in a shuddering breath and tears his eyes away from his own hands. He practically snatches the jar from Tony and finishes off the Samanė in one long swallow.

Tony’s stomach churns as he continues to wait.

Bucky takes another steadying breath and fixes his gaze over Tony’s shoulder. His jaw clenches. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

The crater in Tony’s chest gets deeper.

“N-Nine- Nineteen Ninety One,” Bucky eventually manages to get out. His voice is raw and his eyes are glazed, unseeing. “December n-ninet-teenth.”

That’s all he says for a long moment and Tony is still waiting.

He doesn’t even recognize the date for a split second, and then he’s just confused.

“I-I was-” Bucky continues haltingly. The feeling of cold gets worse. “I- It wasn’ an accident.”

It doesn’t makes sense. Tony knows that date, but it was- His parents died in an accident. He knows that. He-

“What?” Tony asks flatly. Blankly. He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense.

Bucky swallows thickly. His cheeks are wet and all the color has faded from his face.

Tony wants to reach out, but he doesn’t.

He can’t move.

“December N-Nineteenth,” Bucky says again. His hands are clenched together so tightly that they both shake. “It wasn’ an- I-I was there, I- I’m th- I-”

Bucky’s voice cuts off, strangled. He clenches his jaw.

There’s a sick feeling rising in Tony’s throat, and he’s not sure which of them it belongs to.

“You- what’re you-” Tony starts to ask, gasping the words out.

But he doesn’t need to.

Bucky blinks rapidly and then meets Tony’s eye. He looks so-

It-

Everything hurts.

And Tony-

He knows.

[jellyskink]

(Different Anon here, I hear we're sending in fan fics, feel free to post if you want.)

“Dr. Pines, I was wondering if you can tell me about yourself” Dr. Oleander was leaning against the counter in her office. On the examination table sat a man she's only known for the past months. He was first brought to her with injuries so severe she was amazed that he was still able to move. She was worried for the man and asked him to make follow up appointments at least once a month so she can monitor him. For the most part he was good On his word but there we times he ether cut it close to this appointment time or did both showing up at all.

The next time they would meet he would he would express his deep apologies but his “Muse” didn't see the point to the more frequent doctor visits, after all he hasn't been to a doctor in over 25 after all. He only allowed the first after his “Muse” grew tired of him vomiting blood everywhere, and wasn't able to move after intense abdominal pains, as if they were the man's fault. After the second visit (the follow up to make sure the medication was working) they grew close and bonded over there love of science. And then on the third visit the man gave her a dead mouse as a token of his appreciation. As disturbing as it was it was endearing, and it reminded of her cat, Calamari, if it were any other patient she would be highly concerned for sure, but what little she did know about him she knew it was the only way he knew how to express affection. In short his life was more concerning then the dead animals he gave her. She desperately wanted him to seek mental help for his trama but he adamantly denied it saying nothings wrong and if he did he deserves it and how he should be grateful that his muse is merciful for putting up with his past problems.

She thought long and hard, if she were to help him she would have to get creative and probably break a few HIPAA violations. So after a few more visits to regain his trust she decided it was time. He was the last appointment of the day and asked if he could stay longer she told him it was to help fill in his medical charts and to record data, and promised him a lollipop for his help. These were two things he couldn't resist the promise of scientific research and food.

He looked At her confused with a lollipop pop in his mouth. She asked again, “Dr.Pines? Could you please tell me some more about you.”

To Ford what was originally routine physical Examination and quality time with someone he could trust, was turning well off. His Doctor had already been aware of himself, a man mid 60s he thinks it was hard to keep track of time in the bubble and time flew when he was with his beloved muse. He loved science and had an interest in biology, with a particular interest in lepidoptery (the study of moths.) And more importantly he did everything for his muse. He lives and breathes for the sake of him, he loved him and In return Ford knew he was special to his muse, and that made it all worth it.

“Dr. Pines I know this is difficult but I need this information for your chart.” The doctor continued. “Please start from the beginning, your childhood, if you would be so kind.”

The beginning. He didn't like thinking about any time before he came to his senses with his muse. To him they were the dark times, without the guiding light of his muse how did he even manage to live before his muse.

What was there to say really? He was born to an ex-concrete pourer turned pawn shop owner, and a pathological liar who made a career of being a fake phone psychic. He had 2 brothers, one older and one younger. The Doctor already knew about the younger one Stanley, his twin and the only one he had been in contact with post muse. They lived in a small beach town in Jersey. He was born a freak and was bullied all throughout his adolescent years, for it.

Then there was static. Then the next thing he remembers he was at college. He couldn't remember why he went to Backupsmore but he did and met a man he could call his friend. Fiddleford, he was a genius mechanical engineer, you name it he could build it. He supposed That was the reason Ford called him up one day to help him with a project. Again static.

It was a few years After his graduation he moved to a small town in Oregon. He spent many days hiking the surrounding woods in search of answers to the strange and unusual. One day he found it. From the paintings on a cave wall he found a way to summon a being from another dimension, the beings name was Bill, Stanford’s Muse, the light of his life, his shining star, beacon of hope, his lord and master. He informed Ford that there was a way to bridge his lowly inferior world to that of a gods'. And like the loyal man he was he got to work straight away. He called up friend who was squandering his potential with what he called a computermajig, a waste of time Ford thought.

The beginning stages were wonderful. His Muse, was lead them on the path of greatness, and with the aid of a friend the impossible was possible. That was until it all went…. More static filled the events that transpired on that day. He didn't like thinking about it to begin with. the day he-he… The thought alone brought him great shame to begin with, he hated that he once resisted… only flashes of anger, Betrayal, hurt, pain… an unbelievable amount of pain… he deserved everything second of it, after all he went against His muse. It was a rough 5 years. Most of it was spent chained up, starved, and severely dehydrated. More static. But in the end it was okay, thanks to his muse steering him on the correct path. How foolishly he was. After an eternity alone in a small dark room, his muse finally came and rescued him. He reward Stanford with his first meal in weeks and water life saving water he lovingly put more minerals in for him.(in reality the meal was nothing more then a dead rat and gutter water) He was always looking out for him even when he new he shouldn't have deserved it. But his Muse found it in his heart to forgive him so Stanford did the only thing he could think of to thank the being that saved him. He turned on the portal.

In the years since the activation of the portal. Stanford learned to be the perfect pet for his muse. When he was good he was rewarded with Jellybeans, and good dreams that served as revenge fantasies (take that Crampelter, 6 fingers are better then none, who's the Freak now). Sometimes he slips he doesn't mean too of course how could he intentionally do something that angerd his Muse. His Muse would try and correct the behavior, whether it be withholding food or isolation. Ford couldn't stress this enough it was his fault his Muse did this to him in the first place. He needed To be perfect for him, so he could finally recognize his devotion. So for now he'll sleep on a dog bed, eat the scientist Kibble, and attend the dog shows (which always ended badly and he spent the rest of his night sulking in the back of Dr. Oleander’s car.) He would happily do any of that if his Muse required it. He's fine what would a doctor know about this anyway. No one could understand.

Dr. Oleander was starting to regret this tactic. After she asked her patient a rather personal question, she just watched him stare off into space, his eyes devoid of any life. She tried to speak to him again, but nothing registered. It was 30 minutes of intense silence. The best she could do was work on the much need paperwork until her patient came through. It wasn't much longer after her final bit of paperwork was finished when a small voice apologized, thinking he might have dozed off for a second. She lied to him, saying that it was alright she saw how tired he was, and he deserved the sleep. She gave him his prescription and a few more of her lollipops for the road. The man seemed more interested in the sweets then the life-saving medicine. She led him to the front door and offered him a ride back. He politely denied the request, seeing how the weather was pleasant enough for a walk. She wished him the best and gave Him a date and time for their next appointment and reminded him to floss more as per Dr. Ibis instructions. He smiled politely back at her and continued on his way. Once back in the safety of her office, she took down a notebook and scribbled more notes on her patient. At the end of her notes, she put down one more thought like it was a wish to the universe. “I hope Dr. Pines eventually gets the help he needs.”

Maybe it's for the best he didn't actually say anything...

(Poor bby!!! I love ittttt)

[paigesbasketball]

Under Oath

Chapter 1: I Give You Mercy, Not Forgiveness

Paige x oc black!lawyer warnings: none I think

The fresh, cool air of UConn hit my senses as I stepped out of the car. If I’m being honest, I didn’t want to be here. But for the sake of being a good friend, here I am. I pulled into the guest parking spots in the lot, the last place I wanted to be today. I grabbed my phone and called KK to let her know I’d arrived.

I didn’t tell her about the dark part of this place, though. I never went to school here—never had the chance to. And even if I had, it wasn’t my story to tell. So, I decided to keep it quiet. Besides, KK loved this place. Who was I to tarnish that?

I adjusted my tan two-piece suit, the dark brown jacket hanging off my shoulders. If I was going to do the lawyer thing, I might as well do it in style. I stepped out of the car and headed toward the campus buildings, the weight of the job starting to settle on me. But something told me that whatever I thought I was walking into was only the beginning.

I walked through the familiar gates of UConn, trying to remind myself I was here for KK, not for anything else. She had reached out to me in a panic, telling me about a contract breach she and her team had gotten tangled up in. She didn’t mention who was involved, and I didn’t press her. Honestly, I didn’t care who was on the other side. My loyalty was to her.

But as I approached the gym, I felt a strange, sinking sensation in my chest. I couldn’t quite place it, but something in my gut told me I was about to walk into something bigger than a simple contract dispute.

KK was waiting by the court’s entrance, smiling brightly as she waved me over.

“Thank you for coming, Caty!” she said as I reached her, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. Her excitement was infectious, and I couldn’t help but give her a small smile in return.

“I’m here. Let’s handle this,” I said, trying to sound confident, though I could feel the nerves beginning to bubble up.

KK led me inside, and my eyes instinctively scanned the room, not sure what to expect. Then, as if everything shifted in slow motion, I saw her.

Paige Bueckers.

She stood near the back of the room with her teammates, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The moment my eyes locked with hers, everything around me seemed to fade. Betrayal. Deceit. I could feel it all in the pit of my stomach.

For a moment, I thought about walking away, telling KK I couldn’t do this. But before I could make a move, KK turned to me, pleading.

“Caty, please. You have to help us,” she said, her voice soft but desperate. “This could ruin Paige’s career. You can’t let that happen.”

I clenched my jaw, still seething with anger as my gaze stayed fixed on Paige. The memories came rushing back. I wasn’t ready to face her. I wasn’t ready to forgive her.

“You’re asking me to help her?” I snapped, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable. “After everything she’s done to my sister?”

“Caty, please,” KK repeated, stepping closer to me. “I know it’s hard, but we really need you.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. But I can’t help her, I thought. Not after what she did.

KK looked at me with concern, sensing the tension. “Why do you hate her so much, Caty?” she asked quietly, her tone more thoughtful than I expected.

I turned away for a moment, trying to suppress the anger that had been bubbling inside me for years. It wasn’t easy to talk about. Not with KK, and definitely not with Paige in the room.

“When we were younger,” I started, my voice cold as I relived the painful memory, “Paige invited my sister, Alexis, to a football game. We thought it was a date. She was so excited. But when she came home that night, she was crying. She told me it was all a setup. Paige didn’t really like her. It was just a joke to her.”

I took a shaky breath, the anger bubbling up again. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it was some kind of misunderstanding. But when I confronted Paige at school, she just ignored me. She ignored us. And I knew then what happened. She humiliated my sister. Left her heartbroken, and didn’t even care.”

KK listened quietly, her eyes wide with shock and sympathy. But I wasn’t finished.

“What made it worse,” I continued, “is that years later, both of them ended up at the same college. Alexis called me, crying again, telling me Paige had pulled this nasty prank on her. Another one. Something mean-spirited. I don’t even know the details, but it didn’t matter. I promised Alexis I would never speak to her again. And I haven’t.”

KK looked at me, her expression softening. “Wow, Caty, I had no idea…” she whispered. She paused, processing the story before she spoke again. “But... do you really think she’s that same person now? I mean, she’s here, playing for the team. She’s probably changed.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t want to believe that Paige had changed. Part of me wanted to stay angry, to keep the walls up. But seeing her again, hearing KK’s words, made me question it. Still, the hurt ran deep.

“I don’t know if she’s changed or not,” I muttered, looking away from KK and back at Paige, who was now looking at me with something that seemed like... regret? “But her ignorance toward me and her disrespect toward Alexis tells me everything I needed to know.”

KK took a step closer, her eyes pleading again. “Caty, please. I know this is hard, but I need you. We need you. We can’t get through this without your help. I swear, I’ll make sure this doesn’t bring up any of that old stuff.”

I stared at Paige for a moment longer, still seething. But KK’s words kept echoing in my head. This wasn’t just about Paige anymore. This was about my friend. And I wasn’t about to abandon her when she needed me most.

“Fine,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I’ll help with the team’s case. But Paige has to find someone else.”

KK hesitated, a mischievous look crossing her face. “Please, Caty. Please help her too. Who knows? Maybe you two can work things out... talk things through.”

I shook my head, still unwilling to forgive her. “I haven’t seen Paige in years. I’m sure she’s still the same. Maybe worse.”

But before I could argue any further, my eyes found hers again. Paige was standing there, still as beautiful as ever, her blonde hair gleaming under the gym lights. And I couldn’t ignore the pull I felt, the flicker of something different in her gaze. It was the strangest sensation.

I snapped back to reality as KK shouted with excitement. “Guys! She said she’ll help us!” she called out, bringing the attention of the whole team to me. They all started thanking me, but my eyes remained locked on Paige.

When we finally came face to face, I felt my stomach twist. She was even more attractive now than I remembered. What was wrong with me?

“Hi, Caty,” she said softly, a tentative smile on her lips.

I met her gaze, icy and unforgiving. “My name is Catayela to you, Ms. Bueckers,” I said coldly.

She flinched at the correction. “Fine. Thank you, Catayela, for taking our case. Does this mean… you forgive me?”

I couldn’t help but laugh in her face, the bitterness in my laugh startling even me. I stepped closer, whispering in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. “I give you mercy, not forgiveness,” I said, stepping back and watching as she blinked, a soft pink blush staining her cheeks.

Something about that moment threw me off—her flushed cheeks, the way she seemed to absorb my words. It was strange, and I didn’t like it. Did I?. But the one thing I did know for sure? This was far from over.What really threw me off, though, was the company they had signed with. Tell-Time Stories. The name hit too close to home.

Hey guyssss catyy here. hope yall enjoyed the 1st chapter the second chapter should come out sometime this week

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hey y'all it's another Wednesday <3 I'm scheduling this as I gotta be at the airport tomorrow morning. Probably won't be until the evening but I'm gonna carve out time to see the wips as I love seeing what everyone is doing <3 Thank you @firefly-factory for the tag this morning 🥰

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @ladytanithia

I'm currently writing a fic called I'm only happy when I'm with you because it has Theodora/Ondolemar confessing their feelings but was the second fic I wrote for them so, they deserve better! Setting is Windhelm just after the Civil War you ever be so down bad you go to Windhelm to tell a woman you love her Suggestive part so I'll stick it under the cut

It’s not lost on Ondolemar how bizarre it is to do this here. The business of mixing work and pleasure was becoming the norm for him but, confessing his feeling inside the Temple of Talos was a newer, more deranged level of odd. Though, Theodora had tried to convince him to have a liaison inside the shrine in Markarth, citing that “No one will be there, and if they are, you get to do your civic duty.” Her incredibly sound logic was not enough to sway him into leaving the comforts of the Keep, but perhaps now, she may get what she wanted. If he ignored the obvious massive statue, the lowlight of scones could be considered romantic. For now, there was nowhere else they could be alone. Praying that things go well, he can tell her somewhere better, multiple places far mor suitable of such words.

The woman who plagues his dreams walks around, inspecting the different parts of the. simple hall. Poking her head into what was the priest’s quarters, she makes a remark. 

“Oh there’s even a bed here.” She gazes lowly at him. “How awfully convenient for us.” Walking closer, she pulls on his robes. The feeling distracts him yet again.

“Theodora, in a temple? In such a holy place? Have you no shame?” 

“You” there’s an emphasis on the word “of all people, do not get to say that. Need I remind you of your position, Thalmor Justiciar Ondolemar?” It would be  fun to give in now. His eyes floating between the hungry look in hers and her lips, imaging how good they would feel on his after months. It would be very fun to have their uniforms strewn across the temple floor, but he did not come all this way for merely fun. Regaining will, he speaks. 

“As much as I desire you right now, I have something I need to tell you first.” The look in her eyes upsets him, face slightly falling and he is quick to reassure her. “Do not fret, nothing is wrong, quite the opposite rather.”

The Thalmor had done his groveling. Drunken guilt-ridden prayers and pleads going unanswered as he was forced to contend with the gravity of the situation; he did in fact love her and the acceptability of his feelings mattered not. Grand stories always positioned love on the winning side, the side of the virtuous, how could it be wrong when the act of doing so came so effortlessly? The choice to voluntarily come all the way to Windhelm was an easy one, despite the fact this mission did not demand someone of his rank and the weather was atrocious. She would be there, that had been enough to haul himself across the province. Once accepted in himself, it would not rest until spoken. She needed to know, how desperate he was to know if she felt the same and wondered if their last discussion had been indicative that she did. Had her pain surrounding love been the start of a confession? “You told me once you do not do love. The loss of your mother, and your father’s subsequent grief left you fearful of it. I understand that, you rightly feel afraid, I see why you don’t do love,” there are small droplets forming in the corner of her eyes. Wiping them away, he continues “but I do.” Her face softens as she grasps his hand. “I have made a myriad of excuses to convince myself I do not feel what I do. It is embarrassing the lengths I went to in an effort to convince myself I felt nothing for you, that your laughter did not brighten my day, that your thoughts were not compelling, that someone I was taught to hate could never be my greatest joy. Yet, there is only one rational.” The words are caught in his throat as he turns away, needing a moment to collect himself. The fear of finally verbalizing these thoughts is eclipsed by the worry that all of this is one side. He is alone in this insanity. Looking back at her, he finds the courage, wide-eyed and lips slightly curling up. “I love you, Theodora.”

“You do?” 

“I do.” He sighs slightly, unable to meet her gaze in case of rejection. 

Logically, it would be understandable. Opposing sides, duties to their respective nations, they were very much in opposition. She was their prophesied Dragonborn, now a war hero as much as she hadn’t yearned to be. All this in addition to being the most beautiful woman in all of Tamriel. She could do far better than him, far better than an invader of her homeland but he wanted her. Selfishly wanted her even if all he could promise was love. 

“Are you certain you know what you are saying?”

“I’ve never been more so, I love you.” He reaches for her other hand, clutching them both tightly to warm them. “I know I have nothing to offer you. I cannot make you any promises about the future, I cannot be with you openly, I cannot change some of the things I have done” a small concession to remedy the things he doesn’t have the strength to speak about. In time, in time. “You deserve much better, I completely understand if you do not-” The sentence ends midway, cut off as she pulls his robes, bringing their lips together.

[etclouie]

hi honey, there’s physically never enough rick grimes fics out there so could i ask for prison era rick with this prompt?

“You could try and sleep it off?” “I don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry.”

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; “You could try and sleep it off?” “I don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry.” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; implied age gap (not specified but rick is older), reader is pregnant, uhm just they both worry about keeping the baby safe

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; going through it rn cause of college but i’m trying with reqs still

— celebrate 600 with me?

the day had been longer and more draining than every other day, so by the sun was setting you were ready to go to bed. simply exhausted from your day. 

the gentle cascade of the sun shined through the small prison windows, coating the plain walls with a soft orange tinge. 

tonight, the prison was quiet. quieter than usual and it had an eerie feeling to it. there was always something going on, or someone making noise but nothing. 

most of the group had gone to bed, only you and Rick remained awake. he was just outside the cellblock, pacing back and forth as his thoughts grew too heavy for him to sleep. 

you and Rick had been together for a couple months now, and quickly grew closer which led to you getting pregnant with his baby. 

your relationship started as quick sleepless nights together that got complicated by emotions neither of you had been prepared for— especially with Rick grieving Lori in the beginning. 

currently though, you were sat on the bottom bunk in your shared cell. one of your hands resting on your stomach, a small reminder that there was still good in the world somehow. 

you hadn’t really spoke to Rick all day, both of you being split up in your different jobs around the prison— yours less straining than any other jobs going, yet it still tired you out just the same. 

Rick knew you were feeling off, you’d been quieter than usual too. 

not noticing that he was standing in the cell door, his hands shoved into his pockets as he watched you. 

"you alright?" 

his voice pulled you from your thoughts, nodding slowly. his movements were calculated and cautious as he squatted in front of you, one of his hands taking yours. 

Rick had quickly become familiar with the signs of your discomfort over the past few weeks— many of them even similar to Lori when she had Carl and then Judith. 

tonight however it felt different, more serious. he couldn’t tell if it was the pregnancy or something else that was eating away at you, but wanted to make you feel better. 

“long day”

Rick frowned at your words, his thumb soothing back and forth across your knuckles while your free hand followed the same movements across your stomach. 

part of his didn’t believe your words, you looked exhausted. 

"you don’t look alright”

he continued to pry, now fully in your space as he watched you carefully. his free hand laying on top of yours in your stomach. 

his eyes searched your face for a moment before his gaze dropped to both yours and his hands resting on your stomach. his expression softened even more. 

"if you’re not feeling well, you could try and sleep it off?" 

he suggested gently, his hands leaving yours to cradle your face. he let out a hum as you nestled into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut briefly before opening again. 

you looked at him, your lips parting as though you were about to say something, then closed again. after a long pause, you exhaled and a frustrated sigh escaping your lips. 

"i don’t think that will change the fact that I’m carrying your child, sorry”

Rick’s heart skipped a beat at the bluntness of your words, but he didn’t retract away from you. instead he looked down at the ground for a moment, the weight of it all setting in. 

he knew you were right, but the idea of it had been gnawing at him for weeks. 

part of him thought it was too soon, for him to have moved on and to have another baby— but also for you. you were younger than him by quite a few years, and it ate him up inside. 

"i’m not tryin’ to ignore it," 

he started, his voice a little rough with a mix of exhaustion and something softer, more vulnerable. 

"just… i’m tryin’ to figure out how we keep you safe— both of you”

you shifted your weight, your eyes softening as you studied his face and seen the worry bouncing around in his eyes. 

"i know, i’m scared too Rick”

you replied, your voice low. your hand that was previously holding his went to his jaw, soothing your thumb across his cheek as you pulled him closer. your forehead resting against his and both of your eyes fluttering shut as a heady sigh fell from his lips. 

he swallowed hard, the silence between you both was thick and filled with all the things neither of you could say. 

but despite everything— despite the fear, the violence, the unknowns— he couldn’t help but reach for you, his hand soothing from your stomach and finding its way to the small of your back. 

his touch was careful, almost tentative as if he was afraid he might break something precious.

he couldn’t promise you everything would be okay, couldn’t promise that he’d always have the answers. but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to give you stability in this world that had none to offer.

"i’ll keep you safe— both of you, somehow but i’ll figure out how”

he whispered, his voice hoarse, but full of determination. and somehow, in that moment you believed him.

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.15

Hii guyss, here's part 15 of the story. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 14, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

Charles had secured fourth place in qualifying, a strong result for the weekend. You had cheered loudly from the paddock, your heart swelling with pride at his performance. But the excitement of the day couldn’t shake the nervous energy bubbling inside you. By the time Charles finished his debrief and met you outside the Ferrari motorhome, you were barely holding it together.

“Ready to head back?” he asked, his eyes soft as he smiled at you.

You nodded, following him silently to the car. The drive to the hotel felt different from usual—quieter, heavier. Charles glanced at you a few times, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t press. Once inside your room, the dam broke. You couldn’t keep it in any longer.

You began pacing, wringing your hands as your thoughts raced. Charles watched you from the bed, concern etched across his face.

“Y/N,” he said gently, standing up. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

You stopped pacing, turning to him. His genuine worry only made the lump in your throat grow. “Charles… I need to talk to you about something,” you said, your voice trembling.

He nodded, taking a cautious step toward you. “Okay. Talk to me.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “I need to know how you feel about me. Because I think… I think I’m starting to catch feelings for you, and I need to know if I’m just imagining everything. If I’m just… one of the girls you’re talking to.”

His expression shifted to one of surprise, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not just one of the girls, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady and warm. He stepped closer, his hands gently taking yours. “You’re the girl. The only one.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering in your chest. “You… you like me?” you whispered.

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “I’ve had feelings for you for a while now,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had, so I kept quiet. But seeing you here, supporting me this weekend—it’s made me realize how much I want you by my side.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Charles reached up to brush it away. “I actually wanted to give you this tomorrow, after the race,” he said, his voice soft. “But now feels like the right time.”

He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a delicate necklace with a red heart pendant. The color shimmered like the Ferrari red you’d seen on the track, vibrant and beautiful.

“Charles…” you murmured, your voice breaking.

“I wanted you to have something to remind you how important you are to me,” he said, unclasping the necklace. “May I?”

You nodded, your hands shaking slightly as you turned around. He fastened the necklace around your neck, his fingers lingering for a moment against your skin. When you turned back to face him, his gaze was full of warmth and something deeper.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely audible. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned closer.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared. But then, Charles pulled back slightly, his expression turning serious. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, your stomach knotting at the shift in his tone.

“Who told you I was talking to other girls?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

You hesitated, guilt twisting in your chest. But you knew you couldn’t lie to him. “Arthur,” you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor.

Charles stiffened, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “Arthur,” he repeated, his tone unreadable.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of anger or betrayal. Instead, his gaze softened as he took a deep breath. “We’ll deal with that later,” he said, his fingers brushing against the pendant around your neck. “Right now, all that matters is us.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you felt the weight of the moment settle between you. Despite the tension, there was a sense of peace—a feeling that, no matter what came next, you and Charles would face it together.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16, @a-beaverhausen

[crossfandomskylines]

In the Space Between: Chapter 7

Other Chapters:

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I

Chapter 6

Pairing: Glen Powell x OC

Summary: Glen is getting ready to head to Austin for some time with his family, but wants to spend one last evening with Gabby. They settle in at his place, ordering takeout, and cuddling up on the couch. Then he invites Gabby to spend the night, enjoying one last evening together.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mentions of Alcohol, SMUT (Nudity, Missionary Position it's their first time...it may get more kinky later, I don't know yet. But there's nothing wrong with a little vanilla.)

A/N: So after the last chapter I've been writing this one basically non-stop. Normally I hit bumps along the way which is why it's usually 5-7 days between chapters. But I wrote this one in like two and didn't want to wait to post, so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know your thoughts with Hearts, Comments, and Reblogs!

Tag List: @djs8891 @queenslandlover-93 @teacupsandtopgun @loveatfirsttornado

The days following their first breakfast together settled into a comfortable rhythm, as though Glen and Gabby had been a part of each other’s lives for much longer than a few weeks. They fell into an easy balance of spending time together while keeping up with their individual responsibilities. Some nights were spent at Gabby’s cozy apartment, the two of them cooking simple meals side by side, the radio playing softly in the background as they laughed about Glen’s inability to chop onions without tearing up. Other nights were at Glen’s place, where they sprawled on his couch, eating takeout straight from the containers and watching movies they only half-paid attention to, too absorbed in their conversation to care about the plot.

When they weren’t together, they stayed in touch. Gabby found herself smiling at the occasional texts Glen sent throughout the day—sometimes a photo of his dog napping in a patch of sunlight, other times a joke or comment about the podcast recording he’d just finished. In return, she sent him snapshots of her coffee-fueled study sessions, complete with exaggerated captions about the “thrilling life of a student.” It wasn’t overbearing or constant, just enough to remind them both that the other was thinking of them.

Despite the ease of their time together, neither pushed to define what was happening between them. They hadn’t taken things public—Glen’s fame adding a layer of complexity neither of them was eager to rush into—but there was an unspoken understanding that, for now, they were simply enjoying the moments they had. Each interaction felt natural, like the slow unfolding of something neither of them had expected but both were beginning to treasure.

By the end of Glen’s first week off, the lines between his world and Gabby’s had started to blur in small, significant ways. It wasn’t just that his spare toothbrush had found a spot in her bathroom or that his favorite blanket had been claimed as hers during their movie nights. It was the way they talked, the way they moved around each other, the way they found themselves looking forward to the next time without ever having to say it.

The hum of Gabby’s car engine filled the silence as she pulled into her apartment parking lot, her mind still replaying the events of her busy day. She was already planning on collapsing onto the couch with a bowl of cereal when her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Picking it up, she smiled as Glen’s name lit up the screen.

Glen: Hey, you free tonight?

The message was simple, but she could practically hear his voice in her head, that mix of charm and warmth that made her stomach flip every time. She bit her lip, typing out a quick reply.

Gabby: I think I can squeeze you into my schedule 😉

His response was almost instant.

Glen: Good, because I was hoping to steal you for the evening. Come over?

She laughed softly, the exhaustion from her day momentarily forgotten.

Gabby: What’s the occasion?

A few dots appeared on the screen as he typed.

Glen: You. Me. One last quiet night before I head to Austin. No agenda, just us.

Gabby’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his words. It was rare for someone to make her feel this... wanted. Not in a grand, sweeping way, but in the quiet, meaningful moments that reminded her how much she liked having him in her life.

Gabby: I’m on my way.

Sliding her phone back into her bag, she took a deep breath and shifted the car back into drive. A quiet night with Glen sounded like exactly what she needed.

Gabby pulled up to Glen’s house, the low glow of the porch light illuminating the familiar front door. Her heart skipped a beat as she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and made her way up the steps. Before she could even knock, the door swung open, and Brisket came barreling toward her, tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy!” Gabby crouched down, laughing as the dog nudged his head against her hands, soaking up all the attention she was more than happy to give. “Were you waiting for me, huh? Such a good boy!”

Glen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on his face. “Nice to see you too, babe,” he drawled, feigning offense.

Gabby glanced up at him, still scratching behind Brisket’s ears, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.” She stood up, brushing her hands off on her jeans as she stepped closer to him.

Glen chuckled, shaking his head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Before he could say anything else, Gabby slipped her arms around his waist, tilting her head up to look at him. “Hi.”

His teasing expression softened as he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “Hi,” he murmured back, his voice warm and low.

He dipped his head, their lips meeting in a slow, unhurried kiss, the kind that made the world outside his front door disappear. Brisket let out a little huff, circling at their feet as if to remind them he was still there. Gabby pulled back slightly, smiling against Glen’s lips.

“Looks like someone’s jealous,” she whispered.

Glen glanced down at the dog, who was now pawing at Gabby’s leg, clearly not done being the center of attention. 

“Can you blame him?” Glen asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

Gabby laughed, giving Brisket one last pat before Glen stepped aside to let her in. 

“Come on,” he said, resting a hand lightly on her back as they walked into the house. “I’ve got wine chilling and takeout on the way. Thought we could keep it low-key tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Gabby replied, feeling her shoulders relax as she slipped off her shoes.

The doorbell rang, cutting through their conversation. Brisket barked once, trotting toward the door, his tail wagging.

“That’ll be the food,” Glen said, brushing a hand against Gabby’s arm as he passed her.

He returned a moment later, balancing a stack of takeout containers in one hand while shutting the door with the other. Gabby watched as he brought the bags to the kitchen counter and began unpacking them, the familiar aroma of Thai food filling the room.

“What do I owe you?” she asked, stepping closer to the counter.

Glen glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows furrowing slightly as if the question surprised him. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Glen,” she said, folding her arms. “I mean it. I don’t want you—or me, for that matter—feeling like I’m taking advantage of you.”

He paused, turning to look at her fully. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve paid for everything so far,” she said, motioning to the takeout. “Dinner on our first date, every DoorDash order, everything. I don’t want it to seem like I’m just… letting you take care of everything.”

Glen leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he considered her words. “You buy groceries when we cook at your place,” he pointed out.

Gabby tilted her head, giving him a skeptical look.

“What?” Glen asked, smirking now.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you.”

His expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. He stepped toward her, his hands settling lightly on her waist. 

“Gabby,” he said gently, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of her shirt. “I don’t think that at all. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I did.”

She let out a small sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly, but he wasn’t done. 

“Look,” he continued, “it’s still early, yeah. But these are our dates. I was raised that the guy is supposed to pay on the dates”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she raised a brow. “Supposed to?”

“Yup,” he said confidently, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“That’s such an old school thing.” She rolled her eyes, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Wait a second,” he said, his tone teasing as he tilted his head at her. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

Gabby met his gaze, challenging. “What if I did?”

His grin widened, and without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. She gasped softly as his warm breath ghosted against her skin, his voice low as he murmured, “Then I might have to make you take it back.”

Her laugh turned into a quiet hum as his kisses deepened, his hands sliding to her lower back to pull her closer. She threaded her fingers into his hair, and before she could think, Glen’s hands lifted her onto the counter.

Glen’s lips moved against hers with a growing urgency, his hands steady on her hips as he pulled her closer to the edge of the counter. Gabby’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging lightly as her breath hitched.

“Glen,” she managed between kisses, her voice soft and a little breathless.

“Hmm?” he hummed against her lips, his hands trailing to her thighs.

“The food,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, though her hands didn’t leave his hair.

“What about it?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his forehead resting against hers as his hands tightened their hold on her.

“It’s going to get cold,” she pointed out, her tone half-hearted, as though she wasn’t entirely convinced it mattered.

Glen grinned, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth as he whispered, “I’m hungry for something else.”

Her laugh was soft and breathy, and she gave him a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated. “Glen,” she said again, her tone firmer this time, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

He groaned dramatically, letting his forehead drop to her shoulder as he sighed. 

“Fine,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to help her slide off the counter. “We can eat.”

Gabby smirked, smoothing her shirt as she stepped back toward the counter, her cheeks still flushed. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

He shot her a playful glare as he grabbed the takeout containers, setting them on the counter with a bit more flair than necessary. 

“But just so we’re clear,” he said, his tone serious even as his lips quirked into a grin, “I’m coming back for dessert later.”

She didn’t respond, but the warmth in her smile and the quick glance she gave him said enough.

As they settled at the counter with their takeout containers spread out between them, the casual clinking of chopsticks and soft rustle of food filled the air. Glen cracked open the lid of his container and took a sniff. "Okay, this might be the best-smelling food I’ve ever had," he said, grabbing a generous bite.

Gabby raised an eyebrow as she poked at her dumplings. “You said that about the tacos we had last night.”

“Yeah, but this time I mean it,” he shot back, his mouth full enough to make her wrinkle her nose.

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment before Glen leaned his chin on his hand, watching her. “So, what’s your guilty pleasure food?”

Gabby paused mid-bite, considering. “Hmm. Probably mac and cheese. But like, the boxed kind. The neon orange powder stuff. None of that fancy baked nonsense.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I knew you were secretly a five-year-old.”

She gave him a mock glare. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve had it Mr. Won’t Eat Cheese. What about you?��

“Easy,” he said, without hesitation. “Pop-Tarts. Strawberry. No frosting.”

“No frosting?” she exclaimed, looking genuinely horrified. “What kind of monster eats Pop-Tarts without frosting?”

“This kind,” he said proudly, tapping his chest. “They’re better that way.”

“You’re objectively wrong,” she declared, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” He shrugged, reaching for another bite of pad Thai.

“Or,” she countered, narrowing her eyes, “you’ll have to come over for breakfast sometime and let me prove you wrong.”

His brows lifted in interest. “You’re challenging me to a Pop-Tart showdown?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a confident nod. “Frosted strawberry will change your life.”

Glen laughed, the kind of laugh that felt easy and genuine. “Alright, deal. But don’t cry when you realize you’ve been living a lie.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, smirking. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation drifted as they kept eating, dipping into lighter topics like movies they loved and places they wanted to visit someday. There was a warmth between them, the kind that made the night feel effortless, as though they’d been doing this for years rather than weeks.

When Gabby reached for the last dumpling, Glen swooped in with his chopsticks, snatching it right before she could.

“Hey!” she protested, staring at him in mock betrayal.

He grinned as he popped it into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated satisfaction. “You snooze, you lose.”

“You’re the worst,” she said, though her smile betrayed her.

“And yet, here you are,” he replied, leaning back in his seat with a triumphant grin.

After dinner, Gabby stood and started gathering up the empty containers, stacking them neatly as Glen leaned back against the counter, watching her with a satisfied smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s no big deal,” she replied, waving him off as she carried the trash over to the bin. “You bought dinner, and wouldn’t let me pay for at least my share. So the least I can do is help clean up.”

She noticed a couple of dishes in the sink—a stray coffee mug and a plate from earlier in the day. Without hesitation, she rolled up her sleeves and started rinsing them off.

“Gabby,” Glen said, his tone warning, as he moved to stand behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” she answered simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“This is my house,” he reminded her, stepping closer. “And my rules clearly state: no guests do chores.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?”

“It is.” His voice held a playful firmness, but Gabby wasn’t one to back down easily.

“Well,” she said, turning back to the dishes and continuing to rinse, “I’m not a guest, technically. I’m more of a—what’s the term? Frequent flyer? That means the rule doesn’t apply to me.”

“Frequent flyer?” he repeated, amused. “You’re really stretching here, babe.”

“Call it what you want,” she quipped, reaching for the dish soap. “But I’m finishing these.”

Glen moved quickly, stepping close enough that she could feel the warmth of him at her back. She turned, ready to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped her. His brow lifted, silently telling her to drop it.

“Glen—”

Before she could say another word, he cupped her face and kissed her. It wasn’t rushed or heated, but slow and deliberate, his lips brushing hers just enough to make her heart stutter. He pulled back just slightly, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Let me do it,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing.

Gabby blinked up at him, momentarily disarmed. “You’re using kissing to get your way now?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a small smirk. “Is it working?”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into a reluctant smile. “Fine. But only because you’re stubborn.”

“Stubborn and charming,” he corrected, taking the sponge from her hand and tossing it into the sink. “Now, go relax while I handle this.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, stepping aside.

“True,” he called over his shoulder as he began cleaning up the counter. “But you like me anyway.”

Gabby laughed, shaking her head as she leaned against the kitchen island. Watching Glen hum softly while he tidied up, she couldn’t help but think that, yes, she liked him—a little more than she cared to admit.

The evening slowly shifted into that quiet, comfortable lull that comes when two people are perfectly content in each other's company. Gabby was perched on the couch, her legs curled beneath her as she absently scrolled through a playlist on her phone, and Glen was sitting next to her, leaning back against the cushions with his arm draped casually along the backrest.

As the last song of her playlist faded, Glen glanced over at her, his hazel eyes warm but hesitant. “Hey,” he said softly, his tone different now—gentler, more deliberate.

Gabby turned to him, her head tilting slightly. “Yeah?”

His hand reached for hers, threading their fingers together as he gave a small smile. “Do you, uh… want to stay the night?”

Her heart gave a quick, surprised flutter. They’d spent plenty of time together over the last week, but this felt different—more significant, somehow.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Glen gave her hand a soft squeeze and nodded, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual confidence. “Yeah. I want you here, with me.”

Gabby’s lips curved into a small smile as she nodded. “Okay,” she said simply.

He smiled back, relief flickering across his face, and stood, tugging her gently to her feet. 

“Come on,” he said, his voice dipping lower as he led her toward his bedroom.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm, golden light across the room, making it feel cozy and intimate. Glen turned to face her, his hands resting lightly on her hips as she looked up at him, her breath catching.

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a soft, lingering kiss that quickly deepened. Gabby’s hands slid up to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he pulled her closer. The world outside seemed to fade as they got lost in each other, their movements slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world.

Glen’s hands skimmed her sides, his touch firm but careful, and when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression was tender. His lips found hers again, and this time there was no hesitation. The kiss turned hungrier, more urgent, as they backed toward the bed. Glen’s hands moved to the hem of her top, and when she nodded her silent permission, he carefully lifted it over her head and tossed it aside.

She mirrored his movements, her hands tugging at the fabric of his shirt until he pulled it off and let it drop to the floor. For a moment, they paused, their eyes locking as if to silently check in with each other.

“This all okay?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Gabby nodded again, a small, nervous laugh escaping her. Glen reached for her hand again, intertwining their fingers as he guided her gently toward the bed. The quiet confidence in his movements steadied the fluttering nerves that Gabby felt bubbling just beneath the surface. As the backs of her knees brushed the edge of the mattress, Glen paused, looking down at her as if he was committing every detail to memory—the soft curve of her lips, the way her hair framed her face, the trust in her eyes.

Still holding her hand, he leaned down, brushing his lips across hers in a kiss so gentle it sent shivers down her spine. She let out a soft sigh, her free hand moving instinctively to rest against his chest, her fingertips grazing the warmth of his skin.

Glen smiled against her lips, the corners of his mouth curving in that way that always made her heart skip. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice quiet but heavy with sincerity.

Gabby felt her cheeks flush, and she ducked her head slightly, unable to hide the small, bashful smile that tugged at her lips. “You’re just saying that,” she whispered.

He tipped her chin back up with a single finger, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m not,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Before she could reply, his lips captured hers again, this time with more urgency. As the kiss deepened, Glen’s hands found her waist, and he guided her back onto the bed, following her down until they were both lying against the soft comforter.

Gabby’s heart raced as Glen hovered above her, his weight supported by his arms on either side of her. His gaze swept over her, equal parts admiration and restraint, as if he wanted to take his time but was finding it harder with every passing second.

“You sure about this?” he asked softly, his voice low and almost reverent.

Her answer was immediate, her hands sliding up to cradle his face. “I’m sure,” she whispered, pulling him down for another kiss.

Glen’s lips moved from hers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along her jaw and down the curve of her neck. Gabby’s breath hitched as he lingered at the sensitive spot just below her ear, his warm breath sending a wave of goosebumps across her skin.

Her hands roamed over his back, exploring the planes of muscle there as he continued to press soft, heated kisses along her collarbone. When his lips found their way back to hers, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

As the kiss deepened, Glen’s hands began to move with quiet certainty, his fingers brushing over the waistband of her jeans. Gabby’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his gentle tug, pulling the fabric down over her hips. She hesitated for a brief second, her stomach tightening with a sudden, unfamiliar feeling.

The jeans were gone in seconds, but as he moved to remove her shirt, Gabby instinctively covered herself with her hands, suddenly aware of every inch of exposed skin. She felt a flush creep across her chest, her breath shallow as she avoided his gaze for just a moment.

Glen paused, noticing the shift in her energy. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, the tenderness in his gaze giving her an almost overwhelming sense of comfort.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hands still resting on her waist, the warmth of his touch grounding her.

Gabby shook her head quickly, trying to brush it off. “Nothing,” she said, offering him a half-smile. “Just… I don’t know. I’m fine.”

But Glen didn’t buy it. His brow furrowed in concern as he searched her eyes, sensing the unease she was trying to hide. His fingers gently cupped her face, urging her to meet his gaze.

“Gabs, hey,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. “Talk to me.”

She sighed, her body tensing under the weight of her vulnerability. She was used to being comfortable with Glen, but now–she felt exposed. And it terrified her.

“I just... I don’t know,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gestured at herself. “I’m not exactly—” She cut herself off, the insecurity creeping in again.

Glen’s eyes softened, and his expression changed to one of pure understanding. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands trailing down her arms, coaxing her to relax. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Gabby opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips.

“No,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You are. And I’m not just saying that or because I’m your boyfriend or whatever else you were about to say.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his words, but she still felt that twinge of insecurity, the nagging thought that she didn’t look like the women in magazines or the ones she imagined he’d been with before.

But before she could say anything more, Glen lowered himself beside her, his lips finding the sensitive skin just below her ear. His kisses were slow, soft, and deliberate, each one trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, and slowly, carefully, down her chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with admiration. His lips moved lower, brushing across her stomach, and Gabby let out a shaky breath, her body shuddering with each kiss. “Every inch of you is beautiful,” he whispered against her skin.

Gabby closed her eyes, the warmth of his kisses and the sincerity in his words slowly melting away her insecurities. She felt his hands roam along her body, exploring her with such reverence that it felt like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. His lips, soft but insistent, found their way back to hers, kissing her.

Glen pulled away just slightly, his eyes meeting hers again. “You’re perfect, Gabby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And you don’t need to be anything but yourself for me.”

Gabby’s chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat. The vulnerability, the raw honesty between them, made her heart swell in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She reached for him, pulling him back down into a kiss, letting her hands wander over his back, feeling the heat of his skin, grounding herself in the reality of this moment.

It was slow and tender, the kind of kiss that felt like more than just passion—it was a promise. A promise that, despite her insecurities, she was worthy of this, of him.

Glen’s hands were steady as he slowly slid her underwear down her legs, his gaze never leaving hers. She inhaled sharply, the tension between them thickening, her heart beating faster. When she was completely exposed to him, she couldn’t help but glance down, her eyes tracing the line of his body as he undressed. The sight of him—completely bare—made her pulse quicken.

Once he was bare before her, he leaned down, the muscles in his back rippling with the movement. He crawled back onto the bed, his body brushing against hers as he kissed her again, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing over hers in a heated, tender kiss. Gabby’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the weight of him, all of him, pressing closer, and yet there was an undeniable gentleness in the way he kissed her.

He slid his hand up to her face, cupping it softly as their lips moved together. She kissed him back with an intensity of her own, her hands running up and down his back, feeling every inch of the muscles she had admired from a distance. She couldn’t help but smile against his lips, that nagging insecurity from earlier slowly melting away with every kiss, every touch, every second they spent together.

Glen pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling as he smiled softly at her. “You good?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Gabby nodded, her hands sliding down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under her fingertips. “I’m good,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. And for the first time in a while, she truly felt it—good, real, safe.

Glen pulled away just slightly, his hand moving to the nightstand. Gabby watched him curiously, but then understood when she saw the small box in his hand. He looked at her for a moment, his expression soft but serious.

Gabby nodded. Glen carefully opened the box and retrieved a condom, a quiet moment of practicality amidst the heat of the moment. He gave her a reassuring smile as he slid it on.

"Still sure about this?" he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. Gabby nodded, feeling more at ease now that she knew they were both on the same page.

"Yeah," she murmured, smiling up at him, appreciating the care he’d shown. "I’m sure."

As Glen positioned himself above her, he moved slowly, giving her time to adjust. When he finally slid into her, both of them paused.

Gabby’s breath hitched as she felt the initial stretch, a slight discomfort making her eyes flutter shut. She’d imagined this moment, but the reality was different—more intimate, more overwhelming. She could feel herself tense, it having been a while since she’d been with anyone.

But then, Glen’s hands found her face, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he murmured against her ear, “You’re doing great. Just breathe, babe. I’ll go slow.”

His words grounded her, bringing her focus back to him. His presence was calm and steady, and the tenderness in his gaze told her everything she needed to know. Slowly, the discomfort eased, and Gabby let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Glen’s hands moved to her waist, helping her adjust as he began to move, slowly at first, giving her the space she needed. Every inch of him was careful, focused on her, his eyes locked on hers as if he were waiting for any sign that she needed a break. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

Gabby’s breath was shallow, but with each movement, the discomfort slowly faded, replaced by something deeper, something more intense. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, her hands gripping his back as she began to meet his movements, urging him on.

Glen kissed her forehead, his lips soft against her skin, whispering more reassurances as they moved together. His voice was hoarse with the effort of holding back, his movements becoming more urgent but still patient, still focused on making sure she was okay.

Gabby, feeling the heat building between them, nodded, her body responding to his in a way that made her forget about the earlier discomfort. 

“I’m okay now. You can go faster,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible, but it was enough.

Glen’s pace quickened then, his movements more desperate. As the tension built, Gabby found herself spiraling, lost in the sensation, and with one final whisper of his name, she reached the peak, her body trembling beneath him.

He followed soon after, his name leaving her lips in a breathless moan as they both rode out their highs together.

After Glen collapsed beside her, pulling her close as they both tried to catch their breath, their bodies tangled together beneath the soft covers. Gabby nestled into his chest, her head resting against his shoulder, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

But the silence was comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies pressed together.

“You okay?” Glen finally asked his hand tracing patterns along her back.

Gabby smiled, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth and trust.

After the shared silence of their embrace, Glen gently pressed a kiss to Gabby’s forehead before slipping out of bed. His movements were slow, and careful, as if not wanting to disturb the peace between them. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, and she nodded, her eyes closing as she listened to the soft sounds of him moving around the room.

When he returned, he held a t-shirt in his hand, the soft fabric looking a little worn, the familiar scent of him still lingering on it. 

“Here,” he said, offering it to her with a warm smile. “Figured you might want something to wear.”

Gabby glanced up at him, still feeling the warmth from their shared moment. She took the shirt from him, fingers brushing against his as she did. “Thanks,” she murmured softly, feeling a little shy now that the raw intensity of the moment had passed.

She slid off the bed and moved toward the bathroom, using the restroom and freshening up before returning to him. When she came back, she saw Glen had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and was now laying on the bed.

Gabby put on her underwear and then slipped into the oversized shirt Glen had given her, the cotton fabric falling just past her thighs.

She crawled back into bed, settling next to him, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath her. Glen shifted, making space for her, then wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His touch was light, almost protective as if wanting to ensure she felt safe and cherished.

Gabby snuggled into his chest, the warmth of his body lulling her into a sense of peace. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this comfortable with someone. The vulnerability they’d shared earlier still lingered between them, but now it was wrapped in the softness of intimacy, trust, and care.

“You okay?” Glen asked quietly, his voice soft and steady as his fingers gently traced circles on her back.

Gabby looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with a smile that reached her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, her voice low but filled with contentment. “I’m really good, Glen. Thanks for… everything.”

He smiled down at her, his eyes soft with affection. “Anytime,” he murmured, kissing her forehead gently.

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound between them the gentle rhythm of their breathing, the quiet peace that came from being close to someone who truly cared. Gabby closed her eyes, letting the weight of the moment wash over her, feeling safe, seen, and, for the first time in a long time, completely at ease.

Glen didn’t say anything more, but his hand gently stroked her hair, a tender gesture that spoke louder than any words could. And as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she couldn’t help but think that this—this was exactly what she needed, what she had been longing for without even knowing it.

[the-authoress-writes]

Until Every One Comes Home

Synopsis: Duke Mitchell finally comes home.

Warnings: Family member death, grief, funeral planning, funerals, slight cursing.

Author’s Note: I meant to post this for Veterans Day—obviously, I wasn’t able to, but hey, better late than never.

Are there going to be military inaccuracies in this story?

Absolutely.

Am I still posting this?

Absolutely.

I dedicate this story to all those who served their country, especially to those who made the ultimate sacrifice, and to those who have yet to come home.

Early morning sunshine shone through a small kitchen window, upon a certain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, though it wasn’t a patch on the affection warming the very marrow of his bones.

Earlier, he’d come down the stairs, toweling his hair dry from his shower, to see the front door of his half of his and Bradley’s duplex open, admitting a goose-patterned fleece blanket-draped Bradley.

“Morning, Dad,” he yawned, using the free hand not clutching his blanket to scratch his curls, causing his blanket hood to fall off his head. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Joining me, huh?” Mav ducked his head, trying and failing to keep back his touched smile.

Ever since they reconciled, Bradley had been making sure to eat and spend time with him whenever he could, and when they purchased the duplex together last year, some part of Mav wondered if the time they spent together would decrease, less absence making the heart grow less fond, and all that, but if anything, it increased—in fact, Bradley spent more time in Mav’s half than he did in his own half.

That Bradley made sure to spend time with him was something he’d never fail to cherish.

“Yeah, isn’t visiting the aged a corporal act of mercy?” the younger man smirked.

Despite the memory of the immediately-thrown AARP letter he got in the mail yesterday saying otherwise, he shot back, “I’ll show you aged, just you wait until hops today.

And are pancakes good enough for you, Baby Goose?”

“Say less, Dad,” Bradley replied, striding to the kitchen, and Mav followed, throwing his arm around his boy’s shoulder.

So, there he was, stirring his homemade pancake mix in front of the stove, waiting for the pan to heat up, while beside him, a more-alert Bradley leaned back against the counter, watching the coffee he prepared brew in the maker.

Mav quietly took in the scene, basking in all the warmth from inside and out, before smiling and laughing quietly.

“What?”

He looked across at his boy, “Nothing—all this just reminded me of something.

I’d come back from deployment, and you’d always ask me to be the one to make breakfast; you’d sit on the counter, calling yourself my “‘sistant”.”

Bradley chuckled, “Yeah, actually—you’d pick me up and set me on the counter next to you.”

“Can’t do that anymore,” Mav laughed, as he poured the pancake mix into the pan.

“Don’t you dare, Dad.

And I don’t think the counter would be able to handle it, for another thing.

You, maybe, me, no.”

Though it was a fact that Bradley had nearly six inches and at least fifteen pounds on him, he protested on principle. “Calling me ancient, and now short?

Getting the shots in early, huh, kiddo?”

“You were the one who said short, not me, and I called you aged, not ancient—I could call you venerable if it makes you feel any better,” Bradley smiled.

Mav was helpless to stop his chuckle. “Call me a classic, then we have an agreement.

Now be my ‘sistant and hand me a spatula, will you?”

Later, while washing the dishes, Mav noticed Bradley intently filling out a form at the table. “What you up to, Roo?”

“Uh,” Bradley shifted, idly twirling his pen, “it’s a form to volunteer for honor guard if any deceased Navy personnel come through North Island.”

“Oh.” A sad smile touched Mav’s face. “What made you want to do that?”

“I…” his son scratched the back of his neck, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said about your father, and then my father… I, I don’t know—I just, someone should be there for them, you know?

Those who come home.”

He had told Bradley the story of his father while they were growing back together, learning how to be father and son again, but he never expected this kind of reaction to that story. “That’s great,” he nodded.

Bradley ducked his head almost bashfully before looking up, a gravity in his eyes. “They still haven’t found Duke yet, have they?”

Mav inhaled and exhaled evenly while drying his hands on a dish towel. “No.

Not yet.

Maybe one day, though.

I’m just happy that he’s no longer called a traitor,” he nodded, remembering the day Viper and the other members of VF-51 had managed to get the record set straight, Duke having been posthumously promoted to Commander and awarded the Navy Cross.

“He’ll come home too one day, Dad, I’m sure of it,” his boy confidently said.

“That would be nice,” Mav said wistfully. “Anyway, any special requirements for volunteering?”

“Nah, just gotta keep my uniforms close at hand, probably will have to buy a set for base, just in case, but nothing else, really.”

“That’s wonderful that you’re doing this.

I’m even prouder of you, Bradley.”

Bradley’s mouth twisted, and he sniffled a little bit, “Thanks, Dad.

Love you.”

“Love you more, Baby Goose.”

Mav didn’t think much more of this, other than when Bradley would come down for breakfast or in the middle of the day in uniform, or when he spotted Bradley come out of the locker rooms in them.

They would just exchange grave nods, the older aviator immediately understanding what was going on.

And then, very early one day, even by navy standards, Mav woke up, not sure what had roused him.

A moment later, his phone dinged with a message; a grope around the nightstand later showed that the message was from Bradley.

“Hey Dad, got an early arrival.

I’ll see you on base.

❤️🐓”

He smiled, admiring how dedicated Bradley was to his honor guard duties, sending off a “❤️” of his own.

Just as he was about to doze off, his phone rang again, this time with a call, the tornado siren ringtone indicating that it was Cyclone.

The thought of ignoring the call flitted through his mind, but he thought better of it, not wanting to risk his posting as a TOPGUN instructor and CO of VFA-223, the “Black Cloaks”, consisting of everyone selected for the uranium mission detachment training.

“Mitchell,” he spoke into the phone.

“Maverick.

You’re required on base ASAP.”

The words were familiar, but the tone was new: it was… almost gentle?

“Sir?”

“Be here by 0630.

Wear your blues, Captain.”

And with that, the line went dead.

He’d be lying if he said that dread wasn’t making boulders sink in his stomach as he buttoned the jacket of his blues, tucked his cover under his arm, and grabbed the keys to his infrequently-used Jeep, given the dress blues.

Eventually, he arrived on base at 0625, and the dread in him increased tenfold when he spotted Cyclone and Warlock standing outside NAWDC Headquarters, in their own blues.

He exhaled bracingly before he picked up his cover, and placed it on his head as he stepped out of the car.

Given the seeming gravity of the situation, Mav deemed it prudent to stand to attention and snap off a smart salute, once he was within four steps of the admirals. “Sirs.”

“At ease,” Cyclone nodded. “With me, Captain.”

It took a while longer than it would have for him to realize the three of them were heading towards the hangars.

Cyclone stopped them inside the hangar where Mav sometimes had classes, and just stood there, watching the runways, facing the longer one, being used as runway 36 today.

In a few moments, a C-5M became visible, landed on 36, and turned onto the apron, halting there.

From another building, preceded by a vehicle, twelve dress blue-clad officers in two single file lines stepped solemnly onto the apron.

Even at a distance, he rationally knew Bradley was one of those officers, but was still perplexed as to why he was here.

“With me, Captain,” Cyclone repeated, and they walked to the honor guard.

As they got closer, Mav saw that Bradley was indeed one of the honor guard, the head of the line closest to him, in fact, and the emotion on his boy’s face was puzzling, but he didn’t have much time to make sense of Bradley’s expression, because three things happened at the same time.

One, he realized that the other eleven members of the honor guard were all the members of his squadron—his kids—every single one of them was here.

Two, he realized too late that he was in a position of precedence over Cyclone and Warlock, in their line perpendicular to the honor guard.

Three, a flag-draped casket was carried out of the C-5, preceded by an officer in dress blues, a Lieutenant Commander, by the sleeve braid.

The Lieutenant Commander stopped in front of the trio of Mav, Cyclone, and Warlock, and saluted.

The three of them returned it, and in a shocking turn of events, the Lieutenant Commander addressed Mav first. “Captain Mitchell.”

“Commander,” he said, managing to keep most of the confusion out of his tone.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy, and a grateful nation, it is my honor to return the remains of Lieutenant Andrew “Duke” Mitchell to his family, and to the soil of the nation he died for.”

Mav felt his eyes widen, and his knees weakened in shock, but before he could hit the ground, he felt two pairs of hands supporting his body.

A glance up showed that it was Cyclone on his left, Bradley on his right.

“See, Dad?” Bradley tearfully murmured, “I told you he’d come home.”

“That’s him?

He’s home?” he asked imploringly, his grip on his boy’s arm tightening.

“Yeah, that’s your father, Dad.”

He took a few calming breaths, then nodded determinedly. “Let me up.”

The Vice Admiral and his son lifted him to his feet, and he stood to his full height, facing the Lieutenant Commander. “Thank you,” he murmured.

With a solemn nod, the Lieutenant Commander stepped aside, allowing Duke’s casket to pass between the honor guard, Bradley calling the squadron to attention as they all saluted.

The casket was carefully loaded onto the waiting vehicle on the tarmac, Mav magnetically drawn to the flag-draped casket.

He placed a hand on the sun-warmed fabric, head bowed between his shoulders. “Welcome home, Dad.”

He struggled to keep his composure, but the reality of the situation was hitting him hard, and against his not-insignificant will, a sob escaped his lips, and he swept his cover off his head to rest his forehead against the casket, tears falling onto the red and white stripes like a benediction.

How many years had he dreamt of this, hoped for this, prayed for this?

Now, it was no longer a dream, a hope, or a prayer—his father was here, home.

And that just made the tears come all the harder, silent, trembling sobs now wracking his frame, as Mav gave his father the loving embrace he’d been saving for over fifty years, the bill of his cover in his opposite hand hollowly ringing against the metal of the casket, like a bell finally tolling half a century late.

What could have been an eternity or seconds later, he felt himself tugged into Bradley’s strong embrace, hearing, more than seeing, the squadron close ranks around him, shielding his renewed grief from any prying eyes.

The next thing he knew, he and Bradley were seated in Cyclone’s office, the Vice Admiral talking about the funeral arrangements. “Your father will be buried with full honors, regardless of where, with provision for a flyover, location and weather permitting.

However, should you like him to be interred at Fort Rosecrans, all expenses will be paid by the Navy, up to and including re-interment of your mother in an adjacent plot.”

“Oh,” Mav breathed.

Fort Rosecrans was where everyone special to him was buried.

Goose.

Carole.

Ice.

It also meant that he’d be able to visit his mom and dad a lot more than if he had his father buried next to his mom in his hometown. “I’d like that—both of them together again.”

Cyclone nodded gravely. “I’ll start making the arrangements.

There’ll be some paperwork you’ll have to sign for the exhumation of your mother, among other things, but I’ll do my best to take care of as much as I can, make things easier.” Cyclone paused. “My condolences, Maverick.

He’s home now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You and Lieutenant Bradshaw are dismissed for the day, as is your squadron.

Go home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mindless, and still in shock over the whole thing, Bradley guided him out of the office and back to the parking lot, where he helped Mav into the Bronco.

The drive back home barely registered in his mind, and eventually, Mav found himself on his couch, in his usual white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with red and black-striped fluffy socks (gifted by Jake), practically burrito-wrapped in Bradley’s goose-patterned fleece blanket, a hot bowl of spaghetti in his lap, Bradley himself next to him.

“Eat up, Dad, come on,” the younger man gently encouraged.

“How?”

“Uh, fork to mouth is how most people do it,” his son chuckled.

“No—I mean—my dad?”

“Oh.” Bradley swallowed, continuing, “well, the Commander in charge of organizing the honor guards asked me why I volunteered, and I said that my godfather’s dad had gotten shot down during Vietnam, and that they never found him.

He asked me for your dad’s name, said he’d look into it.

I was hoping for good news, but even I never expected this.

They found him on the side of a mountain.

It seemed painless, by the way, according to the report, based on what they could see on the remains.”

He nodded, grateful for small mercies, idly twirling the noodles onto his fork.

A gentle silence fell on them both, punctuated by the clinking of Bradley’s fork against his bowl, and his chewing.

Mav eventually wormed his hand out of his burrito, to rest it on his boy’s arm. “I can’t thank you enough, Baby Goose,” he breathed, voice breaking on the last word.

Bradley froze and slowly turned to face him, brown eyes shining, “Don’t thank me, Dad.

It’s the least I could do; after all, you brought me home—it was only right I bring someone home for you.”

Tears welled in his eyes again. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Come here, Dad.”

It didn’t take much convincing for Mav to lean into the offered hug, tears he didn’t know he still had in him spilling over.

“I’m sorry I’m such a fucking mess,” he sniffled, however long after.

“You’re not a mess, Dad,” Bradley spoke into his hair, “you’re grieving your dad.”

“He died decades ago,” he protested.

“And he’s only come home now.

It’s not like you had time to process Duke’s death properly, Dad.

You had to take care of your mom, then you had to survive shitty foster home after shitty foster home, then you had to survive NROTC, then you had to survive flight school, and then—”

“I think I get the point, Brads,” he smiled through his tears.

“My point is, this is normal; don’t beat yourself up for feeling… feelings.

Lord knows you don’t deserve anything else to feel bad about.”

Incomprehensibly, his heart swelled with even more love for this kid, his son in everything but name and blood. “You know I love you so much, right, sweetheart?”

He felt Bradley’s smile on the crown of his head. “Mm-hmm—you only tell me a million times every day, Dad.”

“Only a million, huh?

That’s a horribly low number; I feel like that’s something I should say more—remind me, will you?”

“Ugh, fine.”

The warmth in his son’s tone was a clear contradiction of the seemingly-exasperated reply.

Swiping a hand over his puffy eyes, Mav glanced down at the now-cool bowl of spaghetti. “You worked hard on this pasta and I’m not even eating it yet,” he guiltily muttered.

“No problem, I’ll just stick it in the microwave for a minute.

And it’s jar sauce, Dad, it’s not like it’s your Nonna’s nine-hour marinara.”

“It’s made with love, so it’ll taste just as good.”

“Say that again when you tell me there’s not enough basil, okay?” Bradley chuckled, easily taking Mav’s bowl to the kitchen to heat it up again.

(There wasn’t enough basil in the sauce, but he didn’t mention it.)

As the days progressed, despite all of Cyclone’s help, planning his parents’ funeral was still a to-do—there were so many things to be decided; what date, what time, what caskets, what kind of rails for the caskets, what flowers, what photo (or hell, photos?) to display at the funeral, what chaplain, and most importantly—for Bradley, at least—who would be invited.

“Dad, come on, you got to invite the Flyboys and the Squadron.”

Mav sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time; Bradley had been pushing this for the better part of a day. “Brads, no, I don’t want to be a bother or a nuisance, okay?

I don’t want them to feel like they have to take time to go to the funeral of people they don’t even know.

For God’s sake, Baby Goose, even you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I’d never force you.”

Bradley indignantly opened his mouth, closed and opened it repeatedly, before taking a deep breath. “You’re crazier than I thought if you think I won’t be there for your parents’ funeral, Dad.

I’m going, and that’s final.

Please tell me you’re inviting someone though?”

“Your Grandpa Viper, he deserves to say goodbye to his wingman.”

“Anyone else?” His son practically begged.

“Penny, because she’d probably throw me overboard the next chance she gets if I don’t, and she can even bring Amelia if she wants.

See?

I’m inviting people, Baby Goose.”

“Dad—”

“Bradley,” he evenly replied, a stern edge in his voice.

After a brief staredown, the younger man’s petulant sigh could probably be heard on the other side of the country. “Let it be known that I highly object to this, Dad.”

“Objection noted, kiddo,” Mav smiled weakly, reaching out to pat Bradley on the arm before changing the subject. “I like these for the flower arrangements—what do you think?”

Mav stared at himself in the mirror; today was his dad and mom’s funeral.

He carefully looked over his medals, making sure the order was correct—he still berated himself for, in his grief, screwing the order up for Ice’s funeral—only noticing the mistake when he took the jacket off that night.

Confirming that his Global War on Terrorism Service Medal was in the fifth row where it belonged, he stared at himself, wondering if his father would be proud of him.

It was pointless dwelling on what ifs and could have beens.

But, the fact remained that he was the only 86er still in the service who didn’t have at least one star.

From everything he knew, he and his father were so alike, even down to the way they flew, so maybe his father would also loathe the idea of stars taking him out of the skies.

A gentle knock snapped Mav out of his thoughts.

Bradley stood just outside his room, also in his blues. “You ready?”

“Yeah, just… thinking.”

“That seems dangerous, coming from you, Dad,” Bradley grinned.

“Well, I am dangerous,” Mav smirked in reply, quickly sobering.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, just… I’m a Captain,” he admitted.

“Yyyeah… you are, Dad.”

Mav sighed, “I—I’m the only 86er still in the service who isn’t flag rank, that—that’s the point.”

Bradley stared at him, the pieces snapping into place, and he approached, raising a hand to Mav’s shoulder. “I don’t know exactly what your dad was like.

I can’t.

But I know that he went down saving the lives of his squadron.

And I think… that he’d be so proud of how you always make sure everyone comes home.

I know I am.

I am proud of you, Dad.”

Tears, love, and old guilt welled up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring your—”

“Stop.

It’s not your fault, and it never was, no matter what stupid shit I said before.

It was an accident.

I don’t blame you, and my father never would.

Now, let’s get off this guilt trip, and get your dad and mom some rest, huh, Dad?”

“Okay.”

Bradley nodded, pulling him into a brief hug. “Alright.

Get your cover, and I’ll grab mine, then we can hit the road.”

The fact that Mav knew the route they would take by heart, able to tell even with his eyes closed, just when Bradley would take a turn, was a little bit depressing, and he prayed that this would be the last time for a very long while that he would have to go to a funeral, most especially a military funeral.

Even his first of those was one too many, he bitterly thought, glancing towards the section where Goose was, as they entered the gate of Fort Rosecrans.

Despite his somber thoughts, he was grateful that it was a beautiful day, with perfect weather for a flight, as he got out of the Bronco to approach the minuscule group of people standing behind the hearses containing his parents’ caskets.

Giving solemn nods of their own, Cyclone and Warlock waved off the salute he and Bradley were about to snap off, allowing them to instead turn to Viper who was with his granddaughter, Erin.

“Mike,” Mav warmly greeted the man who was like a second father to him.

“Kiddo,” the venerable aviator rasped, creaking forward to embrace Mav.

“Thank you for coming.”

“I’d have to be six feet under to miss this, Pete.

But even then, I’d find a way.”

His former CO had gasped in shock when he called the man several days ago to tell him his wingman had been found. “They found Duke?”

“They did.

He’s going to be buried at Rosecrans with my mom.

I’d like you to be there.”

“I’ll be there, no matter what I have to do to get there.”

“Hi, Uncle Pete,” Erin greeted, bringing him back to the present.

“Hey there, Diamondback,” he replied, using the nickname he’d given her years ago, moving to hug her too, mindful not to knock her cover off, the young woman having worn her Air Force blues for the occasion. “Thanks for coming.”

“We know how much this means to you, Uncle Pete, we wouldn’t miss it; and someone had to make sure Grandpa wouldn’t do something stupid to get here, or at least help him if he did.”

Mav laughed, smile only widening when Viper humorously interjected, “Quit talking about me like I’m not here, will ya?” as his still-sharp gaze landed on Bradley. “Bradley Bradshaw—it’s been much too long since I last saw you.

I remember when you were a little booger of a kid; now look at you.

Your old man would be proud.

Rooster, right?

With the 87 'Warriors?” Viper knowingly asked.

Bradley proudly nodded, “223 Black Cloaks now, under Mav, but, yes, sir.”

The retired admiral smiled as if Bradley had passed a test. “Quit it with the sir, son, but you let me know if Pete gives you any trouble, huh, Rooster?

Not too old to whoop this kid’s ass in a hop.”

“Quit talking about me like I’m not here, will ya?” Mav grinned, throwing the venerable aviator’s words back at him. “Excuse me,” he continued, spotting Penny and Amelia making their way to them, the latter striding forward and aggressively hugging him.

“I’m glad your dad came home, Mav.”

He leaned down, returning the hug. “So am I, sweetheart.”

She pulled back, looking back towards Penny. “I’ll let you talk to Mom.”

“Okay.”

After he gave Amelia a final pat, she strode off, declaring, “Hey, Chicken!”

Mav snorted, catching sight of his son’s expression at the moniker, but then his attention was drawn by Penny’s soft, “Pete.”

They had been taking it slow ever since the Uranium Mission, but seeing her never failed to make something in his chest flip flop. “Pen.

Thank you for coming, you and Amelia.”

“Of course.

Why wouldn’t we be here?” she murmured, placing her palm against his cheek.

He leaned into the contact, and her eyes softened even more. “You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?” he smiled.

“Like I’ve hung the stars or something.”

His smile widened, “Only look I’ve got for you.”

She blinked, stepping closer to wrap her arms around him and gently kiss him.

Mav gladly leaned into the embrace, a sigh escaping his lips when she drew back. “Stay with me?”

“Didn’t have any other plans.”

A moment later, Mav decided to get the proceedings started.

Led by the honor guard and the hearses, they began the solemn walk towards the plots where his parents would be buried, Penny tightly grasping his right hand.

Eventually, he distantly saw the wreaths of flowers, the chairs, the twin holes the caskets would be lowered into, the easels with the photos of his parents, and Mav felt his breath hitch with emotion—reality was striking him more intensely than any G’s he’d ever pulled.

He clenched his jaw, willing the emotion back, and just as he felt like it was beginning to turn into a losing battle, he felt someone take his heretofore free left hand.

A glance in that direction showed Viper had replaced Bradley at his left, the older man sending him an understanding look, similar emotion shimmering in his own eyes, the two of them sharing a fortifying nod.

A further glance back showed his boy walking behind him and Viper, strong and steady, a sad smile on his lips, love and blade-sharp understanding in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the plots, and had just settled into their seats, when Mav started in surprise; a large hand had clasped his shoulder and a familiar voice whispered into his ear, “What do you think you’re doing, starting without us, Shortstack?”

Mav turned in shock, seeing Slider right behind him, with all of VFA-223, Hondo, Hollywood and Wolfman, Chipper, Cougar, and Merlin approaching, one and all in dress blues.

Here, more familiar faces started to arrive—the Darkstar team, a couple of his fellow TOPGUN instructors, various NAWDC personnel, and then various North Island staff.

Mav couldn’t believe it—at the end, there had to be at least thirty people assembled around the gravesite.

Dots immediately connected. “Why are all these people here?

How did they know?” Mav whispered to Bradley.

“Well, word gets around, Dad—and it’s not like North Island’s that big,” Bradley nonchalantly replied.

He hissed, “Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

The younger man squirmed in his seat, sheepishly muttering, “The squad and I might have… facilitated certain ears hearing about this.”

“Brads—why—I told you—”

“Dad,” Bradley reached out, “People care about you—the Flyboys wanted to be here for you. Despite what that nasty voice in your head tells you, and like, ninety percent of the brass hating you, a lot of people like you and want to be here for you.

Everyone here clearly wants to be here for you.”

Slider huffed, “You’re not a nuisance, Mav.

You’re family.

The real nuisance was you not calling to tell us all, but good thing the Baby Goose went behind your back.”

Mav rose from his seat, “Sli, I’m sor—”

Slider gently tugged him into a tight embrace. “It’s ok, just promise you’ll remember what brothers are for next time, huh?

Not a lot of us left, we gotta stick together,” he said, referencing the loss of Sundown not long after Ice’s passing—a harsh blow to the Flyboys. “Don’t listen to that voice in your head anymore, Mav.”

Wordless, he nodded. “Thank you.” Mav lifted his head to see his brothers, Hondo, and his squadron surrounding him, not a trace of anger in their faces. “All of you.”

Warm smiles and reassuring murmurs came from them all, and Slider patted him on the back. “Let’s get to work, Shortstack.”

“Okay.”

The ceremony proceeded according to plan, and eventually, it was time for Viper and him to hammer their wings into his father’s casket, but to his shock, before anything could happen, Omaha and Halo rose instead, unpinning their wings of gold as they went.

They hammered their wings into the dark wood of his father’s casket, then saluted.

Next to stand was Yale and Harvard, then Fritz and Coyote.

(Thump)

(Thump)

Two by two, his squadron went up and hammered their wings into his father’s casket, then saluted.

Payback and Fanboy.

(Thump)

Phoenix and Bob.

(Thump)

Bradley and Jake.

(Thump)

As Bradley circled back to his seat, Mav caught his eye, a shocked and wondering expression on his face. “I know we’re not your dad’s squadron, but hopefully we’re good enough,” he softly said in response to the unasked question.

Tears were already tracing Mav’s cheeks at seeing his squadron give his father this honor, but it didn’t stop there.

He was just about to tearfully thank Bradley when his attention was drawn by Slider and Chipper striding forward as they too, unpinned their wings.

(Thump)

Then Wood and Wolf stepped forward.

(Thump)

Cougar and Merlin.

(Thump)

One and all, his brothers hammered their wings into the casket, tightly grasping his shoulder in affection as they moved back to their places at his wing while he struggled to maintain his bearing, his heart swelling with love for this family who’d chosen him.

When no one else stepped forward, it was here, that Viper rose and drew a battered pair of wings from his jacket pocket, steps slow but even as he approached the casket, now covered in gold wings.

He gazed at the wings, a small, proud smile on his lined face, then with a gentle nod, he lifted his hand to place his own wings on the casket.

The sound of his fist hammering the wings in resounded through the air, the elderly man snapping to attention to salute his late wingman one last time.

When Viper turned, Mav rose for his turn, gently setting down the neatly folded flag in his chair.

It was this part he hated the most in all the military funerals he’d gone to, even more than the flag presentation, because it made everything feel so definite, the proverbial final nail in the coffin.

But this time, it felt almost like a relief—for once, his hands didn’t tremble as he unpinned his wings, and as his fist struck the metal into wood with the rush of wind and roar of F-18s overhead, Mav felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders; with his final salute to his father, he felt one of the oldest wounds in his soul beginning to heal.

The next thing he knew, the funeral was over, and he was standing before his parents’ graves.

Everyone was filtering back to the road, but he was seemingly frozen to the spot, staring down into the freshly dug earth.

He felt like he was waiting for something, the expectation in the air so thick he could almost taste it, but Mav didn’t know what it was.

Unbidden, the words “Talk to me, Dad, Mom,” slipped from his lips, barely audible even to his own ears.

Just then, a rushing sea wind blew through the cemetery grounds, and in the distance, he could see two birds dancing in the currents of air, soaring upwards into the sky, gradually disappearing in the distance.

The wind abruptly gentled, and though his cover had stayed on during the flyover and through the rushing burst of wind, it suddenly flew off his head.

He turned to follow its path, finding it already in Bradley’s grasp, who had a hand held out towards him, Penny, his brothers, Hondo, and his squadron—his kids, all standing behind his boy, who had a careful, expectant expression on his face.

“Hey Dad, let’s go home?” Bradley called out.

Mav cast a final glance into the distance that the two birds had disappeared into, a profound peace now in his heart.

He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Bradley.

“Let’s go home, Baby Goose.”

He did not look back.

The title is taken from the USO motto.

The Navy Cross is the second-highest military decoration given by the US Navy, second only to the Medal of Honor.

Mav’s maroon Jeep can be seen in a corner of the hangar during the first hangar scene.

NAWDC: Naval Aviation Warfare Development Command, under whose umbrella TOPGUN belongs.

The C-5M is a US Air Force aircraft, but the Air Force is tasked with bringing home repatriated remains, no matter what branch of service the deceased is from.

The speech given by the Lieutenant Commander to Mav is an adaptation of what is said at a military funeral, when the flag is presented to the next of kin.

I made use of my Italian heritage!Mav headcanon here, which I am quite fond of.

The order of Mav’s medals at Ice’s funeral was incorrect, and even though I didn’t have to mention it, I found a way to explain it!

I’m quite pleased with myself for that one…

VFA-87, the “Golden Warriors”, based in NAS Oceana, VA, is Bradley’s squadron in TG:M, as seen by the patch on his flight suit.

The procedures detailed for the funeral are a rough approximation of the protocol for burials at Arlington National Cemetery.

Clarence Gilyard Jr, who played Marcus “Sundown” Williams in Top Gun (1986), passed away on November 23, 2022 from an undisclosed protracted illness.

Technically, hammering wings tridents into the casket is a SEAL tradition, but 1), this is a thing in canon, 2), it’s supposedly spreading to the other warfare qualifications, and I don’t know, I think Duke deserves it after the Navy crapped all over his reputation.

Bonus: They had a potluck at the duplex later, because Bradley thought ahead and had the Daggers bring food to his/Mav’s place.

Taglist

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[averylegacy]

Jackson his whole life the only person he counted on was his mother. Who held his hand through the storms of her own surgeries. And Yes sometimes Jackson threw a sting over how his mother acting embarrassing him at the hospital now. Her cocky confident behavior. But at the end of the day she taught me how to love, how to be grateful for the small moments. For the constant memories of being a parent. I remembered the amount of times we watched A christmas Story at Thanksgiving cuddled on the couch. Jackson had a dad who walked out. And he wanted to love his family, he wanted to be part of every milestone. And hearing April admit it now; he was a great dad. It made a softness of a lingered smile trace along his lips. April was important to him, how she felt about him was important. And yes our relationship was messy and forever intertwined. But Jackson loved her; he knew our messy divorce both of us was to blame. Jackson was hurt, he lashed out and didn’t want to be forced to stay in a marriage because of a vow we made. He was so angry at her; when she left, despite him now understanding the distance the redhead needed. But did it have to sacrifice him? He was harboring love for her; and he knew what he wanted. He wanted her friendship; he wanted to live together and raise their beautiful little girl again. But he also knows the choice to move to Boston was hers, and yes given this heartbreaking situation he knows April was moving on a whim, she didn’t want to be reminded of every memory with Matthew; and he respected that, Jackson’s priority was to give the redhead time and space now. 

At the mention of the day our daughter was born, a smile stayed against his lips. There’s nothing the male wouldn’t do for April. “ Yeah, It doesn’t matter how strain things feel between us, I’ll always look after you. I was scared that day, when I had to be the one to hold her close not knowing if you’d make it.” Alive, to wake up and look at Harriet and himself, it reminded him of how scared he was now, Each time April landed with a scare in this very bed. “ You need to stop making crosses with death April..” He added in a serious tone, which of course was covered with the topic of his mom; the love hate relationship, and I had to defend my mom in some positions here. “ On her defense A part of me hated you during the divorce you keeping the pregnancy from me until I signed the papers. I barely slept for days because I was hurt and angry with you. But I also know now why, I just wished we would have figured our shit out before..” Shit of pull and push love, a care that ran deep. 

Even now holding the female in his arms, he felt whole. “ Don’t you worry, the cuddling is mandatory for the sleeping arrangements..” He added with softness a joke, but he also knew April she moved in her sleep the countless of times her head landed on his shoulder, his chest in the middle of the night.

continued

@iwanttheromance

Jackson always tried to be honest, Even if the truth hurt. He tried to be loyal until you gave a reason to walk. When it came to his marriage with April; he can admit now he had his own role into how we fell apart. It was easy to blame her; to blame April for leaving. For Jordan; for us losing our first baby. But I also didn’t fight for her; for us. I waited until she was ready to come home, I realized now I had disrespected her needs; what she needed for herself. Yeah I wanted to be in her corner. I wanted her to need me, the way I had needed her. Instead of holding her; of telling her we’d be okay I had ripped the rug out from under her. 

I decided it was over; and truth was it was my biggest regret. I felt I walked away too soon, that I had given up on us. That the repairs were too broken. But now in the last few months I saw I’ve been lost since our diovice. Since we signed those papers; I haven’t been the same. I might not believe in her warship of god, but when it counted Jackson had to admit God had his back. Each time he prayed when April was pushed into this situation stuck to a hospital bed fighting for her life; god had helped her; helped us. We might have our differences, but we also had a whole lot of love for each other. 

Matthew; I wasn’t defending him, I was just trying say I understood why he couldn’t get past the first marriage. If I was in his shoes; I’d walk. Being forced to see the guy that stole my almost wife the first time we went down the alter, being forced into a weird relationship with the dad of his step daughter. I had to be realistic. I wanted the redhead to feel better; I wanted her to stop blaming herself. This fallen marriage wasn’t her fault; it was doomed from the start. I wasn’t going to say the words; but I was entailed to think it. Matthew I believed did love April; but it was kinda mirable he was able to forgive. I can only offer a hand; a shoulder for her now. I wasn’t going anywhere. 

Hand locked in hers; I had inched myself closer to the bed as our hands were laced together. Thump had traced small circles around her knuckles as I heard her remark about her track record with marriages. I could brush it off with a cute quip remark but this might be the right opening for a real conversation; about our own history we both held close to our hearts. 

“ You know our marriage, we both played a role in why it didn’t work out. I.. I’m sorry for hurting you when I decided it was over. I just.. I was hurt and I just I didn’t want to feel the pain anymore. But seeing you here like this.. Even before I can’t help but wonder if I jumped the gun..” With us; but I held my tongue shut on that one; not wanting to make it awkward if this was a internal battle with myself; and not a can April wanted to open. 

Green eyes lifted to meet her gaze, teasing; it was a habit. But I was the best looking guy she’d ever dated let’s be honest. A low chuckle emitted through bare lips. “ I think someone still has the hots for me huh..?” A joke; a light hearted joke; it was easy to fall into old habits with each other. We could always count on each other. As for her release date; I had to glance to the doorway; where I did spot Bailey still lingering; probably to drop news if I allowed her to. Arching head forward I thought about the arrangement in my head; but did it make sense for us. 

“ I may be able to talk Bailey into releasing you by the weekend but only if you stay at the penthouse with me and Harriet. I don’t want you to be alone.” A sense of care in his voice; as if it was easy. He’d take care of her; Jackson didn’t trust anyone else to ensure her safety regardless of the female’s answer.

[freezi-drink]

Vent vvv

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Yuutsum 1

SUMMARY: What if you also have a Tsum? Then your Tsum and the Tsum of the person you like keep giving signs that they like each other?

CHARACTERS: Twisted Tsumderland 1 Tsumsitters (Riddle; Cater; Leona; Jack; Floyd; Epel; Sebek)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader 

WARNING: Spoilers for the Twisted Tsumderland Event and the Tsumsitter cards Vignettes.

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: This was originally a request from @taruruchi for my 1k celebration. Which you can read here. And since so many readers liked it, I decided to do what I normally do when this happens: Do this for ALL the characters! Grouped by event in this case.

The beginning of the Riddle's part is the same as in the request, but I added a little bit more scenario after that.

I hope you enjoy 😉

Yuutsum 2 (Deuce; Azul; Jade; Kalim; Rook; Ortho; Lilia)

Yuutsum 3 (after going to the English server)

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With your Tsum in your arms, you find Ace and Deuce, leaning over with their hands on their knees as if they were catching their breath after a run. They look at you first, but quickly the cute little creature you hold in your arms catches their attention. They both have that look on their faces like they think it's the cutest and most beautiful little thing in the world but don't want to admit it.

They say that Riddle also has one of those and it was the one they were chasing and trying to catch, but they lost it. The moment they said Riddle’s name, you felt your Tsum move enthusiastically for a moment.

They hear something, when they look they see Riddle-tsum in the distance and run towards it, starting the chase again. Your Tsum jumps out of your arms and runs with them, which makes you run after them too.

Your Tsum passes Ace and Deuce, which surprises them because they were so fast, and throws itself at Riddle-tsum, rolling together for a few seconds until they both stop. When this happened, Riddle-tsum didn't run away again, and the two were rubbing each other's cheeks happily.

Ace grabbed Riddle-tsum while it was distracted. It seemed upset about being caught. But the moment Deuce grabbed your Tsum that upsetness turn into anger. Riddle-tsum jumped out of Ace's arms, hits him in the face and threw itself right in Deuce's face to make him release your Tsum. Once back on the ground, Riddle-tsum positioned itself between your Tsum and those two. Glaring threateningly at Ace and Deuce.

Once again, it doesn't run away. You finally get close to them and approach the tsums. When Riddle-tsum sees you it relaxes again and looks at you with admiration. As if looking at a royalty.

Ace and Deuce suggest that you try taking them both to Heartslabyul, as Riddle-tsum doesn't seem to like either of them. They were small enough for you to be able to carry them both in your arms without any problems.

You take them both in your arms and Riddle-tsum immediately turns red. It looked like a tomato in white clothes. And it writhed as if it wanted to hide your arms in embarrassment. When you arrive at Heartslabyul, Riddle-tsum's blush had already subsided.

“Ah, prefect.” Riddle says when he sees you, Ace and Deuce arriving. “I see you were the one who managed to catch...” He looks at your arms to see his tsum, but his gaze automatically goes to your tsum instead. “Oh, there is one similar to you too. It looks... as charming as you.” he blushes just a little.

After explaining how you three caught Riddle-tsum, Ace suggests that they leave you and your Tsum with Riddle-tsum to prevent it from escaping again or causing trouble. Or hurt someone else. Riddle hesitates at first, as he is the one responsible for taking care of his tsum. But soon after, Riddle-tsum hits a student for breaking some rule and Riddle starts arguing with it so he stops attacking others.

You place a hand on Riddle's shoulder to try to calm him down a little and at that moment both of your attention went to your tsums. Your Tsum was between you and Riddle-tsum.

“You know, they remind me of the hedgehogs in a way.” Riddle says “And now they are reminding me of when they come closer to smell each other or to rub each other's noses. I can't deny that I find it quite cute whenever they do it.”

And then your Tsum starts rubbing its little round nose against Riddle-tsum's and caressing him to calm him down. And it works. And he returns the affection by staying very close to your Tsum.

Riddle blushes a little again, and says that, reconsidering Ace's suggestion and if you want, you could take care of your tsums together.

You were walking with your Tsum in your arms when you saw Cater and his Tsum on Main Street. Cater-tsum seemed to be curled defensively around something Cater was trying to retrieve.

“Look, you can't have it, okay?!” You hear Carter say to his Tsum as you get close to them.

You greet him by asking what they are doing. Cater gives you a quick glance before turning his attention back to Cater-tsum, as if he's afraid that if he looks away it'll escape.

“Hey, [Y/N]! I'm trying to get my-” He quickly looks back at you, more specifically at the adorable little thing you have in your arms. “Oh!... My!... Great Seven!” He turns his body towards you, his gaze so fixed on your Tsum that he doesn't even blink. “YOU HAVE A TSUM TOO! And it's the most adorable little thing I've ever seen in my life!”

Suddenly you both got jumpscared as something jumps towards you. It was Cater-tsum jumping into your arms! Despite the scare, you manage to catch it and it starts to nestle into your arms and cuddle your Tsum. Cater looks at the floor where Tsum was and sees his cell phone left behind. He retrieves it.

“We HAVE to take a pic of them!” Cater says excitedly “No! We have to do a whole photoshoot! Here! It's a great place to start.”

If you like taking pictures, your Tsum will be very excited. If you are shy, your Tsum will turn around to hide its face in your arms.

“Awwwww~ That’s even more adorable! Pwease! I beg you~" He says to your Tsum. Cater-tsum will also make pleading eyes at your Tsum.

The four of you spend a lot of time taking pictures in different places. Both pictures of the Tsums and of you with Cater. Until Cater and his Tsum have enough pictures to finally let you and your Tsum rest.

You sit on a bench, you with your Tsum on your lap and Cater with his Tsum on his lap, both of them editing photos on his cell phone. However, you feel your Tsum move and leave your lap to headbutt Cater's hand that was holding the cell phone, making it fall against his belly. After that, your tsum just stands there looking at Cater-tsum with a slightly annoyed look. Cater-tsum smiles with its tiny eyes and jumps against your tsum so they can cuddle each other.

Cater looks at the Tsums protecting the cell phone against his chest, watches them for a moment and then looks at you.

“Hey, if you want to do the same, just need to ask, you know~?” Cater says and winks at you.

If you accept, he'll put an arm around your shoulders and edit the photos with you, while your two Tsums cuddle on your laps.

Your Tsum was restless, impatient. It really wanted to go somewhere. So you pick it up and walk around campus trying to understand where it wants to go. Fortunately you don't need to walk far, as the botanical garden is one of the closest points to Ramshackle Dorm.

As soon as you enter, your tsum jumps out of your arms and starts jumping (its way of running) somewhere in the middle of some bushes. And you know that spot well. As soon as you stop seeing it, you hear a patient growl.

“Another one?” You hear Leona's voice. “Hey! What do you think you're doing?!” You follow the voice, pass through the bushes and see Leona lying down with two tsums on top of his torso. Your Tsum and Leona-tsum, cuddled up like two cats sleeping with each other.

“Herbivore, get your stuffie thing out of here and take the one that looks like me with you too. I'm not a nest to have two pesky armadillos sleeping on top of me!”

You kneel down next to him, looking at Leona-tsum with that “HE’S SO CUTE!” twinkle in your eyes. Leona-tsum looks at you and its sleepy eyes suddenly open, almost bulging. And it jumps onto your chest, knowing you would catch it.

“You got one.” Leona said. “Just one more to-” He interrupted himself, looking at his chest and seeing your tsum rising until it approached his face.

If you look at his face, you will see Leona's pupils dilating. And your tsum snuggling against his chest. You comment that you don't think your tsum will want to leave his side.

“Why don't you walk away with that one and see what happens? Maybe yours will follow.”

You are also curious to know what would happen. Leona-tsum was already sleeping in your arms.

You walk away with him, towards the exit of the botanical garden. Halfway there it wakes up and you feel it move in your arms. You stop and look at it. It seemed to have an annoyed look on his face, very similar to what Leona does when things aren't going according to his plans. You open your mouth to say or ask something, but it's Leona's voice that can be heard throughout the botanical garden.

“OI!” You hear Leona growl in annoyance. “Who do you think you are demanding anythin’ from me?!” And then you hear him roar.

You come back with Leona-tsum in your arms, and you find your tsum pulling one of Leona's braids towards you as if he wanted to force him to come to you.

“This thing really takes after you.” he comments, in a tone reminiscent of a father irritated with a child he deep down loves.

Leona tsum jumps out of your arms and lazily approaches your tsum. Your tsum lets go of Leona's braid.

You both see Leona-tsum rubbing his cheek on your Tsum's cheek, and making a movement as if it was licking your Tsum's face. After calming your tsum down, the two of them curl up to sleep together.

“Well, at least they're not bothering me anymore.” Leona says. He closes his eyes, but right after, he opens one of them again to look at you. “If you're also going to stay here with your stuffie thing, at least be useful. This floor isn't the best pillow, you know?” He makes that gesture for you to come closer with his index finger.

And if you let him use your lap to to lie down, he will fall asleep in 3 seconds, just like his Tsum did.

You were in the Ramshackle Dorm Lounge with your Tsum and Grim was in your bedroom, probably taking a nap after eating too much, when you hear someone knocking at the door. You go open the door, leaving your Tsum on the couch. You open the door and see Jack.

“Hi [Y/N]. Sorry to bother you, but this Tsum-” Before Jack could finish his sentence, you saw something near your feet come barreling through the door. You look back in time to see Jack-tsum turn to enter the Lounge. “Ah! Sorry. It won't sit still. Let's catch it before it does any damage.”

The two of you go to the lounge and stop right at the entrance. Jack-tsum was on the couch with your Tsum. Jack-tsum was jumping around your Tsum, its little tail wagging like crazy, and its eyes shining while also rubbing its face against your Tsum’s as if licking it. It was just like a puppy wanting to play.

“OI!” Jack shouted “Don't mess up [Y/N]'s couch!”

Jack-tsum sulked and your Tsum jumped from the couch to the floor. Jack-tsum followed it. Your Tsum approached Jack and smiled at him with its eyes, as if it were greeting him.

“Hum?” Jack’s ears pricked up as he looked down. “You also have a Tsum similar to you.” He didn't realize his tail had started wagging.

Jack-tsum followed your Tsum and you felt the need to bend down to see Jack-tsum up close. It looked at you with big bright eyes and its tail wagging wildly. You comment on how cute it is and reach out to pet it.

“Be careful.” Jack warns you “It doesn't let anyone...” You start to pet its head as it leans in your hand. “... touch it... What's the deal with this thing? Whenever anyone approached it would either move away or growl at them. How did you do that? I can't even catch it to take it to Savanaclaw.”

You say you don't know what you did either, if anything special. And you comment that it seems to like you. This makes Jack blush slightly.

“How would it not?” he says softly, and without meaning to. He clears his throat. “Um, do you mind if we stay here for a while? It seems to have finally settle down a bit.”

Your tsum goes to Jack-tsum's side and they both look at you as if begging you to say yes. You agree and the two Tsums bounce happily for a moment before they start running around the lounge together.

“OI! You two be careful!” Jack warns “Don't break or mess anything up, you hear?!”

You laugh and comment on how much you think Jack and his Tsum look alike.

“It's just the hair and the outfit.” he says a little embarrassed “Do I look round and soft?!”

“Round maybe not but soft...” You laugh and he blushes.

Before he could open his mouth to try to respond to that, the tsums started running towards you and ended up bump into you as they passed, which made you lose your balance. Jack catches you.

“What did I say?” he shouts to the tsums. He looks at you. "Are you okay?" In his arms, and he releases you, blushing a little. “Sorry about that.” he rubs the back of his neck. “It had never done this.”

“Maybe it was a bad influence.” you say and look at the Tsums. From the looks on their faces, especially your Tsum’s, it wasn't an accident.

You were walking down the Main Street with your Tsum in your arms when you hear footsteps running behind you, approaching quickly. You turn around in shock and see a very tall figure right in front of you. Then you realize it's Floyd.

“Boo~” Floyd smiles at you with something writhing violently in his arms. You look and see his Tsum trying to get free. You also notice, by the way he is holding Floyd-tsum, that he is using a lot of force. “Hi Koebi-chan~. Whatcha doin'~?” He sees something in your arms and looks to find your Tsum. “Woo! You have one too! And it looks so small and weak like you, how cute! He he.”

(What you don't know is that what really happened was that Floyd-tsum was loose and took off running when it saw you. The footsteps you heard were Floyd running to catch it before Floyd-tsum caught you.)

Your Tsum made a sulky face, while Floyd-tsum continued to struggle in Floyd's arms. You say Floyd-tsum is also very cute, it stops and looks at you with smiling little eyes.

“Do you wanna play with it?” Floyd asks and you say yes. “Sure, but careful how you handle it. It’s easy to set this guy-” The moment he let his arms go slack for a second, Floyd-tsum jumped into your arms.

With difficulty, but you managed to catch it without letting your tsum fall. Now you had them both in your arms. You saw it squeezing your tsum while it snuggled into your arms. However, your tsum didn't seem uncomfortable, quite the opposite, it felt like a passionate everyday hug.

Between letting Floyd-tsum jump out of his arms, until realizing that it wouldn't hurt you, Floyd stared at his Tsum with that serious face that all students who know him the least bit fear.

“Aw~ Aren't they cute together?” he says with his usual relaxed expression. He sees that you are having difficulty holding both tsums. “Let them go. They can walk on their own. Or hop, I guess.”

You do so. The two Tsums land on the ground and Floyd-tsum jumps up to continue hugging your Tsum. But before it can, Floyd quickly picks up your Tsum in his arms and starts squeezing it too.

“MY TURN!” Floyd says to his Tsum.

This one sulks, looks at you and jumps back towards you. You catch it and it hugs your forearm. You and Floyd laugh, until the pressure in your arm starts to increase to the point where it starts to hurt. The moment you grimace, Floyd's expression changes, he lets go of your tsum and rips his off your arm.

“I warned you.” he says to his tsum, with the same face he uses to threaten students who don't pay Azul. “Someone is not keeping their side of the deal.”

Floyd-tsum manages to escape and hugs your tsum again, but without hurting it. Floyd looks at you, who looks slightly sad, and sees you rubbing the forearm that Tsum was squeezing. He holds your wrist to see better. There is a slight reddish mark. He lets go of your wrist, turns to the Tsums and lifts his foot as if to step on his tsum. Before you could stop him, your tsum does it, getting out of Floyd-tsum's embrace and positioning itself between it and Floyd's sole when he was about to hit his Tsum. He looks at your tsum's fearless face for a moment and laughs heartily.

“HA HA HA HA! It also takes after you, Koebi-chan~” He puts his foot back on the ground and turns back to you. “We were going to Mostro Lounge. Do you want to come?”

With your Tsum in your arms, you were walking down Main Street when you heard a scream. It sounded like someone was being attacked by a dog or something. You follow the sound and see Epel, another Pomefiore student, and an Epel-tsum attacking this student while Epel tries to stop it.

Your tsum jumps out of your arms and runs (or hops) towards them until it stops between Epel-tsum and the student, preventing the tsum from attacking him again. And then, your tsum headbutted Epel-tsum so hard that it even knocked it upside down for a moment. Enough time for Epel to catch it. The other student runs away and Epel-tsum begins to struggle in Epel's arms.

“Stop it!” Epel complained “Ya can't go aroun´ attackin´ students!”

You approach them asking if everything is okay and if he need help. Epel-tsum stops and looks at you. You smile when you see that Epel also has a tsum and comment on how cute it is (like any tsum).

“No! Don't call it that!” The Tsum manages to jump out of Epel's arms and towards you.

He panics, but instead of the Tsum hitting you, it lands in your arms and just looks at you with a sulky face. You say it's still being cute, and once again, instead of it attacking you, its little face turns red with blush.

Epel freezes, completely confused for a moment until he thinks about what could be the possible reason for you being the only person who called the Tsum cute and it didn't attack. And when he thinks of the most likely reason, he also blushes.

Your tsum also jumped into Epel's arms, surprising him. It smiles at him with its cute little eyes and his blush deepens. Your voice is the only thing that makes Epel look away from your Tsum, asking if you could accompany him and his Tsum if they were going to Pomefiore.

In his dorm, needless to say, Rook wasted no time praising the Tsums, both Epel's and yours. But since Epel's Tsum didn't seem to appreciate the comments very much, especially if they focused on the fact that he was cute, Rook ended up turning his attention to your Tsum, which ended up bothering Epel's Tsum even more.

“It looks like someone is jaloux.” Rook says smiling amused.

That was the only thing that made Epel-tsum throw itself at him, to attack. Rook dodged it like a bullfighter with the grace of someone who was expecting it. Epel panicked and quickly picked up his tsum and apologized to Rook.

“There is no reason to apologize, Monsieur Pommette.��� Rook says, loving the situation more than he should. “Truly. I must confess that my provocation was premeditated. C'est tellement beau to see your true feelings and emotions through your Tsum's lack of filter.”

“WHA-?! WHAT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!”

Rook just laughs, winks at Epel and starts walking towards the door. Halfway there he passes you, leans over and whispers in your ear: “Could you tame the little beast for us, Trickster?” and leaves.

Epel's Tsum struggled in his arms, angry... with jealousy.

Your Tsum was restless, impatient. It really wanted to go somewhere. So you pick it up and walk around campus trying to understand where it wants to go. You leave Ramshackle Dorm, pass the Botanical Garden and the Alchemy Workshop and arrive at the Hall of Mirrors.

As soon as you enter, your Tsum escapes from your arms and quickly jumps until it enters the mirror of Diasmonia. You follow it, but you realize that you lost sight of it the moment it passed through the mirror.

“Good afternoon, [Y/N]!” Lilia is the first to come and greet you. “To what do we owe such a wonderful surprise visit?”

You tell him about your tsum.

“Ah yes! Sebek also has a cute little lookalike. I can't wait to see yours. Although if it's as adorable or even more adorable than you, we're going to have a cuteness overdose problem in this dorm. Khe he. Well, from what I understand, and despite Sebek denying it, the personality of these tsums is very similar to the personality of those they physically resemble. So if your tsum wanted to come here, where do you think it would have gone? Where would you want to go?”

You don't think about a ‘where’ but rather a ‘who’ and that may have shown on your face, beacuse Lilia laughs amusedly.

“So maybe your tsum went to meet someone? Maybe a fellow tsum? Khe he he. I suggest we look for Malleus. Wherever he is, Sebek and Silver will be there too.”

The two of you head to the lounge, but before you get there you can already hear all the commotion. Aka: Sebek’s thunderous voice.

“Don't look at me like that! No matter who your looks resemble, you're bothering Malleus-sama and meddling in our, I mean my guard duties!”

“Actually,” You hear Malleus's patient voice say. “I am quite enjoying this little one's presence. It's as pleasant as [Y/N]'s own presence. Wouldn't you agree, Sebek?”

“HUM?! Yes! Of course sir! Please forgive me for implying that this Tsum's presence was inconvenient.”

You and Lilia arrive at the lounge and approach those two. Sebek, as expected, was standing very straight next to Malleus, who was sitting in one of the sofas. Coming closer, you see that both your Tsum and Sebek's Tsum are in Malleus' lap. And Sebek-tsum looked like it was... about to cry?

“AWW~ Look at you.” Lilia said, your Tsum turned to him. “You are even cuter than I imagined. *sigh* What an unfair competition. Ke he.”

The moment Sebek-tsum sees you is when it finally starts crying.

“HUM?! What is wrong with you?” Sebek inquires. “You are such a strange creature.”

“I think it's an too much emotion to see so many people it likes together.” Lilia says with a smirk.

“W-Well, regardless, it should learn to control itself!”

You come closer, worried about Sebek-tsum, and ask if it would like a hug to feel better. It looks at you, then at Malleus, back at you, Malleus, you, Malleus, and on until it almost gets dizzy and the indecision seems to make it more sad.

“I think I have an idea.” Malleus says. “[Y/N], would you like to sit next to me?”

You sit down, he asks you to come closer until your thighs touch, so he can place Sebek-tsum on both of your laps at the same time. It, still in tears, seemed to be thanking Malleus with his eyes and head.

“How intelligent and generous, my liege!” Even Sebek himself had a tear in the corner of his eye.

He was about to continue his praise when your Tsum jumped from Malleus' lap into Sebek's hands. He caught it as if he was saving it from a fall. It looked at him and smiled with its eyes.

“How precious.” He said with a tender smile, as he was still emotional about Malleus's act. Then he realized what he had just said and blushed in embarrassment. But he didn't stop holding your Tsum.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[ofdarknesseyes]

If it wasn’t for the fact that Toji knew this kid wanted him dead more or else, he would have thought that he was trying so hard to “impress” him was adorable, cute, and endearing. It was still quite remarkable to him how much Suguru had changed from that young boy he once almost killed. Maybe he felt the slightest of guilt for kicking him in the face back then. But hey what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. After all, in the end, he helped Satoru Gojo reach his maximum potential did he not? The same could be said with Suguru Geto as he was much more powerful than before. Really the brats should be thanking him.

Though he could tell that he was starting to get on the poor kid's nerves. Serves him right for thinking he can walk all over him and act all high and mighty. Damn princess that he was then so be it. Toji was going to show him how he treated such pretty princesses. He wraps his arms tighter around Suguru’s waist, his chin on their shoulder still and he even dares to nuzzle into his soft black hair ever so slightly. Cursing like a sailor every time he felt a sudden dip in altitude or movement that made him feel like he was going to slip off the curse.

“Humans, sorcerers, curses they are all the same. The sooner you learn that kid, the better off you’ll be.”

He grumbles though he knows there is no changing his mind on whatever crazy ideals he’s cooked up. Toji didn’t really care anyway. Suguru could destroy the planet for all he cared. It wasn’t his problem. The very small thought in the back of his mind reminded him of his son, though he quickly pushed that thought deep down and away.

Another series of curses escapes him when the curse finally lands. Toji hops down onto the ground, happy to be back on his feet. He straightens up and stretches slightly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s not do that often, thanks.”

Toji takes the time to glance around his surroundings, eyebrow raised as Suguru goes on to explain the living situation. He can’t help but grin as he continues to look around. It was quite nice, garden, his own room, and a fully stocked kitchen he hoped. God, he really hopes there is a cook too! Plus training facilities he said, hmm. If there was going to be no fun and fucking around then he defiantly would want to train to keep himself somewhat busy. Well damn, maybe he struck gold here, though it was still hard to tell. It would depend on the pay and how much of a pain in the ass Suguru was going to be, so far it seems like quite a bit. The kid is damn lucky that Toji for the most part is very easygoing.

“No tour? How do I know which areas not to wander off to? You can’t blame me if I accidentally waltz into your bedroom while looking for something to eat.”

His green eyes sparkle with amusement and a sort of hunger that would have most people a little wary, as he swipes his tongue over his lips.

“Oh, I didn’t take you for the jealous type! Fine, I will be sure to have my affairs outside of your castle, Princess”

His grin widens even more and he chuckles lowly. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he waited to see if Suguru was going to show him to his room or if he was going to be let off the leash to wander off and find it himself. Actually maybe he should go find the kitchen first he was damn hungry.

“I’m hungry, where’s the kitchen you mentioned?”

Could nothing phase the damned monkey? Turned out, having his insides flipped upside down with a maneuver not even the Japanese air force was trained on could rattle the filthy man a little. If he continued being on the figurative edge and kept his mouth shut Suguru would have count it as a win. Whether Toji's incessant chatter was a coping mechanism for his insecurities and fears, he did not know... for the man did it constantly. He could have been bluffing but sadly, the black haired sorcerer thought that wasn't the case.

He was just a filthy human but with powers like his, he likely experienced a lot of harrowing ordeals. Killing curses and riding them was different however. Suguru ignored the comment about Toji's eyes, even the sama honorific he ironically used, and just focused on the brief outburst of curses... and the hugging. It should have made his skin crawl. In ANY other situation, it would have been enough to cut one arm off. In this situation it meant Toji needed Suguru. For the young man the power went to his head.

It was amazing the things he was capable of doing with this horrid technique. A technique which threatened to consume his soul would be the saving grace for the future. It would take sacrifice. He was no stranger to sacrifice. So many thoughts and emotions go through Suguru. One moment he's bathing in Toji's reaction and the next he's scowling that such filthy arms were around him. Holding him tight and firm. He had dreamed about this once. Not the exact moment, of course.

Back when he was happy and naive, he did dream of being held by a special someone. Life liked to step on him and laugh on him -- the only person who was holding him close was his enemy, a child killer, and a degenerate gambler. HA! Life had a way of making him laugh bitterly. Outside the context of a sorcerer and an assassin riding on the back of a monster, this could have been something else. Suguru almost feel ashamed for thinking that, ashamed for being attracted to men.

In another life Toji might have been considered goo--- his purple eyes took in the sight of Japan below him. He remembered marveling at the view. Now it was common place and all the lights and sounds were reminders of how filthy the world was. On the curse's back the trip did not take long. In part Toji's response was simple, just as he expected, but there was also a surprising twist to it. He expected Toji to gloat about how he was an expert at killing curses despite not being a sorcerer.

“ You are.. right. Curses are vile as are the people they are created from. There are too many ugly things in this world and humans are the core of it. ”

Toji's grip felt far away. The entire world felt far away. The air was cold as it hit his cheeks and whipped his black hair about. He didn't try to scare Toji again or did he fool around. The longer he remained in the sky, the more attention he brought to himself. Yes, he was confident he could take down any sorcerer, but there was a time and a place. He had to integrate Toji into the fold. He descended down to the Earth and actually made the descent more gentle with Toji on board.

He didn't actually think about it, how considerate he was being towards the monkey he loathed. The curse calmed and it really was like a koi moving through calm water as it penetrated the protective veil surrounding the Star Religious Group headquarters. Sensing its master's cursed energy, no alarms went off in the building. Suguru debated whether keeping Toji in one of the other headquarters as the Star Religious Group had several temples.

Instead he sent his children, Manami, and one other trusted curse user to a secondary location. Suguru needed to TRAIN and keep and eye on Toji. Once they were several feet above the ground he mentally recalled the curse back into his arsenal and dropped to the ground like a cat finding ground. He didn't even wait to see if the killer was okay; he was strong and capable. Suguru flicked his hair over his shoulder as a way of calling for Toji.

“ This is my home and your temporary... living quarters. You will have your own room, access to the garden, the training facility, and the kitchen. Nothing more. Everything is furnished and I expect you to behave. If you need anything... ”

Suguru turned on his sandals and gave the assassin a sharp look with his deep purple eyes.

“ Let me know. This entire compound is guarded by my curses and I am alerted whenever someone enters or exits. If you dare bring... someone to keep you company they will likely be skinned. Understood? ”